Dysfunctional Denial

 


 I have found that the burden of dysfunctional behavior is well accepted by some, i.e. they want to talk about it ad although they are not proud of it they are certainly not averse to investigating the reasons that have made them the way they are. They want to know why they are the way they are and if asking some very uncomfortable questions to find out the answers then this is what they have to do.

   I have run into both groups and have become very dissatisfied as to the reaction that I am receiving especially from family members. My mother is dead and has been for a number of years. She held all the answers to the problems my family went through and now they are locked away in an urn in my father's study. My father is either in complete or utter denial or he is ready to take all the family secrets to the grave with him. His choice, obviously but I don't think he realizes the absurdity that was once our family unit.

   We have completely disintegrated. There are a number of us who have given up any kind of relationship with him and then there are the others who appear to just be waiting out an inheritance which, I could be wrong, is going to be very disappointing to them. I have a painting of my mothers' which I basically stole, I thought it would look good in my house, nobody put up a fuss and I took it! Their is a cane of hers that I want but I might find that a little more difficult to procure. As far as money goes, proceeds from the sale of the house, I'm sure my sister has sold the diamond rings already, there is nothing in the contents that could possibly be worth anything. So I would happily join the proctologist shoving any rewards up their asses.

   My older brother is the only one I will maintain any kind of relationship. I have another brother in northern Ireland but the distance would make things difficult. My sister is the devil incarnate and always has been, she will have the most difficulty trying to find someone to look after her and put up with her bullshit. She could do the world a favour and jump off a large building now and try not to hit a car so nobody's insurance would go up! My younger brother hopefully will get an oversize dildo lodged in his anus and die, it could happen! I think I hate him the most!

   Back to my father, I hope he dies in ignorance although I know he must know something, how could he not? His inability to discuss anything with me have produced such hatred in me I doubt it could be fixed.

   Nobody in my family reads my blog!

Depression, valium and zopiclone.

The battle between the brain and the pharmaceutical companies is a complex one and there is yet to be a clear winner. Doctors are so ready to prescribe you the one that I suspect gives them the largest kickback and help them get their well-needed sleep at night when they are realizing the patients thy are serving are getting better. (My apologies to Doctor Don Williamson) who I don't feel I am in any position to judger. I am sad, so sad that there is no way to describe it.. I can be sitting at the table thinking of nothing and my min immediately turns toys I can solve my own problems. Solving my one problems never sees to contain the get off my ass and make something out of myself,. These solutions are very few and far between! So I take a cipralex and while I am waiting for these effects which never take place, it seem to get even worse. What's a guy to do. Let's move on to the next panacea!

Diazepam! The wonder drug that seems to take all your problems, put them into a bag, set the bag on fire and then put it on a neighbours porch and hope that they come and crush it into oblivion  Doesn't wok, your problems are still there and seeing that the valium hangover seems to last one hell of a long time only seem to make  the matters worse. Valium seems to work if you are willing take twenty some tablets toy and you have very little to get accomplished for the rest of the day!

Don't take zopiclone! Sooner or later it will kill you. Sure it puts you to sleep for a couple of hours but thats it. Then you will find you up for the night, setting the table for next nights dinner for next nights dinner or arguing with the local convenience store owner about the quality of beef jerkey. Something definitely to be worried about. Use your own judgement, I am addicted to all three!!!!!!!!!!11

Zopiclone Poems

Contact for ordering info, will lower prices for schools, shelters and family centres.
crane4366@rogers.com 

My anthology of poetry which is still a work in progress but is not far from becoming a completed work Tells a lot of my story, what made what I am today and unfortunately full of a lot of bitterness because of what I am today. Written for everybody although few will understand, this kind of things need hands-on experience and this is not always available. Arms are spread wide for questions and critique, do not be scared about telling me the truth, I will not be offended!!!!

Chocolate Flowers by Jori Nunes

CHOCOLATE FLOWERS BY JORI NUNES

A must read for anyone who is in crisis recovering from any kind of sexual, mental or physical abuse. Its not an easy read but the discomfort can transform that introverted part of you that is afraid to show people what is under that rock you are dragging around. Here is book review I wrote for Jori after I finished the book, and I will be the first to admit to the difficulty of reading and accepting it, the astounding part is the author is still alive and recovering and healing even after the excruciating job of writing it!

"I read Chocolate Flowers with some reservations. I have read many books on the subject 
due to my own childhood which was marred by sexual abuse. I didn't know what to expect 
from Jori, I had joined an online group which she is very involved in and I was impressed by 
the way shewrote and I realized that she was one of the first people I had ever heard that 
seemed to understand the stigma of sexual abuse. In short, she gets it. What she tells is
 an incredible story of survival and perseverance without shame. She is not looking for
 pity for what she has endured, nor does she ask for laurels for her determination to
 survive and perhaps help as many people as she can. For many of us who have 
survived sexual abuse life has become a jail cell that you are afraid to leave and 
I think Jori is trying to throw us a key. Nobodycan open the door for us and she has 
given me the hope that I can get myself out of this desolate landscape and take a 
chance to thrive. Chocolate Flowers does not beat around the bush but it is told
 with such candor and honesty that you might hope to believe that some of the
 evil in this world can be overcome. To anyone who has suffered any type of physical or sexual 
abuse this book is a must-read, but anyone who still hopes for the triumph of the spirit won't be 
disappointed."

It is available on Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble. Find link here http://www.amazon.com/Chocolate-Flowers-Jori-Nunes/dp/0991013263/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1417905872&sr=1-1&keywords=chocolate+flowers

More Attention From Me Required!

