I was Raped

I see those words, three little world that carry the world, those words in the title and my heart stops. I hear those words and the world stops.  I can write them and it feels like those are words that are very far away, words for another time and place.  Those are words that happen to good innocent girls, those are words that happen to people who tell and find support and love and care.  Those are words that fit others but not me.  Those are words that some how don't fit me because no one noticed, no one cared. Things happened to me as usual  and  I just kept on living doing everything that a little girl is supposed to do. No one stopped to care that this little girl was being hurt like this all the time;

 no

 one

 cared

 to

 notice

 Things were not seen and so much looked over.  All these things left a little girl all alone trying to understand things that should never have been a part of her world.  

Someday I want to be able to stand up brave and strong and say those words. Say the things that have happened to me  without feeling less than and gross and disgusting. I want to be able to say the truth and not be ashamed; not feel like I am less of a human, not feel like such an outsider. I want to say the things that have been silent, and hiding for oh so many years.

Somehow speaking those words makes things clearer and more real than they have ever been and its more than difficult. Somewhere In my head I know those are the things that happened and somehow by not saying those words I can keep it far away and use other words that don't sting so much.  I can say I was hurt, I can say people were not nice.  I can say that people took things that were not theirs to take. I can even say that people just didn't listen. Those are things that I have learned to say and can  come out of my mouth so much easier than the real words.

The real words don't apply to me because I always just cleaned up and kept going.  There was no time to rest and recover,  there was not time for healing.  Night after night, day after day this is just something that happens to you. 

The shame in the things that have happened to me is enormous, and that is also a part that keeps things silent. Things have happened to me that I don't have words for.  Things have happened that I remember every detail of and can not bare to get them out of my mouth.   These are the words that have happened to me my entire life,  Before I even knew what it was that was happening. These words have happened to me before I can even remember.  These words are so full of violence, and to fully comprehend that is unimaginable. 

There are bits and pieces that I try to explain but words seem empty, when my heart is scarred. When  My words today feel so heavy,  I feel terrible that I need to speak them.  I feel like a burden,  that I don't deserve the love and support all this time later.  I mean I am living and breathing, why burden someone else with the things that have happened to me.  

There are so many factors that come into the picture with words like this.  There are the truths, the reality the hard facts that are to terrifying to understand.  Then comes  the body memories.  There are nights that I wake up and I literally can not feel my legs.  There are nights that I wake up and the literal pain that I am in doesn't even have words.  My body hurts just like it did on those exceptionally hard nights when his parts were fully working and I was the one who had to suffer.  There are mornings my hips kill me because of the sins of my father and his little girl whose body wasn't made for what he wanted.  I often get angry when my mind went away , I have said that a million times.  Somehow that feels like the easy way out.  Yet in the same breathe I believe that the pain was so great there was no other choice for my little mind as I had to endure things not meant for anyone ever. My little mind had no way to comprehend the things that were happening and the things that I was feeling. My little mind just wanted to be seen and so loved

I can remember a counselor once saying that it might have felt good ,what was happening to me and that was ok. That sometimes a body would just respond And I felt my insides screaming because there was nothing that was done to me that felt good.  My body didn't respond, there were no good feelings just pain , such pain that I had to go away because it hurt too much to be in my own skin.

There are pieces of me that know the pain and pieces of me that know the real words that happened to me.  Those things happening at the same time feel so completely overwhelming.  Like my brain can't comprehend that I was in pain because of those things because I was being raped.  

I feel like my words aren't making any sense and I am rambling, because they have been quiet for so long.  There is a part of me that says it was just sex don't make such a big deal. As a little girl it was a big deal because the pain was inconceivable.  As I got older, things were so much less painful, and I just learned to go away rather than have to experience the look on their faces, they liked what they were doing and I was just there for parts. For so much of my childhood I was floating as far away from my body as I could get.

Those things were just for my father and Albert.  For Don and them there was a different level of violence.  I didn't have a small body anymore, at least not like a little girl of 5.  I was more aware, I knew what they were doing at least some of the time, but then again things happened that I don't have words for that I didn't even realize could happen to a person.  I think that once I realized what was happening there was a fight, I fought with all that I had , it wasn't enough, they were bigger and there were so many of them but I tried,  I tried to make it stop, make them see me as a person.  There was nothing I could do,  and after fighting for so long, I felt like I lost. Much of that day is a blur, there are pieces of things I remember, then there are parts still so clear .    

