Posts Tagged With: death

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 218: Valentina, Internal Battles, and the Distraction of Jessica Lange

December 11, 2014


I need a vacation from people.  I used to like time to myself, and spent lots of time alone.  I’d take off and travel on sporadic, spontaneous, and random occasions.  But now I have three roommates, so I am never home alone.  I sometimes go in my room for solitude, but if Pete or Cola haven’t taken Bogart out, then he’s at my door all confused as to why I’m in there with the door closed.  He’s like a dog or a cat that way.  Something unusual throws off the routine and he gets all disoriented.

I lived alone for a while and when I was home I’d talk to myself.  I think people often talk to themselves, so it’s not a weird thing.  But here with three roommates, I find that at times when I would normally talk to myself, I catch it before I do it, so now I’m just mumbling an awful lot.  They say, what? what are you saying? what are you mumbling about?


I am Grimm the Mumbler.  Mumbling Grimm.  I used to be a Ramblin’ Man, but now I’m the Mumblin’ Guy.

I’m not complaining, just kind of expressing one aspect of my world that isn’t perfect.  Generally my life is good these days.  I’m busy which prevents me from thinking about things that might bring me down, like Valentina.  In that way, never being alone is probably a good thing.  External distractions are a manner by which I avoid internal destructions.

It was a year ago on November 29th that Valentina died.  I’ve been trying to ignore it, but everyone knows about it and they’ve got that concerned look in their eyes.  Except Bogart, of course, who is clueless, which is better than concerned.  No one has brought up the subject, I think they know I am avoiding the topic altogether.  I think about her every fucking day.  I think about how she would be growing, learning, developing new skills, and reaching milestones.  How she would look at me, smile, laugh, how it would feel to hold her, what she would smell like.  How my entire world would revolve around her and she would be my ultimate priority for the rest of my life.  How she would grow up and I’d have to beat up all her boyfriends and no one would ever be good enough for her.

I think of her every day, so I never expected that the anniversary of her death would be this intense.  This time last year I was in the institution.  Today is the anniversary of when Bogart arrived at the same institution and we met.  I had anticipated raising a little girl, but ended up “adopting” an insane man-puppy-dog.  The universe births strange designs.

Anyway, I’ve been struggling to avoid thoughts and discussions about Valentina, but it’s hard to contain.  That’s why I’m writing it here.  It’s too painful to keep to myself anymore, yet it would be even worse to talk to anyone about it.  I think if I did it could only be Pete.  He saw me at my worst and my weakest, so he knows, and I wouldn’t even need to say much.  But I can’t do that because I think I would just crumble and disintegrate.  Although being alone might set me off on a familiar path of self destruction, despite that I’ve accomplished so much and I have a lot of people relying on me, and my entire world now is set on a solid and dependable foundation.  Yet I feel myself needing to get away, to run away like I used to, to escape somehow.  This bothers me because my responsibilities are keeping me here, which means there are few choices in the way of how to escape.  As a result, I’m thinking about drugs and alcohol.  My abstinence had stabilized in terms of my ability to maintain it, and most times it was relatively easy.  Temptations were overcome by weighing out the consequences and affirming self-pride.  However, I’ve been feeling callous about all these positive things I’ve created in my life and in my self.  I’m beginning not to trust myself anymore, which is always disconcerting.  When you’re not able to trust yourself, then you are the least safe.

I guess it was bound to happen at some point, since I’ve been consistently less self absorbed, more reliable and mature, back to being the go-to-guy.  The go-to-mumblin’ guy.  A crash seems inevitable.  That’s not an excuse, because I’m going to keep fighting it.  I just had to let all that out.  And, I’m well aware that whatever I’m battling within myself would be far worse if I did relapse, because then I’d have to contend with negative thoughts pertaining to personal worth.

Distractions help a lot.  Things outside of me protect me from what’s inside.  Things like the people I need a vacation from, school, work, Blues Monday, or “Walking Dead” and “American Horror Story”.

Therefore, my theme song for this journal entry is “Gods and Monsters” by Lana Del Rey, but the Jessica Lange version.  Jessica Lange is captivating.  I can’t take my eyes off her when she’s on the screen, she’s so freakin’ beautiful and talented she drives me crazy and she’s 60 something years old, but I want her.  I want to make love to her, because you don’t “fuck” a lady like that, you make love to her.  I think this is Jessica Lange’s last season on “America Horror Story” which sucks, because I can’t imagine the show without her.  Anyway, I never heard of this song before I saw her sing it on the show, so I looked it up.  I’m picking it for my theme song because I think the lyrics are appropriate for what I’ve been going through lately.  There are some great lyrics that didn’t make it into the version for the show due to language.  I would’ve liked to hear Jessica Lange sing those lyrics though.  She’s so fucking hot.  I think I’m in love with her.  I’ve never even heard the original Lana Del Rey version, but as far as I’m concerned, the song only exists as sung by Jessica Lange.

And ummmm while I’m on the subject…..Jessica Lange, will you marry me?



previous Grimm: 217: A Sh*tload About A Lot of Sh*t

next Grimm 219: (untitled)

This is the scene from the show:

This is the iTunes version which has additional lyrics:

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Check out the Character Directory Pages to learn about characters mentioned in each post.

Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 211-235 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 84 Comments

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 192: Prospects for the Clan

June 16, 2014


Yesterday was father’s day and it was good to spend time with my dad but internally it sucked because it would have been my first ever father’s day.  I realize now that it was mother’s day when Sweetheart left and that fact, along with the letter, clarifies everything for me.  I’m kinda annoyed with myself that I took her leaving so personally at first, without recognizing that it was mother’s day.  Or maybe I did recognize it but didn’t document it and don’t remember.  I had a lot on my mind with the performance at Sharly’s on the way.  I hope Sweetheart will send me an address because I’d write to her.  I do communicate better in writing.  There’s stuff I want to say to her that she deserves to hear, but that I could never just say unless it was in writing.  Anyway, yesterday was rough but I sucked it up to make it all about my dad and that’s the way it should be.

Howard and Daisy will be leaving their house and move to a retirement village of sorts by July 1st.  They’re happy about where they’re going, it’s pretty nice there, I checked it out with them.  It’s not far and Blues Monday will prevail.  Pete, Cola, and Hasty have spent the weekend in Boston.  They went to the Pirate Crawl Friday night, then to Gay Pride the next day.  They’re at a hotel in Boston until today.  I wanted to join them but I wasn’t really ready for the good times like that after my recent relapse.  I need to keep it simple and stay away from big events that will make me want to drink.  At least, for the most part, my relapses have been just with alcohol, except for my last bout with Dave before I cursed him.

I’ve just been doing a lot of work helping Howard clear out stuff that’s either going to storage, going to their kids, getting packed up to go to their new place, or being set aside for them to have a yard sale at the end of the month.  Their house is on the market also, so I’ve helped with cleaning, maintenance, and yard work.

Pete, Cola, and I have also been looking around for apartments.  We’re doing it separately in order to cover more ground.  We want a four bedroom, in case Bogart does move in with us.  I don’t want to end up on the couch in my own apartment yet again.  Especially now that I’ve been sleeping on the floor while Cola sleeps in my bed.

So Saturday, while Pete, Cola, and Hasty were gallivanting at Gay Pride, I went to visit Bogart, and later viewed an apartment that I think might be the one we’ll take.  First, Pete and Cola have to check it out.  I’ll take them there today when they get back from Boston.  But Saturday, I found this place in the paper and called and spoke to a woman named Astrid.  She owns the house which is a Victorian fixed up like a two family.  She lives on the first floor.  After we spoke, I went there to have a look because it sounded perfect and she seemed cool.

The house is amazing, I like the Victorian architecture.  It has a lot of land in back with a fire pit that she said we could use whenever we want but then she might have to come out and join us.  There’s also a grill which she says she never uses because she doesn’t cook, so we can use it, but we should be prepared to make enough for her to eat too.  There’s a crazy swing out back, which at first I thought was some kind of sex swing, but then I recognized it as one of those swings from the King Richard’s Faire, with the bar for the feet.

The apartment is huge, as Victorian apartments tend to be.  There are four bedrooms, 1 1/2 baths, big living room, a big kitchen that leads into a dining room, and it has kitchen appliances and a washer and dryer included.  It’s perfect.  There’s even a patio outside of the upstairs where we can hang out, or we would be free to go down and hang out in the yard or by the fire.

Anyway, I had Pete’s car, since they used Hasty’s to get to Alewife, and I drove to the place to view it.  I knocked on the door and some guy answered, which confused me since Astrid said she lived alone, I thought maybe I was at the wrong place.

I said to him, “I’m looking for As–”  Then I saw her coming in from another room and I said, “Astrid?”

She said, “If you’re looking for ass, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

I got kind of embarrassed because I was trying to be respectable so I could maybe get the place, but it was funny.  She then told me I looked like Clint.  I was wearing my Eastwood and Stepping Wolves.  I said, “What?”

“Clint.”  She pointed to my hat.

“Oh Clint.  Eastwood.  I thought you said…never mind.”

And she laughed.  She’s cool.

Her guy friend, named Matt, followed us around as she showed me the apartment upstairs.  He seemed very protective of her and I got the sense that he didn’t like me.  But whatever, it’s her place and she seemed to have no problem with me, so I wasn’t worried about it.  I had Gary Oldman (II) with me.  She has a cat too, but he seems to be a beast that could tear Gary to pieces, since she’s a delicate little girl cat.  So I have to keep a watchful eye if I let her out in the yard.  When she was done showing me the apartment, we went out to the yard and I asked her if she minded that I smoke.  She said no as she grabbed her own pack from her patio table and lit up.  She added, “You can do whatever you want,” then she offered for me to sit and talk on the patio and asked if I wanted a beer.  I told her I don’t drink, I can’t drink, and had the balls enough to admit out loud that I’m an alcoholic.

While we were sitting there, I told her I wanted the place and what were my chances in getting it if we waited until Monday when my would-be roommates could come see it and agree on it.  Astrid told me she wanted me to have it so she’d show it to people if they called, only as a just in case, but I’m her first choice, and we can let her know on Monday.  That’s when I decided to tell her about her potential tenants.

