tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28877531.post116307141669517159..comments2023-07-06T17:36:53.754+02:00Comments on The Crazy Bird: Mourning Gerry-mumChuck Cliffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13946732698893345684noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28877531.post-1163393813432492242006-11-13T05:56:00.000+01:002006-11-13T05:56:00.000+01:00Feel for ya, anon.When I finally got away from hom...Feel for ya, anon.<BR/><BR/>When I finally got away from home, I'd start talking about this stuff when I got to know somebody new. <BR/><BR/>The bottom line is that self-pity doesn't help, nor projecting the rage and despair outwards. What helps is a bit of self-understanding.Chuck Cliffhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13946732698893345684noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28877531.post-1163288291397930052006-11-12T00:38:00.000+01:002006-11-12T00:38:00.000+01:00I too know from crazy. My mother must have suffe...I too know from crazy. My mother must have suffered from bi-polar, depression, you name it. I had a best friend across the street whose dysfunctional family was different from mine (alcoholism)and thus was and continues to be my bulwark in this vale, but living with my mother, and being her personal bete noir, has haunted me through fify-nine years. <BR/><BR/>Yes, I cried when she died, mostly because I'd never had the tools to recognize that she was the crazy one, and I wasn't the bad one. She had seventy-eight years to just get crazier and crazier. <BR/><BR/>SSoPAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28877531.post-1163153547638980272006-11-10T11:12:00.000+01:002006-11-10T11:12:00.000+01:00Thanks James, I don't write about these things out...Thanks James, I don't write about these things out of self-pity, but for self-understanding. <BR/><BR/>If it could be a help for someone else to come to terms with themselves that would be just fine.<BR/><BR/>We were in Florida some years ago when my son was about 12. We visited my sister Bonnie where Gerry-mum lived the last years. He came to me afterwards and said, "Chuck, who was that crazy lady?" <BR/><BR/>"My step-mother,David" <BR/><BR/>He gave me a funny look and said something like, "Shit!"Chuck Cliffhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13946732698893345684noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28877531.post-1163130667658011972006-11-10T04:51:00.000+01:002006-11-10T04:51:00.000+01:00Maybe the tears are for - and possibly from - the ...Maybe the tears are for - and possibly from - the little boy who had few choices and less childhood to have them in. <BR/><BR/>Mine was normal on the outside, no familial stuff, but after my tenth year I'd totally disassociated from myself and couldn't wait to become a drug addict; it kept me from being invisible.<BR/><BR/>The wounds were caused by events I didn't fully accept as such until forty years later. Traumas bunched together, unable to cope, fading, fading.<BR/><BR/>The scars are, with vast and successful 12 step work, pretty much gone now, but I wish I could remember more about what it was like to be the kid in the picture again.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28877531.post-1163105842545326442006-11-09T21:57:00.000+01:002006-11-09T21:57:00.000+01:00It's a bad day all around -- just wasted an hour t...It's a bad day all around -- just wasted an hour trying to get my wireless working again -- am now up with a reserve connectionChuck Cliffhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13946732698893345684noreply@blogger.com