The pain in the physicality of what was done is horrendous  Today I struggle all this time later there are moments that I can still feel what was done to me. There are times I can still feel their hands, I can smell the smell , hear the sounds and taste the tastes.    There are times my arm goes numb because I used to have to reach up and hold his cross so it didn't make any noise. That deep ache inside that I know today exactly where it comes from Those are the shameful things that are my life.  I don't know how to process all that was my life. So much hurt, all alone.

As I matured and got older the pain lessened, and for that I will be grateful.  The physical pain of a five year old is far different than the pain being caused by those same things at thirteen.  At 5 I knew my body was in pain with no real knowing , as you get older the knowing comes and the shame that comes with that I can't even measure.  I am ashamed of who I am, what was done and that still to this day, my heart is so broken.

The shame just grows and grows and grows as you come to understand as things get names and you suffer in silence because please who in the world wants to hear the things that have been done to you.  How in the world does a person talk about the horrendous things that have happened, it doesn't lessen the pain or the knowing or the hurt in your heart that no one really cares what has happened to you anyway.  So you keep breathing keep living, keep putting one foot in front of the other trying to remember to breathe and be a real live person.  

Then again I just wanted to be normal  and things were taken,  only this time he put a pillow over my face on purpose.  I knew as soon as I saw the pillow coming , I was gone .  I was in a place far far away that he couldn't reach .  

I don't know how a person survives all of this in one life.  This just was my life.  Somehow adding those words seems so hard.  Parts of my brain know but an even bigger part of my brain wishes more than anything that I didn't so understand these three little words. 

I

WAS

RAPED.

I heart your heart. 

This well of sadness

There is such a well of sadness that comes from the smallest parts of me.  I think that  Callahan is running free and there should be no sad left. I see her smiling and happy in ways that she could never be.  I see her little spirit able to play and make noise, and yet I start talking about her little life the things that we missed and the sadness seems to ooze from every cell.  It is such a deep sad.  A sad that I am not sure I can even put words to.  

I think of little Callahan and she no longer has to hide in the corner,  Really, she doesn't hide at all, she is everywhere .  She is not worried about the noise that she is making.  She is not at all concerned about much,  she doesn't have the world on her shoulders anymore and that is a feeling we do not have much experience with.  Just when I think that I am done with the tears, I hit another well and it knocks me off my feet. I want to be done with the sad, that deep deep sad that feels so overwhelming.  It's the kind of sad that I wonder if it will ever end.  I wonder if I will ever see the bottom of the well with no more tears left in it.  

Wednesday the well opened for a time, and the tears just wouldn't stop.  They came like the rain and are exhausting.  Because each time I hit the well I think surely there can't be any more, and yet there are so many. 

My little life so many things that were missed, things that were taken away that I never got to experience.  So much missing , being left out, being abused and tortured, raped before I even knew what was happening,  battered and bruised yet expected to live the carefree life of a child. 

And so that well of sadness seems to fill instead of drain.  So much was taken so much was lost and that is something so unimaginably hard to understand.  When I think there can not possible be any more tears , they still come. 

So many sadnesses, oh so many and I want there to be a day when I can talk about them and they not break my heart.  I want there to come a day when I feel strong because I have survived them.  Not ashamed that they took what wasn't theirs to take. I missed being innocent about the world, I missed being special, I missed having a body that didn't hurt all the time. I missed being cared for, ,and protected.  I missed being heard and kept safe.  I missed everything childhood and that is hard to get my head around. 

I have worked more than hard, letting little Callahan have all of those things, and I can smile and hold my heart grateful that she can be free, that she can run .  Her mind is free, she knows that she is safe and her little body doesn't hurt anymore. 

At 46 I woke up this morning and my body hurt.  I felt it in my very bones,  the hurt the ache the pain and I want to crawl in a hole.  After all this time I don't want to feel it, I don't want to remember .  I don't want to understand why my body hurts and why I can't make it stop.  These are the days I could run a million miles and then some just to try and forget.  

Today that well of sadness is overflowing, my body aches and I remember that little girl being at work with my father hiding in the bathroom wanting my body to stop hurting.  The UTI was more than painful.  I would dread using the restroom because my body hurt so much.  It's amazing the things that a little girl can learn.  The longer you hold it the less pain that you create for yourself. I was so afraid in that restroom the lights only half on, and then he came looking for me.  Such fear in my heart the moment that I heard him.  My body in pain from the night before, still bleeding why would I even be sent to work with him. I am not sure if I have spoken about that day before. It's still in my mind clear as crystal,  that poor poor little girl.  Every sense on high alert, I remember every moment,  I was maybe 6 or 7.  That poor girl.  I can remember the lights the sounds, the pain, even the smell of that bathroom.  How does a child understand that,  how does a child just do what needs to be done with no thought in the world to tell someone that I was hurting and needed help.  That I can not get my head around.  