I told her that we’d be 3 guys and 1 woman, who is transgendered.  One of the other guys is gay.  I said then there’s me and she was like, “you’re not gay.”  “Nope.”  “That’s obvious.”  But I got the impression that she liked the idea of having a gay guy and a transgender living there, which is cool.  I told her about Bogart last.  I said that he’s pretty much insane and he’ll be coming from an institution and that I have no idea what it will be like living with him or what he’s like out in the real world, however, we won’t ever leave him to his own devices.  Pete, Cola, and I talked about it and figured that between the three of us, one of us should always be with him.  Pete and I have overlapping work hours, he’s off when I work sometimes, and vice versa, and Cola doesn’t work so Bogart will never be alone.  At least until we figure out what it’s like living with him and what he does with his days.  His mother hasn’t been much help with that kind of information.

I told Astrid I didn’t know him very well, and she asked how I know him but not in the real world.  I had to confess I was in the institution when he was admitted.  She told me she’s been in the “nuthouse” herself a few times.  I didn’t ask her why, but I told her it was my second time in, plus I’ve been in detox.  “Well,” I added, “there’s a third time, which was the first time, way back when I was a kid, but I tend to ignore that to the point that I forget sometimes.”  I confessed that this last time when I met Bogart was because I checked myself in after my baby died.  She nearly cried and I felt bad so we changed the subject.

Matt went off to the bathroom at some point and I leaned over to her, “I don’t think he likes me.  Or the idea of my friends.”

She said, “probably not but don’t worry about it, he has no say.”

“You have all the control, huh.”

“Shit, yeah.”

Ok yeah I’m going to like her as the landlady, I think we have a good chance of getting the place, but we’ll know today.  Interesting prospects ahead for me and my clan.

My theme song is Creedence Clearwater Revival, “Midnight Special” just because I like that song.


previous Grimm 191: Sweetheart’s Letter

next Grimm 193: Visiting Bogart

For a list with links to all the previous journal entries go to:

Check out the Character Directory Pages to learn about characters mentioned in each post.



Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 186-210 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 191: Sweetheart’s Letter

June 14, 2014


All right well I’m finally going to paste Sweetheart’s letter in my journal.  I don’t know why it took me so long to do that.  Well, I guess I do.  It’s just hard to confront, but it’s significant in my life so it should be in my journal.  But I don’t know if I’ll be addressing it further than this because it’s more something I can’t make so concrete for me at this time I guess.  The best I can do is include it here, so here it is:

Dear Valente,

I know you don’t like how I leave without saying anything so I’m sorry.  You’re a very difficult person to face you know.  I’m not sure if you realize that.  I’m not blaming you for my leaving though, so please don’t think that.  I’m sorry I tried to leave before with Valentina.  I was going to write and mail you a letter while I was on the road.  I leave but I don’t like to leave things unsaid.  You probably can relate to being able to say things better in writing.  It’s pure that way, without interruption.  Talking to you in person might change or make me forget some things I want to say.  I want to say it clean without part of it influenced by your reaction.  You are very intense and passionate.  I know you would convince me to stay.  You’d want me to stay because you wouldn’t be ready to let me go.  It would force you to move on from the past when you might not be ready for that.  It would make you feel like you’re inadequate or you failed me in some way even though you’re not and you didn’t.  It would leave you feeling like things are not resolved.

We are similar also because we wander.  I can’t always resolve things when I’m in a situation.  I need to go off alone and resolve them on my own.  I think you’re like that too.  You’d take off whenever you want and you’d never tell anyone where you were going, then you’d return with a new perspective.  I’m like that too.  When everything continues to be the same day after day, it’s impossible to come to terms with anything.  We both leave without warning and without saying goodbye.  So now you know it has nothing to do with you personally.  It’s who I am.  Who we are.

Though I don’t choose to leave because of you, part of my motivation is leaving on your behalf.  I left the first time because I didn’t want to trap you.  I returned because I didn’t think it was fair to not give you the option.  It took me a while to realize that.  I tried to leave with Valentina because you were struggling so much to be a good father.  You were putting so much pressure on yourself to do everything right.  I know you loved her and it’s a part of who you are to do the right thing, but I wanted you to make choices in your own time.  Plus, I have my own issues which I’m sure you learned.  I don’t like to reveal that side to me to anyone.  It makes me feel weak and unbalanced.  If I had left with Valentina, I would have come back.  I also try to do the right thing, but maybe sometimes I do it in the wrong way.  Especially when I’m not sure exactly what the right thing is that I need to do.

I’m leaving this time because the memories are too painful for me.  I think they are too painful for you too.  I’m not sure if I will ever be back.  I would like to send you an address where you can write to me, but I will have to think about that.  I wouldn’t want you to show up when I’m not ready for that.  It wouldn’t be unlike you to show up unexpectedly.  I guess I can say the same about myself.  I’m realizing that there are more than a few things similar between us, even though we are very different people.

Again, I am leaving on your behalf.  As I said, things are too painful for you.  You look at me and see Valentina and I see the agony in your eyes.  I am a constant reminder.  You are a constant reminder to me too.  The apartment won’t stop smelling like Valentina.  The reminders are forcing me to mourn differently than I naturally need to.  I also think you’re conflicted.  You are grieving, but part of you is aware of an obligation to me.  You want to be there for me, but you’re not ready for that.  So again you’re putting pressure on yourself to do the right thing, yet it’s too difficult for you.  You are also being forced to grieve differently than you need to.  I understand that.