   How does the struggle continue and what are the effects of the everyday problem of a semi-recluse become interesting to anyone besides themselves? I have asked myself this question on a million occasions and have yet to come up with a superlative answer. Memories have become more vivid and as vivid as they are I still question their existence, did my mind come up with them at the spur of the moment or have they been lurking in the deepest recesses of my brain and are only now attempting to make their appearance known? I cry about certain revelations and while I try and dismiss them as fast as I come up with them its hard to ignore them as I have my head in the toilet retching every fluid I have in my stomach. It takes all the energy I possess to discharge from my body the things that were done to me.

   One particular incident that comes to mind is when I was for to perform cunnilingus on a woman and I threw up on her as I was doing it. I paid for that dearly with a beating and not only that, I was forced to clean it up and then do it again. This happened over forty years ago and I can still picture and smell the act as I am sitting here right now and writing about it. No drug or psychotherapy is going to pull me through that! Even if I was by some miracle trained to accept it as something that happened that wasn't my fault I still have trouble imagining that I could make any sort of peace out of it.

   As you can see I am still in a complete mess over the situation and that was one of the mild days, I have a child so I have cleaned up piles of vomit and they have not bothered me to this point. I take valium as if they were jelly beans, they help for a while but you always come down, I take zopiclone as well and although it helps me sleep a bit I am still awoken to anxiety once more on the next day. Cipralex? Well I take that stupid drug everyday like a robot and it doesn't do fuck-all for me yet if I miss it I will spend the whole day freaking out about it!

   I have become a very confused individual, one thing I do have going for me is this blog, I wish I wrote more in it but I tend to write freehand first and then transcribe to hear but there are sometimes not enough hours in the day to get that accomplished. I have volunteered at CAMH recently but have yet to be contacted, hopefully there is some way I can contribute to helping other people even when it seems I have given up on myself, I do feel like I have something to give. I greatly appreciate the feedback I get from this blog and look forward ro more of it in the future, I will try and pay more attention to it and try and make it worthwhile to someone besides myself.

ORAN DAYDREAM

Oran Daydream
PM 1311022

Sometimes it hurts to read but the

words must somehow press their way

out of the book and into my brain,

it doesn't hurt but I can't resist the call

and I can't resist the feeling I get to

press on and find out what has been

presented to me. I feel and hear the

rattling in my brain as I need to know

what is going to happen on the next page,

skipping forward in impatience only to have

to go back when I realize I've missed

something important.

Visions of The Pink Panther drowning in

a pink asbestos pool are replaced

by a couple dead arabs on the beach and

I realize I have gone too far and need

to retrace my steps, get the hell out of 

Algeria and move on to safer habitats

in the world, moving forward but not

averse to hiding in the shadows as long

as it might take.

Oh, how mighty I am and I easily 

defeat all the snakes and monsters in my mind

only to be frightened by a small dog

as I walk to the store to buy a package

of cigarettes. Why be afraid of a 

small dog when lung cancer should be

weighing on my brain in a much

more profound way.

The barriers are so high and so many

survivors are keen to tell their stories

about how they leapt over them while I am

most concerned about finding the secret

door to sneak through when nobody is watching.

But the East German guards are always

there at the top of the wall,

waiting this time to shoot people trying to sneak

under while helping others who are braving the

elements and trying to get over the top.

I will never be one of those survivors, I don't

have it in me and if I did, I would only try

harder to get rid of it.

I cower behind the chairs in the cafe across

the street and wonder when it will finally be

my turn to shoulder all the responsibility the

world has to offer. How can one mature in a 

world that has so obviously crowned youth

as the ultimate victor and ageless wonders

land in the Guiness Book of World Records

still starving to death and wondering how to

spend their welfare cheques.

MCC

HOTEL LAS VERBENAS

Hotel Las Verbenas
PM 1311021

I paint myself a bright, neon orange

but it still comes out black,

as black as the most evil night,

like in Argentina when the power goes 

out and there are no cars around to

at least show intermittent light.

No beacon to lead you back in from that

stormy night or just to remind you that

you are alive and not just gone blind.

Lying in a bed under a window I see nothing

outside and from the inside all I get is

the glowing ember from a cigarette

quickly lighting up that face and then I

wish it had never been lit up at all.

I lie there, so scared and so frightened,

we are in Mendoza, a beautiful city

but so frightening at night when all the

lights are off.

I hear so many motorcycles in the 

distance and hope none are coming for me.

Bike gangs take on a different meaning here,

a means to travel cheaply and nothing

more, I had seen a raven that afternoon

as we arrived at the city and stopped for gas.

Hotel Las Verbenas, I saw the sign but had no

idea what it meant and I couldn't get my

mind off the stupid raven.

It haunted me even more as I lay there

awake, dreading the moment I might hear

the crash of the door being broken down by a

jack-boot. They wouldn't bother to 

interrogate children, we didn't know 

anything, they would just shoot us and

dump us in an unmarked grave somewhere,

or leave us dead on the roof for the crows.

What was that raven doing at the gas station

and what did he know about us? What did

he know about me and the things I had been

up to? Once again, the strike of a match, a quick

glow and then only an ember, more pronounced

upon inhalation, just enough to shed light on

the devil.

I had seen so many spiders that day

and now I was at their mercy,

there could be one inches in front of my face

and I couldn't do a thing about it.

Maybe there was a rat right by my pillow just

waiting to gnaw my nose off,

sharpening his teeth on a rusty fork,

I could scream but nothing would come out,

but then the power comes back on,

at least the air conditioner is working again.

MCC