Category: Memories


Fear


(Warning: Contents may be triggering and not appropriate for all readers)

Fear threatens to consume me again… just when I think I have a handle on things I feel that familiar threat rising up to consume me… I feel that self-doubt… that heart-pounding… that palm sweating… I feel intensely aware of my weaknesses and short-comings.  I feel wholly inadequate.  I feel so insecure and I avert my eyes in the mirror – too ashamed to meet my gaze.  I hate this so much.  I feel my heart break…

I was thinking the other day about one particular instance in my child-hood.  I was forced by my father to kill my pet rabbits.  In his mind I was not feeding them enough… or feeding them often enough… so he decided that since I was (supposedly) starving them that I should just have to kill them.  He made me get them out of their hutch one at a time and hit them in the head with a piece of two-by-four and then skin them.  There are not words to express how horrifying it was to do this… to hold something in your hands that you love and kill it.  To be so ruled by fear that you obey without question.  One of the rabbits came back to consciousness in my hands as it was being skinned and twitched and screamed… I can hear it to this day and I will never forget the terror in its eyes.  My heart aches to recall it and I feel this terror and this shame rise up in me…  I felt like a monster doing this… and that feeling lingers and sometimes I am afraid that I became a monster all those years ago.  I don’t know how to forgive myself.  I don’t know how to absolve this guilt or assuage this fear.  I don’t want to go the rest of my life hating myself for this but I honestly don’t know how to ease this dark ache in my chest… this pit that opens up every time I remember.

Unfiltered


So many memories have been flooding back to me lately.  There is something about the Fall that brings me back to my childhood the experiences I had then.  The smell of hay, the crackle of a bonfire, the taste of chili, the crunch of leaves underfoot and the sight of pumpkins appearing on door-steps and front porches.  My senses are alive with things remembered.  Things forgotten are knocking on the door of my sub-conscience.  It is a strange feeling to have so much anger and fear co-mingled with such a sense of nostalgia and contentment.  I remember the sound of my grandmother’s voice… the soft touch of her hand on my cheek… and the twinkling blue beauty of her eyes.  I also remember the tense atmosphere of my home life and the dread that I grew up feeling.  I remember the harsh unpredictability of my father and the anxiety that would flood me when I heard his truck pull in the yard.  I would jump up and feel this flood of fear and adrenaline – knowing that there was no way of predicting what we were in for when he walked through the door… not knowing which dad we were going to get.  It is strangely amazing to me how so much good and bad can be so intertwined in one life.  I know that’s the way it is… that’s life… but it still seems to defy logic.  My head is buzzing with memory flashes…

…blood flowing from my wrist after my first suicide attempt and the panic/relief that I had failed… the boisterous joy of family gatherings and playing with my cousins… the humiliating, painful, surprising “smack” of my father’s hand across my face… the anticipation of a hay-ride at dark with story-telling and song… the relief I would feel after cutting myself and watching the blood flow down my legs… the smell of fresh pumpkins and the mess we would create when we carved them… the constant feeling that no matter what I did I would never be more than a disappointment… the thrill of watching for shooting stars in the cool evenings on New Moon nights…

I feel like a merry-go-round a-la Tim Burton.  I honestly don’t know what to feel…  I just have to continue on this journey to solidify this into one life… and make peace with that life.

Another Fine Mess


OK – well that’s a rather lighthearted title but this is a heavy post… I have unearthed new memories… very vivid ones and they are terrifying me.  I feel like I am losing my mind and I don’t know what to do with all of these feelings that threaten to drown me.

***Disclaimer:  this may be triggering to some – read with caution***

Here’s what I remember:

I am young (Don’t know what age, exactly) and I am being forced face down onto a soft surface (bed? couch?…) and I am wearing a dress and my panties have been pulled down and I am being raped from behind and I am beyond terror and the weight of the man on top of me pressing me down makes it impossible to breathe…

I feel my heart start to race and my insides twist just remembering this and writing it down feels dangerous… like he’s going to read this and know it’s me and come after me (even though I have protected myself with anonymity in this blog)  I am so afraid sometimes.  I hear a car door outside and jump and my heart will pound and I’ll have to calm myself down and remind myself that he is not coming after me.  Some days I wonder how long will I carry this… and when will the remembering be over finally?  I thought I was done with that part and I have made peace with the gaping holes in my memory… but they are determined to surface.  I pray this is the last of them.  I am ready for this chapter to close and the healing chapter to be in full swing.  I know I have made lots of progress and I am proud of the work I have done to get this far.  I have worked so very hard to be where I am and I do not want to dismiss that with my desire to be all the way better… and I also do not want to be content here… I know there is more out there for me and I desire and deserve all the wonderful things ahead of me.

