birthday

Barbie-Queue

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(or listen here)

Friends, Romans, country(wo)men, and sentient beings all around, lend me your ears. I come to bury occasional things, not to praise them (unnecessarily). 

The evil men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones (from Julius Caesar, spoken by Marc Anthony, written by William Shakespeare)

So let it be with the occasional things….

O judgement! thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there (...) and I must pause till it come back to me (from Julius Caesar, spoken by Marc Anthony, written by William Shakespeare)

FatherHerisme loved this speech and quoted it many times over his 83 years. I mean to say that it is stunning to be a world where he no longer physically exists. He was steady and explosive. He was wise and clueless. He was a curious learner and blind to some hard truths. He was my dad who wanted to be remembered as my “pop who was carbonated!” He would have guffawed and cried at the Barbie movie for all of its punchy points at societal flips/missed expectations. He was more than Kenough.

With FatherHerisme goes the knowing of parental guidance and safety (whether real or imagined), buried among the personality, smell, touch, conversation (which was indeed a challenging effervescent carbonation), books, ephemera (a zillion books and santa-embellished suspenders), and the hidden secrets of a life we only understood through our distorted vision from the outside.

Like many of you with your loved ones who have died, there will never be a day where I do not miss his presence. His brain understood my brain, and for that I am lucky and grateful. I am so glad he is not in any more pain. I am so glad he left some support for us to find and encourage freedoms and the betterment of lives around us. This is his legacy. We are his legacy. I hope we can queue up to carry on all of the best things – especially as we grab the torch (as we can) to continue generational healing where he could not.

Sidenote: I loved Barbie. I loved all of the clothes and accessories; all of her iterations; all of her potential. I loved changing everything about her all of the time. I had Barbies with cut/burnt/markered hair, tattoos, marker make-up, and all of the imagined interesting twists on life (including leaf-clothes only). I had Barbies who were treated like royalty (Ballerina Barbie) and never ever scarred or introduced to dirt. I had Ken dolls who performed for Barbie. When Ken was too busy (or lost somewhere) G.I. Joe, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, a weary Benjamin Franklin, and the most beloved Lando Calrissian were always at the ready to fill in for whatever Barbie needed. I made use of my brother’s dolls (ahem, figurines, I suppose). With money being tight my Barbie collection could all fit into one grocery bag, including all of the clothes/cars/furniture/blankets/pillows/spaceship/stick houses I made on my own. I was in middle school when my mother purchased a set of handmade wooden Barbie-sized furniture from a local church Christmas bazzare. It seems so incongruous with middle school today, and perhaps it was then as well (?) but I was thrilled beyond belief! I still have it all packed away somewhere. For what? I do not know. Maybe it will bring a chuckle moment to SonHerisme when it comes time to disperse and bury the ephemera of me. Cue the curation of a future walk of mourning – as the occasional things queue up to be buried. I suppose this is what happens while waiting for your heart to come back to you from the buried coffin of another life.

Life sure is something. I suspect Death is as well.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps. Currently reading: Enchantment by Katherine May, Persuaders by Anand Giridharadas, 101 Essays that will Change the Way You Think by Brianna Wiest, and Pineapple Street by Jenny Jackson.

pps Yesterday was my birthday. I am queued to crone. Gyno appt next week. Saw Barbie yesterday with a fabulous pink polka-dotted jumpsuited friend. I did not eat Thai food (saving that for the weekend with SonHerisme).

ppss Sinead was a magical mystical awareness blossoming heroine of mine. I admired that she defiantly refused to pander for anyone’s appreciative gaze. I made a Barbie Sinead before I knew what that implied or meant – Barbie underneath the Barbie. Buzz cut with nail polish remover applied to remove her face and feet cut off in order to fit into GI Joe’s boots and Ken’s sneakers. She was best friends with perfection Ballerina Barbie, natch.

pssssst Speaking of barbeques… I do not like bbq sauce or meat, but I like the idea of hanging out by a fire with good company, Olipop rootbeer, hummus on beefsteak tomatoes, and brow-lifting conversations. Unless the world burns itself up first or we all covid ourselves outta here, in which case… Barbie-queue up in pink to synchronize dance with a tra-la, it’s been real. Hug your neighbor. Take care of yourself. Ciao. Herisme out.

2142, 306, 70, 5 (hut, hut, HIKE)

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My teeny tiny sweet little puffin bear turned 12 y’all.

