Category Relationships

Is it Just Me or Are People Finally Saying Enough is Enough?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

The past 7 years have been rough. That is the simplest way I can describe it. People come and they go from our lives and it used to sting a little but now, I’m at peace with the losses. Some of those people were never going to change so I changed instead. I either outgrew them or decided having their toxic nastiness in my life was a bridge too far. Of course, I used to always say how I didn’t care about anything or that nothing bothered me, like every good Gen Xer does but that was just posturing dipped in a sarcasm coating. Self-preservation if you will. Can’t hurt me because I will push you away before anything bad happens. Now, I just walk away midsentence. Free, clear and satisfied. There will be no more tolerating the intolerable. Enough is enough.

God, what happened to us way back when to get us to the place we are now? I know the answer to that question, I’ve documented all the instances that apply to the WHAT in the initial question in many past posts but still, did it have to be like this? No it didn’t but, honestly, I’m glad it’s happening. Now, at the my advancing age, I’m trying desperately to fix the damage caused to me, my inner child, my current mental state and the relationships with those most important to me. My life, my reach and my positive contribution to this world are all still very much in play and it’s time to start shouting. No more staying to ourselves. No more blending into the background after whispering inflammatory statements designed to rile what’s left of the bent and brittle Silent Gen and angry Boomer antagonists.


We were and still are very adept at stirring the pot but now it matters more. Our very existence depends on it, despite what MeeMaw and PeePaw pontificate and speculate based on a daily diet of Fox News and Facebook rage scrolling. “Those younger generations don’t respect their elders!” No they don’t because they know how shitty you treated their parents and they see how shitty you still treat anyone not like you. All of those years of abiding by the “be seen but not heard” edict helped a huge swath of multiple generations beyond Gen X develop amazing observation skills. Millennials, Gen Z and Gen Alpha are quite the detectives and they are breaking down the façade built to corral all objectors into a corner. Once the building has been dismantled there will be no more corners, just wide open space, everything out in the open for all to see.


And it’s the accountability aspect that frightens the controlling class the most. Shining a spotlight on the sins of the father, the sins of the party and the sins of the corporation is tantamount to treason in their eyes. HOW DARE YOU QUESTION OUR WISDOM! There is nothing wise about using deception to control and every con and every trick gets found out eventually. It took my generation longer to rise back up from the dark hole we were pushed into over and over because we were told we were slackers, lazy and weak. Many of us were used as punching bags, literally and the phrase, “I’ll give you something to cry about,” still rings in our ears when looking back on the childhood abuse we endured. “You’re sad? Too bad!” There was no therapy for us until we could pay for it ourselves. There was no reprieve from self-doubt and shame until we were far enough away from the source to recover.


So now, I see my role as a supporting one for the generations that have come after me. I don’t feel like I “lost my chance” or that it’s too late to create change because as long as I can still speak then I can encourage, support and uplift younger fighters all the way to the finish line. That is my place in this world, to do what my parents and grandparents couldn’t or wouldn’t do. I am not obsolete or out of touch, I am coming back to life. The regeneration of spirit, ground into bits by lead poisoned elders who took their anger with themselves out on us. Their shame is not my shame and I will not regurgitate that same old bile onto younger generations. It’s over. We are done taking their shit and understand the sheer value of power in numbers.


Combined, Gen X, Millennials and Gen Z total almost 207 million in the United States with Gen Alpha slated to eclipse every generation at almost 2 billion, worldwide, by 2025. Where will the Silent and Boomer generations be in the next decade? It’s not smug to state the most obvious location of many in that age group, RIP, so I will just say that those remaining will be greatly outwitted and seriously outnumbered. But will they still be in power? Not if we all, collectively, have anything to say about it! Voting isn’t enough because gerrymandering cheaters hate losing so it is NOW time to stop being polite and stop ignoring the vile bullshit coming out of the mouths of those who gleefully wipe their hypocritical feet on the fruits of OUR labor. We do all the work and Boomers and what’s left of the Silent Generation (with the tiniest smidge of Greatest Generation remnants) benefit without having to expend any energy or effort.


Stop handing them the power! They have squandered their integrity in exchange for high paying positions in which they haven’t engaged in an “honest” days’ work in decades. The policy of earning their dues was always a charade, especially if their daddy owned the company or grandfather left a nice nest egg for them in his will. What exactly was “earned” and what was simply gifted to them by virtue of being born? Was Gen X bequeathed the same generous riches? Some, maybe but it wasn’t even close. Money over morals and power over the good of the people is the true motto of this soulless class. And, that may sound judgmental of me, clinging to stereotypical labels of Silent Gen/Loudest Complainers and Boomer Boss/Money Hungry Monsters but, if the boots fit then pull those straps on up you laughable liars!


That felt good! Therapy is expensive but yelling into the void can be oddly cathartic too. And, there is a huge void between the ears of those who refuse to hear, either because their own inner shame is too painful to acknowledge or, they just don’t care. I’m starting to believe it’s the not giving a shit part that is the most true of many in the older generations, not all of course but still, way too many.


Gen X is always billed as the apathetic, dead inside cohort but, for me, that was always claimed in defense and never actually true. I cared too much and got burned every time I let my guard down with older generations so now, in hindsight, I absolutely see who it was and still is with the inability to empathize and feel remorse. Was it the pervasive daily lead exposure or because their mommy liked a martini or four to take the edge off when she was pregnant with them? We may never know which and even though my generation was exposed in a similar fashion it feels as if we got all of the doom and gloom and none of the over exaggerated egomaniacal tendencies. God, I would have loved having the confidence of a mediocre Boomer back then, just without the entitled asshole behavior though.


Now, having written all of this out, in my public journal for all to see, do I care if I ruffle sensitive feathers? No. The days of worrying what others think or being concerned how I am perceived by Silent Gen and Boomer elders is done. We are the new wiser generation now. We are Elder X, a kinder, gentler version for a new world order. This is the world we built when we chose to raise our children different than we were raised. The construction started after each instance of us listening to what our kids needed rather than silencing them. It continued being built after we summoned the courage to finally seek help for our rapidly declining mental health and our inability to utilize healthy coping mechanisms. We stopped yelling, we stopped belittling, we stopped being like our parents. That slippery slope has been hard to climb and many of us haven’t made it back to the top yet but we are trying.


We are asking for forgiveness from our children and now, grandchildren because it is warranted. But also, because it’s how we will learn to grow together and it is how we will grow stronger. It has to be done or we all fail and I don’t know about you, younger generations, but I’m sure as hell never letting a fucking Boomer outsmart me! Are you in? We are more powerful together than they could ever hope to be.

© 2022-2023 L.A. Cobb

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Cobb (formerly L.A. Askew) with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Is This The Post You Were Looking For?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Do you ever feel like you are being watched? Not necessarily in a creepy stalker in the bushes near your bedroom window way but in a from-afar cyber peeping way? Like, you haven’t seen or heard from these individuals in several years and suddenly they pop up in your “guess who’s looking at your profile” notifications. After a while the reaction goes from one of mild concern to a nonchalant shrug and acceptance that shit is probably coming your way again.

What’s new? I’ve always been a target for criticism and I will continue to do as I’ve always done…disregard, dismantle and dance joyfully away. I’d have to care to be hurt and I can’t seem to muster the energy to give a damn anymore. It’s no longer worth the time and effort on my part so I just feel nothing about it anymore. Numb. Ambivalence. Acceptance.

Anyway say, for example, you respond to an email, text or DM discussing past difficult topics and then suddenly, views on every social media account you have start increasing? It’s hard to keep from thinking it’s not calculated, intentional or more like a fact-finding mission than anonymous curiosity. Especially when those doing the viewing are people you are well acquainted with and people who have made it very clear they don’t like you. Apparently these peepers are more invested in knowing my every literary move than I thought so here ya go! It may be anticipation of a long awaited airing of grievances post but I won’t do that. This is just me doing what I normally do, checking emotional baggage and gaining personal insight on my journey to secure solid boundaries and optimal mental health. Nothing is ever coincidental in the land of family dysfunction and I should have known that even seemingly innocent interactions could be grounds for suspicion and interrogation. It’s okay. I’ve grown accustomed to it.

