Oh, for Christ's sake, how fucking embarassing - even I'm ignoring this thing, I'm so bored by it. My head is empty as a blown egg. If a thought should happen to cross it, I'll be sure to BLOG it, along with the rest of the world. Who the fuck cares if we all have something to say? We're all saying the same shit, which is odd, given how much we fight. As a species, we're extraordinarily warlike and suicidally destructive. We are killing our host. But never fear, the host will throw us off sooner or later. I hope.

All of which has dick to do with me, at basis. It's been a peculiar month in Lake Wobegon. Friends lost and found, fortunes made and blasted. Lives wasted and regained. Mostly wasted, though...

I'll be back eventually.

...And sanity returns, with choices made. I have to apologize for almost all of my previous entries. My only excuse is that I've been through this terrible period of anguish, and I never did learn (clearly) to write out of that level of pain with any skill. So it sounds maudlin and crazy. In other words, a sadly accurate representation of how I was feeling.

I'm still very, very sad, because my marriage is still ending. The difference, though, is that I've gone ahead and made the decision. I've stopped wallowing in misery and have begun taking a few halting steps forward. Today I wrote a letter to my husband, telling him that I'm done here. I love him, and I bleed for him, but I can't accompany him on this journey any longer. I am utterly sorry that he has the family he has, because I think they're terrible for him. His oldest brother may have come farthest in escaping what was done to all of them as children, and I think that he may provide some positive support for Mark, but their mother... And the middle brother, Ray... Well, they're awful people. They're entirely self-interested and self-centered, and they've both been unbelievably unkind to me, and to Mark. I can't inhabit that world any longer, and now that I've finally made that decision, I at last feel a bit of self-respect creeping back.

I've always tried to be pleasant to Mark's family, especially his mom, but there's no mileage in it. She hates me because I threw her out of his bed, figuratively speaking, and what can one do with that? She's insane--classic borderline personality disorder tending toward psychopathy on that particular continuum, but it's against the Family Rules to confront her about her behavior. As a result, she rules all. If I had known going in to this marriage that she'd be such an integral part of it, I doubt I'd have gone there. People, beware of the love you find. Look at its origins before you commit. Families CAN destroy marriages. I've seen it happen before, to others, and now it's happening to me. So sad.

So anyway, my mother-in-law sent me this really vicious letter, addressing the facts that: I am frumpy when my husband comes home, and I don't keep the house clean enough, and evidently my husband is forced to cook or bring food home for me because I'm too lazy to take care of him... I should have been saving money, even though my husband has refused to give me the codes to access our online bank, and obviously I spend too much money because MARK doesn't overspend, ever... Mark has to wait on me, I'm always sick, I have too many animals and should "get rid" of some--as if they were excess furniture-- Blah, blah, blah. The problem is that while Mark can't control what comes out of his mother's mouth, he COULD disagree with it, write back, back her off. All the things any normal person would do if a family member attacked a spouse. But Mark is controlled by his mother, so he simply tells me that when his family gets these sorts of letters from her (and she is famous for them), they laugh it off.

Since she's never confronted, never forced to take responsibility for her actions, of course she continues and will until the day she dies. On that day, I will sing with joy in the hope that my poor husband might then be free of this emotional slavery. I think she may live forever, though, unless someone drives a stake through her heart.

I'm scared, because I don't know where my life goes next, but I'm free. And I'm conscious of that sense of freedom, as though a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Mark's family has been a very, very heavy burden to carry. Right now I'm just putting one foot in front of the other, trying to figure out what needs to be done in the next ten minutes, maybe the next 24 hours. Right now it's time to go take a bath, though, so off I go.

Sanity is a matter of perspective, isn't it? I promise to try to blog with some style, from now on. Not counting this entry, naturally...

make me an angel that flies from Montgomery
make me a poster of an old rodeo
just give me one thing that i can hold on to
to believe in this living is just a hard way to go

I'm working on a creative cocktail of various items, and I just burned my wedding pictures. I hope none of you ever, ever, have to find out how it feels to realize that someone you thought was your best friend was, from the beginning, just trying to hurt you, for his own amusement.

