If you are a woman, and your husband is unfaithful, even once, it would be better to get out while you are still young, or before your self-esteem is destroyed. People do not change. It is not that you cannot forgive, just that it is not something that will go away, and most likely will happen again.
If you have children, do not give up custody, fight for them, or you will regret it. You may have split custody, but keep young children with you.
If there is property and a house, which you obtained together, then keep the house. Get a lawyer, ask for alimony, child support and keep the house, even if you have to take in a renter. I know it is hard, but you will regret it if you do not, because it is very hard for a single woman, unless rich, to buy or build a house these days.
Do not get involved with any man in the first year. You are lonely and vulnerable, and you will not make a good choice, and looking back, you will regret not waiting for the right person. Men pray on recently divorced, beautiful, young women, especially with houses, like vultures. You may be prey to an opportunistic predator. That is what happened to me. He will destroy your life bit by bit, and will make your husband look like a prince by comparison. And, last but not least, if the new man disrespects you or your kids, even one bit, say "adios amigo." Say, "hit the road Jack, and don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out." Tell your husband the same, the very first time he hits you or cheats on you.
Not everyone has a very supportive family. They may not give you good advice. They will tell you for years to come that you were the one who wanted a divorce. They do not know the inside story. Only you know if you have been left, and only you know what happened behind closed doors.
It is not fair that men live in luxury and wealth, while women and children live in poverty. My own ex-husband lived in a huge house on a lake with his new wife and kids, while my kids had to grow up in a trailer. It is not fair, but if you are not careful, this can happen. Be careful. Please be careful. DO NOT WASTE TIME ON ANY MAN NOT WORTH IT!!!
Truthfully, I do not like judgment of any kind, as to good or bad, what is okay and not. This is only my own experience. Sometimes, feelings of not being alive, feelings of apathy, whether or not a defense mechanism, can be self-made. We may, for some reason or another, want to be alone. Alone is not bad. There is no judgment here. I am merely saying that sometimes when I feel really closed in, suffocating, stifled, stagnating, a part of that is self-imposed. I may for some reason need to protect myself from the outside world, and only fifty percent of my cloister may be caused by my circumstances. Half of it may be caused by the way I have chosen to live.
Chris Rock, the comedian, says in one of his stand ups, we have a video or DVD of, "you know how they have these crazy ads for drugs, like do you go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning?..."
Part of this is funny, and really funny, but partly I think, people do not want to wake up. What I am saying is that life has become so hard for so many, that waking up is a challenge. Going to sleep is easy, because it is an escape. We have to sleep, for health, mental and physical. It is a part of being a living thing, but it is the waking which is hard for us sometimes, and of course we do not want to wake up too early, which is what the ad probably really meant.
One way of renewing a sense of self, is to throw out old stuff, including old behavior, old beliefs, old physical objects and possessions. Throw out only what is no longer serving you, within and without. Make goals, even if others would say they are unreachable. Others may try to impose their own goals or agendas on you, and perhaps they are not being realistic, but only we can know what we can or cannot do. So, make goals that you feel may be possible. Do not tell others what your goals are, because they may discourage you or tell you it is not realistic. Possible or not, the goals you aim for, are most likely, way more plausible than the ones that others, parents, peers, etc., put on you, because you and only you know what it is you truly want, and what is truly possible. No one else knows, but you.
So, if people tell you stupid ideas, just say, "that's interesting," but look forward to your own ideas, goals, and what you truly believe will make you happiest. Hold tight to that, and forget the rest. It may or may not come to be, but the closer you get to your own dreams, the better you will feel. I have lived the dreams of others, have tried to believe the dreams of others, and it never works for me. You have to find your own self, your own dreams, what you really, really want, and try to make that happen. Do not say no, say how? Namaste.
Some of us are very hard on ourselves, as well as hard on others. Sometimes, there are those of us who do not want to be the way we are. We do not want to hurt anyone. We want to be loving and kind, not everyone does, but many of us really do.
