My Art and Trauma

I was struggling in the shower this morning.  It's hard to explain, there are a lot of memories and sensations attached to things that I have been through and it makes a shower  very difficult sometimes.  Today was one of those days, I try to remember where I am that I am not 13 anymore, that I am safe all those good things.  And today I looked at my art that was on my wall and I was able to get out of it, the moment where I get stuck in the things that have happened. It made me smile for a second realizing that my art has saved me more times than I can count.

In my head there re so many awful evil things that I  have needed art to get them out. And I think growing up I was able to do that without saying a word and that is a part of what saved me.  I realize I must sound totally insane, but to me my art was always a life line. My art and the art of others was a way for me to get what happened to me outside of me , to make it through another day. 

For example I have always loved Kandinsky.  His art that often seems to have no rhyme or reason made perfect sense to me.  I have Kandinsky Composition number 6 in my bathroom and this morning that is what did it.  That is what brought me back to the land of the living. Like I see that work of art and think, there is this trauma, there is that one, there is a safety like I have so many things in my head, I see art and think this cluster of colors is this time, these circles are this thing.  I was able to do that my entire life.  I am sure that I would not be here if I had to keep them all in my head. I hope that ; that makes sense to people.

To this day, I am still like that. I have no clue how I am feeling but I can see a piece of art and think that is it and then the more I write the more of the feeling that comes out.  I guess just something that my brain did to put things in place, in some kind of order. Often I can't stand to see all the trauma but I can look at art and say that is it ! 

I see this picture and I think that is so what I need.  I get so tired that sometimes it feels like I can't walk.  So many times it feels like there is nothing left of me and I just need kindness and care.  I sometimes need it to the point, where  I worry if I will survive without it .

I think of little Callahan and wonder where she is,  she was always there we got through it all together.  I saw this picture and was like yes that;s it ! I feel like she was the strong one.  If she can survive all that happened why in the world do I still get so sad.  Then sometimes I see how strong that she is, how she made it through, and that she will never let anyone hurt her again, Ever.  It's safe to say that sometimes I so miss her,  its lonely. So for me there is so much emotion and feeling in ART that when my feelings are every which way and I am overwhelmed, I can put words to the picture that fit my heart.  It's sometimes crazy making , but sometimes such a relief.  And I need relief.  There are things in my life that I have yet to find words for and maybe someday, there will come a time when they all have words and aren't buried in the dark.  Maybe someday.  I am just grateful to have found something beautiful aspiring and a work of art that tells part of my story.

I heart your heart

Power of Attorney

My mothers last Major surgery, I found out that my brother was my mother's power of attorney.  There was a sadness a relief a response from me , that I didn't understand.  It bothered me more than I thought.  I have all this responsibility her living with me, She expects so much. I am expected to take care of many of her needs.  It's a lot more than I ever expected. When I asked her to move in with me,  she was mobile, was looking for a job.  So many things changed so fast.  Then it became Dr appointment after Dr.appointment.  Which led to ailment after new ailment,  and Yes I get more than tired of hearing about them all.  Her using Dr first names and then I was expected to know what in the world she is talking about. I don't want to know about every bodily function, every medicine every ache.  The attention that she craves is something that I will never understand. I move from far away from that as possible, while she says more more more .

For me, I am so much the opposite.  I can't even tell you the last time that I went to a DR for me.  That I had a check up.  I need to go for the growth that is in my lower back and haven't , because its probably nothing and I don't want to look like an idiot.  And I also don't want to pay for me to go, there are a lot of things that are much higher on the necessity list.  I don't take medicine, I don't want all that attention and worry . 

I feel like she made her choice for those big decisions then she needs to lean on him.  Like I get all the responsibility, and he wants to be the big hero.  I remember learning about it accidentally last summer with her first back surgery.  The silence in the room was unbelievable,  obviously something I wasn't supposed to hear.  Nothing like a knife through my heart, when I am the one that stays that is expected to take off work.  Then again,  With this surgery.  Only this time its blaring on the board for everyone to see.

I honestly almost cried when I saw it, and I am not sure why it hurts so much.  I think on one hand I am lucky that this whole Covid thing is going on so I didn't have to be there all the time, for that I am grateful.  There were snarky comments about not getting a turtle this time,  I don't know.  In the hour and twenty minutes that I was there I came close to walking out crying 3 times. This whole POA thing makes me want to go make sure she is OK but not spend every minute there.  I have to laugh because even the day of her Surgery, I called Chris to see how she was doing and he wasn't even at the hospital. I was more than angry, and there was also a part of me that was like she knows him and his track record and if that is what she wants that is fine.   I guess there is that undertone of Mattering.  Like i matter when I can do something but otherwise oh well.  I don't know.

I think the problem that i have is the responsibility that is on my shoulders, and that I never imagined would be placed on me in a million years.   I can't be the person she wants me to be, I can't hear about all her ailments, and body functions, and Dr appointments, I know that a lot of it ties back to growing up in a house with that with my father.  There is a part of me that grew up with that and I want no part of that now.  I think I am still trying to figure that all out, and just how angry that it makes me.  The more I push away from how I grew up , the more that she tries to bring it in.  She even wanted the responsibility to be on Vincent to take her to her Dr appointments,  I told her no to ask Chris.  I think its a hard situation no matter how I look at , and its really hard.  So he has Power of Attorney and I have all the daily decisions,  something is terrible wrong with this picture.

I worry that she is only 65, what is this going to be like when she gets to 70, 75?  Then what.  And I don't have any answers for that at all.  I know that there is a part of my heart that is sad, and another part that is grateful. I don't know, I truly have no clue.

