Rainisms

If poetry were a strong suit, I’d write it that way.

If a single tune could cure the blues, I’d have it on repeat indefinitely.

If anything can bring me down quicker than a bullet to the head, it’s people.

Bitchy, nagging, inconsiderate, oppressive, thoughtless, selfish, and small-minded people.

My favorite thing is music, yet I can’t listen now, since the memory of what occurred will forever be associated with the sound.

My summer vacation highlight was to write, and now I can’t concentrate on what I want because my head is filled with the garbage of another.

It’s a lovely day outside, and I promised myself that I would walk at least a mile each day, yet the  thought of going anywhere; doing anything makes me weak.

The word weak makes me think about myself, and not about what happened, but how I dealt with it.

In my lifetime, I’ve experienced too many crushing blows, heartless actions, and thoughtless words to want to recall them all.  I just know I did, and that I dealt with it the same way I am right now.   Self-pity.

Odd thing is, it’s when I come out of my shell; when I decide enough is enough, and when I say ‘who cares!’ that life hits me hardest and forces me back into that suffocating cocoon of safety.

… and loneliness.

I can’t remember that last time (if there ever, even was a time) when I honest and truly enjoyed life.  Seriously.  Not once.  Nothing, no one, not even I could make myself content, at peace, relaxed, or truly happy.

When I gave up hoping that others would like me, it didn’t help to give me peace or stability.  I still crave something that isn’t, even there.  Warmth, security, compassion, I don’t know.

When I realized that there would be no love for me in this life, it made me cry and broke a heart I didn’t think even existed anymore.

I CRAVE WHAT ISN’T AVAILABLE TO ME

Yet, when I am resolved to push forward on my own, in my own world, without a friend, a soulmate, or a partner to help me along the way, I still manage to get sucked into the lives of others.  As hard as I try to ignore, the harder it seems to ignore.

Everyone is around me, yet no one sees me.  Everyone is existing, yet I cease to exist.  They are human because they have a voice.  They are alive because they have a life.  They can smile because they have love.

They are worthy, because … they are them.

It makes no sense to someone like me.

When I was a little girl in first grade, I received a gold star on a story project that required a few sentences and a picture.  I still remember how proud I felt, and how anxious I was to get home with that huge piece of paper with wide, blue lines on the bottom, and my lovely, colorful picture on top.

And that shining, golden star affixed to one corner.

I refused to let the teacher fold it and shove it inside my backpack, and while I walked with two, other girls from my neighborhood, I held that paper in front of me, and I know I smiled at it indefinitely.

Then a boy came up from behind, and he snatched that paper out of my hands.  He crumpled the paper in both hands, grinning at me the whole time, and then he stuffed it into a snow bank.  A dirty, soot-covered snow bank at the curb.  He then pushed me down and ran home.   When I began to cry, the girls laughed at me, called me a baby, and walked away.

Now, since I’m not the type to rail against injustice, let alone defend myself publicly, it seems obvious to me that that day set the tone for what would become the rest of my life.

I smile until someone says or does something to take that smile away.

I laugh until someone says or does something to make me cry.

I try to get along with others until the others say or do something to make me not want to associate with them anymore.

As a result, it’s me who ended up alone, lonely, unwanted, and unloved.  Those who did the hurting walk on with their bright, smiling faces, their circle of close friends, their husbands or lovers, and the bolt of lightning never strikes.

Correction …

It strikes me.

Yet I continue to try, and I continue to be let down, and it continues to happen no matter what the circumstances.

And I can still feel the pain.

I’ve never held a job where there wasn’t at least one caustic bitch above me, there to make my life a miserable, living hell.  And yes, I’ve quit a number of them simply because of the unbearable grief they caused for me.   And then I would hire somewhere else and perform the same, hopeful routine all over again:  smile, say hello, chit-chat, and try.

Try to what?  Obtain something that isn’t there?  Try to convince myself and others that this time it will work the way it does for everyone else?

I’ve said f*ck it so many times now, and yet it never seems to last very long.  I’ve promised myself never to end up in those types of situations again, and yet it can’t be helped a majority of the time.

I no longer know how to function in a social setting.  I have no idea how to approach someone anymore.  I’ve been on the outside looking in for so long now, that I honestly believe that this is it … this is what life is supposed to be:  me sitting outside the world, looking through a few panes of glass at how everyone else is existing.

This year, I met someone who is exactly like me personality-wise.

While everyone else summed her up in that first, 30-second opportunity to prove herself, I saw something entirely opposite of what it was she first conveyed (which was a snob).

