What were they thinking ?

 

Sometimes I watch a movie and it all just hits.  What did my parents think after they found out I was raped? I was left mostly to fend for myself in a kind of sadness that swallowed me whole. The moments seem to be on repeat things moving so fast yet so slow. There was all this commotion around me but no one was talking to me.  It was the worst feeling, I was drowning and no one around me noticed. It was cold, I can remember the sweater that I had on.  the white one with little confetti sprinkles, goodness I so loved that sweater.  I remember talking to Larry and Joey outside, and I didn't understand how they knew. There was a part of me that was so disconnected, like what happened was just another day for me. Calvin said that I had to tell someone, if I didn't he was going to.  He said that I couldn't keep getting hurt.  Someone caring was more than strange and almost harder to understand than someone treating me like the plague. 

I can remember being terrified to tell my parents and for some reason thought that telling the youth group leaders, was a better option. I can remember Calvin and I walking into the master bedroom, and I honestly don't remember very many words.   I remember talking; so much talking but no one was talking to me.  I don't remember saying I was raped, so it must have been Calvin. I remember Joan sat on the bed and asked if we should get a pregnancy test.  There was so much commotion around me, and I felt more than alone.  My body still hurt,  mostly black, and felt like I was the one who had done something wrong. there was no comfort no kindness. I can remember my mother coming into the room.  She gave me a hug but I didn't really feel it.  It kind of felt like she was going through the motions. I don't remember her saying a thing to me. So much pain and so much silence.  I didn't feel a thing on the outside, I was stone cold, but my insides felt like they were being smashed into a million little pieces. I can remember everyone leaving and it was just Calvin and I and I cried, thinking that they were going to have so many questions.  I can remember it hurting to lift my arms, Calvin bending over, and he just holding on to me.  That hug was the most important thing that happened that night.  Little did I know.  No one really cared, no questions would be asked. 

Everyone seemed to be busy, someone said that they took my father out for a ride to tell him.  They said he screamed, yelled, and cried.  I am sure if was all for show, oh poor bob. Joan's husband Bob is the one who took me home.  I wanted so much to be heard to feel safe, to feel like I mattered and other than Calvin that never happened.  He sat next to me on the couch and told me how different things were going to be.  I remember the room was dark, and I sat there screaming inside, how dare he fucking tell me how different things were going to be.  Once I even said I knew.  I just wanted him to shut up he didn't know, couldn't understand, and didn't want to. I don't remember my parents getting home, where I was, or what was next.  In a flash, the night was over. People knew what had happened to me and still didn't do anything different. 

I feel such sadness writing this today. It's been sad since watching that movie really.  I literally had no one on my side.  The only hug that I got was from Calvin he was a kid.  He should not have had to care for my heart yet was the only one that did. He checked on me and made sure I was ok. He made sure that I felt safe, he made sure that I was heard.   I am just sitting here staring in disbelief at what I have survived.  I was just a girl who wanted a place in the world. Just a normal girl who wanted normal things. If I could just go back and have one conversation with that so hurt girl, just to hold her and tell her it wasn't her fault.  Just because they couldn't handle what happened, she was not less than and not a burden.  I felt like such a bother, that people took off work, and that I made people uncomfortable.   

The next few days were a blur. I woke up that next morning and my parents were both just standing by my bed. I felt like I had done something terrible.  There was going to the rape crisis center, there was going to the Dr.  There were the overheard conversations. One from Joan and the other with the police.  Yet, still, no one was talking to me. I was not asked anything about what was done, how I felt, or what I needed. I was dying inside and no one seemed to care. They liked the drama and attention when all was said and done, they blamed me. 

