Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

The Waiting Room December 13, 2013

The woman appears disheveled. She sits perched on the edge of the waiting room chair, swinging her petite, pajama-clad legs back and forth nervously. She hunches into her over-sized sweatshirt and pulls the hood tighter as if she wants to disappear. Her hands are clasped over her ears to keep out the noise. Anxious eyes dart around when a man takes the seat next to her. After a moment, she walks to the front desk to ask how much longer she has to wait. She’s waited six hours already. She returns, but chooses a new seat.

~

The family comes in together. The man, who appears to be the one in charge, is dressed neatly in a Green Bay Packer’s sweatshirt and pressed jeans. The younger man wears the uniform of his youth: over-sized shirt hanging over carefully sagging jeans. A sharp pair of  Nike’s complete his look.  The older woman is obviously the matriarch. The men walk her in, flanking her sides. She walks slowly, but steadily, with their help and her head held high. Two younger women trail behind, huddled together for support. Both of their dark faces glisten with fresh tears. The family gathers together and has a quiet conversation. In moments they dissolve in tears. The men comfort the matriarch as her tears deepen into sobs. The news of an impending death of a 10 year-old family member is too much to handle.

 

~

She sits with legs splayed, filling the seat with her bulk. Her gray sweatshirt is stretched tightly across her stomach. Stains show at the armpits. Oblivious to others, she continues her phone conversation. She complains loudly about various problems in her life. An older man brings her a greasy white bag which causes her to finally end the 45 minute conversation. She thanks the man and he leaves. She unwraps the first of two tin foil packages and the smell of cooked onions fills the air. The woman eats with great enthusiasm, licking her glistening fingers after every few bites. A few minutes later she unwraps the second package and consumes the other burger. Flecks of cole slaw dot her lips when she sits back with a satisfied sigh.

~

The waiting room in a hospital emergency room gives a unique glimpse into life.

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Love From Afar July 1, 2013

I finally did something I have dreaded. In fact, I put it off for two weeks. Each time I thought of doing it, I found some great excuse not to. And I feel bad, REALLY bad, for having those feelings of dread. Guilt racks my body when I think of it. But, it is what it is, and I feel how I feel, right?

I finally called my mother.

I know how that sounds. It sounds like I am a horrible daughter (and I can be), or that she is a horrible mother (she can be). But I am trying to be transparently honest here in bloggo land, so here is the truth: I didn’t want to call her because of Riley.

My parents are not “dog people”. They both know how I am about animals because I’ve been that way my entire life. Every stray dog that came through the neighborhood got a good meal, de-ticked, a good bath, and a good dose of attention from me. Every time I begged to keep the dog, and every time the answer was no. I’m also the kid who found a wounded bat and kept it as a pet until my mom found out. As well as a bullfrog, various lizards, cats…..you get the picture. I’m crazy about animals and would live on a farm if I could.

My parents also knew how much Riley meant to me. I had my daughter email them when he died because I knew I could not carry on a normal conversation with anyone at that time. (Neither could she; that’s why she emailed). I also knew that my mom, who is well-known for having no tact, would piss me off. And of course, she did.

Some of her comments: ” He’s just a dog. Get over it already.”  “What did you expect? He was sick. Didn’t you know it?” “You got another one of the same breed? What is wrong with  you?” “You always acted stupid about animals anyway. You shouldn’t have any.”

I love my mom. I do have a love-hate relationship with her, though. This is the same woman who accused me of lying when I told her I was molested as a child. She also thinks J should “get over it”….in other words, get over bipolar.

My parents are old. I know I will be devastated when something happens to them. But most days, I have to love them from afar.

