I haven’t felt much like blogging lately. Until the rape, I thought I had myself all figured out; thought I’d painted a clear picture of myself here for those few reading. But then the rape happened and it altered how I feel about just about everything in my life.
Prior to the rape I was a born again virgin (6 years without sex at all and scant little in the 22 years prior to that certainly qualifies me I think). I am also a Christian and I don’t believe in premarital sex. I dreamed of meeting this wonderful man, understanding of my moral values and patient enough to wait… at least as long as I could hold out, lol.
If you go back to a post titled Trolling for Men, I talked about the kind of connection I wanted with someone. I posted a sample of a profile from a dating site that had caught my eye and how the man sounded like someone who would let you close to his heart… The one who wrote those words is my rapist. (Perhaps Googling a portion of the quote will even show you his face, I don’t know, I’ve not tried because I don’t want to see his face again, ever.)
I can’t help but wonder if his profile caught my attention because he’s had plenty of practice fine-tuning the words, much the way a pedophile tweaks his methods until he/she knows they can get what they want. This evil man has learned that he can lure women to him by using their emotions; he tells them what they want to hear.
The whole reason I was “Trolling for Men” in that post was because I’d suffered some heartbreak with Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship. I wanted to explore love with him but he wanted sex almost right away and I couldn’t do that because of my moral convictions. I wanted to have sex with him, OMG, and how! But my heart has to be involved for me to really get into sex. I just had to cut Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship loose.
I’d removed my profile from the web site several days prior to meeting the rapist. I’d given up on Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship and any other relationship. I needed time to heal. I really could have loved Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship but you can’t be in love alone. I didn’t see any harm in meeting this guy I’d spoken to a few times through Email since I’d already agreed to it. I thought maybe he would kiss me and break the spell Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship had over my heart.
This sexual predator knows how to say all the right things to lure unsuspecting women into his trap… why then can’t decent men learn these techniques and use them honorably? Do men not get that if they give themselves to us emotionally, we are MUCH more willing and eager to give of ourselves physically. The concept isn’t that hard to grasp.
Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship has become just Mr. extremely-stimulating-non-relationship. He’s made it clear he doesn’t want a love connection, just sex. Right now, having someone to hold me and replace negative sexual images with positive ones is trumping my resolve for moral purity. I mean, come on! I was just raped. I’m not pure anyway. I need to feel that sex can still be fun and hot, not something that reminds me if rape or an unfulfilling marriage.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
When Dreams Come True
Recently I was reminded of a common saying, “Be careful what you wish for.” People use the saying for many different kinds of circumstances but most often when people are daydreaming and obsessing about one thing for a period of time and then they finally get whatever it is. It is likely that when they obtain this item that is their heart’s desire, it won’t live up to their high expectations. That reminds me of another saying, “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.” I have been in a daydreaming rut like that in my personal life lately; pining away for something just out of reach. I should have ignored those feelings and listened to my mother’s voice in my head dolling out her favorite piece of advice, “This too shall pass.” I never was good at listening to my mother though, damnit!
“This too shall pass,” are words I hated hearing anyone saying to me, but most especially my mother. It usually meant nothing more than, “You’ll get over it!” This meant I would experience still more anxiety but that it would eventually pass and things would be okay again. Sometimes the words are comforting though.
I suppose the words are never truer than when someone you love passes away and you’re mourning. Sometimes it seems like you will never laugh again, the sun will never shine warm on your face again. And then, there are my mother’s words, “This too shall pass.” It is really hard to accept those words as gospel when the pain is so raw, but no truer words were ever spoken in that instance. ("This too shall pass" is a phrase occurring in a Jewish wisdom folktale involving King Solomon. The phrase is commonly engraved on silver rings.) The period of mourning will indeed pass and the pain will fade to an intermittent, dull ache.
This blog is an example of something that starts out as a good idea and then the parts that would make it a whole article just don’t come together; perhaps because it is written in a read-between-the-lines kind of way? Okay, here’s the deal. I have a hard time, still, writing in the first person when I know that I have to own every word, every emotion, every blunder I make in life. The rape, for instance; I had to own the fact that a bad decision to try and erase painful memories of Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship, lead to my being raped. I can never face pain for what it is, pain. I have to try and make it go away on my own.
