finding forgiveness.

i am a girl with many flaws. my wife will surely agree. one of said flaws is my inability to let go of hurt. i hold onto it as if it were my life preserver in the midst of the Titanic catastrophe. you get to a point in adulthood to where relinquishing hurt is a necessity for survival. question is, what does one do when it is pivotal to do just that and you don't have the tools and mechanisms to do just that? i'm at that place and i don't know what in the hell to do. you'd get better results with al sharpton at an Aryan brotherhood beauty pageant.

as a little girl, that hurt was the only thing i had to hold onto. it was the only thing i had to cherish to be able to connect with my monster, with my dad. he with held all normal fatherly emotion from me. he was never proud of me, he never doted on me, he never ever said the words every daughter needs to hear. that strips away the vital bonding material that glues every parent-child relationship. when there is no glue to hold that necessary relationship in place, unhealthy emotions take that place. every put down, every jab (towards me, my mom, or my mom's family) cemented the ill emotion of hurt. that fosters itself into an awkward and highly unhealthy relationship. the rippling affects of such an easily preventable tragedy touches every single aspect of that child's life and future. if i let go of the hurt, that was equivalent of letting go of my dad. what child wants to do that?

the way he could play puppeteer and manipulate the strings to rain down the ultimate guilt trip for wanting to- or even thinking about- letting him go was nothing short of amazing. like the Vatican convincing the masses that contraceptives are the work of the devil. he learned from the master of manipulation how to make things work exactly the way he wanted. what he wanted was to be able to control me from across town without so much as having to make an appearance in my life. is it any wonder that i was perpetually stuck in a conundrum of purgatorial guilt? i learned to feed off of the hurt. its what sustained my relationship with him until he killed himself and his wife. i no longer wish to be crippled by this disadvantage. i wish to grow. how does one find forgiveness to grow? where does it come from within you? how do you grow forgiveness?

snip this.

this week has been a busy one, for me that is. school started back. this is the first semester that i've been back since the bastard killed himself and his wife. i actually feel like my head is attached to my body again. i don't feel like a walking target for poisonous and false allegations to them anymore. those that know me, and know me well, know my stance. they know (some of) the suffering and the sheer horror. some have said to me that they could not understand why i went to the visitation & funeral. how, after all was said and done (on both sides, because i am not innocent either), how i could go there in front of their peers. how could i pay respects to this man.

i couldn't answer that for a while but now i know. i didn't pay respects to him; i wanted to make sure the SOB was dead. i felt bad that she died. i still do. she didn't deserve it, especially at his hands. i never wished it upon either of them. i wished every and anything else (but that) upon him. the fact remains as this: i went to the funeral because the little girl inside of me was this man's genetic daughter. it is that little girl who, at three years old, sat in her mama's lap in a pink leotard with a matching tutu, tiara and wand, cried out in pain for her daddy to come home. i cried so hard that i cried myself to sleep. even at that age, i knew enough to know this man didn't want to be my daddy. this was a man who was too embarrassed to take me to get a haircut when my parents were still married. my mom got me all dressed up for him to take me. instead his ego and vanity drove us around and i returned home to my mom without a haircut. if i recall correctly, this is a man who reeked of alcohol as his only child, barely a toddler, had very serious open heart surgery.

it still hurts. my temper still flares. but the tears have stopped. i've had enough. in a few months i'm changing my last name, and if you ask me, it should've been done over twenty years ago. its the last string. and i can't wait to snip that bitch either. "here's a hair cut for ya, daddy. so suck it."


i truly can't wait. i believe it'll give me that last bit of freedom, that last molt; to shed any of his attachment to me. if i could strip half my dna to be rid of his toxicity, i damnit would. i'm doing what should have been done decades ago. one thing i'll never comprehend; if he reputed me so badly, why oppose my mom having 100% full custody, why not relinquish parental rights, why oppose the adoption? amidst all of the anguish, hatred, and spite, i think that is perhaps the most evil thing he did... not letting me go. i just won't ever understand that level of hatred. that level that he and his family feed and breed upon. its beyond me.