That day at the rape crisis center, was indescribable.  I literally felt nothing.  I was cold, and just wanted to be anywhere but there. I can remember getting a happy meal before our appointment and just laying down in the back of the car.  My body still hurt and laying down felt better.  I just remember feeling the sun on my face and wanting to pretend that no one knew what happened to me.  I still remember the room perfectly, The blown paneling, the greenery everywhere. Her twisty legs and all the turquoise jewelry that she wore on each and every finger. She had an underbite, with very shiny lipstick.  Incredible the things that my little mind remembered. Honestly I think there were a few times, she tried to include me in the conversation but my father's screaming and yelling, were overpowering and even she was unable to stand up to him.  They pretended that I wanted attention and was just a fat cow, because something as terrible as rape doesn't happen to someone like me. The overheard conversation from Joan I was the chubby unpopular kid who would want to rape me ?  I just wanted attention.  If she knew me at all, she would have known that was the last thing I ever wanted in the world. Then of coarse, hearing my mother talking to the police station.  Oh no we don't want to report it.  My entire life, I have always questioned why not.  I wonder what they told the officer, I wonder if they even believed that I was raped. 

The world was silent and I was screaming inside.  No one heard me and no one cared. I felt like I was the one to blame, I was the one who had done something terribly wrong. I was just the fat girl that no one wanted to touch. I felt awful before and felt even worse about people knowing. The next day was when I went to the Dr. I am not going to make excuses he should have said this or that. He should have said, we need to do an exam and make sure you are ok.  They could have gotten evidence, they could have taken pictures.  If he had seen what was under my clothes, I am sure that the police would have been called.  There would have been no pretending that everything was ok. I would have finally been worth someones time and attention. I wish he said "What we need to do to make sure that you are ok, let me help you"  He did not.  I will forever be grateful that he didn't touch me, I fear that an exam would have sent me to a place far far away and I would not have come back.  My body was so bruised and battered, that everything hurt.  I just sat there him talking, telling me that I couldn't keep everything inside.  Of coarse, I said, "I know".  He so gently put his hand on my leg, so kind, and not hurtful.  I was grateful he heard me and listened and yet wished he saw so that there would never be any doubt to anyone about what I went through. It was a silent ride home, I just watched out the window, the world spinning, everything was moving so fast and I wanted to scream for everything to stop.  What was my mother thinking in that car ride home?  Why didn't she say she was sorry or ask me what happened to me.  Why didn't she notice my arms and legs?  Why didn't she notice something anything? My heart was broken, and life went on as if I was a criminal.  I was the one who destroyed everyone's world around me for a few days. I don't remember that night, But by Friday I was back at school.  Word had gotten around, I was a slut that wanted attention.  I felt the stares and heard the whispers, and all the while was still terrified that I may see them. My life at 13.  No one wants to dance with a blacksheep, a slut, one who makes up stories because she wants attention.  Life was lonely before and who knew it was even more lonely when everyone knew how gross and disgusting I was.  No one cared before it happened and no one cared after.  It was just me all me, to try and survive day by day.  Until the day I decided I was done, enough was enough. I didn't want to live another day. But I did.  Sweet Spunky, we did. I will always be forever and ever always grateful. 

I heart your heart 

Death by a thousand Paper cuts

 I heard this phrase, and it hit me like a lead balloon.  I often feel like this throughout my life. I feel like I am slowly dying from a million little things.   I know how to survive the big things; I know how to clean up and pretend that everything is fine. I know what it's like, to have the rug ripped right from, under you. I know what it's like to have all the things I thought were real and true show their true colors and I become a leftover.  That breadstick that stays in the basket. To get picked at, and eventually left.  It's all the other things that seem to stab at my heart.  It is usually the smallest things, that can push me one way or the other and seems to throw my world into a tailspin. I seem to be spending a lot of time in that spiral, and I am overwhelmed.  When I am in that place, the things that are true and real play tricks and make me think it's a matter of time before my whole world crumbles; Yet again.

