My life is a Roller Coaster

 I do believe that my life could be compared to the biggest most wild roller coaster that you never knew existed. Things go ok then crash they get better then crash harder.  Then things improve but I am still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I hope that someday, I can find just a happy medium without the extremes.   Tonight, I don't want to be alone and there is no one to call, no place to take a break, there is nothing but alone. What does a person like me do.  It's almost time to get Mariska at work and I can't wait for her to be home.  I have to smile and find out about her day. I have to be there for her. I think that maybe I just want that for me.  I want someone to be glad that I am home and happy to see me.  I want to cry and say no I am not ok today can you just sit with me. My heart is just so tired.  The entire car thing is so very stressful, I worry about so much.  Did I do the right thing.  Are my payments too much.  Just so many things and I worry about them all. I have everything and nothing to be sad about. I have everything terrible in my head and a roof over my head and a job that I love.  I think of the Mark Nepo poem, the line that stands out : Everything is beautiful, and I am so sad.  I feel that with all that I am.  I have these terrible awful memories and feelings and I can't see anything else.  Then there are times, that I can stand up for someone and make a difference and it all feels like somehow there is meaning.  There are just so many things that I want to do and accomplish.  When I am doing my trauma stuff and preparing, I feel more alive, I feel like I am using the things that happened to me to make a difference.  I feel like when I am working on that stuff and am 6 feet under trying to deal with it all is also the same time that I feel like I learn and understand more and move forward.  If I know anything about myself it's that I am always going to have my trauma front and center, because there are so many people that need to hear, that need to heal that need to understand.  I know the person that I am, and I am never going to be quiet, I am never going to hide ever ever again.  The things that have happened to me are a part of who I am down to my core, and I won't pretend that I am fine or fake it until I make it. I am going to be the real true me all the time.  So, either join the roller coaster or get off, there are too many things that need to happen.  There are too many things to fight for, and I will be true and genuine and do things differently, so others don't have to feel so alone.  

I heart your heart 

Islands of Memory

 

I have to say that I have kind of gone down a rabbit hole and as awesome as the information is ; it does take a toll.  The last two days i have maybe gotten 5 hours of sleep.  My brain is on overdrive, so many things to think about and figure out. Jim Hopper is an amazing speaker and I feel that he understands survivors and wants to do things different. I have corresponded with him on different occasions and have been more than impressed.  He has a video at a conference where he was a speaker and talked about what happens in your brain when you are sexually assaulted. I get lost in the things that I feel sometimes and seeing this took me outside of my own trauma and allowed me to see the things that happened to me from a different perspective.   I watched it some time ago and was amazed.  He is one of those people that is able to explain things in a way that anyone can understand even something as complex as what happens in the  brain when a person is sexually assaulted. 

I was asking his opinion last week on a personal question. And not being able to sleep I was on his website getting more information.  I watched his presentation again yesterday and my hand could not keep up with all the new realizations that I wanted to write down and how they fit into my story.  I literally sat at my computer in tears.  There were so many more things that spoke to me as I watched it this time.  Maybe I was ready maybe, I am in a different place.  Either way, the things that I learned were more than amazing and so useful to me where I am right now.  I was able to see so many patterns and things that I did that literally started in my brain.  My amazing brain was helping me survive one of the worst experiences of my life and trying to get me out alive.  That is more than amazing.

I am struggling right now.  Trying to process and understand the girl that I was at 13 and the things that happened to her.   I am often not kind to myself in the things that I think and say.  13 was a very long time ago, I should not still be so affected.  I should not still have bruises and memories and pictures in my head.  There are so many things that I still beat myself up for.  I am the first person to tell you that you are worthy and lovable and yet for me as a young girl I tell myself awful things that are everything opposite.  I hate the choices that I made, I hate my reactions and the way that I just kept going.  I hate that I kept living and doing all the things that were required of me. I could write pages and pages of the ways that I blame myself .  Trying to connect with that part of myself is something I am finding close to impossible. Maybe she is too damaged too hurt to ever find a connection and be comfortable in her own skin.  

There were parts of the video that hurt my heart, that made me cringe.  Just things that would have never crossed my mind.  Things that a person who has been raped since the age of 5 would never have connected the dots. There were moments he talked about consensual sex and that there are just certain things that happen when there is consent that are so very different in a sexual assault.  There were some examples that completely blew my mind.  I think in my mind sex and what happened to me are the same thing.  I can not imagine wanting that or anything like it. Sex is so far removed from the person that I am it is not even in the same galaxy.  

I love how they talked about Islands of memory.  I feel like that fits perfect.  There are things i remember and the next minute there are things that don't make sense.  There are moments that are so clear and others and others that I can't understand.  I do have islands of memory,  I think I wish that more people were able to understand that. I hope that as I grow and create new memories that I sink some of those islands and create new peaceful ones.  

I heart your heart 

A Book ?

 I think writing has always been a way for me to get all the things out that I have never been able to verbalize.  I can still remember the first journal that I got in the hallmark store, a tiny little thing with a little bear in a window. That journal was everything and a way for me to express all the things that I kept inside. I write because often I don't know what else to do.  When you have survived the things that I have, you learn to create a safe place in whatever it is that you can.  For me it was my journals. Either my writing journals or my art journals; they were an outlet in a world that wanted me smile and pretend that I was fine.  A world that wanted to sweep all the things that happened to me under the rug and pretend that everything was great. I was not going to let those things happen.  I lived in A world that gave me the message that I along with what happened to me, should be swept under the rug.  As terrible and rough, and lonely that things got I was convinced that I wanted more. Nothing was fine. I was barely breathing and yet nothing ever changed for me no one stepped up. 

I have been doing a lot of reading, walking around spending hours in bookstores looking for a story that that I can say that's me, this is the things that I have going on inside and there just isn't anything available.  I want a book that I can hold that will give me hope and give me an understanding that I am not alone and not crazy.  There has to be people like me out there that are just as alone and confused and if I can reach out to them and help them believe and give hope then maybe just maybe this heart of mine can feel a belonging that I have never known.  Even when I thought I belonged I learned in time that it wasn't real.  Sides were chosen, and I was the one left.  I cannot be the only one that has experienced a life like mine and I want to find them.  I want to scream from the mountain tops these are the things I survived, and these are the people that helped and let's help and support each other to get through this.  That is what I want my book to be.  I want my book to be that beacon of hope that people can come back to hundreds of times and see how far that they have come.  I am not sure yet how to make this happen, but it is in my heart, and something that I want more than anything.  I don't want a bestseller, I don't want to be on Oprah, I want to make a difference and for my story to touch others so that they do things different, and that no person has to feel the things that I have felt in this world.  That is what I wish for.  

