Tag Archive: therapy


Worshiping at the Altar of Eddie


     

      My grandmother is fiercely loyal to her favorite son.  For reasons no one really knows she worships the ground he walks on.  It is not unlike a cult, with Eddie the proclaimed prophet or savior.  I will never understand where this unhealthy devotion comes from.  Growing up in this family of 8 children, Eddie was the one who could do no wrong.  He molested some and possibly all of his 5 sisters.  When they came and told their mother, she told all of the children to keep it a secret and not tell their father.  She was worried that if her husband found out he would kick Eddie out of the house.  She was more willing to sacrifice all 5 of her daughters to this man than to save her daughters and put him away where he belonged. 

      Later, after the children grew up and some had girls of their own, the entire family gladly left their daughters alone with this man knowing full well what he was capable of.  It was more important to  save this “good man” this “man of God” than to be sure their children were safe.  It was more important to preserve a reputation than any of the girl’s innocence.  We were all disposable.  Just something to be sacrificed at the Altar of Eddie.

      If I live to be a hundred years old, I will never know where all of the contempt came from.  Why were the girls in my family so despised?  Why were we so worthless to so many people?  Why were our lives not more important than the reputation and freedom of one man?  Why was it ok for Eddie to molest and rape us? 

      I know it’s impossible to ever get answers to these questions, but I long to understand.  There’s a part of me that believes if I could just understand this, my life would suddenly make sence.  I know this is pure fantasy and will never happen, but I just long to categorize these experiences and make them fit into some form of sanity.  I want to have simple explanations, even if they are painful ones.  Instead I am stuck with this horrible feeling of worthless-ness.  Of being a disposable object… a thing of contempt.  I feel like I must be truly broken for an entire family to want to toss me to a monster, then protect the monster.

      I know one day I will be beyond this in my healing and the quest for answers will not matter so much.  I know that one day I will learn to accept that my family is just profoundly broken and twisted and wrong and completely unaware of  what love actually is or what it means.  But between now and then I have this gaping hole in my heart and a pain that  permeates all I touch and a sadness that lingers behind my smile.

-Untitled-


An unfathomable sadness

has settled over me

blanket-like.        

Its pain sears my chest

like a hot knife,

scarring.

I shrink away from words

and faces – I shrink

to you…

You-awaiting me beyond shadows

waiting in secret

my love.

In need of somewhere to settle

my restless emotions

ceaselessly search.

Longing for understanding

I cry out

(in despair)

I cry out silently and hear

my fears echoing

about me.

In an agonizing torment

I realize I am

 alone.

Why this sad loneliness

this dull ache

these tears?

I should rejoice in your love –

instead I weep

I weep.

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.

Longing


There’s so much I don’t understand about the healing process. I feel so lost and confused sometimes. I just want to feel whole again… I just want to be me again, whoever that is… For the first time in a long time I long to be whole, I want it so bad I can taste it. I am tired of lingering in the shadows hoping that everything will be ok. I am tired of settling for being broken. I am tired of being resigned to living this half-life where I never expect my life to be any better than it is. I deserve to be happy. I deserve to be free. I deserve to feel strong and beautiful. I am done apologizing my way through life. I am done keeping my head down and staying out of everyone’s way. I am done being beaten down and just accepting that that is my fate. I want to live. I want to thrive. I want to twirl in the sunshine with my arms flung out and my head tilted back with the wind in my hair and a laugh on my lips. I want to dance in my livingroom unashamed. I want to play and have fun. I want to revel in every day miracles. I want to blow the seeds off dandelions and make wishes. I want to spoil myself and not feel guilty. I want to pursue health and not fear. I want to be embraced and enjoyed. I want to be safe again. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want to allow my husband to love me. I want to give myself permission to be vulnerable and let down my guard. I want to be vibrant and passionate and ALIVE. I want freedom from this pain, this fear that holds me back… I want to more than conquer it I want to stomp it into the ground and take away its power over me. I want to shake off this weight from my shoulders and sing to the sky. I will be happy one day. I will overcome this.

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.