“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

If that statement by the great, the amazing Martin Luther King is true, then my life is just beginning, because I refuse, I absolutely refuse ever to be silent about the things that matter. When I say "the things that matter", I mean the things that matter to me, obviously, because I am only human after all, but I also mean THE THINGS THAT MATTER. Kindness matters, basic simple human kindness always matters.

This is a truth that I've tried to avoid my entire life, given the family I grew up in, and the choices that I then made. And, don't get me wrong, I don't blame my choices on anybody - they were MINE, ALL MINE. I stand by them, the right ones, the wrong ones, the crazy ones, the right-off-the-fucking-map ones. They all helped me to become who I am today. And I really, well and truly like who I am today.

Let's see if I can define me. I mean, we're all subjective about such things, but it has been my passion to see myself, to see those I love, to really see. After all, if you love someone because of some illusion/delusion you've created, I hate to be the one to tell you, but I gotta be the one to tell you -- IT'S NOT LOVE!!! I am a flawed creature, like all of us, but ... oh, I love the word "but" ... I will go out of my way, really a long way out of my way, to not cause harm. No, I did not take the hippocratic oath, but in my heart, in my soul, if we possess one, I did: "First, do no harm". Can that be said enough? First, do no harm. When I can, I will go a long way out of my way to bolster someone's spirit, to soothe their spirit, to prop up their self-esteem.

My birth family ... and I make that distinction because the family that I have chosen, that I have created is not the same ... are cruel people who somehow convince themselves that they're not. They create an elitist world where those who can't achieve some perceived level of perfection aren't welcome. The biggest problem I've had in my life is never knowing what that perfection consisted of or entailed. I tried my best, I stood on my tiptoes, I bent over, I bent down, so many times that it hurt me, hurt the very essence of me, and it wasn't good enough, never good enough. I stood up, I believed in myself, I achieved, I succeeded, and it wasn't good enough. So, now, finally and forever, I say goodbye to all of that. Sad that I say goodbye in a blog, but I need to get it out, need to say it. They wouldn't care, don't care, never have. Oh, boo-fucking-hoo me!

As though there haven't been enough blows, and there will undoubtedly be blogs in the future that recount them, recant them, the latest one was the one. Sometimes there is a straw that breaks the camel's back. So, I go to my nephew's wedding, and see the whole fam-damily for the first time in years. Not enough that they invite and welcome the brother who abused me for years. They welcome him with more good cheer and acceptance than they have ever given me. No, no, no, there's more. They invite my ex-husband and his new girlfriend. The ex-husband and I have not been together for 8-1/2 years. I am attending this wedding with my love, the love-of-my-life, the man who I will marry, the finest and best human being it has ever been my privilege to know. Tell me again why he loves me! And, again, this so-called family has more conversation, more interaction with the ex-husband than they do with me or with my G ... and worse yet, than they do with my daughter, the lovely, the beautiful, the talented, the shining light in this universe.

So, you can hurt me, you can stomp on me, you can grind me into dust, but you cannot, I will not let you hurt the people that I love. I am done with you.

Oh, almost forgot. Stupid, stupid, stupid me. After the wedding, I send a note to my sister, asking her why, what, how, when, where ... you know, the five w's ... and I end with the quote that entitles this particular post. What response did I get, you ask? I got a rock, I got nothing, I got ignored. Because they long ago figured out that they can hurt me more by ignoring me. They figured that out when I was 7 years old and hid in a corn field all day and watched the house, waiting, waiting, waiting for someone, anyone to notice I was missing. You already figured it out, did you? No one noticed. I finally just went back because it was dark and I had nowhere else to go.

Well, I have somewhere else to go now, and I am never going back there. I am Kate, I am strong, I have people who love me, I have people who I love. Damn you all for ever making me feel worthless. You will never have the chance again.

An original poem

When I look in your eyes,
I see the edge of the horizon.
Is it true, what I see when I look at you?

You touch my heart, you make my skin burn,
Late at night, in the dark, my body yearns
for your look, for your touch.

Long ago, I believed, I hoped, I dreamed,
and I still wish on the first star I see,
that someone, somewhere would love me,
but I never dreamed of you.

Yet, here you are, the very first star,
illuminating and radiating beyond compare,
not really what I wished for, but so much more
and I know I’m not alone in this world of danger

If you could only know – know in your heart,
know in the corners of your soul,
I am here for you, and even if we part,
some far away day,
I am yours until the end of this play.

There are reasons, silver linings,
There are lessons, but I don’t care,
it’s darker than death out there.
You’re where I belong.
You’re everything right when I’m everything wrong.

All the wrongs, all the mistakes, all the hurt,
fades away from memory in your arms,
and who knew, who could have predicted,
blue eyes on green, ocean on ocean,
the world is safe.