It's something that is more than hard to explain.  Today at work, I cannot even count on one hand, the number of times that I could have burst into tears. New programs, new rules that no one is given enough training on.  They expect us to spend a great deal of extra time after hours just to get our job done and I don't have that kind of time to give them anymore.  Each new task they want us to complete, it's as if the house is on fire.  The house is not on fire, and I cannot pretend that every task that needs to be completed needs to be treated as such. I want to scream; the house isn't on fire!!!  Education has stolen every last ounce of love that I once had for the field. It isn't what is right for the child anymore.  Children today have an exceptional number of needs that the education system isn't prepared for.  Instead of doing the right thing, they say it's the teachers, they say we are giving too many services.  They say that we are doing things all wrong and tell us to put our questions in the virtual parking lot; to be answered when they have time. I don't want to work for a place where kids don't come first. I understand rules and procedures and I know why they are important. 

It's the small daily things that feel like all these little cuts, over and over and there is no making it stop.  I think this is kind of what my teaching career has felt like.  On most days you wouldn't know just how completely burnt out that I am.  I do it for the kids, I do it because they matter and they deserve the best. But my heart has been bruised and battered and the love that I once had for something I thought I would never leave is something hard to get my head around. This is going to be a rough year, I am determined to stand up for what's right, and care the only way that my heart knows, will all that I have even on those days when getting up is dreadful. 

I heart your heart 

Why I cry

 I wrote an email to one of my professors.  She is more than amazing; she is intense and yet compassionate she sees you.  She sees me as a person, and she notices oh how she notices. There are times when she is explaining something and she gets it, she has an understanding about hard things in life.  There are many times in class that the tears come.  They are not sad tears they are grateful tears, to be seen, to be understood.  For someone to experience things so deeply is something I often cannot even put words to.  She does that for me she has an understanding.  She notices those small tears and truly makes a difference. She talks about doing your own work and has an understanding of the finiteness of life. I always say that I want to become the care that I never got, and having her as my teacher, is giving me the tools to do that.  I am truly grateful for her.  Someday I hope to share the incredible difference that she has made and will continue to make for me.  She is funny and fierce and everything caring. I heart your heart. 

I think that I am learning that I cry because I am grateful to be where I am.  I am grateful to be heard and understood.  I am grateful that I get the chance to cry these tears and make a difference for others. I think I am finally at a place where the tears have to be ok.  Do I have work to do of course, do I cry too much maybe. But the life that I have lived the life I have survived I have a very real right to cry these grateful happy tears.  

At the conference this Summer, one woman said that she was worried about me because of the tears, and I think oh my friend you are missing the point, be worried if I can no longer cry.  Be worried if I get up there happy like everything is fine.  No, I cannot be anything other than me.  Those things hurt; those things could have killed me.  It is in the moments of music or words that I can reach places that I never could any other way.  There was recently an interview with Andrew Garfield.  He was reading a piece, and he began to cry.   The interviewer asked why this was hitting him so hard and he said." This is why art is so important.  Because it can get us to the places that we can't get to any other way. " Let that sink in so very powerful. I cry because I am alive, because terrible things happened to me and yet here, I still stand making a difference and doing things that no one ever expected. I cry because things mater because niceness, genuineness and trueness make a difference.  

I feel everything on such a deep level that it's hard to describe.  I never remember feeling anything differently.  It was deeply or not at all.  In this profession I will find the happy medium. I will find my place.  As I work on getting there the tears will flow, happy, sometimes sad.  Always from a place of compassion and heart. 

I hear your heart. 

