dona nobis pacem

Page Twenty-five

sehnen posted on May 08, 2008 | views: 121 | Tags: dona mihi eosx

thursday 8 may 2008   greenfield

Very tired today. Starting to have some trouble sleeping. I can get very tired anyway, even when I sleep. Chronic fatigue syndrome and raging immune system work together to sap energy.

Shirley Temple, may you lose whatever is dearest to you. Ditto for you, Cry Baby. Psycho landlady and psycho tenant? Really I’d prefer that you simply drop dead where you stand. I’m angry in my overwhelming sadness, can you tell?

Dona nobis pacem. I started making signs with those words on them way back in 2000 or 2001. It means “give us peace.” But as we know, my animals and I did not get peace, we got mayhem. And I had a little thing I kept in the kitchen not long before we were destroyed that said adh mor.  “Good luck.”  We didn’t get that either. Foreign languages were always a big part of the life that we shared together, because I’ve studied a bunch of them, and because long ago I used to teach Latin and German to people who mostly didn’t give a rat’s ass about Latin and German. But I studied a lot of languages that I never had to try to shove gently and cheerfully down someone else’s throat, and that was fine.

So we listened to lots of songs in lots of languages, and if I knew the song, I sang. They loved for me to sing to them. If I can remember the lines I want and how to spell them (I’m very rusty in some of this stuff), I want to put them here for my stolen friends. They were written by Edith Piaf long ago; I think they might well be the only lyrics she ever wrote. She wrote them for her husband, the boxer Marcel Cerdan, who had been killed.

                               Si un jour, la vie t’arrache a moi;
                               si tu meures, quand tu sois loin de moi;
                               si tu meures, c’n’est pas de probleme,
                               car moi, je mourrai aussi.

Anyway, for my lost ones. I haven’t seen these words written in many years, so my spelling may be off. And I don’t know how to do accent marks on a computer. What the do you care? You probably don’t read French anyway. See how angry I am.

Update 3 June 2009: I am still a homeless woman, more than a year after writing this post. I now have a rented room, which is civilized, but it is not a home. Home to me, in the physical sense, means at least a bathroom, kitchen, livingroom, and bedroom. And that is what I had for 55 years. I was never restricted to one bedroom of space to move around in, let alone a shelter or a respite or a hospital or a park. I am a loveless person; all the love was taken. And a hopeless person. It’s almost 15 months now that I’m homeless. Whoever it was that failed in their duty to help me find a home — the DMH or matthew’s crowd or both — those people have caused damage; damage in the form of humiliation and degradation and hopelessness. And worst, the loss of all the animals. Dona Nobis Pacem. My innocent, wonderful animals and I did not get peace. They got torn away from me and from each other. Some of them got free of the stress of all that followed by the death of the needle (and I’m not even told precisely how many were killed.), and some of them got adopted, which to me is not nearly the same as staying with your own family, when you are old and have been there all your life, till death.

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(stained glass at www.signals.com)

read…  Braon…  Stolen stars…  Soulcast

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the nettle, danger

Page Nineteen

sehnen posted on May 03, 2008 | views: 131 | Tags: lifex, the flowerx, safetyx

saturday 3 may 2008   greenfield

I got a radio on Mayday. Radio, music and audiobooks were the background sounds to our lives since the fall of 1998, radio. I couldn’t afford cable anymore. I’ve been listening to some of the shows we always listened to, and the grief is growing…

The sods at DMH, and maybe even mental health care in general, are destructively dense and limited in their thinking. They believe that as long as you’re not holding a razor or a bottle of pills, you’re not going to die. Your cells die slowly as your soul does…

I need their names in cyberspace again: Mishi, Brainse, Lizzie, Tuuschi, Canajoharie, Judah, Shiloh, Mandy, Chan, Ziidj, Chailin, Abel, Aram, Chani. The stolen, the killed, my family…

In the fall of 2007, our last fall together, I found yet another quote from Shakespeare that became a favorite (my animals were used to hearing Shakespeare; from the radio, from me, from books on tape):  Out of this nettle, danger,/We pluck this flower, safety. I hoped so hard that we’d pluck out that safety flower, but with so many malevolent humans working against us… Our helping pals at the DMH in Greenfield Massachusetts  saw to that. And a multiple-personality landlady, and a mafia-chick.

Update 29 May 2009: Who knows precisely how many cold human souls were involved in the destruction of my life. The landlady for sure. The uncaring social workers at the DMH and CSS, for sure. But feds too? According to Matthew, yes, and I see it as entirely possible, in light of the things he said and in light of things I saw and heard.

Depression and loneliness are much more severe now. There was the denial practiced by a psyche that could not accept the worst blow of its life. There was hope: that DMH, the feds would do something and give me back some of my family. People spout a lot of rose-colored, really very silly things about hope. But at bottom hope, when it goes on too long and in the face of too much contrary evidence, is just another crutch grabbed at by denial.

Again, I didn’t put the tag life on this post. Someone or someones out there enjoy adding tags I don’t want.

Comments

       moonriver said on May 03, 2008…. delete block user

I want you to know that I’ve started reading your blogs with deep interest, from the first one you posted, onwards. You have a unique view on life, which I’d like to understand. I hope you’re coping well.

I wonder how moonriver would have coped with the events of my life since 2006, if they had happened to HIM. Moonriver and me.

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read…  Don’t ask…    Poison and snowflake trees

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