Normally I would be pleased that my online presence is experiencing more traffic than usual but seeing how I haven’t written anything in a while the drop-ins were a bit unexpected. I simply haven’t felt like writing because my life has been rather mundane while also being simultaneously happy so, in other words, I was busy living and had no time for ruminating. I’m sorry to disappoint but, because I am the consummate good host I will go ahead a jot down a few thoughts for the curious souls so they won’t feel too dejected. In the past I would walk a razor sharp line between sarcasm and savagery but for today, my safer bet would be to stay in a more neutral territory because I am tired and have no desire to keep playing family feud. With only a few family members left who deserve my love and respect, I will err on the side of caution because they earned it.

My message for the watchers would be this: Be brave, come out of the shadows and talk to me. I’ve been talking to you via this website for years and feel as if my voice is now hoarse from yelling my frustration in the form of honest words, heartfelt hopes and a genuine desire to change. I put it all in writing, it’s there, it’s real and it’s true. And while it would be so easy for me to suck it up and approach first I don’t think anything would be learned from that. Being the “bigger person” doesn’t always end the battle and it usually just creates a larger target on your back. When you’ve already bent over backwards a thousand times before, with zero results, it becomes clear who the pushover is and it ain’t me anymore. I smile when I say that and it feels good. Boundaries are amazing and I am thankful I learned about them in therapy. Blessed are those who know when they’ve had enough shit and those who aren’t engaging in circular insanity anymore. The merry-go-round has stopped and I got off a long time ago.

Stay for the lessons by all means, if that works for you, and if the true intent isn’t to ascertain whether I’m receptive to contact then it’s really time to move on. The bridge can be rebuilt but I can’t be the one to lay the foundation. Always being the one expected to acquiesce, to smooth things over or to turn the other cheek has left me exhausted and even more determined to never do that again. The job of being the middleman or scapegoat, whichever applies, is done and I’ve clocked out so I can devote valuable time to my life and my immediate family. I don’t feel guilty about that and have been outside the circle of dysfunction long enough to know I have no control over the feelings, false impressions or even the anger of others. I have dealt with my demons and feel I am a healthy individual with the ability to admit my faults and work to change any negative traits that may remain in my subconscious mind.

I am open to having healthy conversations with those who participated in the detonation of an already precarious relationship, that I can guarantee. What I am not open to is the continuation of grievances, pettiness and backstabbing behavior that results in nothing good. It’s simply not worth it and if I refuse to allow strangers to treat me that way then why on earth would I allow family to? Being eternally nice while getting slapped in the face over and over doesn’t sound very appealing does it? I admit that I was once perfectly fine being the one to slap back but now I’d prefer to not even have my face in slapping range to begin with! Taking myself out of the equation has been liberating, thought provoking and a huge learning experience for me, one that I desperately needed.

So now, I say the door IS open but with conditions and while this may not be what you were expecting it’s all I’m offering. That’s my right as a healing person and I wish nothing but healing for you as well. Change is possible and growth is as well. I am grateful every day that I decided to break free from dysfunction, denial and anger. The liberation is exhilarating and I hope you try it some day.

© 2022-2023 L.A. Askew-Cobb

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Askew-Cobb with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

River Flowing to the Past…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

This past weekend I went back in time. It wasn’t any type of planned nostalgia tour or anything like that, it was simply a trip with friends who had no idea the connection I had to the place we were going. That place was the small town I grew up in. And, I didn’t share that bit of information until we were already there because, as I have established, I loathe sharing parts of myself due to past trauma and internalized shame. When you share you potentially give away personal security and I’m over allowing people to hurt me.

Even now, as I sit and write this I can hear the sound of gentle rain falling outside and the steady trickle of water running out of the downspout near the open window takes me back to a time so long ago, a time that contains both happy and painful elements. Everyone’s life is written this way. It’s never all bad and no good or no bad and all good. It’s a mixture with no true balance, just moments of shocking clarity to help us pause and reset.

As a child those brief happy moments could be sparked by such simple things as the sound of rain falling on the leaves of the tree outside my bedroom window. That memory still remains and it still brings a smile to my face so I focus on it instead of the moment soon after of being hit or screamed at for one supposed infraction or another set into law by my father. I focus on the gentle sound of the rain and not the memory of my brother continually violating my privacy and dignity with his abuse. Listen to the rain. It will wash all of that away, even if only for a fleeting moment. Hang on tight to that moment, it will prove to be very important later in life.

Now, each time we drive through this little town, on the way to see my daughter, I send out a silent wish for peace. A silent plea to release me from it’s grip and to release my remaining family members from their own trauma. This is great progress considering years prior I would scowl and extend a middle finger as I drove through, cursing its existence and wishing all who resided there no good will, only continued torment. It wasn’t the right way to handle pain but it was the band aid I needed to cover my wounds at the time.

We had planned a float trip on a river I knew well and one that held trauma tight against is banks and bluffs and even though I had come back to this same river several times over the years this trip just felt off. Not in an impending doom sort of way but in a nagging little worry at the back of the mind way. This time I talked to the river. I asked it to spare me. I talked to those who never made it out of that small town and told them I hoped they found peace. That was a mistake. To pin my safety to the memory of those who lived anger filled lives and those who abused and emotionally scarred others proved to be near fatal.

I don’t know why I chose to extend grace to abusers on that day. I don’t know why I listened to the voices of well-meaning yet still ignorant subscribers of the “forgive and forget” poison force fed to so many who have been traumatized in the past. There is no true forgiveness for the wicked and to forget is to set into motion certain traps that easily pull you right back into the mire. Distance creates inner calm and healthy caution builds the security system we all need to guard against future attacks. It’s so naïve to think dark water flows under and away from that bridge. It doesn’t go on by, it waits under the bridge for a signal and I called out to it.

As we gathered our gear and loaded up our kayaks I stood and looked around at a place both so familiar and yet also so foreign. I recognized none of the faces of any of the other people packing gear into their boats. I usually didn’t but this time I felt exceptionally unwelcome and uncertain in my surroundings. I had been gone from this area longer than I actually lived there so, of course, faces would be different and the scenery would change over time. Nothing stays the same. It’s just that this time something was not quite right before we even began.

The water was chilly but still felt good and the weather was pleasant. The water was not as high as we would have liked but it was manageable and despite multiple drag moments to contend with we were on our way. My uneasiness dulled my senses and I missed several moments where it was necessary to try and “read” the river. That book slammed shut on me and the submerged rock hazards and low hanging branches and tree root obstacles took over.

I have been kayaking for several years and while I am no expert I could claim that I had never capsized or got caught up in river hazards but, that day, every hazard possible got together and plotted my potential demise with great enjoyment.

The first dumping opportunity came in a swift rapid as I high centered on a group of rocks. One caught my kayak, another turned me around and yet another tossed me out into the water where I struggled to get up as my capsized kayak floated on by. Each attempt to stand in the swift knee deep water was met with a fall on the slippery rocks below and a bruised knee so I crawled to the gravel bar and got out. Luckily, my partner caught up to the adrift boat and helped me gather my things and drain the water but the tone for the day was set.

Each new set of rapids was met with panic and dread. I’d never been like this before. What was going on? All of this happened right before floating by the spot in the river where my younger brother drown, many years ago, when he was 17. In the past I would float on by and not look around, purposely emptying my mind of bad memories. This time I looked up at the large rock he jumped from and I thought about how far he floated downstream before his body was found. I thought about the awful things he did to other family members before he died and wondered if he was sorry now. I let those thoughts in and after doing so I begged them to spare me. Those memories had other ideas I guess. They gouged into the side of my kayak just like the dangerous root balls and rocks hiding around each bend in the river wanted to do.

