Realization

Thought about this last night.

Popped right into my head…

Never mind all of the stuff that’s already in my head; there’s always room for more crazy.

There’s always room for more crazy; like Jell-o or ice cream.

I love Jell-o. Crazy, not so much.

At least I call it crazy.

It could be normal, or crazy.

Isn’t the human mind amazing with all the stuff it can do?

All of the information it can process or forget?

All of the useful things….or Facebook…..Snapchat….Twitter…..

Sometimes I sit there going “C’mon THINK!”

Most times I’m like “I wish my freaking brain would just stop!”

Ok, I’m getting off track from my original thoughts that are the basis for todays blog.

Here’s what popped into my brain @ 0215….

I will die not knowing everything.

If I sat here, or if you sat where you’re at, run a diagnostic on your brains hard drive and create a pie chart of how your brain utilizes or categorizes info.

It is sadly amazing how much I don’t know.

Hmmm….I actually have no idea how much I don’t know.

Although, it seems like the older I get the more “Eureka” moments I have concerning trivial stuff.

“Why have I just figured this out?”

I’m an idiot, I swear.

Like these little “life hacks” or “kitchen hacks” I see on Facebook that leave me slack jawed in utter amazement, wallowing in self loathing, awash in shame.

How do people figure this crap out!?

I know nothing about rocket science.

I know nothing about why I’m scared of the dark.

I know nothing except what I have heard, seen, tasted, felt, smelled or been told by others.

Problem is, the senses…..I can pretty much count on being truthful

“Fire HOT!”

“Woman crazy!”

The basic knowledges…..

Learning stuff from people, I’d say less than 50% accurate.

If they taught me things that doesn’t include their opinions or bias’, the percentage would go up exponentially, I believe.

We know enough to get thru life. Simple Simon….

Here’s a thought; We get old enough to make babies, then get older to teach babies until they get old enough to make their own babies. That’s it.

At a certain point, what purpose do we serve?

As we get older, our bodies and minds start to wind down; this we know.

OMG, I’m never gonna know everything, am I?

How cruel it is to create something, give it a brain that is capable of magic and put a limit on what it can do or learn?

There has to be a reason….

There has to be some kind of reason that we can’t know everything.

I wonder what the world was like when there was no highways, cities, power lines, cars, planes….stuff like that?

All we were concerned about was survival. that’s all we HAD to know.

Hunter, gatherers.

From my viewpoint, it was probably terrifying back then.

But, if we think about it; it may have been much much more quiet in our heads.

I mean, what do you think is in your head right now that has to do with your actual survival compared to back then?

Now, how much isn’t there?

Next time you’re standing in a Walmart or a grocery store, think about digging up a root for dinner or making a cloth out of an animals skin.

Think about discovering how to make fire; on purpose.

Think about discovering how to make a bow & arrow, just the fact that WHY you NEED a bow & arrow in the first place.

What in our brains, is necessary?

If we had the ability to clean the junk files or cookies from our brains, how much disk space would we get back and how much faster could we process info?

I know people have drawn these comparisons before but, it popped into my head this morning and I felt like blogging it out loud.

I’m sad that I won’t know everything before I die.

At least I know that much….

But, I know more today than I did yesterday.

But…..how much info am I losing compared to my gains?

Crap…

I’m gonna stop talking now.

I’m a crazy person. Ignore me.

Day 2 In Yuma

The title to this days blog kinda sounds like a western novel or movie or something, don’t it?

Uh oh, wayward tangent alert!

Here’s some more “titles” (while I’m increasing my caffeine levels) Yes, I know…I’m a terrible Mormon.

“The Watch” A fast paced movie about minute to minute time travel.

“Coffee Man” A novel about love and survival

“Loading….” A sci-fi mystery about patience and murder.

“Potty Break” Action “packed” cinematic dynamite, edge of your “seat”, “explosive” thriller about letting go…

Ok, I’m gonna stop now, I can see where this is going.

Speaking of potty break…..

BRB

Ok, I’m back. The Potty Break movie had a weak “ending”…..no real substance.

Ok Ok, I’ll stop!