I won’t say I was in love with Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship but I certainly wanted to be. He is cute, hot, funny… what’s not to like? For whatever reasons, a relationship was not in the cards for us and no amount of wishing otherwise was going to sway my argument. On the other hand, neither one of us was able to cut off the relationship completely; a sick case of maggots being drawn to an open wound.
Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship had his reasons for not wanting to be in a relationship and I’m sure they were valid reasons (whatever they were). I had (key word here is HAD) an equally intense desire to be in a relationship; just like oil and water, we were. Just as I’d start to heal and get over him, he would call or send me a text message or contact me online or through E-mail; picking the scab off my heart all over again. In the end though, neither of us could get past this checkmate in the game; until yesterday.
There was one thing Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship and I could agree on; the physical chemistry was undeniable and INTENSE, just like me. For all the pain he brought into my life, Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship also brought a lot of joy and I have memories of times I won’t trade for anything. But let’s face it; other than the rape, I haven’t had sex in 6 years. I’m only human. I totally caved ‘cause I WANTED to cave.
Everything was much the way I daydreamed, he was tender and skillful, but I just couldn’t let myself go. And then those dreaded words rang out in my head, “Be careful what you wish for.” Here I was, in a moment I’d dreamed about countless times and I could get no satisfaction out of it because there was no emotion attached to it. And there is the bottom line for me; the sex isn’t there for me if there is no love. I was in a marriage for 20 years to a man who wanted to, but didn’t, love me; this was no different. This experience was as empty as they rare sexual encounters during my marriage.
The really good news is that I know, “This too shall pass.”
“This too shall pass,” are words I hated hearing anyone saying to me, but most especially my mother. It usually meant nothing more than, “You’ll get over it!” This meant I would experience still more anxiety but that it would eventually pass and things would be okay again. Sometimes the words are comforting though.
I suppose the words are never truer than when someone you love passes away and you’re mourning. Sometimes it seems like you will never laugh again, the sun will never shine warm on your face again. And then, there are my mother’s words, “This too shall pass.” It is really hard to accept those words as gospel when the pain is so raw, but no truer words were ever spoken in that instance. ("This too shall pass" is a phrase occurring in a Jewish wisdom folktale involving King Solomon. The phrase is commonly engraved on silver rings.) The period of mourning will indeed pass and the pain will fade to an intermittent, dull ache.
This blog is an example of something that starts out as a good idea and then the parts that would make it a whole article just don’t come together; perhaps because it is written in a read-between-the-lines kind of way? Okay, here’s the deal. I have a hard time, still, writing in the first person when I know that I have to own every word, every emotion, every blunder I make in life. The rape, for instance; I had to own the fact that a bad decision to try and erase painful memories of Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship, lead to my being raped. I can never face pain for what it is, pain. I have to try and make it go away on my own.
I won’t say I was in love with Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship but I certainly wanted to be. He is cute, hot, funny… what’s not to like? For whatever reasons, a relationship was not in the cards for us and no amount of wishing otherwise was going to sway my argument. On the other hand, neither one of us was able to cut off the relationship completely; a sick case of maggots being drawn to an open wound.
Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship had his reasons for not wanting to be in a relationship and I’m sure they were valid reasons (whatever they were). I had (key word here is HAD) an equally intense desire to be in a relationship; just like oil and water, we were. Just as I’d start to heal and get over him, he would call or send me a text message or contact me online or through E-mail; picking the scab off my heart all over again. In the end though, neither of us could get past this checkmate in the game; until yesterday.
There was one thing Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship and I could agree on; the physical chemistry was undeniable and INTENSE, just like me. For all the pain he brought into my life, Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship also brought a lot of joy and I have memories of times I won’t trade for anything. But let’s face it; other than the rape, I haven’t had sex in 6 years. I’m only human. I totally caved ‘cause I WANTED to cave.
Everything was much the way I daydreamed, he was tender and skillful, but I just couldn’t let myself go. And then those dreaded words rang out in my head, “Be careful what you wish for.” Here I was, in a moment I’d dreamed about countless times and I could get no satisfaction out of it because there was no emotion attached to it. And there is the bottom line for me; the sex isn’t there for me if there is no love. I was in a marriage for 20 years to a man who wanted to, but didn’t, love me; this was no different. This experience was as empty as they rare sexual encounters during my marriage.
