Thursday, January 1, 2009

Killing a mother is unforgiveable, so forgive me already. Please.

So I' ve been so sick. Sick almost to death and it's largely my own damn fault for my love of a good smoke. Even now, with oxygen and a gasp to die for, I suck on these fuckers like the teat of life itself.

I am a deeply flawed individual.

But I have good days, too.

So let me tell you what I think.

I think people are largely mysterious, no matter how rational their self examination may seem. I've noted this outside my immediate gene pool, so I suspect it's not just me.

I happen to be a particularly non-spiteful mystery, as humans go. But I'm not particularly holy at all, and love succumbing to temptation as much as a gay preacher with snakes in a drawer. And I mostly cop to it, so that's something.

See how defensive I am from the get go? I'm defending myself against an assumed thought in your head, even as I write. I am so fucked unto the Lord or whatever that I begin with the reasons I'm worthy. Jeezus would say sheeyut.

But I'm fun to have a beer with and am told I'm smart as they come. Not that it has made much difference.

Smart folks can be so dumb. We think it's a virtue when it's just an adjective. That's unless we're crediting our own hard work, and I know that's mainly a lie. Mainly because when I've worked hardest, I've been my best, most transcendent self. But it's never lasted long enough for any righteous infinite jest, which is William James' definition of transcendent wisdom. I may be an iconoclast, but having read that book, I will adhere to its definitions, as is my right. So do not fuck with the James boys. There's no future in it.

I'd love to live in a world in which my own transcendence delighted me constantly. Since I don't, I rely a lot on substances and such to maintain daily, a sin as big as there is, I'm told. And yet, on this New Years, I'm putting my wide foot down that this is not so bad if it keeps you going mostly without hurting others. That's of course excepting friends and family who love me. They can't help but hurt at my diminishing presence, and they mourn it more than I do, which is something.

I am guilty as I am. I am guilty. I am. There it is. Feed as long as necessary. I am naked and flayed prostate before your judgment, and if you only knew, you'd know which line in this bit is the most central and agreed upon fact ever in the history of my life. Then you would come clean my house for me and love me for having taken this mantle so far so long. Or not.

Me, I'm wondering on all my guilt and its value in a gold-based economy. Not fucking much. And I'm dying. Not today, not tomorrow, but before my time. So?

So I have work to do that is different from other work I've done. I am selfish and narcissistic historically, yet I've lost real interest in my own life except as it is killing my family, mostly those three kids. Damnit. That I probably did it so, so long ago is just dawning on me.

We all have to answer to something, and having given up the traditional subjects of devotion as unworkable in my world, there are those people I love that I wouldn't hurt if I could help it.

And I wish I could help it. I'm a cipher. If I were my own judge, I would not be silent and sanguine, for killing a mother is an unforgiveable act. Yet I have to find a way to forgive myself so I can leave my children without a gaping maw where their ma used to be.

They deserve as much high minded positive projection as my soul can deliver, and frankly, I do too.

My smartness has finally revealed to me, ta-dah that the 25 years I spent in a cult was waaay bad. It hammered me from every direction that I was powerless in the face of my own evil nature, unchangeable in that stain, insane, incapable of rational thought, too smart for my own good, and destined to die a hideous death unless I adhered to their commandments.

Understandably, this took some of my good juju away and kept me on a spiritual search that I only put on the shelf quite recently as impossible and indecent. All those years I sought strength in a soul-zapping death cult without even knowing it. Others have had different experiences, including my two most central menfolk. It was a rebellion I couldn't help and wanted not to have and couldn't live with or without. But, the truth will out.

That I stayed says something about my fortitude, and my leaving says yet more. The demonic corruption of my best years?

Alcoholics Anonymous.

More later.


ShakuNi RenChi said...

You have reached the same conclusion that I reached 12 years ago, only you have come to it with a bit more verbosity. I found that sobriety came not in relinquishing control of self, but in taking possession of it. I think that AA hurts women with this blanket supposition, but then, after all, it originally was an organization formed by men for men and little has changed in its tenets. Go your own way, Jill, and know that you are not alone on your journey.

Jill Draper said...

ShakuNi, you made me laugh out loud with your astute haiku.

It is good to know others have rejected the culture of recovery successfully. Tx.