Flooded foot-path

Insomnia


I’ve tossed and turned for hours and I’m about ready to give up on sleep. Night sweats and hot flashes are not conducive to good rest and I feel so wound up and disoriented from this desperate need to rest that I don’t know that I am really capable of coherent thought at the moment. My thoughts race on some Silent-Hill-esque distorted merry-go-round on which the horses are darkly demonic with red eyes and flaming nostrils… rotting flesh and exposed bone… where the calliope is just off-key and so discordant and loud it sets your teeth on edge. This dark carnival of my mind… this sea of faces… I don’t know what to do with it all… here a leering clown, terrifying and somehow familiar under the painted face… there a carnival barker pedaling wares in a voice that triggers unwanted memories and me racing down the freeway trying to escape all of it…. I don’t want these thoughts, memories, fears, doubts and emotions washing over me like a flood tide. I fear I may drown in this. Please, God, don’t let me drown…

In search of words


I am struggling today. I feel lost in my own mind and I fear I may go mad if I do not connect with someone. I need desperately to get outside of my own head. It feels dangerous and crowded in here. I do anything, everything to distract myself, to be ok – but none of it is working today. I had this idea in my mind that I would go out to eat after work and sit and sip a nice coffee while I read and was totally at peace with myself and my surroundings… I would get lost in the moment and allow myself to relax in a public setting. I would dine alone with relish at the space – all the room for my own thoughts and ideas and creative urges… I brought along my journal and was READY. I was prepared for great inspiration and deep connecting to my heart. What I actually did was drive between 3 different restaurants in a fit of indecision for about half an hour before deciding to eat at a place I’ve never heard of just because it was getting late and I was verging on panic. So I parked and went inside. It was quiet, only a hand-full of other diners – that is, until I got there. Apparently the dinner rush came right behind me and the place transformed from a quiet haven to a bustling noisy nerve-jangling room full of voices and smells of food and bodies. Now, I know the place was not as full as my mind was making it out to be – but in my anxiety-filled state of mind it felt like a crowd pressing upon me… so no peace. I ate fast and got out of there. Next I figured I could at least go to the nearest coffee shop and pull up a chair and be politely ignored while I read or journal. I arrived at Starbucks (not exactly what I had in mind but I’m still learning my way around this town) and ordered with confidence and sat at a tall table in the tiny coffee shop. I read a chapter of my book (although, in retrospect, I cannot tell you what I read) and sipped my mocha. I made myself read slowly and to sip my drink with apparent relish… but I was not fooling myself. My heart raced, my palms were sweaty and I was hyper aware of every person in the room and through the corner of my eye kept tabs on the people around me. Will I ever get beyond this need to look over my shoulder? Will I ever not feel his eyes on me? Will I ever stop listening for his footsteps coming up behind me? Will I ever forget the feel of his rough hands, stubbled chin…the smell of his after-shave? Will I ever purge myself of this man? Will I ever be able to stay in the moment without escaping into the nearest distraction? Will I ever feel at home in my own skin again? Will I ever stop feeling like a disappointment, a failure? Will his voice ever leave my ears? What ifs plague me. What if he haunts me my entire life. What if I never get better? What if … what if …

Mixed messages


Fall always makes me think of home.  I have so many good memories of this season… bonfires, roasting marshmallows, the smell of hay and sweet-feed in the barn mingled in with the smell of fresh milk after milking our cow…cool mornings being up before sunrise and looking up at the stars while tending to the animals… long evenings filled with family and music outside with lots of food and laughter and noise.  These are the things I miss about my family…my old home.  When I think of those cool nights when I would sneak out of the house and go for a walk by moon-light and listen to the call of the whippoorwills, I can’t remember why I was so unhappy there.  It’s like these good memories crowd out all the bad ones and I feel stupid for being so miserable.  Then I think about all the abuse, all the pain, the feeling that I was unseen, the feeling that I was property meant to serve a purpose in my home… and I remember.  I remember how alone I always felt. I remember having to act like a pretty little happy robot just to survive.  I remember how no negative emotion was allowed to show in my home. I remember being treated like a servant and not a daughter.  I remember being screamed at and berated… I remember.  Looking back all the things I loved most about my child-hood had nothing to do with the people and everything to do with the season, the activities, the animals, the sky… and I am determined to recapture that in my adulthood.  I am determined to stop… to look around… to enjoy this beautiful world and to recapture my youth.