Some say family relations are hardest. I think that is true. The relationship of the adult child to parent is often a mixture of fondness, high regard, but also contempt and resentment. Ultimately, we would ask ourselves to forgive them, to forgive everyone that has ever in our book, let us down.
Sometimes I am not that nice, and I regret that, but I know that if I look at myself and where I was coming from, there was a resentment, jealousy or fear. All resentments are related to fear, fear of loss, loss of security, self-esteem, etc.. People are complex and in some ways not.
We sometimes are people pleasers, pushed around, do things we do not really want to, just to be agreeable, but the grudge we feel just festers in the situation, making one's own behavior less than desirable. It is hard to put on a front, a happy face, all the time. We get un-centered. Words are unsettling. We forget to say, 'what do you mean?' We make too much of words, but we are caught off balance, lose our bearings. This is what happens to me. I do not know about you, but you probably understand.
We cannot be perfect. I cannot. Maybe you can, and all I can do is try to do my best and stop beating myself up for not always pleasing everyone, for being a scared little girl deep down, who is afraid of insecurity, of loss of self respect, sense of self. The best thing is to keep our head held high enough so that these little unsettling events do not turn us into a zombie for days. I do not know if this makes sense or if it is just me, and perhaps I have mild mood swings, maybe intense, but I am sure I am not the only one. We all have issues, and some are sicker than others. We do not have a gage to measure that, but our actions show the truth of it.
Actions speak louder than words, but words are important too. Sometimes a kind word can lift someone's spirits, or even lending an ear, not for gossip, but when someone has a problem.
There is a Diana Ross song: Reach out and touch somebody's hand, make this world a better place if you can... take a little time out of your busy day, to help someone who's lost their way, would I be talking to a stone if I asked you to share a problem that's not your own?... when you meet an old friend on the street and he's down - you know his shoes could fit your feet... reach out and touch... Most people don't have time anymore for anyone. Make time. Take time. Make a difference for someone, anyone, a child, a teen, a tween, an old person, someone going through something, a blind person, a sick person - help somebody, or in the words of Bob Dylan, SERVE SOMEBODY! Stop doing things for prestige and stature, just do it for the good of good itself. Get out of self, not for more self gratifying achievement of holiness, but for the sake of love, for love's sake.
I heard on the news tonight, they found the violin played by one of the musicians on the Titanic, who went down playing. The band went down playing. We should all go down playing. Do not be afraid to die, just live. I believe Gandhi said, 'learn like you will live forever, live like you will die tomorrow.'
No matter how bad things are, they could be worse. Usually. Recently I watched a true story on Netflix about a girl who was severely abused by her foster parent in the fifties, with the help of the foster home provider's natural sons. It disturbed me deeply.
We cannot control the world, but perhaps we can control ourselves. Honestly, I am a greatly flawed individual and I will be the first to admit that. I have been called angry and bitter, and I will own that, although as they say, and I say this without losing sight of gratitude for the good in my life, someone may always have it worse, if not greatly worse. People are crucified like Jesus Christ every day, from a country in Africa, where a child is raped, a family killed, to here in the states where a child is murdered, sold into human trafficking, a huge worldwide problem, to a child abused at home or in foster care, to an abused spouse. People are crucified daily, and I mean literally, let alone the concentration camps sixty years ago or more, but all over the world.
I am trying to make an amends to my readers, in a sense, for being selfish, self-centered, and self-serving, if you will. I have gratitude for what I do have, and I want you to know that, rich or poor, sick or healthy, I really do. Here is an example of a gratitude list: 1) food and shelter
2) health
3) being able to pay bills
4) friends and family
5) clothing
6) talents and abilities
This is a good thing to do, very therapeutic, and suggested by sponsors in twelve step programs, before anything else sometimes, and more than once, from time to time, over the years. It is part of emotional sobriety and having a daily reprieve, a program, something everyone should have, I think. It is a time of meditation, reflection, prayer, and self-searching, knowing what we could have done better, and what we can change or cannot, as well as how we can make an amends for our wrong doings, quickly and promptly, step nine and ten, The Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous.
