Tuesday, August 23, 2022
Monday, August 22, 2022
Friday, August 19, 2022
Wednesday, August 17, 2022
Partnership
Over the past few days, I've worked tirelessly (& I'm not exaggerating) to assist my wife (of 26 years) in preparing her mother's northeast Jackson home to be listed with a realtor. That entailed handyman and housework from morning 'till night within a mazelike 3,000 sf abode. An abode which more or less is just as it was whilst initially occupied by her family in the early '80s.
And when I say that, I'm also referring to all of the unresolved emotional trauma my wife, her younger brother and father endured therein (at the hand of Angie's mother). Childhood trauma that is easily stirred even today, all these years later, by her elderly mother's (who's been catered to throughout this months' long process) tongue. Not to mention her having to spend hours upon hours (+/-50 total days since last fall) sorting through her parents' belongings whilst inside the setting of said abuse.
On Monday, (8/15) evening, after we'd returned home and I'd had a chance to shower, Angie and I sat in the living room of our very-intentionally small abode and chatted about our quite exhausting day together. What was obvious, in spite of our said exhaustion, is we simply relished the sense of partnership. Now, it's important that you know that she's the one who's primarily poured herself into this 6+ month project on behalf of her mother. As such, it was only this week that my aforementioned "services" were warranted. Hence, we (as partners) really hadn't the necessity to attack the giant collectively.
-------------------------
Within walking distance from Angie's childhood home, I vividly remember us as dating love birds, sitting quietly - after dark - snuggled close on a park bench on a cool fall evening. She and I often talked and talked during our courtship, and this night was no different. Thankfully, our chattiness served many purposes, one of which was staving off the physicality (fornication) between us.
But this night ended differently than any other we'd experienced up to that point. On this night, as we strolled back to her parents' home in the dark, she sobbed tears of shame and fear as she anxiously begged me to never leave her behind due to her parents' personal (mental health, neglect, wickedness) issues.
I remember nonchalantly blowing all that off. I felt as if she was being overly fearful, never realizing - in those moments - that this was her childhood trauma revealing itself. I reminded her that I'd known her family (formally) since I was a teen, growing up (too) at First Baptist Church Jackson.
Nonetheless, whilst looking back today, I can tell you that I've had enough of my fill of in-law rancor to easily justify walking away from our marriage. All due to the seeds of discord consistently sown and cultivated by her reflexively condescending parents.
All in all, the best words I can use to describe our experience regarding her family is: unrelentingly difficult.
Imagine driving from one side of the country to the other (East to West coast) but having to do so in reverse. Hence, you're disqualified from using the interstate system (or any other divided highway). Instead, you're handicapped to using all kinds of back roads. In reverse. As a result, the fatigue is constant (massively impeding your progress) since you're always looking over your shoulder in order to make any headway on your journey. Whilst looking back, this ridiculous analogy fits. Yet, Angie never for one moment wasn't worth constantly working - as partners - relative to outwitting the manipulativeness and deceit that were Bob and Edie Sigrest.
As an aside, you must know that the best year of our marriage (most of 2013) was when we lived in Cleveland, MS (2.5 hours - by car - from Jackson, MS) of all places. And this was because we were far removed from my in-laws. Angie smiled every day, and she was so sad when I was fired from my job (resulting in us having to return to Jackson, MS).
-------------------------
My wife and I are slated to pick back up with our hands-on partnership this forthcoming weekend (437 Northpointe Parkway). I'm looking forward to again - physically - standing with her for such a time as this. Demons be damned. It feels as if we're finally close to sealing up this Pandora's Box once and for all.
"The Evidence That I Am Unlovable" - JR Everhart
Sex and love addiction
Bitterness
Rage against those that love me most
Self-centeredness
Greed
Controlling manipulation
Unfaithfulness
Condescension
Dismissive
Cold hearted
This is the evidence the enemy uses to accuse me each and every day. The evidence which my self-hatred and shame are standing on. It’s the junk that pushes people away from me, destroys relationships, and hijacks my focus. It sits on the front row of my life and laughs at me. Mercy cannot be found with these dark forces whispering in your ear every day. Grace is not part of their kingdom. They are absent from God's love, only walking in paths of death and destruction. We must never forget this!