What has gotten in to me so early this Tuesday morning!?

It IS Tuesday, right?

I don’t know what day it is. My phone is off….and I don’t know how to find it on my baby iPad.

Ok, I just figured out that my gps knows what day it is.

It’s Monday Jr?

WTH?!

That can’t be right.

Wayward tangent alert, again….

I just realized that I’ll probably never hold a leadership position in my church because I “may” have used inappropriate language in MANY of my previous blogs.

I kinda cuss when I’m being all emotional and creative….

In my defense, and y’all know this just as much, if not more than me…

Sometimes a dirty word is the only word that can work in certain instances. It takes one to get the EXACT point across: to match the flow of our literary intent….

Or, we (I) couldn’t think of a better word.

In my defense, I only have 33 credit hrs of college. In Texas….

Lets go with the creative juices thing….

Yeah, I’m a Cro-Magnon.

Sometimes I say bad words, think bad things, contemplate mass murder…or is it spree murder?

Hey, you try being a truck driver that goes all over this country, thru tiny towns and big cities and tell me that you don’t feel like running someone off the road!

Good thing is that I can keep fantasy, fantasy. Realistically, speaking….

It’s much more cool in my head; the fantasy part.

I could never kill in real life with the same satisfaction or special effects that I do in my head.

In fantasy dream mode (ok, pretend you’re seeing that daydream thing like they do on tv, with the wavy screen)

Ok, in dream mode, when I kill someone on the interstate (99% of the time its a 4 wheeler; car) there’s lots of screaming, rubber squealing and smoke, metal screeching & crunching, glass shattering and the smell of poop. Oh, and there’s always lots of fire & smoke, blood, guts, people flying thru windshields, the satisfying crunch as my 18 wheeler smashes thru their wrecking cars and over their pavement strewn bodies…..

*shudder in ecstasy*

It puts the lotion on it’s skin….

Thank the holy moly, but in real life, the whole “You’ll not do well in prison” filter keeps me sane.

Plus, I’d probably feel bad later.

Hold up, let me tell Jesus I’m sorry for murder in my heart.

This is my Granny’s fault; all this caring about people and crap.

Social norms…..Not killing fools.

EMPATHY for heck sakes.

Crazy old lady.

She’s the one that took me to church, taught me about Jesus, God and the Holy Ghost!

More importantly, the whole burning in hell thing if I run over people on the interstate, or undress pretty women in my head.

I’d marry them! Don’t be so quick to judge!

I’m a softie but HEY! At least I’m not a sociopath or psychopath , huh?!

That’s good news on this early Monday Jr!

Ok, I gotta go pick up some vegetables and start rolling towards F’n Jersey.

Y’all have an excellent Monday Jr.

TTYT

Today, Yuma

It is nice this morning.

Even though I’m sitting in a truck stop in Yuma, Az and typing this on my iPad mini 4 that never fails to remind me that I have fat fingers.

I……however, do NOT have fat finger

They’re merely clumsy.

I hate being on a diet.

Just wanted to get that out there.

I like gluttony.

It’s my right as an American.

I can have as much Diabetes as I want.

Cool part is, I can personalize it to fit my needs.

Besides, I like taking medicine everyday, twice a day, 7 days a week.

Well, at least I don’t smoke or drink anymore.

No, I’m serious. I don’t.

I’m gonna admit something to y’all….

Ive kinda disregarded , nay, I have ignored my blog this past year.

I was…..distracted.

Sometimes life gets in the way of living.

So, Ive decided to make changes in my approach to said blog to help keep me stay interested and involved.

“Note to self: Read. Other. Blogs” Quid pro quo.

I want to talk about my being a Mormon.

I do not qualify as your typical, per say, cookie-cutter Mormon.

I am a convert to the church. Nigh on 34 years this August.

I am a terrible example of a Mormon.

I am a terrible representative for the church.

I believe I’m a dormant alcoholic.

I’ve taken drugs (years ago) but never had to steal, rob or murder to get them.

Although, I was big with the pawn shops….

I smoked.

Stupidest, freaking 5 years of my life.