The second and last capsizing came about 2 miles from our takeout point and just after an attempt to calm myself with thoughts like, “The water isn’t too deep here, I won’t drown.” I have no idea what made me say that. It wasn’t a certainty that the river would be kind to me. It wasn’t a given that the river even cared. As it would turn out it cared very little and so, when the gurgling, swirling water thrust me into a small tree jutting out of the water my paddle and weak arms were no match. Hung up in the branches, grasping onto wispy limbs for dear life, I had the presence of mind to yell, “No fucking way!” It was simply too much and as I let go and slipped into the chilly river, for a brief moment, I considered that it was my fate to die here.

Now, I won’t say that I am particularly afraid of dying, I made peace with the idea that any place is better than this Earth long ago but, to have my untimely demise caused by the same river that took the life of my tormented younger brother would have been infuriating to me. This was not the way I wanted to go out. Heart attack while climbing a mountain? Sure, why not? Being blown to bits in a natural gas leak? I could see that. But, not this!

On my way over the side of my kayak I could feel the bungee cord that the paddle was attached to wrapped around my arm, pinning me to the side of the boat. I was fully submerged and fighting to get my arm free. Somehow I wiggled loose and tried to kick my way to the surface but the current was holding me in place. You ain’t going nowhere! Kick. Kick. Turn over. Kick. Flap arms upward. Upward. Upward. Kick. Fling yourself over on your back and desperately gasp for air only to get a mouthful of river water.

Finally, after one last kick and an awkward flailing motion I was able to break free and slowly inched my way to floating on my back until my feet could touch the rocks below me and I crawled to the bank. Surprisingly enough, I was still wearing my sunglasses and my hat was plastered against my back with its strap pulled tight against my neck. I looked back to where my kayak was to see it still upright and tightly wedged up against that damn tree. Well, at least I didn’t lose anything. I didn’t LOSE anything? I almost lost my life!

In the midst of struggling to the bank I caught a glimpse of my partner hurrying back to where I was and out of sheer exhaustion and anger I screamed FUCK as loud as I could. It wasn’t aimed at him. It wasn’t aimed at me. It was directed at the river, my brother, my estranged family and my inability to get that damned legacy out of my head. It clouded my judgment and it distracted me to the point of near detriment.

Back up on the gravel bar I felt arms tight around me and I just sobbed in relief, anger, exhaustion and pain. It was all there, every last nasty feeling that had been holding me hostage for the past few decades. Get out! Get out! Get out! You didn’t get me this time and I’ll make damn sure you don’t get me ever! I heard the words, “I’ve got you.” in my ear and I recognized this to be true. The river didn’t “get” me, my past didn’t “get” me but my partner did have me safely in his arms and I was going to be okay. Fuck you river. Fuck you dysfunctional family!

Once back at our cabin I stood in the shower feeling the water spray on my shoulders from the way too low shower head in the way too small shower stall. I slumped down until I could get my head underneath and just left it there making sure that damn river water got washed out of my hair and off my body. Wash it clean. Down the drain. Down. The. Drain. Good riddance.

On the way home we stopped by my older sister’s place and relayed the events of our float trip gone awry. I recalled saying something to the effect, “I’m sure there are a few family members that wish the river had taken me too,” and was met with doubt that this was true. I’m not so sure I’m wrong about this. I’m willing to admit that I have been wrong about a lot but, to have me no longer creating “waves” by telling my truths would very much make certain branches on my family tree shake with delight. The ultimate silencing. For one person in particular, this is what she felt God should do to me, strike me down and silence me for good.

I’m not checking out yet!

It sounds awful to say out loud but it’s always there at the back of my mind. Who, in my family would actually care if I was gone? Dead. Kaput. Finito! Oh, I know I’d get a smattering of tears here and there along with the “if only” laments but these are merely muscle memory actions, the stuff people are “supposed” to do. I don’t even know why I’m thinking about such things because I may be triggering some twisted self-fulfilling prophecy bullshit carnival ride to hell for myself. Oh, well. So be it.

So, back to the river. Will I return any time soon? I don’t know but I do know that new sit on top kayaks are in order. When death flows up on you and you are able to ride the wave out you best prepare for the next time you tangle. Ever vigilant. Ever prepared!

Yes, I’m going back because I am not a quitter. I’m may be getting older and slower but I’m also, even less afraid of dying now. Try and take me! I dare you…

© 2022-2023 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Askew with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Problem with Mom…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Ah, yes…the topic I have been avoiding. Not to say that I haven’t talked about my mother or that I haven’t written about her, I have. It’s just that I have never delved deep into the problematic influence she has had on my life or on the lives of my siblings and our collective families.

Oh, the anger and the blame and the guilt and the manipulation. An endless game of vicious name calling, (behind my back or in the form of a letter or email of course) snippy passive-aggressive comments and then the inevitable contrived song and dance that is gaslighting. “I never said that!” or, “That never happened!” or, complete and utterly frustrating disassociation. That lady lives in La La Land. She’s the mayor, governor and president.

As I have stated previously, I still find myself in a less than willing to share frame of mind of late. Maybe it’s because Covid continues to dominate all of our lives or maybe, it’s the tremendous distrust I developed while growing up with narcissistic and abusive parents. I’m hanging my hat on the latter because my unwillingness to tell people too much about myself has followed me around for well over 40 years. I can guarantee that if I were to play How Well Do You Know Me with anyone who has been allowed into my inner circle in the past 20 years every single one would fail. It’s not that I wouldn’t love to unburden myself but, it is the realization that a lot of people are either too uncomfortable with the information I’m holding inside or they literally don’t care because they have enough of their own baggage to lug around. I get it. That’s why I try to do it here, when I feel up to it that is.

Back to the problematic issue that is MOM. Recently I was informed that she needed surgery, had surgery, received a difficult diagnosis and now her future prognosis is up in the air. Seeing how I haven’t spoken to either of my parents since mid-2017 and did not reach out when my father died in 2020, the dilemma as to what to do now hangs like a rotten slab of beef in the hot summer sun. It smells. Bad. And, I run the risk of looking like the shitty daughter my mother probably tells everyone I am. Well, I assume she does but, then again, probably not since this was the same woman who lied in church about my older brother being away at “college” when he was actually in prison. Appearances are important after all! Anyway, who knows for sure but…it’s the kind human being in me that struggles with how to approach being kind to a toxic parent in need.

Damn it lady! Why can’t you just admit there were issues when we were all growing up and work towards mending those hurts now? Why? I know I won’t get an apology and, honestly, I don’t expect one. I just want a reason to care what happens to her because I look around at everything she CHOSE to miss. My daughter’s high school graduation and now, coming soon, her college graduation. She has missed seeing me in a healthy and happy relationship for the first time in my life and she is missing out on being included in all of our lives. Over what? Adherence to a misguided church and a cult-like religion that demands she place our abusive father over all of us, even in death? He’s gone. Cut the ties and learn to live for once in your life!

I can’t make her reject everything she has blindly followed for a huge chunk of her adult life nor can I force her to realize that her “children” are no longer young. During this time she has lost a grandson as well but it’s dear old abuser dad that she pines over. We won’t be around forever and neither will she, especially now so to “wait for another day” is foolish but, to think she will ever change, even when faced with her own mortality, and ours, is a pipe dream as well. If she wants to go be with the only person she truly cares about (even though the jury is still out on whether he reciprocated) then we cannot stand in her way and I will not feel upset over her choice, if this is what she wants.

We all have our own path to walk. Some choose an easy route and others weave in and out of the more insidious lane thinking its “sacrifices” will lead to some great reward. I like to think that even though my life has been filled with a lot of pain it has also been relatively easy to navigate, easy to figure out where I went wrong and easy to autocorrect. And, because of this I would never knowingly sacrifice my own child in favor of any man. Never. She knows this about me yet is still confused as to why this is something I refuse to compromise on. Innocent child over abusive spouse? Not a hard decision at all…for most rational people that is.