 

 

Meet Our Fur Ball, Tucker June 26, 2013

Tucker 2

Meet Tucker. He is a Shih Tzu just like Sophie, and just like Riley was. He is adorable and has a sweet nature, but is feisty enough to hold his own with the “grand-pups” when they come over. I  think it is okay that I am not bonding with him right away like I have my other dogs; he seems to like hubs, and they have bonded nicely. I’m fine with that; I just want the little guy to have the love he deserves. It’s not that I don’t like him; I really do. I just know my heart is not in it. I will grow to love him more because that is my nature; I am and always will be an animal lover.

Sophie is still avoiding Tucker. We are trying to help her out of her depression. The vet said to give her time, and to make sure she gets to do some favorite things. I bought her favorite chew toy today, and she got to go for not one, but TWO rides in the car. She seems content at the moment. As I am typing this, she is lying beside me chewing her toy. Tucker is playing on the floor with hubs, playing tug-of-war.

As for me, I had to get out of the house today. I got up early and went grocery shopping (I know, not exciting, but it gave me something to think about). At 10:00 I broke down. Riley died at 10:00 a week ago today. I also cried when it thundered because Riley was scared of thunder. After multiple breakdowns, we decided I needed a distraction so hubs took me to see a movie and then we went out to eat. It did help, so at the moment I feel more peaceful than I did earlier.

I’ve tried doing art, but it all turns to shit. I cannot force it; art (or writing, for that matter) has to come from somewhere deep inside. Even my photographs seem flat. Hopefully I will find that spark again, because it is the best emotional release I have.

Meet Tucker

 

Today June 23, 2013

Filed under: about me,all,death,depression,events,family,grief,journal — rainey46 @ 6:29 pm
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Today was the hardest day since the day Riley died. No particular reason; just a really, really hard day. I’ve cried so much I look like I was beaten in the face.

If you are not a dog person, you don’t get it. He was my little boy, my constant companion. If you averaged the time I spent with humans and the time I spent with my two dogs, I know for a fact I spent much more time with the dogs. He slept beside me at night, curled up under my left arm. If I rolled over, I felt his little fur weight pressed against my back. In the morning, he followed me to the bathroom, waiting patiently until I finished so he could be let out for his turn. If he got scared, he ran to my arms. He greeted me at the door every single day, joyful and happy that I came home again. If I went out-of-town, he moped and refused to eat until I returned. He loved to play ball, and would let me work on the computer for just so long before he insisted that I take a break and play with him.

Dogs have always had my heart. Riley came into my life when my girls went away to college and I felt so lonely. Hubs works 12 hour shifts so I am home alone a lot, especially in the summer. Not long after that was when J started the first downward slide of bipolar, addictions, and disorders. It was a hard time for hubs and I, and it drove us apart for a while. Mental illness is not understood by the general public, as you all know, so I had no one. Except Riley. He was not a trained therapy dog, but he might as well have been. When I cried, he stayed by me, licking my tears as they streamed down my face. When I calmed down, he would gently bring me his favorite ball and look at me with those huge, understanding eyes. God how I miss those eyes.

Hubs called to check on me today. I can hear in his voice how worried he is about me. He knows my tendency toward depression, and that in recent years it has gotten worse each time. He wants to go get a new puppy tomorrow. My first reaction was NO, but it’s not to replace Riley. That will never happen. But our little girl, Soph, is out of sorts and so lonely now. And if we get a puppy, it needs to be in the summer when I can train it. I’m just not sure I’m ready for that. Hubs is just trying to stop my downward slide, I realize that. It is so sweet. I’m just not sure.

 

Different June 22, 2013

I am different. Yes, I know, we all are. I guess I should say I am VERY different from others. By “others”, I mean people my age. I don’t have a problem with it, though. It is just a fact.

But then, I’ve always been different. As a very young child, I lived more in my imaginary world than I did in the real world. I didn’t have any friends who lived nearby, and I grew up in a time before play dates and “Mommy and Me” outings. My two best friends were my imagination and my dog. I had friends in school, but no one I even remember well.