The really good news is that I know, “This too shall pass.”
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Coming of Age
From the time I was a child, I was interested in things that kids out of my age group were into. I was six years old and hanging out with a 12 year old neighbor girl who was hell bent on making sure I didn’t live to see my seventh birthday. She talked me into doing things that could have gotten me seriously injured; such as jumping off the roof of her father’s shed. Another time she put me on the back of her horse, Tony, with no saddle or bridle then slapped him on the rump and sent him running at speeds you might only see at the race track. Tony took me down the bank, across the creek, up the other bank and was doing a dead run across rocky wasteland. I frantically held onto Tony’s mane, crouching low over his back and clung to his sides with my small legs. He showed no signs of slowing down as we were nearing a busy road. But suddenly he seemed to run out of steam and when he slowed I was able to slide off his back onto the ground. (As young as I was, I realized I’d cheated death that day.) Sometimes in the early years I needed to learn things the hard way.
Perhaps it was that experience that taught me it’s better to be a leader than a follower. Likewise though, I learned that it’s not important to get everyone to follow you so long as you know where you want to go.
In my 20’s I wasn’t confident enough in my knowledge about anything to speak with much authority but I always surrounded myself with older friends with more experience than myself in just about everything. I started forming an idea of where I wanted my life to go in my late 20’s and knew that wherever I went in life, writing and photography would be a part of it. But as with many in their 20’s having children and raising families puts our dreams and aspirations on the back burner.
I’d have to say that my 30th birthday was about as bad a birthday as they came. Someone gave me a 30th birthday card that had a character of a woman on the front that looked like a librarian. I thought people would expect me to grow up and I wasn’t really ready to yet. Things started to change for me in my 30’s though. I became more serious minded. I began to have career aspirations. I ran a small press, monthly magazine and was gaining the respect of my peers. That felt good and I wanted more. My writing and photography became the way I gained the approval I craved, but could never get, from my parents.
In my 40’s I learned that gaining the approval of others isn’t the be-all/end-all of life. In fact, I learned that raising a few eyebrows once in a while can be a lot of fun. I learned also that it is a worthless endeavor to try and fit someone else’s mold of what the perfect ME should be. (Oh, I loved my 40’s!) It was in my 40’s that I began to become the combined knowledge of all the older, wiser people I’d spent time with in the past. I learned to love studying by studying only things I enjoy. I don’t know where this lesson came from, but, I learned that I don’t have to put up with crap from anyone. I don’t have to allow anyone to treat me badly. I can speak out loud and long when I feel wronged. I have clearly defined likes and dislikes… my kids think I’m just stubborn or too picky. Perhaps so; but at this age, I couldn’t afford to waste time on what I don’t want.
Now I’m 50. Wow, I can’t imagine being 50 yet. It seems surreal somehow. I still picture me in my 20 year old body, feeling my hot, 20 year old self. It’s really not fair that we just learn how to use all the tools in life and life is over. I know, I’m not dead yet, but dang; I just got the hang of this and I don’t have a lot of time to enjoy it. Is it really any wonder that I get wound up in traffic, ranting and raving for the slow-poke to get out of the fast lane? Don’t they know there’s an old lady on the road trying to get home to enjoy the rest of her life?
Perhaps it was that experience that taught me it’s better to be a leader than a follower. Likewise though, I learned that it’s not important to get everyone to follow you so long as you know where you want to go.
In my 20’s I wasn’t confident enough in my knowledge about anything to speak with much authority but I always surrounded myself with older friends with more experience than myself in just about everything. I started forming an idea of where I wanted my life to go in my late 20’s and knew that wherever I went in life, writing and photography would be a part of it. But as with many in their 20’s having children and raising families puts our dreams and aspirations on the back burner.
I’d have to say that my 30th birthday was about as bad a birthday as they came. Someone gave me a 30th birthday card that had a character of a woman on the front that looked like a librarian. I thought people would expect me to grow up and I wasn’t really ready to yet. Things started to change for me in my 30’s though. I became more serious minded. I began to have career aspirations. I ran a small press, monthly magazine and was gaining the respect of my peers. That felt good and I wanted more. My writing and photography became the way I gained the approval I craved, but could never get, from my parents.