I saw a terrified, young woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

And, I was right.

By mid-October, she grew quieter and less available, and it was then that I had a sinking feeling about her ability to hang on to the bitter end.

Then, we happened to arrive for school at the same time, and as I walked near her, I got this overwhelming, negative vibe.  When she turned to say good morning, I noticed a yellowish green aura surrounding her, and it took my breath away.

I looked into her eyes, and I knew.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, and before I got out the last word, she broke down in her hands and said she shouldn’t have come to work that day.

She was a soft-spoken woman with a really, pretty smile.  It was genuine, and her blue-green eyes were huge, but quite soulful.  My second impression was that she would make a terrific teacher.

And, she was.

But, she was sent here from another parish, in another state, to intern with the Art instructor, and that never materialized.  She felt shunned, and she couldn’t understand why.

Her younger sister was also a boarding student here, and she heard some stories about life at the house that made her feel anxious about her little sister’s happiness.

I could practically read her like a book, and while it amazed me, it also gave me reason to pause on occasion and think, “So that’s what I was like at 17, 25, 32 …”

There are far, more bullheaded, pushy people in the world than folks like us, who observe rather than do, who lack the social skills necessary to properly convey our true feelings, needs, or wants.  We’re deemed as weak, defenseless, and even dumb or useless.  The strong can smell our fear, and they pounce on it like a lion corners the lame in a herd.

We don’t stand a chance.

She grew weaker and more vulnerable as time went on, and then she got sick.  She even went back home during a short break that was extended a few days for her own sake.  On top of all her other woes, the bills began to pile up, and she wasn’t making enough to survive on her own anymore.

She wasn’t doing her job the way that she had started out to do, and I could tell that she didn’t care anymore.  She tried, and she stuck it out to the last day, but her heart wasn’t in it now, and that soulfulness in her pretty eyes was gone.

They were now a bland, grayish blue color, like a cold, overcast day in February.

Last week was the end of another school year, and she was asked not to return in the fall.

She got fired.

She was on her own, with no one to guide her, help her make decisions, or to offer their shoulder when she needed one.  We had extensive, meaningful conversations, and I tried to get her to see that she could pull it off if she could back away from what was personal and what was professional.  And while she agreed with me, it was still something she was unable to accomplish on her own.

She needed someone, and no one was there for her.

To me, the no-one include everyone who judged her automatically and then never, bothered to give her another chance.  She was doomed from the start and based on false evidence that had absolutely nothing to do with her as a human being.

Where was the compassion?

As I looked about me that day, watching those people go about their daily lives, smiling, waving, stopping to chat, I remembered that mean boy who wadded up my gold-star effort, stuffed it in a wet snowbank, and ran off with a pleased grin on his face.

I remembered the girls who laughed at me instead of sticking up for me.

I also remembered, throughout that school year, to stick up for the teacher everyone wanted to talk about, complain about, ridicule, and say they didn’t care for.  I begged them to look beyond the first impression and see if they might, not notice something deeper, something more human than a passing glance or the wrong facial expression.

I asked how many times they decided not to read a book because they didn’t like the cover.

It doesn’t matter to willful, negligent A-types who think only about themselves and what they want, how they feel, and what they believe to be true.

And God help the person who disagrees with them.

I made an appointment that day, to speak with the higher-up about what occurred, and to offer my suggestions for change.  I thought to mention compassion, and that as a religious institution, it might not be a good idea to condone such practices as ill-will, lack of manners, or even self-righteous indignation.

INSTEAD … and before I was able to say a word, it seems it was now my turn to get a heaping helping of their hospitality.

After all was said and done, I found out that the one person there I thought I could trust, confide in, and rely upon for help was actually the person who secretly went behind my back and informed the higher ups about everything I ever said or did while I worked at the school.

I know, because I was questioned about things only she knew about, or that she suggested I do or try or say.

I tried to get the young woman who was fired to let go of herself and try harder to meet people half-way.  I thought that by pointing out my faults to her, that she might see her own and thus want to change for the better.  I truly believed that by working to help her, that I might actually improve upon my own, sorry lot in life.

And this is the end result of my and her efforts.

We’ve both been pushed to the wet snow, and while she seemed somewhat relieved to know that she would not be returning here in the fall, I am faced with the grim task of going back to that world; that upside down institution where no one, not even a boss, can be trusted, let alone relied up for help in any, given circumstance.

I’m on my own again, with no friends, no support, and no shoulder except my own.

Even she, with the soothing voice and soulful eyes isn’t going to be there anymore.

It’s just me.

Against the rest of the world.