Cyber Police!

Cyber Police
Sitting at the library is probably one of the worst things I have ever had to do to get on-line. I don't mind most of the time, but then, there are times when the people here bother the living shit right outta me. Lately it seems I have been pretty much bothered by just about everything I do, and everyone I am around. I realize, that ultimatly, it has not a lot to do with others. It's me who has the issues. Coming to that realization was rather difficult for me to come to terms with. Having someone tell me what they see in me, such as character defects, or, even good things, for that matter, has always been hard to take. Especially the positive things. The compliments. What is even harder for me is the next step in this self-realization process, which is to actually see certain things in myself. And then, accepting them as fact. And that is pretty much where I am at right now. Acceptance. Not that I have fully accepted my flaws, but having had the realization that I have them, is my reality. I believe acceptance has to do with the next level, the level that I am not at as of yet, and that would be coming to terms with any self realizations I might have. And that is not something I am looking forward to achieving by any means whatsoever. When I began my self-destructive career as an addict, when I actually, physically, began to put substances into my body and my mind, I was only eleven years old. I did have a bout with being clean, or, I stand corrected, being abstinate, for several years, say about 6 or so, so... from what they tell me, how the doctors, psychiatrists and addictions specialists say that it works is like this..... When you start using chemicals, ie, alcohol and drugs (alcohol is a drug), you stop growing on an emotional level. When you "get clean", you start growing again, emotionally, until you begin using again, at which point you again stop. so, doing the simple math here (and seeing as to how I really suck at math, it pretty much has to be simple for me to do it), if I began using at eleven, and had 6 years clean, I would, at age 51, be somewhere around the age of 17 years old, emotionally speaking, that is. When I was age 12, a few days before my thirteenth birthday, my mother, being afraid that I was into drugs, which I had been for the last 2 years, asked me what she could do to get me to not smoke weed anymore. I told her, that if she bought me thirteen bottles of "Annie Greensprings" wine (then all the rage) for my birthday, I would stop using. She did. Although I ended up drinking only about 1 bottle, and breaking the rest on a rock, behind K-Mart, with my best friend, Rusty Krieger... The line had been drawn, and I was, at that point, totally out of control. Above is a picture of my late mother, Rose Mildred Lake and I, when I was about 3 years old. Just 1 year before she almost beat me to death. Actually, the story, as it was told to me over the years, was that I fell down a couple of stairs, when I was 4 or so, and knocked out all of my baby teeth. The ones that were not knocked out on impact, the molars, were smashed to little pieces, and had to be surgically removed. My head was swollen like a basketball, and my entire face was bruised black.This was always accepted as fact to me, until I had children of my own, and they fell out of trees, down stairs (stepson, Robby), off of couches (my daughter Jamie), off of the roof (my son Shay) and on and on, but not one tooth was ever as much as loosened by any of these events. Then, I looked at the steps that I supposedly fell down, which consist of 3 stairs in all, and yes, while they may be made of cement, they are not the type of stairs that would repeatedly hit either side of my face, so much that all my teeth were either knoced right out, or, like I said, smashed all up. No.But, I still didn't want to admit any of what was really lying right beneath the surface. I blamed my dad, at first. But no. Now, somehow, deep inside, I know. It was my mother, who I always sided with, who I adored more than life itself, who I took on the role of protector for (against the wrath of my father), who, for some unkonown reason, pretty much tried to kill her only son, me. That explains the thirteen bottles of wine. And also why she spoiled me beyond belief and reason. Why she turned from my father, and gave me all of her "love" and affection. She must have suffered from some kind of major guilt when it came to what she did to me, and it is pretty clear that she did many things to lessen that guilt, where I was concerned. And just maybe, it might have something to do with the fact that I am so very lost. So very broken. And so very fucked up. Just a thought. And what about the Cyber Police? Tell ya another time.