I’m divorced 3 times, married now. (To a non-Mormon who is also the daughter of a southern Pentecostal minister)

But nowadays herebout, I try to be a good Mormon and that’s what counts in the long run, I reckon.

Endure to the end. (Fave Mormon quote)

I’m not gonna go thru a lot of theology and crap like that.

And I’m not gonna preach and I’m not gonna try and convert anyone.

I will be the Mormon that answers your questions about what it’s really like in our “cult”

Of course, I can’t tell you everything because I don’t know everything.

I know just enough to get beat up by a mob.

I was worthy enough to know at one time but “All men have fallen short…” and all that mess.

You understand, don’t you?

I keep screwing up.

So, if you wanna know something that I might know, just ask. I’ll be honest.

But, don’t be hateful or rude.

I’m very much a cry baby and my feelings get hurt easily.

Maybe, I’m just getting old.

Ok…TTYL

New Muse: Learning To Starve and Like It

Day 2 of intermittent fasting; con’t:

Not too bad, so far.
Yesterday, I thought I was gonna die before 1pm came around but, it wasn’t so much that I was hungry or that my tummy was growling. 

It was mostly that I just wanted to eat something. 

Anything….Babies… Puppies…wood

See what I’m saying? It was the act of chewing that I craved, I guess.

Well, I ate my 1st initial meal yesterday. 

It was kinda big, but not too.

I was figuring that I only had 7 hrs of eating to prepare for 16 hrs of nothing so, eat until I popped. 

FEED ME, SEYMOUR! 

I was wrong.

I tried to eat a couple of Baloney sammitchs’ 2 hrs later, and could only get one down. And it was like rubber. I chewed and chewed until I had to force swallow.

This is a real thing…

Like a cow…with cud. 

I wasn’t hungry, yet. 

I thought “Oh crap, I’m gonna starve before tomorrow’s eat time” 

But, I soldiered on and swigged a fruit cup for desert. No chewing involved.  

And that’s it, until now, 0808 CST and I’m doing OK.

No hunger pangs. 

I’m a terrible terrible fat American. 

I’ve only had my cup of Java so far. Like I said yesterday, I know Mormons aren’t supposed to drink coffee but in my defense, coffee keeps this trucker from going ape s**T and running 4 wheelers off the road. 

It’s a coping tool 😬

I did notice something else yesterday though, just as the last 30 minutes before eat time began.  I started getting that low blood sugar feeling.

 You know, swirly brain, tingly fingers, slight touch of vertigo…overall, just weird.
So, as I learn, I guess I’ll start my eat time an hour earlier, say noon to 7pm to avoid going into an embarrassing coma or shock. 

Here’s a thought…

I wonder if I had beef jerky to chew on, if that’s cheating or would invalidate my efforts. Not swallow the jerky, just the juice? 

What think ye?

Only 4 more hrs to go. 

Just don’t think about it Trey. It’s OK not to eat all of the time. 

It wouldn’t be as tough if I smoked…but,thats one Mormon rule I do adhere to. 

I’m such a munch mouth though! 
I have a feeling this is gonna save me money on groceries…or future gastric surgery.😷✂️💊⚰️

On to day 3! 

Consistently Loopy

Wow….

I’m telling you what….

If you don’t post everyday or drop a line or opinion everyday, your WordPress fans go away. Not that I had any really but, dang, I have to work for a living and do other important grown up stuff.

I wish I could write everyday…….or come up with something interesting, provocative or controversial or entertaining at a moments notice for my “audiences” viewing pleasure but, I’m only a hack writer and somewhat of a weirdo and have absolutely no talent or unbroken attention span.wp-1460852779979.jpg

IMHO….

I like making stuff up or exaggerating about a life event; mine or someone else’s?

Ok, I lie.

I don’t really like writing or giving an opinion on politics; especially not in today’s world , nor in this current partisan mood.

Twitter will KILL me!

It seems like the older I get the more I am concerned with the world around me and the future of my species.

Does it you?

Why should I worry about that, anyhow?

Is it because I have kids and grandkids?/

Is it because I want them to have a peaceful and fruitful life and a beautiful world? /

Of course, I do.

