Saturday, February 19, 2011

Blue Daisies

My boyfriend bought me a bouquet of blue daisies after we got into a fight the other night. Right now they're sitting next to the window in our living room... in an empty, pale green champagne bottle.

It's been a rough last couple of weeks.

However, Valentine's Day was marvelous. I've never had a better Valentine's Day. Really... Ever.

But lately, in general, it's been hell and high water and thankfully we're still alive and swimming... Misery and melting snow.

We've been toying back and forth with the idea of moving because I utterly loathe where we currently live. Our neighborhood and apartment are fine, but I have many too many horrid memories from growing up around here. When we go outside they overwhelm me and fill me with sadness, grief or shock.

I am still in shock from events that happened years and years ago. Still in shock... How odd is that really, I wonder? I mean it seems like the shock should have worn off by now right? But it hasn't. And at times it occurs to me that I'm not alone in that feeling... I read a story here and there or hear an account of someone who says that they have never quite "gotten over" what happened to them.

Perhaps it has something do to with what I lost... Whatever that was. I had a rather tumultuous childhood but it still bore at least some sort of suburban, monotonous but safe order. Then slowly but painfully it started to fall apart, until it just kind of died.

I might as well tell you, my mother's husband was abusive. It got worse until we left one crazy day when I was a freshman in college home on summer break. I lived the next six months of my life hiding in a battered women's shelter in a ghetto with my mom. As I may have shared before, I grew up in a wealthy, sheltered neighborhood in the late 1990's, although we were decidely not among the elite or near elite of our community. In any case, my old neighborhood took all inhabitants captive and permanently affected them or altered the tilt of a person's soul if one was young enough. Money, perversely, was a powerful, fickle, cruel god. A ghetto was quite the contrast. I felt like I was in a strange, perversely exciting exile...

Back in the suburbs of my childhood the kids at school would waste excessively and brag even more so... They learned it from their parents. Nothing seemed out of reach and it felt like the world had decided let us take it all at our leisure. And we would, with our infinite wisdom and advancements, do our best to handle the situation with humane, sophisticated American know-how. We meant well I believe...

But, who am I to make such judgments about the world... And I suppose my personal story might sound melodramtic to some. There's probably some person reading this somewhere who thinks I sound pretentious and ignorant in my historical pronouncements... But I am just making a sad observation from my childhood...

When I lost the small amount of security possessed in my childhood I also experienced the sensation that time was speeding up and would never slow down again. But, oddly, at the same time the air became more vivid and real and the rain became sort of soothing balm- a friend even. It always smells the same, feels the same... It never really changes and everyone can feel it, not just me... The rain, especially in the spring time, expressed for me what I couldn't find the words for- feelings that seemed to be permanently lodged in some spot of my heart. In those days it all got wet. Drenched, in fact.

In any case, I get stuck in my memories when I walk out of the front door in the morning. And I want to run away to a far place where nothing can steal more from me... That's why I wanted to run away to Wales. But for better or worse I am here in the thick of it. It may be an opportunity to grow and recover or I may be right in my insinct to get as far away from this as possible...

As far away in one, whole, safe piece.

5 comments:

J.L said...

Very nice blog :)

Muirin said...

Thank you, J.L. :)

Rita Teles said...

I think I know what you feel. I've hided myself from certain places and certain memories until the point I had to break out. And suddenly I made that starting exactly where I was, in the shock, in the pain, in the rage. Life took me to where I had begun and now I look back to this past year, where I faced my ghosts and myself, and I understand I could never make up for myself away. I had to do it here. Maybe it's not the same for you, probably don't. But I can relate to your words.

I've read your blog months ago and I always wanted to keep reading but I forgot to add to favorites and I lost track of it. Today I visited the clothes's blog, which i haven't done in ages and saw the link WALK In THE PARK and I thought: it must be it.

I love the way you write. and the way you are, you always seem so sad, happy and honest.

Thank you for sharing.

Rita

Amyduck said...

I did not think of you as ignorant or pretentious. I was more so fascinated by how personable your writing is. I read into it thinking I was meeting someone in person, not just a blog.. but a person.

It sucks to get stuck in the past, but it sucks more to ignore the past. At least you have reflected and understand what has happened (I think, its hard to read into, not knowing you or anything..) just make sure you learn to move on.. which Im sure you know.

Sunshine and Berries,
Amyduck

Muirin said...

Thank you Rita and Amyduck... Sorry I didn't respond sooner...

Rita,

I'm honored you like my blog. Thank you for taking time to read it and for your genuine encouragement!! It means a lot. Really. :) You are very kind!!!


Amyduck,

I'm glad my writing is personable. I figure I might as well just write what I want because given the vastness of the internet there must be someone who will read this blog and truly understand what I'm attempting to say... Thank you for your encouragement!! :)