Tag family dysfunction

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.

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.

Oh, Sister of Mine?

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

When people ask me about my family of origin I pause and take a deep breath. “How much time do you have?” I ask. It’s never a matter of rambling on about all the amazing memories I have (or had) with family, it’s a matter of, “How much do I tell?”

Do I talk about the feelings of despair, the urgent need to get as far away from my childhood home and town as possible or, do I simply compose a quick verbal synopsis? Even that would be a task destined for failure since there is zero possibility of a speedy deposition because anger, pain and darkness go too deep and have traveled too many generations to be given just a cursory glance. This is a disease that must be examined with the keen eye of a scientist or, at minimum, with the paranoid skepticism of a rabid conspiracy theorist.

“Show me your proof.”

“It’s all made up!”

“You have an agenda!”

Who doesn’t, pal?

I wish I had made up everything I felt compelled to share about my childhood and the people enlisted to birth me and then failed to raise me properly. I wish I had made up the interactions with my many siblings that drained the rose color from my preferred view of the world. The dream of a life I felt excited about as a five year-old was the same one ground to dust at eight by a brother who acted entitled to be doing so without explanation or recourse.

If only I could recall, rewind, rework and then reissue my life. But, I can’t and it must stand as a work unto itself with no revisions because truth is truth no matter how dirty and the lies of others, desperate to silence you, have no power anymore. That, right there, is what sparks the greatest fear in former oppressors, instigators and apologists. I will TELL. I will say it ALL. And, my truth will follow them to the depths of every self-imposed hellscape they find themselves in or into any carefully curated tale of a supposed “life well-lived” they may attempt to create.

It’s the price we all pay for pretending.

But, what happens when the pretenders stop and stand still within their game? What happens when the camera, the one meant to capture a staged joyous moment, starts documenting reality at every press of the button? Sure, we can smile for the camera but we have no control over the image projecting from our eyes. They are the real keepers of truth after all.

I entitled this “Oh, Sister of Mine?” for a specific reason and to document a specific hurt. I have two sisters, born from the same parents and both subjected to the same dysfunction (at varying degrees) I was yet each approaches their wounds very differently. One chose the stance of a pacifist or rather, a “compartmentalizer” and the other, further down the pedigree chart, chose to morph into a volatile cat o’ nine tails ready to inflict as much mental punishment as humanly possible on anyone she decides to level. Did I see that coming my way? No. Am I really surprised in hindsight? Again, no. Some people learn from their pain and some carry it with them like a weapon to be used whenever they need self-soothing. It was just a matter of time.

Now, here’s the rub. From time to time I see strategically posted vignettes of their “and a fun time was had by all” soap opera. It hurts, initially, that I have been purposely cut out of their lives but, in a way, I also see it as needed medicine. The depiction of how their lives easily go on without being invited to share in any joy or pain can feel scalding but, it is also the hurt I need to heal, if that makes sense? The more I see of these surface only interactions the better I feel about my decision to untangle from the diseased spiderweb. I can’t go back to pretending anymore. I won’t go back there yet, at the same time I am irritatingly human enough to still long for closeness and also feel bad for all of them.

https://www.inc.com/jessica-stillman/people-are-revealing-truth-behind-their-happy-looking-social-media-posts-its-heartbreaking.html

And by ALL I mean ALL, even the parents and other siblings who worked so hard to grind my soul into the ground. I wish things were different but, they are not and they never will be. That wish is now released to the wind. It floats away, along with pieces of my regret and anger, to be replaced by a satisfying self-awareness I never even knew I could posses. By “self-awareness” I mean I own up to my faults, my lies, my rage now with zero shame or embarrassment.

It’s never embarrassing to be authentic.

The TRUE shame is in continuing to willfully live that lie.

© 2020 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.

In the company of wolves…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

It’s no secret that I was raised by a narcissistic bully and a giggling passive-aggressive with a searing dislike for anyone “more fortunate” than herself. I have written about this numerous times and after each soul cleansing admission the only player in this dark, twisted tale to change is me. As it should be.

Each time I lay it all out there, stripped to the bone and raw for all to see, my personal suffering lessens and I relax just a little more. I forgive a little more while remembering to forget even less. Catalog it for future lessons I say! In getting it out I am freeing myself from anger and shame. I am freeing myself from them.

