Playing Dominoes

Actually I don't know how to play dominoes. It always looked and felt hard to understand, so it was not one of the games I learned how to play, but dominoes, in theory, play a big part in the way I live my daily life.

This is what my mind looks like on any given day = jumbled and in disarray.

You see, with a mental illness, I have to control, or try to control, certain aspects of my life, in order for me to carry on with my life. I have a way I do that = it's a secret, not going to divulge it, but it works for me = I call it "lining up all the dominoes" =

or "putting all my ducks in a row" =

. . . and it works, for a while . . .

then the feeling of peace gradually starts to fade away and I'm left back at Square One, but I can't start over, not today, anyway, not right now. I have to wait until a light switch goes on in my head and you see, I'll be ready, again, to put the dominoes in a row. But those times are few and far between.

But, when it happens, it's like working a puzzle, jigsaw or crossword, because I have to find "what goes with what". . . what should I do first ?

You know, connectivity =

There is an old Chinese philosophy of "yin and yang", two dual personalities working inside one mind, which is constantly what is going on in my head and it has been said that around holidays, the feelings that my mental illness triggers, starts working overtime. 

I know the meaning of Christmas very clearly and I respect that every December 25th, but I don't decorate my house anymore like I used to a long time ago. I don't like the commercialism of Christmas, the gifts, the money spent, sending cards, or decorating. 

FYI = the yin and yang are playing ping-pong in my head right now, making it hard for me to put the right words down that make sense to me and to whoever reads this. 

What was I saying? Oh yeah, this is what I'm thinking anyway = 

"I'm a spiritual person, not a religious one, which I have said many times over the years. A lot of people don't understand this concept, especially the ones who quote Bible verses to make a point or answer you back with a Bible quote, when all you want is a simple answer to a simple question= they're too organized, religion is too organized. That kind of organization, I do not need. Just tell me what time it is = I don't want to know how the watch or clock is actually put together."

Call me a non-believer, if you will, but I'm not.

On this cold Christmas Eve 2016, there is sadness in the air, for me anyway, even though lining up the dominoes and getting all the ducks in a row, worked, for a while, but that feeling is beginning to wear off and my mind is restless now, jumping from one thought to another, thinking of words that just pop into my head, but at some time later in the night, I will hear that word or see that word somewhere. My abuser's face, his name and his whispering voice, jump into my head, playing games with my sanity, throwing me off balance, way off balance. 

My brain seems to pick up on "something" = just something, I don't know what it is, just something out there in the universe that is determined to be part of my thought process right now and it certainly was not invited, it just showed up.

Last night, when my heart started beating funny and I thought I was going to have to call "911", is the same time that someone in the news had a heart attack. Not sure if that is connected, but it gives me a very weird feeling, sets me apart from everyone around me, because no matter what you believe, I believe I am alone in what I feel, think, express or demonstrate. It is what is, whatever "it" is . . .

Right now, I feel like I'm on a boat at sea, drifting slowly along, completely alone, with the red sky at sunset as my companion . . .

. . . and sometimes I feel like I'm this person in this picture posted below = 15 years old, sitting in the grass with my nephew, maybe I'm 16, because it looks like I'm showing off my class ring, which the school principal paid for = not really sure who I am, not sure of where I'm going, but keenly aware of what people think of me, keenly aware of what people are calling me, knowing the abuse I have suffered as a child will somehow shape the rest of my life, but no one seems to pay attention to me in that respect, you know, someone who needs help sorting out the details of their life thus far, a person who needs guidance, a person who needs a father's guiding words and hands, from a father who has always been absent from my life. 

People still make fun of me, but they try to frame it in a point of reference to something they've read or seen on TV, about a gay person, thinking I will relate to it, but the comment still comes across like it did 55 years ago, with a hearty dose of laughter at the end of the comment, as if the person is saying, "it's a joke, get it" = no, I don't get it.

But, really look at that hand gesture, with the skinny arm, that would make you automatically think something of me, wouldn't it ? = I don't know, you tell me . . . but something like that was always the frame of reference when someone made me the butt of their joke.