...but anyways. changing the subject dramatically... i'm going home friday for the weekend, even though honey disagrees. i hate being home alone. i hate being home alone on weekends. i hate being home alone on weekends without friends or family. even though it wears me out, i absolutely adore spending time with my friends and family. its uber cathartic.


oh and btw yall, i was wrong about the michael jackson thing... apparently, he's still chillin in a freezer. just... nastayyyyyyy. yuck.


i have been too damn slack on it, but i must pick it back up...

GIST #9: I am thankful for my family's unconditional love.

(yes, the picture is like 7 years old.)

on we go...

its official: i feel like poop. flat.out.feel.like.nasty.poop. who the hell knows why. but it sucks. thank gawd i stayed home today, because had i been out in public when... an attack... hit me, i'd have looked like a mad woman on the hunt for any halfway functioning toilet in this south carolina humid august heat. fun times!!


i'm headed up to school tomorrow to finalize my class schedule, and get the necessary books and such. i'm nervous about returning to school, but i feel like i'm ready to tackle it again. this will be the first time since the bastard killed himself that i feel okay enough to really give it a good go. i tried to go back twice before, but my anxiety damn near crippled me in trying to do so. i'd be sitting there, trying to take a math class and bam! an anxiety attack out of NOWHERE.

i'd see my wretched aunt informing me that i have my father's chin,... AS WE STOOD IN FRONT OF HIS CASKET LOOKING AT HIM. gee, thanks. that family always knew how to make me feel special. or i'd relive the tee-total humiliation of having the whole god damn town hear that i was disinherited. then living with the further humiliation of having people feel sorry for me. the whole damn thing just sucked. but alas, i am at a place that i am relieved he is gone. i have the rest of my life to live freely from my childhood monster, and that in itself, is THE BIGGEST AND BEST gift he could have ever given me. inheritance or not.

i am fully aware of who my real family is, who my wonderful and true friends are, and how fortunate and blessed i am to have a great spouse who loves me unconditionally. we built our dream house, have a house full of furbaby critters, and in general, a really great life. i am coming to realize that maybe the secret to this whole thing is indeed love. i'm not at a place of forgiving him, by any means; in fact, i'm nowhere near it. but one day, i can and will. and when that day arrives, that's okay. its just not today.

any violation sucks.

why do people steal? to attain things they want,... yes, i'm aware of that much. recently, my F-I-L was on the shit end of somebody's jealousy stick. a prized spot in his carport will now be empty. that'll be the first time that spot under his carport has been empty since 1987. 1987, people. 22 years.


okay so it was just a material object that was taken, so it is not life threatening. but what it is, is a blatant violation. a violation of all sorts. no vehicle of mine was ever taken, but i was robbed of my sense of safety in my own home. my childhood home was robbed by somebody who took very very very specific things. the intruder KNEW what he was taking, even the police said so. the reason they said this is because anything that could have been sold for any monetary value was NOT taken; computers, TVs, etc.

what was taken were things that were VERY sentimental to my parents and myself. as a matter of fact, something that was taken, in particular, was in a LOCKED BOX. the intruder specifically knew where to find that key to get the box (which was in an entirely different location than the box), as opposed to simply breaking it open. old habits die hard. (meaning, if one finds hiding places, they may keep them reguardless of what house or spouse they have at the time. i.e.- if one hides their credit cards in their freezer, they may do so from early adulthood until death; even through numerous marriages and divorces. hence; old habits die hard...)



an everyday intruder would not do such a thing; they'd trash 'n grab. this person even went through my room, rifled through ALL of my CDs and only took my prized collection of Reba CDs... and that alone. at this age, this was MY WORLD. this was how i disappeared from him, from the world. i hid in her lyrics, in her voice. this was part of my self made sanctuary. a normal thief would grab 'n go with CDs, not sort through them. there are numerous other circumstances that pointed police to a specific individual responsible for this break-in.

when the criminal WAS caught, he flat out REFUSED to give up who hired him. he ADMITTED it was a hired hit. what i remember is coming home to discover the house broken in. i held myself together very well as i alerted my neighbors and my parents. but when the officer asked me if i had any idea who'd have done this crime, i lost it. my heart skipped a beat and my mind stopped spinning. it zeroed in. no tears were shed until that precise moment. it was then i feared for my safety and everyone else's whom i loved. I WAS A CHILD. A CHILD. why'd i fall apart? because only ONE person came to mind. it was the ONLY thing to make sense. as far as the little bitch who did the time for the crime, he did state he was too scared to give up who hired him. that was one of THE.WORST heart breaks my evil biological sperm donor EVER gave me. i once grew the balls to finally ask him about it... he smirked, laughed, and cracked open his precious Budweiser. (is there any wonder why i still have issues with the bastard?)