Untangling The Trauma: Learning to live with broken Pieces.

Too Functional

 I saw these words in a post today and I quickly grabbed a pen and had to write it down.  If I had one tragic flaw, I think that this would be it.  No matter what happens or how hard I get knocked down I keep going.  You would think that would be a good thing in the world but really it isn't because everyone just assumes that you are fine.  I think that I learned this from before I could even remember.  It not an option to show weakness or to not be ok.  I have reached out I can not tell you how many times and 9 times out of 10 there will be no response.  There will be no one checking on me.  There will be no call or texts making sure that my heart is ok.  I think when I asked to leave where I was living in Plano.  She got all the calls making sure that she was ok.  I didn't get one.  All I got was one person giving me her side.  Not one person who called me friend, checked to see if I was ok. They all choose her and things were never the same.  I guess that I learned many of them were not my friends to begin with. That I will never understand.  Holidays, special events, they are all spent alone because you I am too functional for anyone to notice that I often cry myself to sleep.  That I find myself unable to move on the couch because the sadness is that heavy.  Even if you ask if I am ok I will most likely tell you that I am fine.  It's just in the asking that means the world. I just don't understand that. I don't understand not being checked on, not being cared for. 

I think to when my mom died.  No one called to check on me.  People that knew my heart, people that knew me and who I truly was never reached out never made an attempt to check on me.  I didn't get a single dinner or hug or a single person that cared.  I got beautiful flowers from my job, I got amazing flowers from Beth.  I got a card from my old team. I didn't want a lot but to be acknowledged would have been something amazing.  Maybe I am wanting to much , so in my head I have to do it all on my own.  That is way better than needing help and support and being left to fend for yourself.  I have had to fend for myself my entire life, I am not sure why at 48 I expect things to be any different. 

I think that even when I tell people how I am nothing changes, I mean I still have to keep the house going and care for the kids and take care of all that has to get done.  Those things don't just go away because I am heartbroken.  Those things don't go away because the sadness I feel when I get out of bed is equal to a thousand lifetimes.  Nothing changes and there is no help no matter how I feel. it gets to the point where why bother asking for help if I am going to end up more hurt and alone.  So, for me it isn't worth the bother.  I just have to do things on my own. 

Even with my car right now.  I am more than stressed, my heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest, and I am not sure what to do and yet I get nothing.  I don't have any family to go to.  I don't have a go to person to even talk it through with me and its more than frustrating. I just would like one person on my side all the time no matter what.  If even to just listen to me, let me bounce things off of them ask for advice, but there is nothing.  

I am not sure that the people around me understand all that is on shoulders and all the things that I have to carry on a daily basis.  They see me smile and figure things out and inside, I am a mushy mess that doesn't have a clue what is going on. I think that one day I hope that for a time I can just be and someone tale for of things while I gather and collect myself to keep moving on.  I think most days there are pieces and parts that are left behind because I just can't carry them all at once.  Someday I will have someone and have a time when i can collect those pieces and have some time to put them together before the next tragedy strikes. Someday I will have a few days not to have to worry about anything other than fixes the pieces and learning to breathe again.  Right now, that is not an option so I am going to hold on to hope that someday hopefully sooner than I think, my day will come, and I will truly get to rest.  I hope that someday there is going to be someone that will hold me and help me on those days when the world feels exceptionally heavy.  My shoulders are bent, and I am not sure that I can hold much more and yet I do; I always do.  But I don't want to have to.  I hope soon that there is some relief, because my heart and soul are so very tired.  I am trying so hard and yet it feels like a losing battle. 

I heart your heart. I keep fighting and I am keeping my fingers crossed I am going to win. 

Next Steps : Naming IT : one part

I have to name the IT ...I have to name it to kill it But it's so embarrassing, degrading and shameful the things that were done. How do I tell someone and then keep going. How do I tell someone and expect them to be the same person towards me.  How do I have enough breathe to get the words out and then keep breathing. How do I even speak the words without crumbling like a stale cookie. How do I tell someone and not die from the fact that I did those things. Somehow this is a different kind of acknowledgement. This is the truth of the matter that I like to sugar coat to keep me functioning.

 The "it" is just more than humiliating. In Dr.Hopper's talk he kept talking about how the things that he was talking about don't happen in consensual sex, and there is a part of my brain that just doesn't understand that. I hear that and cringe what I know are all the things that have happened to me.  In my brain what happened to me is sex.  Someone says sex I see what happened to me.  Since I was 5 these things were happening and I don't know anything else, I hate bodies and their parts.  I hate how bodies react, the embarrassment of knowing what they wanted and what was going to happen to me makes me want to crawl in a hole. In my head naming the it, makes it closer and I think sometimes it's easier to get lost in my head than acknowledge and name the "it" that was done.  Naming it, gets me closer to being in my own skin and that is terrifying.  I don't even like to simply focus on breathing, because it's just too close, that is insane.  I feel like this should not be such a big thing, but it is.  It is so big.  I am mortified at what was done to me and how I was treated. 

I don't understand where the need comes to even speak the IT. I want to make it all go away to a place, where it can never come back.  The need isn't there to speak it the need is to not have to carry it anymore.  And the overlap between those two things is something that I don't understand.  I just don't want these things to take up so much space in my mind and heart. The it is in my brain, heart and mind all the time. 

I think to name it ;is just fucking embarrassing the things that have been done.  Somewhere deep down it's like it's going to make me even more unlovable, if that is even possible. 

