RAGE

Something trivial, seemingly innocuous occurs of Samuel’s doing and my entire body is in upheaval. Walking the meadow, can the neighbors hear the string of vile curses, the hatred, spewing out of me? A walk to unwind, untangle the rage woken from long past. Praying to heal what lie beneath the rage. What is it?

It can’t be a simple occurrence that set me off. It makes no sense. It must be something deeper. What he did is reminiscent of Chet and Tom, both at separate times stealing my pony, the other my horse, without my permission. Both laughing about it, even my mother laughing when Tom was bucked off. My sweet horse bucking? Lobo, not once ever, bucked with me, which made me realize how cruel he must have been with her.

Disrespect, not being heard, not mattering, invisible, requests, needs, desires, basic rights going unnoticed, not listened to…. freedom, taking what little bit of joy there was, or is. Theft out of selfishness. 

Old feelings rise up choking me with rage. Meditation, and walking didn’t ease the violence construed inside me. I wanted to hurt back, choke to death the ones who took everything I had, my body, my life, my dearly beloved horse, and my mother who thought it was funny. They took her too.

Alone.

Alone with old rage able to fume out of seemingly nowhere and choke me dead. Dead but so alive; it took a whopping dose of xanax to fall asleep finally at 3 am.

The ghosts of the past will forever haunt me.

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Losses

Rains gently falling begins to pour, and mild contentment after upheaval settles in. The hardest beast to tame has retreated into her cave waiting to emerge with the least little provocation. On a good day, the head (with fangs) is always poking out ready to strike.

It is an unusual summer, not summer really, but a very long spring. Losses pile up as if the winter dregs never left. The usual burst of joy diminished without knowing why. Perhaps it is trying to interact with brothers who I always thought I could relate to because they were the only ones who never touched me evilly.  

But in trying, rooms opened yawing with need never met, not for them, and definitely not for me. My guess is that they able to make a family with three of them, and their wives, because they know how to live on the crust of the bread without consuming the soft interior. I cannot do that anymore. I cannot be invisible, nor a doormat to use then wipe your feet on.

Part of life is always loss, living with both the joy of breath, and the sorrow of loss. My prayer to my son and dear wife who suffer the sorrow of losing their son before ever being born. To have to birth a baby already passed at 6 months is a grief to bear, but how to?

Through tears, I bend over the strawberry patch in the warm sun. It is hard to be sad while picking strawberries. The strain of bending causes sweat to drip into my eyes,  each swipe of the wetness  satisfying. Numbness thaws into grief. Stating to Samuel how much I hate weeding, I find myself down on the grass at the gardens edge digging dirt with a feeling of connection that had been missing. Working out grief in the earth is pastime known well, and it is good to get back to it. 

But today is quiet with rainfall and reflection. 

 

FAMILY

Tenderly, like rocking a child, cuddle the little girl left alone terrorized by those she loved. You forgot how it was, how it is now, because others groomed you to. Be like it never happened because the shame of those that did those things to you, and the others doing nothing to stop it, or help in any way, is too uncomfortable for so called family— then, and now.

So alone I am. But do not abandon myself. The loneliness comes because no one stands witness to what happened. The story goes that others have so many other hurts, so how can I just think of myself? More honestly, they want family, even if those remaining are holey, not holy, but full of holes like a tattered old shirt blowing in the wind.

My gut pulls for family too. It always will. But just get on with life which is one I created of great beauty. I do so much better being apart from it, yet like a moth to flame still try.

Worthy to Heal

 

Rattling the cages of childhood, truths keep falling out. Tidbits of wisdom about what really occurred. Forced by shame to go on as if nothing happened made life oppressive in just about every way. Loneliness honed itself into a sharp, cloying, empty, bottomless pit devouring me for decades to come.

 Terror and trauma held into my little girl’s body changed me in ways I will never have as my own again. But I have me now. I am learning so much that my mother never wanted me to. Her ways were to just go on, the opposite of what was needed to heal.

Expecting me to be how she wanted me to be, how other little girls and young women were, caused a desperate need to fulfill her dreams. That yearning for acceptance and love broke down what was left inside even further. Who I was became lost beneath the façade of normalcy.

It is easier for family to go on without the shame of sexual abuse known, so the child abused takes it on. This damage follows a person for life. The toll to my body, mind, emotional well-being, and nervous system is severe.