The saddest part in all of this is that I have a nagging suspicion that the Great Reward my mother thinks she wants will ultimately end up being hollow without the love and support of her children and their children. To purposely say and do things to alienate those you gave birth to because “God” told you to or the bible demands it will always leave a bad taste in my mouth but, given the proper amount of discussion, it’s also something I could move forward from. I could work to rebuild a new relationship with her, if she will ask and if not, that’s okay. It will have been her choice and I will respect that even though I’m sure it will feel dark, sad and disappointing because it will have been at the expense of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. So much lost.

These are footsteps I do not want to follow in and would never wish on anyone.

© 2022-2023 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” and L.A. Askew with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Have We Become That Which We Fear?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

I used to be worried that the world was going crazy. Used to be is key here. Now, I clearly see that only a portion of the population is bat-shit looney and I’ve lost my ability to care about their rage. I’ve been angry for decades over inequality, prejudice and purposeful fear mongering to no avail so when I see the news coverage with protest sign carrying wing-nuts who think they are preserving their FREEDOMS I just laugh. Oh, YOU are the only ones allowed FREEDOMS! I get it Mr. and Mrs. Don’t Tread On Me. That cute personalized license plate you pay your state department of revenue for each renewal period is quite the rebellious symbol. Don’t tell me what to do while I willingly pay you for the privilege of slapping this tacky-ass sign of insecurity on my over priced, highly financed truck. Laughable and typical. Pardon me while I roll my eyes and yawn.

I also laugh extra hard when I am called mean for not giving even half a shit that others who share my skin tone get their hackles raised at being called selfish, racist, homophobic, sexist or, GASP, colonizer. If the label doesn’t apply then why take offense? But, if it does then you are what you fear so suck it up and take on those monikers just like you expect those you demonize to. You call them thugs, animals, criminals, drains on society and the economy but baby, your actions clearly showed projection loud and clear prior to and especially, on January 6, 2021. Those doors and windows didn’t break down themselves and that shit didn’t just materialize on the walls of the US Capitol building. We saw what you did. You weren’t tourists. Again, laughable, predictable and pathetic. You can’t hide any longer. Is that what you fear now? The inability to slink back into the shadows?

“Oh, these liberals are losing their minds over…”

Insert any inane assumption after that statement because I’ve seen so many and have certainly heard so many over the course of the past few years. The best part is that I’m not mad at all. I never was to begin with and I especially don’t care now. Your feelings mean zero, zilch, nada to me and the words you use to describe how I MUST feel are meaningless. I don’t care if you refuse to wear a mask or get vaccinated against Covid. You have won no great battle. I will leave it up to you to beg for prayers when either you or a family member gets sick. It’s not my place to educate you, oh, expert meme poster, armchair medical professional/epidemiologist. Your ability to RESEARCH for yourself and consult the great Q far exceeds my innate reasoning and liberal arts degree. And by liberal arts I mean my bachelor of science (BS) in Sociology. Who better to study multiple groups of dumbasses but me? Don’t even get me started on what “liberal arts” even means…no matter, the MAGA trolls only hear LIBERAL without understanding the actual meaning because they are such proud lumps of arrogant sludge. Learn? What’s that?

The Great Patriots show no concern about the feelings, thoughts or concerns of others and instead label everyone not like them as loosing their minds or owned or weak or socialists or fascists or communists. I could go on and on because words have no meaning anymore, everything has been turned around in a gaslight tumbler full of trash talking and ignorantly false bravado. Literal diarrhea dripping from the gapping maws of the easily duped pawns and these are the ones who expect us to FEAR them? The ones who are swimming round and round in their own self doubt, insecurity and violence fueled stupidity while those with sense enough to know better stand and shake our heads in disgust? Not likely. Darwin will get his due soon enough my dears because this disconnect is your demon, your disease, your virus, not ours. Enjoy your great reward suckers! Hopefully your name will be spelled correctly on your participation trophy.

Over the past 5 or 6 years, conversations between those I thought to be confidants and even family have been laced with venom, hidden agendas and secret animosity. People who were previously considered friends have become suspicious, angry and paranoid, seemingly overnight. Post after post after post on social media filled with political memes, laments about how the country is devoid of morals, respect and decency. But who, exactly are they talking about? In my mind, they appear to be the ones lacking in empathy, kindness and common sense. In my mind, they appear to be depraved and lacking in humanity.

And now, here we are, 2021 rolling into another year that is looking like it will be filled with much of the same feigned outrage and misinformation. Someone out there seems to know how to push our collective psychological buttons while simultaneously getting Mr. and Miss/Mrs./Ms. MAGA to believe they are the “aware” and awake souls ready to turn the clocks back to pre Emancipation Proclamation times, you know, the “our heritage” bullshit? Jesus, I’m tired of the lazy attempts at hiding the racism. Your boy Trump gave you the green light dummies, and Tucker “Dipshit” Carlson said it was okay to say it out loud now. Get it together!

We need to know who each and every one of you are. I need to know so I can dismiss and then ostracize you. I owe none of you anything, nor do the minorities you spit upon. It’s time to go it alone Patriots. You shall be an island unto yourselves with only your fabled bootstraps and can-do attitude to help lift you up because the backs of those you have denigrated, exploited and benefited off of through systemic racism will no longer be made available. It’s your time to shine…or sink. My money is on sinking but prove me wrong, I’ll wait.

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Small town trash…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Trash. It’s what I was called growing up in a tiny town full of judgmental folks who, as it turns out, were just better at hiding their own dirty laundry than my dysfunctional family was. Everyone had their secrets, their failures, their shame inducing moments. This is going to be about just that; the purposeful degradation of others in order to hide or deflect our own personal foibles, if you will.

I’m going in deep so hang on to your hats!

When I was around 8 years old we moved from the state I was born in to a much more rural area in another state. I don’t see any sense in naming this town or state because it’s the people who created the atmosphere of gossipy backstabbing and constant belittlement not the locale. And, it was these people who made living in this small town feel “not quite right” for me. Well, they shared in it, but weren’t the sole reason. We weren’t a healthy family unit to begin with and I’m certain they could sense it, like hungry sharks can sense chum churning in the ocean just waiting for a chance to gobble it up!

They circled our inner turmoil with delight and picked and picked and picked until all of our previous wounds burst open again. It’s hard to recover when there is always another predator waiting in the shadows to partake in the bountiful bucket of YUCK that was our family. And, yes we’ve all heard the saying that only hurt people hurt people and that was true in our case but, it still felt very personal and very vindictive. Was it just my imagination? Was I overthinking the situation? Maybe, but these “hurt people” seemed to enjoy the heaping of scorn and the stabbing of backs and the not so whispered gossip that was clearly intended to get back to us. “Oh, you heard that? I was just kidding. Don’t be so sensitive!”

The utter misfortune of moving from one emotionally precarious situation to another, and then another and then another was a big part of my childhood. My family moved around a lot and I recall going to kindergarten in two different states before being moved further south a year later. Multiple different houses, different towns, moving one state over and then back to where I was born, only to up and move on to another state entirely. No wonder I never felt like I belonged anywhere. To this day, if asked where I grew up, I’m not sure what to say. Do you mean the place I’ve lived the longest or the place I learned adults can be very cruel and they can’t be trusted when they say, “this is for your own good”?

