Hard to believe it's been almost 4 years. It feels like yesterday and lifetimes ago all at the same time. I was talking to Mariska, and I said that I can't even imagine what life would be like today. And she said she probably wouldn't even live with us anymore, and that there wouldn't likely be a relationship. Words that hit hard, that stick and ring so true. Words that should not fit for a time after losing your mother. I still do not miss her. I have waited 4 years, and I just don't think it will be. I'm not sure what I feel, but she has been on my mind a lot. When Mariska and I went out Christmas shopping, I saw things I thought I would totally have gotten her for Christmas. I honestly don't want her to be a thought anymore, it just hurts. Even when Vincent saw my brother, there was a moment when, if Vincent hadn't said anything, he would have kept walking. There is still a pull on my heart; I am still more relieved than any other feeling.
The day passed with no real feelings. I even realized that it was the 3rd of December and not the 4th, crazy how time changes and gives a different meaning. It is crazy that with the passage of these four years, instead of finding fond memories and cherished moments, I have found exactly the opposite. I have found letters and pieces of paper that have shown what she truly thought of me. It's more than hard to comprehend sometimes, because a mom is supposed to love you through and through. For me, I wanted her to love me, and she wasn't in a place to do that; there will always be a sting with that.
I am in a place where certain doors are closing, and I am truly ok with that. As much as I would like to forget, she will always be my mom. That hurt, and the sadness will be forever. That door is closing, I am moving on and doing things that I have always wanted to, things that I have only imagined are truly becoming a reality. I am becoming the mom that I always needed. I am becoming the woman that she was never able to see, cherish, and appreciate. It's often a sad place to be when you are alone in the world, but my family is growing, things are changing, and I am finding my way. Lots of next steps ahead. New semesters, new chapters, and lots of decisions to be made.
I am learning and growing all the time, and looking forward to new experiences, many new memories, and creating a life that is patient, kind, and always full of heart. The things that I am passionate about, there is nothing that anyone can do to change that.
You have come a long way, Callahan, and there Is so much ahead of you that isn't even in your wildest dreams yet.
Oh, I am in the strangest part of my life right now. So many things are going as I have always wanted them to, and there are parts of me that are sadder than they have ever been. I don't even know what to write or how to say the things that are spinning in every inch of my soul. It's a weaving of all the things, new and old, that are making me who I am today. I sit here wishing I had the right words to give me some kind of relief. I stare at this picture and think I am healing all the parts of me that deserved so much better, but today I feel an emptiness that I just don't understand. My heart hurts more today than it has in a long time. That feeling of wanting to curl up in a ball, that loneliness, oh, the loneliness, that will not leave me alone. When good things happen, there is no soft place to land. When I am too tired to cry, to make dinner, or even to take a shower, there is no one to ask if I am doing ok or if there is anything I need. I don't want to do everything on my own. There is a more profound realisation of everything I have missed.
A deeper understanding of all that I never received in this life of mine. An anger at the people around me who had a job to do and chose to look the other way. A rage that no one stepped up to keep me safe. I look at my sweet, amazing Ms Amelia, and my heart glows; she is everything that I have fought for. There is a presence with her. When we laugh, when she looks at me with those big brown eyes, we say a thousand words to each other, yet there is no sound. She is going to have the most fantastic life, with so many people to support her; that is such a gift.
I am certain this has been the most challenging semester of my entire career. Each week, I had new experiences and situations to overcome. I have come so far and grown more than I imagined. As an individual, as a professional, as a human who wants more out of others. I find myself getting frustrated with other students in the field, who have not lived life and say things so callous and unkind. I struggle with the fact that others don't take being in a master's program very seriously; their words and actions are something I don't want to be a part of. There is a lack of professionalism that makes me want to scream. The problem is that they don't even know that they are doing it. I am far from perfect, I am sure that I will make millions of mistakes, but there is a particular awareness that makes me different. The life that I have lived, the experiences that I have had. So much revolves around Spunky lately. There is a quiet kind of respect for her and all that she has suffered. I understand where she is, but I want her with me more than anything. I am coming to know why she is the way she is, but there is a heaviness with that; she deserved so much better. I want her to find breathing easy and a freedom that allows her to dance with the wind, purely because she can. I want to be her safe place to call home, to feel, to cry, to be present in all the little moments of joy that we have always found solace in.
I am figuring out my next steps in this life, the loneliness is ever-present, and I am not sure why. A loneliness that I have always known, that I was able to pretend was how things were supposed to be. Today, I just want more. Once again, I think that Spunky is a massive piece of that. To share my goals, my accomplishments, and all that I want for myself. I want there to be someone when the doubt wins, to remind me how far I have come, and I am not even close to being done yet. There are a lot of tears, and I mean oceans full. Some are happy, some are pure joy, and then some fall at the drop of a hat. It's the time of year, it's all the feelings, it's the exhaustion, it's the pain of all that never will be and all that I never imagined. So much, this heart of mine, someday maybe someone can hold it gently and know all of who I am, and love me with all that they are.
That, that right there, those words. Those are the things that are truer than true that I feel with every fiber of my being. It's a strange place to be, a place that is awkward, difficult, and even confusing. I am better off than I have ever been, and there is a weight on my being, my soul, that I don't understand. There are parts of me that are so ok, that are healed. Parts that are happy and can find joy. Parts and pieces that I have worked so hard on. I have cried, processed, and talked about them until they no longer made me ache.
Then there are the unhealed things that still hurt that I don't have words for, that can literally steal the air in my lungs at the mere thought of them. The things that make me want to crawl into a hole, the things that I wish there was some kind of magic pill for, that would make them non-existent. These are the things that I would do anything for them not to be mine. I want those things to be anything but what they are. The things that still bring nightmares, and memories that bring me to a time when the world was dark.
