Sunday, May 25, 2014

Broken Promises and Winding Roads

It has been exactly one year today since I last saw home.  Or what passed for home the better part of a decade.  Truth be told, home has been gone for a long time.  I have a touch of the nomad in me, so it is difficult to pinpoint any place as home.  All I know is that home cannot be merely where you hang your hat.  I feel too much of a sense of loss about leaving places over the years for such to be true.  But the true definition of home is a matter to explore some other time.  There are two better questions to explore on this anniversary.

 First, can you really be betrayed by someone you expected to stab you in the back eventually?  I am only the most recent5 family member to be cut out of Denise’s life.  You do not have the numbers to do the actual math, but surely you can figure out the number of family she has not alienated yet is tiny.  The forsaken numbered quite heavily before I fell into her lap.  I knew the clock was ticking before the anesthetic wore off my first surgery ten years ago.  It began ticking loud enough to hear a couple months later when I asked how she felt about my presence in her house.  “There is so much sh*t already, I won’t notice,” was her reply.   Not exactly open arms, but I took.  I was not exactly embracing life at that point, anyway.  I had already tried on a plastic bag. 

Things went downhill from there.  Like any person in tough circumstances, I hardened in order to survive them.  I was hard anyway after a lifetime of alcoholic parents leading a parade of many cruel people who wandered in and out of path.  No wonder I am a nomad.  Who would want to stay in one place with all that?  Give then a moving target, I say.  Unfortunately, I became a stationary one.  Denise took aim at the bull’s eye.  Sometimes I wonder if anyone out there is jealous of her.  Then I remember most people are too conceited to care about such things.  Only the warped like you-know-who.

So am I surprised?  Obviously not.  Am I angry?  Of course.  One is entitled to be angry when wronged by a mortal enemy, much less by a blood relative in whom one should trust.  Even though I did trust Denise--barely--out od trust rather than necessity.  So we have answered the first question.  Yes, there is a lingering anger, although it is the kind of back burner pain you carry with you without reliving it constantly, even though I expecte3d the betrayal to happen eventually.

 The second question is what now?  I may have been a nomad,  but I have been goal oriented.  I moved from place to place with the assumption each new locale was a progression in life towards something better.  Well, I have certainly hit a dead stop now.  Progression may not be the case, anymore.  The future, assuming there even is one worth mentioning, is uncertain and scary.  Not a good spot for a drifter who always believed his sacrifices of happiness would pay off big in the future.

Can we answer the what now question as easily as the one about the anger of inevitable betrayal?  (No <I>Firefly</I> jokes, please.)  Well, maybe.  Long term goals are not really in the venue of the nomad, so maybe I was fooling myself there.  Truth be told, I less stationary now than when I was under Denise’s thumb.  There is something to be said for that, as is making it a goal to live day-to-day.  It has not been easy to retrain myself to accept an uncertain future, even if I do realize now my determination to chart my own path regardless of circumstances was folly.  Some lessons can only be learned the hard way.  Both lessons, in this case.   

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