Trauma is like walking a tightrope

 I am trying to write through the tears and it's really really hard.  I had finally made a Dr. appointment, before school even started.  I was going to leave after my students were gone. Everything was all set up.  I was nervous but ready.  Then get the call that Jan would not be in the office. I was upset I had made the appointment months earlier, but I understood that things happen.  They wanted to switch me to someone else.  I said no thank you,  and said forget it, I will wait another month and just schedule it on my fall break. So I did that, I answered every single confirmation.  Today was the day.   I got up early, all ready to go. I got there was filling out the paperwork and she goes oh Sherri we tried to call you, we switched you over to someone else. Jan will not be here today. What.  This is the second time that this has happened. Do they have any idea what it takes for me to go to the DR.  Do they have any clue what it's like for someone with a trauma history to even get the courage to go. Then they change the plans. I don't want to see someone that I don't even know that doesn't know me.  I was not ok. I wanted to yell and scream and cause a scene but of course I did not.  I wanted to jump over the counter telling them that this was important that it had happened two times already.  I kept it together, until I left the office. 

I got in the car and that Boo Hoo hard from my very soul cry happened.  It takes so much for me to go, then this to happen again! I don't go because I get blown off so many times.  I say something hurts and people say oh you are fine.  They don't understand if it gets to the point that I am going to the Dr it's serious. I am at a loss.  I wish it was easy for me just to go see anyone, but it is not.  Right now I am not being cared for, and I don't even know what to do. 

Being a trauma survivor often feels like walking a tightrope.  One step either way can change the course of everything. One phone call one hug, the simpleness of someone remembering you.  I hope that in time my tight rope will widen right now it feels very thin.  Working harder than hard, someday hopefully someday soon, all of this won't feel so complicated. 

There are so many things that can push a person to one side or the other.  One side feels like an immense black hole the other feels like just a hole in the ground that you can't quite reach the edge, though everything all around you still keeps happening.  I am constantly struggling between those two places.  Every once in a while, I feel like I am stable and then just like that out of nowhere curve ball and I fall to either side of the tight rope.  I know that I am better getting back on, but there are times I don't, and it just feels awful.  Last week it was like that with the music that was on in a store.  Each and every song there was a memory that I had tied to it. A time, place and feeling.  It was really difficult staying present. I tried oh so hard for it not to affect me, after the fourth or fifth song I was like please make it stop.  It's time for me to get out of here. I don't know if it is like this for all trauma survivors, but this is what it's like for me. I know that it has gotten better, and it will continue to get better but just sometimes it feels like so much is happening all at once. Each and every area of my life is in challenge mode, and I just want, even need things to just be normal.  

I heart your heart.

I Forgive YOU

                                                                       Sia : I forgive you 

 Oh, my heart.   I cannot even tell you the number of times that I have listened to this song in the last 24 hours. I am a person that doesn't just listen to a song, but I hear it, and I feel it.  I feel the words and the music in the deepest parts of who I am.  I heard this song and right away I thought of who it was for, and I felt a sense of freedom, and got a sense of peace.  I did what was right for me.   It is everything. I am often the one left in relationships.  Better things come along, and I am left.  I get used to that, almost expecting it.  And just this last year, I learned to stick up for myself and made a decision that was best for my own heart. This process has been quite the journey. Starting so many years earlier. Piece by piece I was letting go, slowly slowly more and more. I have to admit that each step was worse than the one before. My heart is still broken, and I don't think that I will ever understand. They will always have a piece of my heart. Maybe someday there will be a conversation, maybe but today I know that the friendship, the love just wasn't meant for me. I think there was a time that the love and care went both ways, but gradually, I became less and less important and I felt like I was just a burden. I was just a girl who took too much time and space. It's so hard to explain. Even when I knew that things weren't the same I held on to these people for dear life.  When people become my people, it's that way for life. I would do anything for them, it's for always. For a time, it went both ways until it didn't. I spent holidays with them, sat with them as their parent was in the hospital.  I cared for their children and loved them with all that I was. In the end all that I had wasn't enough.  Today for the first time in forever, I realized that ; that has to be ok.  I can be grateful that I had them while I did. I can still love all the good things. I can also acknowledge all the pain that was experienced.  I forgive them for the hurt they caused my heart and soul. I will never understand how someone can say the words I love you then write them off and remind them just how much time that you spent on them. I will never understand telling someone you love them then there being no acknowledgement at all.  I will never understand.  My heart is grateful, that once I had them and they were a part of my world.  My heart also holds an overflowing amount of sadness because of how I was left and forgotten.