Such  a monster of a man, I sit here and my eyes see it as someone else,  and yet I know that little girl is me and her strength is undeniable.  I see it as a third party yet am aware of every feeling. She survived and I am oh so sorry that was her reality , this was her life; this was the way that things were for her.  So small and so used to what happened. 

I am sitting here and can hear the birds outside, its even a little cool and I am grateful that I made it, that somehow I didn't fade away, somehow I was able to see and hear those birds and  find some peace.  I am grateful that there was always something to help me through to make me feel not so alone. To help get my mind off the pain, and I am forever grateful.  

So many pieces of this puzzle that is my life.  I don't know how or why I survived such cruelty, sometimes it doesn't feel like surviving at all, because today it feels as if I am barely breathing.

 Everyone is still sleeping in my house, I am grateful as the tears continue to fall, that my children have had a life that is so far away from the life that I lived.  I don't know how to understand this, I don't know how to process this.  Such evil and so many questions.  I hope as this day goes on, the pain will subside, and I find even a little peace.  My life was not ok and today I am not sure if that well of sadness even has a bottom, it feels oh so never ending.   

I heart your heart. 

 

I cried in Wal-Mart

 Last Sunday I got up early and ran to Wal-Mart.  And while waiting in the checkout line, there was a dad .  A kind dad a gentle dad a dad whose face lit up when he talked to his little girl. Those dads , that kind of man was something that I never knew.  It made me more than sad.  I was sad for me that I didn't know what that was like. I was sad for me that I will never know that feeling.  I will never have someone look at me, like that dad looked at his little girl.  His whole face lite up as he was talking to her,  it was in his eyes and you could see that through his mask.  That is something special.  I do not believe that I was ever anything special to my father.  I do not believe that he ever truly loved me.  I do not believe that he valued or treasured me as his daughter.  That is such a huge loss.  And its on days like this I can see just what a huge loss this is.  

I have never been one to look around and think I want them for a dad.  I do often think I wonder what they are like, or if they are good dads.  I know that I look around constantly wondering if each and every man is a good dad.  I wonder if the person that they are putting into the world is the same person that they are at home.  I wonder if they are loving and kind. I wonder if they leave the light on at night just to ease a little girls heart.  I wonder if its ok to run into his arms at night when he gets home and feel safe and sound.  Those are things I didn't have. I want to know what its like to be held and feel like nothing in the world matters.  I want to be seen as valued and important,  I never ever felt those things. 

Sometimes I pretend it doesn't matter that there isn't a huge hole in my heart then other times, it becomes blaring and aching and I realize that I missed out on so much.  I never had a good kind man on my side that is supposed to love me forever.

The first time that I realized that was with Neil.  It was after we had filmed for the documentary.  He was going to be with his son, whose grandson was coming into the world and was saying his goodbye.  He put his hands on my face, so gently and said that I was brave.  He gave me a hug.  And for the first time ever I felt heard and safe and I went into the hotel crying asking why couldn't I have had a dad like that.  And the tears just wouldn't stop.  I wanted Neil to be my dad in those moments more than I ever wanted anything.  That kind of gentleness and comfort.  I can only imagine that having a good dad would be something like those moments with Neil.  I will never forget that day, and I will be forever grateful for a glimpse into what it might be like to have that all the time. 

As I get older, I think those wants and needs diminish.  I think they have to because there is a realization that those things just weren't meant for you.  But there are times, when the kindest man says things that I imagine a dad would say and I could tell him all my worries and he would be there and with those words; all would be well with the world, because someone has your back and someone understands.  There are times with Mark, I think you know what if he was my dad and stood up for me and was kind and made me believe good things about myself.  Oh, how my life would be so incredibly different. I wonder things like if he likes being a dad and I want to ask so many things.  Because there are times his kindness is overwhelming and I wonder if just for a day I could feel and understand having a good dad a dad that would keep me safe and protected and do everything to make sure to make sure my heart was taken care of .  

