Chaotic thoughts....

Many thoughts whirling around in this old brain...but the most frightening is the "mother of the groom" one. I actually find myself somehow tying it in with the invitation that came in the mail for my 40th High School Class Reunion...arggghhh! How can it be 40 years?? I want my old body back...the one before gravity had it's way with me...before all those tiny little bedtime snacks snuck up on my fat cells and stored themselves there. Been contemplating how much weight I could loose in the next 5 weeks...or how much plastic surgery? Lol...not going there...not really! Just one of those dumb thoughts. Is it that I can what I look like, or care that my son might care? Somehow, I think it is the more selfish of the two...worrying about what others will think of this older woman...or is that mature lady?

I suppose they even tie in to the thoughts I started in my art blog...Artwork by Susan J. Richards about needing the approval of others and basing alot of my life on what others think/thought? I am really not sure why it is such a big part of my personality. I have spent/wasted alot of years trying to be what everyone else wanted me to be...so that they would like me. It got to the point where I did not really know who I was...only who I had to be with certain people. It began to be like I had multiple personalities, almost...definitely confusing...not only for me, but for others too. Of course, it is something I have written about...lol...I write about most things that hurt, me or others, but wonder if I would be the same me that I am, without all of the garbage I have hauled around for way too many years? I am hoping to lay it down one day, as it tends to get heavy, but I believe I will keep the experience and hopefully some wisdom from the lessons learned, hard as they may have been for me.,,

REFLECTIONS

As I sit here reflecting on all that was said,
and, too, on what was left unspoken.....
trying to see around the pain and turmoil,
to learn what I must from it;
I see a need for forgiveness, at the top of the list:
forgiveness for myself, for gullibility,
for believing in something that had no credibility,
for allowing myself to respond to a dream;
forgiveness too, for what I've led you to believe I am,
in my inability to just be myself,
and for permitting the charade to continue too long;
and maybe forgiveness, to be begged,
from all the true meanings of my life, poor as it is...
to be sought before it is too late to correct.

Perhaps the only real truth spoken, was that
I am not like others you have met;
not because of some exaggerated sense of self-worth,
but because I am not what I appear.
When I pull aside the blinders I've been wearing,
and see the life and image I've created,
I am appalled at what I've allowed myself to become;
my soul has long screamed, "Desist!";
yet somehow, in a mistaken effort to defend myself,
I turned a deaf ear to its beseeching,
fooling no one but myself, into seeing what I wanted;
and now the screams echo in the pain,
and tears are wept for foolishness and loss--
perhaps not of total innocence, but some.

A child, trapped inside, for so many years alone,
only coming out when walls were crushed,
and no more defenses could protect and hide her,
from the world outside her prison,
at first amazed at the freedom and wonder of life,
trying to learn, from the shreds
that were left of the thing created to protect her,
what had passed while held deep inside;
then buffeted with hurt and anger from all sides,
over the lives destroyed while she hid.
All the waste of years, so sad for the loss;
sins of omission are perhaps more damaging
than those of commission, more totally destructive
of the lives that contact such a one.

Vows made to undo what could be undone,
to not repeat such hurt again ever;
yet under the strain and stress of extreme loss,
to awaken again and see that paths were trod
that were not to be followed, and yet had been;
the phoenix arising from the ashes
had itself turned to dust , and left only bitterness;
the butterfly that was to be seen emerging,
fresh and free from its chrysalis, trembling,
it flew, and was not a butterfly--
but only a foolish moth that in stupidity
blundered into the fire and was destroyed.
this is not something a person want to face,
but face it I find I must.

I have not lived in the manner I believed;
intemperance and indecency are not part of
the me I would want to be, or the person I want seen;
the excuses for such laxity are no good,
and the ends never justify the means no matter what.
In a search for reassurance I used,
and was used, and in the end lost what I sought;
in a desire to hide from reality,
I endangered myself and others, and solved nothing.
I sought values in others, who
used the same excuses , and couldn't find in them, either,
what I was unable to find in myself;
what a waste of precious time, when none of us knows
how much or little of it we have.