Going completely off track = it is said that when you cross over to the Other Side, you are completely alone, no matter who is sitting by your bedside, because they won't go with you, they will stay put and you will go to your Forever Home by yourself. I am not afraid of Death, but I am afraid of that exact moment when you cross over to the Other Side, I am afraid of that moment.

But, that is another kind of aloneness, the one that is your own, the one you have to acknowledge =

There is no one there who can help you, no one there who can say the "right" word that will make your exit any easier, so I will probably leave this world just like I entered it = a spirit lingering in a physical body until it is time for God to set it free =

In the years I have lived

And in the days I have seen

Some days I will see again

But they will come with all the pain.

= Harry Patrick

Behold, My Freedom Comes

I watched a TV talk show this afternoon that was almost impossible to sit through = it was heart-wrenching and seemed to be without hope, but I watched it anyway and I'm glad I did.

I saw the future for a lot of people who disappear into the background and no one seems to care about where they are or what they are doing.

One of the great actresses I have seen, in my opinion, was just quirky enough that I thoroughly enjoyed her films. She was magnificent in The Shining, with Jack Nicholson and in Popeye with Robin Williams.

When Dr. Phil mentioned Williams' death, the actress said "He's not dead, he's shape-changing".

The actress is Shelley Duvall, battling an incomprehensible mental illness that has ravaged her appearance and her mind and left her a shell of her former self. 

That was Shelley "then" and this is Shelley "now".

You could tell she was deep in the throes of her own reality, she was not living in the real world, but at times she was lucid and intelligent and somewhat funny. I don't know what happened to her except that the illness has taken over her life and people who don't understand mental illness or who refuse to try to understand, the illness will take over your life. Her prospects for recovery are slim.

My mental illnesses are somewhat helped by medication, but some of them do what they want to do and I can't control them. Each day is a struggle and a battle to remain sane, to be able to fight another day to try to make the "chattering" in my brain go away.

I have little tricks that I finally had to put to use today to attain a little peace in my mind = it worked for a while, but a trigger set if off = I won't tell you what those tricks are I use and I won't tell you what sets me off. Don't want people to know that part of my life, even though they know a lot about me at this point.

But more days than I would like to count, my mind is jumbled like this =

= or this =

For those people who shun me or don't understand me or judge me or criticize me, you should get on your hands and knees and thank God you are not like me. There are those people who say they "understand" what I go through, they don't really know, they only say that to fill the silence.

Memories haunt me, my emotions run rampant, my logic is flawed, but I do have compassion for the ill-trodden of this world and I do have compassion for any human being or animal that is in distress.

I have memories of a lost love I found at the age of 35 = he was 13 years younger than me, but I truly felt I had found the person I wanted to spend my life with. I met his parents, ate dinner at his home, took drives with him, shared lunches with him and exchanged Christmas presents with him. We both wanted to commit to each other, but I wasn't strong enough to be my "true" self back then and I walked away, a broken and heartsick man who felt like my life ended = I didn't know how to live without him. I was married at the time and my poor judgment led me into a chaotic-filled life for 9 more years. I was finally free of her, but I had lost "him".

Scarred in mind and soul, I have traveled the last 35 years with that memory of my love burning in my brain and it will be with me until I draw my last breath. That memory haunts me to this day, my walking away with tears streaming down my cheeks, not strong enough to live my life the way I wanted to live it.

I can now live my life the way I want to live it, but the victory is bittersweet.

This is one of my favorite poems (by Maya Angelou)  = sums up my feelings of the internal pain =

I pray for the day God sets people like me and Shelley Duvall free = we will be at peace = then and only then will our inner demons be silent.

Pedro and the Old Man

I found two new friends online this past week = one was a mere baby and one was an "old man".

I fell in love with both of them after hearing their stories, in the platonic sense, and it was through them, I think I have found my calling.

In this time of chaos and uncertainty in this country and my own questions about my role in this world, it finally dawned on me the answer was maybe right in front of me.

Through the friendship I have attained with Pedro and the "old man" named Garfield, I have found a purpose in life.

Ever since BabyDoo died back in July, my world has been shattered and still feels like it is tiny little pieces laying on the trailer floor and will always be that way, but a sliver of hope emerged from the ruins and I hope I am capable of making a difference this late in my life.