It seems we don’t need each other for ourselves to mourn, but we feel we need to be there for each other.  This prevents us from feeling fully what we need to feel.  We are depriving ourselves of honest and personal grief.  I know you don’t like to be around me lately and I understand that too.  It’s just a part of your conflict.  I’m a reminder to you, as I said.  Plus, you think you need to be there for me because I cry.  Meanwhile, you’re holding it in and inside it’s destroying you.  It’s not a process we can do together.  It’s not something we should feel an obligation to.  We will mourn better separately.  You’ve had many struggles since I’ve known you and they all came from your desire to do everything right.  I don’t want my presence to provoke any more of that.

I may not return, but then again I can never predict my own choices.  Right now I’m very sad and I need to heal.  I want to know the beauty in life again.  I want you to know the beauty in life period.  I think you’re a sad person always seeking happiness.  But I think you look in all the wrong places.  You look outside of yourself to find it, through bad habits, through breaking those habits, through other people, through trying to make choices that you think will make you feel good about yourself.  That’s where we differ.  When I search for happiness, I look inside myself.  Sometimes it’s hard to do that when I’m in the wrong environment.  You have that ability because you’re a wanderer too.  But when you wander, you seek answers, which is part of it, but not the full picture.  You distract yourself and escape through external things.  I think you’re afraid to look inside yourself.  I think you are afraid of what you will see.  I think you don’t like yourself very much.  You seem so confident and despite your struggles you seem very strong.  But there’s something inside of you that you’re hiding from, something which darkens your days.  It makes you sad and angry.  This won’t end until you face it and allow yourself to heal.  Then you can be happy at last.

I’m sorry that we had to suffer the loss of our baby.  I can’t think of it without crying.  Crying has become painful too.  It’s no longer a release but another agony.  But you need to start crying and let it out.  Give yourself the chance to heal from that too.  You were a good father.  It made me love you so much more to see the man you were with our baby.  I do love you.  I love you deeply.  Thank you for taking me in, more than once, and for accepting fatherhood with strength and grace.

Love always,



My theme song for this is “Mad World” the Gary Jules version because it’s a perfect reflection of how I feel when I read this letter.



previous Grimm 190: The Timey Wimey Journal That Goes Ping & Tossing Figurative Cookies

next Grimm 192: Prospects for the Clan

For a list with links to all the previous journal entries go to:

Check out the Character Directory Pages to learn about characters mentioned in each post.

Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 186-210 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 17 Comments

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 174: Thoughts of Kathy

March 31, 2014


I’ve been thinking of Kathy a lot lately and I know I haven’t written about her in a while.  I guess since I had been dreaming about her and experiencing the “visitations” by her and the Shadowy guy way back when, once that all stopped, I didn’t even want to think or write about either of them anymore.  I was kind of reluctant because I didn’t want to stir any of that up again.  I believe I learned the cause of the Shadowy guy, as if he was some kind of aspect of myself, or maybe even he was me co-existing on another plane of existence.  The dimension where I made even worse choices.  Or perhaps he was intended to guide me back on a path to get me where I am now.  Maybe I strayed from that at the time.  Maybe Kathy was haunting me, unintentionally directing me elsewhere because she was a restless spirit, and he was me on the right path trying to get our paths to merge, so I wouldn’t lose that part of me or that me which I was meant to remain.

So now I’m wondering if Kathy stopped coming around in my dreams and visions because I willed her away and because she realized it was a genuine haunting at a certain point.  Maybe she’s just no longer restless.  I think I want to believe that she’s finally at peace.  Maybe she was trying to warn me or protect me.  I don’t know when I actually started dreaming of her.  Maybe it was after my own suicide attempt.  Maybe she was the one who saved me with the hallucinations that brought me out of the hotel room so that the cops could find me.  It’s all too unclear.  And it essentially doesn’t even matter anymore.  I’m in a good place now.  But I’ve been thinking of her, ready to mourn a little again.  I was diverted from my grief by the hauntings.  And lately I’ve wondered if she is with Valentina.

Prior to Kathy’s suicide, there were many times that I also thought about suicide.  I think we all do, some of us more than others.  I thought of it but in retrospect I never wanted to really kill myself because I thought of my family mostly, and my friends.  I figured if I did that, then they would suffer for the rest of their lives in some way.  I didn’t want that for them.  So basically that was the only reason why I never did.  I didn’t kill myself to spare other people from the pain of it.  When Kathy committed suicide, it had validated all those ideas.  I decided that I never would do that, because I was right, when you kill yourself, you leave all your pain plus some behind for others to suffer.

So when I did try to kill myself it was the strangest thing.  I blew my own mind.  It was like I wasn’t even myself.  I was robotic almost, somehow I was completely missing in the process.  After that when I was in an institution, I knew it was a mistake.  I knew I was meant to live.  It didn’t even matter why.  I knew I never would try that ever again.  I was completely confident about that.  Then Valentina died, and I was sure I had no control over myself.  I was afraid the robotic self would take over again.  I was feeling both suicidal and homicidal and I didn’t feel safe with myself.  But I was in control enough to put myself back in an institution to prevent that from happening.

During the time after Kathy died, I kind of avoided our friends a little.  I didn’t want to participate in a group grieving process.  I guess in that way I was selfish because I withdrew into myself and separated from them.  I have a way about things, which often involves running away altogether.  But it’s not so much escaping as it is avoiding other people.  I need the solitude.  It’s a way to survive.  Kind of like a vision quest I guess.  Anyway, during that time, I focused more on Emma.  Not purposefully, but she just was there for me.  She didn’t know Kathy as well.  They knew each other, were more like acquaintances, just friendly in passing with no animosity.  Emma never hung out with my group of friends.