One Single Tear (part 3)


   

    I gave one sharp cry when I died. You didn’t even notice. You were so busy basking in your glory that I sank below notice even a you drove the knife home. When you cleaved my soul in two I wanted to scream. I wanted my cry to pierce you to your heart and shatter your blessed reality. How nice it would have been to see the horror of your deed marked plainly on your face for all to se as I writhed beneath you in my throes of death. You in your stupor probably mistook my cry for one of pleasure. Filthy creature that you are, so drunk on the exhiliration of conquring me, you never noticed the look of pity. I pity you. Even in my death, even in my agony I pittied you. To the very marrow of my bone I felt sorry for you. What could have driven you to these extreme troughs of misery? You sank into the abyss of mankind and you shall never again rise to the surface. I am sorry for you because even in your act of conquer, Thanatos found you. He found you and instead of taking your life, he took your family, he took your job, he took your respect, he took your calling and left you naked and begging for his skeletal embrace. He will not take your soul. It is a neat little hell you have created for your-self, is it not? You will die in hell as you have lived…
I gave one sharp cry when I died. That cry will echo through your soul forever.

One Single Tear (Part 2)


It is the oldest dance in existence. Hunter and prey. As I walk into your room I recognize the rhythm as the familiar tune blares into my brain.

I am not alarmed. I am not afraid of you. I have come to expect this from you. I love only for one purpose, to fuel your desire, to sate your appetite for dominance. I am meek. I am submissive.
You are a good man, as they all have been and I already have forgiven you for the pain you are about to inflict on me. It’s ok. It’s fine. I know you’ll be gentle if I don’t struggle so I sit here in my self-loathing and let you torment me.
People say we reap what we sow. What seeds have I sewn to reap this harvest of pain and fear? I listen to your words and hear their meaning. I do not despise you, I cannot. you are a good man.
Is it my fault because I am beautiful? Do I pursue beauty because on some subliminal level I desire this maltreatment? Do I feel that I deserve this?
You are a good man. I do not blame you for your torment. You are a good man so it must be me who is wrong.  I am the bad one.  I am wrong.  You are a good man.  People look up to you and respect you.  you give guidance to them.  They depend on you to direct them.  You are a good man.  My punishment must be just.  This is what I am here for here.

Am I wrong because I love you?  Am I bad because in spite of your treatment I admire and obey you.  Obedience is better than sacrifice.  What have I sacrificed in the name of obedience?  Where is the line drawn between obedience to a good man and sacrifice of one’s self?

How important is innocence?  It encompasses our lives and leads us to misery.  The pursuit of wisdom is good… then why does wisdom destroy innocence?

You are a good man…

Family


     Talking to my mom today sent me into a tail-spin. I hate that I am so afraid of being “found out” like I am doing something wrong and have something to hide…  I hate that just speaking to my family on the phone has the power to make me doubt my past and begin to see it through their eyes.  I came from a family of “brush it under the rug”.  They are great at pretending that everything is ok and we’re not really broken in the extreme.  Most of my life my dad yelled and screamed and belittled all of us and my mom just took it and let us take it. 

      I remember one night when I was a little girl, my parents had put me to bed.  I got up to get a teddy bear off my shelf to sleep with and had curled up in bed and was just drifting off to sleep when my dad burst into my room, angry.  He asked me if I had gotten out of bed and I told him I had gotten up to get a bear to sleep with.  He asked me if I had left the room and I hadn’t.  He then accused me of sneaking out of my room to watch through the cracked door as my brother changed clothes.  He was crazy angry and accused me of lieing when I denied this.  He beat me with a belt so badly I had whelps from the backs of my knees to the small of my back.  He was in a blind rage.  My mother came in afterword to ask me if I had done this and I told her the same thing I told my father.  She told me it would make things better if I apologized to my father and just said that I had done this thing he accused me of.  So I did and my dad pulled me into his lap and hugged me and told me he loved me.  I don’t even know why, to this day, he would think I would be watching my brother dress or undress or why it would have been a big deal as we were both very young… I was about 6  and my brother was about 9-10.

    When I was a teenager I confronted my parents about this and they both denied the whole thing and told me I must have imagined it.  My whole life they have managed to make me feel crazy…  Now I just want to live in truth and not brush anything else under the rug.   I am through pretending.   I long to walk in the sunshine and feel the warmth on my skin.  I long to live in truth.  I may not be perky and happy all the time, but I am real and alive, and that is so much better to me.

Damaged Goods


 

You know, I never would have thought of myself as bad, damaged, or to blame if it had not been implied by my father.   After my family found out about that I was molseted by my uncle they treated me like a freak, like a stranger.  I don’t think they knew what to say to me or how to act around me.  It’s like we were all lost.  I will never forget what my father said, though… He had 3 things to say.

1.  Are you sure you’re not making this up.  Did you just want to fit in with the other girls, is that why you said this?

2. Why didn’t you tell us?  Did you like it so much you just didn’t want it to stop, is that why you never said anything?

3.  You are no better than a child molester your-self.  If you would have said something when it happened you could have saved your cousins.

I will carry these scars the rest of my life.  Before this conversation it never crossed my mind that I was to blame for any of this.  Before this conversation being molested was just a bad thing that happened to me.  Before this I had the illusion that my family would be there for me and support me if the worst happened.  This conversation changed my entire life.