Being Jane

After more years alone than even an agoraphobic could bear, Jane decided it was time to try yet again. It wasn’t so much that she had been alone, one could say, as just plain lonely, without true companionship or friendship. She grew up in a family that Charles Dickens himself could have conjured, or perhaps Stephen King himself. Then she married the first man who “loved” her. While this whiled away the years of her life, there was always a yearning for more – an inner child striving to get out – things that dreams are made of, even fairy tales. Fairy tales are such dangerous things.

The best parts of Jane’s heart, the best years of Jane’s life, were spent raising two perfect, yet exhausting, children. There was enormous satisfaction for this woman, this complex yet simple woman, in giving all that she had to these people who she had put on this planet. Pure joy was found in watching them grow, learn, explore, and discover who they were. What a privilege that was. But now … oh, now they have grown up, and Jane can no longer find any way to ignore the inner voices that urge her to find something that is just for her, that maybe she has finally earned that elusive thing she has dreamed of since she first read Cinderella – real love, a sense of real belonging.

My public awaits ... ha, ha, ha

I haven't been able to write anything because everything feels so personal, and I feel like I'm giving something of myself away, and lately I feel there's so little of myself that I keep to myself. Does anyone else feel that way? That every piece of you is being used by somebody else, to satisfy somebody's elses needs, wants, desires, vision of you, ideal of you. I didn't use the word "ideal" by accident. I didn't mean "idea". It's like we're all trying to live up to some ideal, some mystical, perfect being we're supposed to be, hide our flaws, cover them up, use concealer, white-out, whatever is available. I suppose that has become a theme for me throughout my life - throw out the bad pictures, or delete them in this digital age, so there's no true image of us.

Okay, here goes a little personal. I went to a wedding yesterday, saw my "family" ... sorry, just have to put that in quotes ... for the first time in years. To say my family was and is dysfunctional is like saying flax seed is good for you. It's an oxymoron, it's in fact a world where the lunatics are in charge of the asylum. It's "Let's all pretend" time. Let's all pretend we like each other, or let's not, let's all pretend we're leading perfect lives, happy all the time, and we had a normal, wonderful child. Case-in-point: One family member asked me when he had ever said anything unkind to me. At my father's funeral, when I asked for the return of the photographs that I had donated to the board of my father, his only response was to scream "F-*-*-k off" at me. So, what do I say when asked, "When was I ever mean to you?" I just smile some inane smile, while some dead look comes into my eyes, and say, "The past is the past".

The past is not the past. The past is our present, the future is our present, it all intertwines in our head, creating a dance that is our life, that represents our life. I mean, people go for aromatherapy of all things to induce good feelings. Are we so unaware of the fact that, when we enter a room, a situation, encounter people, etc., etc., that it evokes all the emotions that we have ever encountered with that person. I did the shutting down thing, I did it for a lot of years: Don't feel anything, don't let them see you sweat as the commercial says.

Sorry I get too stream-of-consciousness in this thing. I was trying to get to something. I started out the day yesterday sick, sick, sick. Well, actually probably hung over, hung over, hung over. Potato-potahto, tomato-tomahto :) Thought I wasn't even going to make it to the "family wedding", but being the resilient little rubber ball that I am, I pulled it together at the last minute. I put on my stunning little-black-dress, gorgeous earrings that my wondrous daughter lovingly made for me, a beautiful necklace that a friend made for me, ivory patent sling-backs, black eyeliner, and POW, I'm rocking it for a 50-year-old broad. All the while, there's a little part of me slipping back to my youth, my childhood even, telling me, "You're only worth as good as you look". Me, the me that is me now says back, "You only look good now because you finally understand that your worth is so much more than how you look". What an internal battle that is :) I'll keep fighting that battle. Yes, I enjoy looking good, but that cannot be, must not be what defines me.

At the ripe old age of nearly 51 (in a week) ... and OMG, OMG, OMG ... I don't want it anymore. I want a life that is true, that is real, that is reciprocal. Does it exist? I truly wish I knew.

Here's what I do know: I came from a place where I was the barracks target. (And, if you don't know what that means, look it up.) In the vernacular, I was messed up. In reality, I hated myself and the world I lived in and felt absolutely no connection to it. I fought for that connection to the world and an understanding/acceptance of my place, my right to exist, my right to be happy. It was a long and not unrewarding fight. The result has been two beautiful children, a good solid job/career, and being lucky enough to find true love at the beginning of the end of my life. I don't mean that to sound tragic or sappy. That's how I feel. It is a fact! Right now, right here, I enter the last third of my life, if I happen to be terrifically lucky. And I am terrifically lucky, I truly am.

So, now I go to join the wonderful G (my heart, my love) on his one day off, make us a fabulous meal, cuddle in his arms and feel more accepted and more loved than I thought was possible. The journey, the ride was so worth the destination. I love my life!