Then there are the healing parts, the parts that long for something better, that keep fighting for what was always ours, we just never knew it. I think I will be here for the rest of my life. There is no end, no magic moment that will make everything anything other than what it is. This is the part that longs for those counseling appointments, for that connection, for the understanding of everything that is held in my heart. Why do I react the way that I do? Why do I panic and cry at the most minor things? Why can I be thrown back to the past by things that others don't even blink an eye at?
Maybe this is just the life of a survivor, trying to find a balance between all three. I am healed, Healing, and unhealed all at once. Some days more of one than the other. Some days all healed, some days nothing is healing, and I am broken to the bone. Some days I feel like I am on top of the world, and yet the next day I am trying to play catch-up. Some days I can remember and everything is ok, other days I remember and just want someone to tell me I am not as awful as I feel. In all three I keep fighting hoping that someday, all the things that hurt won't hurt anymore.
I am not sure, there is everything and nothing on my heart, but probably more of everything. I am more than tired of crying, not knowing how I feel from one minute to the next. There are a few moments that I feel that joy, that I breathe easily, but mostly there is this heavy feeling. I feel like I'm always in trouble and doing things wrong, no matter what the circumstance is. I am a massive screwup, no matter what I do. It's the past, it's the present, it's even things that haven't happened yet. The past is heavy because I am always walking on eggshells at work, wondering if I am going to be the chosen target of my student. There are still wounds that are screaming to be healed, and I am trying so hard and just feel defeated so often. Frustration is a common occurrence at myself at others at everything really. There isn't enough time for anything. There is never a moment that I can just sit without thinking that I haven't missed something important, or forgotten to do something. Every single day, I want to give up, yet I never do. My alarm goes off, and I think, I just can't today. But I hit my snooze as many times as possible, and I get up and smile and pretend that everything is fine. There is an ache, a longing for something that I can't quite reach. Maybe a place that doesn't exist, but a place that I believe is out there somewhere. A place where spunky is a part of me and together we conquer the world. I honestly wish that I had better words, a better explanation, some kind of reason for why I want to curl up in a ball and pretend that everything is fine. I want to be okay, but I feel like I am the farthest thing from that. Everything and yet nothing all at once, my heart is exhausted.
There are just some things in life that, when a person doesn't get them, create an unrelenting emptiness that affects absolutely everything. I am going to struggle with that for my entire life. As hard as I work, as much as I fight, there are these pieces that just don't fit. These are pieces that create an emptiness everywhere in everything that I do. I am different; I don't fit in, and these parts of me just don't go anywhere; they don't fit.
I am just struggling more lately than I have in a long time, and things are going right in all the best ways. It's a crazy sad that I can't get out of. And I just don't understand all that I am feeling. There is this emptiness, this feeling of not being enough of being a bother, a pest. I can't get out of my own way, and there isn't enough of me to do all that I need to do.
I even went to meet with a friend today, and it was not at all what I expected. I was not ok and wanted a connection. She was on her phone, taking a call, and working on a paper. All things that don't need to get done there in that moment. I have so many things that I could be doing, and I felt like nothing sitting there in front of her. Everything was more important.
Everything is making me angry, and everything is making me sad. What is a person supposed to do with that? I want to scream, hit my head to feel anything other than what I feel right now. I don't want to eat, I don't want anything other than to disappear. Sometimes I just feel more than invisible, and it's such an empty feeling. No matter what I do, there is this incredible longing for something else. This week I am on break, and I can't even relax and do nothing. There is always something to do, always something that needs my time. Even when I just sit, the need to be productive and accomplish something is huge. So much unrest that I can't wrap my brain around. I sit here wanting so badly to type and get it all out in the hopes that the feeling will subside, but there are no right words, there are no right pictures. It's a place that is hollow and lacking in so many things that I don't even have a clue where to start. I am just not ok right now, and I want to be more than anything. SO I am pretending, trying to keep going and do everything that is needed right now, but goodness, I am spent. Absolutely utterly spent.
So much is in my heart. I am happy, yet I am broken, overwhelmed, and totally burnt out. I was watching Lilith Fair, the documentary, and it was so good, the songs I grew up listening to. All the moments of my life, and the tears started flowing. When all of those artists came onto the scene, those were the words to the story of my life. Those were the songs that played through the tears and the hopes for the future. The life I have lived and the experiences I have had have given me an immense amount of strength, hope, and a longing for things to be different for me. I want freedom, I want the kind of peace that feels complete. I want the kind of rest that makes me feel renewed each day. I am in a difficult place right now, and I understand why, yet at the same time, I don't. I am in a place that I have worked so hard for, and there is a hole. There is this sadness, this intense sense that I am missing out on something. There is a need to belong somewhere, and yet I don't really belong anywhere. I no longer belong in the teaching field; I have yet to belong to the counseling field. And I, in my own skin, have yet to hold spunky and help her heal her heart so much all at once. I just need more of myself, more time, more space, more light to believe that I am truly going to make it. Maybe even that I am worthy of all the things that I long for.
I recently received my copy of Sara Mclaughlin's new album, and one of the songs, of course, you guessed it, brought me to tears.