My very first encounter with the local folks came not long after we arrived. It started with a sneering look cast my way by a woman at the church my father chose for us. He chose many different churches but this one seemed to fit the bill for him in that it looked the other way on the issues of domestic violence and child abuse, two things the man didn’t believe existed so it was a virtual match made in hell for us. We were told we had to attend every time their doors were open, no matter what and if we were caught misbehaving then a beating, physical or verbal, would await us at home. Every Sunday and Wednesday were met with deep dread and even our summers became consumed with church camp, when some of the good church folk took pity on me and paid my way, or “vacation” bible school. If all of our time was eaten up by talk of sinning and how God would punish us then there wouldn’t be anytime for fun! Fun is for the rich and church was for people like us, I was told. A training ground to prepare for our “great reward” which, I quickly found wasn’t so great and involved more punishment than actual reward.

So, back to this sneering woman; I recall her face very vividly, her gaze of searing judgment, the pursed lips, the perfectly coifed hair and stylish clothes. She was looking at me as if I were a steaming bag of garbage she didn’t want obstructing her rose-colored view and her crinkled nose indicated she feared breathing the air around me. I could never compare to the utter angels she birthed so I was dismissed as being beneath her and those perfect offspring. At that point I knew I would never be friends with any of the other children in that church. Oh, we would talk and pretend to get along but I wouldn’t be invited for sleepovers or birthday parties. I wasn’t one of them and I would never be good enough. So much for those loudly proclaimed Christian values and ideals. They only applied to those of a certain socio-economic standing, those born into the correct families and not interlopers who dared cross the tracks into their fair town, filled with idyllic 1950’s, all-white, male dominated nostalgia. You know, from the GOOD OLD DAYS!

And, who exactly were they GOOD for again? Not me. Not my female family members who were subjected to the bible-backed adage that “boys will be boys”, men are in charge and women have no say, no power, no worth. In looking back, everything added up to a pretty bleak outcome for those labeled meek and female. As for myself, I was far from meek. In fact, I had a hard time keeping my mouth shut, especially in situations where I knew something wasn’t right. It didn’t matter if it was the brother of a friend, the son of another church member, a male teacher or even a male member of my own family. If I felt I was being treated unfairly or expected to quietly endure personal insults, I would try to get at least a few words in before being shut down by withering castigations or, in the case of my father, a fist. It was worth it though. I knew they would never be right.

Of course, as with any tale of woe involving tiny towns with emotionally stunted, petty people there are always the “exceptions to the perception” and I have the great pleasure of still being in contact with a few of those gems. No clan mentality for them, no strict adherence to small town pride and being loyal to your own kind. Own kind? Was it just the color of skin or how and who they prayed to? No, that wasn’t it completely because they made a few, on the surface, accommodations for the very few minorities in town but, I would suspect that if they had been poor their happy song of inclusion would have sounded much different. Just a hunch. Was it the similarity in size of their bank accounts? Again, not entirely because sometimes the HAVES extended a hand to a few who didn’t HAVE AS MUCH but, the cavate was looks. As in, “she’s pretty so we’ll let her on the team”, until they used her up, tore her down and then trashed her reputation that is. No, it seemed the kind they were referencing was more of a homogenized jug of lukewarm milk, devoid of any flavor, culture, imagination, humility, empathy or compassion. Just straight hatefulness chased with a side of bitter vindictive spite. Followers, the whole lot of them. Stuck in a box labeled NEVER CHANGE-NEVER PROGRESS.

I was neither jealous of the small town ruling class nor did I feel sorry for those still stuck there after getting married young, divorced, remarried, and then divorced again. Despite the assumptions that may be made about what I am describing here, I simply wanted out, I never wanted to be them. I had no desire to take their spot on top of the dog-eat-dog heap and while I may not have gotten as far away as I wanted, in my heart I know I’m insulated from any reprisals. Let them come though, if they want. I’m ready, as always. And, that’s the thing, I actually was pretty adept at dealing with judgement and criticism because I faced it daily in my childhood.

Yes, the insults they reserved for me; troublemaker, thief, white-trash, dirt poor, stuck-up, whatever made-up nonsense that came to their narrow little minds, stung and made me want to lash out. But, I bided my time instead. I smirked at their attempts to put me in the low place they felt I belonged, laughed out loud and kept on moving. It was my defense mechanism and I think that might have pissed off more than a few. I know that many in that town readily described my father as a know-it-all asshole so, maybe I should thank him for that? He did teach me how to really agitate the feudal class of that rural fiefdom. The only difference is that I made sure my “knowledge” was accurate rather than the unsubstantiated bloviated ramblings of arrogance. That man possessed enough hot air to power a dirigible all the way to Australia and back! Ask around, I’m not exaggerating.

Anyway, here we are at a point in time when we are no longer as young as we used to be and yet, not as old as we could be or, as Paul Simon would say:

Now the years are rolling by me—
They are rockin’ evenly.
I am older than I once was,
And younger than I’ll be.

“The Boxer”
(1969) Simon & Garfunkel

I have moved on from my childhood but, many from my youth have not and they remain trapped. Some have passed away entirely too young, having lived their lives on the edge, either by way of drugs and alcohol or they suffered the potential physical ramifications that go along with following such a dark path. Some fought debilitating health issues bravely only to have those diseases win. And then there are others who ventured out and traveled well beyond the borders of town, state and country. These wonderful few have experienced the immense joy and satisfaction that comes from living in the moment rather than wallowing in the shadows of the past. I see all of their purported moments of happiness on social media, some may be exaggerated, that I know, but for the most part I can tell which have grown up and which have stagnated.

To even think that life was better back then is so ridiculous to me because finally letting go of caring what others thought has been the healthiest aspect of my adult life. It took me a long time but, I’m now at peace and all of the hurtful interactions get lumped into a category of petty things insecure people did that no longer matter. None of those early negative influences have any power over me now. Not the woman from my parent’s church, not the parents of one of my former friend’s who regularly called me and my family those people because we weren’t from there and were poor. Not the big-eyed, red-headed little girl who actually did invite me over for sleepovers for a while only to drop me like a scalding rock as soon as the connected and popular girls started taking notice of her. It always started out good, let’s be friends forever…but only until someone better comes along. She was new to town just like I had been a few years before but her desire to status climb was greater than mine so I couldn’t keep up.

Many years later I received a Facebook friend request from her. Our first conversation involved her apologizing to me for spitting water in my face on the last day of school when we were in 8th grade. I had forgotten all about it until she brought it up but then I started really thinking about it. I wanted to ask if she did it because she knew she could get away with doing something potentially humiliating to someone like me who was unseen, poor and unpopular or did she do it simply because that was her true nature? To be cruel simply to gain additional clout with the popular girls?

I accepted her friend request and we commented back and forth on pictures and posts for a while but then, after she scoured my connections for the people she really wanted to reconnect with I was unfriended, again. Thinking this was simply a mistake, because we were now adults, I reached out and sent a new friend request myself. We repeated the same pattern as before, commented here and there and then I was banished yet again! I finally got the answer to my earlier question. I won’t be sending another request.

Nope!

Some things, and people never change but I have changed a great deal, with the help of a lot of hard, personal introspection and therapy. I own that and will announce it every chance I get. I remain a considerate person, a good friend for those who need one but also a determined woman who refuses to diminish her enthusiasm and passion for certain causes in order to keep from ruffling the feathers of the unchanging throng. That may be where my past and present collided but, I can’t turn my volume down and I shouldn’t have to. Having something so banal and juvenile happen as an adult, like being deleted as a “friend” on social media just makes me scratch my head, express a momentary feeling of annoyance but then keep on moving forward.

I will still wonder about her from time to time though. Is she really happy? Do her comments on mutual friends posts really ring true? I wish her well and hold no grudge because, after all, we don’t really know one another. We are grown women who have been apart for over 30 years. That’s a whole character on Friends, or like a 1991 Honda Accord, big red bow attached, as a present for completing college on-time. In other words, and aside from my clumsy attempt at humor over how old we are…it was a lifetime ago. The cuteness has faded and the power steering no longer works.