I know that people talk about the bodies responses, for me I don't remember responding.  I don't remember feeling anything other than intense pain.   I don't remember my body responding because the pain was always so great. Either that or I just wasn't there. I think for that I can be grateful.  My body didn't respond because the pain was all there was. I guess when you are 5 the first time that "it" happens, you don't understand what is happening, but you know how badly that it hurts. I think I hated the fact that other bodies responded.  I knew when their bodies responded and that was so shameful.  I knew the nights that my father didn't work and for me there was a relief in that. But to have knowledge of that, is unthinkable at such a young age.  I never should know anything like that.  I should never have had to experience that at 5 or 10 or 13 years old. As a 48 year old that is unfathomable.  That I knew about those things is something so devastating to me. Someone says sex I see what happened to me they say Rape and I think well was it that bad, I mean I just went away.  Those are the conversations in my head.  And then there are those moments I think it was that bad, it was so bad that your brain had to make the world black,  your mind had to take you far away just to survive.  The two sides of my mind, so hard to process. 

Sometimes I say the words in my head and I think I want to scream them I want to get them out, but the shame is so huge, I skip them.  In my writing so many times if I am reading something, I have it written down somehow that is ok but to say them out loud is something devastating.  Those words have great power and as less than as I feel saying the words, it makes those feelings even stronger.  I want to get them out to understand them to make sense of , and to understand the things that happened to me.  I think that there is a part of me that will somehow find some peace if I can just get them out and not feel like I am the one that is so awful. 

So here is my small attempt at naming the "it" that has happened. Do I list the it, do I give context do I, what the fuck!!!  How do I do this.  I never remember not knowing what to do or what was wanted.  The guilt for that is so enormous. 

The real words are terrifying.  

 I remember my father making me give him oral sex, I thought I was going to die.  He straddled my neck on the waterbed, his knees sinking, and I couldn't catch my breath.  I was terrified.  I couldn't breathe and he didn't care.   This was the first time he had done that , that I remember.  I expected to be touched but this was on a different brutal level.  I can remember him being very rough and telling me that I better not get sick in his bed.  Well how about you take your parts out of my mouth ASS Hole. This is so much more personal when someone is at your face and forcing you to do these things,  he was this large dark looming person over me, I was so afraid.  I was choking, coughing he didn't care.  He finally got off of my neck and pushed me out of bed again telling me I better not get sick.  How does a five year old survive that? There was no thought to get help no thought to tell anyone.  You just went back to your room and clean up.  I know that I wasn't quiet, because I was struggling to breathe and not once did he stop until he was done. He held my head exactly where he wanted it.  Where was my mother?  Our house wasn't that big, 

This literally makes my stomach turn.  I was five years old.  Where was the thought to yell for help? Where was the thought to escape to bite him ? Where was the thought for someone to help me ?  Even at 5 I knew that wasn't an option.  I knew that there was no help.  There were never any of those at 5 this is just how things went.  

I heart your heart 

Speaking

 

I think the me too movement and those things were all amazing. Those movements brought awareness and was helpful to so many that were unable to find their voice.  I think it brought a lot into view that should have been in the forefront for a very long time. But we have to do something in the everyday with the people that are right in front of us.  It's the counselors that listen and truly hear.  It's the detectives that go the extra mile,  its the people in the everyday that are going to make a difference.  It's the friends that chose to stay even on the hard days, weeks or even months. It's the people that have been to hell and back and are willing to stand up and say THIS.  This is NOT Right, and we have to do something.  We have to make those things common practice not something that is done in a single rally, or an event once a year.  Don't get me wrong those things have their place and are able to bring an amazing awareness.  We also need that acknowledgement, time, patience, space and awareness every moment in our daily lives.  I have said it a million times I am one of those people that is never going to stop.  I will never stop sharing, never stop learning and never stop trying to explain what it was like for me and how we can do things different for others. I never want anyone to experience the things I have , or feel the things that I have felt.  I know that I can't help everyone, but I am sure going to keep trying until my very last breath. We have to do things better, so people can heal and lead full lives.  So, people can find their happily ever after. So people can heal and find their very own happy.

I think that when Mark and I speak at the conference, if only one person hears us and does things differently then we have made a difference. 

It was pretty awesome, Mark called me Friday and he said that he had this uneasy feeling about July.  He was worried that some of the people that I have spoken about, some of the people that have not been so kind might be there. He was worried about the people that may show up that every now and then they come with an agenda. And there was no way to control, their response or questions. That I was being thought of was amazing, like what I thought and felt was important.  When he called it was a conversation.  I felt heard.  We shared our thoughts and opinions, like I don't have those conversations very often, not in a personal way anyway.  I think that I felt very valued,  what I said mattered and that is something amazing. Here is the email that I sent after this conversation. 

You know me of coarse my head is spinning. Presentations podcasts, a book someday so many questions and things running in circles. Even if people have something to say, let them.  I have never in my life backed away from hard things. If even we can make a difference for one person. They can totally blow me off, and for a minute or two I will be crushed BUT we are going to make sure that they think while they are there.  If one detective, one Dr. one teacher or church member does things different, then that is more than worthwhile.  That is standing up for little callahan, and 13 year old callahan in a way that no one ever did.  This is standing up for everyone behind me and in front of me, to make sure things are done with more kindness and understanding. 

I am terrified. I don't know what this is going to be like.  But it's important.  

I am finally at a place where I don't have to worry about whose toes that I might step on, or who's feelings that I might hurt.  I have no one .  I have my children.  The three of us.  I speak for them for me and for the little girl that I was that never got to speak, never got to have a voice and was never heard. I still have a long way to go, but I am also not where I was 5 years ago.  It's in my bones to do things better for others and help them understand.  

I told Mark if more people like me had people like him, the world would be a better place. We have to have the hard conversations,  we have to be open to learning new ways of doing things.  We have to have open conversations about the things that matter, because there are a lot of lives that depend on it. 

Nightmares Suck

 

The nightmares have been brutal these last few weeks.  Some of them are same old that I always have then there are some that are more vivid and are more like the effects of what happened and how no one stepped up to do the right thing. There were clearly signs that I wasn't ok, and no one cared. The ones that are the most disturbing are the ones with blood. I am sure that it wasn't as much as the things I see in my nightmares. It is almost like its screaming at someone to see me, see what happened!   Yet all the people around ignore and look the other way. 