And by THEM I mean my entire family, not just the ones who refuse to talk to me, who refuse to acknowledge my presence on this earth. Or, refuse to understand that I stood with them when they needed me most while I stood here alone.

Little Red Riding Hood has nothing on me…

It’s okay. I have great balance and an affinity for going my own way, on my own time schedule and without the assistance of unwilling companions. It’s truly becoming easier. I’m not alone anymore.

But, just because something is easy it doesn’t mean that it’s preferable or kind or right. This experience is none of those things yet, in a way, it’s exactly all of those things in the same token. It’s what I expected, it’s what I received and now it’s what I will glean knowledge from to learn and continue growing.

The mysterious, all knowing THEY in life have said that strangers will treat you better than family ever will and I have found this to be remarkably true. Strangers typically have no idea what your net worth is or your nasty secrets when engaging in acts of kindness to someone they see as “in need” of a brief kind gesture. Holding open a door, smiling for no reason other than something in your glance triggered their reaction. It’s nice and I appreciate it so much more now.

While growing up I was taught that each interaction with family produced only two things; anger or indifference. You either made someone mad or you didn’t exist to them. Nothing in between. Oh, I can say that there were times when it appeared we mattered to one another but, in looking back, I see now that it was more of a theatrical show for others so the normal family facade could stay in place. It was not sustainable nor was is real.

When I describe my family as wolves, at first glance it may seem mean spirited. But, in taking many decades worth of steps back I now see it as the ultimate coping mechanism, passed down from one generation to another, infinity. It had to start someplace, we didn’t invent devouring our own or lashing out in fear each time authority (or sanity) is challenged. We may not have invented it but our generation is perfecting it.

Each day, week, month and year that goes by connection is cut further and further and the string holding our family tree together is stretched beyond its limited capacity. It’s still tethered but the longer we go without contact the easier it will be to ignore, reject and justify what we do.

We do nothing. And, that is exactly the point. Nothing comes from nothing but doing nothing when something is required is the ultimate cruelty committed by a species that requires connection to survive. To know how to connect but to refuse to engage in it is madness, a self-fulfilling prophesy for failure.

And, yet, here we are, welcoming the wolves of jealousy, resentment, anger and pettiness around our doorsteps. They sit and dare anyone to attempt reconciliation. Come! They invite you to stand at my door to see what type of greeting you will receive.

Now, here’s the thing about wolves, they don’t always get it right nor do they recognize the evolution of people tired of traditional dysfunction. People so tired of grudges, so tired of secrets, so tired of lies that they stop doing all the expected things and replace the usual reactions with healthy ones instead. Becoming enlightened throws off the wolves scent for blood, and our becoming immune to the aggression and mind-numbing psychosis confuses them.

This is why I write everything down. It’s documented and it’s expressed in a way that leaves no room for alternate interpretation. I said it, I meant it, it’s done. Let the universe receive it for processing so I can go about my life. Let the universe determine the outcome so I can be free to live. No guilt, no worries and no looking back.

Yes, the invitation still stands and is sincere. Come to my door, it’s not barricaded against you. Just remember to leave your wolves at home.

© 2019 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.

The Long Year of Silence: And Other Tales of Dysfunction…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

February came and went. Silent to begin and silent still to end. To say that I’m entirely surprised would be a lie since I know how these family dustups go. I know that they linger like the annoying stench that clings to the bottom side of a trash can lid; hidden from sight but still funking up the air with the cloying scent of unresolved anger and delusion.

Last year, at this same time, I had a tremendous online, voicemail and text row with my younger sister over what? I’m still not sure what her intentions were when she publicly insulted me, my dear partner and my even dearer daughter online. “They aren’t welcome in our home,” became the flash point proclamation over a post about the senseless loss of children due to gun violence which she assumed was AIMED at her and her husband. It was not yet, here we are.

If you can’t find the energy to defend your actions then don’t expect to make it to the winner’s circle anytime soon…

Ah, assumption, the ultimate guess that certainly makes one look like an ass when one is incorrect. And incorrect they were but, the damage is done and a half-hearted apology will not cover this wound. I am still angry about the words my sister, brother-in-law and other unknowing siblings chose to assign to me, my daughter and my partner. Snowflake! College Educated Liberal! They Think They’re Better Than Us! I have a sinking suspicion that these words had been on their minds for a long time. Words that they didn’t and still don’t have the guts to say to our faces. Was it worth it?