So for whatever reason,  that dad in Wal-Mart hit a nerve and I so wanted to be that little girl who for nothing more than breathing she made him so very happy.  I wanted to be that little girl , she made him happy just because she was.  That is something special.  I never had that. My children have never had that I am hopeful that someday my children will have their own families and have that. Vincent will be a dad and Mariska will have a husband who loves and cares for her with his whole heart.  I wish that for them that they will have an experience with a good dad a kind man and their children's lives will be better for it.  That is my wish, because for me I will have days like Sunday when no matter how old I am I will wonder what that must have been like and be lucky enough that if even for a few moments I was given a glimpse into what it must be like to be so cared for.  

I heart your heart.  

Big Girls Cry

 

Tonight was another one of those moments where I realized something that I had never ever thought of before.  And I am not sure that my mind knows what to do with that. I keep repeating what I never imagined. I want that thought to settle, to find a place but I am not sure that there is one. 

For almost 19 years I have thought one thing and tonight I realized that I as totally wrong.  

I have always said that a pillow fell on my face and  I just went away.   I really really thought like it just so happened , that the pillow fell over my face all by itself,  but really it was on purpose,  how does a pillow do that it doesn't , how does a pillow fall exactly over someone's face IT DOES NOT.  Before tonight that thought had never crossed my mind.

I have never ever realized that before ,  and when I talk about violence and whether or not he was a monster, that is a big deal.  He was violent, he was mean and he put that pillow over my face.  

And my head screams for excuses , maybe he was moving it out of the way, maybe he was I don't know, I just don't know what he was doing.  And I think was he trying to end my life ? Was he trying to make me shut up ?  Was he trying to stop me from breathing?  Those things I will never know because I just went away.  And there is such great frustration in that. How does a person not even know something as big as this. 

I can remember Mark months ago talking about it, and He asked something about him trying to cover my face, like he wanted to stop my breathing and I quickly stood up for Chares, like oh no it just fell; And I remember him being a little confused.  Now I understand that confusion, because it didn't accidentally fall right on my face, it was put there.  That doesn't even make sense in my head and I have to figure out where that fits in my story.  Like he did that on purpose/  that is hard to understand. I have tried to make him a good guy in a sense because of my children. 

And as another August 22 has passed, this is yet another piece of the puzzle. I find myself saying it over and over again in my head like somehow its going to make some kind of sense, but it still hasn't .  I am sure that there is no sense to be had in this one. This is more than heartbreaking, and challenges all the things that I have said to myself all these years. 

There has been a huge part of me that blamed myself.  That hated the choices that I made that day.  I have hated myself for wanting to fit in, for wanting to belong, for wanting someone to talk to me and get to know the things that I like.  

I am so sad about all that was taken that day.    I am so sad that he was yet another person who hurt me.  I am sad that I felt like I was coming out of my shell a bit and opening up and wanting good things.  And just like that; all was taken with yet another violent act.  That is heartbreaking. I feel like that  took thinks that I will never get back.  I fear never finding love, never being special, never really really being understood. Those are all things that I wanted that day,  I wanted normal and got everything hurtful.  

I feel like the truth is still swirling in my brain trying to find a place to settle, trying to find a place to fit.  I am wondering how something like this ever fits in anywhere.  I can see the violence in the truth; and it is more than painful. .  Yet, there is a part of me that wants to hold on  to the lie that a random pillow just happened to fall directly on my face.  I am angry that I just went away.  I am angry that I don't have knowledge of what happened to me.  Its strange to know what happened because I have my children, but the last thing I remember was that fucking pillow.  That orange pillow, that tried to take my breathe away.  

So many thoughts and feelings that all feel so overwhelming.  I feel like my thoughts are so confused and I don't have any real answers.  This is more than hard. 

I heart your heart.

Violence

 I am really struggling with this.  There is some violence that is so out there in your face, there is no question.  I think of the central park jogger,  I think of Brave Ms. World,  I think of Travon Martin and George Floyd.  Those are acts of violence without question that we all should be outraged by.  I am not sure that it is always that cut and dry.  I guess I only know how to look at this through my own life, and it has me wanting to ask so many questions.  

In one sense I could say Violence was a part of my life from as far back as I remember.  I think when a child is hurt at such a young age, there is violence no matter how you look at it.  Then there are times that I think, well it wasn't really violent, Sometimes I didn't fight I didn't scream, I didn't get physically hurt.  I think for me in my life there were so many different levels of hurt and violence that for me if it was something small then I am not sure that I can consider that violence.  