Stats:  5’8″ and 1/2 (growing every single day), 145 lbs, braces on the upper teeth (green), shaggy light brown COVID19 hair, sparkly light brown golden eyes, and super adorbs handsome

He is healthy.  He is safe.  He is a good person.  We are both blessed (and freaking lucky!).

This upcoming week is going to be another tough one in building resilience for my little man-boy.

We are expected at SonHerisme’s therapist’s office on Thursday afternoon for him to accept a phone call from MrexH.  (backstory link)

This has been looming for some time.  At this point, SonHerisme just wants it over.  I am in agreement.

5 years, 10 months, 1 week, 5 days

or

70 months, 1 week, 5 days

or

306 weeks

or

2142 days

… have passed since SonHerisme and MrexH have had direct contact, other than a few birthday cards.

I try to absolve myself of any responsibility for the lack of contact.  While it is true that I advocated for what I thought was best for SonHerisme’s safety and well-being, ultimately I have followed every advice and guidance from lawyers, the court and therapists, regardless of my own instincts (self preservation, y’all).  It is difficult for me to parse out truth sometimes (thanks abuse and ptsd), so I do heavily rely upon trusted experts to figure out what I should be doing.  I am slow even with clear instructions, but I get there eventually (insert anxiety, insomnia, crying, vomiting, paralyzing disassociation) (also, don’t be jealous).

Then guilt sets in.

Maybe I didn’t do enough.

Maybe I did too much.

Maybe I should have more forgiveness and grace in my heart.

Maybe I am the ill one.  Maybe I am a narcissist.

Maybe I misread situations.

Maybe, maybe, maybe

Then I have to cycle myself through the copious paperwork outlining the actual events which lead to the separation and my fierce protection of SonHerisme.

This process is a painful redundant meticulous fact recall to fill my conscious brain with reality instead of my perfected projection spin.  (note:  I also anthropomorphize everything, so this is alas, a known super ingrained powerful pattern of mine. Imagination and creativity = YAY! Except when it isn’t).  This is in addition to current facts which include that MrexH’s entire family shut SonHerisme out of their lives as well when he was 6 years old.  They have the same amount of hours in their day to reach out, and they all choose not to.

Thus runs my cycle (again, don’t be jealous).

Maybe this cycling stops at some point and I will be free.  There is not any evidence of that just yet.  Although I suspect the cycle runs through a bit quicker now that I have been doing this as a practice for years plus months plus days plus hours plus minutes plus seconds, now.

This will be a hard week.  SonHerimse has been asking when he can say, “no,” for himself about contact with MrexH because it is all a painful wound reopening every time we visit the topic.

Please send some peace to SonHerisme.  Please send bubbles of protection and courage for his sweet sensitive heart.

Thanks y’all

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps.  I’ve sent MrexH 235 court ordered weekly progress reports on SonHerisme to date

 

 

F’ing Wineberries

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7 years ago today, Facebook (who cares so very much about me natch), allowed me to post this picture of wineberries growing wild (albeit invasive, apt) on the rocky hillside of the land which I currently occupy.

7 years ago today, the day after celebrating sweet puffin bear SonHerisme’s 5th birthday, I struggled to make sense of and piece together my quickly unraveling life having no idea how truly awful, terrifying and excruciating things were about to become.  None of the puzzle pieces would fit – it was as if I was desperately carefully jamming together paper, wood, plastic, cardboard and invisible cut pieces from multiple puzzle kits with zero instructions, support or guidance.

I planned SonHerisme’s party to be at a large local park with fields and play equipment aplenty.  Potluck so that everyone could be invited and gather together on a hot summer afternoon to socialize while children could happily run free and wild, full of birthday party sugar.  MrexH (then still MrH) was alarmingly overtly not interested in the birthday party (he left about halfway through) and actively aggressively angry about  discussion or preparation of the birthday party, taking his anger out in frightening tantrum outbursts primarily directed at SonHerisme.  It was heartbreaking madness.

MrexH justified his behavior because I was not a good mother, I was not a good wife, I was a bad friend, I served rice and potatoes at the same meal which was not hot enough to justify being a proper meal (throwing the full plate tantrum on more than one occasion), I wasn’t controlling SonHerisme well enough, I was overly controlling of SonHerisme, I bought too much fruit, I didn’t buy enough fruit, I didn’t empty the trash often enough, I emptied the trash too often and was wasting trash bags, SonHerisme didn’t eat quickly enough at meals, SonHerisme ate too quickly at meals, SonHerisme cried too often, SonHerisme needed too much of my attention, I woke up too late, I got up too early and awakened MrexH up, I read to SonHerisme too much, I needed to do more academic work with SonHerisme, I didn’t exercise enough, my taking time to exercise was selfish (while he hired a personal trainer and went for weekly massages), I didn’t make my hair attractive, I spent too much money on haircuts, I didn’t buy attractive enough clothes, my clothes were too revealing and on and on and on, day after day after day.

