And, this is how I came to repossess my own self-respect. Once again, I claimed, lay claim to, came into possession of self-respect, again, finally. A fundamental notion, one I was raised with, by hands so loving. The very same notion that left me breathless. In only bad, bad, bad ways. My trip down this new path, was spurred on, by the same notion, self-respect. When I experienced it at first, in small amounts, just a tad, a tiny speck of, un petit peu, I began to want/crave/desire for more. I was hungry to gain self-respect once more. And more, and more. Again, and again. I found my self-respect again, after ten longs years, when it was taken away from me by an illness that surfaced at a bad, bad, bad time in my life.
Self-respect would elude me further, setting my mind in motion, to traverse a trip, a horrid, horrid, horrid trip, down, and then, up again the river. Not the Nile. Or the Danube. Not even Indus, and most definitely not the Ganges. I went up and down, down and about, topsy, then very, very turvy. Turbulence. Turmoil. Terror. These were the main ports of entry, entry to what, you ask.
Let me tell you: they were the same portals through which I acquired a strange and new curse to remember, with much, lot and lots of, without pomp or circumstance, negative memory. I only harped on historical facts I could not alter. I rode up and down, this way, then back that way, side-to-side, cheek-to-cheek, the latter, and in fact, the whole damned trip was not pretty, or romantic. Not even in the slightest.
I dragged myself down, down, so down, I’d sit there, when I should have been asleep, but sleep was not my friend. My dreams were fraught with the terrible things I imagined. I’d wake up sweating, screaming, breathless. Again, all of the worst kind. I would drown many times in my dreams, nightmares, life, the life I lived, my other waking life, everything, all, the total sum, was exclusively dictated by the negative.
I practiced repeatedly repeating hateful chants, and mantras. About people who hurt me. Who could have hurt me. I obsessed. Relentless compulsion. I had a nice mixture, wholesome, quite attractive concoction of: bipolar disorder, bipolar depression, depression, mania, aggression, frustration, anger. With virtually zero trace of happy, peaceful, lovely, most lovely, the loveliest thoughts. Thus, individuals with whom I was most close to, began dismissing me. Not treating me like I had a mood disorder.
I have now realized, the intelligent and reasoned faculties, asserted in the most strong manner, in my mind’s eye, comprised of this, and only this: I WAS DICKED AROUND FOR TEN YEARS BY FUCKING FUCK HEADS. Fucking morons. In fact, society at large did not, has not, and who the hell even knows when it will finally start to, GIVE A SHIT. In fact, any shit. Just a little bit of shit.
So, the tens, hundreds, thousands, ten thousand, one-hundred-thousand — my math is weak, numbers have never been my strongest asset. I have a few assets. Always have. Math was not one of those — Anyway, back to the number charge, the uphill climb. Millions, the six-figure, son. Actually, almost billions.
There you have it, the billions of sad, sorry, scum of the earth, and to quote my intellectual comrade/revolutionary/trained doctor/nay, an exemplary psychiatrist, Monsieur Frantz Fanon. Il à ecrit un livre, Wretched of the Earth. Indeed, the same book that I first saw at the age of sixteen, perhaps even seventeen. It appeared on an album cover sleeve, masterminded, and masterfully mastered by the exemplary renegade himself, Zacharias Manuel de la Rocha.
Re-acquainting my self with thoughts and ideas I had always known, the ones that had vanished, had fallen asleep, just like old man Rip Van Winkle had done. That was fiction. My life was non-fiction. I became a lonely woman, like the old man in the sea, expect I was the woman/girl/girl-child who was deemed aimless, by herself, and also, others.
I’ve learned to re-learn, then re-learnmgood again though, ideal thoughts. Exclusively, only, and solely ideal thoughts.
I realized I had an ideal husband. My train of thought was ignited again, when it crashed into, made a head-on collision with mademoiselle self-respect. My mind, my desires, my wants were all lit of fire. Like the paradise I had lost, I was able to with reason, and rationality gain it back. Self-knowledge, a lust for knowledge, and self-awareness — all contributed to the retrieval of my old pal, self-respect, and its cute twin, perspective.
This materialized only because my husband works at an extremely progressive, forward-thinking employer. A big brother of sorts — a brother whom I will always acknowledge — that paid and paved the way, for me to find self-respect. As well, in effect, my husband paid, as well, for the re-appearance of self-respect back into my mind, and my life.
I experienced top-notch, cream of the crop, care that exposed me to self-respect. Thus, I enabled my self to rise to the top. And become the cream of the crop. This meant: I would have to learn to thrive in my own shoes, at unguarded/guarded ease with myself, and feel comfortable in my own soft brown skin. The same skin, that has been rightly pointed to me, is also marked by a rough, coarse, and bumpy patch, located precisely on each of my elbows.
I would have to exude the aforementioned characteristic, if I was to be successful in any way, shape, or form. As a result, I am now, at the present, and most precise, moment at hand; and most definitely also, along with any future occurrence, I must do, do, do. Not try anymore. Just do. must be always be in the mode: past/present/future, with a dash of hope, a pinch positivity, and lastly, but most importantly. Lots and lots, loads and loads. bucketfuls of l-o-v-e.
I would have to learn to embrace, and thrive by embracing my own sense of individuality. I am pleased, and highly contented, with my own sense of self, my self’s sense of style, and unique lifestyle. I got better after ten long years of struggle. An excellent psychiatrist, gave me a chance. Listened to me. Correctly helped me. Treated me like an intellectual, intelligent, and interested human, and thus, ameliorated, and altered, by life.
And, there you have it folks.