What does one do when one receives news that one’s hero has fallen further than one ever thought possible? One begins to recall parts of one’s life, flashing before one’s eyes and one wonders, what is it about oneself, that one has had the misfortune to be surrounded by so much dysfunction?
My first sense of enlightenment was in my twenties when I asked a dysfunctional soul in my life as to why this appeared to be my fate. I was told that it was because, for a moment, while they are with me, they feel normal. Being with me made them feel normal?
I find it completely ludicrous that somehow, I have managed to become the “normal” one in my “family”. I’m the sane and responsible one? Me, the Tasmanian Devil? I’m the one that used to be asked when I was going to grow up and stop being so artsy-fartsy and get a real job. Well, I did get a real job, so I could afford to raise my kids and eventually take out a mortgage and do other grown-up stuff all while mourning the loss of my father.
I have managed to survive mourning the loss of that job and finding another. I have also publicly mourned my nine-year relationship of lies and countless other relationships of lies. I have mourned the passing of relatives and friends. I have mourned the loss of feeling safe and all the while I have managed not to lose myself in addictive substances. Why? How?
Oh, I’ve had a few too many at times, but I’ve never been so blitzed that I smash up a car and lose my license. I’ve been extremely depressed, but I never even thought about doing anything harder than what is now legal in this state. I’ve eaten too much, but never to the point that I puke. No, I don’t do those things. Instead, I cry, I clean, I write and become very quiet. Sometimes a little shopping therapy, but nothing extreme. Oh bother, I think I am “normal”. That is depressing.
I remember a time when I was “out of control”! Yeah, no I suppose I wasn’t really. I’ve been curious, maybe a little “experimental”, but I suppose at the end of the day, nothing out of the ordinary. Now that I think about it, people probably think of me as boring. I’m loud, I swear…a lot, but who cares? A lot of people are loud and swear…a lot. I’m emotional, of this there is no doubt. I’m comfortable with my nudity. Actually, I’m more concerned for the others that have to view my shortcomings. I’m no longer afraid of public speaking or singing. Once again, I feel badly for those I expose to my shortcomings. However, they are not being held captive, so c’est la vie!
I fear that my hero is gone. Actually, it would be a miracle if he were to return. I think he’s been gone for a very long time. I had hopes of saving him, that I would be able to say something that would jolt him out of this, whatever it is that has its claws holding him captive. His entire life, if not one addiction, it was another, but no one seemed to notice because of his awesome personality. However, there is a darkness that dwells deep within him, so deep that I don’t believe he understands it, or would even want to. That, is what has taken him from us.
What does one do when one loses one’s hero? One cries, one cleans, one writes, one becomes very quiet in hopes of hearing a faint sign of life. Otherwise, one prepares to mourn…again.
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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