A little more Russian Roulette. What the hell, why not? Please ask Kaye and my mom to take the cats, if I don't make it through this one. The dogs will go to Mark. As he wished. If I'm left in a vegetative state, I'm a DNR; if I don't code, I want palliative care, no feeding tube, liquids only, until I die. There you go, my living will, out for all of you to see and vouch for. Someone tell Mark--it's never been important enough to him to remember the address of this blog. (He's hardly read anything I've ever read. It bores him, except when he can find an error.)

I'm really not trying to die, I'm trying to cope I can't stand how badly I feel, is the problem. So I'm trying to knock myself out. The thing is, I'm not all that worried about whether I wake up. I know I should be, and I'm sorry, but betrayal of this sort--deliberate, calculated, designed not to escape but simply to damage again and again--hurts beyond my ability to describe. I'm sorry, and I love you all, and I will try, I guess. Maybe.

My marriage is done. Unfortunately, the fork is in my back.

I been afraid of changing cause I built my life around you
But time made me bolder
Even children get older
And I'm getting older too...

People, why did I DO this to myself? I married a man who is a charming half step from a sociopath. I'm supposed to be smart, and the signs were there at the beginning, and I should have seen them. Hell, I DID see them. I just ignored them. Here's an example:

Shortly after we met (and Mark began snowing me with proclamations of love immediately, which did help to blind me) Mark sent a note to his brother Ray, whom I have since come to regard as the AntiChrist. This note was about the fact that I was slightly fatter than Ray liked his women (Ray's ideal would be Kate Moss--easy to beat up)--that I was, in fact, slightly fatter than today's 19-inch waist ideal (I was 5' 7" and weighed all of 160--I had no shortage of admirers, trust me) but that Mark liked me just as I was. Overweight pig though I might be. And he hoped Ray wouldn't make any comments about my weight when we met.

Now, first, this was insulting to Ray. He may be the AntiChrist, but he's not an idiot, and he of course would refrain from making any nasty remarks about Mark's new bitch upon meeting her.
Second, okay, I can accept that Mark felt a need to write this letter to Ray. Maybe he was really worried about Ray's potential reaction (he was, as it turned out, but not quite as he implied in this letter).

But can anyone explain to me why he then chose TO SHOW IT TO ME?

Hands? I can see a few. Was it, perhaps, the opening salvo in his long campaign to make me entirely emotionally dependent (and financially dependent) on HIM? In other words, "You're ugly, but I still love you. No one else would, but I do."

Of course it was. I mean, it came up for comment then, believe me, but there were so many protestations of love that it got washed away. Mark is like a one-man cult. I've read about new cult members being overwhelmed with love and acceptance and constant presence... That's what he did. He moved into my home, for all practical purposes, within a week, and he loved me to death. I was perfect for him, I was the woman he'd always dreamed of, I was everything...

I also knew that he had a history of dating damaged women. The last one had been a bit more damaged, and angry, than he'd realized, and she really went for him when he dropped her. She was crazy, yes, but as I read through the 78 e-mails she sent Mark after he left her, I did wonder at her depth of anger. Now, I have depression. It's pretty well-managed for the most part--not counting now--but I'm sure I looked like the perfect woman... Mark's thing is to find us, erode us, and then blame any problems in the relationship on us, because after all, we all know who the crazy one is, don't we? He comes out looking like the perfect victim, when in fact he's been the chief torturer all along...

What I was, was a patsy. I eventually bought it. One would think that the huge fit of depression I fell into for the six weeks before we were married migt have told me something, but by then, I was already caught. My dad was dying. He wanted so desperately for me to be married before he died... My life was going to pieces, I had no idea what to do, I felt that marriage was my road to happiness.

More like the road to ultimate despair. Never again, if I live through this, will I ever give a man this sort of control over my life. I have no money, huge debt, no job, no real earning potential. Meanwhile Mark is making $73 an hour. The $38K I made from the sale of my house in MN is gone. That money was to be my nest egg, and I have nothing now, because it all got spent during the time that Mark was unemployed last year. So he'll come out covered in roses, I'll come out covered in shit and losing the only home I ever truly loved. He's taken everyhing I had, including the majority of my spirit, my life force. People, be careful who you love. It can rip you to pieces.