This healing journey is so long, and as I work on these last few pieces, the last few pivotal pieces, it's a lot. Daily, I wonder if I am strong enough and brave enough for these steps. I just want her with me, beside me, a part of who I am in my everyday. Not someone sitting in the past trying to make it right. Because no matter how badly I want to make it something other than what it is, I can't. No matter how long Spunky sits there trying to make sense out of all that happened, there is no making sense. It was just terrible, and it happened it happened to us and we have to face it, and find a way to be ok. The amount of energy everything takes right now is extraordinary. I want to be this bubbly, happy person, but right now I am just not ok. I can't even tell you how hard that is to admit. I am not ok, and I want to be more than anything. I dread waking up every day, going to a job that just isn't the same. I am tired of being hit, and everyone keeps saying 'more data, more data.' How bad does someone have to get hurt before something changes? Goodness, there are good moments. I love the kids, but I just can't anymore. I feel like I am lost in a swamp, trying to stay alive in quicksand. The daily triggers are just too much, and I am not sure what a person is supposed to do with that. I can not be grabbed at my neck, slapped on my chest, bitten on my chest, and pretend that everything is fine. Maybe someone else can take that and keep going, but I cannot because it affects me so deeply. I am not sure that others can understand the impact that it has on me. In those moments, I am thrown back into the most awful moments of my life.
I am trying harder than I ever have to heal Spunky, and I feel like I am beating my head against the wall. I want nothing more than for her to be a part of me and join me on this journey. I feel like I need her now more than ever. She is so much a part of everything that I do in my everyday, and yet there is a distance. I don't hate her anymore. I want her with me, and as much as I want her with me, I am terrified. In my bone,s she is all the things that I don't feel like I am. She is me, and I am her, but there is a separation that is more than hard to put into any kind of words. She is everything I am not. I am everything gross and disgusting.
I am just not ok right now, and I am overwhelmed. There are so many things that I want, and I feel like I am not very good at any one of them.
I heard this the other day, and it sparked a thought that made me smile, going backwards before going forwards. People often look at healing all wrong. There is no switch, and everything is magically better. There is a time to look back, and there is a time to move on; both are necessary. I smiled to myself because that could not be more true, and I wonder how true that is for many people. I hear it all the time: you have to look forward, you have to move on from the past, you need to look towards the future. Don't look in the rearview mirror, all those things are gone, there is nothing in the past, just look towards the future, leave the past in the past. All of those things make sense and I understand them, but there is a time to look back, heal the things that hurt, then continue to move on. There is a new song out, and these words I heard so very clearly: "The pain keeps coming till we face it till we heal it".
So many people run from the things that hurt, the things that are buried in their soul, with the thought that buried things shouldn't bother them, but maybe the matter of fact is that those buried things are the things that bother us the most. Perhaps we need to look back to live fully and be able to move forward.
In this, maybe I should listen to my own words. I have come to a place where Spunky, that little 13-year-old part of me that still feels like she needs too much and takes up too much space. She feels like a burden and a bother all the time. She needs such a massive amount of reassurance that I often feel more than guilty for it. She doesn't believe she is okay, she doesn't believe she is worthy of common decency, and she doesn't even think she is lovable. Who could love someone who made such terrible choices, who lived through the most unimaginable? So she needs more light and love. I have worked more than hard, trying to heal her, and I often feel like I am running in place, round and round, trying to understand and make some kind of sense out of the trauma that she lived through and the reactions around her. Her focus is always on those around her who refused to see her hurt heart. Those around her who pointed fingers and made her believe that she was the one who had done something terribly wrong. She struggles to understand how she was left so alone and blamed for something that she never wanted. She wants to understand that more than anything. People have told her all her life that there is nothing that can be done about the past, so she should move on; her own mother refused to take responsibility for anything. So spunky took all the responsibility that wasn't hers and continues to pay the price.
She is in fight mode most of the time; when not in fight mode, she is frozen, scared of everything and nothing all at the same time. Broken in pieces, trying to put everything back together.
People tell her that things are over, but for her, they are all there, right below the surface, reminding her of the damage in her nightmares, triggers, and memories. I spend most of my time trying to get her to another place, anywhere other than where she is, and maybe just maybe, I need to be. Be there with her, just present. Maybe it's time I give her that space to look back, dig in the mud, face it, feel it, then come sit with me in our safe place and move forward together.
Oh, there are so many things, and I can't seem to get out of my own way. The exhaustion is absolute, and there isn't much time for anything. I have little patience. Seemingly small things are getting on every last nerve that I have. I am in a place that I have always wanted to be in, and yet there is that sadness that just won't let go. It's the ever-present heavy kind that I just can't seem to shake.
I received the evaluation from the conference, and everything was excellent, primarily, but I focused on the ones that weren't. The one who said they could have done without the music, but that music gave an insight that you wouldn't have had. The one who said they left feeling defeated missed the entire point; it was wanting them to be different. I am not even looking at it again. I can't right now. I read some of their comments and think they are not prepared for trauma or its effects, and that makes me sad. I need to learn to focus on the many good things that were said, and right now, that is more challenging than I thought. It was three negatives in a room full of positives, and all I see are the ones who don't understand. I know that there is no way in a presentation to make everyone happy, but goodness, I want everyone to see my heart and where I am coming from.
Even the other day at work, someone with all good intentions often told me to go home and get some rest. I can usually smile and keep going, but on Friday, I had heard it one too many times. I said no, I don't get rest, I have clients every night, and I have three classes. I usually don't eat dinner, because after going all day, when I get home at 8:30, there is nothing left of me to cook or clean. So, please, for my sanity, could you stop telling me to get some rest? Then there are those people who come into my classroom, ask how I am, smile, then walk out like they never heard my words ! DO NOT walk in here, see what is going on and then do nothing. Do not smile at me after I have told you the situation and pretend that everything is fnie, I am about as far from fine as a person get right now. I even asked a co-worker today, like I am not making myself clear. what else should I be saying for them to understand the situation ? So over it, and barely keeping my head above water.
There is this feeling of being on edge all the time, and it's not a fun place to be. At the moment, I don't know how to make it better. I know everything will get done, I always do, but at what cost? It's only the first week of September, and I have nothing. Work isn't at all helping the situation. It is nothing like last year, and we are barely getting by each day. What they want us to do is simply not sustainable, and I am unsure where that leaves me.