The story started when I found James. He was my counselor, who became a friend. He was there when I had no one.  He was there, he held my hand and my heart as I was healing. He was everything that I needed he took me under his wing and made sure that I was safe and sound. He would answer my emails listening to my heart.  He was the kindest kind of kind that I always needed. He was in the play at Christmas, and I can remember him waving and I felt seen.  For someone like me that means everything.  I became a part of his church, I grew to know his wife, and I became a part of their life group.  I had never had someone know my heart so well and care for me.  Then they moved to Colorado.  I was devasted and for a time things were the same.  I would get to see them when they came back to Texas.  I was invited to their home and they felt more like family than I had ever known. There were my people, they were my safe place. 

I had moved out of my mother's house and moved in with Catrina.   It was a safe place away from my mother.  And this is where things started to get tricky.  Catrina didn't really know Amy and James and they weren't really friends. They knew of each other. I can remember Amy asking if she thought Catrina would mind if they had a get together at her house.  Amy would call asking her how it was going me living there. Never once was I asked how things were for me. I was never considered; my thoughts were not asked about. I finally graduated and James even flew here, to get to see me graduate.  That was one of the most special moments ever, looking into a sea of people and seeing your person. That was everything.  The next day at my graduation party, he so gently touched my face and said that he loved me.  Things were changing for me, he was just one of those people that cared for my heart. He was more than important. That next Thanksgiving Amy and James invited me to Colorado for Thanksgiving.  It was always just the kids and I so feeling like we were wanted somewhere was so very important.  We always stayed in contact, I again went there for a summer trip and my heart was full.  I felt like a part of me was in Colorado.  I could relax and just be, no judgement just a sense of peace. I could be totally myself.

So, then I got a real teaching job, and was working on getting on my own two feet.  I was watching Catrina's son, Truman a lot. There were a few work trips but there was also a lot of fun weekends away, and it was a lot.  Things had changed from when I first moved in with her. In the beginning I was pretty dependent on her. I was finishing my degree, and was just a substitute.  There was not the pressure of a full time job yet.  It was enough caring for my own two children, but it was often expected to care for her son. She always said let me know if it's too much, let me know if you need help.  She was out of town I took care of him.  Then she started dating, men came over. There were times that it was more than uncomfortable. For me it was a safety issue. It had become a very different situation.  One weekend she planned a trip, the kids didn't have school, I did.  She always said to ask for help when I needed it, so the one time I asked for help.  It didn't go well at all. He had some church thing Sunday night, then the following day I was expected to drop him off at someone's house.  I just asked if that person could pick him up.  Time wise for me getting to work, it was too much. Not even 2 weeks later we were asked to move out. There had been things happening, she took the leaf out of the table, we were no longer welcomed.  She had men over and I wasn't even a thought.  I was laughed at because of personal things that affected me. Yet no one asked how I was. Often, I felt like the leech, that wasn't wanted. So, when she asked us to leave I found a place and within 2 weeks we were out. That also didn't make her happy. She offered her truck for us to use when i said no thank you, she slammed the door.  She wanted us out on her terms, She was done and I made my own safe place for my family. She offered us a broken couch; I said no thank you and she said, "Well you have to start somewhere I am throwing it away."  Like all I was worth was her broken couch. I was crushed. She did give us some things and I am grateful, but we were no longer welcomed, I had gotten stronger and spoke up when I needed something, and it blew up in my face.  Amy called me and instead of asking how I was she made excuses for Cartina.  Never hearing the things that I experienced, never caring to learn how I had been treated.  I was crushed and told her to stop.  Amy made the excuse that I just wasn't ready to hear her yet.  No, I wasn't ready to hear because no one had heard me. And that was the beginning of the end.  Things would show up on Facebook and it was always Catrina and Amy and their little group every single time that she came to Texas. I was never contacted EVER. Not once was I included or welcomed. I was not their person. I knew my people were slipping away. Each time I saw a post I was more heartbroken than the last time and yet no one cared to ask about my heart. In my head I will never forget the moment when I said something, and Amy said Well you can't be everyone's friend.  And after this I realized, exactly what she meant. 