My body and spirit are weak right now and my motivation is challenging. My life has taken a toll on me, but my voice and my words are still strong, at least in my mind.

This is Pedro =

Pedro is a young fur baby right now in residence at a high-kill shelter. He was adopted and then returned to the shelter because he didn't get along with the older cat already in the home, so I came to his aid and it was going to be a one-time thing for me, sponsoring him and paying for his adoption and vetting fees, but it turned into a cause. I pray my efforts save his precious life.

I then found out about the "old man" at the same shelter = didn't know his name at the time I heard his story, but found out later his name is Garfield. He is a senior citizen fur baby, with no teeth and some serious medical issues. He was in danger of being put to sleep because of his age and his medical conditions. I came to his rescue and offered to sponsor him, too. As of tonight, Friday, November 11, 2016, he has been treated for some of his problems, but his prognosis is not good. He is loved and his life matters, no matter how much longer he has here before he crosses the Rainbow Bridge. Apparently no one wanted him and that's why he was put in the shelter, as a stray to await his fate. I hope he does not die there.

This is  Garfield =

It leads me to a brief story about myself and I don't know if my readers can connect the dots, but here goes . . . in 1965, when I was 20 years old, I was sent on a Greyhound bus, with other young men, to Ashland, KY to be drafted into the military. I passed all the physical exams and all other tests they put me through, but was not allowed to serve because of my sexual orientation . . . in other words, I was "unwanted" because of who I was. I was cast aside like a stray who didn't matter and at times, I still feel that way.

The elderly in this country, whether you are a human or a stray cat or dog, you are dismissed as a soul who doesn't matter to the rest of the world. This world apparently has no place for us "strays".

I am thankful I live in a country where I can live my life as I choose and I thank the people who fight for my freedom every day for this privilege. I thank the people who once scorned me. But I have no thanks to the people who have no conscience and no soul who abandon the animals of this world to be left to their own survival. I am proud to be an American but I am not proud of the Americans who can be so callous and inhumane. Their actions leave me to the point of being speechless, because I can think of no words to describe them.

On this day, I put a flag in my window and am trying to move forward in a positive way, but it's a difficult step to take, not knowing where my life is going to take me. But I do know this = I will be the voice of those souls who cannot speak, whether it is a homeless person or a homeless animal looking for a forever place to lay their head, I will speak for them, loudly I will speak and use the words known to me to relay my message to everyone around me.

I know realistically, that all of these souls cannot be saved, but I will do my part to make a difference in their lives, no matter how small it may be. I hope the ones out there who are looking for their forever home, I pray that God surrounds them with His love until their journey is complete, whether it is on this Earth living their life or crossing the Rainbow Bridge, where they go when their struggles are over.

Nineteen years ago tomorrow, November 12, 1997, I held my beloved Benjamin in my arms as he crossed the Rainbow Bridge. His spirit lives to this day, in my heart and will be there until I cross that bridge.

This is Benjamin =

He was a stray when I rescued him in 1981, he was one of the unwanted souls in this world and he was near death when I rescued him, drove eight hours from Kentucky back to Georgia and took him to a vet who saved his life. He was a month shy of his 17th birthday when I had to end his struggles.

Ironically, today I got a statement from the hospital I was in on July 9th of this year and it stated I was "near death" when I was admitted to the ER. The doctors at the hospital saved my life, but I am still weakened from the bout with pneumonia and don't know if I will ever completely heal. I am weak in body and in spirit tonight, but I hope my new cause can give me some sort of motivation to do good things with the time I have left in this physical world.

Me and Pedro = me and Garfield = me and BabyDoo = me and Benjamin = linked together by similar circumstances in this chaotic and cruel world. But all five of us have lived in an America that gives us freedom and privileges. The people who don't respect the differences of their fellow human beings and don't respect the lives of the "strays" of this world, do not have the right to stand up for this flag and for what it stands for = and they are the ones we must fear, 

Which one do you align yourself with?

This ?

or This?

When Forrest Gump said these immortal words to the woman on the park bench = "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you're going to get until you open the box' = can be said about everything new that comes into your life or about a chance you took when the odds were stacked against you or when you overcame incredible obstacles to be where you are today or when the world treated me as a "freak of nature" because of my sexuality.

