Mildred Ratched Memoirs

Saturday, May 22, 2021

National Confession Weekend

I've been reading some of my old posts from back in the day when things just got started in the blogosphere and I realized just how different things are now. My original blog was named Abnormally Normal People and it was located on MSN Spaces. In the past, I've mentioned Psychedelic Pariah a few times, but like Beetlejuice don't say his name 3 times in a row or else he might appear and trust me, you really, don't want that to happen! On this particular day Psychedelic Pariah was acting human. I guess no one pissed in his Wheaties! ha! That didn't happen often. When I first started blogging I did so under the screen name, Red Kitten before I became Mildred Ratched. Although I think part of me has always been Mildred Ratched, a crusty old bitch with a don’t fuck with me attitude.

To tell this story I have describe few characters that were created for the Psychedelic Pariah's benefit. The Red Dyke was a character I created due to the name-calling Psychedelic Pariah slung my way. He was a bully right out of the Trump playbook long before there was a Trump playbook. In fact, if I remember correctly, The Red Dyke wore high-top Birkenstocks with a tight red body suit and well, she was a superhero, of course! She let her long, wavy, chestnut hair flow free. At one time I had a drawing of her, but it's long gone. The Blue Mute was another blogging buddy of mine that felt Pariah's wrath, also. We did nothing to Pariah other than be a thorn in his side from time to time by merely existing, I think we became the Troglodyte Twins in his mind. Charming, huh? Imagine that! Me being a thorn in anyone's side! ha! Actually, I took what he meant as a slam and turned it into something rather funny. I think it pissed him off that his insults didn't bother me and instead turned them into a joke.

Imagine someone like Donald Trump...you know, someone who loves to stir things up, yet unlike Trumplethinskin, Psychedelic Pariah was highly intelligent and he was a very talented writer (I hate to admit that.) You had to stay on your toes with him or else he'd crucify you. I never quite figured out what his deal was and then he disappeared never to be heard from again as did many of these people on MSN Spaces. For many the blogging fever waned and for others it became a part of our lives and now we mostly, exist in peace and harmony except for the occasional annoying spam here and there.

As you read what I've copied and pasted below, please pay special attention to the comment "Kathy" leaves in response to my post titled National Confession Weekend I wrote in the spirit simply having some fun because my next post is my response to her.

The idea for National Confession Weekend originated from the following chat I had with my partner in crime, The Blue Mute the night before I wrote the post titled National Confession Weekend:

The Red Dyke says:
I’m listening to Unchain My Heart by Joe Cocker….makes me want to get up and dance

The Red Dyke says:
all I need is my pole

The Red Dyke says:
believe it or not I have one in my living room

The Red Dyke says:
lol

The Red Dyke says:
maybe I need to write that as a confession in abnorms…I have a pole in my livingroom

The Red Dyke says:
I wonder how many women can say that

The Blue Mute says:
you have a POLE pole??

The Red Dyke says:
yes

The Red Dyke says:
a pole…from ceiling to floor

The Blue Mute says:
for what….

The Red Dyke says:
dancing

The Blue Mute says:
so you like to dance with poles

The Red Dyke says:
I like Irishmen better

The Blue Mute says:
HAHAHAHA

The Red Dyke says:
the pole can be used for anything you want it to be used for

The Red Dyke says:
hey…remember I’m a saucy tart?????

The Blue Mute says:
oohhh yeah!

The Red Dyke says:
saucy tarts have toys

Friday, May 14, 2021

I Have A Water Buffalo In My Bed

I wish someone could explain to me how a small dog the size of a Shih Tzu can expand to the size of a water buffalo in bed at night. I'm lucky if I get 6 inches of bed. I must push her over at least a dozen times a night, but she loves to snuggle and PUSH! Most of time I don't mind, but when I'm in pain, it gets to be a little too much togetherness. Typically, what my babies do is burrow under the covers and find a spot. Fenway's spot is always right up against me. She loves her momma!

My other small dog, B.A. (a Doodle aka Doxiepoo) settles in and you'd never know he's there until morning when he wakes up and wants to go out and then it's a fire drill to get outside. While he and Libby eagerly go outside, I always have to come back inside to roust Fenway out of bed because she loves to root around in the sheets before going outside. Isn't it funny the routines animals establish?

