Symbolism.
Aug. 1st, 2004 11:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
obliviousally_ljI was thinking, on my walk back from the corner store about how I sometimes feel the need to make a symbol out of something. I'm sure I'm not the only one who does this, but sometimes it dawns on me how weird it seems.
What I'm referring to is: I've got a few silver rings I always wear. The one is a sterling silver pinky ring from my youngest sister, Adrienne. Another is a sterling silver, uh, twirled or twisted looking ring. Now, waaay back when my mom lived on the North End and worked at the Ohio Inn, she gave me the twirled-looking ring and another silver-plated type ring. The silver-plated one was always flimsy. It was constantly bent, twisted or otherwise gnarled and I was always fixing it to make it look more...ring-like. Well, I wore this ring ever since she gave it to me, despite it always on the verge of snapping and breaking because it was so soft. But it held up, through getting caught on things and getting pulled, squished, twisted, etc.
Until Friday night. I was over my mom's and we were watching movies. I don't know when it had happened, but I looked at my hand as we were getting ready to leave (cause I'm constantly playing with and adjusting my rings) and it had finally broken. After all this time. But I wasn't distraught over it. I didn't want to fix it.
Why?
This ring is either one of the two:
1.) It's like a representation of my mother. Before she really tried to get clean, she was always coked out of her head. Always getting beat and messed up and wreaking havor on her body and mind. But she always pulled though it, nothing ever took her down. She was always fighting to stay in this state. Never wanting anyone to help her. But then she went to rehab, she started going to meetings and she actually started getting her shit together. And that junking part of her finally gave in to the more sensible part.
2.) It's a representation of my faith in my mother. When she was all junked out, I didn't want anything to do with her. Sure, she'd feed me and help me if I needed it, but there was always a catch. She was always needing my money for crack and smack and god knows what else. She'd be in and out of the hospital or in and out of rehab. But nothing was ever solid, nothing was ever secure and for sure with her. She'd be going good for awhile, then she'd crash. My faith in her was weak and flimsy, like the ring. Always tarnished and ugly.
So when it broke, it was like that could finally be put to rest.
And then she gave me another ring. This one is a bit bigger, I wear it on my thumb. It's silver, not sure if it's sterling or not. But it's thicked, more reinforced and stronger. There's a weaved-looking design on it, as well.
So, that's my crazy, insightful post for today.
I hope I'm not wrong.
What I'm referring to is: I've got a few silver rings I always wear. The one is a sterling silver pinky ring from my youngest sister, Adrienne. Another is a sterling silver, uh, twirled or twisted looking ring. Now, waaay back when my mom lived on the North End and worked at the Ohio Inn, she gave me the twirled-looking ring and another silver-plated type ring. The silver-plated one was always flimsy. It was constantly bent, twisted or otherwise gnarled and I was always fixing it to make it look more...ring-like. Well, I wore this ring ever since she gave it to me, despite it always on the verge of snapping and breaking because it was so soft. But it held up, through getting caught on things and getting pulled, squished, twisted, etc.
Until Friday night. I was over my mom's and we were watching movies. I don't know when it had happened, but I looked at my hand as we were getting ready to leave (cause I'm constantly playing with and adjusting my rings) and it had finally broken. After all this time. But I wasn't distraught over it. I didn't want to fix it.
Why?
This ring is either one of the two:
1.) It's like a representation of my mother. Before she really tried to get clean, she was always coked out of her head. Always getting beat and messed up and wreaking havor on her body and mind. But she always pulled though it, nothing ever took her down. She was always fighting to stay in this state. Never wanting anyone to help her. But then she went to rehab, she started going to meetings and she actually started getting her shit together. And that junking part of her finally gave in to the more sensible part.
2.) It's a representation of my faith in my mother. When she was all junked out, I didn't want anything to do with her. Sure, she'd feed me and help me if I needed it, but there was always a catch. She was always needing my money for crack and smack and god knows what else. She'd be in and out of the hospital or in and out of rehab. But nothing was ever solid, nothing was ever secure and for sure with her. She'd be going good for awhile, then she'd crash. My faith in her was weak and flimsy, like the ring. Always tarnished and ugly.
So when it broke, it was like that could finally be put to rest.
And then she gave me another ring. This one is a bit bigger, I wear it on my thumb. It's silver, not sure if it's sterling or not. But it's thicked, more reinforced and stronger. There's a weaved-looking design on it, as well.
So, that's my crazy, insightful post for today.
I hope I'm not wrong.