And, isn’t the real point here to not respond at all? To not waste precious time? That small town and the small-minded people in it, connected to it and, impacted by the experience of having lived there are all just a small drop in the larger ocean that is the world. It’s okay for me to let them think they have bested me because I know otherwise and can just smile and nod should I ever see them again. Or not, it won’t change a thing for me or them. No engagement, no catching up because I already know where they are and what they have been doing since I was last in their presence. But, they have no idea what I’ve been doing and that, right there, is my power. If they had stayed in my life and were an actual part of my sorrows and joys then maybe, just maybe, they would be allowed to know me. I have never been one to tell all and have been accused of being vague and secretive but I choose to call it self preservation and the wise conservation of personal energy. It keeps me true to who I am and who I want to remain going forward. I won’t play for the crowd no matter how lucrative the pay is.

It is in that exact sentiment that I realize I never was “trash”, I never was less than or deserving of being ostracized. I told myself this many times and then forgot about it. Life moved on, tragedies occurred, joyful memories were made and the past dimed in the rearview mirror. Now, I have time to think about it more and believe their calling others names was a fumbling attempt at coping and I feel sorrow for the ones left behind, the ones still holding onto edited teenage glory that really wasn’t all that glorious to begin with. The good old days were never all good, they are just old and in need of a better view. An updated perspective coming from the eyes of an adult who has experienced life outside of that carefully curated and decisively biased bubble. That wasn’t real life, that was nostalgia brushing back your hair to wipe your tears and say, “There, there little one. The world is a scary place so just stay here with me and you’ll feel better.”

Staying stuck does not make anyone feel better. It just keeps you stuck. Come out into the sunshine and take a deep breath. Take in the scenery, the people, the exotic cuisine. I’ve been here for decades and can attest to the fact that being an adult is liberating. It’s not scary in the least. I promise.

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

When memories try to drown you…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Today has been hard. Like, every past mistake, missed opportunity, multiple moments of abject failure kind of hard. Excruciatingly bad even. I have come to the realization that I truly hate my job, I hate the town I’m living in and I certainly can’t imagine growing old in this part of the country even. Something has to give. And, after decades of it always being me who gave up everything, the thing I want most is for the looming specter of unpleasant experiences, trying to choke out my few cherished memories, to go away for good.

I never intended to stay in this godforsaken place for so long. After graduating from high school I wanted to hit the road, attend college in another state and create the dream I always had in my head of how my life was supposed to be. I was going to be a journalist or a writer, whichever, I was going to be successful and happy. Instead, I followed my much older, very damaged boyfriend to a state university that was entirely too close to the darkness that made up my childhood. Granted, I had a mother who told me not to expect much out of life and that should have been my first red flag on things yet to come. Fast forward 34 years and I’m still stuck, still being pulled in all directions by negativity, anger and dysfunction in this same dreary town, this same immobilizing state. To say I feel depressed and hopeless would be an understatement because now I have moved into the territory of anxiety and despair. It’s a crushing feeling, like all the weight of my past is pressing down hard on my shoulders, drilling me further and further into the ground so my feet can’t move.

It never dawned on me, until now, that I even had the right to say NO to a life I was neither excited by or inspired to live well. I was simply going through the motions of breaking free from one bad relationship just to jump right into another because the thought of having to go back to my childhood home would be mortifying. That was one of the few things that did spark a fire under my feet, a fire hot enough to make me say yes to moving in with someone I didn’t know well and then once again, 4 years later, when asked if I wanted to get married. My parent’s ugly marriage should have made me shy away from the idea of wanting to tie that noose around my neck but, the fear that saying no might send me but back into that hell left me feeling as if I had no choice. Take what you are being offered, do the bare minimum and look for happiness later became my new motto. Each day dragged into months, into years, into decades until it seemed as if my chance to be happy had been thrown away. I lost my shot because I chose poorly. At least, that’s what I believed until today.

So, the reason today has been hard: my one good decision in life, my daughter, came to visit this past week. When she first decided on a college almost 7 hours away I won’t lie, I panicked a little but, I was not going to hold her back. I did not want her to feel the disappointment and regret I felt for letting my dreams slip away so I loosened my grip and let her go. To have the ability to make that time slow down so I could take in every moment with her, to savor every last second would have felt amazing! I live a lot in my own head at times but when I spend time with her the only thing that matters is making sure she knows how much I love her and how proud I am of her. She is a big reason why I hang on, why I endure living in a place that holds so few good memories, aside from the amazing partner I’m lucky enough to have now! She loves him just as much as he loves us both and I am grateful she has one positive male role model in her life. Her father, my ex-husband of almost 12 years now, still lives in the same town as does his stepfather, our daughter’s only sane living grandparent. But, that could change at any moment, leaving me the one left behind again. That is why I slid head first into that old familiar darkness, the dread, the absolute belief that I failed miserably at life.

I MUST have failed after all! I settled for financial security over love and happiness and, despite knowing I was making a huge mistake, I tied myself to even more dysfunction than the family I was originally born into. Most people long to trade up or do better than their parents but I just swapped one screwed up situation for another and then lost all courage to walk away. In looking back the thing I regret most was bringing my daughter into that pain, uncertainty and resentment because it was no place for either of us to be. The promise of stability was a lie and sabotage of self-esteem existed around every corner, which was the favorite past-time of my former mother-in-law. She too, was a horribly damaged person with many similar childhood experiences as me and so I thought that might help us bond but, I was wrong. I horribly underestimated the level of petty vindictiveness residing in that barely 5 foot frame and quickly learned that I wasn’t going to be allowed to be a successful wife or mother for that matter. The first time I told her no was the last time I received any kindness or cooperation from her. I was on my own and every milestone, from the birth of my daughter to all accomplishments after that time would become a power struggle. God, it wore on me; to the point where I wanted to check out, completely and finally. I just wanted it to stop.

My daughter’s 1st birthday marked the beginning of the long war waged to establish who the real ruler of the family was going to be. It wasn’t me, my ex-husband or his step-father, it was my ex mother-in-law and she always made sure I knew it. She had an opinion on everything from all of my daughter’s clothes and toys to where she would eventually go to kindergarten, grade school, middle school, high school and so on. Once those opinions were verbalized they quickly became law and I was overruled at every turn by my daughter’s father. “Just let her do this. She’s just trying to help! If you just let her have her way then I can keep getting gifts too. Why do you have to ruin this for me?” My ex-husband completely ignored her purposeful interference and sided with his mother because if she was picking at me then she wasn’t criticizing him. I became a non-person, a surrogate, a womb for rent and a complete nuisance to my then spouse and this woman who must have her own way, always. Her opinion of me stayed negative until the day she died and I never had a chance to show her who I really was. I don’t think she would have cared, in hindsight, but I feel I deserved to at least have my say.

The first 9 years of my dear daughter’s life were a blur of hurt, disappointment and growing anger for me. I couldn’t make friends with any of the parents of my daughter’s friends because my mother-in-law got there first, whispering to each one about how I worked and didn’t have time to do play dates or school events…but she could. And then, it metastasized into, “I’m more of a mother to her than she is. I’m more of a wife to my son than she is.” As sick as that last one sounds it rang pretty true since she did actually buy all of my ex’s underwear and socks until he was well into middle-age but, I digress. It never got better, she never let up and I just grew more and more distant from everyone except my daughter. The loneliness and despair I felt must have been evident because her need to know where I was at all times while she was young turned into panic if I was more than a room or two away. I feel great regret over that. I worry that everything I thought I was hiding inside somehow spilled over onto her, creating a sensation of anxiety that would not have otherwise been felt had I been stronger. Again, I felt I had failed.