So Emma went to the wake and the funeral and she sat by me and didn’t say anything, she was just there.  It was perfect.  Someone that I could escape to, and have solitude around, without disrupting my own personal process.  She didn’t expect me to talk about it or openly mourn or anything.  She was just a presence in the most perfect way I could have needed a presence.  When Valentina died and I put myself away, then I came home to find out that Sweetheart had her cremated and was holding off on services until I returned, I wanted Emma around then too.  She came to the services, but I was with Sweetheart.  It was different because Sweetheart and I were Valentina’s parents.  So we were the people that everyone approached to offer condolences to.  It was me, Sweetheart, my parents and my sister, and I wanted Pete with us, because he deserved to be.  He was a significant part of Valentina’s life.  He lived with us.  He was like an uncle and saw her more than anyone else, besides me and Sweetheart.  I never interacted with Emma at the services, except for when she gave me a hug.  But she didn’t talk to me, because she knows me, I had nothing to say.  The more I feel inside, the less I have to say.  Her parents had come too.  Yet, honestly I only think of their presence there now.  Emma’s presence and her parents’ attendance.  I didn’t acknowledge it then.  Everyone was like a ghost there to me.  Just hazy images drifting around in a world I was no longer part of.  I was feeling better after the institution, but facing up to the closure through the services was a challenge and I distanced myself in the process.  As if I disassociated and stepped out of my body, and my spirit stood back waiting to return to me again.

Anyway, I don’t know why I’m writing about this or where I’m even going with this subject except that I’ve been thinking of Kathy again lately.  I never really stopped thinking about her.

Theme song, “All Apologies” by Nirvana.  Just because.



previous Grimm 173: “Sharknado” & What Did Great, Great, Great Grandpa Grimm Do?

next Grimm 175: The Smooth Agent Provocateur

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Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 171-185 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 170: Emma’s Birthday & Striving Grimm el Chico Tranquilo

March 18, 2014

Saturday was Emma’s birthday.  She was born on the Ides of March.  I’ve been working Saturdays, after I visit Bogart, which has been especially cool since Sharly started the coffee house.  But this Saturday she gave me off because Emma had invited me to her birthday celebration.

Basically, as usual, it was a family celebration for Emma.  Her immediate and some extended family go to her parents’ house for a day and evening of eating and talking.  All the time Emma was my best friend, she’d invite me.  Last year I didn’t go, she didn’t invite me, and/or I think I was in Boston.  Either way, I was pretty fucked up then.  The year before that was when Kathy committed suicide and I don’t really remember much how the early part of the year played out.

So anyway, first off, it was hard to figure out a perfect gift for Emma, but I got one.  I borrowed my mom’s car to go to the party and I left the gift in the car.  I was hoping for an opportunity to give it to Emma when we were separated from everyone else, because I didn’t want a bunch of “awwws” which is what would have happened.  I also wanted it to be a private moment between us.  So I waited for that opportunity.

When I arrived, her mother answered the door and gave me a big hug.  She touched my face and said “oh Valente, how are you doing darling?”  Her parents call me Valente because they knew me since I was 14, when Grimm was more of a nickname given to me by Emma, though it was more like Grim, and I didn’t legally change my name until I was 18.  I knew her mother was asking how I’m doing because she’s aware of all the stuff that’s been going on with me, particularly the most recent thing, the death of Valentina.  I told her I’m fine, but I was feeling both content and awkward that Emma likely had conversations with her mother about me.  I know this is true based on my accurate psychicisms.  But was Emma emphasizing what a loser I am or was she expressing concern and genuine sympathy?  It’s often difficult to have an objective perspective when intuiting things pertaining to yourself.  Doesn’t matter, either option sucks.

I went in and her father shook my hand and all her family seemed to be glad to see me.  It never felt awkward before, seeing her family, but it did Saturday.  The awkwardness was coming from me though.  I just was uncomfortable in my own skin.  I was feeling ashamed of mistakes and I also felt scrutinized as if everyone knew everything about me since they last saw me.  My own suicide attempt, the substance abuse, my stupidity, Valentina.  In order to be comfortable, I was forced to accept these things about myself, take them on, take them into me, and let them be what they were.  They were parts of me, the real me, and I’ve grown from all of it.  Instead of feeling ashamed, I chose to feel proud about how I’ve come to be where I am in life, and the fact that I’m making good progress.

For some reason, I hate when people use the word survivor when they’re just talking about life.  I mean, life in itself is surviving.  And if you’re alive, you’re surviving.  Survivor and victor are not synonymous, the way I see it, apart from the connotative sense that is the norm, but that’s not the definition that applies to my way of thinking.  Everyone survives their own obstacles and traumas, some people more than others.  People who get cancer or things like that are survivors, in the victorious sense of the word, especially since most of that entails the will to live, above and beyond what medical science is able to do.  Survivor means to me, simply existing.  In life, with all the circumstance from childhood on, surviving is expected, so it’s obvious.  There are the people who have been through natural disasters or wars, perilous circumstance beyond the trials of life such as extreme cases of victimization.  Yeah, those people are survivors if they live, victors if they come out ok, mostly from a psychological standpoint.  The meaning behind it all though, is overcoming something that would have otherwise killed you or destroyed you in some way, which I think is more of a victor.  I mean saying “I survived” sounds much less powerful than to say “I am victorious”.  In terms of the word survivor, the way it is tossed around, as for me, I guess I just don’t feel worthy of calling myself a survivor.  Basically, I’m just like an animal, doing what I got to do.  I just keep living and moving on.  I’m a striver, I guess, not a survivor, as in I’m not yet victorious.  And other than when I was a kid, I guess all the peril in my life I imposed upon myself.  Obviously I can’t be blamed for the deaths I’ve experienced, but that’s not surviving, that’s grieving and going forward.  I guess there’s the survivor who is the person who did not die from peril or was not destroyed mentally, emotionally, or psychologically, all circumstance imposed upon him or her, who is really a victor; and there is the survivor who got through life, who is all of us, with varying degrees of opposing situations.  In the end, when it is our time to die, we’ve all survived in one way or another until that moment, and some of us die victors.

