My Paranoia

imagesWhenever I travel by air, I always have this insecure moment where I just know it will be my last flight ever.  Usually, I have somebody in whom I confide a few secrets; always revealing a bit more of myself he or she previously never knew about me, secretly wanting to preserve a bit more of myself should I happen to perish.

Additionally, I leave them with valuable information as to what they should do with certain belongings or something I meant to tell people in my life.  Typically, said person finds my ritual to be prosaic if not a bit morbid and they usually lose interest, as indicated by their sighs and/or glares.

As circumstances would have it, I had some rather good news, and I am taking a flight on Thursday with a return trip on Friday.  Since I have had a rather helter skelter year in terms of my interpersonal relationships, there is nobody to listen to my paranoid speech about how I may not live to see the weekend.  So, I thought I would write about a few things that move me, entertain me, make me smile, and are important to me.

I have to preface this by saying I do not believe I possess some special psychic powers to see into the future where I see a plane plunging to the earth; this is simply something I do every time I take an airplane trip.  It can become quite ludicrous at times, as I love to travel, and there have been some years where I have flown quite often; still, it’s me, so I have learned to accept it, flaws and all.

***

As much as I have written about how my children do not speak to me, I love them with all my heart; if I could give them a different mother wrapped up in a big red ribbon for Christmas, I would give her to them.  They would surely deserve her.  I don’t suppose they have done anything spectacular or out of the ordinary; in fact, at times they have been quite rude to me.  Though, as has been pointed out to me many times, they didn’t ask to be born.  I love them and they deserve the best; if there is a mom out there willing to give it to them, they should have her.

***

Speaking of love, I dearly love the rest of the family; regardless of their current ability to reach out and communicate with me.  It is what it is with our family; no further explanation in a family where we were taught to keep secrets, where somebody was always “out” or nobody was “in”.

***

I have a blue Eeyore blanket that I have taken with me on every flight, to every surgery (15 of them) for the last 12 years or so; I sleep with it every night.  It is a plush baby blanket with suede like material on one side and a furry type material on the other side; the Disney Store had it for $75 and one year I bought it for myself for Christmas on clearance for $30.  It still looks almost new even though it has been washed countless times; once, during a pre-op needle stick, the nurse stuck me in the wrong place and blood soaked the blanket.  A little peroxide and it came out perfectly clean.

I am leaving the blanket behind this time, for some reason it just feels like the right thing to do.  I am travelling alone and it is a business trip, too much stuff to carry, I suppose.  It will be the first time.

***

There is a little song I knew when I was in grade school, I used to sing it to my girls, and it goes like this:

“I’m an acorn small and round lying on the cold, cold ground,

I’m a nut (click click click), I’m a nut (click click click);

Called myself on the phone just to see if I was home,

I’m a nut (click click click), I’m a nut (click click click);

Asked myself for a date, picked me up at half past eight,

I’m a nut (click click click), I’m a nut (click click click);

Took myself to a show, sat down in the very back row,

I’m a nut (click click click), I’m a nut (click click click);

Put my arms around my waist, got so fresh I smacked my face,

I’m a nut (click click click), I’m a nut (click click click).”

When you see the “clicks”, that is the clicking of your tongue, you don’t actually say “click”.

***

Many people who know me think I am flat; they have rarely seen me smile, and have never seen me laugh.  It is all a façade; I feel everything, I love deeply, I have been scarred and scared.  I put up the thickest shield I could so as to be impervious to any further pain; it doesn’t work.  I am hurt daily, but nobody knows.

***

There is a man I love more than I have ever allowed myself to ever love; it took me eight years to let him in; I almost lost him because my heart was locked.  I have not seen him since April, but I’m going home in less than two weeks.  I have left him a journal on a memory stick in the room I have been staying in, it is on an Eeyore keychain; I would want him to have it, and my Eeyore blanket.

***

I miss my dad; I didn’t have a good relationship with him and he didn’t really like me, but there are times I would like to see him, to talk to him.  I would like him to be proud of me.

***

I love the song, “For Crying Out Loud” by Meatloaf.  The words bring me to tears every time I listen to it; even though it always feels like the end of a love story to me, like a tragedy, I love to hear it.  Maybe that’s why, I need it when I need or want to cry.  It feels like an aged love; I feel as if it is about finding love when you need it most.

***

I could go on, but I only wanted to open an envelope in my Pandora’s Box, not empty the entire contents tonight.

8 thoughts on “My Paranoia

  1. Strange that I received no automatic e-mail announcing this article was posted. I hate flying with a passion. I don’t like passenging in any manner because I want to feel in control, like I want it to be my own fault if I get hurt. Safe travels.

  2. I was brief yesterday. Something bothered me and I was drinking some and I didn’t want to do anything I might regret. “Don’t drink and post” is a good motto.

    I am bothered by your perception that you were a bad mother. I’ve been reading your articles very carefully and I see absolutely nothing to support that. I do see potential for your daughters to have been “poisoned” in your absence, but nothing about how you treated them badly while you were able to be with them. I sense a great unfairness where you are accepting guilt that is not yours to accept.

    I’m certain that the hurt is real. I’m sure there are accusations. But absolutely nothing you have communicated supports the notion of bad mothering. Unless you are unintentionally glossing over your early relationship with your girls I am not buying any of it and it hurts me to see you accept blame so completely and willingly.

    I know it hurts. I sympathize greatly. But until I see you write about the awful mothering things you have committed, I’m sorry but I’m just not buying it.

    • Thank you, Sir.

      I am happy you clarified your short post. I wondered about what had happened.

      As for my girls; I am not specifically leaving out anything I may have done, not intentionally anyway. I write as openly and honestly as I can, and I write as I think about things, often times writing things as something evokes as memory. Often times I do not even realize I did something until I start writing.

      Perhaps, together you and I will discover I did something that made my daughters turn on me… maybe, we never will.

      I will do my best to keep writing and try to determine what happened; as I want nothing more to have a relationship with them, or to at least assuage my guilty mind that I did the very best I was capable of.

      Always,
      Me

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