I don't consider myself a victim, even though my life has been filled with tragedy and triumph, laughter and tears. I am a cynical, hard-nosed, outspoken son of a bitch who is now emerging as the "real" me, not willing to take anything else from anybody else. My life has become my own, off limits to anyone who betrays me or treats me like an "old shoe" you can throw in the corner.

I talked to a friend in Georgia last night for about an hour and she put a face on the feelings I've been having recently. I tried to explain myself to her, but she stopped me and said, "I know exactly what you are talking about" = "I've felt the same things before".

What we both are talking about is when the heart is shattered into a  million pieces, you can't explain that to another human being = today, I find myself living in another dimension, disconnected from the "real world", trying to move forward, but finding it difficult to do so. Unless you have had your heart and soul and life broken into a million pieces,you can not understand where I am coming from.

My world has shifted, it's off-kilter and a "normal" life doesn't make any sense to me any more, actually it never did, but right now, for sure, it does not.

If you had opened a "box of chocolates" that was my life several months ago, you probably would have seen the person you are used to seeing, but what you see now when I go out in public is not the person I used to be = like I said, my world has shifted and it will never feel the same and I'm not just talking about BabyDoo's death on July 29th, I'm talking about the accumulation of my life's journey and the steps I have taken to get to the point where I am today.

I really don't give a shit anymore about what people think of me or my opinions or my truths or my life = it's a place I have created for myself = putting up a wall between myself and the real world and I don't want to take it down and I don't want anyone taking it down for me = I don't want your help to "get on" with my life because what I have created works for me and I am getting on with my life, but probably not the way the public has envisioned me doing so.

When I got out today and bought my Subway sandwich, my coffee and the Herald-Leader, I was completely disconnected from the world around me. I stopped at the Dollar Store on the way back to my trailer and got some items, but the people in both places didn't really exist for me. They were just "there" filling up space.

You know, when I was seriously ill with pneumonia and in the hospital, no one came to see me, no one paid me a visit, no one called = I was the one making the phone calls, making sure my babies were OK and I lingered at Death's Door for about 4 days, not being melodramatic, but that's the way it was. I insulated myself against the people who would say the "right words" to me after I got out of the hospital, because I didn't give a shit what they said to me at that point, but they had to give me an opinion about what they would do, "hang in there" and "you just gotta do what people tell you to do so you can get well". To those people, my phone is "off the hook".

People speak in Pollyanna terms when their life is on track and they don't really know how to relate to someone who is fighting a fight he's not sure he is going to win = still not sure if I'm going to win this "fight" = still not sure, every day is a struggle, a challenge, a new world for me, a "box of chocolates", if you will.

A "box of chocolates" I'm afraid to open as each day dawns, it's like a Pandora's box, these chocolates that represent what my life is like.

The Pandora's Box = a daily battle with MS, my ongoing pneumonia-lingering effects, my blindness, my age, my mortality, my grief, my anger = yes, I do get angry, I am human, don't you know = my little pleasures that get me through this life, only known to me, only makes sense to me and of course, my friend in Georgia = I have known her a long, long time and a phone call to her helps ease the rigors of my daily life.

An assortment of feelings and emotions course through my body, my mind and my brain and my intellect that all is "not well" around me, but I don't want anyone to interfere and disrupt the flow of the steps I take ever day.

I believe there is a "monster" inside all of us, some of us know how to hide it, others do not = I don't know how to hide it, really I don't want to = I "own" it = the side of Dr. Jekyll I have to fight off on a regular basis = having a series of mental illnesses is like having a bunch of marbles rolling around in my head that is constantly "chattering" to me = won't leave me alone = these illnesses are "invisible" = if people don't see them, they don't believe they exist.

I died on July 29th, 2016 of a broken heart and was re-incarnated into a shell of an old man, struggling with life's ongoing chaos. My babies keep me sane, keep me grounded, keep me going, give me a reason to go on, because without them, I have no reason to be here. When I physically die for the second time, it will be of a broken heart. 