I hope this is just a phase and that I will soon snap out of it, get into the groove of this new phase of practicum, school, and work. I need to find a balance, but right now, there isn't one. I even tried to ask for Mondays off, and she said Oh, but you don't want to lose your office space. I have yet to determine when the assignments will be completed. I'm not sure where to fit them in. I just don't even have time to breathe.
I find myself so looking forward to Wednesday and getting to just be, no pressure, no deadlines, no judgment. There are so many things, and I don't feel like I am doing any of them well. I just don't understand the sadness, when I am in a place with all that I have ever wanted.
What a first week of the semester! There are so many thoughts, so many emotions, and I am hanging on by a mere single little thread. I started experiencing a sore throat late Monday, and it worsened over time. Fever by the end of Tuesday and finally gone Friday, but still achy. And eating, who has time for that, because there is not just the cooking but the cleaning as well, and who has time for that? Can I survive like this for 16 weeks? I am not sure if I can really, and that worries me. The number of times I have gotten dizzy today is too numerous to count. Today is an extra day, a holiday, and yet I still don't have enough time to accomplish all the things I need to do. I'm not sure exactly where that leaves me or what my next steps are. But tonight I am in tears because there isn't enough, and a list feet long of things that still need attention.
Work well, it is awful. The year has not started off well, and I am overwhelmed. Nothing is as it was said it would be, and there is nothing they can do. I have already said that they are purposely pushing people out, and it is working. They will not have any staff left to cover the two rooms if they continue at the current rate. I tried to be as positive as possible going back this year, and each day, each hour, there are more and more mountains to climb, with insufficient help and resources. I am tired of staff members coming into my room smiling, as if everything is fine, and as a teacher, I am barely treading water. They are ok with that, and that is the reason I am on the way out. So many appointments for people coming to observe, but we are forgotten. They arrive at times with few students and tell us, 'Wow, look how well you are doing.' No, we are in survival mode, trying to care for our little ones. We are doing what we do, and we are burnt out, and we are four weeks into school. We all look around, asking the question, Can we make it through this year? Often there are no words, we just look at each other with a knowing, wondering what the day ahead will bring?
I have started seeing clients, and I am excited; however, I also feel an overwhelming sense of responsibility. That I wasn't sure that I was prepared for. There is a sadness, a lack of hope that is so heavy. I do love it, this is what I have wanted, but this isn't the place for me. It will be fine. In 16 weeks, a person can accomplish almost anything, right? School is crazy, my practicum teacher gives little information, and I am struggling. There is no syllabus, no direction, and I don't know if we are having class tomorrow on campus or via Zoom, because there is zero communication. I need to know what is expected of me, what needs to be done, and when I need to complete tasks. None of that is being shared.
Even as I sit here writing, I am more than overwhelmed. I am just going to bed, and let's see what happens tomorrow. A job that I no longer love, where the expectations are just not doable. A class with no communication. I am hungry, but too tired to make anything and then clean all over again, so I am going to read some Yalom, find the why I want to do this, and try to breathe. Tomorrow has got to be a better day. It has too. But I have little hope that it will be, and I am going to do my best not to cry.
I've been feeling the day coming for some time, and it's really heavy this year. Tomorrow is the day. 22 years ago, I got pregnant with my children, my greatest joy and everything that I never knew I needed. I find myself more than angry, feeling so affected, upset, and sad that I feel anything at all on this day. I feel like Amelia adds a certain sweetness, and I still wonder how I can be heartbroken. Without this day, there would be no Amelia. I am in a place where I am so unbelievably hurt at what I went through and incredibly grateful that I got to be a mom and now a grandmother. The struggle between the grief part and the celebration is something that I struggle to balance. I feel guilty that there is any sadness at all because, in the grand scheme of things, I would do it all over again to have my children and get to be their mom.
The sadness I feel is incredibly intense. The kind that stops a person in their tracks, like you are supposed to be somewhere but just can't. The kind of sad that sucks the air out of the room, and you're frozen in all the things you remember or don't remember and can't change. When I think about that day, I realize I just wanted to be normal, to belong, and to mean something to someone. Goodness, I was so excited getting ready, and I get so frustrated with myself that I was excited. There had to be a part of me that knew something wasn't right, but I couldn't see past my excitement of being normal. He included me, and I was going to do something normal, which felt really good. I feel awful that I get so sad, because really, I just went away. There came a point where I knew what was going to happen to me, and it was like this switch. I didn't feel a thing. He wasn't violent, yet I write that and think, how hard is it to rape a girl who knows what is coming and flies away to a place that is safe and far away. The last thing that I remember was that green pillow. In my head, I created this story that made things less awful. Somehow it fell directly on my face. There was a time that made sense. I'm really sure he put it there; he knew exactly what he was doing. A pillow doesn't just fall on a person's face. I just needed him not to be a monster, and if it was my fault, then I was to blame. I didn't catch any of the signs, and I wanted to be normal for even a short time.
I am struggling to wrap my head around the fact that he raped me, but I felt nothing and remember so little. In my mind, I know what he did, I got pregnant, but for there to be a blank space is utterly confusing. I have no clue how he took my clothes off, and how his came off. There were no bruises, no fighting, no pleas. I kept saying, "We are supposed to go shopping," but he seemed to forget we had plans for lunch and that I was going to help him get what he needed for his trip. How can I be so sad about something that didn't hurt? How can I be so sad about something that I didn't feel and don't remember? I shouldn't be sad; I have my beautiful children.