My third dog, Libby (a Dandie Dinmont Terrier) sleeps in a dog bed...go figure! She doesn't like being outside. She has severe allergies so all her outside activities are just out and right back in followed by an hour or two of scratching. She does take allergy meds which help somewhat, but to date nothing has given her complete relief. I've spent thousands of dollars trying to find something that works, but as of now nothing has. The vet just tries to keep it as managed as possible with diet etc.

Tuesday, May 11, 2021

Mildred's Makeover

Just so everyone won't think my life is totally bleak all the time, my daughter gave me a makeover not long ago. This old gal can still rock it when I have to! Unfortunately, the times I have to rock it aren't that often anymore. After she did this to me, she instructed me to go to Lowe's and pick up a contractor (I don't do bars or online dating and I desperately need a lot of home repairs done.) She assumed I'd work something out in trade. To that thought, I just rolled my eyes. Aren't I getting a little too old for those fun and games? Besides, is the barter system still used in this country? If so, what's the going rate for home repairs?

Saturday, May 08, 2021

A Rose By Any Other Name

Mother's Day is tomorrow and I'm not going to the cemetery. I can't. I sit here and feel my mother with me each day and that's enough. I don't need to go visit her.

I wish I could say I'm in better shape than I am, but I'm not. I feel like I have emotional diarrhea. How's that's for an image to get stuck in your head? Now, all I need is some emotional Imodium or Pepto Bismol. I can get happy and pink all in the same moment! Seriously, I woke up this morning and I was crying. How can a person cry in their sleep? I don't think I was dreaming or if I was I don't remember what I was dreaming about. I just feel drained and lost all the time.

I wish I could say it's all is due to my mother's death, but I don't think it is. I think it's me. If it was self-pity. I would kick myself in the ass and get on with it, but this goes way beyond simple self-pity. This fearless creature known as Mildred Ratched is actually scared and for the first time in her life she's absolutely clueless. I'm a basket case and just a step shy of being a blithering idiot.

So, I soothed myself by getting my hands extremely dirty. I mixed up a batch of cow manure, peat moss and dirt from my compost pile to plant some flowers, then I watched all the birds play in my backyard. Now, I sit here in my living room (I'm taking a break with a Coke and a smile) and the birds are singing so loud I can hear them. They must want me to come back outside??? If that's the case, they want me to fill their bird feeders. I guess I should go make them happy...

Tuesday, March 16, 2021

AN EMOTIONAL CUTTER'S LIFE - PART III

I had lots of friends growing up. When I say "lots" I mean they were a virtual cornucopia of people. I didn't hang out with just one group. I hung out with everyone. My closest friends were my neighborhood friends. They were the people I had grown up with and who knew me best, but even they didn't know what lurked just below the surface. They seemed to accept me warts and all...even though they didn't see all my warts. My first love was a neighborhood guy. We had quite a torrid love affair when I was 14, but when you throw drugs into the mix it colors the purity of a first love. Plus, at 14, I knew absolutely nothing about matters of the heart. My heart was torn between two people at that time. Isn't it always? ha! I took the easy way out of all my problems and left. That was my entry into promiscuous behavior and life on the streets as a hippie. Yes, I ran away from home and kept running away until I was sent away first to what was then called a reform school. When I ran away from there and I was caught months later, I was sent to a drug rehab until I turned 18. Back then, I was a regular Harry Houdini. When I finished drug rehab, I moved from Maine to Florida to start a new life.

My new life consisted of going back to drugs and getting pregnant at 18. The added bonus was that I didn't bother telling the guy I was pregnant. Then 3 years later I got married to an alcoholic, but I didn't know that he was an alcoholic before I married him because we didn't live together before we got married. I had two children with him and divorced him several years later, but I managed to sneak in an affair. That affair turned into a serious relationship before it ended almost 3 years later. I was heart-broken over the affair ending, but not the marriage. Mark Elder, I'm sorry for being such a shitty wife, but you not only sucked at being a husband you have failed miserably at being a father. You have children that you have ignored and neglected all their lives. They're adults now and you have lived in the same city most of their lives and you have made no attempt to be in their lives. What a poor excuse for a man you are! What a poor excuse for a human being you are! What a waste of flesh you are! Now, getting back to the affair I had...I failed to mention that the affair was with the brother of my closest friend and when the affair started it damaged my friendship with her because I was married. She knew how unhappy I was in my marriage, but she couldn't get past the fact that I was married. She had been my maid of honor and even though she didn't really like my husband and I was having an affair with her brother due to her Christian beliefs, she backed off from our friendship because she didn't approve of what I was doing. It hurt to be judged, but I knew what I was doing was wrong, also. Karma is a real bitch. The affair ended. He ended up marrying someone else soon after and I, well...I spun my wheels and things went from bad to worse!

