My Past: “Hmmmm” Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: 12 Step Boogie

I don’t remember exactly where I attended kindergarten, but I do remember learning to count to 10 in Spanish (can still rip ‘em off today!)

I remember getting glasses….Corrective lenses they called them…hmmp…looked like “four eyes” to me.

Now I’m wearing them to write this….

I remember stealing kisses under a table in second grade (Sherry Parrot) Grrrrrrr….good shuga’!

I remember being in Georgia to the middle of the fourth grade, then some place called West Virginia; riding really fast on my Uncle Butchs motorcycle (A Honda…754 Special)

Uncle Butch is Cool….

I remember peeking at Mom and Dad through their window while they were doing the big nasty.

Sorry about the picture that just popped into your head…..

I got the Birds and Bees talk that day, too.

It didn’t look like Birds and Bees to me…looked more like…fish on a beach.

Then we went back to Georgia and the 5th grade with Mrs. Salter. …..

She’s the teacher who told my mom that I had an audio-sensory deprivation.

What?! …How long does he have!!

This is also about the time that my abuse at the hands of the neighbor boy Ricky Moore started…

More on that later…maybe.

I can’t remember too much about it though; no greasy parts at least, thank God.

I guess I’m still working that part out in my head…or my head is protecting me from something I don’t need to know.

Better off dead….

Quit poking that snake….

We stayed in Middle Georgia until the 7^th grade was over; ending up in SW Georgia (Blakely) for the 8th -11th grade.

Then on to Fritch, Texas!

I will have a whole other post on Fritch, Texas later…

But….. I, intentionally and without you suspecting in the least, digress…

“Watch my right hand….”

I remember in the fourth grade of being beaten to the point of blood by my Dad for drawing a picture of a naked lady.

Evidently, I was a very graphic artist at the ripe old age of 9 years.

I charged the kid a quarter….

I was complicit in my first act of porn.

Afterwards, I was made to soak in a tub with Epsom salt…also a courtesy of dear old Dad.

Why are the terrible times easier to recall?

Because I was young or it was more traumatic, or both, or a combination of everything?

Their Dad was different from mine…but the same guy. Know what I mean?

The affect of a parents actions truly last a lifetime don’t they?

But hey, they’re people too.

Can’t beat them up forever, can we?

It’s up to me to try and fix it in my own head and heart, I reckon….

With a spoonful of God and a dash of understanding.

But with absolutely no freaking normalcy or anything akin to it or to draw experience from, how does one go about it…the understanding and forgiveness part, I mean?

By watching others….yeah, right….oak kee doe kee!?

Does the phrase”Screwed from the get go” seem appropriate?

Man I wanna lash out sometimes!

“I coulda been a contenduh!”

It is very…very difficult to change ones behavior when the pool of knowledge they have drawn from is…. tainted… poisoned even.

People don’t and can’t truly understand your individual plights and trials…

They can only judge through their own experiences, their own INDIVIDUAL experiences! …

They can’t understand your life…there’s no way for them to!

They can have a general idea, or what we’ll call a “generic” idea.

The same problem but ….not.

Good for them says I, if they can handle their own poop!

Honestly…!

I was schooled in manners and the like, for appearances sake.

It was expected that all young southern boys AND girls to have manners.

Yeah, maybe the basics you know…control tactics to show what great parents they were… “Yes ma’am” “No sir”

What BS…..

I got so tired of hearing, “They’re so well mannered”.

How about freaking terrified not to do it?!

Well, this is what my blog is all about.

Self enlightenment…putting it out there where I can see it more clearly; blow the dust off, bring it into the light.

Wanting to find out why I am or was so screwed up….

It’s all about me (did that come across right?)

 

For a very long time I believed that I was a defective unit; or what I “deem” as defective.

I am terribly critical of myself….

“Low esteem side effect, ha ha ha!” says the narcissistic blogger guy.

Hmmm; is it even possible for a narcissist to have low self esteem?

Hopefully this will help or aid, or just try and explain to my kid and others I have hurt, what made me …me.

Why I dood the things I dun…

I want to be like “normal” people.

Beaver Cleaver and all that crap!

I wanted to CARE if things go bad… to CARE if I fail…to CARE if I hurt people’s feelings.

To know, WHY!!?

I want these efforts to help set me on the right path. I want to remove the regrets in my life… to better understand myself…to be the man I always hoped to be… you know, like everyone else…

Not be me.

I want to be free of regret.

I want to find places in my heart to forgive myself and others.

 

I will and have never lied on this blog…

I will not hide my faults…………….unless it is purely for artistic reasons. I SWEAR!!!!

I am 50 years old now, and I am tired…so tired of dealing with demons.

“I must try and be humble in my life!” cries the narcissistic blogger guy.

My belief structure is wider than it’s ever been and it is actually evolving.,,,which is a good thing, right?

I have no fear in the task I have set for myself; only…..trepidation?

I am only a man, dang it!

I am only me, dang it!

I can only do the best I can, and it sucks that I went and raised the damn bar….

Now, somehow; I’ve gotta do the impossible…..

“Yep, make me better than ever!” says the hopeful narcissistic blogger guy.