Anyway, we were eating and talking and Emma’s grandmother speaks very little English but she was asking me why I was being so quiet.  Emma said to her, “Abuelita, èl nunca habla.”  And she responded, “Un chico tranquilo.”  “Sí, sí, muy tranquilo.  Èl habla mucho a veces, pero èl puede ser muy timido en compañia de muchas personas.  Recuerda?”

She said something like that, my Spanish isn’t great.  And of course, timido translates as shy, not timid.  My name is Wall Grimm and I am not timid.

The evening progressed and it was time for gift giving.  When it was my turn, I told her I had something else for her later, but for the moment I was going to play the harmonica for her.  So I got up and just kind of jammed a blues medley.  I’ve gotten pretty good at jamming on the harp.  Everyone started rooting me on in a bluesy kind of way and then the center of attention aspect of it got to be too much, so I said, that’s it, and sat down.  They applauded.  Emma was impressed.

Eventually people began leaving.  I decided to be the pain in the ass that they had to kick out later.  I intentionally planned to overstay my welcome.  But then as the last person was leaving, they invited me to spend the night.  Emma was spending the night.  They said I could sleep in the guest room.  I wanted to, but I opted out because, well, I guess I didn’t want Emma to get sick of me.  I also kind of wanted to leave before I no longer was able to control myself.  I imagined her parents would go to bed and she and I would stay up talking, and then I’d borderline sexually assault her by coming on too strong, and she’d get pissed off, and I would end up ruining what would otherwise have been a perfect evening.  So yeah, I wasn’t going to set myself up for that.  That’s called wisdom.  Not only learning from your mistakes, but utilizing the knowledge you’ve acquired.  I’m getting good like that.

I said no, but stayed a little longer, and her parents did end up going to bed.  Then I decided to get the gift out of the car, give it to her, and leave.  But that’s not how it played out in the end.  Yet I’ll have to continue this another time because I’m going upstairs to have coffee with Howard.  If I don’t get up there in time, I miss the awesome breakfast Daisy prepares.

My theme song is “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” by Eric Idle/Monty Python from “The Life of Brian”, hopefully for obvious reasons when elderly Grimm reads this.


previous Grimm 169:  Grimm the Oxymoronic Dork Greaser Eats a Snickers

next Grimm 171: Emma’s Birthday part II & the Premature Boom

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Page

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 156-170 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 152: Going Home

January 7, 2014

My parents picked me up yesterday.  Bogart was distraught, but he was glad when I said I’d visit him on Saturdays.  He said hopefully his mom won’t visit because he only wants to see me.  But after he released me from his enormous and tight hug that seemed to last forever and prevent me from breathing properly, and after he rubbed the tears off his face and the snot from his nose with his sleeve, he grabbed my face and called me a cunt and a wanker and said he loves me.  Then he slapped my face in an Italian kind of way even though he’s Cockney and told me if I don’t come back he’ll hunt me down when he gets out.  This was followed by an overzealous bout of laughter after which he told me he was joking.  He said he’d understand if I didn’t come back because why would anyone really want to visit him anyway.  Like I said, he’s getting better, but he’s still fucking tragic.  As I was leaving, he pulled me aside and told me that my mom has great tits.  He said it in the only way he knows how to be discrete–just by pulling me aside, but his big mouth still could be heard by anyone within the vicinity, which included my mother.  I was like, shut the fuck up I don’t want to be hearing that shit.  He laughed, called me a bugger and a cunt and said, “goodbye me Constable.”  Then he saluted me and walked away.

Once we were outside the doors of the institution, my parents were commenting on how sad it is that he’s so troubled, since he seems like an otherwise good kid.  My mother added that it’s been a long time since she’s heard anyone say anything like that about her so she was flattered.  I was like, shut up mom.  She said that as a young woman, all anyone, men in particular, care about is beauty, so she had to always prove she had a personality and brains.  But as she gets older, she doesn’t feel the need to prove anything anymore, so now it’s nice to know people still think she has great tits.  Yeah, my mom used the word tits.  I groaned and told her to shut up again.  She and my father thought it was funny.