I’m not a freaking monster.

Would I worry about the world after I’m dead if I had, had no progeny?

I’d like to think I would but, unfortunately I am anti-social with borderline personality disorder and am completely self absorbed, so….fuck’em.

wp-1460853381672.jpgThe same thing goes for my opinion on religion/s.

I am what you would call….non-commital.

I believe that organized religion is corrupt in God’s eyes.

I believe that God still talks to man but no one knows it.

I believe that Jesus was the literal son of God, just as we all are.

I believe that there have been many men and women that have been “touched” by the finger of God and have taught many many essential truths.

Sorry, my train of thought just derailed….

I am becoming more jaded, the older I get.

The more I put my opinions or thoughts down on the screen and reread them, I ponder my words and come to the startling summation that I am either crazier than hell, a grumpy old man or a normal Joe Schmoe…..

That’s probably the scariest thought….am I actually normal?

No, that’s crazy, I know I’m batshit.

I have to be. I can’t be normal!

That would ruin my whole deal if I was normal!

I’ve been under the self diagnosed assumption that I am crazy, off kilter, a dysfunctional unit, a piñata that’s full of shit.wpid-image-29776397883-picsay.png

If I’m normal, I am going to be very disappointed in God when I see him.

If he tells me that I was the only normal man on earth, after everything single mean thought I’ve ever had, shoplifted piece of candy, cruel or biased judgmental observation, every dirty sex thought(I’m a freaking pervert, I swear) or any bad thing that has flashed thru my drug and or alcohol addled mind at the moment, I’ll kill myself…again.

Right there, in front of God, I will blow my freaking brains out.

I can’t be normal, I just can’t!

All of the excuses I’ve ever had won’t be worth a shit!

Ok, that train of thought complete, let’s continue: shall we?

I know I’m crazy.

I’ve read up on it!

I fit like 4 different patterns of mental illness!wpid-wp-1435676014160.jpeg

I don’t like talking about politics because I hate hypocrisy and everyone else’s opinion is bullshit.

Same goes for religion….

I am what I am.

I am spiritual.

I am bi-partisan.

I love my country but believe national borders are wrong.

I also believe there are evil people and that hard, unpopular decisions must be made to protect the innocent and meek among us; to protect freedom of will, choice and worship.

I believe that our way of life hangs in the balance, as it has for generations upon generations.

I believe that we are not alone in this universe.

It’s illogical….and arrogant

The place is just too big, and its still growing.

Change does that.

Evolution does that.wpid-fb_img_1426357030484.jpg

Innovation, prosperity, war and famine….does that.

We used to throw rocks at the moon and some people on this earth still make huts out of cow shit so, there….

How’s that high horse riding, now?

Our planet, to the best of our limited knowledge based on rules, guidelines and words created by fallible men, is said to be 4 billion years old.

Oh, words are hissing noises or guttural noises and we have spelling bees….

This world does not need us, we need it.

I know that I am nothing.

I know that I am everything.

I know that I am a miracle of evolutionary progress and I used to pee in my pants.

I know that change never ends.

images (2)There will be others after us…

Just imagine.

I believe that it is the doom of man that we forget

…….and I can’t remember shit.

Thx for wasting time with me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, Well….

My stats suck.

I guess I’m not doing it for the fame, though.

I started my blog as a therapy tool and it’s fun when people take the time to visit or comment.

But, it seems like here recently, most of my visitors are web-bots and scammers….

I know I’ve been writing about religion a lot lately but, I can’t help it. I’ll be 52 this year and I’m feeling my mortality and my morality.

I’m sure it’s a stage everyone goes thru; I’m just glad it doesn’t involve hot flashes.

I’m just glad I get visitors when I do and I appreciate y’all spending whatever time you can with my little blog.

Thx, Trey

p.s #ReblogsRock

It Goes Bump

Where does inspiration come from?

It comes from recent rain and rainbows, music from your past, a babbling brook that loves to download (2)gossip, fresh cut grass that makes your tennis shoes green, or a beautiful woman that takes your breath away.