The Psychology Behind Sibling Estrangement

The more I think about it now the more I see just how one-sided our relationship was to begin with. For years I tried to re-engage with both my sister and her family by visiting, emailing, sending cards or texting as much as possible. I sat and listened to her complain about our parents, our other sister, nieces, nephews and so on. In looking back I have no doubt that this scenario played out similarly on the flip side and I was the one that was being complained about but, that’s okay.

We were raised with an “every man for himself” attitude and the MAN that always bested us was our father. Or, rather, he contributed to our emotional destruction and continued destruction of one another. Why be loving and kind when you could be sneaky and manipulative? Did you hear what SHE did? No! Did you know that HE did/said this or that? It’s amazing that we were able to hold it together as long as we did given the monumental amount of shit we talked about one another.

How I would love to tell each party the things that were said about them while absent but, I won’t. What’s the point anyway? I most likely will never see them again so it would be a hollow victory and I don’t need that bile in my life anymore. Tired of the drama, tired of the hatred and tired of feeling guilty for wanting and finally achieving a happy life when so much wrong has gone on in their lives over the many years.

And, despite this, I still jumped in to defend those who were being abused by our parents still as adults only to be lumped in with the very people who created the damaged familial menagerie to begin with. Thank you but, no thanks! I jumped too far for too long and now I’m done. I have to be. What other choice do I have?

But, what will you do when your parents die or if something happens to the other family members you aren’t speaking to????????

What would YOU do? Would be bristle at being asked such a guilt laden question by someone who did not walk in your shoes like, EVER? Would you pretend to feel sorrow for the loss of those who literally wished out loud that you were never born? Would you mourn the loss of someone who punched you with full force between the shoulder blades on more than one occasion? The one who used a handful of your hair to pull you across the room to view a “mess” you didn’t make but were still being accused of? The one who used the bible to justify this physical abuse along with molestation?

No love lost. No sorrow to feel on the parental front for many other reasons but, I do feel sorrow now about the loss of contact with my younger sister, her family and my oldest niece. That loss was sudden and without warning so I am still experiencing the grief process over losing those relationships.

I was angry. I’m still angry and I WILL write about it despite how much this pisses off those who created the rift. Actions have consequences and all, you know? And so, I keep moving into this new year of continued silence. Will anything change? Not unless I make the move to do so because that’s how it’s “always been.” Courage is in short supply in this family while false bravado doth runneth over!

So, now do I continue moving forward in peace without them or take two steps back into a landmine? Sometimes choosing peace is the smartest move and hopefully that move will trigger growth, self-reflection and forgiveness on the other side. I hope…and that’s all I can do.

© 2019 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.

An Ode to Rage…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment 
Bark! Bark! Bark!
Finger Point! Outrage!
Blame. Blame. Blame.
I know you are but what am I?

Lurk. Lurk. Lurk.
Eyes scan for evidence.
Blame. Blame. Blame.
You've always been this way!

Whatabout? Whatabout? Whatabout?
Face reddens. Hot! Steaming!
Blame. Blame. Blame.
Adicted to the rage and cannot walk away.

Anger is an energy. Sometimes it spurs on positive action and sometimes it fills up the negative well inside those void of personal insight, those who thrive on conflict. Gotta rant. Gotta rage. It’s all they know so I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else.

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2019/01/charles-duhigg-american-anger/576424/

I am not a devotee of chaos like some but I will say that given the option of being treated like an afterthought, only good for the occasional favor, and saying how I feel no matter the consequences…I will choose the latter. Like it or not.

https://www.everydayhealth.com/news/whats-your-anger-type/

And, to those that choose to take offense and those who purposely fan the flames of discord in order to keep the grudge going? I’m going to let it burn out. I’m done. You can win this hollow victory.

When you burn shit down you go all the way to the ground

Take offense or take my carefully considered words to heart, I care not which is chosen. Just do something different because this worn-out record is excruciating to listen to any longer and I am tired.

© 2019 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.

Rehumanize yourself…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

The world has gone mad.

Angry mad. Crazy mad. Foaming at the mouth mad.

And, no one seems to care. Except me and other horrified reasonable people!

I care very much and want to right all the wrongs. I want to fix everything that got smashed in the fight, to tape back together the relationships that have been torn apart by rhetoric, nastiness, spite and blatant lies.