I heart your heart

I had a good dream

Not very often do I wake up smiling because Of good dreams. Today was one of those days, I actually woke up to a good dream. I was respected and heard and made to feel important. Prince charming found me.  He was gentle sweet and kind. We were friends who just got closer and closer.  He smiled at my quirkiness, he looked at me and heard my words.  I wasn't a joke, My ideas were important and he encouraged them. There was that comfort-ability that I would love to have someday. Like I would always turn around and say no to the positive things, look away. When I turned away, when I wasn't sure he was kind and reassured me.  I so wish I didn't wake up.  Like I could lean into him and feel safe. Like there was a genuine laugh.I knew that no one was going to take anything away from me.  We were at some kind of cabin with other people but it felt like it was just the two of us.  I literally didn't want to wake up , this was a feeling that I put off thinking its not going to happen so why even wish.  Having this dream,  oh my heart.  Maybe someday someone will love me like this.  I can barely tell you most of it because it wasn't about the dream but about how he made me feel. The entire dream I felt like I mattered, that I was important.  I was seen and maybe someday, those things for me.  I just recently wrote how I don't believe in fairy tales anymore and I still don't but maybe there is someone special to care for this worn, heart of mine. More than anything I hope that someday he finds me.

I heart your heart

Another Layer

Yes, I think its time for another layer. I think its been a long time and that is why is feels so discombobulating.  I feel very raw and exposed this time and its not a good feeling. My heart wants to run wants to be taken care of wants to be acknowledged.  I feel like there are so many band aids to be taken off  to let the healing sink in, and let go of the things that aren't mine to carry. For so long I have just done what it takes to get through another day and I so want to live beyond that.  I do and its absolutely terrifying.   The other day I was yelling so much that my throat literally hurt.  Everything was a bid deal and nothing was in its place; NOTHING and my anxiety was thru the roof.  I cried when Vincent threw in a load of wash while I was trying to do mine.  I yelled when the dogs messed up the pillows on the couch. I have nothing left for nails on my fingers and they hurt.  I got more than frustrated when things weren't put away in the kitchen, so I just cried at the sink, I didn't know what else to do.    I know that when those  little things start to bother me that there are much bigger things to worry about.

The memories that I was fighting the other day I think was a realization,  seeing things so different. Seeing that I had trouble writing because somehow there is still so much that I blame myself for.  I hate that there are times when I just knew what he wanted.  I hate that I don't remember the threats sometimes,  I don't remember the words.  I just knew.  And I can not even put words to how much I hate that knowing.  I wish I never knew those things, I wish I never had to do those things with my father. I wish this was a memory that I didn't have.  I don't want to see things so clear. They yellow is so bright, the carpet on my feet, the nail on my knee, even the sun coming in the window such vivid memories. I find myself saying things like well I was older and I crawled on my own bed, that is so disturbing.  His evilness , he was so cruel,  I know its a new layer when once again I say how I just want to understand.  I want to understand why I didn't leave the room.  His back was out what was he going to do, Come get me ?  I was so afraid of him, terrified actually.  His eyes would get so small and he'd stare right thru me.  I was always doing something wrong, always getting in the way making him mad.  I wonder where I slept when he took over my room? I don't remember if his back was out the entire time she was gone,  I know there was no way I would sleep in their bed.  So many questions.  I am sure even that once I got sick in the bath room, I probably had to make him dinner and bring him whatever he might need.  And what about my brother I am sure that I had to take care of him too.  What a life. Be abused and yet again pretend that all was fine.  I find myself just wanting to drive and drive and sing until I have no voice left. Listen to my favorite songs that say the words that make the lonely less lonely because someone out there somewhere understands.  I want to let it all spill all over every wall every surface every square inch of space. I want to  feel clean, safe and peaceful for longer than a day or two.

Sometimes with each new piece of the puzzle I feel like with all I know and how far I have come; I have to start from the beginning.  Somehow each different situation , each different set of circumstances is a new excuse to continue carrying what was done.  I feel more than needy and I can promise you there is no one sticking around to check on this heart of mine. You know when I seriously even think about reaching out, it is pretty serious.  I feel like I am one of those people that could be out in the ocean drowning, and waving trying to get someone to help; only they just wave not realizing just how much that I need them. So yes.  This is the place that I am in.  It's a hard rough place and there are lots of tears and wanting so badly to understand. I want more than anything for the memories to loose their all encompassing terror.  I want to stop the pictures that play over and over and over and over. The fight kicks in and I can't see beyond a foot in front of me.   I wish I knew the things that kept me alive and breathing back then, I need that kind of strength .  Little Callahan has it, that thing that allowed her to keep breathing on the worst of days and it would be amazing if she was around, to help me thru this.   I keep thinking of the quote by Aundi Kolber :

And Here you are living Despite it all .  

Yes. That. 

I heart your heart .

Fighting Memories

Today was an unbelievably hard day. Like my memories are there all the time like a movie.  Sometimes they are worse than others, and often they are going on at the same time that I am trying to live my everyday life. Days like this I smile but it feels like the biggest lie I have ever told.  The sadness, utter shame is so intense. To show how I am truly feeling literally feels crushing, physically the hurt in my chest I don't know how to explain.  Today was a fight and I haven't had to fight the memories in what feels like a very long time.  It started with my mother and the rage that I felt was the kind that brings down buildings and shatters everything and anything that gets in the way.

My mother started it, and it hit such a nerve. I took Vincent to see my mom in the hospital, Mariska and i waited in the car since only one person can go in.  Then Vincent was Coming down to leave and she calls me.  I pick it up to make sure that she is ok.  The first thing that she starts talking about is her bed pan and bodily functions.  I hold the phone away from me in utter disbelief! Of all things why is this the thing that she is sharing.  She knows I don't want to know about her bodily functions,  to me that is just to much.  She doesn't care; she isn't totally all there yet. Lots of repeating herself. Lots of Poor me,  it is just things that add more stress to an already stressful situation.  Then Vincent calls and was like where are you, I kind of gave him the run down and I ended up yelling at him.  I apologized and told him why; that I didn't mean to I just got off the phone with Granny and all she talked about was her bed pan.  We all laughed in the car, it was quite funny. Such a needed relief for me. I told them that even when I am old , there is just certain information that I just won't share with them.  To me that just crosses way to many boundaries. As the afternoon went on, my heart was heavy and I kept playing the conversation in my head and was getting angrier and angrier.  And then the tears and then the realization why I was so upset why,  the panic began to rise from the smallest fiber in my being and began to take over.