I do wish that there were easy answers. I wish there was something, anything, that could bring my heart some peace. I wish that there were another mom like me to talk to. With all the grief and heartache about what happened to me, there are a few things that I know for sure.
I know that I am so very grateful to be Vincent and Mariska's mom. I love them more than I have words for. I am so thankful for each and every minute that I have with them, and I would not change a thing for them to be mine. I know that someday questions will come, and I hope that we can talk about them together. My experience, their experience, and our experience together. I know that Amelia has brought our little family together in ways that I never imagined. Someday she may have questions, and that is ok too. The three of us have come a long way, and I look forward to all the amazing things ahead.
My Vincent and Mariska, you will forever and always be the air in my lungs. You amaze me all the time with your care, your strength of character, and your heart. I hope that I make you proud, and that someday you can understand why I did some of the things that I did. Someday, I hope you will understand the significance of this day, August 22. I love you I love you I love you.
My Ms.Amelia, I love you so BIG. You have brought a light into our family that I don't have the right words for. I love every moment with you and look forward to so many firsts. You, sweet girl, are a first-generation Callahan who will know a good, kind, loving dad who will protect you with his whole heart. You have so many people who love you, and I hope someday you can understand where your poppy has come from, and all that I hope for you in this big world. Because of you, your mom, and your dad, my heart is bursting at the seams.
Oh my family, I heart your heart with all that I am.
I presented at a trauma conference, and one of the sessions was about psychedelics. And I don't think that I ever felt so free in my entire life. I have never truly spoken about my own experience, maybe mentioned it casually, but not in totality. I have never expressed what my experience with psychedelics was like, and what a freeing experience that it was for me. This is a much-needed intervention, and for the first time in my life, I am going to share my experience and the feelings that I was able to feel for the very first time. I wasn't afraid of anything, and that is something that trauma survivors rarely get, and I think maybe yes, it's about time that I did talk about it. So here we go.
It was just as my case was going to trial. We finally got a date, and it was set. I had spent close to two years talking to attorneys and detectives, trying to keep his stepdaughter safe. It was never a question of pressing charges on my father because I knew that I had to keep her safe. My only choice was pressing charges; there was nothing else. I was not going to let any other little girl suffer under the hands of my father. Doing it all on my own, I was exhausted. In the end, I just wanted the case over. I never imagined how hard the entire process would be on me; I just knew that it was the right thing to do.
A few weeks before court, the entire family was asked to come to the Da's office. I am not sure what they were trying to prove, or what their intentions were, but I was made to feel small and insignificant. They had my brother, Mother, and me all sitting in the same room. And she asked me a few questions about the abuse. My family is sitting right there in the room. She was asking me about the oral sex that I had to give my father. I felt like I was shrinking, and neither of them was in the room. I answered their questions, and don't really remember much else. But I left feeling like I was the one who had done something wrong. There was no care or concern, just a girl forced to recount the evil things that had been done to her. There were trips to the advocacy center, where I had to read my statement and answer more questions. I felt like there was no care; I felt like a bother. I felt like I got in the way, and they didn't understand my need to do this and keep Angela safe.
Then there was the trip to the courthouse. I was terrified; everything seemed so much bigger when I was that afraid. I needed some care and concern at the time, and none was given. The DA walked me into the courtroom, where we would be, and showed me where I would sit and where he would be. She showed me a small, closet-like room where I would sit when I couldn't be part of things. I can remember the panic; my heart was racing, my legs felt like rubber, and I couldn't say a single word. I know that she was talking, but I don't remember her words. She was talking at me not including me. I wanted to take the room in to be prepared, but felt rushed and unseen. We left that courtroom, and she saw other attorneys, who were more important, and she said the exit was that way, and I was left on my own. I don't remember any words of encouragement or that things would be ok, I didn't feel like a person at all. I can remember my mind swirling with a million different questions, walking faster and faster past all the police, attorneys, and criminals. I couldn't get out of that building fast enough. No one bothered to ask how I was or what I was feeling. I am pretty sure I got sick once I got to my car, and the tears started on the way home. The entire world was going to know the things that I had to do for my father, and I felt like I was the one who had done something so terribly wrong.
So I was asked to go to a rave with a co-worker. Without a single second thought, without caring about a thing, I said yes. I wanted something normal, something that didn't have to do with the court system, court houses, DAs, or police. I was a bit nervous. I was a good kid, and drugs were never something that I ever entertained. I just needed some relief, something to not have to think about what was ahead of me. I even joked that I would be the one to get arrested, and he would go free. They gave it to me, and I thought, "This isn't going to do a thing; I will feel nothing."
I was witness to all of those around me, having their own experience, and yet I felt like an outsider. They kept asking how I was, knowing it was my first time. I would shrug, saying that I was fine, and they would smile, telling me to give it time. Then in a single second, I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. The absolute rush that came over me. It was like the world lifted, and I had never felt so light. I sat there for who knows how long, feeling like there was not a care in the world. For the first time ever, I wasn't afraid of the people around me. I didn't really care what anyone thought. I was free, I was there in the moment, fully present. It was the incredible sense of calm that I have ever experienced. I eventually got up and was able to walk around. I can remember seeing a group of people smoking, but they were all unable to find their mouths, and I thought how strange it was. For me, my experience was one where I felt normal. The fear that I woke up with and went to bed with was gone. I felt so much lighter. I was able to be in an environment where people were just people and not monsters. I had such a feeling of freedom. I can literally remember thinking, "This is what it must feel like to be normal". Every sense was so heightened, and I took it all in. No overwhelm, no dread, no panic. For the first time ever, I was experiencing the world with a calmness that I didn't realize ever existed. I listen to music and feel everything, and this was even more intense. I can still hear the music in my head Children by Robert Miles in true trance fashion, and I was there in the middle of it all, listening to the music, dancing without a care in the world. I made my way to the DJ, and I was just present, feeling each beat to my core, and I wasn't a victim in those moments, just a girl dancing, enjoying the music.
