Tag Archive: pain


Gaping Hole


I was taking a shower today and staring at the shower head thinking about the time we had to change it. Then I suddenly remembered that there was a huge gaping hole on the other side of the wall.  Changing this shower head was supposed to be simple… just unscrew the old one then screw the new one in place.  Like most things in life it got complicated quickly.  After trial and error we had to cut a large access hole into wall in the adjoining room to repair the problem.   These repairs were taking place at about 9pm on a Sunday which meant we didn’t have much time to get the job properly done before we had to give up on it for the night and just rig it up and go to bed.  Well now a month has passed and I had managed to completely forget that this huge hole existed.  As long as the shower functioned properly and I didn’t have to look at the hole it was not a part of my reality.  This became a metaphor for my life…  I find that as long as I am functioning on a day to day level –  as long as I can go to work, pay my bills, put dinner on the table, clean my kitchen, spend time with my husband – as long as I can do these things I fool myself into thinking that the gaping hole in my chest doesn’t exist.  Then something horrible happens… something wonderful… my husband looks at me and says, “You don’t have to pretend here.”  And I am suddenly aware of this wound.  I feel it and allow myself to be broken for a moment.  Just that small reminder that I am seen, that I don’t have to hide… It’s painful and wonderful at the same time.  I usually don’t allow myself to feel this pain.  I just gloss over it and pretend to be ok, to be happy.  Something amazing happens in the middle of it all, though… Through the safe release of this pain… I find that under it I really am happy… that I really do believe everything will be ok eventually and I don’t have to rush through this healing process… I can give myself permission to be.  There is so much grace in that realization.

Thoughts on Honesty


  

    There’s so much I don’t understand.   I long to life a life of transparent honesty, but that’s just not practical in our superficial polite society.  It’s all about what’s easy and politically correct instead of what’s real.  When someone ask, “How are you doing?” they expect a positive answer.  If you tell them the truth they are uncomfortable and don’t know what to say.  No one knows what to do with the pain.   As a culture we are not given any tools with which to deal with pain – there’s no etiquette for this.  There’s no precedence for this transparency.  This seems universally true – in work, play, school, church… there’s no room for pain.  No one really wants to know about your pain and no one wants to honestly share their pain.  Everyone wants to pretend to be ok – well-adjusted – happy – but most of us are dealing with some kind of brokenness, some kind of pain, even if we don’t quite have a name for it. 

   How do we break this habit?  Is that even possible?  Will we always be a society of isolation?  We have more methods of connecting now more than ever before – yet we have never been more alone.  All communication have become trivial and the art of sharing reality has been lost.  Gone are the days of love letters… we are in an era of romance via hallmark.  We depend on someone else to communicate our affections or not at all.  If a card or e-mail forward does not contain the feeling we wish to convey we founder – having no words of our own.  Why?  Because we are a society of observers… always watching, reading, listening – not thinking, feeling, sharing.  We surround ourselves with media in lieu of nature, we seek triviality rather than solitude – we spend our energy on status rather than investing it in another.

    Where does this leave us?  It leaves us all lost and lonely.  It leaves us in a home crowded by TV, radio, internet, video games – where two lonely people live who have forgotten how to share what is most important – themselves.

Razorblade – Blue October


There’s a song by Blue October that just says it better than I can today…. apart from the line about forgiveness, as I believe forgiveness awaits us if we only ask… enjoy.  Click to see it on youtube.

“Razorblade”

In the day by day collision
Called the art of growing up
There’s an innocence we look for in the stars
To be taken back to younger days
When there was no giving up
On the people we held closest to our hearts

Yeah it is you that I remember in that glowing
It is you that took my first away from me
It is you I set my standards to… to every walk of life
I haven’t met another you since you were with me.

[Chorus]
A brief bout with a razorblade cut me
I freaked out, thinking people didn’t love me
I watched closely as the you I knew forgot me
In letting go, I am so proud of what I’ve done

In a way, I failed religion
I spit the wine from mouth to cup
And I reached for something more than just your God
Uncle, you spared not your children
And while your praying hands are up
There’s no forgiveness for you! You sick fuck!

It is you that I remember in their bedroom
It is you that took their first away from them
It is you they set their standards to
You wounded them for life
You were a preacher and suppose to be above men

Sing with me

[Chorus]
A brief bout with a razorblade cut me
I freaked out, thinking people didn’t love me
I watched closely as the you I knew forgot me
In letting go, I am so proud of what I’ve done

Trying to move on…


I am so afraid… I am embarking on yet another chapter of my life and I don’t know if I can do this. I am finally coming to terms with how abusive my parents were. Even though they did not molest me, they didn’t protect me and not only did they not protect me they treated me like a freak when they found out. They blamed me, they buried the whole thing under the rug and went on pretending that everything in our family was perfect. I have been surrounded by this attitued of ‘everything is ok’ my whole life. No matter how twisted or painful things were in our home we all pretended to be a happy family. I don’t want to pretend anymore. My life was pain… intense, bitter pain… and I am not ok with that anymore. I will not bow down to this cult of secrets and lies anymore. I will approach my life with honesty, even if that means I cry every day until this mourning period has passed… at least I will be real.