Being the child of an alcoholic, I didn't want to do that to my children, but ultimately what I did to them was much worse than subjecting them to life with an alcoholic parent and for that I bear so much shame, sorrow and regret. When the affair/ended I took my 3 young children and moved away. Shortly after moving, I got involved with a career criminal and that relationship lasted 5 years. I affectionately nicknamed him "the Anti-Christ" and that should be all I should have to say about him and my time with him. During that relationship I managed to divorce my husband. I finally fled my relationship with the Anti-Christ with my 3 children and with what I could pack in my car. To this day, I still wonder if I might get a "slap on the hand" like I have several times in the past. It's been years, but with him you really never know what tomorrow may bring. He's already done things 15 and 20 years after I left. So why not now? Maybe he's mellowed in his old age, but I've never met an Italian male who mellows very much with age. If anything they get more dominant and mean.

I then had a period of utter PTSD. To say I was broken was an understatement, but I found a way to go on. I was 35 years old and fucking clueless! The kids and I moved back home. What a step backwards that was! After awhile I started dating this guy and the relationship was a very unconventional one...at least for me. We had NO physical relationship, yet he monopolized all my time for over two years. When I look at it now and I ask myself why I allowed that to happen, I do know the answer. It gave me the time to heal that I needed. Basically what we had was a friendship and when I finally thought I had gotten to the point of needing more I gave him the option to shit or get off the pot. I simply told him I had enough friends. He didn't jump at the opportunity so I moved on without him.

I met my second husband very shortly after that during one of his many manic episodes. Wow! Is all I can say and that it was like meeting Superman until it wasn't. Of course, I didn't know he was bipolar or something was amiss at first. Have you ever seen the movie, Mr. Jones with Richard Gere (1993)? Loving a mentally ill person isn't easy. To watch their struggle and to struggle with them is a journey no one should have to make together. It's a cruel, blood-sucking monster and when it's done there's usually nothing left. One day I came home from work and the house was empty and the bank account was cleaned out. Shortly after, he filed for a divorce and that was the end of that relationship. It took me a long time to get to the point of being able to say that he actually did me a favor by leaving me. At first, I kept thinking how could he do that to me? I stood by him through shock treatments and when his own family wouldn't have anything to do with him. I supported him and put a roof over his head when he was so disabled that he couldn't work. I put up with all his bullshit and yes, he put up with mine, too. When he got bad and turned completely away from me, I was still there for him. The lights no longer were on inside. He no longer would touch me or talk to me. All he wanted to do was watch television all day and night. He was transfixed on old shows. The same episodes played over and over again until I thought I was going to lose my mind. One time, I got naked and stood in front of the television and all he did was ask me to move. At least he said something. I continued to stay married to him and then he was gone. After he left, I started to spiral out of control. I lost myself and didn't care. I don't know if I've ever really cared come to think of it.

The next several years were a blur of online dating if you want to call it that. Basically, it was just constant hook-ups and nothing more. I didn't want or need anything more. My good old addictive personality traits found sex to be a worthy replacement addiction. Oh yeah, I always toyed with it as an addiction, but never totally jumped into it until then. Risky behavior had become my new middle name. I even spread my wings and got into being paid for phone sex. There was one guy I got to "know." He was a pilot for Continental Airlines and was a regular client. He actually wanted to talk...imagine that! That was long ago and who knows if that man is still alive or not? If you're still out there, I'm out here too. I hope you've continued to soar high and are happy til the bitter end.

Then came the coup de grace of 2005 that put me in perpetual time out. It was time to get off the crazy train I was riding and the only way I knew how was to stop everything. It's funny how no one has ever questioned me why I did that. No one seems to see how lonely I am being a hermit and how I ache to be loved. I hate not trusting myself or my judgment. I look towards the future and all I see is more emptiness. Where there once were adventures now stands nothing. I really can't say how long this penence will last before I feel I have atoned for all my degradation. Can't someone just dunk me in a vat of holy water 3 times and hang me out to dry instead? At this point, I don't think there is any point left. And that fills me with a profound sadness.

