The Return To Innocence

I found words for this, and Misha said it better than I could:

"Dirk saw the beauty, sparkle, joy in every person. He saw what made that person unique and helped them bring it out. When you met him you knew you were in the presence of someone special. I have been thinking of how he would want me to remember him. I was a teenager when I first met him and was still growing when i last saw him. I think the legacy that he left behind for me was the ability to see the best in people. To accept everyone for who they were and appreciate them for their uniqueness. He flowed through groups and people like water because he respected them all. I will remember Dirk by asking myself what he would do in this situation. Yeah that's right WWDD? Corny I know but it brings ease to my heart. Like I will be able to pay his love forward to people who did not know him.
I can remember Dirk by appreciating everyone who is in my life. By respecting their differences and celebrating their successes with them. I can keep him in my heart by following my passions and living for tomorrow. By respecting myself and presenting myself as a person is understanding, respectful, and fun I can keep my memory of Dirk alive. He was a wonderful man who will be missed terribly."

Thanks, Misha.

I found words for this, and Misha said it better than I could:

"Dirk saw the beauty, sparkle, joy in every person. He saw what made that person unique and helped them bring it out. When you met him you knew you were in the presence of someone special. I have been thinking of how he would want me to remember him. I was a teenager when I first met him and was still growing when i last saw him. I think the legacy that he left behind for me was the ability to see the best in people. To accept everyone for who they were and appreciate them for their uniqueness. He flowed through groups and people like water because he respected them all. I will remember Dirk by asking myself what he would do in this situation. Yeah that's right WWDD? Corny I know but it brings ease to my heart. Like I will be able to pay his love forward to people who did not know him.
I can remember Dirk by appreciating everyone who is in my life. By respecting their differences and celebrating their successes with them. I can keep him in my heart by following my passions and living for tomorrow. By respecting myself and presenting myself as a person is understanding, respectful, and fun I can keep my memory of Dirk alive. He was a wonderful man who will be missed terribly."

Thanks, Misha.

Last night there was a fantastic party at the Royal Mile Pub for my best beloved Beca's birthday party. I was completely fine until I wasn't. I tried my best. Beth came to where I was sitting alone and held my hands and talked to me. I was having so many Issues I couldn't keep track anymore. Simple partial seizures, motor tics, hypertonic twitches, anxiety attacks, hypersensitivity, sensory overload. Beth and I had actually first met the night I had my first tonic-clonic seizure. She had used her medical background to help me. She had been with me during other seizures. She knew what to look for, how to act and react, how to touch me and talk to me. We talked about Dirk. She told me about how she first met him. I began hyperfocusing on her words and her eyes, and they burned into my brain.
I miss Dirk. I can't even remember the first time I met him. I think each time I met him was the first time. The best memories I have are of being swept up in his arms, his booming laugh ringing in my ears, his poet voice calling me darling and love and hon and beautiful. He loved everyone. He loved everyone so much. I miss him. He can't be gone. I think the person who shot him may be charged with murder. Bullet to the head. We don't know. I hope we find out. I hope it is all put to rest. Dirk isn't gone, he just got to the ultimate party early. I hope he saves us all a spot.
I don't remember the gathering anymore, not all of it, it's all fuzzy. I remember talking to Red, and to Deeb, and to Katie, and then to Beth. I remember Beth kissing me and then Beca kissing me. I remember Bane and Adam looking at my left arm and insisting that it was time for me to go home and rest. I think my left arm had been curled up against my shoulder like a scared animal seeking comfort, the hand clenched in a fist so tight that my husband had to pry my fingers open. That's what cerebral palsy can do. I was exhausted. I felt useless.
Outside in the cold, I was approached by Andrew. He said he missed me and was grateful for me. He was still using shea butter, which I had recommended to him so many years ago. I had been the first person to use energy healing on his injured shoulder. He told me that my Facebook posts had become more depressed and he missed my light. He hugged me and oh gods I needed that. I felt like a gods damned stranger in my own social circle, and people were telling me how important I was to them.
I miss Dirk so much.

I feel more human after oatmeal, coffee, and Soma. And the sun is shining.

Last night there was a fantastic party at the Royal Mile Pub for my best beloved Beca's birthday party. I was completely fine until I wasn't. I tried my best. Beth came to where I was sitting alone and held my hands and talked to me. I was having so many Issues I couldn't keep track anymore. Simple partial seizures, motor tics, hypertonic twitches, anxiety attacks, hypersensitivity, sensory overload. Beth and I had actually first met the night I had my first tonic-clonic seizure. She had used her medical background to help me. She had been with me during other seizures. She knew what to look for, how to act and react, how to touch me and talk to me. We talked about Dirk. She told me about how she first met him. I began hyperfocusing on her words and her eyes, and they burned into my brain.
I miss Dirk. I can't even remember the first time I met him. I think each time I met him was the first time. The best memories I have are of being swept up in his arms, his booming laugh ringing in my ears, his poet voice calling me darling and love and hon and beautiful. He loved everyone. He loved everyone so much. I miss him. He can't be gone. I think the person who shot him may be charged with murder. Bullet to the head. We don't know. I hope we find out. I hope it is all put to rest. Dirk isn't gone, he just got to the ultimate party early. I hope he saves us all a spot.
I don't remember the gathering anymore, not all of it, it's all fuzzy. I remember talking to Red, and to Deeb, and to Katie, and then to Beth. I remember Beth kissing me and then Beca kissing me. I remember Bane and Adam looking at my left arm and insisting that it was time for me to go home and rest. I think my left arm had been curled up against my shoulder like a scared animal seeking comfort, the hand clenched in a fist so tight that my husband had to pry my fingers open. That's what cerebral palsy can do. I was exhausted. I felt useless.
Outside in the cold, I was approached by Andrew. He said he missed me and was grateful for me. He was still using shea butter, which I had recommended to him so many years ago. I had been the first person to use energy healing on his injured shoulder. He told me that my Facebook posts had become more depressed and he missed my light. He hugged me and oh gods I needed that. I felt like a gods damned stranger in my own social circle, and people were telling me how important I was to them.
I miss Dirk so much.