At some point, usually when you’re sick of being sick, or have hit your rock bottom, we have the "prodigal son moment" when we realize that even the servants living in our father's house live better than we do. So, we turn and run into his outstretched arms and find healing and restoration. Man, I really wish that was the end of the story and that we lived happily ever after from that point forward, but we don’t. For years, the church has taught this false comfort theology to its congregations. We still see this happening today inside the prosperity movement, and those that would rather teach blessings and comfort instead of the true gospel of self-denial, suffering and uncomfortable (hard) growth. Following Jesus is not for sissies! It’s a constant long view inward, having to face the filthy darkness that lives in all of us. This is not a journey for the faint of heart or weary. It’s a pathway for warriors, and those with enough chutzpah to keep going even after they’ve been knocked down 1000 times. Yes, it’s true, Jesus has done the heavy lifting, but Jesus is not going to come down into your world and force you to do the right thing from day to day. That responsibility falls on our shoulders (obedience). Jesus himself told us that we must first deny ourselves, then take up our cross and follow him. We are not alone in this journey, but no one can do the work for us. We must face it ourselves. Your friends, or even sponsor (Silas) can only point you in the right direction. We are the ones that have to work the principles of discipleship and/or recovery.
I can always find a thousand things to distract myself from getting quiet with God and seeking his face. I use TV or food, or most of the time - work - to keep me from feeling the pain which lives just below the surface. I recently realized that for me, sometimes that pain is all I have left of the people I loved so much, and I’m scared to death to let it go. Letting it go would mean closure. But, I must allow myself to feel this pain in order for God to heal it and make me whole. It’s so hard, and then I find myself letting go of one pain, just to pick up another. This is a cycle of desperation, birthed out of loneliness. It’s like I say “Okay God, here’s my pain from my ex-wife”, but then I turn right around and try to connect with another toxic woman. A toxic woman that will only enforce the enemy’s efforts to convince me that I’m unlovable, and deserve death. If I do this enough, and believe me I have, I start believing his lies. It’s only when I stop this cycle and take the time to timely heal that I start blazing a new pathway toward stability and satisfaction in life. Yet, this can be a long slow process full of traps and snares. But, Jesus said we’d have problems in this world, and to not fret because he has overcome this world. I always have to remind myself that I’m not a human being having a spiritual experience, but a spirit being having a human experience. This world is not my home, and that’s why it feels so uncomfortable and challenging. We’re just passing through….
Sunday, August 14, 2022
"Give Me Wet Pussy! (I'm Sterile.)"
‘Snip Snip Hooray’: Vasectomies Among the Young and Child-Free May Be Rising – DNyuz
Flippantly / naively choosing sterilization in protest to losing federally protected abortion privileges is akin to joining the priesthood in response to a ban on breast implant surgery.
Saturday, August 13, 2022
My Friend's Nasty Refrigerator / Refusing To Take Emotional Responsibility / Emotionally Engage
I'm convinced that emotions are scary to Mississippians. At least white Mississippians. Black Mississippians not so much. As such, it creates quite the disconnect between the two races; for you have one that's marinating in emotional energy and the other who sees no use for / can't comprehend / would rather ignore it.
Close, interdependent relationships (family / friends) should be an inevitable encounter within this life, and there's no getting around the fact that such the degree of closeness will bring with it emotions of every ilk. For all human beings, white or black, experience emotions, and all human beings are designed for community. All of that is God breathed. Emotions are signposts and litmus tests. In summary: immensely valuable brain energy that's best rationally respected versus ignored outright.
Let's think of these necessary interdependent relationships as staples within a refrigerator. Items like milk, eggs, cheese that are consistently being moved in and out (as they're replenished and otherwise) of the icebox for usage. Over time, inevitably, the inside of the fridge can get cruddy due to the movement, organization and the inevitable reorganization. Not to mention that some of the packaging may be leaky or fail completely. If this is the case, because the cruddy residual is also being kept cool, it doesn't necessarily begin to stink. But it does look (& feel) really bad. To the point that it's undeniable yet still lazily ignorable (behind closed doors / out of sight / out of mind).
People aren't perfect. Especially whilst trying to engage communally. Everyone's within their own unique container, therefore preeminent weak spots abound. Certain individuals get moved about much moreso than others, and on the flip side of that, it's inevitable that there're those who get forgotten about due to their benign location / packaging.
The weight of supporting others can deform or even crush. Despite what may look fresh, spoilage can be therein. Neglect / assumptions often have consequences.
