Posted by Temmie on November 7, 2003, at 18:21:40
In reply to Temmie ... boundaries, posted by Medusa on November 6, 2003, at 0:53:14
I talked with an attorney friend tonight who shared interesting insights (at least they were interesting to me) about "guilt by association," and the fact that because crack is exhaled -- it's in the environment -- potentially in my clothes, my hair, and in my blood.
Plus, being a teacher, and thus mandated by law to report -- whatever it is we're mandated to report -- instances of bodily harm, abuse, or whatever -- I would definitely have been at risk for losing my license, just by virtue of the fact that I didn't leave the premises just as soon as I saw/knew what was going on.
Tom recommended getting the name of a counselor (or two), and writing Paul a letter. Here's the only way I can deal with your situation, etc., and here's what I can't (or am not willing) to do. Then to refuse all his calls, etc. To tell him if he wants to contact me, that he should write me a letter. And that the letter had better begin with, "Thank you for ... bla bla bla ...," or "I'm writing from the such-and-such facility," etc.
It's going to be hard to do. This situation does so mirror the abuse of my brother -- and that hard-driven belief if only I'd loved my brother enough ... or done things the right way ... if only I'd had a more perfect love, somehow ... that my brother would have stopped abusing me (and my father would have loved me). Too heavy to go into or explain beyond that.
I did some reading last night, though, that made my hair stand on end.
Paul is clearly in the psychosis stage (picking up crumbs off the floor), definitely doesn't see straight ("I've got a handle on this"), he's irritable and argumentative. He likely has pulmonary damage, based on his cough -- and based on the bag of bones I held in my arms -- some level of malnutrition.
The only good thing I can say about holding him, was that this time I felt little, unless it was pity. Previously I've made promises to God ... "this is the soul that I want." I couldn't utter that same promise this time. And love-making wasn't making love, but something much worse than this, as I'm sure you might imagine.
It was gross, and had everything to do with reminding me about giving my body to my brother ... when I was too little, too young, too weak, too small, and too naive to know better.
I know better now, of course, but that's that part of me that isn't fully whole.
You know?
I have a lot of growing to do. (And a lot of healing to undergo).
Next week is Paul's birthday, and I'm determined to send a gift package of some sort. Just a few essentials. I don't feel I'm able to cut things off immediately. But you know what? I can stop calling him, d*mn it. "Call me instead," Tom said, "and we'll talk the Yankees and NY sports."
I can call someone else instead.
Or write you guys.
I can stop placing calls. I can keep going to meetings -- as best and as often as I'm able with my busy schedule. I can do what I've gotta do to get by, and I can start drafting that letter to send ...
... as soon as I'm able.
It's pitiful, I know, and tiring to watch my slow, slow progress through this malaise. It's just that he touched something. (And he made me feel lovable.) I guess, from one sick person to another, he knew just what I most needed to hear.
I'm tired. I'm really tired. I have a lot of work to do tomorrow ... for an upcoming presentation ... and I need to focus.
I wonder about how or whether I've created this distraction, the diversion in this.
I wonder if I'm a pain or panic junkie, and if this is how you see me, I'm sorry. It's felt much deeper than this, and apparently speaks to some level of growth my soul felt was now time to address.
Thank you all for your support. Even though I feel like such a baby, and you aren't here to hold me -- gasp, I'm so needy -- I guess I can learn to hold and rock myself.
Rockabye Temmie. Rockabye and goodnight.
poster:Temmie
thread:276317
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/subs/20031014/msgs/277579.html