The one from last week that I have had a few times in different variations, is such a picture of what things were like.  I am sitting on these bleachers, basically wrapped in a trench coat covering myself.  I move and there is blood where I was sitting, I am in a panic and of course have to try to clean it up before anyone comes.  I start walking toward a group of people and the blood just follows,  its all over the floor like a trail. People see it then look at me and keep walking.  Story of my life. I finally go over to woman and tell her that I have to leave that I need help and she just keeps laughing with the others at the table.  I am embarrassed and just want to fade away, I try to get near a few people, and they don't see me or see that I am hurt and need help.  I finally go over to someone, and I tell them I have to go to the emergency room.  I just walk away.  I see that bruised body, beaten and cuts everywhere.  Like everywhere I turn I am trying to get help and no one will see me.  I really hate these kinds of dreams.  

I am right in the middle of one of the ugliest years in my life. I should have died but life never stopped no one ever made me feel better . All they did was try to cover it up, point fingers and make it my fault.  The world didn't skip a single beat,  and somewhere deep down if even for a short time I wished the world stopped and at least acknowledged what happened to me.  I would never expect everyone's world to stop, but I feel like for my parents their world should have stopped until I was taken care of.  Their world should have stopped and found out what happened to me and made sure that I got all the help that was needed. They should have stood up for me, telling all those people to stop the blaming and shaming and support.  Those things didn't happen.  I was just left to figure everything out on my own.  The bruises right now are really bad.  And I can't blame it on, moving furniture or violent furniture.  I have to hope that before I know it they will lessen.  Before i know it I can wake up in the morning without feeling the effects of running all night.  Fighting for my life.  It will always blow my mind, that a person can wake up feeling what happened all these years later.  Someday someway I will sleep safe and sound.

My Scar

 

I have talked about this in moments and pieces because its breaks my heart.  It makes me want to crawl to hell and hide there, where no one would think to look for me.  I have gone over this in my head a million and one times a million trying to make it anything other than what it is.  I was 13.  I started to write all the ways that I am the one responsible and I am going to try really hard not to do that.  Because once again I was only 13.  Just thirteen, sometimes that takes the breath out of me, to realize those were the things that I survived, that was my life and I believed those were just the things that happened.  This is what I was good for. I often call the things that I suffered the "it"  if I can just lump all the things, all the abuse together it takes away just how awful that each and every thing that happened to me was. This was just another day in my life, and I look back and hold my heart.  I had to do everything on my own, take care of everything and pretend that all was well in the world.  But nothing was ok.  I don't think that I can be factual and feeling at the same time.  I am going to be factual then try the feeling. Maybe they will come together, I don't know.  Another level of pain of sadness. I can already feel the heaviness.  The sinking feeling, the ache that I didn't have good things.  These things are not supposed to happen.  Fathers don't make their daughters do this. Daughters don't climb on their own beds to make their fathers happy.  

Here is how I got my scar, the 2 inch long scar that is on the right side of my right knee.

My mother was on a trip to the beach with her mother.  She always made a big deal out of it, how she needed to get away. How tired that she was and she needed a break.  I always knew what that meant for me.  I was basically a little wife when she was home it got worse when she wasn't if that was even possible.  Every single time that she went away there was some kind of drama with my father, and this trip was no different.  His back went out.  Something that happened all the time, but he played the victim well. He was a complete drama queen and made sure that everyone knew just how hurt that he as. All the focus always had to be on him. I called bullshit even back then.  He just wanted, attention.  He wanted others to be at his becking call.  That included my brother and I.  Back then people had water beds.  Since his back was so bad, he had to sleep in my bed with a normal mattress. It made me sick, I didn't want him in my bed in my room.  I didn't have a choice either.  He wasn't even getting up to use the restroom. He was using a urinal that you get from the hospital.  I can remember him using it,  then he wanted my brother or I to take care of it. My father laughed like it was a joke.We kind of laughed, like how gross no way!  It felt like some kind of test. My brother and I soon realized that he wasn't kidding.  My brother disappeared, and that left me alone with him. Those eyes, I can still see his beady eyes. All of the sudden, the last thing that mattered was his used urinal. Things had happened to me for so long, that many many things were unspoken.  I was expected to know what he needed when he needed it and make sure that it happened. I had to do things just like he wanted, the right way. I wish that I could remember, his words.  But I don't remember a single one. There was a knowing what he wanted and I hated it. I can remember thinking, no, no please no and putting my head down but also knowing this was my job.  So in my room with bright yellow walls, with shar-pei posters and stuffed animals all around, I did the unthinkable. I remember the curtains in shades of yellow, orange and green. A little girl watering the grass, wearing a bonnet. There was a goose, almost her height. I was expected to climb into my own bed and perform oral sex on my father.  That was my job, that was how things went in my life. 

So I was at the foot of the bed, where a little nightstand was.  The knob had fallen off the drawer, there was just a nail, and I caught my knee while I was climbing on the bed.  It created a really big gash, I can remember being worried about getting the blood on my bed and making a mess.  That obviously didn't matter. So with my bleeding knee,  I had to give him oral sex.  He laid there and moaned, pushing my head and he didn't care.  I couldn't breathe he didn't care. As always when he was done,  he would push me away and I was expected to clean up the mess.  I would usually leave and get sick, then just lay down pretending that the world was different that the world was safe and I had a dad that loved and cared for me.  I got a band aid and cleaned up my knee.  I guess his back wasn't that bad was it. I felt like his little whore.  I thought for sure that something I did was wrong the way that he would always push me away when he was done.  I knew that he hated me with out a doubt.  I always knew what I was good for.  

I hate that I climbed up on my own bed in my own room.  There is a guilt in that; that is indescribable.  His back was out,  what was he going to do come after me?   Always the one who listened and did what she was told.  I hate that about her. It's painful to know that at 13 I knew was expected of me. I knew what he wanted how everything worked, and I knew what to do.  I hated every single second. I hated him, I hated myself and I hated that stupid nail for sticking out and hurting my leg. I hated the feeling that I wasn't able to breath.   He would just pretend that nothing happened, inside I just wanted to die.  I had no one.  I still have no idea where my brother was during this time. 

I can still see those yellow walls, the curtains, my stuffed animals.  I can remember the conversations that I would have with them telling them it was ok that things would be done soon.  No child should ever have to have that kind of conversation ever.  The conversations with my animals were the only ones I ever had, they were the only things that were concerned about me.  I knew they weren't real, but a part of me had to believe that someone cared even if it was a stuffed animal.