I continue to believe that Mark doesn't really want to do this, but he nevertheless does it, and he won't seriously seek help for it. I'm getting out while I still have some will to live. At least, I pray I can. I don't yet know for certain--often it seems easier to die here. I'm so out of energy to struggle any more, and I face a huge struggle if I leave this marriage. But some little part of me doesn't want to give Mark the satisfacton of becoming the ultimate victim of my suicide... Everyone would feel so sorry for him. At least for awhile, until he has another wife who leaves by the same route. If he doesn't change, he'll get that. Read the later poems of Sylvia Plath. There are men who do this.

It's up for grabs right now, folks. Please, I love you all so much, please understand that I just might not have the energy. But I'll try.

I was young / I learned a game / that love and happiness were the same
Now I'm older I don't play / I found out the hardest way...

I've been reading RuPaul's weblog. It's quite interesting... Spirituality turns up in the oddest places. It may seem initially that the majority of Ru's worship is reserved for Cher (and I think he'd agree that a certain amount is), but he's actually a thinking human being, which I had assumed some time ago due to his flamboyant attitude. I wonder why it is that we so often assume that flamboyance = goofiness, when it so often indicates the opposite?

I love many things, like a typical dilettante. I love too much to focus. And without focus, it's hard to sustain love. For this and other stupid aphorisms, read on in future. If I live, I'll be back. Is it the Goddess's plan for me to live, I wonder? Tonight I just don't know.

Well, finally. Obviously my grasp of html is nonexistent; I'm essentially too lazy to learn it. I apologize, but I did begin this primarily as a way to write, not to display my fabulous web page building skills. At some point I'll add a picture of myself, I suppose--it's nice to know who you're listening to. But at the moment the computer that handles the scanner is dead, and I can't cram any more software onto my poor, elderly little laptop here.

I'm still in a bad episode. It occurred to me that depression is a bit like death, minus the spiritual aspect, and minus the sympathy. Instead of grieving visitors, you have a bunch of people snapping at you irritably or getting annoyed because you didn't ring them up to tell them you're feeling suicidal. What's the point of that, though? Here's how those conversations go:

Me: Hello, it's me.
Helpful Friend: Hi! How are you?
Me: Suicidal, actually.
HF: Oh, bummer. You can't kill yourself. I wouldn't be abe to get along without you.
Me: Truly, you could. You'd get used to it.
HF: If you do it, we'll sell all your pets to lab research.
Me: That reminds me, I've got to get that will written. Gosh, it's late.

Etc. Truly, though, only I control whether or not I kill myself. There are no wise words that will save me if I'm devoted to that path. I do appreciate, very much, the kindness of others--friends and strangers both--but no one has any responsibility to save me. I have to wrestle my own demons in the end.

This sucks. ...your back aches from lying / and your head aches from crying...

Cold in here. I've got to build a fire in the wood stove. No point in being physically uncomfortable as well as suicidal.

I'm just trying to get rid of the double post here, bear with me...

I'm trying not to do myself, for now. We'll see.

I'm not the right person to talk to if you're feeling suicidal. I've made a case for it too many times, myself, to fail to recognize another's solid argument.

Now you're sleeping peaceful / i lie awake and pray / you'll be strong tomorrow / and we'll see another day...hold on / hold on to yourself / cause this is gonna hurt like hell.

People who commit suicide generally don't do it to get back at anyone, you know. Sometimes a last-minute angry impulse may cause it to seem that way, but if it were truly only anger, your suicidal relation would still be alive and screaming at you.

People kill themselves because none of us are built to tolerate unremitting pain, emotional or otherwise. When we are in the midst of a suicidal desire, our pain seems intolerable and unending. I know I often tell people that that's the primary delusion of depression--when we're in it, it feels as if it's gone on, and will continue, forever. I know about that delusion, I believe that it IS delusion--but right now, with tears streaming down my face, I also believe that I have always felt this badly and always will. I seem to be able to hold these two contradictory beliefs in my mind at once. I recognize that I am under a delusion, but I still believe the delusion, right now.