And finally, certain items effectively contaminate by simply being introduced and "leaving well enough alone".
It's all quite the complicated affair.
-------------------------
Years ago, we had dinner with one of my oldest friends (from my college days). I vividly recall helping myself to a beverage refill, and as such, couldn't help but notice the absolute filth within their refrigerator. It was unlike anything I'd seen prior. Even taking into account refrigerator filth (housemates) from my college days. I remember telling Angie during our drive home about my friend's disgusting refrigerator. Interestingly enough, the make model of their appliance was the exact same as ours, yet the contrast in cleanliness was striking. Yet, all of that dried gunk was being preserved just as the staples were thanks to the space BOTH were residing within. Hence, I suppose, this family saw no real reason to take the time to empty out the appliance and wipe down the interior in spite of its shocking state.
We've all heard of self-cleaning ovens. They're ovens that have programmed cycles which incinerate spilled / splattered gunk. Once the cleaning cycle is complete, all you're left with is ashes to sweep / vacuum out.
Refrigerators aren't like that because they're never turned off. Plus, their primary purpose is to maintain a set, slightly above freezing temperature.
I can remember hearing of college roommates inadvertently leaving a sizable bag of frozen shrimp behind (post spring semester) within their apartment freezer (above the refrigerator). Unbeknownst to them, the landlord cut the electricity to the apartment for a week or so over the summer sans checking the contents of the apartment-grade refrigerator / freezer. Obviously, this spelled the appliance's demise as the shellfish rotted away inside prior to being refrozen. Yuck.
-------------------------
Mississippians, overall, live here because of their families and their faith (plus the winters are relatively balmy). Otherwise, their choosing is simply rooted in dramatically lowest cost of living combined with ignorance. Overall, our state is shrinking; with each passing decade, individuals leave for greener pastures. I'm convinced this is partly the case due to the aforementioned emotional extremes that cannot be ignored here.
Kaka Ray talks an awful lot about finding / pursuing healthy ways to regulate the brain. If I'm understanding her correctly, she's referring to equalization (balance) between both the left and right hemispheres. To me, this speaks to giving equal weight to both the pragmatic and emotional makeup of ourselves. And the key word here is giving.
Kaka talks about technique to encourage this giving, and so often, she justifies those techniques within the framework of maturity.
And that's one of my most favorite words. (Certainly not one you hear often in Mississippi.)
So the question comes down to whether or not individuals who reside outside the boundaries of Mississippi are more mature than we are. I have to believe they are, and this draws many out of the Magnolia State in droves.
-------------------------
As far as I know, Bob & Darlene (my parents) have never kissed, held hands or hugged (based on my observation as their only child). Growing up amongst these kindhearted cardboard people was sterile to say the least. Nonetheless, there was little to no recourse needed for spilled milk / leaky egg cartons due to the fact that there were none available to choose from. Overall, other than one lone box of baking soda, the SHARED familial refrigerator remained empty. As such, we did each have our own minifridges to work with (for survival).
My upbringing was as independent from my parents as it - within reason - could be. Interaction was polite and respectful as if at any moment circumstances might change for the worse for one of us.
Have you ever seen the film Reservoir Dogs? From what I remember (I screened it decades ago), it's a heist / hostage flick, carried out by a group of white men, none of which know anything substantial (real) about the other. And this includes each other's names. This emotional detachment is supposed to work in their favor relative to the risks they face as they carry out their gruesome, terrorizing crimes.
The Islamic terrorists who carried out 9/11 had to have used similar techniques of loyalty derived from this notion of austere independence.
It's weird looking back on my growing up years relative to this, but I simply didn't know any better. It wasn't like I had anything substantial to complain about, though as I matured into a man, there was no doubt that something was terribly off.
-------------------------
It's ironic to admit to this, but my aforementioned friend (with the nasty refrigerator) and his wife put little to no value on regulation. They're no doubt poster children for typical white Mississippians. And I harbor no ill will / bias against them as such, but I do pity them. For I believe (& have seen firsthand) there's so many poor choices / missed opportunities / misaligned priorities as a result. Again, signposts / litmus tests are to be effectively accounted for and respected.
Here in Mississippi, you truly are within a bit of an inbred disregulated environment where gossip reigns supreme.
Bless our hearts.