They took me out to eat at my favorite Italian restaurant and asked if I wanted to do anything else after.  The truth was that I just wanted to go home, but I also didn’t want to go home.  I didn’t want to see Sweetheart.  I wish she wasn’t there.  I wish I had my own place.  Or that she wasn’t there.  Going home to Pete is fine, because he knows how I am and is just a peaceful presence, and he leaves me be when I want him to.  He knows how to talk to me and how to approach me, or just how to be around me so that it’s good to have his company and at the same time have my privacy and solitude.  In the past if I was ashamed about something stupid I did, then I didn’t want to face him.  But I’m not ashamed of anything now.  I just didn’t want Sweetheart there because she is the hugest reminder of Valentina, and I’m not ready to confront that situation.  I’ll handle it, I just need to do it my own way, but she is a reminder that I can’t deny.  With her around, there’s no avoiding the memories and the grief.  Even writing this is difficult.

But my parents took me home and Pete and Sweetheart welcomed me.  Pete took the day off from work so he could be there.  He’s a great friend.  At first it wasn’t so bad.  We didn’t talk about anything in particular.  Instead, Pete had bought season 2 of “American Horror Story” and we watched the entire season.  It’s his sense of humor that it takes place in an institution because he knows I’d think it was funny too and the show’s undeniably fucking awesome.  And I’m in love with Jessica Lang now.  Her acting talents turn me on and she’s a very hot older woman.  Watching the intensity of her character is like witnessing a masterpiece being created before your eyes, like Michelangelo sculpting “Pieta” right in front of you, with every grace and skill that artists can possibly capture, and the final piece is beyond beauty and stirs the soul like nothing else.

Once we finished the final episode, I was kind of ready to just go to sleep, so Pete was putting away the left overs of the Chinese food we had ordered.  I was sitting on the couch and kinda missing Bogart and Kristin and even Sadie.  I even missed the guy who was always trying to grope me that never bothered me again after Bogart attacked him.  He was just another character in that world with his own shit.  The psychology of the mind can also form lamentable works of art that make statements about the human condition.

While Pete was busy, Sweetheart went to her room, which is really my room, and returned with a necklace for me.  She handed it to me and said that the little “vase” on it held some of Valentina’s ashes.  She has one too.  The rest of the ashes are in a small urn which she brought out to show me.  She said we can have some kind of spiritual rites to release her now that I’m out, and we can spread her ashes wherever I want, but that she and I would have the necklaces, so a part of Valentina would always be with us.  I hate to say that it made me sick.  My baby was just ash now, not even ashes all together, but broken apart and meant to be dispersed.  I wasn’t ready to handle that or wrap my head around it.

I looked at the necklace in my hand and Pete walked in and just stopped in his tracks when he saw me there looking at it.  Sweetheart was talking, I don’t even know what she was saying, but Pete hushed her by gesturing with his hand for her to stop speaking.  I put the necklace on the table by the lamp and went outside to have a cigarette.  When I returned, Sweetheart had gone to bed and Pete asked if I was ok.  I said yeah and just laid on the couch and said I was going to sleep.

One of the best things about returning was that Gary Oldman (II) was really excited to see me.  She was meowing and jumping all over me and curling up on my lap and following me everywhere.  I thought she would hate me for abandoning her for so long.  But she was just happy that I was back.  Innocence and unconditional love, just like Valentina.  So I laid on the couch and she was sitting on my head when Pete was assured I was ok and he went to bed.

About a half an hour later, I sat up and held the necklace, looking at it, and I began to cry.  I hadn’t cried since the night she died.  But I cried last night and the pain was immense.  It was too much.  And here I was on the couch, slumming in my own apartment.  I got up and Gary Oldman (II) followed me to Pete’s room.  I opened the door and stood in the doorway.  Pete asked if I was ok and I started crying again.  I asked if I could sleep in his bed.  He said of course and was collecting himself to go sleep on the couch, but I told him to stay, since he has a queen size bed, there’s room.  So I got into bed with him, on my side with my back to him, holding Gary Oldman (II) and the necklace, and I just cried myself to sleep.  Pete was good, he didn’t say or do anything.  He knows me, and knows if I needed to talk I would have asked to talk.  But he just let me cry myself to sleep.  And it felt more painful to cry than to hold it in.  I thought it would be like a release, but it wasn’t, because there was too much to let out.  Crying just made me more aware of how much was there, and how much pain I was in.


previous Grimm 151: Preparing to Leave & Seasons in the Sun

next Grimm 153: Depressing and Boring Grimm, & a Gary Oldmanism

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Page

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 141 - 155 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 151: Preparing to Leave & Seasons in the Sun

January 5, 2014

I’m leaving the institution tomorrow.  Once I’m out, I’m going to stop taking the medication they’re forcing me to take here.  As I’m thinking about it though, I think it’s helping.  I don’t have the anger or the agitation, and the depression has levelled to the point that I think I can function.  When I first got here the depression was debilitating.  My moods just feel stabilized and I’m kinda mellow.  I think I’d rather attribute the change to just being here and getting things in perspective.  I also kind of think that Bogart had something to do with it.  I mean, I think I’ve helped him, at least a little, but he’s also helped me to realize that I’m not so mentally bad off as I thought.  So I’ll stop with the medication and see what happens.  I don’t like the idea of taking pills on a daily basis.  Or maybe I just like popping pills too much and I’m paranoid it will lead me to bigger and better drugs.  Psychiatric medication is basically pills to make you feel better.  But so is ecstasy or cocaine or opium or whiskey.  The difference is the addiction and the come down.

