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- 11/08/2012
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2012 - Winter - Desperate Ends Entry
Desperate....A Blog.... - 1. Chapter 1
Desperate…. A Blog….
I don’t know if this is desperation or jealousy.
I read a blog on a writing site. Nothing much, you might say. But it moved me, and triggered thoughts I never imagined would ever enter my head. The writer wrote about her father’s demise, his last words, what they meant to her then, and, how she remembers them now.
Looking back on my own past, I can’t remember one meaningful word my mother said to me. All I remember is the pain, abuse and neglect. Yeah, you’ve heard it all before. This isn’t about woe-is-me, it’s about trying to recall something she said that had any meaning to carry forward in my life.
One should learn lessons on the path to growing up. To becoming a man.
I was aided to read and write; lessons right? I taught myself to cook and through trial and error burnt the food or undercooked the meals. I suffered burnt hands and fingers too. Lessons.
Animals? They were easy. They required food, clean water, a change of bedding every day, and the odd check-up. Learning the different breeds of pigs and sheep, now that was harder, but I was a sponge for knowledge. It all comes back to lessons.
I developed daily rituals and habits to get me through each day. I have retained many of these. Some have changed. Some have disappeared completely.
Well, who would believe it? I’ve just thought of something good my mother passed on to me. She gave me financial security, but only after she had departed. Before that, I wore rags. Hand-me-downs. Always told every penny counted. I believed we were as poor as the proverbial church mouse. In fact, we were comfortable. After she’d gone, I had to attend to everything financial and official. I didn’t have a clue how to deal with it. That’s where the bank played an important part. A business account. An accountant. All he wanted from me was what money came in and what money went out. Shoving the whole lot in an envelope each month, now that was easy.
Two years have passed since she died. I don’t miss her at all. I have learned who my father is, and what a shocker that was. For a few months I experienced denial. Denied his existence. It couldn’t be, not him? But it was and is.
I have made changes. I don’t keep confounded sheep anymore, and they really are brainless creatures. I loved pigs, and still do. Intelligent. Super friendly, pigs. If treated right.
I’m now twenty years old, and I need a fresh start.
A new life away from here. Away from the ghosts that reside here. I still hear her in the night. I even feel her at times. The cold, icy breaths wrap around me, chill me to the core.
I love my job. I love my farm. It’s the house that is evil. Her memory is the very concrete holding the bricks together. She lives in these four walls. Do I stay and rebuild a house that is mine? Do I move away, start again? I sit for hours contemplating these questions. I search the World Wide Web, for possibilities. I know what the bank is offering for this place. Their valuation is well under its market value.
The requirements are much the same. The place must be remote, with land and a wood. Maybe the potential to still be self-sufficient? I want nothing new, or contemporary. Nothing with neighbours, or beside a road. I can’t live near people. What I have never known can’t be forgotten. Undone. Tossed aside.
If I can afford it, I want what I have now. Solitude. Remoteness. No sight or sound of noisy humans with cars. People who do not have the time nor do they care about the needs of their neighbours.
I don’t want to know the hustle and bustle other people call life. I’ve never known it; it’s as alien to me, as my life is to theirs.
I cannot finish writing this without telling of the love of my life. Someone who has taught me that other humans are good. His parents welcome me as another son; to his sister I’m another bro.
Every spare second of every single day we are together.
We watch TV or play games. Sometimes we plan our whole life together. We make love until breathless and content. But it’s via the World Wide Web.
Is this a self-made prison? Will I ever get out of here? Those are desperate questions I ask myself every day. I have a shrink now, and you can almost hear the eggshells crunch underfoot as he tries to step between them, treating me as if I’m made of glass. I got this far, didn’t I? How the hell did I do that?
I got on with it. Coped. Managed. Learned through lessons. I live one day at a time. It’s all I can do.
I’m a risk to myself, they say. Ha! Like I don’t know that already? Yes, I’m in love and blissfully happy when I am with him. When we are apart, that black, evil filled cloud creeps up and hovers above my head. Darkens my mood. The twinkle in my eyes dies. I search in desperation for something to stop the voices, the whispers telling me I’m evil. A sin. No one will ever love me. I will not deny my love’s existence as something I’ve made up in my head. I don’t speak of this to my love, he’s not to blame, and it isn’t his fault. Why should he suffer the same evil force I do?
I can fight it. Well, eventually I can.
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
2012 - Winter - Desperate Ends Entry
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