I would still every now and then email James just asking for support of advice.  I wrote to him asking about Vincent and something else.  I got a reply back, saying that church was the only thing that was going to fix anything. I was more than hurt.  He knew me better than anyone, and to throw that at me wasn't fair or appropriate for the situation.  I had been more hurt by the church than anyone ever should be. That somehow Church was the only thing that was going to heal me or make me feel better, made me feel less than human.  I let it sit for a few days.  I was crushed he knew my experiences with church and God, and I didn't understand his response. I thought that our relationship was a safe place to be honest.  So, I wrote back and told him that I missed the days when he didn't push religion, because he knew just how hard it was for me.  And the answer I got back crushed me on a soul level. He reminded me of all the time that he had spent on me.  The hours and hours and when that was thrown in my face, I was done.    His response was unfair and the unkindest response a person could get.  I didn't deserve it being thrown in my face all the time that he spent on me. I was more than grateful for every second that he helped me heal, every time he held my hand when I felt nothing but gross and disgusting.  Out of no-where none of that mattered anymore. I am more than sorry that I wasted your time. So, I just stepped back. That was the last correspondence that I ever had with him. 

Catrina had very nicely stepped in and no one even noticed that I had disappeared.

Then my mom passed away and there was nothing from James no response, no condolences, nothing and I was done.  How does someone care and say that they love you and not even acknowledge the passing of your mother. He knew how hard that relationship was, and how broken she made me feel. I unfriended him; I realized just how much that things had changed.  When you care about someone you don't break their heart like that. Amy had become more and more distant.  I was always the one reaching out, and I wasn't getting anything genuine back.  I stepped back.  I was tired of all the visits and all the people they saw, and I was just not one of those people.  Fine, if I was not your person but kindness first always.  So, I unfollowed Amy.  And then finally another Dinner with Catrina. Amy made a comment about those being her people and she didn't know what she would do without them.  I was tired of being hurt, tired of feeling like I was replaced and I unfriended her.  I could not be hurt seeing the posts, I was not important, and each post was like a dagger through my heart. Catrina had taken my place, and I was not even a thought. I know that I was never her person, she could have cared differently for my heart. Even if someone isn't your person it is never ok to crush them.  I didn't think twice I had let go. I had to.  It was months before she even noticed.  

Then my birthday came.  And the text message that followed. Did you unfriend me on Facebook? She was sure it was a mistake.  I didn't know how to respond. No, it wasn't a mistake.  I was no longer willing to be a leftover. I responded with life was busy with grad school and working full time.  She was like oh you are going into administration.  That told me right there she had not seen a single thing about my heart and what was going on with teaching, and how I was in Grad school for Clinical mental health.  It was more than sad but at the same time, more reassurance.  I knew I wasn't her person and there was a time that I so wanted to be. She went on telling me all about what the family was doing. I didn't ask. I was not in a place to care my heart was still crushed by so so many things. If she cared the conversation would have been about me , it was my birthday.  There were niceties but it was over.  I was no longer willing to pretend that I mattered. 

 I have been letting go for a long time.  I feel everything and feel it ever so deeply.  I could sense when things started changing and as much as I held on I knew that all the things I once longed for were fading away.  There are so many other little pieces, and scenarios when I knew, but I chose to ignore them wishing for something different.  This is always going to sting. I think this will always make me cry.   When people are that important, that doesn't just go away.  They have hurt me beyond words. As I said, someday maybe there will be a face to face, conversation for no other reason than to share my heart; but not today and not tomorrow.  My heart still needs time and space to heal.  They will forever and always have a place in my heart, that is how I work. I am still grateful for so much.  But I won't allow myself to be an afterthought or be crushed no matter how important they once were. 