Friday, August 12, 2022
Divorce
Samson guys are often either being threatened by the prospect of their wife divorcing them, or they're in the throes of divorce proceedings themselves. Many of these men are moreso committed to Samson Society because of this, having little to no hope otherwise. For I've never met a Samson guy who's supportive of divorce.
Divorce is an exit strategy. It's also a punishment technique.
Regardless, women who divorce often become deeply jaded / bitter and rightly so. Marriages are designed / sought after to bring long-lasting security for women. When instead there're lies / deceit / cheating / debauchery and so forth, bitterness easily takes root as their bedrock crumbles away.
On the flip side, of course, is the husband's point of view / motivation, many of which profoundly believe their poor choices (leading up to / resulting in the divorce) were fostered by their wife's own personal shortcomings. And this save face lookback narrative can oftentimes be bolstered by couples' therapists / family / friends.
Ultimately, the breakdown between husband / wife is oftentimes due to the marriage becoming no longer a private two-person relationship but instead, a sort of microcosmic communal experience. Now, considering drug / alcohol addiction, criminal activity, or sexual / physical abuse, those experiences can - to some degree - remain "in the marriage" exclusively. Therein warranting divorces that are more private. Many of these situations are simply about survival.
-------------------------
I mentioned the word punishment at the top of this post.
More and more, I'm becoming convinced that this may be the devilish behind-the-scenes motivator for the majority of women who seek (public) divorces. For divorced men, in western societies, are forever marked as failures, and this label can never be erased.
Women lose less in (western) divorces. Much moreso relative to certain demographics. Emotionally, they're often capable of finding security once again (particularly if they're sexually proficient) as they seek to remarry.
Men value respect more than anything else. A divorced man is a marked man is a less qualified man... You catch my drift.
-------------------------
My mom cheated on my dad when I was around 10 years old. The adulterous affair occurred between her and her boss, and it was on and off for quite some time. Her boss too was married, yet him residing with his family in Nashville (I believe) perhaps made his poor choices more strategically justifiable.
Her position under this man - sometimes literally - (management role at a weight-loss center in Jackson) compensated her well as a result of her work ethic, poise & striking good looks. Keep in mind that this all occurred during the early '80s, and women overall weren't typically appointed to ANY administrative positions (especially with only a high school diploma to speak of).
As my mother's only child, I watched firsthand how her actions emotionally eviscerated my father. But too, I somewhat pitied her situation (particularly looking back on it as a teen). She'd married (as an 18-year-old expectant mother) an amoeba, yet she had been wooed (as a 28-year-old) by a stallion. In fact, her lover was such the stallion that my own father (my mom's husband) was - to a degree - unabashedly a tepid admirer of this older man in his own sick, twisted way.
I cannot tell you how much money I'd pay to meet this stallion today (assuming he's still alive) in order to know his story firsthand. Not as an admirer in my own right but in order to better understand the dynamics at play, forty years ago.
Nonetheless, I believe my father chose not to divorce my mother because he knew he'd ultimately receive the short end of the deal. Too, it might have very well resulted in my mother obtaining what she'd now had a taste of. That being an immense amount of additional spousal support (women's prized possession).
-------------------------
Besides experiencing the results (fallout) of adultery on a familial plane, I absolutely became resolved, as a young man, to not grow into an amoeba as my father had. For I'd no desire to ever give anyone who depended on me pause relative to being spineless.
And keep in mind that I wasn't at all motivated as a young man to seek out / identify with the whole marriage paradigm. Yet, even as it related to my friends, this supportive strength became my end goal.
Today, one of the primary attributes I look for in friendship is (reciprocal) strength. To be more specific, I'm referring to strength that's rooted in supporting Rob. As such, I simply don't make assumptions. Instead, I put it to the test. And this takes time and patience which sometimes results in disappointment.
Regarding Samson Society, this approach too applies to the men who I choose as my Silas.
It is weird recognizing the fact that some stallion, who I'll never meet, made such an impact on Rob. An impact caused by so much pain and heartache as a result of his acting on said sexual attraction towards my mother.
Wednesday, August 10, 2022
Sad, Summer Boy
Not long after we "re-joined" Lakeside Presbyterian Church somewhere around 2016 (I can't remember the exact year), we were politely invited to an Independence Day pool party at a church member's home. Of note: An elder of our church was there with (most of) his family, and this included his teenage son. Also of note: I was the only adult who chose to swim with the children, and this made for an awkward assemblage. But, I wanted to enjoy the pool and really didn't give a damn. (I can remember knowing instantly that we'd likely never be invited back once I made my first pass across the hourglass-shaped concrete hole.) And that was fine-by-me. If you've ever spent any recreational time with Presbyterians (other than at a bar), it's about as much fun as taping together cardboard boxes or popping bubble wrap methodically with a rubber mallet.