It can come from babies laughing, a word on a roadside sign, the way a person treats another or it can come from a sudden flash of understanding and perspective about something you weren’t even thinking about in just that moment; as a matter of fact you haven’t thought about it in sometime then…”BOOM” there it is….

Then, there’s the other place that inspiration comes from….

It can come from the dark, when your eyes are closed and your mind is supposed to be at rest.

It can come to you in the night; where things go “bump”

When it comes, it is the type of nightmare that nightmares hope they never have….

It’s real….

I would not categorize what happened to me last night, whilst in my heavenly repose, as a nightmare.

I did not twitch, jerk, wet my bed, sweat or wake up screaming tangled in twisted blankets and all of my pillows on the floor.

I woke up quietly.wpid-wp-1417908021574.jpeg

My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.

They didn’t open the way eyes normally do.

They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.

“Am I back?”

Not “awake”….”Am I back?”

I remember whispering that this morning after I laid there for a while, in the dimming light, only a small, gray sliver of light from the window to stare at.

That’s what struck me a little later.

I had gotten up slowly, musing on how real the “episode” had seemed and how much of it I remembered.

It wasn’t like your typical dream, or mine usually; running thru our fingers like water or sand as Dickinson would say.

This one was sticking….

I dressed slowly, I got up slowly, I moved slowly….

I was exhausted from a burden that I carried in my heart and mind.

As I walked up the echoing sidewalk toward the office under a cloudy, morning sky, I stopped.

Why did I whisper “Am I back” and not “Am I awake”?

Did I actually go somewhere else?

Did that mysterious part of my brain know something that I didn’t?wpid-20150109_062042-picsay.jpg

How else could I return from the undiscovered country of my mind unless it has known how to get there and back in the first place, like it’s been there before, as if though it were a real place.

One thing was for sure…

I don’t wanna go back there.

It is a dark place where you go to scratch at old wounds and make them bleed.

It is a place where you cannot cry, only watch.

It is a place where you only talk to yourself.

But, in Gods infinite goodness, there was no running or screaming in this “place”, nothing chasing me, nothing breathing in the dark…..

The only monster there, is me.

This is the place we go to, to re-visit mistakes and regrets as a restrained and gagged bystander, as a silent witness to your own stupidity and ignorance.

It is the place where you re-live your past and there is NOTHING THAT YOU CAN DO TO CHANGE ANY OF IT.

The only power you have is to toss your head in your sleep and moan “no….”   “No….”

You don’t gasp “wake up” because you don’t remember that you’re asleep; you know…I know, that this is as real as it gets.

In the awake place we can force ourselves to quit dwelling on the past, to get on with our lives, to quit “beating ourselves up”; we’re only human after all, we all make mistakes.wpid-img_20150220_121756-picsay.jpg

Not there, not in the undiscovered country of our minds.

The monster that is you sits across from you in a small room and tells you a story.

It is not a long story but, it is true.

….oh, so true….and dark.

“Am I back?”

You cannot protest, you cannot cover your ears, you cannot look away.

I have to look at myself.

The worst part is, is that you are unable to make excuses.

Your monster that is you, knows that you’re a liar….

He knows how I can be….or was.

And he will never….EVER, let me forget.

But, you still try to soften the condemnations….

This isn’t real….

“Am I back?”

When the monster that is you has finished with your tale, you just sit there, swathed in fresh guilt and regrets, all of the old wounds begin to fester anew.

The fresh whip marks across your shoulders, face and back burn and gape.

No one can punish you with such ferocity and relentless spite and contempt, as can the very own monster that is you.

s,v,“Look what you’ve done” it keeps saying…..

And I looked…..

Then….

slowly……

I opened my eyes.

My eyes did not jerk open in alarm or horror.

They didn’t open the way eyes normally do.

They opened the way they do when you’re afraid of what you might see.

“Am I back?”

p.s

I’m sitting here in our break-room writing this. I am looking around at the vending machines, a gurgling coffee pot and occasionally glancing up at the humming lights. I’ll tap a key or two on my laptop as a new thought or memory about last night comes to me.

“Am I back?”

I can’t tell…..

It feels….

….like that other place.