A part of me doesn’t want to leave because it has become a whole other world for me here.  I feel like I’ve gone through the looking glass or like I’ve slipped through some veil and all I need is a doorway like a wardrobe and I can come and go as I please.  But that’s not the case.  There are mythical creatures here, spiritual beings, demons, monsters, ids, and egos encompassed in a range of psychoses and manifested as a parallel world in a Neil Gaiman novel.  Yeah, this is like Neverwhere, the world beneath the London Underground.  And it’s going to be hard to leave Bogart behind, as if the demons will at last be able to consume him once I’m gone.

Kristin seems kind of sad that I’m going and told me she’s going to draw something for me as a source of protection from the evils out there.  She’s less crazy than she is intense and brilliant.  Sadie still has been asking to see and touch my dick.  I still say no, but now and then I catch Bogart holding his pants open while she looks down inside.  He has this big, proud grin on his face like he’s all pleased with himself.  He’s gratified at being mischievous and also because she says, “ooooh it’s so big.”  I have to tell him that it’s not appropriate and stop him from letting her touch him.  I think once I’m gone, he’ll probably get a blow job out of her.

He never got Kendall Goth Girl.  He kind of freaked her out because he just comes right out with whatever is on his mind.  She preferred me because I never speak, but I’d not engage her in anyway, we never talked at all because I’d walk away.  She told Bogart that she’s a virgin and wants to stay one.  But he gave her a pack of smokes so she would show him her tits while he jerked off.  That happened yesterday though she wouldn’t let him touch them.  I think eventually it will go further.  She doesn’t have anyone visiting and bringing her cigarettes.  Neither does Bogart for that matter.  Only his mother comes, he doesn’t seem to have anyone else, not even any friends.  No one has the patience to see past his manic personality and get to know him.  He said he had friends he’d go to bars with, but based on what he says about them, it seems they only like to see how far he’ll go with the trouble he can cause.  They instigate him for kicks.  Now that he’s here, he’s no fun anymore for them.  When his mother comes, she doesn’t bring him anything, not even cigarettes.  Instead, she just comes and talks about his disorder and treatments and what works what doesn’t and how he’s acting while she’s there.  He hears enough of that from the staff in the institution.  She kind of pisses me off.  Makes me grateful for my own mother.  When I have people coming to see me, they bring me a carton of cigarettes.  I haven’t smoked a pack per day, but I share them with Bogart and give him three packs.  When I come on Saturdays to visit him, I’ll bring him cigarettes.  So basically I supplied the smokes that enabled him to see Goth Girl’s tits.  Maybe he’ll get more if he gives her two packs at a time.  That has nothing to do with me, it’s her own ethics being skewed.  She’s just suicidal, he’s got a significant mental disorder and truthfully has a hard time distinguishing between right and wrong most times.

The electroconvulsive therapy seems to be helping him though.  He’s less manic and his subjects are less sporadic.  I keep thinking that when and if he’s able to get out, maybe he can come stay with me.  But I don’t know if I can control him or if I can trust him to stay out of trouble.  It’s strange to think that there are Bogarts wandering around on the streets freely.  He’s like a combination of a rabid wolf, unpredictable and dangerous; and a lost puppy bouncing around all over the place, jumping on people, and looking for a home.

Regarding my own life, I requested that only Pete come yesterday with no one else.  I needed a debriefing of what to expect when I get home.  He told me that Sweetheart is still at our apartment and for some reason that made me sick.  I don’t have anything against her at all, but I don’t want to face her.  She’s a grating reminder, and I also don’t feel up to dealing with her own grief, since it pertains to mine.  I’ll do my best, but it will be really difficult.  When I think of that, I don’t feel ready to be out.  I’m afraid I’ll slip back into the darkness that brought me here.  But I have to try because I have a life to live.  Here has become an escape from that.  I have to man-up, go out there and get my college degree and live and move on and face shit.  Going to school will help to distract me.  I miss Gary Oldman (II) and she needs me.  I need to make things work out so people stop concerning themselves with me.  I need to be the go-to guy again.

Pete also told me that Valentina was cremated and no services were performed for her yet.  I actually went to the bathroom and puked when he told me that.  They were waiting for me, which is a good thing essentially, but I don’t know how I will be able to handle it.  Like I said before, it’s harder to deal with shit when everyone around you is looking at you through compassionate eyes expecting you to fall apart.  I hate that, though I appreciate it.  But I can’t believe she was cremated.  Of course I never thought about it, what they would do, about services, what would or wouldn’t occur while I was here.  I couldn’t think about it even if I wanted to.  I guess part of Sweetheart’s decision to cremate her was spiritual, but it also was on behalf of me, to hold off on the services until I would be ready to say goodbye.  I will never be ready to say goodbye, but we need to let her spirit go.  I just wish I could hold her one more time.  I wish I could hold her.

The theme song for this journal entry is “Seasons in the Sun” by Terry Jacks, because it’s probably one of the saddest songs ever written, and I’m afraid to go back and face everything and feel this way again.


previous Grimm 150: Stupiditum Disorder Impulsive Type & Sunshine in a Bag

next Grimm 152: Going Home

*note from Sage: the Terry Jacks version is below, however sometimes the video doesn’t work because YouTube says I’m in the wrong country to play it, hmmmm.  So I’ve also included the Nirvana version here:

For a chronological list of links to all the journal entries, refer to the Journal Entries Index Page

For posts that aren’t journal entries, feel free to explore the Categories in the left side bar or the other pages above, including the Character Directories which list the posts each character is mentioned in.

Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 141 - 155 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

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