---police were never able to establish who hired the criminal so i am NOT naming his actual name even though everybody already knows... so just shut the fuck up to anybody reading this in Florence ...and btw, IF and only IF that IS you who keeps "accidentally" calling me, STOP. point blank, stop.---

crazy antics.

okay so in all honesty, not a heck of a whole bunch has been going on around these parts. life is plodding along, quietly and quite nicely.

no sooner did i get that typed out when there was a knock at our front door. a friend of wifey's, a fellow 'family' member of the male species, wanted to borrow the computer to look something up. i happily obliged him. apparently, he was looking for flamingos. and no, not of the plastic persuasion. he was looking where to purchase a real.live.eating.breathing.shitting.pink flamingo. because its so classy. yes, yes. it takes all kinds, i suppose.

as far as the pictures go, they are pretty much self explanatory. all three of our furbabies chillin out on a fantastically cool summer's day, brothers in combat, harley and jackson resting from a bout of "wrassling," evil kittykitty proving my theory that felines are all out to plot and destroy the world (or in our kitty's case, the back of my wife's head), me at a cookout, the wifey and i at a cookout, and last but not least,... harley looking on as our youngest son gets violently raped by his incestuous sister. i can see her in her mind thinking, "who's the bitch now, BITCH?!"

yet another run-in with a member of the evil tyrant's family has once again stunned me. seriously, the majority of these people are equivalent to cockroaches, they never die or go away. (unless you liquor them up really good, apparently.) i feel so stupid EVERY TIME one of them manages to stun me with their ever so eloquent level of... trashiness. i can't find the word i am looking for to adequately describe what it is that these people bring forth upon the world. you would think that after 27 years of being CONTINUOUSLY surprised by their antics that i'd be used to it by now. but no sir'eee bob, the surprises just keep a'comin. as is, i pay a whopping $5 per month to block a specific household and its members from calling my cell. (that's a lot of money per year, if you think about it, to just keep the cockroaches away.) but it gives me peace of mind, so its worth every penny. something told me to deny her request as a friend on face.book. but no, i shut that voice up so foolishly, just as i do everytime, hoping against all hope that these people have bathed in a tub of decency. one day i'll learn, i hope. its hard as hell to deplete their filth off of you. its off to my own tub of decency and love and support to wash away more dirt from this preverbial never ending war, in which i wish and wish and wish to be over.

la vérité vous placera libre.

ok i'm going to bite the bullet and say what i really wanted to say in that last entry. that was nothing more than a fluffer piece that was shotty at best. it was recently told to me that when i write pieces that refer to my memories concerning my biological father, that i am seeking attention and trying to manipulate people into feeling sorry for me. i have been stewing on that mouthful for a few days. i have finally formulated my response to that incredibly gauche accusation.


when i write out my memories, my feelings, my thoughts, my theories on all things in connection with the Evil Faux Czar, i am not writing them to attract attention. i am writing them to purge the poison from my being, from my soul. i could care less if it attracted attention. i am not purging for that reason; i am doing so to expedite the healing process. and as far as my revealing my thoughts and etc. to evoke people feeling sorry for me,... well that is just a mere joke right there. seriously. people are laughing, alright. but not at me. they are laughing at his expense, not mine. they are laughing at his behavior and his actions. i do not need or want to try and even think, let alone actually do, about making people feel sorry for me. the truth speaks for itself. therefore, i could care less. and if they are aware of the truth, then they know everything. everything from the reason behind the reason my mom divorced him, to the reason i stopped my visitations with him, and even the reason behind my stupid mistakes as a teenager that had to do with him. they know the true reason he died, and the reason i was disinherited. the truth is a funny thing. in this instance anyways. it vindicates and exposes everything.