The last time that I remember any abuse from my father, ans it had to do with his back being out and there being a urinal.  My heart felt like it was in a vise and the memory was all too real. I found myself fighting the things I know to be true and still that blame and that shame crept in and I wanted nothing more than to call someone and tell me that everything was going to be all right.  Of coarse there is no one, so I wrote for a while then worked in my art journals and the tears came again .  So many things about her back surgeries, and the medicines that she is on and being spaced out with too much medicine are all such reminders of growing up  in my house, so many reminders and today the memories were like a flood and there was no getting away.

I can still see my yellow room, my bed frame that was yellow, My little nightstand that the knob had fallen off and there was just a nail in its place, also yellow.  There was that little 6 inch TV that you could never get a single channel to come in on. My mom was out of town, I think she went to Florida with her mom.  Which in turn my brother and I were left at home with the beast.  His back went out.  Since they had a water bed, he ended up taking over my room. My space that was mine where dog posters covered the wall,  and that wicker shelf in the corner that was full of my stuffed animals.  All the special ones that I used to talk to and tell them it as ok when he came in my room,  that I would keep them safe and that he would be done soon.  I remember those conversations with my stuffed animals,  telling them that they would be safe.  How fucking sick is that.  No one was there to ever keep me safe but I was going to do everything to let even my inanimate stuffed animals know we would be ok.

He wasn't getting out of bed for anything even to go to the bathroom.  He had a urinal by the bed and had used he.  He called both my brother and I laughing wanting us to clean it out and bring it back to him.  We laughed at first thinking he wasn't serious.  Soon enough we knew how serious that he was.  My brother disappeared, he wanted no part of what might happen.  So I was left in my own room with the monster.  I laughed telling him that I couldn't. His Beatty eyes, he was serious and expected me to clean it out.  I guess maybe I can say that I won because I don't remember having to having to clean it out.  Not sure what happened to that urinal but I never touched it,  though it might have been easier if I did.  I refused and he turned angry and wanted oral sex.

Always repairing the pieces

I wish that I remembered words, or a threat something anything and I just don't.  I was older,  he was flat on his back what was he going to do miraculously get up and make me.  I don't remember any words, not specifically; it was just an understood. It was always that look, I knew what was expected. I remember the look on his face, his beety eyes and I remember knowing exactly what he wanted me to do, in my soul I knew and I wish that I could understand that.  But I don't.  My brother was gone. My father wanted me to make him happy.  So I went by the foot of my bed and I remember scrapping my knee on that stupid nail from my nightstand.  It was a good cut and I was worried about getting blood on my comforter. He didn't care I had a job to do. So I climbed on my bed and made him happy.  There are only bits and pieces that I remember.  For me this; making him happy was always worse than the rapes,  somehow it was more personal and made me feel so very dirty.  I was so ashamed that I knew what he wanted, and even more ashamed that I knew how.  Even more ashamed that I was the one who climbed on my own bed to do it.  I never did it right and would often make him more than angry.  I feel like as violent as the rapes sometimes were, this was worse.  That fear of not being able to breathe was real and he didn't care.  No matter the cost he was going to get what he wanted.  I see it so clear as clear as my computer in front of me.  This was one of the last times, I remember anything big happening, there were little things but this one sticks out as one of the last things.  I was getting older, I was refusing more and there was the inconvenience of a period and him afraid I would get pregnant.  I would always choose rape over making him happy, like that was a choice I should have had to make.  I was just parts to him.  I was just something that meant nothing.

I remember my mom coming home from that trip and brought me a jean jacket.  I tried hard to be excited, but all I really wanted was to scream at her and tell her never to leave me with him again.  I wanted to scream and tell her how my week was while she was getting a tan on the beach.There was a different level to his cruelty when she wasn't around. That entire time that she was gone made for a very hard week for me. I can remember her saying how she talked to the DR and asked him if she should come home, because of his back.  The Dr basically told her that he was fine and to stay. And she was quite proud of herself for doing that, because he was just wanting her to come home early.  My heart, is just so heavy.  A little girl knowing what  "making him happy" meant.  That was literally a soul murder no one cared. Bits and pieces have died over the years, this was yet another over-sized piece.  He was done and I get pushed off the bed, my own bed. I left getting sick just making it to the restroom.  He would always threaten that I better not get sick, from the time I was 4 or 5 that was a threat that I clearly heard words for.  What a fucking monster.

Today this feels like quicksand, I am fighting my way and sinking. I want to be told that everything is going to be OK, that I am going to make it.  As a loner I always make it, sometimes someone else having that same belief in you means the world. Sometimes a person like me just needs to hear it. The heaviness of a life like this.  It's one of those things meant for journal pages that will never be seen.  Blog's that are nothing but a bleeding of my heart.  Its the storm outside that feels like home, because the words aren't right yet they are all that I have.  Someday, Someday it's my wish that someone can be there to have and to hold this hurt heart and remind me I am not the awful that I feel. Or the pain will lesson and I will rise from the depths of this pain and suffering and find my very own happy.  Today neither of those options feels very likely.

I heart your heart

Wide open wound

Today is the longest day of the year.  And tomorrow is fathers day.  Seems to me like both of those things should go together.   They don't make fathers day cards for people like me, or a day. An honest day for the things that aren't pretty or right.  I hate seeing all the commercials the smiling tender kind gentle dads all so excited to see their kids. Arms wide open making them feel safe and sound. That look in their eye that their kids are the most precious things in the world.  I have seen that look in others, just never had it from my own dad.  I have had that look a few times in my life from good men, from true gentle real men and it was truly one of the things that I will never forget.  But it never came from my own father.    Those commercials are sickening for me someone who has no idea what that feels like, to be so unconditionally loved; a little girl who has never been looked at as anything precious and special.