Wish I may... Wish I may…

The Monster In Me?

Concerned citizen texted me….

“Do you think anger management classes work? A girl at work got hit by her husband, but he said he would go to anger management classes. I’m not so sure about this.
Me: Useless

“Why not? Do you think anything works for abusers? Not disputing just want opinion”

Me: “Nothing does”

But don’t you think that along with teaching them to deal with things in another way would also help?”
Me: “Not with anger”

“Reason?”                                        I had no answer.
Me: “Let me think on this”
Then I get hit with this next question out of nowhere:

“Here’s another question;
If you really can’t change a pedophile( at least on this side[mortal existence] ) can you teach them to control those urges? Or will they just offend again? I mean can you really control what someone is truly attracted to? Just an Opinion, these are discussions at work.”
Me: “No, you cannot change them.”

I know but what makes them act on it when mentally they know if they get caught it’s prison time. Can they be taught to control that urge?”

I thought about it and have been for about a week.

Follow me on this chain of thought…..

A man hits a woman, not only a woman, his wife.
He did this because he was angry.

I have been angry lots of times.

I have beaten many a woman senseless, in my mind.  I have bitten my lip and had my tit in a ringer, and probably been murdered mentally myself several times by psychotic women and theoretically left to rot in the deepest, darkest bowels of hell….right next to my ex-wives….

But guess what?

I have never laid my hand on a woman in anger (after the age of 3; as far as I know)

I cannot conceive doing it.

I don’t even think I could make myself physically raise my hand to do it, no matter how much she’s asking for it or deserves it…. JK.

The difference is, that anger is only an excuse. I don’t care how mad a man gets, A MAN DOES NOT HIT A WOMAN.

I was taught that way.

The sad reality is, that there are broken people in this world, fucked up people.
Something just ain’t right in their head…soul…heart?

I’m really thinking on this.

I’ve been angry, lots of times but, I ain’t never hit nobody.

Like I’ve said, I’ve wanted to “nut-up”plenty of times but, the difference is that I have that barrier….the one that keeps the crazy inside.

Yes, my mind can be a slaughter house sometimes but, it stays there.

The crazy stays put…

I do not hit.

I yell, I scream, I break cameras and I throw hissy fits.
But, the crazy stays put.

Next dilema….

I do not find 7 year olds, sexy.

More like, annoying…..

Makes my skin crawl just writing about it.

I do not think 5 year Olds are capable of “asking for it” “coming on to me”

This particular crazy does not exist in me. Thank God

Therefore, I will say only this, from a normal heterosexual man’s perspective:
If a pedophiles attraction to his child victims, in all honesty, is as strong as mine can be for my Honey Biscuit(wifey), then there is no rehabilitation for them….the monsters, I mean.

The reason they can’t ignore it…..stay with me here…

Because, to them…the monsters… it’s sexual.

It’s lust.

It’s fucking and sucking and…….

Do you see what I’m doing?

To the pedophile, their desire is sexual.

Sexual.

Now you know my meaning.

I’m sorry to put it this way; so crude

Now, go take a shower, scrub really good, go read your bible for a bit and ask God to watch over us sinners; then come back and finish reading this.

They ARE monsters you know, the baby fuckers. They are not people. They are Monsters.

I was a cop once, I have seen a few things that would make you question our species.10929976_368699456635393_8158077279071965706_n

Trust me when I say this, THERE IS NO HELP OR REDEMPTION FOR CHILD MOLESTERS.

A baby raper cannot be healed, changed, reformed or made normal.

You can see it in their eyes.

I have been involved in arrests and the implementation of search warrants in their homes, lairs, nest; whatever you wanna call them……they ALL had their “secret places” in these homes, lairs, nest….hives.

Secret places where they kept trophies….memories…….

A warped sexual fixation is a horrible, ugly, terrible thing.

A hunger that is constant. A hunger that drives them to eat childrens innocence and trust.

“Want a piece of candy, little girl?”

They. Are. Monsters.

In a perfect world, the world we all wished we grew up in but, unfortunately, most of us were sexually or mentally abused by an adult when we were kids….