I'm writing to postpone taking all my antidepressants at once. They're tricyclics; what I have on hand will do the trick. It's ironic that my supposed cure can so easily become my death, but that's probably common, like believing a delusion while knowing it's a delusion. Life is awash in such contradictions and ironies--often we seek out and love things and people that only cause us great pain. You cannot really love without knowledge of pain, after all. You have to know what you're risking; you have to be willing to love anyway.

...i have the sense to recognize / that i don't know how to let you go / every moment's marked with apparitions of your soul / i'm ever swiftly moving/ trying to escape this desire / the yearning to be near you / i do what i have to do / but i have the sense to recognize/ that i don't know how to let you go / i don't know how to let you go /a glowing ember, burning hot/ burning slow / deep within i'm shaken by the violence of existing only for you / i know i can't be with you, i do what i have to do / and i have the sense to recognize that i don't know how to let you go...

There it is, another of life's little conundrums as described by Sarah McLachlan, one not unfamiliar to many of us, I imagine.

The thing is, suicide can be a rational choice if you have depression. It's not always manageable, and we live in a world that fails us in the surcease for pain department, and sometimes it's just more than one human being can bear. All you people who thought Kurt Cobain was nuts, had money, talent, so much reason to live? Well, he also had depression, and that's like placing a six-foot-square block of lead in the "negatives" tray on life's scales. You think it's self-centeredness, weakness, selfishness? Come over here and live with it for two weeks.

Those of us who die, we don't go out thinking that we're paying "you" back. Christ, who's that stupid? Revenge is a dish best served cold, not dead. No, we go out under an overwhelming load of guilt. We know it will hurt you. We don't wish that. We'd do anything, almost, to remove that pain from your shoulders--but we ourselves have finally buckled under this weight of grief and agony. Having severe depression is indescribable. I've read a lot of talented descriptions, and none have really captured it; I won't really try, beyond this: If you've ever lost anyone you loved passionately, someone who made you feel alive down to the tips of your toes, who brought joy and light and trust and peace into your world--if you've lost that sort of person, remember how you felt at the moment of complete realization of that loss. Remember your desolation, your agony, your loneliness, your knowledge that getting past this will take every bit of strength you have.

For most of you, that moment will thankfully fade. Your grief becomes manageable, eventually, and your shock and disbelief shield you from some of the agony. You experience moments of intense sorrow and loss, but over time they become less frequent, and you begin to rediscover peace, and eventually joy, in your life. I've lost people like this, and I know the path of grief.

In severe depression, you are not shielded by shock, and you remain locked in the emotion accompanying that first realization of loss. That's the best description I can manage; the pain one experiences really remains indescribable. One of the worst aspects is that you usually have NO REASON for feeling this pain. No one has died, no one has left you, your life is not hanging in tatters, but nonetheless you have this crippling pain.

If you have a friend who is suicidal, please note that it really isn't helpful to remind him that he's lucky, or that others have it worse, or that those others who have it worse are functioning better than he is. He's already covered that ground, trust me, and it's just made him feel worse. Because, as we all know, society hardly rewards or compliments depressives for surviving. We're not lauded for our bravery, or our tenacity, or our simple wish to live. I've never really understood this. We're all over cancer and accident survivors; we credit them with an amazing ability for withstanding pain and incapacity, but we scorn depressives for the same thing. I suppose it's easier to decide that depressives have a choice. I so wish that we did. With every ounce of my being, I wish that I could choose something else, but I'm sort of trapped in this mine shaft.

Sayonara.

Tonight I'm twitchy and pestered, so I'm going to unload. The very term "blog" seems to invite it, after all, so here goes...

One of my dearest friends is a Christian, specifically a Catholic. She was not raised in the faith; she chose it for herself after several years of spiritual searching. She believes in the Church's religious doctrine without particularly supporting its various political agendas.