I was near death when they wheeled me into the ER on July 8th, 2016 and the doctor said to me = "you almost didn't make it" = they poked me with needles, took my blood, took X-rays, took an ultrasound of my heart and lungs, told me I had Congestive Heart Failure and took my temperature by sticking a thermometer up my ass, making me pee in a cup after washing my penis off with a baby's wipe = wile the nurse stood there and watched me = I had never heard the term CHF (that's a cutesy way the doctors and nurses talk about something that could kill you) = I had not heard that term before with my name attached to it.

But there I was, a big "box of chocolates" that had been opened for the whole world to see.

So, if anyone asks me in the future = "how are you doing, you look good today" = I will tell them "so-so" because they don't really want to know the person I've become = an old man with hardly any teeth left, an unblinking left eye staring into a dark chasm, staring back at the world and seeing a blur and battling invisible demons rattling around in my head and grieving for all the babies in my life that have crossed the Rainbow Bridge = because when BabyDoo died on July 29th, I died of a broken heart = his death shattered my soul just like the 7 other babies I had lost over the years, one over 40 years ago, had shattered my heart = the 8 babies had been placed in my heart and mind and soul and the pain of all those losses will never go away, they are all lumped together and will forever haunt this new person who emerged on July 29th, 2016, the date of my new birth.

"You never know what you're going to find inside" = = =

When The Night Wind Howls

I think the picture speaks for itself, especially on this day of all days, Halloween, my least favorite time of the year.

I guess I've been burnt so many times with people putting on a false face and taking me for a ride, is the reason I'm not in the mood to look at a lot of people wearing masks when it gets dark at night, especially children, because I think they can be the cruelest of all human beings when they set their mind to it.

And I think that cruelty comes from the parents, who they mimic and see as role models, role models the child doesn't mind being like, because they live their entire life trying to please one or more of their parents. Really, they don't owe their parents anything. Sure, they raised them, fed them, clothed them, but did they truly love them? The child, in their soul of souls, think they did indeed, love them.

In some families, I think the word "love" is thrown around too often and too falsely = no meaning or feeling connected to it. They love their child (or children)  as long as they make them proud. Some parents live their lives through their offspring and take pride in their accomplishments like they have, too, accomplished that goal the child has managed to accomplish, whatever it is.

When the child decides to become their true self, if the parents don't agree with that choice, they turn their backs on that child. If the child picks a lifestyle or profession the parents are proud of, they can't do or say enough to people about their "children = I'm so proud of all my children" = each compliment having a ring of falseness in its tone.

Cynical? = perhaps = you be the judge, I'm not being the judge, I'm just expressing my feelings, my opinions and besides, we all live in a glass house, so I'm not going to throw any stones.

People don't take me seriously when I talk or when I do something = they fall back on "well, he is mentally ill, so therefore he must be making all that stuff up". Well, news flash, I'm not making it up.

My opinions, my feelings don't seem to matter, no one seems to be interested in people my age because they think "he's set in his ways and he's not going to change" = well, duh, that's a given.

My most loyal companions have been my  pets = and in that respect, I have been accused of having so many pets around me because they "can't talk back, they don't have an opinion they can voice".

Loyalty lies in the love they show me and have shown me over the years, not so of some of the people I have had the misfortune of crossing paths with.

People stayed close to me, as long as I agreed with everything they said, listened to all their "tales of woe", helped them out financially, gave them a place to stay, put food on their table, chauffeured them around anywhere they wanted to, and like I said, listened endlessly to  "their tales of woe" = but when I finally stood up and said "enough is enough" = they turned their back and waked away and never showed their presence in my life again, which has been a blessing for me. Because, to share your life and your space with someone who ultimately turns out to be the one who betrays you by not being thankful for all you have done for them, they just walk away, just walk away, the harshest form of betrayal.

My education, which I worked my ass off to accomplish, has often been thrown up in my face, making me "prove" my intelligence and know-how by answering any question thrown at me = they relish it when I don't know the answer = they make jokes about my sexual identity = treat my life as a joke, a punchline they can't wait to throw at me. After all, a man "living with all those cats can't possibly be someone to be taken seriously". And I'm supposed to look up to these people who say "all my children, I'm proud of all of them" as if to make a point, feeling pride, living their life through them. I don't live my life through anyone else. It is what it is = my life is what it is = I am what I am = 

Are you a wolf in sheep's clothing or is that just the face you are going to put on tonight?