Monday, March 15, 2021

AN EMOTIONAL CUTTER'S LIFE - PART II

Perhaps I should start Part II with my definition of "emotional cutter." An emotional cutter and a drama queen share many of the same characteristics, but their motivation for their bizarre behavior is at opposite ends of the spectrum. Whereas a drama queen creates situations in order to call attention to themselves, an emotional cutter may perk along for awhile with everything going well and then BOOM! It happens! An emotional cutter can't stand serenity, so they will rip the scab off the wound just to feel alive. Happiness is a foreign feeling...pain is what we feel comfortable feeling and there's nothing like feeling pain to let yourself know you're still alive. As I teeter on the edge, I poke and prod and make myself miserable and blame myself for all sorts of things. The drama is like it is with a drama queen, but unlike our "drama queen" cousins, we suffer in silence and many times, not a soul will see our pain. We're masters at covering it up like a cat working diligently in a litter box. We skillfully cover that pile of crap we call life and wear a smile while we suffer in silence.

When you're young, you can only hold things in for so long before the pot boils over. And when the pot boiled over in my case, everyone just scratched their heads. Of course, it was much easier to just label me as a "bad kid" at that point, but I wasn't a bad kid! I was never a bad kid. Sure, I always had a bit of a rebel in me, but I wasn't bad. I just always had a mind of my own. Is that a bad thing? I started doing drugs to dull the pain and I kept doing drugs because being comfortably numb worked. Are you acquainted with being comfortably numb? My comfortably numb almost killed me. My comfortably numb almost tore my heart from my body and locked it in a dark dungeon where no one could hurt me. It was my safe place. I felt nothing. No pain! No fear! No hate! No anger! But no joy or pleasure or love either. Emotional bankruptcy is void of everything and anything, but it's a safe place to hide out until either you're forced back into the land of the living or you perish forever.

My mother wasn't what I would call a a warm, nurturing person or at least, that's how I saw her. She was an only child and I don't think she was equipped to handle difficult situations like raising four children while dealing with an alcoholic husband. I don't think many people are suitably equipped for that task. I think like most people who fall in love, they go into the relationship with unrealistic expectations. Life is wonderful until reality hits. In my mother's case, I believe when reality hit, it made her angry and bitter. Instead of focusing on what was in front of her, she became encapsulated in a cloud of her own angst. Listening to her talk about life on Walter Street, it was always all about her own pain. It was as if my brothers and I didn't exist or our pain was less important than hers. A few times over the years, I'd get frustrated from listening to her synopsis and I'd remind her as she recounted those years from what we all refer to as "the hornet's nest," that I knew the story too well because I lived it, too. I'd let her rave on about what a son of a bitch my father was and at the end, I'd make her say one nice thing about him. That always rattled her!

She didn't hug me much. I guess she didn't hug any of us very much that I remember. She screamed a lot. Just ask anyone in the neighborhood. Anyone not knowing us would have thought we were the children from Hell. She also loved to whack the bejesus out of all of us, but I remember the last time she tried to do that. I was old enough by then to stick up for myself. When she was about to hit me with something, probably a hairbrush, I grabbed her wrist and I told her not to ever hit me again. The look on her face was priceless. A true Kodak moment! I'm sure if I could ask her about it now, she'd claim she doesn't remember it, but I remember it too well. I think it's when Mildred was born. Mildred is pretty fearless and a force to be reckoned with when needed. From that day on, I did things my way. It seemed to amuse her when she'd tell people that I stopped listening to her when I was about 12 years old. Oh yes! Her attempt to control me was a total failure and that beat of a distant drum she claimed I heard was more like a whole symphony. Her need to control things that were out of control continued, but it no longer affected me until much later in life.

I have to admit that it did my heart good to see her life change when she married my step-father. He treated her well and tried to give her everything she wanted. The struggles she had once faced were behind her and she was finally able to bloom. Yes, her dream of becoming a fashion designer was gone, but instead she became an artist. Living life under totally different circumstances seemed to make all the difference in the world. Yes, she still had those "only child" tendencies, but she didn't scream and wasn't angry all the time. It was nice to see her in a different light. When she and my step-father had first gotten to the point of needing someone to live with them, my adult daughter volunteered. About three weeks after she had moved in, I got a phone call at work from my daughter where she announced to me that she now understood why I did drugs when I was younger. To that lightbulb moment of hers, I first laughed and then, I responded by telling her that her grandmother had mellowed out in her old age and that she wasn't the same person now as she was then when I was a teenager.