Fast forward: teen years. I suffered typical teenage angst, along with the shameful taste of molestation. I was rebellious; hell, that’s putting it mildly. I was sexually promiscuous and without limits. If there was a way to get high, I did it. I “tried on” various groups; you know, the jocks, the nerds, etc. as I searched for a way to be accepted. Truthfully, the only group who came close to feeling right was a group of misfit druggies. They weren’t the  hip stoners I thought were so cool in their total disregard for authority, but just a motley crew of kids from bad homes, or kids who struggled in school and turned to drugs to make it hurt less. They were a sad lot, but they accepted me. But even then, they knew, and I knew, I didn’t fit in. For one thing, I was too smart. I could easily make A’s without trying, so I failed on purpose. Another problem was I came from a good home. By this time, my dad worked his way up and brought our little family out of hovering above poverty to solid middle class. I had both parents and a nice house in a good neighborhood.

Fast forward: meeting my husband. When I met my husband, I left behind my old group of friends and hung out with his friends. The sad thing is, none of my old friends missed me and I didn’t miss them. My new friends liked me and accepted me into the group. Well, the men did. I was still reckless and a tomboy, willing to try new things. I played ball, went fishing, rode motorcycles, and would do almost anything on a dare. The girls of the group took a while to like me and accept me, but they did eventually. My husband loved the wild side of me, but he ignored anything he didn’t like. The molestation?  The gang rape? I told him about it and he pretended it didn’t happen. I mentioned it years later, and he seemed shocked. We all bury our heads in the sand, I suppose. Anyway, they accepted me, but I still felt different, like an outsider allowed to come inside for a bit.

So, you see, being different is no big deal to me. At this stage in my life, I am comfortable being me (most of the time). I no longer try to conform to what society or, even forbid, the neighbors. I have friends, but most of them are much younger than me. (Does that make me immature? Probably. Do I care if I am immature? Of course not…haven’t you been paying attention??) The only people I really spend time with are my two daughters and my husband.

It is at times like this, when I my heart is breaking, that I wish I had the type of friends who would come and get me to shake me out of my misery. When I suffer inside because of J’s bipolar/addictions, or when bad things happen in my life, I really have no one to turn to. Sometimes the price I pay for being different is steep.

 

No Means No May 27, 2013

She was raped. That son of a bitch raped her last night. I am boiling with fury and probably shouldn’t be allowed to blog right now but I have to let it out somehow or I will hunt him down and cut off his dick. If you are offended by my language then please don’t read this post. I am seriously trying to keep from going after him. I do not need to go to jail, because then who would she have? Her dad, who lives in la-la land? Or her sister, who gets angry every time J’s bipolar/anxiety prevents her from being “normal”?

I have always joked that if someone raped either of my daughters I would take him in a house and nail his dick to the windowsill. I would then set the house on fire and hand him a knife and tell him, “You get to choose. My daughter did not.” I thought I was joking. Now I know I was not. I want to inflict terrible pain on him. I want to see him beg for mercy. How could that son of a bitch do that to her? She is already so fragile….years of work probably undone because he wanted to get off.

To think, this was a “nice boy” whom I knew and LIKED!!! It wasn’t one of the losers she found on the dating sites (nothing against dating sites, but J is known for picking losers and it never turns out well); this was a “local” guy who seemed very earnest and straight-forward. My heart is broken for her. She will not press charges because they will never stick. And I agree; they will not stick.

J told him no. Forcefully. Repeatedly. But she did not fight. She did not scream for help. She kept saying no and crying but did not stop him. My guess is because of her incredibly low self-esteem she just let him finish. She was so hurt and confused when she told me. My poor baby.

No means no.

 

 

 

Right Now April 7, 2013

Filed under: all,friend,friends,grief,Poems,poetry,random — rainey46 @ 8:45 am
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Right now,

I know you feel alone,

lost, and without hope

But I want you to know

Right now,

I am here for you

to comfort you

to show you

that you are not alone

right now,

as always

I am your friend.