Borrowed from Kid Rape

  • Self-report studies show that 20% of adult females and 5-10% of adult males recall a childhood sexual assault or sexual abuse incident. (the ones that will admit to it. Ten bucks says you were; I was….)
    • Over the course of their lifetime, 28% of U.S. youth ages 14 to 17 had been sexually victimized;
    • Children are most vulnerable to CSA between the ages of 7 and 13.

I just thought of something…..

How come we all have a clear vision in our minds of what a happy and healthy family should be?

Have you ever really seen one? Or is it just a dream or maybe a TV show that made our eyes all misty and gave way to wish making under our breath.onions2

One of the most righteous and knowledgeable men I ever knew ended up in prison for, I think, 15 years for abusing a 12 yr old step grand-daughter; then found out the state also charged him for past acts against his own daughters, occurring more than 10-20 years previous, one  of these daughters of which, happened to be my wife at the time.

We were married for almost 8 years and had 3 babies; she never told me anything….

There was a monster in my home and I never knew it.

Oh yeah, in hindsight all of the markers of a monster were plain to see but….

…………who wants to believe it’s true.

It ain’t normal.

Anywho….

I think I have seen and met some happy, healthy families but, as I have grown older and wiser I have realized something else.

No one lives in a glass house, and they all live behind closed doors.

Does Daddy hit Mama when he gets mad?wpid-1422924631320.jpg

Does Daddy or Mama lock the door and take a really long time to tuck in a certain kid that won’t talk much during the day and hits kids at school?

Is Daddy angry a lot?

Is Mommy a monster?

Am I a monster?

The Key: 1

The Key: 2

 

 

Woman Beautiful

I have a sister that works in a place that counsels and protects abused women.

She asked me to find a quote or something that she can read to her “patients” to make them feel better, to give them just a little bit of comfort. If even for a minute.

I wonder why she asked me?
I mean, I’m not perfect but, she also knows that I am very respectful of women and a huge, huge fan of mom’s everywhere.

Besides, I also know who the dominant species is on this earth. And when the shit hits the fan and they finally have had it with our trivial bullshit and take over the world, I wanna be on the good list…

For Anna’s new friends.

First…

I am a man.

I am not your enemy.

I come in peace.

You know…there actually ARE men that have NO concept of abusing women.

YES, there are men that fear women but, in a good way, like me!

It is not you, sweeties .

You are not here because of you.

You are not broken because of you.

You are not here because you suck at picking a man.

You are here because you know how to fight.

You are here because you know there is a better way to live and that you have options.
No…forget that.

You can’t, or I’ll say, shouldn’t kill the bastard.

Murder is wrong; and besides, it’s better to stay out of prison, live a long life and enjoy the revenge of doing better than anyone can believe was possible for you.

Here is a quote I like:
“Sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can never hurt you…unless you believe them.”

It is hard to find words to comfort you when I can’t conceive of, or imagine, putting my hands on a woman or cutting her with my words.

I know you aren’t China dolls.

I know you aren’t just a pretty thing to look at…or touch.

I know that you are a person with dreams, feelings and sadly, a bruised and broken heart…

But, if it’s OK with y’all, I’ll just go on worshipping you in my own selfish way.

I know, I speak with some authority on abused women.

I was a child in a home that had a mentally abusive husband; my dear old dad.

I watched my mom during these times wondering why she just stood there, why she didn’t fight back or holler back or hit him or kill the asshole in his sleep.

I know why now of course; it’s because women think of others first. Women think of the children, the family; yes, even the prick husband.

I can fix this….she thinks.

It must be her.

How dare you try to love people.

How dare you try your best to be a wife and mom.

How dare you…

You are not here because you are not perfect.

Hey! Weird! Neither am the rest of us!

You are not here because you gave up.

You are not here because you can’t go on.

You are here because you took the step…

An abuser hates nothing more than being ignored and shown contempt by his victim, at least my dear old dad hated it.

I say, Good for you.

Contempt, the bastard.
Ignore, the bastard.

You are here because you are finally free.

Free….

Hey. Look at y’all!
You’re awesome after-all!

From, A Fan.

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