I know that there are certain times that stick out, where I can say  without question that were violent.  There are also some things that I can say, yes it happened but was it violent ?  That is a hard one.  I am really struggling with this ,  like seriously struggling and I am not sure that I have put this much thought into the violence that has occurred in my life.  There is a lot of things that I am not sure that I consider violent. 

I think about my father and there were times that it was awful terrible,  he was hurting me and I cried, just wanting him to stop.  Then there were other times, it was just something that happened and you just wait for him to be finished and to get off of you. There were times he got so angry at my size or not being able to do what he wanted and he would push me out of bed, that is pretty violent.  He would get so angry with me at times. Not that either was better, but there wasn't extreme violence all the times.  Sometimes it was just normal. 

I think as I got older it was less violent with my father just because I was more mature and physically capable of what he wanted. It still wasn't asked for or wanted, but there wasn't that extreme level of violence either. Somehow if violence wasn't a part of it, then it wasn't so bad.  

Albert was violent most of the time.  He always hurt, and was usually threatening, I learned after he killed my tadpoles that he would hurt me just like them.  There were times that I fought, there were times that I just silently cried there were times, I totally went away.  He was always very rough and mean he didn't care that he was hurting me. He never acknowledged me crying, or showed any ounce of kindness. He was pure evil all the time. 

I think of Don when I was 13.  There were times he was so very violent and there were times that he wasn't .  The first time I was shocked and I fought, the second time I was overwhelmed, I screamed I fought, I scratched, kicked and bit but there was nothing that I could do.  The final time, it wasn't violent.  I knew what was going to happen and I laid down there was nothing left, still bruised from the 5.  I knew this is what was going to happen and I laid down, there was no violence the last time, my mind everywhere except what was happening.  The cold floor, hoping no one came to the door, hating myself for laying down.  It's crazy the things that you think about wanting to be anywhere else from where you are. 

Then Charles.  He was not violent, I didn't fight.  I just went away I knew what he came to get the second he ignored my questions about going shopping.  I just knew that I need to get far away and I did.

For certain situations yes there was Violence and I am more than sad and sometimes angry for what happened to me.  Yet other times I think, do I have a right to be sad ?  They were not violent all the time, there were no physical marks or injuries.  One part of me understands the sadness and another part thinks how crazy you weren't even there to experience it, so where does that sad come from ?   

I was watching these videos for work that we have to watch every year, and I got angry. Like really really angry.  I had so many signs of being abused and yet no one noticed.  

The wetting the bed, the withdrawn child, UTI's all the time that were more than painful, the bloody underwear.  So many things and yet no one noticed. It made me mad.  Some of those things were things that I couldn't hide, that I could not pretend weren't happening.  I went to the Dr a lot about my UTI's and the Dr always said I took too many bubble baths. That Dr was awful, I didn't like him and he scared me.  I can remember him always looking in my underwear and I seriously thought he was going to be another person to hurt me.. No five year old thinks like that.  I did, I was always scared and always thought that another person was going to hurt me.  I would sneak my underclothes to the trash, there was evidence, just no one noticed. I am sure that will be something that I never understand.  I know that when it comes to trauma, we have come a really long way, but that doesn't make a difference for me. Even if trauma wasn't something that was on peoples radar, there were things happening to me that no one saw and no one noticed and I was left to deal with it all on my own. 

So today all this time later,  I question if things were violent ?  I question if I didn't do something enough ?  I question whether, I was the one that did something.  All the violence and still I question well was it really that violent !!!  In my head if things were really that violent someone would have helped save mw.  If things were that violent someone would have held my heart and let me know that I wasn't this awful terrible person.  No one ever told me that all those terrible things that were happening shouldn't have happened at all ever.  NO one ever told me that those things weren't ok.  So instead all this time later, I am left so angry that I question my anger and my sadness because really, there were a lot of times when things weren't really violent, it was just the way that things were.  I want to see things different and find some peace.  I can't go back no one can go back and tell me all the things that I needed to hear. Until I can call the things what they are, best that I can do is keep trying to understand and someday someday,  I will never question the how or why of my survival. 

I heart your heart Callahan.  I am so sorry that you were never kept safe. 

August 22 and I am trying to be ok.

 

Oh this day.  So many thoughts feelings and emotions.  I can think of a favorite poem by Mark Nepo; Everything is beautiful and I am so sad.  THAT. All of it.  Such a tragic day for me, in more ways than even I can comprehend. Its such a deep sadness, that often doesn't have words.  And yet the next moment everything is beautiful and I have two amazing children that call me mom.  Sometimes those worlds collide in the most catastrophic and amazing ways.  