I didn't see the people I was with for the rest of the night. The great thing is, I wasn't even looking for them; I was safe in my own skin. No thoughts of anything that had ever happened to me. Just there, free, thinking I never want this feeling to end. There were a few moments, and I ended up sitting in a chair, and a few of my brother's friends saw me. They were tripping hard, and I said hi. They were a bit confused to see me there, and were actually pretty funny. I will forever be grateful for that night. On the way home, everyone was under the influence, and I find it hard to believe that we made it home safely. I had my head lying on the window, watching the street light go by, my thoughts drifting to what a little girl must feel when she doesn't have a care in the world. We made it back to his house and watched some trance music that created different screen images. Such an open freedom, it was now early morning, I could see the sunrise, and I felt the effects wearing off. The sadness began to fill my heart, my shoulders once again tightened, and I could feel the fear creeping in, worried about what others were thinking, worried about all the things that I had no control over. I eventually made it back home and to my own bed. I was sad; I wanted the experience to last longer. There was a sadness to experiencing something I didn't have. I have held on to that experience my entire life. I am grateful that for that time, I had an understanding of what it must be like not to be afraid, and to be glad to be alive. That night at the Ridglea Theatre was everything and more than I ever expected. I didn't get arrested, and my father was given a plea.
I hope that in the future, I can use something like this as therapy to help with the most challenging parts of my story, and that in the process, it can help reduce the intensity, allowing me to truly heal. I have not done it since; the memories of that night have stayed with me, and I am grateful to know that feeling normal, not being afraid, is possible. I felt like just another girl in the world, and that is a feeling I will never forget. Maybe someday I can have that, a sense of true freedom that is all mine just because I am a girl living her best life.
I just watched the Movie: Bob Trevino liked it, and I am kind of a mess. I would love to have a Bob Trevino in my life. Someone who sees me, who hears me, and goes out of his way to make sure that I am taken care of. I need someone to be a fill-in dad for me, to understand what I didn't have, and maybe fill in those gaps. Someone who cared, someone who wanted me to succeed, who was there to help, who was there to teach me all the things that I never learned. A person to hold my heart when it feels like the world is against me.
There have been times when I thought I found that person, but it just never worked out for me; I am just too needy. Everyone has their own families, but I have just always been the girl who doesn't have one. I thought I was close to having someone like that when I went camping with a family, but I was sadly mistaken, and it crushed me. One of those moments when something you have wanted seems so close, and then that moment you realize that that thing isn't meant for you at all.
The kids and I were putting up our tent in the dark. I had never truly been camping and had no idea what I was doing. I was so tired and really struggling. I didn't have the right equipment, and everyone around me did. It was so dark that the ground was uneven, and we were starving. We managed to get the tent set up and were trying to get the air mattress in the tent. I was laughing, but only because it was better than crying. But not a single person there came over and offered any kind of help. They were all sitting down in their chairs around the fire, laughing, enjoying themselves as we struggled on our own. I tried to make light of it, make it all fun and games for Vincent and Mariska, but I was heartbroken. I do remember how we laughed, but I was heartbroken. They didn't have a clue; all that I was feeling, I was just going to make it an experience for them. How does a person see someone struggling like that and not offer some help, or even a way to try to make it work? How does someone not say, "Are you okay?" Do you need any help? No, they were all just onlookers, and I was left out of place, wishing that I had never gone on that stupid trip. I can remember looking over at everyone, already done setting up, and seeing the person who I thought was my person, my Bob Trevino, and not a single hand was lent, not a single word was spoken. They saw the struggle and did nothing. I wish it didn't take me so long to realize that they were my people, but I was never theirs. There is an ache there that doesn't go away, because I gave them access to so much of my heart.
I watch this movie and think about how amazing it would be to have someone help with household repairs, answer life questions when I'm clueless, make me laugh when I am sad, or hold my hand when I am afraid. Someone to offer life advice when I have a big decision to make. Someone to share with, someone to care. Someone to stay and make a difference. Someone to celebrate with, and hold me when I cry.
This movie was gut-wrenching for sure. I will always be looking for a person like that for me. I know I will be ok, I know that I have people who care and believe in me, but this is something different. I want someone who is mine. I know I keep going because I always did, and always will. I just want my very own go-to person, where I am included and a part of their life. I just want that so badly; even at 50 years old, it's what I want most of all. Maybe someday. So I keep looking, keep hoping. But I am also aware that I may never get it, so I will watch movies like this and be grateful that others have their Bob Trevino to make their lives a little brighter and less lonely.
I still find it pretty unbelievable each and every time that I prepare to speak. I have worked so hard to develop my voice that when I get to use it to make a difference, I think my heart does a little dance. I am always grateful for the opportunity, and each time I present, I hope to become better and better, making a difference for other survivors like me.
This year was different; I almost canceled. I was closer than I ever thought I would. There were so many things going on, and I wasn't sure that I would have an impact. I received an email about me crying, which threw me off for a few days, maybe a week or two. I responded and didn't hear anything back. I had a feeling that I had done something wrong, and my tears were a problem. I thought, "But this is me." I feel everything so deeply, it doesn't mean that I am weak or not ok. It means that I was affected. So there was that, which made it really difficult to overcome. But in my heart, this is what I long for: to speak to make a difference. So I marched on. I was nervous but confident. I spread all the artwork on the tables and had everything set up. I was ready. I am getting more confident; I am who I am. Some people will like how I present, it will make them think. It will not be for others, and that is ok.