Each year this gnawing emotional sickness chipped another bit of my self-determination, motivation and mental well-being away until I had had enough and no longer cared what anyone but my daughter thought. I was not going to let her think all relationships were as one-sided as mine was with her father nor was I going to let her see me get trampled by her grandmother any longer. After more years than I care to admit, I walked away. I filed for divorce. I took back my life. So why do I still feel as if I have never really lived for me? Can I chalk it up to old habits or damaging ways of thinking being hard to break? In the beginning, of my New Beginning, I wrestled with the notion that I wouldn’t have had my beautiful daughter without accepting all of that drama into my life. After several years of therapy, where my therapist told me that was utter “horse shit” I stopped thinking in such black and white terms. It wasn’t a suffer with or without her situation. Whether I had her with him or with someone else I still would have had her and while she may have looked different she would still possess all of my intelligence, quirkiness and imagination. Of this, I am very certain!

Yet, today I still felt gutted and utterly drained, like I was just floating aimlessly. After my daughter drove away I went for a walk in a neighborhood close to my office. It was the neighborhood I first lived in with her dad, the place I settled when I felt I didn’t deserve more. Today I was back there and as I walked by that old apartment complex my head was swimming. What if I had said NO? Or, rather, “No thank you. I need to make it on my own.” Could I have said no? Yes, I could have and just acknowledging that should be enough but today that little self-affirmation wasn’t enough. My mind zeroed in on conversations I had, emotions I felt, places I went and it all led me straight back to emptiness. Maybe it’s really just self-pity and given the fact I am no longer young and my daughter is now the age I was when everything went so horribly wrong it’s logical to feel a bit of fear for her as well. Don’t do what I did! Don’t settle and never, ever let anyone talk you into setting your dreams, your life and your power aside! I want to scream this, and I do, in my head. Always, forever, living in my head but never out loud. Today is the day to stop that, right?

Yes, today is the day. I find myself, once again, unable to take anymore. The negative self-talk stops here and now because I am ready to be free of this damaging legacy set forth by people I wouldn’t even give the time of day. They hold no power over me and, to that I say, finally, “No thank you! I will make it on my own. I will make it without memories of you dragging me down.”

We deserve to break the chain, once and for all.

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Chopping Down the Family Tree of Misery…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Just when I think that old gnawing discomfort caused by mentally reviewing the past has finally gone away…something else occurs to bring it back to the forefront. It may never be done because there is just too much misery to go around and too many players who failed to get the memo that we were planning to improve ourselves and our lives.

That something else, which recently occurred was tragic, saddening and completely preventable. It came out of the blue and if I had been asked whether I thought such a thing could happen I would say, no, even though anything awful is highly possible with my family. I’m still processing why it came about at all and remain puzzled as to how I even talk about it because no matter how I word it I will always, forever, be part of the problem with this one. To say I didn’t know things were so bad is a lie and to say there wasn’t anything I could have done different is just the same old lip service we apply to every negative cloud following us.

Misery does indeed love company

A little over a week ago one of my adult nephews died. The circumstances remain uncertain and they probably always will remain so because his father, my oldest brother, chose not to have an autopsy and the local coroner hastily called this senseless death “natural causes.” Case closed. We have no way of knowing one way or another what really happened but I do know for sure that it was, in part, a death caused by emotional and mental neglect with 100% certainty. The death of our father was expected and, if you’ve read any of my other work, that event was greeted with relief but this? This loss was shocking because of my nephew’s young age and also because it took so long for anyone to even notice he was dead.

I feel like I need to provide a bit of back-story here but honestly, I have very little additional information to provide. You see, I didn’t know this nephew very well and had only been around him maybe a handful of times over his sad, short life. None of this was his fault, it was entirely my fault for not trying harder to be present in his world. I fell into the “judging” trap that my family so despised from outsiders yet they gleefully heaped judgment high within family ranks without hesitation. Tearing each other down is a familial pastime after all and the sins of the parents get readily transferred to any offspring in this ragged clan. It’s not an excuse. It’s a huge part of one of our many problems.

Because of our less than warm relationship with our oldest brother the negative feelings felt for him impacted the way we interacted with his children, our nephews. It was one side of the family against the other even though we were all just as damaged inside. It made no sense but here we are now, standing amongst the rubble of yet another life destroyed by generational anger, abuse and neglect of soul. To an outsider we would appear cruel but to us it was just “normal” behavior. “Oh, you won’t talk to me? Well, I will just shun your whole family!” We reap what we sow…still.

We were not normal then and we aren’t normal now…

To the point on why it took so long for my nephew to be found: one has to understand that peculiar deficiency in humanity we all inherited from the Grand Patriarch, my recently deceased abusive father. Indifference. We all, at one point or another in our lives were indifferent to the suffering each one of us experienced. Granted, some hurt and got hurt more than others but the inability to express that pain in real-time or recognize it in each other is but one of the many side effects of abuse that went unnoticed for decades.

And so, because we were brought up in “every man for himself” mode we don’t always see how disturbing it may be to fathom someone’s son, nephew, cousin, and grandson going to bed one night, passing away and then not being discovered until 24 hours (even possibly 48 hours) later. To care so little as to simply not see the importance of checking in, paying attention or, giving a damn.

I see it now.

The horror is setting in.

To be so broken yet unable to see the multiple layers of cracks and sharp edges ready to cut and maim.

Sickeningly broken.

I don’t know the exact events that led up to my nephew’s passing and I won’t speculate on his life because I wasn’t part of it. Also, neither my brother nor my mother will speak to me about it because I am effectively dead to them as well. I DO know that this occurred as a continuation of the misery perpetuated by this particular DNA chain, a tragic chain that needs to be broken, reconstructed and fortified with kindness, patience and love. This didn’t have to happen and I know I don’t bare all of the blame but I still feel leveled by the extent of damage one man started and the unfortunate progeny who continue to carry on his harmful legacy. To say our experiences combined had nothing to do with this particular loss would be foolhardy because pain begets pain and until it’s healed it won’t stop.

Please, let it stop!

It must stop for my nephew’s sake and for every other potential casualty of this family tree strewn with hollow, disease ridden limbs. Let the suffering stop here and now because we can be better than this.

We MUST be better than this!

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

It was the unintentional emotional withdrawal for me…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

The past 12 months have been an somber pit of nothingness. Dark moments punctuated by occasional bursts of energy that are quickly extinguished by the knowledge that the world is filled with festering human sores, intent on infecting everyone and everything. Beauty replaced by ugliness, the fire of happiness and joy instantly put out by the pissing and moaning masses who have been sucked in by lies, misinformation and internalized nastiness. This world is incessantly exhausting and…utterly disappointing yet, we trudge on, one reluctant foot in front of the other.

I truly admire motivated people and, occasionally, I research their advice for success and say, “Yeah! I want to be like that!” And then, I look around and see all of the thousands of things I need to accomplish, groan and just sink back into my chair, wasting precious time scrolling through TikTok videos and searching things like, “How to access my Akashic record” and, “Why do I belch like a wild beast after drinking Topo Chico?” You know, the important stuff. It could be Covid fatigue or depression or even adult ADHD, because I have a long history of jumping from one thought to another, making wild plans only to see them crumpled up in the corner of a closet, packed to the brim, in the back of my imagination. The idea factory between my ears is still up and running but the distribution center has been closed for over a year.

The main takeaway from that is….at least I can still dream up wild ideas. It’s the implementation that needs work.

And so, because of my current apathy, I haven’t really written anything of merit since January. I simply lost the will to come up with pithy prose and, if I’m being completely honest, I just don’t feel like sharing my life, my memories and my hard earned wisdom with people anymore. Why should I? Each request for input is now met with suspicion because the maliciously ignorant are huffing and puffing around every corner waiting for the chance to spray their troll shit all over, ruining a good joke and an even better bit of satirical therapy. I used to share because it was cathartic for me but, it was also an attempt to save others from making the same mistakes I made. Now, I don’t care as much, if I ever really did at all and the unsolicited opinions of strangers mean even less to me but, now, this time in space does feel different. It’s hard to explain but, the air in this social media reliant world feels thicker and harder to breathe yet, also much easier to stop trying to exist in such inhospitable environs.