In my 40’s I learned that gaining the approval of others isn’t the be-all/end-all of life. In fact, I learned that raising a few eyebrows once in a while can be a lot of fun. I learned also that it is a worthless endeavor to try and fit someone else’s mold of what the perfect ME should be. (Oh, I loved my 40’s!) It was in my 40’s that I began to become the combined knowledge of all the older, wiser people I’d spent time with in the past. I learned to love studying by studying only things I enjoy. I don’t know where this lesson came from, but, I learned that I don’t have to put up with crap from anyone. I don’t have to allow anyone to treat me badly. I can speak out loud and long when I feel wronged. I have clearly defined likes and dislikes… my kids think I’m just stubborn or too picky. Perhaps so; but at this age, I couldn’t afford to waste time on what I don’t want.
Now I’m 50. Wow, I can’t imagine being 50 yet. It seems surreal somehow. I still picture me in my 20 year old body, feeling my hot, 20 year old self. It’s really not fair that we just learn how to use all the tools in life and life is over. I know, I’m not dead yet, but dang; I just got the hang of this and I don’t have a lot of time to enjoy it. Is it really any wonder that I get wound up in traffic, ranting and raving for the slow-poke to get out of the fast lane? Don’t they know there’s an old lady on the road trying to get home to enjoy the rest of her life?
Friday, September 18, 2009
Rebooting My Life
The fallout from love is heartbreak. If you love, you’re gonna get your heart broken; that’s all there is to it. The only successful relationship is the one you’re in right now because it’s the only one that hasn’t ended, yet. Why then have I spent my whole life chasing something as disposable as love? And why is love so unimportant to other people?
I believe some people turn off their ability to love as a means of self-preservation. Maybe they have been hurt or betrayed? Haven’t we all? But perhaps some are better equipped to regroup than others?
Love is the ultimate gift to give and to receive, in my opinion.
I have a friend, “Gary,” who lost an enormous amount of weight and he’s looking very nice. There were pictures of him on Facebook. Someone commented on his new look and said she would bet that if he were single, girls would be flocking all around. His reply was that he had women before he got married but that he is so in love with his wife he can’t stand it. How wonderful that would be to hear; to say. I want that kind of love; totally into each other in every way.
The rape has taken away my means of meeting a new love because I am no longer using dating sites to find someone. Obviously that’s not safe. I am practicing getting used to the idea of spending the rest of my life alone. I’m hoping to develop new coping skills which will replace the need for romantic love in my life. I lived without it in my 20 year marriage; lived without sex most of that time too. Once that switch is flipped off again, I believe my life will be a lot less stressful and definitely less frustrating.
If love is meant to be, it won’t matter if I’ve turned off my emotional side; it will find me anyway. In the meantime, I’m powering off and rebooting on a new network that doesn’t include a male counterpart.
I believe some people turn off their ability to love as a means of self-preservation. Maybe they have been hurt or betrayed? Haven’t we all? But perhaps some are better equipped to regroup than others?
Love is the ultimate gift to give and to receive, in my opinion.
I have a friend, “Gary,” who lost an enormous amount of weight and he’s looking very nice. There were pictures of him on Facebook. Someone commented on his new look and said she would bet that if he were single, girls would be flocking all around. His reply was that he had women before he got married but that he is so in love with his wife he can’t stand it. How wonderful that would be to hear; to say. I want that kind of love; totally into each other in every way.
The rape has taken away my means of meeting a new love because I am no longer using dating sites to find someone. Obviously that’s not safe. I am practicing getting used to the idea of spending the rest of my life alone. I’m hoping to develop new coping skills which will replace the need for romantic love in my life. I lived without it in my 20 year marriage; lived without sex most of that time too. Once that switch is flipped off again, I believe my life will be a lot less stressful and definitely less frustrating.