i was far from innocent as a teenager with my time with him. i made my careless and highly irresponsible mistakes. i am adult enough to admit it. i hurt my mom and that side of the family. and for that i shall forever carry a sense of shame and guilt. but as with real families, we've moved on and grown from it. i asked for forgiveness from my mom and from God. someday maybe i can forgive myself. i accept responsibility for my actions. however, i refuse to accept responsibility for his behavior. what continues to baffle me, and always will, is that when somebody dies, people automatically sanctify them and recall them as saints during their living life. that is stupidity in its finest form. i am not doing the opposite either, i am not vilifying him. i am speaking hard, cold truths. nothing more, nothing less. people who sanctify those who are departed are delusional, in my opinion. romanticizing a departed's walking life is one's own disguise of shame or guilt. maybe something else; i don't know. i'm not in that position, so i am in no place to speak of what emotion that it is. i am merely hypothesizing. if i appear cold, i am not. you see, i mourned the loss of MY daddy over twenty years ago.



the man who died and carelessly took his wife with him was a stranger to me. herein lies the irony; he was a stranger whom i knew all too well. i may not have been an active participant in his everyday life, but i knew how he worked from the inside out. i am a product of HIS dna. unfortunately his blood courses through my veins. court papers legalize things, but when you get down to it, his blood coursing through everyone's veins cannot be said for all involved. i knew what made him tick; what set him off; his addictions, his ghosts, his nightmares, and even the reminiscence of what infinitesimal bit of good he once had within him from eons ago.

i do not wish to carry forth any sort of relationship with the person who made me highly defamatory and flat out false allegations against me. i have said before that i wish her the best and i still do. i just have no room in my life for such fallacy. that belongs on that side of the family. which, by the way, ARE my family too. they are my family genetically and nothing more. my real and true family is who i have in my daily life currently. that is where you will find forgiveness, incessant love, compassion, and empathy. so i say to you, to make all the allegations you want against me, recall him and her in the utmost illusional recollections possible. but there is one thing remaining amidst all of the mud and muck; the truth. it is there that i find my freedom.

say goodnight, gracie.

lawsy, lawsy,lawsy, mizz Scarlett!! i do declare, i was fit to be tied today. old man arthur executed one hellacious attack on my entire body for apparently, no obvious reasons. the weatherman ain't saying anything so i'm at a loss for the root of arthur's mischief. it was all of my joints too, as opposed to my normal hand and finger joints. my damn knees just about gave out on me. i had to put a wrap on each knee. and all day today i have been excited thinking about buying this new thing that icy hot has out now. i'm super stoked about it because i can customize it to accommodate my hands, which are different structurally than everybody else's hands. /sigh. look at me. look at what i have become; a house wife who gets excited over new icy hot products, and not having anymore room left in the towel/washcloth cabinet to put more towels and washcloths because i have them ALL clean, folded, and put away.


i have gone all zen and become one with my swiffer sweeper dust mop. i would say that i have begun the soul killing process of morphing into my mother, but she is not one with the dust mop. see, they dated a LONG time ago, back in the stone ages when she was married to the Evil Faux Czar (aka the male dna donor that helped create me). but when the Czar began to rob his own peoples out of everything, there was a colossal battle which led to the inner civil war that continues to rage on within me to this day. but i digress, at the sound of the battle call, weapons were drawn and blood painted the hands of all who touched the battle grounds. the blood stained the souls of the innocent. the deed was done; the line drawn. good and evil, the epic battle. the tug of war with me as the rope until the Evil Faux Czar lost interest and found a new kingdom more shiny than the kingdom he blackened with hate. it was in this war that my mother fought the dust mop. and still today, her epic battle with it rages on.

good goddess i need to go to bed. i'm creating a story about a fictitious battle between my mother and a damn swiffer sweeper. that goes beyond being just your southern eclectic, sarcastic narrator. i need help. no; i need sleep. i bid you au revoir, mes amis.

GISM #3 of 365:
i am grateful that good conquered evil.