When I talk about this day, I try to make it about me,  my children are the most amazing part of it all. From my story will come their very own story and how they are affected. As they mature and grow older its up to them, what they do and don't share about their story.  Who they tell and don't tell I want them to know that there is never a need to keep this secret .

I don't talk about this often because it hurts, and because I honestly don't know how too.  This is something that really can't be shared often. People don't understand.  People are shocked and people don't know what to say. Well guess what I don't either.  

There is no guidebook or manual for what to do in this situation.  I can remember being told that it doesn't happen and feeling so shameful.  Because my truth was being denied right in front of me, and that was devastating. 

One of my favorites, the wisest person that I know wanted me to think about this day in terms of  empowerment.  I can not even tell you the difficulty in that.  Empowered, that is I think the furthest word from this situation.  I feel a sense of weakness in this day. 

On August 22 2003 I was raped and 2 weeks later I found out that I was pregnant.  

I type that and my heart Still sinks.  I wish that things were different.  I wish with all that I am that my story took a different turn, but it did not.  That day become a part of my story that is everything sad and everything hopeful.  I have to believe that is where the empowerment comes in. 

There are so many choices that could be made, thoughts to be had.  My first and only thought was, I am going to be a mom. 

The morning sickness started right away, I was so sick.  I literally thought, oh its the flu.  But in a few days it never went away.  It was a coworker that said "you are so pregnant, you need to take a test" 

The panic in my heart, I am pretty sure that the world stopped for a few minutes.  That night I went home and took a test.  Two lines.  

The only night that I cried.  I laid down on the floor with my dog Rizzo, and I cried, I talked to him and petted his head, his eyes listening to my every word.  What in the world was I going to do, I was going to be a mom. 

I can remember the next day running into Wal-Mart after work and buying some saltines and ginger ale.  I was standing there in line, and I wanted someone to ask why I was buying what I was, and I wanted to tell them that I was going to be a mom. There was an excitement,  being a mom was something that I always wanted.  

Honestly, I never thought about what happened to me again really not for a long time.  All that mattered was my children.  I never took better care of myself going to every doctor appointment taking every prenatal vitamin.  I mean I was caring for two sweet amazing babies, why would I not ?  

I was asked so many  questions,  if I was drinking, who he was, people didn't know I was seeing anyone and for oh so long I kept my story mine, because all that mattered was Vincent and Mariska. 

I can remember my mother asking what I was going to do and I said I didn't know maybe move in with him....Just a smart ass comment , because I didn't have a clue.  I knew what happened, what he did and I still said that.  I said something to my mom that he was black, my brother said something about them having N**** lips, and my mother said oh they will look like little monkey's. And they both laughed. They broke my heart if they loved me how could they say those things.  You can make fun of me and laugh at me all you like, but DO NOT make fun of my children.  I was heartbroken,  they were talking about my children.  Never once was he talked about was he asked about so I kept my story to myself.  My children were all that mattered and I was going to make sure that they had all that I never did.  That they knew they were loved no matter what they did.

Right after they were born we went to get food stamps,  they were less than a week old.  And the case worker asked about the father.  I am sure I shrank inside,  he didn't matter my children did and I told her that I didn't know.  She said that I had to file for child support.  I again said that I didn't know any information, and she threw a pencil across the table at me and walked out. I was devastated.  Like I already felt bad enough,, she was so cruel and insensitive.  Tears running down my face I went in the car to nurse Mariska and I remember talking to her, like it was just us against the world with a shaky reassuring voice that we were going to be ok. 

I never missed a second with them.  They were everything.  The reason that I got up in the morning, the reason why I never stopped breathing, because believe me there were plenty of days I wanted nothing more . Life was hard and I never stopped smiling.  We sat on the floor, we sang we danced, 

So I guess looking back there were great moments of empowerment in this story. Not once did I ever give up, not once did I let anything change the love for my children, because they were all mine. Not once did I ever think of anything other than being pregnant and being their mom.  I can see some moments, but I am looking for that moment when I can stand tall and say what happened to me, and be proud of myself and not feel any less than the person next to me.  If you stood me next to one hundred other people I am going to feel less than every single one of them.