If love is meant to be, it won’t matter if I’ve turned off my emotional side; it will find me anyway. In the meantime, I’m powering off and rebooting on a new network that doesn’t include a male counterpart.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Moments of Hope
One week ago today I was raped by a man I’d just met less than a half hour earlier. The pain and humiliation were overwhelming in those first few days. In my state of shock the day of the rape I was fixated on my need to see Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship. I knew that seeing him would help me in ways I just couldn’t begin to explain, even to myself. I’m very comfortable with him and since I have strong feelings for him I knew that being with him would flood my soul with good, positive emotions. I considered how hard it would be to lose him once this was over but my need to feel okay again was stronger than my fear of getting my heart broken. I couldn’t find Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship’s phone number until almost 24 hours after the rape. I was relieved when I finally located the number but afraid to call him. I had to have my son send him a text message because I was terrified he would either ignore the message or refuse to come. Any kind of rejection at that point would have thrown me over the edge. Thankfully Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship was kind enough to answer right away and agreed to drop everything and come to my aid. He lay down on my bed with me and pulled me tightly to him and I longed for time to stand still. In that moment I knew that this was exactly where God wanted me; I knew I would survive. I clung tightly to Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship for several hours, and he to me. Those were glorious hours and I have referred to them my mind countless times in this past week as a means of shutting out the negative images of the rape, for comfort or purely for pleasure. Thank you Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship, you are precious to me.
As I thought of that moment and my desire to share it here with strangers and the select few friends I allow this close; I was reminded of a few other defining moments in my life.
This morning I had one such moment in which I knew I am going to be okay. It happened around 6:00 a.m. I was parked at a scenic overlook watching the sunrise through a pair of camera lenses. God granted me the most spectacular view I’ve seen to date from that vantage point. The sky turned from blue-black to red, orange, yellow… and then the blue-black clouds shifted forward and all the colors could be seen at once. I was squealing with delight because each shot was turning out better than the one before it; I knew right then that the pig who raped me had not killed my spirit. It felt great to feel alive again.
On a Friday the 13th in 1989, my youngest son, just over a year old, had become very ill. The ambulance had to be called out on a couple of occasions and we rushed him to the hospital by car a few times as well. This was our 6th trip to the hospital. We were at a famous children’s hospital in a large city and my baby’s fever was quite high. The nurses had asked lots of questions and were adjusting my son’s care accordingly. It wasn’t until a couple of social workers were called in that I was made aware that I was suspect for being a Munchausen by Proxy mother; they thought I was doing something to my child to make him sick in order to get some kind of twisted sympathy for myself. (Up until this point, only myself and my other children had ever seen the baby go into one of his “fits.”) Just as this is dawning on me, I looked across the room saw that it was going to happen again. The doctors and nurses were standing around and I said, “There he goes!” Just then the baby went into a grand mall seizure. At that moment I knew that he was in the best possible hands. I turned my back, closed my eyes and said a prayer of thanks that this time more qualified hands than my own were there to look after my baby and I was cleared of all suspicion as well. The look of remorse on the faces of the social workers was all the apology I needed. My baby was safe at last and that’s all that mattered.
In 1991 I was a young mother of four children, the youngest of whom was having seizures; we had just finished a 5 month period of homelessness after which I promptly suffered a nervous breakdown. I was working on my recovery from the breakdown using self-therapy. During some research into anxiety and depression, I learned that I needed to concentrate on doing something I love to do so I chose to take up writing professionally again. As a first project I chose to write a short story about a dream I had about a troubling time in my life. I’d just read the story over the phone to a friend and she asked, “Why don’t you turn that story into a book.” As I attempted to explain that it was a short dream and there wasn’t enough material for a book, I was struck by a compelling idea. I believe it must have been around 3:00 a.m.; I found myself still at my computer tapping out the best work of my life. I realized I was starting a new chapter in my book and in my life.
In 1979 I lost my cousin in a motorcycle crash. We were not only cousins but best friends as well. I was only 20 at the time and she was the first person close to me to ever die. I was devastated and I wore a death wish around. I don’t think I smiled a single time in three weeks. I was in a deep depression. One night I’d been out and when I pulled in my driveway a new song came on the radio. It was such a happy, upbeat song that less than a quarter of the way through I was tapping in time to the music and wearing the biggest smile that would fit on my face. I knew that my cousin would have loved that song and in some weird way I was very comforted by that. I remember going to the neighbor’s door after hearing Pop Muzik (by M) and telling them that I felt happy for the first time since my cousin died.