I spend fathers day like any other day,  only with  a different sting of sad. No special family dinners. No remembrance of all the ways I was cared for and supported! Not even a mention of someone checking on me.  There are a few special people that I reach out to thanking them for being a good dad; for showing me what a good man is does and sounds like. Those people I treasure.

There is a wound there, just that I never had a good dad.  I never got to experience the things of the commercials that I see. I got a father who was selfish and unkind.  I am sure this wound is one that doesn't ever go away, and some days its just worse than others. Some days just feel like the wound is being poked and prodded and you want nothing more than just forgetting. Its a numbness; feeling everything and nothing there isn't even any energy for the hate and disgust.  Its a sense of nothingness, a loss so big and so deep that there are no words for.

Anger at it all

There are so many things in my head. I hope you will bare with me and how this time in history is so affecting my heart and soul.  There are so many emotions and feelings that I worry if I let them out glass will shatter, pictures will fall and windows will crack.  I literally want to scream at the world.  I want to stand outside scream at the top of my lungs until I feel better, until the world is a safe place for everyone. I can promise that it would not be a little short scream.  My scream would be the things of nightmares, the things of horror movies.  The kind of scream that stays in your head even after the movie is over.  That is the kind of angry that I am.  Right now it isn't even about one thing, its a lot of things that have been building.  Its everything and nothing all at the same time. Its about the state of the world, the pain and hurt that can not be explained.  The anger is about my son that casually says he has been called the N word, multiple times .  Its about the state of the world where evilness and cruelty are nothing out of the ordinary.  This anger is blinding.  I hate the part of my story that affects my children.  I am angry  that my son worries about putting his permit in his pocket; fearing that if he was stopped and reached for it he could be shot.  My 16 year old son, that has the world in front of him worries about such things; that is heartbreaking. There are so many things going on in the world and I fear what the future holds.  I wonder what its going to take for things to change, for all the awfulness to stop.  There is so much violence and hatred and people hurting each other and its all so very sad.  Its a crazy time in this world. As someone who feels things so deeply, its a time, that cuts to my core.

Its only recently that I have acknowledged that my children are biracial. That sounds so strange, but that was a part of them I didn't want to see or acknowledge.   The situation that I was in and how thy were conceived was something I tucked neatly away, not to be acknowledged . That part didn't matter, what did matter was that I was going to be a mom and they were going to be mine . I didn't want to think about the violence of such a monster, the other half of them.  Why would I acknowledge that part when I had a future to enjoy with MY precious children. I say that and there is a part of me that breaks. I would do anything for a fairy godmother to drop them in my womb and be their mom. A part breaks because as much as I would like to say that; yes they are all mine, there is another part of them.  They are just my children and have been from the moment that I found out I was pregnant.  They were always mine and i was so glad that I was going to be their mom. Above all else they were my sweet babies, I was over the moon I was going to be a mom. The things that used to work when they were small about not having a dad ;  that mom just dropped two eggs, that the stork delivered them all those little things somehow were a relief to my heart, that made their story everything perfect as babies are meant to be.  I knew they weren't the total truth, but the little stories we told that made us laugh were so much easier than the truth. The truth hurt , the truth was unimaginable . The things that others said when I found out that I was pregnant.  My brother made a comment about them having N lips. My mother made a comment about how they were going to look like little gorillas.  I don't even know if they had a clue the impact that their words made and how it was literally like a knife through my heart.  These were my precious children, how dare they say things like that.  When they were under a year old I was asked, "Are they yours ?" I was asked oh what are they mixed with ?  I was asked did you have invetro ?  I was even asked once if they were foster children! WTF ? The things that I was asked by complete strangers was unimaginable.  I smiled and ignored, giving all my energy to my beautiful amazing children that were my reason for living, that were my world.  Inside my heart was broken. I carried another part of the story, that I never shared or acknowledged for the most part.   

The time is coming to give them a complete story; their story and I can not express in any kind of words what that means or just how hard that it is. I have given them a piece or two, what I thought that their heart could handle at the time.  The time is coming when they need a complete story, because we all want to know where we came from.  I do believe that all of this racial inequality and violence in the world, things are blaring and there is no more hiding.  For some time now Vincent is identifying with the other half of who he is.  I can tell you that I have fought that tooth and nail; and its a battle that I am loosing.  I wanted to keep him safe and protected from that part of his story. I fought when he wanted to wear a dew rag for his hair. I fought when he wanted a haircut that let me be real; that was for black people. I think my heart was crushed each time, he identified with that part of himself, with a part that created him.  I was upset for no other reason then I could not understand why he would want to identify with a part of himself that was so hurtful to me.  It is a struggle; such a struggle that I never imagined.  As we were sitting in DPS getting his permit and we were filling out the paperwork and for race I check white.  He was like what are you doing let me see the choices. And he put his arm next to mine and was like look do I look white ? Talk about crushing, but I am your mom I am the one who has sacrificed, who has worked so hard to make sure that you have all the good things in life. Until that moment I am not sure I was even able to see that there is another part of them, or that they crave to know all the parts of them not just me. I am the one who sat in the department of human services for food stamps when they were a few says old and had a pen thrown at me across the desk because I didn't have any father information so they could go after child support. I sat there as tears rolled down my cheeks, I never said a word that I was raped.  They were much older before I ever said a word to anyone.  I could list 199 things that I gave up that I believe to be true for him and his heart but the truth is he isn't all of me. All that I gave up I would do again a thousand times to be their mom.  There is another side another piece of him that he needs room to explore.  And that other part just happens to be African American.  I am still trying to figure out what that means for me, for my children; because for me it has nothing to do with the color of his fathers skin. For me it is the fact that I am not enough.  I want to be enough, I want to have all the answers and our life didn't come with any easy answers, or the happy ever after. The issue that I have is that this man, his father took things that were not his to take.  I feel like Vincent, Mariska  and I are stuck in the middle.  On the left side there is this act of violence, that was more than awful, that forever changed me but on the other side of that I got the mot precious gift. There is the three of us, our own happy little family of three. Then there is the part of my children, their heritage their genes that they want to understand and know.  And I am going to have to intertwine those things somehow someway and give Vincent the answers that I know he longs for and craves. 