Something terrible happened to me but I got the biggest light that I could have ever imagined in my children.  Life was more than hard before I had them, and because of them; so many things changed.  I went back to school, I got my degree.  I made sure they were so loved, I made sure that they had a childhood filled with oh so much love.  So many nights I went to bed tears streaming down my face hoping that I was doing enough, hoping that they always felt my love. Hoping that they were getting everything that they needed. 

I am struggling trying to find that piece of empowerment, that piece where I can be proud.  I am looking for that piece of peace that seems so far away.  

As I look back I see how far that we have come,  and I put my hand on my heart and it seems so surreal. I am sure I think more about him now because the kids are older, and I can look at the part before them. The part where I wanted to belong, the part where I wanted to go to lunch. The part where I knew what was going to happen and went away. The part where he didn't listen and   I am not sure if any of this makes sense.  So many feelings, thoughts that   Vincent asks a few questions,  but I feel that more are coming. I also feel like they know its a hard subject.  They are going to be 18 in April and I fear them searching for him.  I fear speaking the words to them, about what happened.  We have only spoken about it once when we were in Colorado, and their were so many tears.  I simply said that he wasn't nice and didn't listen.  But its so much more than that.  I know that they need the truth,  and that is terrifying .  I don't know how that conversation goes, I don't know the questions that they may have.  I think maybe there is a fear that I will be left behind somehow. What if they find him and think he is this amazing person, better than me ? 

I want them to ask the hard questions, I do I think I worry about the answers because I am not often honest with myself at how hurt that I am. I turned that off when I knew I was going to be their mom, not a single thing mattered more in the world.  I have said that I don't want them to think he is a monster but really he is , its so much more than him not listening he took things that weren't his to take. I want to be able to say what happened and hide the hurt that he caused.  I don't think that's possible, really. I am more than hurt at what he did to me.  And I am more than grateful to be their mom.  2 things so close together in time.  One minute there is a before, and an after in the same breathe, that is hard to comprehend. 

I see them and I am amazed at the people they are becoming. I think there are pieces of our story that we can talk about together and there are pieces of the story that I can never understand from their perspective.  I want them to know that they could not be loved more, that they are the best part of my life.  I want them to know that even with what happened I would do it all again to get to be their mom. I want the sadness to be gone about what happened to me.  Like that poem everything is beautiful and I am so sad.  I am sure there is a part of me that feels I am so grateful for how far that we have come, I am grateful for them I love them more than words and even with all of that that sad is still there for what happened to me.  Sometimes its hard for both of those things to happen in my heart at the same time because there isn't one with out the other.  I don't know what to do with that.   

That is what I want.  There were some early tears last night, as we all laughed and talked in the kitchen.  I want so much for them and I want this to be a very small piece in the amazing tapestry of the amazing humans that they are. 

Oh my Vincent Mariska, you are everything wonderful, you made me a mom and I will forever be blessed. 

I love you I love you I love you, Mamma 

I heart your heart, 

Weary

 

There are times sometimes that just seem heavy.  There are some times that things just don't seem to go right.  I wish I had a soft place to fall. I wish that I had some peace, that my heart could find some rest and much needed answers. I want so much to find all the answers that I need in this life and that is just more than complicated. Sunday is coming quickly, I am trying not to think about it make it a big deal but it is.  Because 18 years ago my world was totally about to change and I didn't even know it. 

I have been thinking about where I am and where I have come and I am more than amazed that I have even made it this far.  Life started out so very rough, and I kept going. Life was so screwed from the time that I was born.  I feel like I never had a chance and yet here I stand.  

I was thinking about how life started out so hurtful.  I knew that I was a bother and got in the way.  I knew that I wasn't liked. So many things happened that I didn't understand. There was so much that I couldn't even comprehend. There were so many cruel people. I was so little trying to learn about the world. My world was just so evil. I always cared about the little things, the things that others never noticed. I was always in my own world, watching the birds and clouds.  I was always far away wondering about other worlds.  I always felt so out of place, I never fit in anywhere. I was an outsider always looking in never a part of anything like everyone else.  I always felt more than different. I would float away, pretend to be somewhere else, I would watch from other parts of the room.  Sometimes I was there sometimes I was not.  That ia not a way to live through your childhood.  It is what I had.

