Yours, Theirs and My Reality -- Shall We?

You Folks Still Got Yer Eyes In?

I told you I'd be back.

I love learning, especially when it explains to me

something about me that I hope will help me make

things better in my life.  Like many of you, I hope

to be able to set a good example for a few of the

folks I know and love.  When I depart for higher

(hopefully) realms I'm hoping they'll be hoping . . .

(I'm possibly overusing hope in this sentence -- just

about done.  Whoa!  I'm going hog wild with it all

paragraph long!  It looks like I need to expand the

range of emotions I've got going here.)

It's really just too darned easy to interrupt myself,

distract myself!  What I wanted to say there was

that it is a very fond desire of mine that I leave

folks wanting more of me.  Did you pick up on that

I was talking about after I'm gone -- when they can't

have it?  I'm joking, although I don't doubt you may

have a hard time following me.  I know folks who've

gone on before who are still giving to me, and not

just in the legacy sense.  Right now, though, I am

mainly talking in the legacy sense.

Part of why I (more often than not) have seemingly

and progressively felt more and more a loser, a

failure, a deadbeat, a persona non grata whose

best place to be is isolated and hidden and feeling

shame, especially in recent years, lies in knowing

what I want and want to be that I don't have and

am not.

And so, for the briefest of moments I recognized my

state of being, rose to the level of civility that gave

me "push pull of reality" for my title here rather

than the very gross, very down to earth, frustrated

just about for sure literally out of my gourd terms

I'd been using when I could even talk about it (or

pray about it).

I believe I've been aware of the disparity of reality

in my mind and what I live with far longer than I

have realized how much disparity there can be with

others reality and mine.  It's a matter of focus and

it feels like forced focus at that.  It has often, way,

way, way often felt like a bully pressing my whole

head into a cow pie after disabling with a stun gun

any muscle mass that could be found in my limbs.

It may be highly unlikely that you might be able to

relate to my upcoming example even if you, too,

are bipolar/manic-depressive but it also might be

fun to try.  Once I'd gotten through my first set of

named as such bipolar episodes, I found I was

experiencing an almost unbelievable amount of

self-distrust.  This was, of course, twenty-five years

ago when at least my conscious awareness seemed

sunny, confident, "the world was my oyster", diaper

days with my sons were behind me, et al.  That's

a "fur piece" from the "dog days" and dark night

of the soul conscious awareness I've been talking

about more usually in this blog.

As I tried to get a grip on trusting myself again,

because always second guessing every tremor of

self-hood was not in the least bit fun, I realized I

had demonstrated to myself I was NOT who I was

when I was clinically depressed (not by any stretch

of the imagination) AND I was NOT who I learned I

could be (now that really was a little trip-py because

I had always been a serious prude, overly endowed

with conscience -"let's only do the right thing" type)

person.

A good lengthy manic high can cure a frightful

number of brownie points anywhere they ever

mattered.  So, perhaps you see my dilemma.  No

one with a vestige of common sense would choose

to opt to work out a new life with either of those

well-demonstrated selections.  And again, if the

common sense really was on the premises one

would have to admit to having no accountable

control over that anyway.  It's not like I have the

backbone to "act" either manic or depressed.  My

family has their own set of failings like we all do,

but nary a member is that easily fooled.

Besides, the story I ran in my head, having behaved

as I had in the one state or the other kept me in

shame at least five years.  I let no one in on my

"secret" and I've already admitted to you my 100%

propensity toward men emotionally unavailable.

My life had become a tangle of confusion, shame

and trying, always trying to figure it out with no one

to really talk to.  I'm sure I needn't say to you that

I am someone who likes to talk -- and talk.  And, I

bet you can already guess I was way off the charts

with regards to matching anyone's reality.  That

can become an even greater problem when no one

can tell the turmoil from the outside.

Now, let me share an example of two people having

realities unmatched more like your experiences.

I shared a post some time ago where I had walked

a couple of hours after "blowing up" at one of the

female roommates, and still felt like I could not be

civil, let alone apologize.

My son has a rationale whereby he never turns on

the heater in his house.  You might feel the same

after the raping, pillaging and burning of the utility

company combined with often 100 or so days of

temperatures, all over 100 degrees, much of the

time the majority being over 110, even up to 120.

It was impossible to not notice everyone had a

hacking cough both day and night.  Lest you come

to the conclusion, I'm a die hard old school thinker

of not going out in the rain, cold creates colds, well

think what you will.  I am aware a lot of that is

considered myth today -- fine by me.  But I have

built and slept in an ice cave in my day (OK, fair

enough, yes, we're talking salad days era).  Even

with my frigid experiences  -- my long hair was like

multiple ice cycles, long after getting back to my

dorm room --  acting as foundation, I am damned

cold at night.  Not that I want the noisy maxi-digit

money drainer on myself.   I, too, think the utility

company would eat all our children if allowed to.

I kid you not I slept with flannel sheets, at least

six blankets fit for igloo sleeping and a pet bed

a St. Bernard could fit on at the bottom of the bed

hoping my toes and feet would never feel a draft.

And, I was still, like I said, damned cold at night.

The next morning when She's little one and two

year old girls appeared (unaccompanied) in the

family room buck naked save a diaper for one and

panties for the other, bare feet!, I had meself a

little hiss-y fit.  Several days later (so honorable

am I) when I finally apologized she said her girls

are warm blooded and like to go without clothes.

What's real for me just may not be real for someone

else, and by gummy, what's real for you just may

not be real for me.  Truce?  I'll try if you will.  In fact,

I'm trying anyway.  I've got to, for me.

Peace?