I heart your heart. 

Company

 I just want company.  I don't want to do everything on my own.  This morning Mariska was going to get up and there is this crazy viral Christmas decoration that we were going to go get but she decided to stay on her phone.  I was going to go alone, but I do everything alone and I was excited that we were going to go together.  So, forget it.  I just am not going because I don't want to go alone.  I wanted to go together, I wanted to be excited.  

I never get to share my excited, my disappointed, my joy nothing I just have to do it on my own and that just isn't fun.  I don't want to do this life on my own anymore. I want company.  I want someone to go to the store and be excited about Christmas decorations, I want someone to call when something big happens, I want someone that can ask how I am and just be there if I need it.  I want those things, and I don't know how to get them.  It is just me and that gets old.  It has been like this my entire life but today; I want people.  I want someone to go get a tattoo with me.  I want someone to say do the crazy thing that you are thinking.  I want someone just to be with me, just to fucking care what is going on in my world.  I always do the same and I care and ask and make sure that hearts are happy.  But I am no one's person, and I want to be.

How does an adult almost 50-year-old woman find that? I am sitting here crying because I don't have that company and there isn't a thing that I can do. And today I would give anything just to have some company, some care.  Oh well I guess shit happens. I hate when I want things not made for me. I am not going to beg and plead.  Too many things to clean up today I just need to stay busy so that I don't have to think.  Support system yea that is funny, but why do I desperately have the need for one.  I have people in places for moments then they are gone and again I am left.  If there is a forever out there, I would really really like them in my life just to share me with, the little things the big things the things that make me ME.  My heart hurts, I don't understand why I have never found that.  And why it has never found me. 

More than sometimes in the Quiet

 

More than sometimes in the quiet, I am the saddest of sad.  I smile and say I am fine but under it all I am the saddest of the saddest that you could even imagine.  I get really frustrated because for the most part others don't have a clue.  Sometimes I think I am so transparent and think why don't know?  How can they not see but they don't.  Maybe it's because I smile, because it's a new day because I know my littles need me. More often than not there is a kind of sadness that I think just comes from living the life I have lived.  It comes from all the healing I have done and the healing I have yet to do. Maybe just that ever-present fear that in a split second the rug could be pulled out from under me all over again. 

In the quiet I feel that huge gaping hole to my core.  I haven't figured out the right words yet, that make it fall into place and make sense, it is just there.  Sometimes quiet, sometimes raging but always present.  It's such a lonely feeling, because it's just something that is.  I can remember going to the Dr once and telling him about the sad and asking if medicine would be helpful and he said Well we know where the sad is coming from so somehow medicine wasn't going to make it any better.  Those words have always stuck with me.  I have to admit I wanted a magic fix; I wanted something that was going to take all the pain away and make me happy.  There is no magic fix, there is no magic pill that is going to make me feel normal.  

I can tell you that the most Normal that I have ever felt was when I went to that Rave right before my father's case went to trial.  That was the most normal that I have ever felt, in my entire life.  I felt like I was present in the moment.  I wasn't for a second afraid, and that in itself was the freest that a person can feel.  I felt like my fear that I hold every second of every day just disappeared and that opened a new world for me.  Maybe this is just the sad of an in-between time. I have been able to heal that little 5-year-old part of me.  And I am working to heal that terrified, 13-year-old part that is scared of her own shadow.   

More than sometimes in the quiet the sadness is just more than heavy. And some days I feel it all and then some.  I think that it is just one of those days, when it feels extra heavy.  Tomorrow will be lighter tomorrow won't be so hard and maybe just maybe I can find sprinkles of happy remembering how far that I have come. I heart your heart.