So, I look up from all the destruction I allowed,
and I wonder what I truly am,
and even, sometimes, if I am anything at all.
Perhaps I can be seen, somewhere in the reflection
of what I've been, some of it perhaps not all bad;
I am most realistically a mother, and will be
to the day that physical death claims the emotionally dead;
for the moment bereft of their presence, yet
still and all, they are a major, consuming part of my life,
no matter how much hiding is done;
nothing can change that, nor in truth would I allow it.
My own happiness can only be a reality
if it is gained through my efforts to meet the responsibility
which I took upon myself in their creation.

An idealist, a romantic, having my head in the clouds,
which allows for considerable stumbling;
I longed to find someone, somewhere, who could love me--
not for what I have, or do, or could give,
but just for me, seeking a completeness through love,
asking no material rewards or promises,
wanting only love, closeness, comfort, and protection;
desiring to learn to give with out caring about returns.
You have allowed me to know that maybe I could do that,
for I have wanted to care and give with you,
to be for you all that I could be, to please you
with no thoughts for what you could give,
except perhaps for love and tenderness and laughter,
and those I found in what we had.

Yet there was missing, the most important part :
honesty and trust, I could not trust,
and, in my lack, I could not be honest with you.
I have beliefs, which I kept hidden
for fear that in their expression I would lose you;
and in that fear I almost lost myself,
which, in the end, was far worse than the loss
of something I never really had at all.
I believe in a God who cares, though in my anger,
over what I considered unfairness,
I convinced myself He couldn't truly care for me;
and in a false sense of unworthiness,
I felt myself too insignificant to be bothered with,
and tried to close the door on belief.

But my belief was there, is there, and will be there,
for without it the emptiness is too much to bear;
what temporary existence is worth the loss of your soul.
How often we cry out in anger and bitterness,
claiming to be above the pain and hurt that are part of life;
are we not all humans to suffer what life brings?
No one has ever escaped it, no matter what it seems;
why do we think ourselves better than others?
I know I must learn to quit blaming God,
for things I allowed to happen to me,
and even for those things that others have inflicted,
for no one is a puppet that He controls;
all have the freedom to be the most, or least, they want,
and to do what they wish--right or wrong.

Excuses and justifications for our actions lie not
in what others have done to us, but
in what we do in life to mold ourselves, our parts;
not the dictators of our patterns, but
the teachers, so that we might, as time passes,
go on to be the most that we can be;
and not remain locked in a futile desire to remake
a past, which if it had been worth anything,
would not need remaking, but simply remembering.
I don't know what I am, or can be,
however, I do know that I cannot learn or gain it
by denying any parts of me, or achieve
any success by a denial of myself or of reality
that can only continue to bring defeat.

It is possible that until we truly want to live,
we will not; for just being, is not life.
In the serious contemplation of ending the pain,
through the ending of my life,
maybe I have come to see the road I must travel--
running away, living in dreams and fantasies,
not facing decisions, not accepting my responsibilities,
selfishly seeking my own pleasure
at the expense of the needs and feelings of others,
has earned me nothing rewarding;
it has only reaped pain and heartache unending;
but I do want to live, surprisingly,
and maybe now I know at least part of the way
in which I must learn how.

I only regret the pain I have caused to others,
in the wasted years of seeking excuses
instead of the doing of what could and should have been done;
I can only hope, that in some way,
I can , with the rest of my life, correct in some way,
the pain I've caused others, and prevent
the devastation of lives by a change in myself;
not to change the past, but to correct the future,
seeking only to be the best that I can be,
accepting failure, and moving on
to try again, instead of wallowing in defeat and self-pity;
to try and use what I have for others,
and to give of myself in honesty, despite what comes,
and in so doing, gain some measure of self-respect.

~susan

Well...if those thoughts are not chaotic or deep enough for a beautiful day...just wait; I am sure I can come up with more later. Oh, by the way...I am going to try and start using my middle initial, since there are a whole lot of Susan Richard's out there...and even some are artists. Maybe it will help with some of the confusion...maybe not...one can but try.

Gotta run for now!