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3:09 p.m. - 2011-03-03
For A Longtime Reader

Dear Ann,

You left no contact information so I cannot write to you privately. I do apologize for the public reply, despite keeping a public blog for a decade when it comes to person-to-person communication I'm not one for posting a billboard. Aside from a couple of embarrassing 'LA (hearts) Some Guy' graffiti I do try to keep my convos and feelings for others just between the primary communicants. Funnily I don't mind talking about my own crap, no duh, hello? Blog for more than 10 years. I will say that anytime my guys come up in this place I clear it with them first. Yes, even the loathed ex-husband whose blanket response was, "I don't give a shit what you post about me, you fat bitch. You and your dumb friends can suck me." Class act he is, eh?

Anyway, Ann, thank you. For checking in and saying hello. I will admit it gives me the willies a little to hear that someone out there has been reading my mess since high school. It's a mom thing. I use bad language. I veer off the virtuous path far too often. I admit to drug usage, casual sex, and laziness. Mostly I hope that anything you came away with from my scribblings during your formative years came through as a cautionary tale and not as any kind of example of how to live well or rightly. Lord knows I've made a humongus flub of my life for the most part and would feel horrible if anyone signed up for pain or degradation or missed opportunities because she thought the choices I've made were correct or any kind of smart or loving way to live. Trite as the cliché may be I totally believe in the t-shirt slogan: 'I may not do right, but I can serve as a horrible example!'

It would relieve my guilt A LOT if you were to tell me that you read, learned what not to do, and went on to do right for yourself.

Just look at my kids. Alex and Wolf will be and are messes that I cannot wholly take blame for, but neither can I totally wash my hands and claim to be blameless. I did the best I could for them and it wasn't good enough. I know this. They know this. And everyone who's read here for more than a few entries knows this. I messed up with them often and badly. The claim that I did the best I knew how and that coming from the horror I got growing up and having no love or fairness or decency in my own life doesn't excuse anything. If I were to be truly fair I shouldn't have had kids ever. It's the same as if I carried the gene for Tay-Sachs or hemophilia- the bitter birthright fucked-up legacy I passed onto my children cannot be offset by good intentions or wishes that things will be better for them.

I am damaged goods. And no amount of love or trying or thought or patience or home-baked cookies can EVER put right the mess they inherited from their scarred and ruined mother. I gave birth to my sons for no other reasons than those that are wholly selfish. I wanted to make up for the wasted space and resources I used up by being here at all. A useless, unwanted, unloved piece of human flotsam, only here by accident and that in 1962 abortion was chancy and illegal. I wanted to give back to the world, and more importantly, I wanted to give to myself some good people. Selfishly I wanted to slap back that miserable adage that the abused become the next generation of abusers. I wanted to prove that despite my existence being an accident and a thoroughly regretted mistake that some good could, would come from it.

I failed.

Mick, oy my darling Mick, likes to hold others up as an example. Her butt is bigger. His credit score is worse. Their kids are bigger screw-ups. But finding a worse criminal doesn't expiate my own crimes. "I should totally get a walk here! I only ran over one old lady and that guy mowed down a whole dozen of them!" That argument is specious. I can only hold to what I expect from myself and how badly I've failed those expectations. Of course there are people who do worse, who care less, who cause more hurt. Moot point. All I know is that I've failed. My sons are less than they could have been if they'd gotten a better, saner, whole and undamaged mother. I'd have lived a more worthy life and more good would have come from my being here if I'd have been stronger and less cowardly.

But I didn't know how.

It would help a lot, Ann, if I knew you were doing okay and that nothing I wrote or seemed to do by example did you any harm.

Thank you, ~LA

5 Wanna talk about it!

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