Music / Real life

your memory that punches me…

i noticed it before but this weekend i stared at it for quite some time, perched as it was atop the shelving unit. i snapped this picture of it and altered the color a bit. It’s a unique bit of decor… this round face-rimmed pot (or is it a vase or a bowl… who knows… matters not). When i looked at it this weekend, it reminded me of my father… well, of his parts… not exactly personalities… but his multitudes. i thought of the possessed man in the bible who contained legions of demons.

IMAG1659

i felt no pity and i felt no pain but rather i marveled at it and at my father in a way that was oddly detached. This surprised me because it was a rough weekend on the dad-front. Email arrived that was sent under one guise but slipped in news with it that was hurtful. It brought with it an emotional tidal wave that blindsided me. It brought with it a realization of something so sick and foreign to me that it shook my foundations for a few minutes.

i realized in that moment how sick he was… how sick i might become. It frightened me. i cried, i gave the horrific thoughts voice to the person who happened to be standing in front of me – my mother – and she said “oh [insert my name here], no…no…” and the way she said it? i felt dirty and shameful… i realized i was going to have to parent myself. i talked myself through it… “manual mode” as bd says. i messaged Master (out of town) to let Him know i’d been thrown for a loop.

i’ll talk to the therapist about it but i’m not crazy.

i

am

not

crazy.

All logic is against that… everything i know about the intersection of nature and nurture tells me i ought to be insane but i am not.

Nothing earth-shattering to report here but that:

His legions are his – not mine.

X-Amount of Words by Blue October

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