The last project my mother and I did together was to plant a large patch of garlic in 1987. We both used a lot of garlic in our cooking and we wanted to produce the best garlic on the planet. The patch was approximately thirty feet square (I told you we liked garlic). The plan was to grow plenty for ourselves, all our friends and some to sell for a church investment project. (Garlic is planted in the fall, comes up in the spring and is harvested in the fall.) We’d planted the garlic at the end of September but in early March when the green shoots were only a few inches out of the ground, my mother suddenly died of congestive heart failure at the age of 57. In September when the stocks were drying in the sun I knew that the last project with my mother had to come to an end. Dirty tears slid down my cheeks as I stood taking a picture of my three year old daughter sitting on a trailer load of garlic neatly arranged for the picture. It suddenly dawned on me that my last project with my mother turned out to be the first of many projects with my own daughter. The mud cracked on my cheeks as I smiled at my daughter and said, “Say garlic!”
In 2004 my husband ended our 20 year marriage leaving our two youngest children and I in the rental where we’d lived for 11 years. In 2007 I received a settlement for a car accident in which I had been injured 9 days before my husband walked out. I used that money to purchase a two bedroom mobile home in a quiet park on the edge of a small, neighboring town. I was anxious about leaving the home I’d lived in 14 years by then but excited about starting over. (It would just be my son and I in the new place as my daughter had married by then.) This was the first place I’d decorated all on my own and I was bringing very little from my old life to the new one. During one of my early trips out to the new place, along a scenic stretch of highway, eagles soared in majestic circles overhead and a sense of peace and well-being settled over me. In that instant I knew that this was the path to my destiny. Since that day, every time I see the eagles playing in the up-drafts, it brings a smile to my face and fills me with peace.
As I thought of that moment and my desire to share it here with strangers and the select few friends I allow this close; I was reminded of a few other defining moments in my life.
This morning I had one such moment in which I knew I am going to be okay. It happened around 6:00 a.m. I was parked at a scenic overlook watching the sunrise through a pair of camera lenses. God granted me the most spectacular view I’ve seen to date from that vantage point. The sky turned from blue-black to red, orange, yellow… and then the blue-black clouds shifted forward and all the colors could be seen at once. I was squealing with delight because each shot was turning out better than the one before it; I knew right then that the pig who raped me had not killed my spirit. It felt great to feel alive again.
On a Friday the 13th in 1989, my youngest son, just over a year old, had become very ill. The ambulance had to be called out on a couple of occasions and we rushed him to the hospital by car a few times as well. This was our 6th trip to the hospital. We were at a famous children’s hospital in a large city and my baby’s fever was quite high. The nurses had asked lots of questions and were adjusting my son’s care accordingly. It wasn’t until a couple of social workers were called in that I was made aware that I was suspect for being a Munchausen by Proxy mother; they thought I was doing something to my child to make him sick in order to get some kind of twisted sympathy for myself. (Up until this point, only myself and my other children had ever seen the baby go into one of his “fits.”) Just as this is dawning on me, I looked across the room saw that it was going to happen again. The doctors and nurses were standing around and I said, “There he goes!” Just then the baby went into a grand mall seizure. At that moment I knew that he was in the best possible hands. I turned my back, closed my eyes and said a prayer of thanks that this time more qualified hands than my own were there to look after my baby and I was cleared of all suspicion as well. The look of remorse on the faces of the social workers was all the apology I needed. My baby was safe at last and that’s all that mattered.
In 1991 I was a young mother of four children, the youngest of whom was having seizures; we had just finished a 5 month period of homelessness after which I promptly suffered a nervous breakdown. I was working on my recovery from the breakdown using self-therapy. During some research into anxiety and depression, I learned that I needed to concentrate on doing something I love to do so I chose to take up writing professionally again. As a first project I chose to write a short story about a dream I had about a troubling time in my life. I’d just read the story over the phone to a friend and she asked, “Why don’t you turn that story into a book.” As I attempted to explain that it was a short dream and there wasn’t enough material for a book, I was struck by a compelling idea. I believe it must have been around 3:00 a.m.; I found myself still at my computer tapping out the best work of my life. I realized I was starting a new chapter in my book and in my life.