I am sure most of the week my mother was gone went like this.  Then she comes home and I can remember her bringing me a jean jacket.  I wanted to be excited, I know that I really wanted one,  but all I could think was I wish that she just stayed home and kept me safe.  She went on and on about how wonderful it was and how amazing the ocean was.  I wanted to scream at her .  I can still see us all sitting in the living room as she unpacked her suit case, talking about her wonderful trip.  While she was looking out across the ocean her husband was doing terrible awful things to me.  How does a 13 year old's brain make sense of that?  They don't; I can promise you that they don't. My heart still hurts, the memories haven't faded and I am left being afraid of words that tell you exactly what was done. I am ashamed that I knew what to do, that I knew what was happening.  I am ashamed that I climbed into my own bed to make him happy.  We were always told in my house just make him happy.  Make him happy at any cost.  The cost to me was everything and no one really cared.

And that is how I got that scar on my knee.  

I heart your heart. 

Once she did

 

I have been thinking about my mom and I am not going to lie it hurts.  Because there will always be questions that I have.  Why didn't she love me why wasn't I enough.  Sleeping with The Enemy is on and i remember us going to the movies together.  A daughter of one of her friends worked there and we always got in for free, We saw so many sappy Julie Roberts movies.  I can remember being comfortable in her company, we laughed a lot.  She wanted to have me around, I felt like she loved me.  Then I think of times when I needed her and she would tell me that she had to make him happy.  Moments when I needed her to stick up for me and she didn't.  She loved me when it was good for her.  When I was covering up something or meeting one of her needs.  But where was she when he had just raped me in my bed and went to console him.  Where was she when he made me lay on the kitchen table while he tried to shove medicine down my throat.  Where was she then. I think as i got older and started to voice the things that weren't ok she got further and further away.  There was always this unspoken competition with her.  He would kiss her and look at me.  He would make comments about our bodies and laugh.  She was my mom there was no competition, I was her daughter.  Only there was a lot and I didn't realize it for a long time.  

Maybe the first break was when I pressed charges.  Nothing was really ever the same after that.  There was a lot of pretending and ignoring. We never really talked about anything at all.  She never asked.  I can remember after I told her, Dennis wasn't the only one she sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers to the house where I was a nanny.   I can remember us being out in the pool and she asked if I wanted to know about what had happened to her.  I can remember screaming in my head, what I was doing had nothing to do with her it was about keeping Angela safe. There was never any conversation about the things that happened to me.  She never asked and I never told.  She never asked about the police and detectives, she never asked how things were going.  I can remember when the trials date was close, we were all asked to go to the courthouse.  I can remember My brother, her and I all sitting in the room.  The Da went into great detail about something that happened to me I said yes and answered all of their questions. There was not a second of any care or concern for me.  I never felt smaller, sitting there baring my soul. I was the most insignificant piece of dirt under each and every person's foot in that room.   I said yes and I answered the questions, there was no comment, no care or concern for me in that moment.  I knew before then that I was in this all on my own.  But after that it was set in stone.  During that time she came to counseling with me once and she was asked where she was when my father was hurting me.  She said that she didn't know where he was but at least he wasn't in her bed.  I didn't even realize it but the therapists in the room did and pointed it out. How does a girl respond to that.  Did I really mean that little to her ?!?  There was nothing else ever spoken.  Even when the case was all over she said oh I am so glad its over.  I was still dying inside and not one person noticed. 

I feel like i kept giving her chance after chance and something would happen and once again, I would be the one that was crushed. I feel like that was the story of my life giving all of me and always getting crushed in the process.  Even when i had lost a lot of weight, I wanted to get a trainer and get healthy.  I wanted to be a better me, and she told me how stupid that it was what a waste of money and she went out and got a trainer.  Once again that competition rearing its ugly head, I was pushed to the side.  She didn't want success for me.   Things only continued to get worse, she wanted me to be this cheer leader for her praising her every accomplishment and all the while I was barely keeping my head above water and nothing was ever asked, was I ok, did I need anything.  I was alone in the world even with her here. We had short moments of connection, but I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, when I again would be a disappointment and forgotten. When my brothers needs would shadow mine and I would be left.  When I would be the topic of conversation about all the things that I was doing wrong.  For a long time I held on to hope that someday if I was just good enough, things would be different.  That was never the case. I was never enough.

She was a wedge in-between Vincent and I and she never thought about what she was doing to him. He was her little buddy and fed him lies. Now I am left repairing our relationship in all the ways that he was too young to understand.  She overstepped her bounds, taught him to keep secrets and proved to him that I was the enemy.  I can remember setting a boundary with him, and her response to me was that I was going to loose him.  I can remember being furious, no he was in his early teens and doing things that were not acceptable.  It was called doing the hard thing and being a parent.  I saw the things that she did with my brother and she did those same things with Vincent.  Truly heartbreaking.  Makes me more than sad that I have to repair the relationship with Vincent because of what she did. I am not sure he can ever fully understand.  That makes me sad.  She was often unkind to Mariska.  She didn't like that she was her own person.  She didn't like her because she was a girl. Because her and I had a relationship that was everything a mom and daughter should be.  I do think that she loved her, again when she was getting something out of it, and she was doing exactly what she wanted. 

I think the end of everything was when she decided to have weight loss surgery everything became hers and mine.  I didn't fit anywhere in her world.  I was the disgusting pig.  That is what I felt.  Everything was in secret, like I was some kind of monster. Once again she wanted me to be this cheerleader for her and never once was I asked how I was doing if I was ok.  The entire time I was drowning trying to finish school and be a mom and keep a house.  She was giving herself shots, and I became the enemy.  Everything that I did was wrong, she was everything perfect.  All she talked about was food and weight.  I was no longer good for her.  She was cruel in her actions, and no one heard me.  Even last year, I found a letter that was written to her insurance company talking about her severely obese daughter and how she wanted surgery to prove to me that it could be done.  What the Fuck!   Once again, I was crushed, good thing I found the letter after she passed away.  I was the one who went to you and told me I was stupid for wanting to find a trainer and get healthy, again that competition. My heart was broken way too many times for a single lifetime, by the people who are /were supposed to love me unconditionally.  