I have noticed in my life, that not everyone, but most people think that only they deserve good things. Most people do not give a darn what happens to others. They only care that they have what they want or need, or think they need. Millionaires do not share.
I admit a rich, kind person did pay for funerals for soldiers who the military could not pay for the funerals for, due to the government shutdown, due to altruistic values. That was good of them. What is going on in this country is bad, and it is not really one sided. I think they are all bad, Republicans, Democrats, I hate them all now. Well, I do not hate them, but I think Obama acts more like it is parliament in a socialist country. Who knows maybe his healthcare thing is okay, but it sure is unpopular, so maybe popular opinion is right. I really do not know.
We have survived a government shut down in Clinton days, and I love Clinton, so maybe it will be alright in the end.
I just think that people are jealous and selfish, and even if they have everything, they do not want anyone to have anything. The reason I have come to feel that Meher Baba and the center is phony, is because I grew up there, and now they want the house I grew up in, even though it is not theirs, but my mother does not care for me enough to fight them, or really try to help me. She tried to fix me up with some jerk from California, so I would go live in California, and just not be here, so it won't matter when she dies and the center takes the home she and my father bought the land for, built and paid for, built and paid for the road, and paid taxes all the years.
I hate the Meher Spiritual Center. I really do. It is not a spiritual center at all. Not in my book.
The thing I want most I cannot have, or so it seems. It is not a person, an animal, a place, a trip, and it is not a concept. It is bigger than a bread box. It is not money.
I cannot or will not tell, so I do not know why I am writing this. I suppose, reading The Mrs. Dalloway Reader, about the writings and essays of Virginia Wolf, I am inspired, although not to walk into a river with stones in my pockets.
After writing American Boys, an 'e' book, I suppose, so no one can steal my idea, my story, I realize how much I thought about my characters, my story, in depth, what they were about, and why, and even who they were based on, and what my class story is really about. There, I said it, class, for one thing, hardship, compassion, love, war, politics, family, poverty, wealth. No one in my story is bad. Everyone is good, I suppose because at heart, I am good, you know? I do not like books and movies about bad, yucky people. I like the ABC television show Revenge, but I get sick of how bad the Grayson's are, and Emily, the star. Sometimes, I downright cannot stand her. Madeline Stowe, who plays Victoria is beautiful to watch, and I enjoyed Nolan, because he looks and acts like Alan did, my love who died.
So, the thing I want most... I will never say. I should say the thing I want back, something material, I once had, not a person. Just forget it. Hah. I do not know why I wrote this particular blog.
I feel haunted by my past, old photos I can never unpack. I have lived here for ten years, and even bought a washing machine, but I always feel a sense of temporary circumstances. Part of me wants to stay in place, and part of me wants change. It is a strange dilemma.
I have had so much loss over the years, made so many mistakes long ago, that I live with now, and I do not really know how to move forward sometimes, like I am so self-contained, and so sane, that I do not even know who I am any more. Do I not need anyone truly? I must. I have to.
Still, I long for something that I can make right. The night surrounds me, but not with comfort or a caress, but a strange feeling of loss. Can I right the wrongs? No, I do not think so. Can I be comfortable in my surroundings? I suppose. Can I be myself, and be okay with that? I guess.
And, the night sky takes over me, holds me in its quietude, and yet I hear the sounds of sirens on the street, and sometimes my sons moving around.
But, the pictures remained rapped in paper, in the closet, unable to hang on the walls, not enough space, and then what if I have to pack them up again? Where do I go from this point, from A to B? I do not know anymore. It has been like this for years, twenty almost, of unrest. I wonder sometimes if I am really not the living. That is a laugh, like a horror flick. I fear not living more than anything, I suppose. It is not dying I fear, but not living. And, I think, 'what now?'
