Pacing

"I understand now why people drink.  It's makes everything go away."

I said that one night well past my bedtime, fully aware that my alarm clock was set for 4:30 am for work the next day.  Shawn and I hadn't been in business for even a month.  Technically it wasn't a business yet; we were still setting up equipment.  It was nothing--and I mean nothing--but problems from the very beginning.  We were putting in hours at our jobs and even more hours at the shop.

Shawn was showing a side of himself that very few people have seen.  If something went wrong, then something bigger went wrong, and then something that should be easy went horribly wrong, he would snap and take it out on me in a terribly mean way.

At least he was always only verbal.  Unless you count the time he slammed a drill to the concrete floor while screaming and cussing that it was my fault for buying the wrong size bolt.  But it's not just him.  I once threw a remote control, sending pieces of plastic and batteries flying in all directions.  He'd badgered me to come to a charity benefit that he'd provided for.  I was dripping snot, oozing of a cold and had been running all over town that morning in the cold rain for something he needed.  I did not feel like going, nor that my presence was absolutely necessary.  And I felt like he cared more about an appearance than how I felt.  He became very angry with me, making snide remarks and saying that I didn't care.  So I threw the remote control.

When he worked for Kenny, he would come home, furious every single day.  He'd stomp around, pace with the heavy step of a work boot, cuss and shout.  I thought maybe once he got away from that job, he'd be a little better, a little happier.  Or at least a little less angry all the time.  It's very difficult to live with a person that's angry, no--furious for 98% of the time that they're awake.

But instead he became so much worse.  He now calls me in the middle of the day to bitch about what's going wrong.  Almost every day.  He tells me again when he comes home, and again after supper.  Then he loudly tells the same story to someone on the phone.  He still stomps around, throws fits and cusses and shouts, only with more gusto. 

I used to be afraid of alcohol to a degree.  I have Irish and alcoholism on either side of my parents so a child born out of this, logically should stay away from booze or settle or tiny sips from time to time.  Sometime around the middle of the day, I look forward to bedtime.  At least at bedtime, I can enjoy a half hour to an hour of pure numbness.  I can watch something on TV and actually enjoy it.  I can laugh at my dogs.  I am careful to not get so drunk that I couldn't save myself (or my critters, for that matter) in a fire, I just get a little....numb.

It surprised even me that I could become so good at hiding my emotions.  For someone who goes around with a thin filter and telling it like it is, I really have become quite good at waiting till I take a shower to let it out.  It's not like I'm holding back, striving to get into the privacy of the bathroom.  Sometimes I want to cry and bawl & scream but nothing happens.  Sometimes I think I'm OK, but once in the seclusion of a private room with background noise I fall apart and fall to the floor in a heap of tears.

Every once in a long while I get the chance to escape from everything, truly escape and not into booze.  It's not a Carribean vacation, of course, simply a small distraction.  I cooked for my mother-in-law for her birthday & she and I must have talked for an hour.  For that entire hour I had forgotten about my job, my other job, my lack of money, my surplus of worry, my anxiety, my anger and my sadness.  For that hour, I was not numb but engaged.

Oh, good.  Look at the clock.  It'll be getting close to bedtime soon again and I can once again can slip into my drug induced forgetfulness.
And make it all go away.

The Proverbial Let 'Em Have It

You can't walk up to a junkie and say, "Stop being a loser."  It won't do any good.  As much as I want to, I can't do that.  I'm not a trouble maker, I'm no shit starter.
At least, that's what I tell myself.
No matter what others' opinions may be.

It's not like this person grew up in the ghetto or anything.  This person had a nice home, a good family--the kind you read about in books.  It's hard to watch this person destroy everything around them, including their neglected family.  It's hard to watch an actual train wreck.  You know there's nothing you can do.  How does one person stop a full sized train?

And the funny thing is, you know this train is grounded, was well built, and is riding along on a secure track.  Somewhere along the way, the wheels must have hit a rock and somehow gotten off track.  It shakes and rattles, shaking and rattling all its passengers along the way.

I want to take the train by the throat and shake it!  See what you are doing to yourself and everyone who loves you.  They don't even love you as much as they once did because of what you have done!  Take care of your passengers and your own self before you lose everything you hold dear!  But you no longer care about everything you once held dear.  You are so far gone, you've forgotten your very role in life.

If only it were so easy to be a train.  A crew could come along and clean up this horrible mess, take it away, never to be seen again.

I was seething on the way to work.  I'd finally allowed myself to reflect on it all after repressing it for many days.  My hands shook as I gripped the steering wheel and my foot pressed harder into the acceleration pedal.  Once again, as I always do, I went over and over and over and over and over in my head what I could say and do.  I did what I always do:  I stewed.

What would Jesus do?
I have not the foggiest clue.  I could ask Him, but I never hear anything back.  Years ago, I could not imagine this happening to someone so close to me, someone I love so much, yet dislike so much as well.

What would Jesus do, indeed.
If I allow myself to think on it, I suppose He would be loving, forgiving, always praying.

That's not in my nature, I don't think.  My first, natural reaction is to become very angry.  And as to not upset those around me, to not break others' hearts, I keep my mouth shut.  After all, if talking was going help this person, it wouldn't be necessary to do so now, today.

God gets angry.  It's an emotion He put in us.  We are made in His image.  I suppose God is more capable of controlling His anger than I am.  On the other hand, He does intend to destroy the entire planet at some point, one sinner at a time.

I don't understand why I know all these things.  What am I supposed to do with all of this hurtful information?  I worry, I get angry, I feel frustrated.

I feel that is all I can do because I do not have the power to save this person.  I put it out of my mind and go one with life.  I pray this person will lose everything because maybe that will make them see, open their eyes, and finally, FINALLY hit a true Rock Bottom.

It will either make or break this person.  I worry about this person breaking.  But if it would make this person, how sweet it could be for everyone involved.

Of course my negative nature fears it would break them and everyone around them, including me and all those I hold close.

Jesus.  What should I do?

The Best Things In Life Are Free

About once a month I buy a Quick Pick for the big lottery draw.  The next day, I am not shocked that I haven't won 11 million dollars, and yet stupidly, seriously disappointed.  I know money cannot buy happiness.  I mean, look at Paris Hilton, born into gobs of money and she looks very unhappy.  You never see the poor thing smile, ever.  I am very aware, however of the fact that money like that could buy me out of the things that make me unhappy.  Job, bills, money concerns.  And that's enough to keep me buying my once monthly lotto ticket.