Through her, I have learned more about Catholicism, and I respect her choice. It frightened me at first, because not all that long ago adherents to her religion were burning adherents to mine. I am essentially Wiccan--my faith doesnt always follow party line, but in Wicca that's generally allowed--there are some very strict practioners, but there are many different schools and beliefs. There are probably as many variations in Wicca as in Christianity; we simply don't hear about them because a pretty universal tenet of our faith is that we don't proselytize. Wiccans become Wiccans through their individual spiritual journeys.

Anyway, my friend, whom we'll call Sue, and I frequently have discussions about spiritual matters. We tend to approach the topic warily, because we each harbor some suspicion about the other's faith, while at the same time, I think, essentially trusting each other's choices and beliefs. We had one of these discussions last night and I find that I have further comments, having had more time to consider some of Sue's concerns about Wicca.

We run up against one particular tenet of Wicca rather often. This is the belief that we can change or alter forces in the world around us through spellcasting. Wiccans--responsible ones--are very careful about casting these sorts of spells, because we recognize that we may generate effects we cannot foresee. When we cast any sort of spell, we ask for the guidance and acquiesence of the Goddess. We also ask that our spell do no harm to anyone. And we ask that the Goddess guide the spell in the most appropriate way. For instance, if I'm ill and do a healing spell on myself, I'm asking the Goddess to guide me toward the state of health I NEED. It's possible that I NEED to have this particular illness in order to reach a greater state of health in the future. Perhaps I need to suffer through a bad bout of bronchitis in order to have the incentive to quit smoking. Since this may be the case, I'm asking the Goddess to guide my steps and help me reach that point. I'm not just saying, "get rid of this illness."

Additionally, I would never, ever do a spell that affected another person without asking them if it was acceptable, just as I wouldn't read the Tarot for them without permission. I don't believe that I have the right to meddle in another's life without that permission. One of the reasons that I'm a solitary practioner is that I have trouble with organized religion of any sort--it's really impotant to me that I maintain my own contact with the Goddess, and make my own spiritual choices. I may seek spiritual advice from people I consider learned, or holy, but I will never accept someone else's doctrine unless it feels really true and good to me. I think that organized religion of any sort has too much potential for dogmatic, insistent intolerance of difference, and I am wary of it for that reason. I am wary because I have seen and know too much about what can happen when people do ritual together--be it Catholic or Wiccan. It can produce great good; it can also produce great evil. I believe that one has a responsibiliy to be careful with prayer and spellcasting.

Sue sees a difference between spellcasting and prayer that I don't see, I think, and I'm not sure why. I can't speak for all Wiccans any more than she can speak for all Catholics, but for me, spellcasting IS prayer under a different name and with a different ritual. Christian believers do believe that their prayers will be answered as God sees fit; I believe that the Goddess will respond to my spell as SHE sees fit. I do not believe that I am taking power for myself; I am merely asking that I be allowed to do the Goddess's will; that, if it is appropriate, she loan me the strength to carry out my task. As I said earlier, I do think I can request power and be given it, but I think that's a dangerous road. It's not just a danger for Wiccans. There are any number of Christians out there who seem to have taken God's power and abused it. Any television preacher will do. They're not, I believe, carrying out God's will--they're using His power to manipulate others for their own benefit.

Sue also said that there are things in Wicca that are very old, and dangerous, and that I may not know what voice I am hearing or whose guidance I am receiving. Well, this is true of all forms of Mystery. I believe there are a lot of entities out there, yes. Some are good, some are evil, some simply are. But I believe that these entities inhabit all forms of the Mystery, certainly including Christianity. To me, it's far MORE dangerous to blind one's eyes to these things and pretend that they don't exist--that attitude can cause one to believe that "whatever is, is right," and if one is feeling Power it must be good. It's another reason I'm a solitary--I need to feel the entity or source of Power for myself, so that I can understand it. I do this knowing that I'm only making a judgement call, and it may or may not be right. If I'm not sure about something I'm in contact with, I back off. Over time I've come to trust my decisions in this area, as much as one ever can.