The ‘tortured colon’ describe by my gastroenterologist? Which meant a tortuously painful colonoscopy until the anatomy of my colon became known. The constrictions and curvatures may have developed as a child by holding muscles in the pelvic area tight as a defense against further onslaught. It certainly was the reason for my skinny kid frame to become bloated and overweight, though that didn’t keep them off either.

And now, with peaceful lulls in my days and sleep filled nights… why are they suddenly disturbed by negative thoughts and insomnia? Because a brain broken by trauma held in unprocessed is incapable of sustaining happiness for long periods.

Knowing that gives me hope, because I can self-talk myself into believing that like every other woman sexually abused as a child, I do deserve happiness and peace. Happiness is peace; peace from negative thoughts, buzzing anxiety, a too fast paced life, and most of all blessed sleep.

These are basics that every child coming out of childhood deserves, human rights for all but that many don’t receive or develop. Beliefs forced onto a child form the personality. Shame, badness, and feelings of abnormality become cemented into the personality of a child suffering sexual attacks by those she loves.

Left to fend for myself caused irreparable damage. Self attacking traits carved in to me are a challenge to shift requiring a belief that I’m worthy along with the fortitude and persistence to take it on. 

 

 

 

 

JOY

People have always been fearsome. How could they not be when childhood was fraught with brothers who held me down, manipulated, lied, and broke trust so completely it never comes again? The snakes, bees, and killer bird are much more easily dealt with on this little plot of land called home.

And it is more home than ever was, because in it an internal home has also been found. Luckily the feeling of wholeness that others take for granted has occurred in me. First, writing the book, where the child in me let loose like a steam pot exploding.

Each week a chapter arose, one week joy, the next, severe pain. And most weeks included tears sliding down my cheeks sometimes in rivers. Sometimes needing a choking rain, but always healing in ways the word was meant to be.

Others in the origin family will interact with me, but only if the game of secrets is played, and only on their turf or in groups. The insanity of this brings upheavals of anguish, the mental confusion bringing only pain.

No one wants to know me as me. And I get it. We each have our own hell and cannot hear the other’s or let it in. Yet the façade of invisibility won’t wear on me anymore. It’s not that I want to talk about the past, just not be chained from it as it relates to my life now.

But you don’t want to know me, just own me, control me, and have me be a puppet. No. The craziness of this tips me over and I can’t have it. No.

People scare me, even those that call themselves family. There is a piece missing in me that has been lost forever. And these souls needy of their own take advantage of the hole. That is how it is.

So take joy in the life created, and know it is OK. You don’t have to fix what is not fixable. It is OK. You are OK, in fact beautiful.

 

Pain and Pleasure

The joy of life sprinkles its way from my toes on up. Though the meadow now holds many dangers after the killer bird attack, and its constant stand on the rooftop or garden arch, my footfalls feel more peaceful further on down the path.

Each entry into the war zone makes me alert, but my fight with water ammo has kept him respectful. My water bottle is carried in my arm like a rifle. Laps resume happily. New shoots on the pines are brighter green as a whiff of pine sends shivers of pleasure within.

Confetti drops from the trees that leaf out after blossoms fall making it feel like a party of celebration on this simple joyful walk. A sheen of sweat erupts even though the day is cool, which makes the respite of sitting by the creek after the last lap even more a pleasure as it’s earned.

When my interior is able to make room for all that life presents, including grief, loss, terror, and beauty, acceptance makes the joy of being come alive. The earth vibrates with energy filling me with hope and peace.

 

WORTH

Thoughts swirling about this and that, all about others and how they feel, what they might think. The old ways grab at me pecking away. Then the voice of reason which abandoned me all those years of suffering over others that came with feelings of wrongness and badness in every encounter and situation.

You have a right to feel your feelings, but first you must find them. After a childhood where my body was not mine, and certainly not my feelings or anything else, at this late stage of my life the search goes on. Centering into my core by meditation is not just helpful, it is necessity. Otherwise I go blithering off the stratosphere, thinking I’m grounded but being anything but.

You have a right to feel your own unique feelings and own them. Be brave and live your life. It is easy to sink into another’s perceptions because I had none— no center, no core, no me. There is a me, and there is beauty there. Go there, find her, be her.