i don't know where i want to go this week. If you can say i want to go through any of these doors at all. i find myself becoming greedy. i get a great amount of relief from putting this stuff here. Most of the stuff i've divulged here, i've never told another human being. Well, to clarify, i have told J in a sketchy outline many many things. But, i've never told anyone these detailed events. There is something very freeing about putting them here. Almost as if by chaining them to this blog... they cannot roam free in my head anymore. They are still there, i'm sure they will never leave me... but not rattling around and sneaking up on me while i'm trying to wash the dishes or reading Harry Potter yet again.There are so many things left. So many things i want chained down. Its hard to pick one. Do i want to spend this week ridding myself of the necklace once and for all? Or would it be nicer to have control finally of the red light? i don't know. And, the not knowing has given me a rather nasty case of writer's block. i try to begin the necklace, and i don't know where to start. So i try to begin the red light, and i realize i'll probably have to go into the basement and i freeze. i've been trying to write this damn thing for about 45 minutes and don't have a single word.So here is a memory that stands alone. It won't be tied to anything else this week most likely. The rest of the week's entries may have to be a little longer so i can finish up with one of those stories by Friday. Because i just don't want to poke at this stuff over a weekend, and i am not yet at a point where i can stuff it back into the closet for the weekend.
i've mentioned before that Marcie was very good to me when i was little. She was in fact one of the few things that made life worth living. i loved her intensely and often suspected that perhaps she was my real mother. (i've thought about this too as an adult. She swears it isn't so.)i used to fantasize that Marcie got an apartment and came to collect me. Telling me she was my real mother and was ready to take care of me now. In my dreams she came and whisked me away and hit Granddaddy when he tried to stop her. These fantasies always ended with her picking me up and striding out of that house to her car. We would drive away with the radio blaring into a bright new future.This was never to be. When i was about 6 or so, the alligators got her. Marcie always drank too much. Everybody in my family drank too much. That was not really thought of as a big deal. In the land of the blind, the nearsighted man is king. And, in the alcoholic family, the drinking problem is not shit. A drug problem is a different matter entirely.The problem began, i think when she went to Baltimore. She went with her then boyfriend who dumped her once there. He kicked her out and she ended up with a gang of bikers and i believe was abused very badly. She was gone 6 months and finally hitch hiked home. The girl who returned was not the girl who left.She was distant, jumpy, vacant. Her vitality was gone. Soon enough the answer turned up. She was strung out. Although she was still good to me, she came to see me less. To everyone else in the family, she had become a hostile stranger. She lied, stole, swindled. She never kept her promises and she behaved erratically. Finally, she attempted suicide.She was in a coma for days. When she awoke, she was pissed off she was still alive. At first my parents thought she had inherited my mother mental instability. Since she was an adult they couldn't commit her to a hospital without a judge. And, Marcie could be (still can) the most charming person in the world. She always convinced the judge that my parents were just pissed off at her.They cycle continued. She burned bridges and hurt everyone she loved. Then she would attempt suicide. Why she never died is beyond me. Some of the things she did SHOULD have killed her. But they didn't. Finally my parents thought to ask one of the judges to drug test her. And, at this point the truth came to light. Marcie was on about every illegal evil substance money could buy.The day she went to rehab, was also the day i starred in a ballet production. i was little red riding hood, and i arrived and left the show in a cab. Not a single member of my family saw my one great triumph.When i returned to my grandparent's house that night, she had left me a letter. Of course, my Granddaddy had a price for that letter. i lay in my bed when he was through, cum and blood dripping from between my legs with the letter finally clasped in my hand. And, i couldn't read it. i just knew that it said that she was my mother, but that she didn't want me or love me. i smelled it, it had her scent on it. She always was smelled like flowers and the beach. i knew her rejection was more than i could bear.Finally, i managed to get out of the bed. i crept to the bathroom, taking care to wipe up the bloody mess i left as i went. i tore the letter unopened into small pieces and flushed them down the toilet. i returned to bed and pulled my magic blanket over me. (An old quilt my mother's mother had made.) i pulled close the huge teddy bear Marcie had given me and cried myself to sleep. Convinced that i had made her stop loving me somehow.