So the anger that is in my bones is  fierce and so deep in my soul, its truly an inferno. Anger at the situation, anger at the things that my son has to deal with.  Anger that as a world people are not safe in their skin. The cards that we have been dealt just are, they are just raw and blaring right now and its a hard place to be.    I am sad for the parts that we can't control. I am sad for the part of my story that is part of my children's story.  I am a white women who doesn't have to worry about a lot of things and my son is MY son who has to worry about so much.  I think for this time I need to sit with this broken heart.  I need to fill in some of these pieces.  I need to have the strength and courage to fill in those pieces for my children.  Such a time of unrest that I hope will lead to change,  justice and more compassion and understanding for each other, as we all figure out our stories in this world. 

For my children.I see you.

I heart your heart. 

Religion Damage

I heard this phrase the other day while listening to an interview, and I was like yes ! THIS.  In so many ways these two words say everything.  The damage that church and religion have done is insurmountable, and have created wounds so deep that I want nothing to do religion, or church.  I have reached out, reached out, and gotten nothing. I have tried because I wanted to fit in, because I wanted to make it work.  In all cases I was the one that was left with no guidance no support each and every time and my heart was broken.  They say ask  God for what you need, they say pray and good things happen. Those are things that have not worked for me. I prayed from the time I was 5 and nothing happened. I prayed to die so that no more evil things could be done to me.  I tried to be a part of a church but I asked too many questions. I need answers, real answers that are honest.  I am not expecting perfect, I am expecting real and true and often ugly answers all those things would be better then any lie.  People talk about faith and no I don't understand it.  I can not believe in something that has let such terrible things happen to me.  I will not believe in something that has shown me nothing kind, loving and supportive. The people that have treated me the worst, were people that were all about church and were very vocal about their belief in God.  I get more than Angry,  you can not treat people the way that I have been treated and then go to church pretending to be something that you are not.  People that talk about god and church and the ways that we are supposed to treat people. Those are the same people that have pushed me to the side out of sight out of mind. Those are the same people that have stepped all over my heart and never once looked back. Those are the same people that pretended to be one way and while I was shown a different side.  I have been forgotten way to many times.  I have eaten in parks in my car unable to go home,  and not one person asked how I was.  I have asked for helped and been shut down. I have cried and tried to understand and was met with cold distance.  I am learning that its ok that I don't fit in with those people. There are still days that it hurts but I am learning.

I am a spiritual person.  I believe in the clouds and the trees and the birds. Those are the things that have been there for me.  Those are the things that have kept me alive.  I remember when I moved a lady was helping me pack and she said wow you have a lot of Buddha's.  I said yes, they are peaceful and kind. I told her that when I had nothing and no one that it was a support for me. I got the side eye,  and she didn't care.  I get strength from nature around me, from being a good person who is real and true.

I once asked if the Dalai Llama was going to hell.  I basically got a yes if he didn't believe in God.  That didn't sit well with me, I argued, that a man who is called the happy laugher who wants nothing more than peace is going to hell,  that is something I can not get my head around. Again I asked if my father was going to get into heaven, and there was lots of excuses and talk about forgiveness and again I got a yes.  Without hesitation or second thoughts, if heaven was a place that he was going to be then I wanted nothing to do with it.  They tried to talk me out of that thought,  saying that things were different,  there wasn't the same burdens that were here on earth.  I said no, if someone can do all those evil things and go to heaven,  those are not things that I want to believe in.

I grew up in a church where I was afraid.  I was exposed to things that were not explained, and I was even laughed at for being afraid.  I grew up seeing the people who raped me receive communion.  I grew up seeing so much hurt and hypocrisy that I wanted nothing to do with such things. I saw people who pretended to be this holy people and then I saw how they treated others.  I say people saying words and then doing the opposite.  This was not something that I ever want to be a part of.

My parents were a part of I guess the charismatic movement as a little girl , I was terrified. Speaking in tongues praying over people , people screaming and crying those things are terrifying to a child, not once was I thought about or cared for.   For so long I tried to fit into that world, with those people .  I tried with all that I am to fit in and understand but once again seeing peoples words and actions not match, I just would not even try anymore.   I was so vulnerable and true and not one person was able to stick around, hear my fears and walk with me.  I could give you a list of people I reached out to and I was let down by every single one of them.  And for all of those people I will never reach out again.  I am different.  I do not go with the flo, I don't believe because you say I should or you want me too.

I am all crazy me and I believe in kindness, I believe in whales and birds and trees swaying in the breeze. I believe in the stars and the sun rise and the sunsets.  Those are the things that make me feel alive and real and I will not let anyone ever shame me or make me feel guilty for not believing the way that they do.  I believe that its a choice  and I don't care what or how you believe I want you to be a good human.  Do kind things because its the right thing to do.  Do right things for the mere fact that they are right.  I will never look at you any less for what you do or don't believe just be you, all of who you are, be real and there is nothing better.

Yes, the word Religion has damaged me in this life, my heart was crushed by that small word and I will never let that word make me feel small and less than ever again. As for God I don't know, there are still many questions to be asked and i have yet to find the person strong enough to answer those questions.

I heart your heart

Secrets are such burdens

I grew up in a house of secrets and it was terrible awful.  I knew there were secrets that I was supposed to keep in my little heart and never ever tell another living soul.  That is just the way that it was . We were a house full of secret keepers and the burden of that was more than any little girl should carry.  As I have grown up and healed and learned I am not a secret keeper anymore.  I learned that keeping secrets only makes a person feel let out and damaged. Keeping secrets causes more damage then they are worth.  There were no secrets with my children and I and that was something that I worked for and was proud of.