But, once something is repaired it is never the same. Sometimes it’s better than before because lessons were learned and other times suspicion lingers, poking out around the glued edges, rough to the touch and seething on the inside.

To illustrate this point I will offer up my own familial example of the inability to grow after a blow-up. Here we are zooming up on 9 months, holidays coming and going but still no offer to mend the tear created when guns and voting for the Orange Anus tore asunder what my bible misinterpreting parents created. For those that hate reading between the beautifully crafted lines: I’m talking about my younger sister drama.

Click Here To Be Brought Up To Speed

I could suck it up and reach out BUT, would it do any good? I’m thinking if we follow the words above about how repaired things are never the same; sometimes stronger, sometimes weaker, then I think my situation will be weaker since this drama likes to lie. We were raised to think lying was essential to creating a positive impression of self so there ya go. Learned from the worst!

http://rolereboot.org/family/details/2015-08-when-parents-still-abuse-their-adult-children/

I’m okay with starting again, with the understanding that EVERYTHING gets put on the table. No hiding anything, all resentment exposed because OBVIOUSLY there is a mountain of resentment. Even as nasty as things went down, horrific crashes can be worked on, patched up and put back on the road to recovery. I’m open even if she isn’t.

Now, back to my original thought; how nasty the world appears. Let’s be clear, it’s always had a nasty underbelly. There have always been horrible, vile, disgusting, evil, self-serving people ready to take and then destroy anyone or thing that stands in their way. That is a fact and not just a hunch. It’s just that now being openly horrible, vile, disgusting and evil is apparently chic and all the rage amongst the racist, misogynist, homophobic, white nationalist, Nazi, fascist and sociopathic/psychopathic crowd. White hoods are in this dark season! As is cruelty.

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/06/06/opinion/trump-winning-america-.html

We see you. We hear you. We will not let the world forget what you are trying to do.

We, the true loving heart of this county WILL stop you.

Did you really think you would win?

Now, let’s talk about cruelty…

I was born into a family that held up emotional and physical cruelty as a sure fire way to control those who needed to be held down and shown their place. That place was never higher than the task master’s place and hovered just a smidge below that of the family dog. To say that the dog received more consideration from my father than we, his own children, is no exaggeration. Oh, some may say I am embellishing but, the sharp sting of a balled up fist connecting with the tender spot right between my shoulder blades says otherwise. I don’t recall the dog ever being hit.

Dates, time and exact GPS coordinates of acts of abuse can be confused after many years but the feelings attached are not. To those who scream about PROOF and documented reporting of such criminality my response is, fuck you.  I was 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16 and so demoralized that the embarrassment of even acknowledging what my family became was debilitating.

Bravo to you if you weren’t abused or abusive…but, and if we are being honest here, those who shout down the victimized usually do so because they have skeletons of their own to hide. Look in the mirror before you start snarling m’kay?

So? How do we heal?

Slowly and carefully.

My plan is to move forward one step at a time, living my best life, and when opportunities to heal old wounds with my sister are presented I will address them in the moment. There will be no continued rehashing of old business because that is simply crazy making and I have done enough of that. The way I envision it, reconciliation will start with laying all the trash out on the table, sorting through it and then bagging it up and throwing it out for good. And, get this, healing an old wound can also be accomplished simply by saying “hello” to someone that you once told, “go fuck yourself.”

It can be accomplished without all the whatabouts and butyousaids simply because I say that is how I will do it. Be clear, I have no control over how other parties will approach it though and that is okay. Any start is a good start.

Set aside the anger and learn.

This is all I have so, it is what I will do.

What will you do?

© 2018 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.

Moving on

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

I moved.

Both physically and mentally.

It was time.

The house I lived in for 18 years, a house filled with good ghosts and bad ghosts, the specters of a past I have both hated and loved. So what now? The answer to that is this; I finally get to go to a place I am wanted, loved and respected. And, it feels nice.

Some people are miserable after they move…I was not!

I’m not saying that no one has loved me in my past. My grandparents loved me, aunts, uncles, cousins and I’m sure, somewhere deep in the cortex of their brains, my parents and siblings loved me at one time. They had an odd way of showing it but I am sure a small sliver of like, if not love, was there briefly. And if not, I am not going to lose any sleep over it.