Then comes 13,  unimaginable loss, so much that I still didn't understand, but I knew that something wasn't right.  I fought, I fought with my whole being  for people to stop hurting me.  I started to stand up for myself even in the smallest ways.  I fought the five of them with everything that I had.  I didn't win but at least I fought, there has to be something good in that.  I suffered the greatest loss of sweet Bella,  and I did it all on my own.  People knew, they had too, I was only 13 and still I was on my own.  There was no help no support.  I was breathing in a living hell that no one really acknowledged or cared about.  I was alone in the world, with fingers pointed at me, no one would want to do that to me.  I took that as a part of me,  I must be all kinds of disgusting , no one wanted to do that to me.  I truly believed that, Every Single Word.  There was something so wrong with me.  Things were so bad; that my entire life faded to black.  I would not only be in the corner or watching from the ceiling, I was gone in a place far far away .  The blackness came when  I couldn't handle the things that were happening to me.  

Then again so many years later.  I only wanted to have a friend , I wanted to be a part I wanted to do normal life things.  And in comes Charles.  I think there were so many red flags I should have known but I didn't.  And there was a part of me that didn't understand Charles, I wanted him to be different.  I begged him not to hurt me. Over and over I said how we were supposed to go shopping but the second I realized that he had no intentions of going shopping, I was already so far gone.  That orange pillow fell on my face, I knew the routine, I knew what happened and I was gone.  I could not tell you a single thing that he said or did because I was not there.  I remember him being done , getting off my bed.  I was in shock, not really in my own skin. I cried so hard when he left,  I knew what he did but I was not aware if that makes sense.   2 weeks later the morning sickness stated and I was going to be a mom.  I would not have thought about him or what he did again if I had not gotten pregnant.  I was so far gone,  if I didn't get to be a mom to my sweet babies, things would have been different.  

Like at 5 there isn't an understanding of sex or what is happening to you.  Things hurt, and you learn to just deal with it.  As you get older there are good nights and bad nights and really bad nights.  You know what is happening to you but there isn't an understanding, and there is a innocence to that. You don't want to be hurt, you know it isn't ok, but these are your people doing this to you and that is just what happens, and I never really knew any different.  

Then at 13 you know how things work, you know the things that are happening to you. Your body still hurts, there is a different kind of understanding that makes you an outlier,  you watch everything scared all the time,  you wonder if everyone has to do the things that you do.  You wonder if those other girls know what its like when your Father doesn't work, and you are relieved, that sex won't happen that night.  You are old enough to know, and to find that your pregnant and you are going to do everything to keep them safe and sound.  Somehow a little one to make people be kind, to give them the safety and love that you always wanted.  To understand such loss ,  that is a life not lived.  The world was on my shoulders and I learned to carry it so well.

Then later,  you know all about life.  Nothing surprises you anymore.  Things hurt sometimes, and you go away, you learn to wait it out, but you are also tired of being used and yet that is the only life that you have known.  I wanted nothing more in this life than to be cared for and loved.  I thought I had found a good guy going to get lunch.  Even as I write this the thoughts run rampant. I should have known better, so many red flags, the things he said on the phone I should have known he had no intentions of lunch and shopping but I did not.  So as soon as that part of your brain kicks in, you know what is going to happen and you can't face it, you can't fight so you just go away.  You know what he is going to do, you know your body will hurt, so you do what you know and there isn't a single part of you aware of what is being done.  And just like that you become pregnant.  

I am sure that I can not accurately explain all of this, the things that I thought, the ways that I went away, the things that I thought in my head.  .  I guess its just strange the progression of my mind, how I tried so hard too make sense of everything. I wanted so much to be that good kid, to be someone seen and acknowledged.  I wanted to be important and special to people and instead I was nothing.  I am used goods.

I keep talking about not making it,  because I truly believe with my whole heart that if I ever got hurt again, that would be it. Callahan would totally check out from the world. I know what happened when Charles came,  the second that I knew what he was going to do, with out a thought without hesitation I was far far far away.  It was so automatic that I know I would not ever make it through being hurt again.  I would not make it and I am sure that I wouldn't want to.  I know I look for that guarantee,  I know in my head there isn't one.  I also know that if anyone ever hurts me,  I will no longer be a part of this world.  I know that my mind would be somewhere hiding away The fear, the devastation the disgust would surely keep me in that place far away, forever unreachable.  A place where the things that happened, are irrelevant because there is no pain, ,no feeling, no nothing. Just utter darkness.  That is my greatest fear in the whole entire world, that I live with every single day.  That is a weight that no person can ever be prepared for.  

So as Sunday comes,  I feel the heavy and I hope I remember to breathe and remember just how far that I have come. 

I heart your heart.