The problem for me now, is that I am no longer a secret keeper.  I have worked more than hard to do things different and make things better for my kids. When it was the three of us, we were open and we talked about all things good and bad.  As a family we didn't have any secrets.  Living with my mother I have realized that she is still a secret keeper and that is like a knife through my heart. I have worked so hard breaking all the secrets that I was brought up with.  I have fought my way to truth and openness and it feels like she smashes that into a million pieces.  I am desperately trying to figure out what to do, and how to handle it and I just don't know.  She brings my son in and there are lots of secrets that don't need to be.  Oh so many secrets, and each time that I tell her that it isn't ok things get worse.  She doesn't see a problem in being a secret keeper, she is a pro and the dysfunction that creates weighs more than heavy on my heart.  I do not trust her. I do not trust her words or her actions and living like that, in such chaos is so very hard.  There is a part of me that feels very betrayed by her.  Another part feels overwhelmed, because she destroys in seconds what has taken me years to build.  So much whispering and so many secrets in my own house and I don't have words for how helpless that it makes me feel.  I have tried to talk to her and she just doesn't care, she literally doesn't see a problem with it.  So we have one that has fought with everything to fight being a secret keeper, and we have another is who is quite comfortable with whispering and secrets.  There are no easy answers, I don't see a way around it.  I don't see it getting any better . What I want is for her to understand that the things that she does and the divide that she creates just isn't OK in my house.

Someday. Someway.

I heart your heart

My Wish today

There have been so many tears this morning. The kind that just flow, that come from that place of such sadness where there aren't any words.  They are the tears of the losses and the things that I can't get back.  The tears of the questions that I can't answer and how that breaks my heart.  Today is one of those days I wish that I was loved. I wish I could say No, today I am not ok I just need you to be with me today.  Just be, let me cry hold my hand bring me some tea. Make me laugh, watch my favorite movie. Ask me what it is that I need today.  In theory in my heart that is the wish but in reality I have to dry the tears clean the kitchen and think of an excuse yet again something must have gotten in my eye.  Some days are just heavy, the weight of the life that I have lived is just to much to bear today.  I don't know what today will hold, I am going to try and be gentle with myself but that isn't a strong suit of mine.  There is that need to be cared for , that I so strongly want.  Just someone who loved with no strings attached someone who I know will stay without fail.  So today is not my best day.  Today I wish that my family is kind, that there is no drama.  I hope that my heart can just sit and let things be.  On days like this we can't save the world because our own heart is breaking.  Just one of those days, I would like to work in my journal have my music on and create a space for all the hurt the pain that is streaming down my face but I will have to settle for fixing things, making sure they are in their space.  So it is a day and I wish with every wish that someday, there can be an answer to the wish of all wishes to be seen and cared for above all else.

That is my wish. Truly

I heart your heart

No One Wants an Incomplete Story.

Such mixed feelings, that I wish I could get my head around.  I want this to be easier, I wish for answers with every breathe I have in my lungs. I worry for my children's heart.  I worry for my own. With all that I am I wish that we had one of those fairy tale type stories, but we do not.  There is no rule book; no just right answers to make our story make sense. I am finding that I do want answers, I want that magic word or phrase that is going to make this easier, make it something different other than what it was.  I want there to be something magical that can guarantee that my children will be OK, and they will come out of this complete and whole and as perfect as they were meant to be, as they have always been to me. I want there to be a guarantee that I will be strong enough to handle their fears, questions, and concerns.

I think of normal families where there is a mom and a dad . They have these love stories, and special moments to share about when they found each other , when they found out that they were going to be parents.  I think somewhere in my mind I always dreamed of those perfect moments, where I was cared for and loved, and got to celebrate learning that I was going to be a mom. My story doesn't look like that.  Not even close. For me the morning sickness started right away and I knew within 2 weeks.  I was alone with my dog and cried , laying with him on the floor of my room when I found out.  There were no happy celebrations, no reveal party or celebration of their little lives.  For me there was no celebration,  and that made me so very sad.  As soon as I knew, I never took better care of myself, never wanted anything more. Never, ever.People questioned and made assumptions never once offering a kind hand or word.

My story is  very different, and I  want  to feel like my story is just as important and meaningful as everyone else's.  My story is different; and I don't want to feel like my story is less important; it is mine. My story gave me my most amazing children and for that I will forever be grateful. I want to give my children, a complete story. That thought is also terrifying.  As much as I want to think that they are mine and like somehow they were immaculately conceived, that wasn't the case.  For a long time, I lived in that world, because it was safe. Somehow it was so easy when they were little and would say my mom just dropped two eggs. If it were only that simple, and the story only involved the the three of us.  It was easier to comprehend for me somehow easier to get my head around.  I would not have done my job as their mom if I give them an incomplete story, one where they would have to fill in the missing pieces.  I don't want for them to be searching for those missing pieces all their life, I  want them to know and understand the truth with no assumptions.  I want to be open and be able to answer their questions as they come, I never want them to be afraid to ask.  I want them to know that I am here; ALWAYS ALWAYS with an open heart and will answer any question that they might have, the best that I can.  I hope that they always know that my heart came alive when I became their mom, that is something they need to know above all else.  That is the most important part , that they were all that mattered.  I was hurt, I was not listened to;  I would do it all again just to be their mom.

My job now is to figure out some of those pieces for myself so I can be prepared when they ask those hard questions.