This pattern increased in frequency.  It did not matter what I did to change myself or help SonHerisme, MrexH found something multiple times each day to justify his anger towards us.  He threatened to leave us, to take away my access to finances, to move us to another state where we wouldn’t constantly be trying to leave the house to spend time with friends and family.  These are usual abusive patterns which I did not recognize, even though I knew that something did not feel right (then the murder threats – well, you know the story).

Also for sure in our physical relationship, things were not right at all – but, that’s for another discussion.  Or not.  It’s a difficult and uncomfortable topic for sure.  I understand what marital rape is now, and I did not know before.  Enough said.

 

You think you are clever and on top of things, until the universe pops in with a great big HUGE – FU, YOU KNOW NOTHING – then the universe might show you how much you are not paying attention, until you do.

 

So, thank you Facebook algorithm, for reminding me how the universe can work.

 

It occurs to me that we are all getting a HUGE – FU, YOU KNOW NOTHING from the universe at the moment.  Not dissimilar from my own personal experience (this is true, the opposite is true, the other thing is really true, but that is really really true, you’re the one with the problem, no you are, I know you are but what am I, I’m in charge, it’s their/your fault, etc).

This is why those of us who have experienced and survived abusive relationships are super sensitive at the moment, recognizing once again the familiar patterns of bullshittery shitstorm shit being flung about.

We are desperate to communicate to you how much we all need to be paying attention.  Even in isolation while thousands are dying, many of us are still not listening.  Instead we passively disassociate trying to mentally jam mismatched mixed media puzzle pieces until we can cobble together some skewed version of how all of this will make sense as reflected by the memory of our comfort alleged safety zone of January 2020.  All the while, in real life, being fucked over, again but worse.

 

We need help.  Vetted professional help.  STAT ASAP and all of that.

 

Why aren’t we listening to the helpers?

 

The teachers, principals, school staff who know what needs to happen, if they are given a hot minute to collaborate and really, honestly, safely propose true developmentally appropriate, safe and healthy education for our children.

 

The nurses, doctors, mental health, healthcare workers who know what needs to happen, if they are given a hot minute to collaborate and really, honestly, safely propose true developmentally appropriate, safe and healthy people.

 

The scientists, virologists, public health experts, epidemiologists who know what needs to happen, if they are given a hot minute to collaborate and really, honestly, safely propose true developmentally appropriate, safe and healthy community behaviors.

 

THEN, after we hear from these learned experienced folks, who already have massive amounts of experiential real life and professionally validated data from years of collecting it – THEN turn to the economists, big business, multibajillionaires to fund what the experts tell us need to be done to keep us healthy and functional as family, neighborhood, community, county, state, country, global citizens.

 

In the meantime, we are playing a dangerous game of roulette with human lives which cannot ever be replaced. Through the virus, through racism, through bigotry, through discrimination, through misogyny, through accessibility, through general basic inhumane behaviors we are emboldening the dangerous mindset pushing roulette to egregious heights of engagement.

 

We can no longer afford to pretend otherwise.

 

We could never afford it.

 

We were pretending we could because the largest block of voting and economic power in this country has remained stagnantly in charge for at least 55 years, and told us that pretending we could afford it was the only way to gain and maintain a position of privilege and power, which is the ultimate measure of our morality and justification for our behaviors (no matter how inhumane).

 

I suggest they were and are wrong.

I suggest we can do better.

We must pay attention and act in decisive, humane, trickle-up ways, or we will continue to be unwillingly painfully fucked.

 

The good news is that every single community in our country, in the world, has helpers!  Look for the helpers.  Once you find them, listen to and support them so that they can listen to and support us as well.

It took me some time to recognize I needed help – I almost got us killed – and then to listen to the help (feeling the actual present threat of death helps to open your listening ears, but I do not recommend it).  Somehow I listened to the helpers.  I believe that you can do it too.

 

Go Humans!

Courage Humans!

I believe in you!!!

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

#carryonhealthwarriors #carryonpeacewarriors #ilikeyou