The shit is indeed getting deeper and deeper and my patience is growing shorter and shorter. Even more so than before so now, I spend my time painting weird shit, talking to my plants, dancing in my kitchen to music I know no one else likes and generally feeling pretty great about being exactly who I am supposed to be. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea but, you know what? I didn’t offer to make any damn tea for those who aren’t me so take that unsolicited opinion you’re itching to share, roll it tight and deposit it straight up your angry ass! I have no time for you. I’ve got oddities to create and clouds to gaze at endlessly while I swing in my hammock. That’s my release, my zen, my everything that doesn’t have to include anyone else unless I so choose. Easy. No worries. No stress. NO FUCKING DRAMA.

Also, I have come to the harsh realization that the people I once knew, like former classmates, coworkers, friends, neighbors, most family members…well, I just don’t like them very much anymore. I probably never liked them to begin but just pretended to out of some warped obligation that I hung on to for nostalgia’s sake. My daughter would scoff at this and say, “Mom, you’ve never really liked people,” but I know that I did my best to test that theory these past few years; looking for the good, slogging through the trash in hopes of finding commonality somewhere, anywhere. I was reaching out, wanting to connect in a meaningful way, more so than in the past and, I felt the effort and exertion on my part but nothing of a reciprocal response came back which made the cutting of ties much easier. The personality quirks and characteristics I once overlooked, falsely describing them as “charming”, I now find repulsive, arrogant and tedious. People have literally out-peopled themselves, gone and exposed their asses to the whole world, forever branding themselves sociopaths, racists, homophones, xenophobes, sexist, fascist and just generally vile, all while wearing a proud as punch, shit-eating grin from ear to ear. Assholes, the whole lot of them.

There! I said the obvious part out loud.

It felt good.

I don’t care if it angers anyone.

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment I stopped being so concerned about how I possibly impacted others. I never went out of my way to influence anyone, I merely stated how I felt, nothing more. And, for many years I was harshly assured that my thoughts didn’t matter at all and no one cared but obviously some of them did or I wouldn’t have received such backlash for saying the ugly parts out loud, for refusing to be silent. Good, bad, indifferent, none of it matters anymore because the reactions of others are just that, theirs and are of no consequence to me anymore. I will lose no sleep at night fretting over whether or not I should be gentler, nicer or less honest with my words. The candy coating no longer sticks and if I have zero control over how those words are perceived then why dress them up? It never mattered how hard I worked to make my words palatable for the masses anyway because someone ALWAYS found a reason to be offended. It was never about me anyway. It was always about them.

Fuck ’em!

I’m not here to soften the blows, I’m just here to say my peace and then keep on moving. It really makes the most sense because wasting time pondering and ruminating over trivial shit never got anyone any place positive now did it? So why keep doing the same thing over and over only to come back around to that nauseatingly familiar place of nasty unfinished emotional business? It’s not going to change just because you say it should. Put some grit into it! Get that business finished and be done with it once and for all, never looking back, never taking the time to get acquainted with regret.

I regret nothing.

I don’t have time for regret anymore.

I’m too busy living.

© 2021-2022 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

After all the words that hurt where are the words that heal?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

Words have power and intent matters. The things we say can illicit beautiful and positive emotional responses but, they can also incite violence, hatred and destruction. Words have the strength to motivate, to move hearts and they can, in some instances, change minds. Some say what they think others want to hear, some say nothing in order to avoid confrontation and then, there are those who say whatever the hell they feel like, consequences be damned.

It’s clear that very few minds are changing. Those who felt something is, and always has been, wrong with this country aren’t changing their minds and, those who want the balance of power to tilt firmly and homogeneously, back to the status quo certainly have no intention of changing either. What I see as utter disgusting lunacy comes across as perfectly logical to, in the wise words of REM’s Michael Stipe, “followers of chaos out of control.” Inciting a mob to violence while standing back to watch your handiwork on television is VILE. Not only is it just that but it’s also illegal. This is not normal, this is not okay. We are broken.

Why can’t everyone see the danger we are in?

Because, to some this is exactly what they were hoping for.

I am not afraid to use my words to call out injustice, bigotry, propaganda and blatant LIES. You. Are. Lying! Long ago, I stopped feeling shocked when I heard or read utterly outrageous falsehoods because I quickly grew to understand that those who lie do so for a distinct reason. It’s not without purpose. It’s not, “just because” they can get away with it. The main reason, in my mind, is to cause disorientation brought on by the intense initial outrage. If they can tire the honest, logical and empathetic just enough to create a momentary pause, a window for ill-intent to creep in then they can get away with anything. And, they are. It’s disgusting.

The death of trust is happening now…

Here is where I take a moment to pose a question to the chaos creators; what is it about helping others that you find so abhorrent? I know it isn’t the bullshit argument that, “my tax dollars shouldn’t go towards giving a handout to people too lazy to work,” or the worn out tome, “Socialism is evil”. You are a broken record. None of your dire predictions of doom have or ever will come true but, the part where you are literally willing to overthrow your own government in order to hang onto the limited power afforded simply because of the hue of your skin and your male identity has. Again, it’s disgusting yet, predictable. We knew you would cling tightly to the past, a past that only favored you and your ilk. A past that made good work of trampling anyone exhibiting the determination to create change because, after all, change is exactly what you fear the most.

Change is your kryptonite and, it’s also quite amusing that I’m using a completely fictional substance to describe your true weakness. You are growing weaker by the minute and more desperate, judging by the actions taken on January 6, 2021 so, how will your ultimate downfall occur? Will we all get to watch it on TV or will you just slink back into the shadows to plot the next coup attempt? With a diet comprised of hatred, envy and fear it’s only a matter of time before vital organs shut down and it appears that process has begun given the loose grasp on reality and increasing cognitive impairment. Your belief that you are somehow smarter, stronger and more resilient than those you rage against is an illusion you apparently find great difficulty reconciling with.

Fighting words don’t taste very good do they?

I have written about the absurd notion that those of a more “liberal” mindset are expected to, nay, are duty bound to forgive and forget and be tolerant towards even the most rabid followers of chaos out of control. That’s a big NOPE for me. I am not a fool. And then, the self-proclaimed opposition sneers, “I thought liberals were supposed to be so tolerant! You’re not being tolerant towards me!” To that I reply, who told you I was a liberal and, you really don’t understand the meaning of that word do you? Liberal? Do you mean the Latin word liber (meaning “free”),  or do you mean liberalis, which means “of or constituting liberal arts, of freedom, of a freedman,” which is it? Personally, I believe you mean this: “I can do whatever I want against you or say whatever I want about you and you just have to sit there and take it because I said so!” Again, big NOPE.

https://www.merriam-webster.com/words-at-play/liberal-meaning-origin-history

Getting back to the title of this piece, where are the words that heal? I suppose the best question to ask now is, who needs the most healing? Is it the perpetually marginalized groups in this country or is it the segment that harbors the most animus towards everyone not like them? Ironically enough, those the rage-filled continually strike out against learned long ago how to fortify themselves against unending oppression so, who’s figured out life better? Quick answer, not you! And by healing I mean self-reflection, personal growth, deprogramming and, ultimately re-humanization because I see this part of the population as the most damaged by their own hand, heart and mind. The ravages of life-long putrid hate makes these pitiful patriots almost unrecognizable as any type of former friend when FOE is most consistently written on their name tags. Today, knowing ones enemy has became exponentially easier while also simultaneously mind numbing.

Is this the future you want for yourselves?

I ask because I’ve grown weary of your self-indulgent circle jerk, chock full of worn out excuses.

Shhh…it’s time to learn a new way of existing with purpose rather than just taking up space in the universe. It’s okay, we can help you but there is a caveat; if we help and still get stabbed in the back well, don’t take it too personally when the door is closed on you permanently. It’s the long-time in coming reward you will have justly deserved.

© 2020-2021 L.A. Askew

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to “In the Land of Reverie” with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.