There was a most amazing lady named Levetta that sat next to me for the keynote. She has left a mark, that I will carry forever. She had a spirit that I didn't know I needed. She was everything kind, encouraging and such a breath of fresh air. She has been in the field a long time and still loves it. Her words and how she spoke, she loves helping and caring. She was such a bright light for me. How she spoke about the field, was a mirror for just how much that i love this journey I am on to becoming a counselor. She encouraged my big dreams. She had this spirit that is hard to put words to but makes you feel comfortable right away. I have to believe it is no accident that I got to meet her, and I hope with all that I am that I can keep in touch, and remind her all that she meant. Even my picture for the conference is different, I am laughing and it's more me than any picture ever. She saw me and noticed, she said oh no it's perfect, it's so you. She made my heart smile, it kind of felt like she saw me and celebrated that I was different. oh, I heart her heart.
I was a little worried; the room seemed to have many empty seats, but as time got closer, the room began to fill. And fill and fill until there was standing room only, with a few people sitting on the floor. I worry that I focused too much on the slides, and the stress before the presentation affected me, taking some time to let go. I was aware that I spoke too fast, so I would slow down and then speed up again. I think my point was still heard, and my message was delivered. Just need more practice. I need to learn to stop letting what others think get in my way.
People came up to me afterwards, hugs were offered, and I was thanked for my story. One guy who was sitting in the front said that he was worried he was going to say the wrong thing. It made me smile that he was worried; I was confident that he would be everything kind and gentle. There was a presence he didn't want to acknowledge, fearing he might say the wrong thing and cause more harm. I thanked him and said that he would be amazing. I knew in that moment that he had taken my words to heart and would be more mindful and do things differently. It's those interactions that I do this for. To make others think. I remember the clapping at the end, and yet I felt very far away. There were a few moments when everything went on automatic. I wanted to be so present, and sometimes that just isn't an option.
I have realized that there is a particular kind of sacredness in dealing with trauma that has to be respected. As soon as it was over, it was like everyone was moving on. There needs to be a kind of sacredness when dealing with trauma and people's stories. I am trying to figure out what it means to me and how I can make it happen. It's essential. There is a sacredness to the story, to the tears, to the pauses for breath. All things that wouldn't be possible without survival. I don't know, it's a lot to think about, but something so very important that I feel in my bones. Like, you need to hold space and really think about what I said. You can't just keep moving; you have to let it in. More about that later.
There were many fabulous sessions that I got to attend. I am really looking forward to learning more about sandtray therapy. There was a session about psychedelics, and another on Psychodrama.
Sometimes I am caught in the middle, not yet a therapist, and still healing. I find myself in a place between merely surviving and truly thriving. There are so many things that I want to convey as a survivor and as a therapist. It's a balancing act.
I got home and Mariska had gotten me flowers, she was fully present, excited for me listening to my experience. She looked at the conference schedule with me, she asked where I was, she was excited for me and it felt really good. She had an amazing dinner, and was just everything I needed that night.
I look forward to all that is ahead. Exploring more, discovering my place in the world of trauma, and learning how to teach others and help them understand. There is a great need for people to understand our hearts and where we are coming from. I will be presenting in December on the impact of Family Violence. Lots of Law Enforcement, Medical, and teachers, along with a new audience, new perspective for sure. I start seeing clients in a few weeks, and I'm excited about it. This time next year, I will be taking my exams and becoming an LPC-Associate, which is really exciting. Good things ahead as I continue healing. I know there are so many more things to write, but goodness, my brain is tired. Summer school grad classes, presenting, and teaching Summer school. There's only one day left of summer before I am back in class. All good things ahead, with so much to look forward to. I would love to hear from those who were there and see if anything I said stuck with them or made a difference.
The only rapes that I was there for and remember are the ones when I was in elementary school. I had no idea what was happening to me. I only understood later, maybe in third grade, what was happening to my little body. I am not even sure that I connected the pain to what was not supposed to be happening to me. By the time I hit fifth grade, I was well aware and knew what was happening: my father was having sex with me, and so was Albert. My parents would leave the door open and I knew that was what they were doing, and I would get so angry. I can remember the puberty talk and sitting there with my mother. All the other girls were thinking, How gross and giggling and laughing. I didn't have that response; I was terrified. I sat there motionless, hoping not to be noticed, wanting to crawl in a hole. I knew what they were talking about, and I knew what was happening to me. There was this massive sense of shame that I knew so much that I wished I didn't know. By that time, I was getting better at going away to protect myself. I remember parts and pieces; Sometimes the pain waited for the morning. Feeling it in the moment would have been too overwhelming; the moments when I felt it as it was happening were the most excruciating.
When I hit 13, I already felt like a slut. I knew that if others knew the things I had to do, I would surely not be welcomed or included. By the time those rapes happened, there were pieces of me long gone. They happened, the rapes but before the pain and the anguish, I went far away, and Spunky took over. I remember some of the pain especially from the gang rape, when it got to that point of being overwhelmed everything went black. By the time Charles arrived, I knew what to do and had already gone away, so I couldn't feel a single thing. All of this at 50 years old, and I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. How does a person know what is happening to them and be so removed they feel nothing. I understand, and that is where so much feeling and pain lie.
Sometimes I think it would have been easier for me to feel things; then I wouldn't have to come up with excuses, and well, it wasn't so bad, I mean I didn't even feel anything. Often, I didn't feel it in my body at all. But I feel like I do today. And it's more than confusing. It was all that bad, and my heart is broken. Poor girl, and it makes me more than angry, that no one cared enough to love and keep her safe. What in the fuck was wrong with these people, to leave me alone!!! I was literally dying inside.