For as long as i could remember she had said that she wanted her and the kids and i to take a trip to Alaska.  Well, that last trip that she took was to Alaska and was with Chris and his family.  When I told her how heartbroken that I was , she didn't care.  She said that she was old and that I should have been happy for her.  She missed the point entirely.  That was her last trip.  I will never ever go to Alaska. Just another soul crushing example.  He was the favorite always was. She even got in the middle of our relationship.  Always pitting us against each other. Talking about the other, starting conversation that she had no right to be a part of.  That is what she did.  It affected my brother and made our relationship almost impossible.  She had to be in the middle and there always had to be sides. 

In the end we were on different planets.  She didn't want to understand where I was, and I didn't understand her. I was talked about often, she made sure to have conversations that were in ear shot.  Leave things laying around.  There were times when she was deliberately hurtful.  She didn't like the daughter, parent or woman that I was.  She wanted to be my entire life, and there was just to much hurt to be forgotten.  From reactions from others, and things that were said.  I was the bad daughter.  From Martha to her friends, I was terrible in every sense of the word.  In November she even changed her life insurance, my brother was the sole beneficiary. Even in her passing she was able to crush my heart. 

There are days that I get sad, its a sadness that I didn't have the loving mom that I needed not because the one that did have is gone.  I struggle to find the right words.  I don't want to be mean or careless.  People just don't understand how things were and no one ever cared to get my side.  There are days that I still feel guilty that I don't miss her.  In my head you are SUPPOSSED to miss your mom.  Your supposed to have good memories and warm thoughts and for me those are few and far between. We were never on the same page or even in the same book.  When she got back from that last cruise, I remember her coming in my room and wanting for us to take a trip.  I kind of laughed, it was the kid's senior year i had no money for a trip.  I didn't want to take a trip with her, it was a little too late to be what I needed my entire life.  There were times I begged for her to love me and that was just something she couldn't give me.  So as I write this my heart is sad.  But I go on making sure that I make my heart happy and be the kind of mom that I always needed.  I do not miss her.  I am glad that I don't have to care for her, that I don't have to deal with all of her medical issues.  I am glad that I no longer have to wait for the shoe to drop in my own home.  I am glad to continue my relationship with Mariska and rebuilding one with Vincent.  When I am old and gray, I hope that my children will have lots of good memories of us laughing, of lots of love and lots of amazing memories. There are more important things than money or weight or what everyone else thinks.  Somewhere deep down I want to believe that she loved me once, she was just unable to show me and be the mom that I needed. 

I heart your heart 

About time

 

I am going to try but I don't have words that are strong enough

I can clean like no one's business and you would never imagine the devastation.

I am the great faker; you have no idea the things that I can endure and still continue to smile.

I am a 10 on the pain scale and I can still do what is asked of me

My heart is in a vise that has shown no signs of letting loose

My soul is a melted ice cube on the floor with no way to gain form 

My body in a state of ruin to many visitors that took until there was no beauty left

I am not ok,  I am really not ok

I feel like I am drowning.

The pictures play, the memories repeat and slowly I am slipping

I can't find sleep, even when I do all I see are things that I can never ever unsee

So, yes sleep is a dreadful thing

The nightmares so vivid, and more than surreal . 

The blood stains the floor and people pretend not to see.

All the people that have failed me and her, they turned the other way they don't look back

I am nothing

I smile, pretend that I don't notice 

I keep going, and I am still lying

I am alone so alone and all they see is the smile

I choke on my own words , I can not have another soul leave me, hurt me use me  

I can't breathe , I struggle to find a single breathe of air but even when I do it isn't quite enough

Picture that fish gasping, on the shore, taken from his home and forgotten 

 too far from the water and not close enough to call for help

This is my everyday, this is my reality and all they see are smiles. 

I don't know how to do this, and I fear the exodus if others truly saw what's inside

I hate the word depressed, but it might be fitting.

Did I just admit that?

It  only took me 48 years, it's been so much to hold.

No, I have never been ok.

Either I can't find the tears, or they come like a sudden storm leaving as fast as they come 

Can't show weakness in this state, that would be deadly.

There is this mighty damn holding so much pain . if that breaks well think world war 3 

I can't get out of my own way

My bones feel as if they are going to explode and turn to dust; there will be nothing left of me. 

Like the feather that has fallen from a broken bird's wing, 

maybe someone will pick it up someday and think she must have been beautiful.

I find myself waiting for some understanding that is going to make everything ok 

Some magic string of words to glue all the broken pieces together

I am trapped inside my own head, in a cycle of pain.

I look out the window and see the greatness, 

but it feels like Mount Saint Helens looming in the distance.

So much to accomplish, but I am on my own fighting for dear life

I am restless, weary, heartbroken and not ok

As Always, I heart your heart.

Sometimes

 Please hear the things that I can't tell you. I need help so that those things don't kill me from the inside out. There are times when there are no words and I need you to take the things that I have told you and listen beyond the words that I can say.  I am trying to tell you, but I am not sure that you can understand. The shame, the utter embarrassment at the things that happened to me are bigger than you can see. I need you to be careful, but I also need you to ask.  I watched someone give a talk and they said give me back the words I said and let me explain.  I want to tell you, I want to get it all out in the light.  I want to say those hard things and I don't know how.  I have never been asked or been allowed to talk about the things that happened to me.  No one asked when I was 5 no one asked when I was 13 and no one cared by the time I got to 29. I have gotten braver these last few years and said more than I ever have, but there is still so much. The pictures and thoughts that swim in my brain are things that I have learned to live with.

When I pressed charges, they asked questions, and I answered the best that I could, there were times that I was so in a another place.  There are a lot of things that I don't remember or can't place. Did he use his fingers or anything else.  I remember feeling confused. Did he have any birthmarks or exceptional features. Questions I heard and answered but wanted to crawl away and hide.   I need to be asked questions and have someone want to understand. I need someone to be careful and give me a place that its ok to share, that I don't have to be ashamed, and I am not sure that exists for the reason that I live in a place of shame.  It is ok to share in my place, but there is a guilt that no one should have to hear that. 

I need it to come out and I need someone to tell me I am not so awful, and at the same time that is too much to ask of a person. Such a bind, and there are no easy answers. The pain inside is gross and disgusting oozy and ugly and I am so afraid that those things will never ever go away. 

I heart your heart. 