Anger (free verse)


 

Long ago, when I lay at your feet and whimpered beneath your touch I dared to dream of freedom. Never then did the thought of vengeance enter my mind. Your breath in my face tasted like death and the touch of your skin was beyond pain. The smell of you engulfed me, sickened, revolted me, and still I lived on. You are the disease that threatened to destroy me, but I am stronger than you … and wiser. I even smiled when you looked at me, showed you my best side. I knew it was pointless to dream, but dream I did. Daily I dreamed of freedom. Now I taste the clean air and feel the sun kiss my skin. The wind caresses my body and plays with my hair. I breathe in the scent of flowers and grass. I pity you now, in your dark cell. Now that I am free, freedom has become your dream. loneliness is your nightmare. The heavens no longer kiss you, the wind no longer loves you. You will never hear the trees whisper your name in adoration and flowers do not wear perfume for you. I am no longer the dog at your feet, but the woman who stands proud. Never again will I cow down beneath your filthy boot. You watch me walk in the sunshine now and remember me as you crouch in your shadowed pit.

Family Holidays – The Revised Edition


 

So when you’re young you celebrate all of your holidays with the family you’re born into, and sometimes that tradition carries into your adult-hood.  In my case, I find my self celebrating my holidays more and more with my chosen family.   I wasn’t given a choice about who I was born to, how I was raised or how I was treated by my extended blood family.  Now, as an adult, I make the choices about being with people who genuinely enjoy me, who love me and who care about my well-being – even if that means they hold me when I cry.  I belive my parents love me very much, but negative emotion wasn’t welcome at my child-hood home, so I learned early to just choke back and suppress any unwanted emotion and only display what is positive even if it was a total lie.  I don’t live that way any-more. I have the right to feel how I feel with no apologies and no guilt.  I embrace all of my emotions and don’t worry about what’s politically correct or socially acceptable.  I embrace the truth of the moment and I don’t continually censor myself any-more.  Now I approach the holidays with the thought of… “What’s healthy for me?”  not  “What will make everyone around me like me or approve of me?” 

This year I have spent Christmas day with my best friend and my husband, two of the only people who truly feel like family to me,  two people who really know me and love all of me, not just the acceptable opinions and attitudes… I will also be ringing in the New Year with them and I can’t think of a more peaceful way to begin my year than to be surrounded by love and acceptance.  I am truly grateful to have been given a new definition of love and of family this year.

Dark Haiku


 The mist curls softly,
caresses me lovingly,
a cool kiss of death.

I seek the embrace
of skeletal Thanatos
with his grinning skull

and eyeless sockets.
He carefully gathers me
doll-like in his arms,

singing lullabies
to the dying child within.
I cry in the end,

With horror – with pain.
One tear for my funeral.
One tear for my death.

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.

Memories


 With growing interest I watch his hands
gesturing emphatically as he preaches
to the congregation about God and man.
He preaches against the sins of greed and wine;
he tells us how we are to come as a child
unto the Lord for His blessed forgiveness.

With trembling lips I beg for forgiveness.
I take the punishment from hard, cruel hands.
Inwardly, I curse the loss of my child-
hood while I listen to the message my uncle preaches.
Later, in my room, I stifle a whine
while fighting back tears of pain from the man

I have lovingly called uncle. This cheerful man
Hides secrets which are hard to forgive.
He gets high off touches, drinks them like wine
while inflicting embarrassing pain with his hand
up my thigh. Still touching me he preaches
and I can only sit stiff, a scared little child.

He talks about Jesus, who was Mary’s child
and I feel disgusted, afraid of this man.
His message seems the same as the one Jesus preaches,
but his actions are different. Does he ask forgiveness
for the crimes he committed with his holy hands?
Will there ever be a day for him to whine?

It looks thick, red like blood, his wine
of communion. I do not take any, I am a child.
With utmost kindness, he hands
me a towel to cleanse myself of he touch of this man.
I’m so scared of my uncle, who tells of forgiveness
while hurting the child who hears what he preaches

and who loves the Lord, loves the message he preaches,
Who takes what she can, who does not whine,
who longs for comfort, who begs for forgiveness,
who wants to know “Why Her?” His brother’s child.
Why must she suffer the lust of this man?
Why must she endure the touch of his hands?

The Incident


  It is a cool evening.  There is a nice breeze billowing the curtains in through the sliding glass door.  I am sitting on my uncle’s lap.  My cousins are getting their baths and getting ready for bed.  My aunt is in the kitchen washing dishes, I can hear the clink of plates and glasses against the metal sink through the doorway behind me.  The armchair we are in is near a fireplace and there is a flickering light… like a lantern… somewhere close by.  My uncle’s hands are rough and callused and his face needs a shave.  He gestures constantly when he talks, like a magician distracting you at the crucial moment of his act.  He is talking about God… preaching more than talking, really.  There is gospel music playing on an old-fashioned looking radio near by.  With one hand he is gesturing while with the other he molests me.  I feel his rough hands on my soft thighs and I feel the pain of his penetration while I disappear into the light of the flickering lantern.  I stay there until it is all over.  I have no words for this… only pain and despair and embarassment.  I feel dirty and wrong and confused.  I forget it as soon as it happens and for years to come will remember only the light and a feeling of disgust.