Bye, bye, bye…

The stories my former house can tell are a mixture of hilarity, aggravation, joy, anger and finally, resignation. Some I recall with relish and others I wish would slip quietly from my mind, never to be replayed again.

a32dac6705fc0299ff7891f23a59bfb2--abandoned-homes-abandoned-buildings

I feel the same way about most of my childhood homes as well and we moved around a lot! But, none of those homes had my name on the deed nor did I pay the mortgage. This house was paid for not only with my hard-earned wages but also a pound of flesh here and there combined with nearly every ounce of my self-respect.

And now, its sold. A done deal. A new start for someone else and I am glad.

My only hope is that the bad juju does not stay attached to either the house or myself.

Release, restore and relax!!!! It’s over woman. You are finally free!

© 2018 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.

Lying Tree…

Elle Reverie Leave a comment

I do not have a conventional family tree. I have a lying tree.

For as long as I can remember the “facts” behind who my blood relatives really are have been blurred and carefully edited to fit a narrow narrative of acceptability. What will the neighbors think? What will random strangers on the street think? And, finally, what will the people at our church think? That last one always created pause for me since church implies certain moral values and the very act of lying to cover personal embarrassment from fellow churchgoers is ironic and laughably hypocritical.

But, don’t say this to the patriarch and matriarch of this fabricated fable!

In modern times there is this little thing called the internet. On this construct exists a massive online newspaper archive called Newspapers.com ( and I am sure there are many more) where anyone willing to pony up a few bucks a month can search the names of relatives, friends, ex-friends, and ex-lovers to see if they ever “made the news” from the 1700’s to the 2000’s.

On this website, I found out that my paternal grandfather was charged with and eventually found guilty of misappropriation of funds while a Justice of the Peace for Cook County, Illinois in the 1960’s.  He was sentenced to 6 months in county jail and not once, in all the years I have known my mother or father have either said one word about this.  Not surprising really since my mother said once, in church, that my older brother was “away at college” when he was actually in jail.  Being a scofflaw runs in the family you see but, Que sera sera, there is not one thing that can be done about it now. The fibbing branches just keep falling…

IMG_7660

Several years ago, after a few glasses of wine around my younger sister’s kitchen table, my older sister mentioned a conversation she had with our mother that included the words, “That was the time when your grandfather was away in jail.” Wait! What?  “Oh, didn’t I tell you that?” was my mother’s response to my sister’s shocked surprise. No, you sure as hell did not!  Much like the various health conditions relatives had that were not shared with us or the fact that she had been borrowing on life insurance policies our maternal grandmother purchased for us for years without our knowledge. I’m sure there is more but will stop at the tip of the ice burg for now. What they don’t know won’t hurt them right?

THIS is the kind of thing I am talking about here. This is also the kind of thing that the truth-impaired bemoan as  “ancient history” and “what’s in the past is the past” but my argument is that this very shit stabs right at the heart of what is wrong with my family and many others. Lying just for the sake of lying, lying for personal financial gain and finally, lying to save face. Once you have protected your image to the point of alienating and potentially physically harming family it becomes clear what is more important to some people:

Not us. Not me. Not my daughter. Not my partner. Everyone is fair game for an attack apparently. I have the letters, emails, Facebook posts and text messages to prove it.

My family is a sad stomach churning potluck of avoidance, delusion, resentment, and selfishness. And, I too have experienced and participated in all of these things over the years and will make that clear. In order to write this I have to be honest and in order to write this, I also have to shore myself up for any pending attacks on my recollection and character. I have been attacked on both fronts by both my mother and my younger sister so any further vitriol is easy to shrug off. They will do what they do and have always done and I will do the opposite because to do anything else is a sure recipe for self-harm and I’m too old for this shit!

As you, dear reader, peruse this little essay I am sure that there are other eyes scanning as well. Eyes that are looking for any mention of them, any mention of blame, any mention at all. Hello! Despite our falling out, I am glad you are here and I am even gladder that you might be reading my words. Take them in. Mull them over for a bit before responding and, might I add, before firing off in a flash of keyboard courage consider picking up the phone to address any grievances with me personally. I will take your call and I will listen to what you have to say. I may hang up without saying more than an initial “hello” but I will listen none the less.

So, for the foreseeable future, I will be HONEST. Everything I write about will involve confession, confrontation and, finally the search for redemption. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need to be redeemed in my family’s eyes but in my own. I am looking for peace, nothing more and nothing less.

Stick with me on this journey okay? I might need a cheering section when the wolves arrive…

© 2018 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.