But the same entities are out there for all forms of spirit... The Inquisition was a long, involved act of sheer evil, carried out in the name of the Church but surely inspired by what Christians might call the devil. I believe with all my being that intolerance of difference in this way is almost always evil at its source. Because I know the potential for that evil is out there--and that it can speak with a honeyed voice--I watch for it. So old practitioners of my religion sacrificed animals in the name of the Goddess--we don't any longer, because we can learn, and we certainly weren't alone in that sort of activity then. Christians sacrificed everything in sight, in the Old Testament. Jesus tried to show a different path. (If you read the Gnostic Gospels, there's a lot of evidence that Jesus' s beliefs were a lot like Wicca. He also preached tolerance and patience and love.) Some truly adopted that path; some used it as a way to advance their own personal agendas.

My point is that, at basis, there are more similarities than differences between Christianity and Wicca. Both religions have bad elements now and in their pasts. At their best, both try to act out of good, and attempt to adopt an attitude of patience and tolerance. Both place a very high value on doing the work of Spirit; both try to understand what that path is. Both place a very high value on living and acting out of love, rather than bitterness or hate.

As a Wiccan, I believe that all paths of essential rightness lead to Spirit. I believe that my friend Sue has chosen a path that speaks to her,and I respect that choice. I also have great faith and trust that Sue is fully capable of IDENTIFYING her best path--she doesn't need warnings or guidance from me. She is highly spiritual; what she chooses will be right for her. I sometimes wonder if I get the same space and respect in return. It's a common problem, unfortunately--since my religion isn't mainstream, it's often regarded as cultish or twisted or demonic.

It's not any of those things, but I have no way to prove that other than to try to proceed through life as Spirit guides me and demonstrate that I'm not living out the Blair Witch Project. What else is there? I can't always live as guided by Spirit, but I can try. I don't see a big difference between my path and Sue's, and it confuses me to think that she DOES see a difference. But I've got no power over that, so I have to drop it and move on. As with so much of existence, I guess.

So that's blogged out. So far, you'd never know that I write humor, would you? Alas. I'll try to improve...

I've realized something rather important about the effect of pain meds upon my world. When they're flowing through my system in those party-size portions I was imbibing until recently, I lose all sense of contact with the universe, the goddess, Spirit, etc. Whatever construct you prefer, it ain't there when I'm buried under a pile of Vicodin. I had been struggling with a very sad and sort of desperate feeling that something was really wrong here, but I couldn't identify it for some time. Naturally, I came to the seemingly-logical conclusion that I'd dropped below the minimum daily requirement of Vitamin V, so I supplemented my intake.

Oddly, it seemed to do no good. It occurred to me that it had been some time since I'd felt any presence of Spirit in my life. I realized that I'd been deserted by the Goddess, that bitch. What the hell did I do to deserve that?

Eventually--and I do mean eventually--it occurred to me that my thinking seemed, well, impaired. When your thinking's hazy, it takes a looooong time to notice that your thinking's hazy. One of life's little conundrums. So I backed off on the Vicodin, as noted earlier. Now that I can feel my own brain again, something has happened. Something wonderful, to quote Arther C. Clarke and Stanley Kubrick. Energy has begun pouring into and through me, filling me with light and luck. I feel wired into the multiverse, aware of layer upon layer of meaning and nuance, shadow and secret. My intuition is back. My psychic ability is back and multiplied exponentially. I can feel the arms of the Goddess around me again, as I felt them for so long before.

It's more, though. To know the presence of the Divine and then lose it is an agony. Somewhere in this faded, drifting time I reread The Tempest, my favorite of Shakespeare's plays, and I wept uncontrollably in the end, when Prospero drowns his book and abandons his magic. I've long had a slanted perspective on this tale, because Prospero's sacrifice has always seemed terribly sad to me--he is, at basis, giving up his awareness of the world's mysteries. And yet I did the same thing myself, dragging along for months in this grey despair--I didn't understand what had happened. I was lucky, though, because when the realization came to me, the Spirit took me back. Took me back, and presented me with a gift of grace and vision too. What happens next? I don't know, but I'm going to be a lot kinder to poor Caliban... And I'm gonna go to sleep. Love and luck, my friends -