But one thing that did come out of this steamy July afternoon shindig was my amazement at how physically attractive the aforementioned elder's son was, taking into account him being semi-nude (swim trunks only) for everyone to see. In summary, the boy had beautiful bronze skin and a naturally muscular yet lean build that was highlighted by fine blonde hairiness throughout. Now, keep in mind that I had never seen this boy for more than a few moments prior to this day, therefore it may very well have been the contrast between his new-to-me self and the Presbyterian setting that made much of this lasting impression on Rob. Nonetheless, I felt pretty confident that I wasn't the only adult spectator to adjudicate as such regarding this golden boy, though no one dared tip their hand relative to what they were observing firsthand.
It's important to note too that this boy wasn't but perhaps a ninth grader at the time. The lesson here is as follows: Never absolutely judge a guy's looks 'till he's shirtless. Clothes oftentimes really don't do individuals justice.
-------------------------
Today, this physically impressive young man is a college student who's taking advantage of a full ride (academic scholarship) at one of Mississippi's illustrious public universities. He's studying to become a professional, and as far as I know, his freshman year was a resounding success. Of note too: over the course of this past summer, he chose to live in the Lone Star state, working Texas-style on a ranch.
(His family is originally from Texas, having moved to humble Mississippi prior to us returning to Lakeside Pres.)
I'm going to segue here to this boy's father, and the reason I'm interested in doing so has to do with the dynamic between he and his son, based on what I've been privileged to observe / glean.
-------------------------
The defining emotional attribute of this boy's father is as follows: Dad has a substantial chip on his shoulder. Hence, any and all criticism is agonizingly disheveling for him to receive. What's weird about this is his vocational position naturally warrants an immense amount of critique for it (him) to be performing at his peak. In spite of this, he chooses to surround himself with individuals who cater to his chip. Hence, he's left to his own devices to go about his work as he so pleases.
The root of this chip is pride trauma, and I've no idea what that entails in its traumatic entirety, but I do know much of it occurred at his previous employer (pre-move to Mississippi).
To be more specific about the chip, it's rooted in the whole notion of measuring up as a man (masculinity / vocation) within the eyes of other men.
-------------------------
Now, let's return to the golden boy (son).
There's a sadness to this young man, and I believe it's rooted in both his setting (Mississippi - in contrast to Texas) and the aforementioned (dad's) chip.
One of the most interesting contrasts between this boy and his dad is how dynamically distinct they are relative to their sexual identity (as male). The boy has little to no interest in romantic / sexual relationships whereas the dad was the complete opposite when he was his son's age. Even today, the dad is quick to remind his peers of his "need" for consistent sex (from his wife) and the regularity therein. Also of note, the boy is introspective whereas his father is chatty.
And then there's the son's quiet handsomeness as compared to his father. A handsomeness that's not at all been leveraged relative to courting / bedding members of the opposite sex.
It's important to note too that the son is distinctly taller than his dad as a result of his frame being distinctly his own compared to his father.
-------------------------
So, what then can be learned from said chip?
They drive relational wedges. Even within such - assumed - close ties as father / son.
Chips, especially if they've originated from trauma, are hugely problematic emotional tumors. Tumors that simply sit there, all the while out of place, robbing resources from elsewhere.
Whilst dialoguing with this elder about his son (basic polite Q & A), it's obvious that his chip short circuits his ability to see the child healthily. Now, overall, these are subtle biases, but I would argue there's nonetheless enough there to act as an intimacy deterrent.
And this is where, I believe, the boy's sadness surfaces. Because, he's smart enough to know of his father's chip, but he's unqualified to broach the subject with him. At least not at this point in his life.
And this motivates him to run. Texas-style or otherwise.
Now, in conclusion, I very well may be WAY off base here as it relates to this observed dynamic, by reading into dialogue / situations to the nth degree, but what I do know for sure is who I am (& have been) in relation to my own chipper father over the past 50 years.
As such, it has been a sad existence. One's that enviable by no one. For it reeks of powerlessness and even curse that's only dampened via massive soul searching / therapeutic work.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)