It's Been a Rough Month

 Here I am another post.  It's June 6th and I think there have been 5.  It seems the last week that I can't get out of my own way. It's just all the things that have happened in one life. I am tired of how people that have been assaulted get treated. I am tired of feeling like i am the one that should hide and be ashamed.  I am so sad that I was the one with the problem that always had to hide.

Mariska and I watched the Hillsong documentary and the abuse that happened and everyone glosses it over.  The Dugger documentary and everyone looks the other way.  There was a story on Amazon prime about a girl that was gang raped and the police did nothing.  They even took pictures; she was getting sick and had her head out the window and they kept hurting her and the police didn't even ask the boys any questions.  She ended up dying, she killed herself in her bathroom because she was the one who was getting bullied and called names.  There was another one called we are girls.  Again, the abuse was looked over, the sisters were given no support. They had each other, but  even still that doesn't make up for the people that are supposed to protect and care for you. Its on the news all the time yet  someone else is being accused and yet, its always the victim that is looked down on and scoffed at.   She should be surrounded and helped.  She should be supported and cared for. But as a society as a whole, we don't do that. 

I feel like there is no break.  I wish that none of those things happened to me.  I just want to be a normal human and do normal things.  I don't want to understand these stories.  I don't want to be sad; I want to feel strong.  I want to feel comfortable in my own skin. I want to be proud of myself for fighting so hard to get to where I am. I want to be proud of where I am and how far that I have come.  Today it feels like  I lost all of the good things I have learned and the progress that I have made, and I can't for the life of me find them. between the nightmares and the pictures in my head, I am way under water. 

There were three days with only an hour of sleep here and there.  The nightmares have been brutal.  No one listening or hearing me, I was even bleeding everywhere and people still wouldn't acknowledge what happened to me.  The nightmares were so bad last night that I woke up and couldn't get out of it, I grabbed a pen to write it down but that feeling that dread, that aloneness has lasted all day.  It feels like it was yesterday not lifetimes ago.  It's all the things that were never said.  It's all the ways I have been ignored.  It is everything and nothing at all.  My heart hurts. And its not even something that someone can do, just be there let me talk hold on.  Nothing can make it better nothing can change it make it go away.  Just please remind me that I am not as awful as I feel that I am deep inside. Just please stay close as I navigate this part of this very hard road. 

Lost by Linkin Park 

I heart your heart. 

Brutal honesty

 

I have been dealing with this since i was 13.  I replay the pictures in my head all the time.  I try to think of all the ways that i could have done things differently, If there was even one thing that I could have done differently to prevent the things that happened to me. if I could have reached out one last time, someone could have helped me. I find myself all these years later still looking for that one thing that could have saved me.  I want there to be easy answers, I want there to be an easy way to get these things out of my brain and I fear that this will be the hardest thing that I have ever done.  

No one has ever asked me what happened.  No one ever sat beside me and let me cry.  No one ever even let me talk about my feelings, thoughts about what happened.  I was blamed and fingers were pointed, I just obviously wanted attention.  There were no doctors to make sure that I was ok.  There was nothing just a girl brutally gang raped for hours and hours and was left to deal with things on her own. There were so many bruises , there were parts of my skin that were black.  My inner legs were swollen and covered in marks, from being hit, held and beat. Literally touching my skin was painful.  Sitting was painful laying down was painful.  I can remember when we went to friends of the family in Lewisville and I just laid down in the back of the car, my body was hurt that much. There was a great deal of pain no matter what i did.  It felt like it took my body forever to heal.  There was a lot of blood,  and a lot of damage done.    

Some call it gang rape some call it a train some call it a party rape. They are all the same and all just as devastating.  There was one counselor when I was 13 who asked me how many men there were I said 5 and then he ignored me the rest of the session.  I was not asked anything else,  all the attention was on my father. 

The first time that Don came, there were butterflies when I saw him at my door.  I felt special and was like wow he said he would see me again. I was so excited, I can remember my heart beating so fast as I threw my arms around him, giving him this huge hug. He had flowers, and I can remember smelling them and thinking how special that was.   He smiled but, in a few seconds, I knew that things were so different.. His eyes were different, they were cold, and no longer handsome He wasn't that warm soft presence, the kindness that I felt when I met him was gone.  He started kissing me really hard and I was so afraid, and I can remember trying to talk but no words would come out. I remember making noises, but I kept thinking no not him not again. I think that my brain was trying to figure out why this was happening.   He didn't stop and ignored any resistance from me.  He got rougher and rougher until he had pushed me into the living room , I know that I was crying.  I can remember asking him to please stop, but it was like I was invisible. He raped me.  There was a shock, like no this can't be happening to me.  I was more than angry at myself, like i had let this happen to me again.  I replayed every moment of the weekend that I had met him , I was the girl that danced in front of everyone, I danced with him I kissed him I invited this. I was that girl who hung on his every word, and laughed at every joke.  I was that flirty girl who blushed when he noticed me, and the sight of him made my stomach turn in circles.  I was the reason that this happened to me. So just do what you know how to do. Clean up, get everything in order and pretend that you are fine.  So that is exactly what I did. 

I was barely breathing really, just trying to survive.  I stayed away from everyone.  I thought the further that I stayed away from people the less likely that I was going to get hurt.  I was devastated and truly thought that there was no end for me. My father's actions were always rude and crude and I felt awful inside and outside.  I didn't see a point to anything anymore.  

It wasn't much time later, maybe a few weeks, that Don showed up at my house again.  This time I wasn't the one who let him in. There are a few moments in this day that are so very very clear. I do not know how I survived. and yet others are muddy or even non-existent and I am grateful. I am glad that for parts of this day its just a blackness, a blackness that no amount of love and light will ever make go away.  When he first showed, up, when the others came, when they had me under the fan, when I was in my brothers room and the gun. Those are the moments that I remember the most those are the moments that are unimaginable because the word terror doesn't even come close to what I felt. I was in the shower, it was early, and I had my music on. It was shut off and I was like seriously, a little peeved, that my song stopped. A stupid 13-year-old like that was my biggest problem in life. I peeked my head out of the shower and Don was standing there taking his clothes off. There was a moment that I froze, but my mind was trying to figure out what was happening, how did he get in, why was he back.  For a short time, I was in a mode where I was just trying to figure everything out.  How was I going to get out, why was he there.... WHY WHY WHY.  I think that there was a part of me that thought I was somehow going to get out of it.  Maybe if I was nice to him, maybe if I told him just let me finish my shower and then we could talk, all the while I was just thinking of any escape that might work.  When he stepped into the shower the panic set in, I started crying, begging, I kept telling him that he didn't want to do this. I pleaded, he was just so forceful, and so violent,  I remember screaming in the beginning, once he pinned my arms over my head and turned the water very hot,  all I remember is that water, it was dripping on my face and in my eyes, I can feel the cold of the shower wall on my skin and the water that was so hot, it was burning me.  There wasn't enough of me to fight him off. 