I ventured out today on this beautiful October day, didn't feel like getting out, but I had to run an errand in Morehead and go to the Dollar Store, so off I went.

When I got to the place where I was going to run my errand, the receptionist asked me if I was OK. I said, "Just a bit wobbly".

Fact is = I was disoriented, not attached to the real world, should not have been out by myself but I was, had nobody to drive me to where I needed to go. I left that office, drove to the BP station, got me a large cup of coffee and a carved turkey sandwich at Subway's. The person who was making the sandwich asked me if I was OK and asked me if she could help me get a cup of coffee. It dawned on me as I made my way back to the house that people saw me differently than the person I saw in the bathroom mirror before I left on my journey to the outside world.

Fact is, the MS had been "relapsing" the last couple of days and that is the way my physical body presented itself to the public. I know there are other people suffering from MS, but for a 71-year-old to suffer from it, according to my doctors, "it is almost always fatal" = I'm living on "borrowed time" = never wanted to say that before but I'm saying it here for the first time = two doctors have told me that prognosis. I have told people otherwise, but what I just said is the real truth. I'm taking all my medicine the doctors prescribed for me in July for the pneumonia and the long-lasting symptoms that come with it, I'm following the diet the doctors prescribed to keep my weight down, to make my physical body as comfortable as possible, but nothing I do at this point can stop the inevitable outcome of this illness from happening = it is what it is = I am walking that Final Mile, day by day, week by week, month by month and year by year.

I can't help but wonder what kind of footprints my "father" left behind in his 81 years here on earth. The man I was always told was my father, even though his name did not appear on my birth certificate, was born in 1888, 

twenty-three years after Lincoln's assassination!! = and my father died in 1969. He died in his garden of a stroke = I have a picture of him = someone told me he was in his 60s when the picture was taken = but I picture him in a straw hat working in the garden like his ancestors had, toiling to make a living, shuffling through his journey of life, leaving his footprints somewhere in the soil of the garden.

Never got the chance to measure myself against him, never felt the need to, but always felt an emptiness in my heart and soul of something missing.

Tried to fill that emptiness over the years but not succeeding, even my marriage was an attempt to do that, to no avail. When I talk of "I did this" and "I did that" up until 1989, I was really with my wife, but when she invalidated our marriage in 2010 by telling me of her affairs, I don't feel it necessary to put her name in the narrative of my life, because she betrayed me by doing something she always accused me of doing, having several affairs.

She had her single female friends, but when I made friends with a single guy, she always wanted to meet him. One time, I made the mistake of introducing her to one of my single male friends at work and she verbally pinned him to the wall, because she "disagreed" with his philosophy of life. The 2010 "breakup" we finally went through was when she became hateful and virulently spiteful in a bunch of emails to me and her "real" self came out. So, to me, she doesn't belong in the narrative of my life. Neither does my father, actually, because he was a non-person to me all my life and continues to be so.

My life today shows the burden of sadness and sickness that have shaped my soul and mind and my physical body = the way I walk, the way I talk, my emotional outbursts, my desire to be alone except for my babies, not trusting anyone, not being able to communicate on a human's level, because, to me, they always have a hidden agenda. I can sense the negative vibes in a person as soon as I meet them. I know it's not politically correct to judge a person on one's first impression, but honestly, I do. Only a few have passed the test and I have let them into my house and into my life, but only a select few. Until they betray me, if they do, then all bets are off.

This has been and is my journey = it's been a long and winding road, but it's been my journey = I own it = every curve and bump in it. I know I will be alone when I make my final journey to the Pearly Gates, but I know there is something great waiting for me there = Eternal Peace, for one thing and a reunion with all my babies.

My babies have become my life, I am indeed a member of the "Cat World" and proud to be one, but I also love and respect all animals, trying to be their voice because they cannot speak, so this is the picture I have of myself when I only have one baby left.

When he or she is gone, I will go right behind them, either with God's help or finding my own way to leave this Earth, or maybe the MS will do its "dirty deed" = because there is no way I could go on living in an empty house and staring at an empty front porch where their footprints and scratch marks will be there for all Eternity. The footprints of my life's journey will no longer make an impression as I get to the End of the Road, only the memories people have of me and of the marks, if any, I leave behind.

