Kryptonite

Years ago, when I drove back and forth to the mental hospital every evening to see Savant, a song by a new band, 3 Doors Down, would play on the radio. Kryptonite. It made me cry and it still can. Savant had always loved comics, so had my brother and my other son. All three of them joyously sported towel-capes in their youth. I had always associated Superman with them. And now Savant had gone crazy. My heart was broken. I prayed he was still in there somewhere, waiting for someone to find him and bring him back. No matter what, I would always be by his side, even though I had never felt so weak. It would take super-human strength to survive this horrible thing, for him and for me. It crushed me.

When I was young I had taken psychedelics a few times, one freakishly bad trip was all it took to put an end to that, so I had some idea of the places insanity may take someone. I remember how slowly time passed and how severe my fear was. I could not bear the thought that he was stuck in a similar place with a life sentence to spend there. No way to come down. The thought of it was agony to me. I would follow him to Hell and drag him out if I could and if I couldn't, I would stay there with him, he would not be abandoned by me. I love him with all my heart.

Dreaming of Horses

When I was four I began to dream of horses. My horse was parked next to our little house in the spot where my father would park the car if he was home. Saddled and bridled, ready to ride but I couldn't make my dream self sit on the saddle. I would hold the reigns and hover above the horse the way Superman would fly through the sky. Then we moved to Japan and I don't remember much about my dreams for a while. I've loved horses my whole life. I wished for a simple life with enough land to own a horse. I never cared about status or wealth, and still haven't achieved either. I also never owned a horse.

When I was in the second grade we moved to Austin, Texas where I learned to ride. God smiled on me and gave me a best friend who had horses at her house. My sister and I could ride together at any one of several stables that rented horses by the hour. They would let us ride unsupervised which we loved. No trail ride with a guide bull shit for us.

When we were little my grandparents put $100 in bank accounts for each of us. We would not get it until we were older, but it would be ours and we could get whatever we wanted. As far as I know, mine was the only one that came with a stipulation: anything but a horse. Why? I still don't understand it. When I was twenty and finally given the cash, I had to spend it on groceries.

Now Is Good

The past is part pain, part joy, a tiny bit bliss. The future could be similar. But now is good.

The space between the past and the future can be longer than a split second if you want it to be. Split seconds pass so fast I can get dizzy trying to catch one. I've decided to let now be a little longer, so I can savor it instead of watching it zip by. I'm searching for a way to dump the heavy blob of distress from traumas of the past and the fear of potential traumas. Some days I am overcome with fear of life; I wouldn't call it suicidal, but I'm thankful that I have a prescription that helps calm the terror. When I was little I would be overcome with a terror of death and fear of being alone in the universe. I just had to ride out my panic. There was no help.

Right now is OK. Right now is OK. Right now is OK.

Other People's Secrets

Years ago, while trying to survive the painful, stressful situations in my life that involved alcoholics, or drug users, it was suggested that Alanon might be helpful for me. Alanon, which is not AA, is AA's support group for families and friends of alcoholics. I learned that we should not keep the secrets of alcoholics. They taught me that helping to keep my alcoholics' phony facades intact, to continue to make excuses for them, made me a codependent and that is not a good thing to be. Now, twenty plus years later, I think I misunderstood the finer points of this credo. Up until recently, I would not keep anyone's secrets, alcoholic or not, with few exceptions. I would warn others that I don't keep secrets. I did not equate it with gossiping. I didn't realize that most people do.

The truth is extremely important to me. Trust is too. After the Alanon sessions, I didn't consider it a betrayal of trust to stick to the truth. I thought others who lied and betrayed people's trust did not deserve protection from the messes they created. I would not be a participant in the cover-up and we would all benefit in some karmic way. Maybe. Many times I have been sure that I was being lied to, but I hoped the lier would see that I was not rejecting them for it, that I was an endless well of second chances to get it right. Pretty naive, huh? What they were really learning from me was that I was dumb as dirt and there were no dire consequences in betraying my trust.

I am divorced now, so there has been a huge reduction in the amount of interpersonal crap I have to experience on a daily basis. More time to examine my own. Soon, I hope, I will have put it in its proper place and won't waste any more time on it. Over, done, move on.

We all have flaws. I believe we can not be too kind. There are still those among us who prey upon the guileless, the innocent, the kind. But now I do not see innocence, kindness, or guilelessness as only being vulnerabilities. To be kind, in the face of it's opposite, takes a strength I may not have, but I don't fear trying to do it, now.