I heart your heart

To Be Seen

I am trying to find the right words for people to understand the cost of being seen, of what it feels to be in my own skin.  Being seen, is something that I  avoid at any cost. NO movement no attention , is something that is in my bones that I am sure was one of the first things that I learned in life. Don't look pretty, don't wear make up .  Always wear pants because that makes it more difficult for people to get to you.  Don't be seen don't make a noise, in my house it was kind of a privilege just to breathe. Stop and think what that means to a little one?? A little girl of 5 ?Most little ones crave attention, most little ones make noise because that is what little ones do as they make their way in the world. I think of that little kid repeatedly calling their parents, mom mom mom mom mom a million times a day but that is something that I never did. I never called out when I was scared, when I needed help or if i had something to share.  I mean the monster lived in my house who was going to save me? Who was going to help me take care of my little heart ?? There was no one. I was never allowed to make my way; find where it was that I belonged in the world.  I was never good for anything, I never felt like I was important and I never had a place where I could just be.  I had no place in school, I was the kid always looking in and not really belonging.  I didn't belong in my own family.  Friends was something that other people had, I was mostly a loner,  there was always that feeling that I just was in the way. I was a little girl to be seen, smile and do what I was told; Without making any problems for anyone, this was to be done at any cost to my little heart.  I never got to be a little girl that believed in unicorns and prince charming. I never got to be that little girl with out a care in the world. I never had the chance to believe the world was mine and that I could do anything.  My world was a cruel place where I was on my own, there wasn't support and encouragement. There were no heroes that were coming to save me. I watched TV hoping that maybe one of those heroes would come and make everything OK.  I can remember watching the incredible hulk thinking wow if he came to my city and saw me, he would notice and take me away.  I would watch wonder woman thinking if I could just spin fast enough and have that power, I would be able to get the bad guy and be beautiful again.  I can remember watching highway to heaven and thinking if they could just see me they would help and I could find my happy.  So clearly I remember those thoughts, wanting these fictional characters to swoop in and save me from my house on Rearn Dr. Someone anyone that might see me as a little girl and want to help. As I grew older being seen was a given and so much harder to avoid. As I matured , I hated so much being a girl.  There was no way that my chest wasn't noticed, and I hated it.  I so hated being a girl, we had terrible jobs to do that made me feel so foreign, so different.   I knew that I had to do things that other girls would never understand. I took my body maturing as a sign that I was doing something wrong, somehow inviting touching and hurting. The attention that my body got was my fault, I thought make yourself even uglier so no one will want you.  Everything that happened was my fault if I didn't have a chest they wouldn't have touched me. If I just wasn't a girl, they would not have hurt me. I hated being mature, I hated the body that I was in and the parts and pieces more than I can put it into words. 

Today I am struggling with  wanting to be in my own skin and trying to figure out what that means for me. Sometimes even the most gentle touch hurts, it physically hurts and its something I struggle to explain. The smallest of touches sometimes makes me want to curl up in a ball, sometimes  even makes me want to scream and run like I have never run before. Sometimes the smallest of touches feels like a 10,000 pound boulder. Sometimes the weight of a touch is beyond any words that I might have.  I dream of just being in my skin and feeling comfortable and safe and what that might feel like.  I dream of not feeling hands, and reliving memories where my body was used and I meant nothing. I was literally the means to an end, no matter the cost. I dream of understanding times when my body will have a feeling and I have no clue what it is or why I am having it. The fear that often comes from those feelings is so intense and beyond my understanding.  There are times my back or  hip will hurt with no reason,  but I get this sinking feeling and feel frustrated and that sadness appears from nowhere and I don't have any words. There are times I wake up and my legs are asleep. I literally can not feel them.  There are times I wake up and can still feel their weight holding me down.  Their are times that I gasp remembering those times I couldn't breathe.  There are times even sitting in a hot bath,  its the water temperature and literally, I can feel myself going far away as the blackness closes in.  Sometimes I am able to realize it and move, which gets me out of the blackness. Other times the darkness takes over and I end up with very cold water.   I learned oh so early, that being in my skin was terrifying and I found a way to go on mostly without being aware of my body. I had to after a night of rapes, I still had to get up and go to school the next day. I survived all the things that were done, all the times of evilness even when I wasn't sure that I would.  When my body hurt and the tears wouldn't stop.  When my body was touched and I flew far away. My skin is embarrassing and gross.  My body was never something private and sacred. It was to be used, my body was made to do adult things from my earliest memories that made me so much less than all the other little innocent girls that I would see.  There were times on the playground, I would see girls being comfortable in their skin, I can't even explain how I knew but they were not embarrassed about who they were and that was baffling to me.  When people were unaware of what was around them, I would be confused; I was never afforded that luxury.  When people would dance and laugh without a care in the world, those were things I never understood.  I feel that there were times when I was seen and no one stepped up anyway and I always took that to mean I was of no value and had no worth.  If I was worthy of love and good things surely someone would have done the right thing.  Only those people were never people in my life as a little.  It would be well into adulthood before anyone choose to stay and help my little soul.

There have been times I thought being seen was OK and I have reached out only to continue drowning. I learned fast its better to live with things than reach out. Either I was invalidated, told I was taking to much time, told I was overreacting or making a big deal out of nothing. Told that the only answer for me was church and religion.  None of those are things were the problem or a solution that would have helped this heart of mine.I wish that there was a way to explain that when a person reaches out there is a reason.  I would never reach out if I knew if was something I could handle on my own.  For most of my life I can tell you, I handled everything !   I did it all, so the times that I did reach out for fear that I was unable to tread water anymore and those people looked the other way,  those times change a person and create a wound so deep that there is no recovery.  I have a few of those wounds and they will never ever go away.  I am one of the lucky ones that even with all those that looked away and left me drowning;I never stopped reaching out and have found a few that have refused to look the other way.  As grateful as I am for those people there are still times I think, I am just too much. If they walk away, I understand;  It was my fault, I was just too much.  I was too much I said too much,  my story was too much, my pain was too much my suffering was too much. I was to much of this or that and I made them go away.