Excuse Me While I Disappear

Some people say I rescued and adopted my cats because they can't talk back to me and they can't disagree with anything I say.

I say "they talk to me, not back at me" and I do prefer their company over humans any day of the week. If you're not comfortable with that part of my life, you need to walk the other way.

An article in last week's Outlook spoke of being alone and liking your own company = I agree with that, I love to be (not alone, I have my 8 babies) free of human contact.

Today is a good example of beautiful weather, loving my babies and feeling an odd sense of peace and well-being, rarities for me. Add a much-needed cup of coffee, the New York Times Saturday crossword puzzle, some crackers and cheese and it's a pleasant day.

I have also found out that some of my babies who wouldn't sit next to me or sit on my lap now do so with eagerness. Baby-Doo occupied that space for many years and the others just stood back and watched and waited for their turn. In Baby-Doo's absence, they have re-thought their choices. My beloved Baby-Doo's spirit lives strongly in my heart and mind, so he still has a place with me and that will always be true, no matter how old I get before Jesus leads me to my new Home.

Sixty years ago, all was not well in my mind = there was not a sense of well-being and peace of mind, and there would not be any for many, many years = I didn't know at the time that what was happening to me was verbal, emotional and mental abuse, but I learned over the years from all the psychiatric visits I scheduled, that it was indeed, abuse in its strongest form. I still have nightmares about the man who inflicted that upon me.

He was a young red-headed stranger to me when he drove up to our house on Sour Springs Road in 1956 in his white convertible with a black top. I sensed something wasn't right about him as soon as I met him and I knew instinctively to stay away from him and I was proven right.

He became my mother's boyfriend and I knew not to disagree with him on anything or stand up for myself or disobey "one of his rules" = consequences would be paid, in spades.

He never physically hit me, but he would back me into a corner, literally, in the house and spew his venom directly into my face. After a while, I taught myself how to "disappear" from the situation. Later, I was told by my psychiatrist it was a form of "disassociative behavior" = not a split personality, but putting myself into another place where things were OK and peaceful and non-threatening. That's what I think I'm arriving at currently, keeping to myself, creating my own safe world and calling all the shots, being independent and private and happy with being alone. But the nightmares of him still haunt me, 60 years after the fact. He died a long time ago, but, in my mind, I can see him as he was the first day I met him.

I have forgiven my Mom a long time ago for letting him do that to me and my sister, but I know now she suffered from bi-polar disorder, just like I do and there was no medicine back then to help her cope with her mental demons. This stranger took advantage of her mental state and dictated every choice she made about me and my sister.

Between the ages of 11 and 16, my life on earth became a living Hell.

= excuse me while I disappear =

All people have 2 faces they wear = one for the public, one they put on behind closed doors = I had to put on my public persona today because I had to go out and mingle with the public, but as soon as I got back to my "nest", I put on my regular face, you know, the old face and the bald head and the wrinkles and talking to my babies =  not "at" them, but "to" them.

I dread those trips out in the public = I have really begun to dread them = takes me a long time to mentally prepare myself for the onslaught of humans out there who I prefer not to connect with. They seem to stare at me, maybe they're not doing that, but I do sometimes catch middle-aged men with the beer-bellies and frowns on their face, looking me up and down. I know my feminine side is apparent and there's nothing I can do about it and the more weight I lose, the more feminine I become, but it's a no-brainer for me = to stay healthy so I can survive as long as I can = I follow the diet the heart doctor put me on back in July when he discharged me from the hospital.

The near-fatal bout with pneumonia and the death of Baby=Doo in the same month shattered something inside me that has left me living a surreal existence, where I want to disappear, with my babies of course, to a place where no one will ever see me again.

Is it an irrational thought? = probably so = but my mind works that way now. Do I have to explain it to people around me? = no = the people who are close to me in a sincere way accept me for who I am and how I present myself to them, don't need to explain much of anything to them. If they try and "fix" me in any way, they can walk away and let me live my life as I choose = I don't need their approval or advice at this time in my life = just let me be and =

= excuse me while I disappear = 

= into the Vast Unknown =