The best depiction of what happens was in a movie that I recently saw. The crowded room, it was a lot to take in , very heavy and more than triggering. But there is one part where the little boy is going to be abused and his so called twin, who isn't really there steps in, and takes the abuse while the real little boy stays outside and catches a lightning bug . There are no words that can do that scene justice, but goodness for someone like me to understand that scene, is something crushing. Just to have a scene as a representation that when things were so unimaginable, another part of you says let me to save you, it's something heart breaking, yet amazing.
It allowed me to see Spunky differently, there is a gratefulness for her, a different understanding; it's always been there, but this scene helped me see her different. I feel that is where that so sad soul of mine comes in, that feels so heavy and untouchable. Sometimes my life feels so crazymaking. When I feel that pain today, I want to scream, it makes me want to live anywhere but inside my own skin. Those moments are still alive in me, and I have to figure out how to let them go. If I can just get over this mountain, I feel like the road ahead will be so doable and then maybe finally I can lay down all of the gross and disgusting that I hold in every cell. I hate the things that have happened to me. I don't want to wear that tattoo anymore. I am not even sure that this makes sense. Somewhere in my heart, it gives me that piece of hope that soon Spunky will be in my heart, and out of that place that feels so far away. This is one of the hardest parts of my journey that brings my greatest sadness.
I don't want to be just another victim with a tragic story. I want to be the one who has found her voice, saying this is me, and we need to do things differently. I want to be the one who says these things happened, and I still feel them in my bones, but I am so much more than the things that have happened to me. That is what I want, but sometimes that is not what I feel at all. When I am working with Spunky, trying to heal her, I feel like a victim. I feel like I failed. I feel this tremendous sense of overwhelm at just how different she is. She experiences the world in a way that is vastly different from how anyone else perceives it. She is terrified most of the time. She wants to scream, but remains silent; she doesn't feel like she has a right to speak. Her words are too heavy, too full of truth. Sometimes she wants to communicate and tries, but her words come out either as silence or so loud that no one hears her. Other times, her words don't seem to make any sense at all. How does a person explain the fact that they have been to hell and back more than once? Somehow, the things that happened to her make her feel so incredibly worthless. I speak to give meaning to all the things that happened to me, and yet this part, Spunky's part, is more than complicated. I have worked so very hard and feel like I should know how to do this. I feel helpless in these moments and feel like the word Victim should be placed on my forehead to warn everyone to stay away. I want to be in a place where I can throw my arms in the air, cry, and laugh, knowing just how far I have come and be ever so proud of myself. I long for that, I need that to mend this battered heart of mine.
The sharp edges are the things that scare me into silence. The sharp edges are the things that make me less than. Those sharp edges are what my nightmares and flashbacks are made of, and I am terrified that somehow those sharp edges will take all the progress I have made and smash it into millions of tiny pieces. So many times, I can't even get the words out, but I can when they are far away and there is a purpose for someone else. When I think of Spunky, all that little girl had to endure, it's on a level that is hard to comprehend. I know she is me, and I am her, but I don't feel like she is a part of me yet. She is something other than which lives outside of me. Sometimes it feels incredibly strange, talking about her as if she were someone else. In my brain, that is just what made sense. I know it was me, I know it happened to me. But my brain had to put it all on her for us to survive. The sharp edges are staring me down right now, as if to say, 'Here I am; what are you going to do?' I try so hard to move on, I have come so far, and this feels like a battle that I am not strong enough for sometimes. I say that, and I know I will be okay, but sometimes it just feels so much bigger than me. I often forget how far I have come, and that it's already happened and can't destroy me anymore. However, that fear is still present and very much alive. I don't fully understand it. On the one hand, I know it has already happened; I am still here, still breathing, and I can't be hurt by it anymore. The other part is still terrified by all those little sharp edges that make up that time; that feels crushing. I know it's over, but for that part of me, she is still trying to figure them out. Trying to make sense, wanting to understand. She would do anything to make it go away. All the things that I know and how far I have come, this is something I just don't know how to do. This part of my story is screaming at me, wanting something, and I am not sure what to give.
I have been in this strange place, it's sad and angry, overwhelming, and I feel like it's time that I had an easy button. Not for long, but just so that I can catch my breath, and then keep going. Maybe this is the time when all that I run from catches up with me and hits me for a few days. I have done nothing today, and it's 5 pm. No homework, no cleaning, nothing but trying not to think. I have cried, done puzzles on my phone, flipped through Facebook, and put things on Netflix that I don't have to think about. These are the days when I wonder if those sharp edges will win.
Just so much hurt, for a girl who just wanted to be 13. Still so much pain for a woman of 50 and all that she missed out on. She didn't want to be mature; she didn't want to have all the answers. She just wanted to be a girl who was appreciated for being the sweet person she was. Nothing more, nothing less, just to be cared for and thought of. She wanted someone to look at her and think Wow, how lucky am I to know her. There is such a great loneliness right now that it is hard to find words for. I think I have been alone for most of my life, and it's come to a point where I no longer want to be. There are so many things about me to share: the things I am passionate about, the things that excite me, and the dorky side of me, which finds the strength in the smallest things that you would think are so insignificant. Those are the big things to me. Searching for Amelia's first rainbow was so precious.
A text from Vincent saying he loves me and asks if I need anything. Mariska saying Hello on her break at work. I worry all the time that the 13-year-old part of me makes me unlovable, and that she won't ever find peace. I am scared to death that those sharp edges will haunt her forever. She will eventually be beside me; she has to, because I will never stop fighting. But I want her to truly live; I want her to let the things she sees fall away and know that she deserves the best. It was just that those around her couldn't care for and love her the way she needed. Someday, I want someone to love her so fiercely that she will never look back and will know just how truly lovable she is. Someday, Someday.
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