I feel more human after oatmeal, coffee, and Soma. And the sun is shining.

http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2010/01/zoe.html
http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2010/01/small-cat-story-and-tabs-to-close.html
http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2010/01/zoe-part-two.html
http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2010/01/olgas-arrival.html
http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2010/01/and-in-end.html

Warning. Contains the death of one extraordinary little cat. Will cause sadness.

And now all I can think about is Tuesday. I'll always miss that little bundle of hellfire.

Insert obligatory beloved cat story in comments.

Out of all the write-ups on Jackson's death that I've scrolled through (and they are everywhere), I like and agree with this one the most:
http://cleolinda.livejournal.com/785554.html
I'm not a big fan of Michael Jackson, but I grew up with his music, of course, and I don't know anyone who does not know his name. I'll be honest, my first memory of Jackson's music was actually the Weird Al parody of Jackson's "Beat it." Mom had bought me a little plastic record player with little records, and the first record she got me was Weird Al's "Eat It" because I wasn't eating (I'd had disordered eating even at six years old). After I listened to the parody over and over (Okay, okay, I'll eat a banana!) I watched the music video of "Beat It" and from then on I watched other Michael Jackson videos, of course. The man could dance.

I have been reading posts and articles that implore us now to redefine our concept of beauty. Michael Jackson never seemed to be satisfied with his external appearance, but his voice was always beautiful. Farrah Fawcett represented great inspirational beauty. And maybe we do need to look at what we've been doing to our bodies in the name of beauty. Whose ideal of beauty are we trying to reach, anyway? What sort of standards are we supposed to meet? Why do we hate ourselves for being ourselves?


I will now stop talking, before I start reading LJ posts like "OMG, will you all shut up about Michael Jackson now, I get it, he's dead, horrible tragedy." Because of course it will happen.

Out of all the write-ups on Jackson's death that I've scrolled through (and they are everywhere), I like and agree with this one the most:
http://cleolinda.livejournal.com/785554.html
I'm not a big fan of Michael Jackson, but I grew up with his music, of course, and I don't know anyone who does not know his name. I'll be honest, my first memory of Jackson's music was actually the Weird Al parody of Jackson's "Beat it." Mom had bought me a little plastic record player with little records, and the first record she got me was Weird Al's "Eat It" because I wasn't eating (I'd had disordered eating even at six years old). After I listened to the parody over and over (Okay, okay, I'll eat a banana!) I watched the music video of "Beat It" and from then on I watched other Michael Jackson videos, of course. The man could dance.

I have been reading posts and articles that implore us now to redefine our concept of beauty. Michael Jackson never seemed to be satisfied with his external appearance, but his voice was always beautiful. Farrah Fawcett represented great inspirational beauty. And maybe we do need to look at what we've been doing to our bodies in the name of beauty. Whose ideal of beauty are we trying to reach, anyway? What sort of standards are we supposed to meet? Why do we hate ourselves for being ourselves?


I will now stop talking, before I start reading LJ posts like "OMG, will you all shut up about Michael Jackson now, I get it, he's dead, horrible tragedy." Because of course it will happen.

Relatives of two friends have died recently; I never met them.
One was a mother, not exactly pleasant, an alcoholic who refused help, an angry, bitter woman who had neglected her son. She died from complications with emphysema. Other friends have told me that she was not a good person. But still, she was someone's mother, she was my friend's mother, and he is feeling the death hard. I'm deeply sorry for his loss.
The other was an uncle, nasty, abusive, predatory, mentally unhinged. The friend and I haven't been in touch since college and I haven't thought of her in a while. She is no one that my current friends know. She emailed me last night to say hello, to catch up; and to tell me "Ding dong, he's finally gone, I'm rejoicing." And I wondered what to say. What do I say? I wasn't sure if I could say I was sorry for her loss, because she's obviously not upset. I did not know her uncle, except from what she'd told me. He'd been a heroin/cocaine addict. He'd molested children. Unmedicated and possibly schizophrenic. Died from prostate cancer. But she's not upset, and so what do I say? He was her uncle. He is dead. I am sorry.

I don't do well with this sort of thing. It's so difficult for me to imagine feeling anything but sad when a relative dies, even if that relative was horrible; there are always many sides to a story after all. But it's also difficult for me to really feel very sympathetic when all I know is that they were horrible people according to others. All I can feel is sad and compassionate for the living left behind. All I can do is exist in this silence and be a friend.

I am in a strange headspace. I need to write when I get home. The novel is slipping into a darker place. I need to write until my fingers hurt.

Everything will be all right.
Everything will be okay.
Everything will be fine.
Deep breaths.

I do wish to take the universe by the shirt and growl at it.
Dear universe, I have not had a good week. My friends have not had a good week. If you so much as try to fuck something up, I will fuck you up. I will invoke the Morrigan or Kali-Ma or Sekhmet if I have to (yes, I am eclectic, shut up). You stay away for a while. Come back when things are better. Love, Jo.

In the meantime, I will dream about falling into the arms of Isis and Danu and feeling comfort, because I'm so detached I can't even feel myself. It is probably due to the seizure last night, on the bench in front of the emergency vet clinic.

(And then part of me wonders if I even deserve to feel like this, and then I remember that I'm a part of something huge and I'm not that lonely self-isolated girl anymore, and I need to feel, and I need my friends and they need me...)