Then the moment that the other 4 came.  Don had already hurt me in so many ways, I could not understand why he hadn't left yet. I was face down on the bed, my hands tied behind my back. I am not even sure how to explain my thoughts.  I just didn't want to be hurt anymore.  I can remember his duffle bag that sitting next to the orange chair that he was in.  I was afraid of what else was in there and what he could hurt me with. I heard him on the phone, and he didn't have a care in the world.  He was so calm, and not worried about a thing.  He was laughing, invited them over.  He said some awful things about me and hung up.  He was at my face. I just wanted to die. I heard them laughing, and I couldn't understand why he had called his friends.  I had no idea what was going to happen to me or why. I saw them in the doorway and was so embarrassed. They were all chatting, like nothing was in front of them. I was there naked on the bed and no one seemed to care or ask what was going on or was upset to see a girl naked on the bed in front of them.  Don jumped on the bed, hitting me and told them to watch. He got on top of me and pulled me to him, it hurt and he laughed and said we have a screamer.  And one of the others started to undress and got on the bed.  I can remember catching eyes with Andy,  I wanted to understand. I really wanted him to save me.  I wanted to know why this was happening.  I will never forget his face, those eyes, his blonde hair. He was different, at least he saw me.  He is the only one that I would know if I ran into him anywhere today.  I think he was just as scared as I was.  The others started taking their clothes off and joining in. There were men everywhere and the last thing i remember was being hit and passed around and everything went black, the last thing that I saw was Andy's eyes. 

They brought me to the living room, I wanted to fight, but there wasn't much left of me my body was in pain. I had my arms and legs tied to the furniture, and as they each took their turns, I just watched the fan and said their names. Over and over, I can't imagine how many times that I repeated their names over and over hoping that each turn would be their last.   Every muscle every cell is my body just wanted to die.  The cheered each other on, laughing like it was a game.  They would take a break then go again and everything just faded away.  I wasn't a person anymore.  There was no fan or number of times I could have said their name that was going to save me. 

Later they decided that they needed some privacy and brought me to my room, So I guess they could each take a turn on their own.  My room full of sharpei dog posters on the wall and my little mini figure of a California raison with sunglasses on.  There was snow white and all little glass animals that surrounded her, on the shelf.  They each took their turn brutalizing me,  there wasn't much left but I managed to scream, at least it felt like I did.  I had to try to do something to make them stop. I was pretty hysterical I think that I was hoping one of them would just finish me off,  go ahead use the gun blow me away, just kill me.  I just wanted to die.  The last one was extremely violent and I knew that I couldn't handle much more.  Andy came in, and I became frantic, yelling and screaming, I am not sure what I thought but he was kind.  He didn't rape me in my room. He didn't hurt me he gave me a blanket, he wiped my face. I remember him saying it was ok , it's ok its ok I am not going to hurt you. I can remember holding on to him for dear life when he was in a sense taking care of me.  it was a connection.  As crazy as that is,  I didn't want to let go of him.  He wasn't violent or evil like the others. He was not purposeful in trying to hurt me like the other 4.  At least there was even that small refuge in the hell that I was in.  I think he knew that I could not physically or mentally handle any more and he stood up for me as I was moved back to the living room. Much of the rest of the day was blackness. 

The horror that day,  I wasn't human.  I sit here and my fingers have been in the same place for a long time,  I am not sure there is a way to get everything out about this day. So many little things and so many big things.  I feel like there are pieces I remember and forget all the time.  I have to take this day moment by moment or I would be somewhere else. For a person to survive.  For a girl to just pretend that everything was ok.  I will never understand. For no one to notice that I was not the same girl was inconceivable 

The final time that Don came, I was still recovering from the gang rape.   My body still black from bruising, everything was achy. I was the shell of a person.  I was scared all the time,  I'd see them sometimes at school the big hero's coming back.  I lived in fear all day every day.  When there was a knock I don't even know why I answered it.  I did and saw Don.  My heart stopped.  He had that fucking smirk on his face. He said something about wasn't I going to invite him in.  I knew what was going to happen.  I unbuttoned my pants and fell to the floor.  I was in a different place all I felt was the cold linoleum floor, right there in the entry way, I remember the pattern of the wicker shelf to the left of me.  He grabbed my face kissing me and I turned my head. There was no reaction I knew what he was going to do,  I think I finally learned that it was easier to just let him take it,  then try to do anything else.  I felt nothing, it was like I wasn't even there.  He was as brutal as ever, I just memorized  the bottom of that wicker shelf , all the Criss cross patterns, over and under over and under. 

That was the last rape by him.  He knew that he had broken me,  there was nothing left for him to take.  

I can not keep all these things in my head.  They are too heavy, and I am exhausted. 

I heart your heart. 

Asking for help

 

That is something that is more than hard.  I think its safe to say close to impossible.  I have been writing about that day, And I just don't want to be alone.  What am I supposed to say can I come over, because I can't get my mind off of what happened to me at 13 and I just need to feel safe.  When I want to say will you please read this and tell me that I am not as awful as I feel inside. No I am not sure that a person can do that.  So I reach out asking how people are and telling them that I love them and sitting here crying alone hoping that soon the feelings of terror and unbelievable sadness will go away.  I want to call Mark but I am afraid the ugly crying would kick in and he wouldn't be able to understand me anyway.  And its Sunday, and I really can not bother him.  I was always alone in this when I was 13 and I don't want to anymore.  My heart hurts, and the only way that it is going to get better is by not being alone and I don't know how to do that.  I would give anything to just be somewhere else. I would give anything for what happened to me at 13 not be my life. 

All the feelings , that I have don't have words for