Oh Yes I have been seen, I have been stared at and laughed at. There have been more onlookers in my life that I can put a name too.  I have been brutally broken and people have looked the other way.  I have been brave and taken a stand and people have looked the other way. I have suffered greatly by those that have seen and instead of doing the hard thing blamed and ridiculed a child.  The things that have been said to me, that often still repeat in my head, are things that I would not wish on anyone.  The things like I just wanted attention, who would want to do that to me,  I must be lying we should get a pregnancy test.  Questions were asked with not one caring response. Counselors asked questions about the number of assailants; I answered the question 5 then was offered no support, no reassurance.  Questions were asked about the amount of time they were hurting me with a giggle,  no comfort was offered.  Nights when the pain was so intense that I turned a tissue into nothing, yet again no comfort was given and I felt like the smallest speck of dirt under her shoe. So you see I have been seen my entire life and always left to pick up those pieces alone.  I think that being gang raped added another level to my fear of being seen. I was the one that danced in front of others; in front of the entire gym. Therefore being seen and Don coming to my house was something I invited, I put my self out there.  When someone can stand there and watch what is happening then join there is a different level of pain and humiliation.  There is a level of embarrassment that I have yet to understand and talk about.  When someone is degrading you at a core level and someone can look directly into your eyes with nothing, a part of a person dies.  I think there are parts of me that have died.  There is a level of disgust that during that day, there were times that were so unimaginable that I can not tell you who did what to me. it was the same on Aug 22 2003.  I went so far away there was not a feeling bone in my body.  I went to a place that was dark, cold and far far away.  I feel like the more questions that were asked, the more I was seen the more that I was alone. Being seen is an invitation somewhere in my mind  to be hurt and that is the last thing that I ever want in this world.

This is just the beginning trying to understanding :being in my own skin, being seen  and just how terrifying that is for my heart. It's terrifying even focusing on my breathing. Something that is so life giving that is so unimaginable in many places in my head.  Being aware of each breathe that I take there is a sense of being seen that is horrifying .  I believe that there were times I was aware for mere survival and that was the thing that kept me focused.  Kind of like one foot in front of the other I was reminded one breathe now another now another. Once there was the fan, I kept repeating their names over and over thinking each time would be their last.  I am so far away from my arms, my legs my back my belly, my arms, every part of me . I feel like this shell is beyond damaged, even sometimes beyond repair.  I am so far from all of my parts sometimes I wonder how I manage.   I can write an entire list of things that bring darkness to my mind when all things stopped for me .  Seeing a red van, laying on my back, having someone touch my neck or my hips.  I panic when I am unable to get through or am restrained in any way.  If there are 5 men I think about what must be done to escape and I shut off going on auto pilot.  There are times a shower is a time machine and I back at 13 too terrified to move.  Men with no shirts.  And the list goes on sometimes there are things, images, feelings and even smells and I freeze and I don't even have a clue why.  There are mornings that I wake up and my skin feels dirty and touched and no matter what I do there is no way to shake that feeling.  Only time, only in time I am able to come back to the land of the here and now.  So much that is attached to being seen.  So much that is attached to the skin that I live in.  I dream of the day when I can stand in my skin comfortable, proud and safe without that fear of being seen and taken advantage of.

That is what I am working towards. Someday. Someday. Someday.

I heart your heart.

I Don't believe in Fairy Tales anymore

I may be a little bitter even a little jealous, of those that have pretty stories.The ones with people who grow up with more love and support than they could ever need. The ones who have never struggled with money or gone without.  The ones who can't understand what its like to get things thrown at them because you don't have the information that they want. When they are not told well she should have kept her legs together coming from a pastor when he knew I was struggling.  Those are things that a lot of people have never had to deal with or understand and for that I am grateful.  But the other side is that they don't even try to understand the other side of the coin.When those in the pretty story find the love of their life early and excitedly share that their family is growing and its going to be a boy. There is a part of my heart that is more than happy for them, because they are living the fairy tale . They are living the dream of the things I once thought I would have.  There is also another part that wants to scream; really life doesn't happen like this very often.  I saw just a story on Facebook of one of those pretty stories and I have to tell you my heart sank a little, and a little more and a little more.  There is the dotting dad, the one that she can go to no matter what. Hoe he looked at her in the pictures, brought tears to my eyes, I have never known such a look. The mom that was there and available for life cares and questions. There were the older and younger brothers that watched out for her.  That part of my heart that missed all of those things that gets more than sad, felt crushed.  I feel like there are so many normal life things that so many take for granted that I have never in my life gotten to experience.  I once knew a person who always told me fairy tales aren't real and I disagreed until I had no breathe left.  I was going to keep my belief in fairy tales alive.  I always knew that my fairy tale looked different.  I never wanted the traditional fairy tale  but today at 45; I no longer believe in fairy tales of any kind at all.  There are some things in this life that just are not meant for me.   Today there is a longing that I have not had the kind of life that this girl has had. Don't get me wrong, I am happy for her ; just sad for me.

There is a sad that never once did my father look at me and think wow that is my precious daughter.  Not once was he there when I was afraid or hurt or needed someone to care for my heart.  He was the cause of the hurt and I felt worthless, dirty and like I was something that made him mad and got in the way.  I had a mom under his control,  and I always knew that he came first.  I knew that she was delicate and I had to care for her feelings. I was always worried about her and was unable to share the pieces of my heart that needed her the most.  I had a brother but really we lived in very different worlds. He had friends, was social and wasn't home often. He has a life outside of our crazy hell-like home.  I often felt more like his mom than a sister and that was hard. All those things that they did with church, I was the one left to take care of others and watch my brother and be the little homemaker taking care of everyone's needs.

Today I can say with out a doubt that I don't believe in fairy tales any more.  There is no happily ever after, there is no beautiful ending.  I believe that I will keep healing moving forward but I know there is not that one perfect place or situation for me.  Having my mother live with me is more than difficult and no one checks in to make sure that I am OK.  The toll that this takes on me is not measurable with words.  As hard as I have worked for my own family, to get away from how I was brought up she brings much of that into my house today and its so very difficult. 

I even tried to re-frame happily ever after, mine wasn't ever a white horse and prince charming.  My happily ever after was a safe place that was all mine where I was loved unconditionally and could be the person that I am.  The quote that comes to mind is that I have this happy personality and a sad soul. Yes, that so everyone assumes that I am fine, everything is ok, only often I am drowning.  When I am not drowning I am trying to regain my breathe, my sense of myself before once again going under the water.  So for fairy tales, no those are things that are not meant for me.  I keep moving forward healing my heart, I feel like with my great helper I am learning new things all the time and am so grateful, he helps me keep my head above water.  Someday I will sit on the porch in a swing, no longer worrying about drowning and think wow look how far that I have come even with out happily ever after.


I heart your heart.