In 1979 I lost my cousin in a motorcycle crash. We were not only cousins but best friends as well. I was only 20 at the time and she was the first person close to me to ever die. I was devastated and I wore a death wish around. I don’t think I smiled a single time in three weeks. I was in a deep depression. One night I’d been out and when I pulled in my driveway a new song came on the radio. It was such a happy, upbeat song that less than a quarter of the way through I was tapping in time to the music and wearing the biggest smile that would fit on my face. I knew that my cousin would have loved that song and in some weird way I was very comforted by that. I remember going to the neighbor’s door after hearing Pop Muzik (by M) and telling them that I felt happy for the first time since my cousin died.
The last project my mother and I did together was to plant a large patch of garlic in 1987. We both used a lot of garlic in our cooking and we wanted to produce the best garlic on the planet. The patch was approximately thirty feet square (I told you we liked garlic). The plan was to grow plenty for ourselves, all our friends and some to sell for a church investment project. (Garlic is planted in the fall, comes up in the spring and is harvested in the fall.) We’d planted the garlic at the end of September but in early March when the green shoots were only a few inches out of the ground, my mother suddenly died of congestive heart failure at the age of 57. In September when the stocks were drying in the sun I knew that the last project with my mother had to come to an end. Dirty tears slid down my cheeks as I stood taking a picture of my three year old daughter sitting on a trailer load of garlic neatly arranged for the picture. It suddenly dawned on me that my last project with my mother turned out to be the first of many projects with my own daughter. The mud cracked on my cheeks as I smiled at my daughter and said, “Say garlic!”
In 2004 my husband ended our 20 year marriage leaving our two youngest children and I in the rental where we’d lived for 11 years. In 2007 I received a settlement for a car accident in which I had been injured 9 days before my husband walked out. I used that money to purchase a two bedroom mobile home in a quiet park on the edge of a small, neighboring town. I was anxious about leaving the home I’d lived in 14 years by then but excited about starting over. (It would just be my son and I in the new place as my daughter had married by then.) This was the first place I’d decorated all on my own and I was bringing very little from my old life to the new one. During one of my early trips out to the new place, along a scenic stretch of highway, eagles soared in majestic circles overhead and a sense of peace and well-being settled over me. In that instant I knew that this was the path to my destiny. Since that day, every time I see the eagles playing in the up-drafts, it brings a smile to my face and fills me with peace.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Humiliation with Compassion
Yesterday morning I went to the hospital for a medical exam and to be tested for STD's. When no one was in the room I was in tears. I kept thinking, "I can't believe I'm here, for this." Gawd how I hate that pig.
I am so filled with anger and resentment. The only way I know to vent is to walk my ass off only I did that last night (3 miles in time to the music), and now I have blisters on both feet. (I’ve lost so much weight that my shoes are loose.) I need new shoes. I’ll have to see if my hiking boots still fit. They are heavy, not really suited for walking but the weight will give me a better workout. Well, I think I might give it a try. I should know in the first mile if I’m going to be able to walk that far that fast in boots. Dang, tired just thinking about it.
The doctor said my rib isn’t broken but the muscles in between them are torn. It is worse now than yesterday even. It is very hard to find a comfortable sleeping position. The doctor advised pain meds and offered me a prescription for narcotics, which I turned down. The whole reason I’m a medical marijuana patient is so I can avoid an addiction to narcotics for my pain. I’ll just stick to that and over-the-counter Tylenol. During the rape that monster yanked my hair really hard a couple of times and did something to my neck and I’ve been having a lot of pain there as well. Bastard! I can’t rest till I see him humiliated.
Yesterday I spoke to my co-worker about feeling that I want to start wearing my gun out in the open. She doesn’t have a problem with it at all. I’ll be wearing it from now on, out of sight but within easy reach. I am going to talk to her today about going gun shopping together. I know quite a bit about guns and what I don’t know is only a phone call away.
I am so filled with anger and resentment. The only way I know to vent is to walk my ass off only I did that last night (3 miles in time to the music), and now I have blisters on both feet. (I’ve lost so much weight that my shoes are loose.) I need new shoes. I’ll have to see if my hiking boots still fit. They are heavy, not really suited for walking but the weight will give me a better workout. Well, I think I might give it a try. I should know in the first mile if I’m going to be able to walk that far that fast in boots. Dang, tired just thinking about it.
The doctor said my rib isn’t broken but the muscles in between them are torn. It is worse now than yesterday even. It is very hard to find a comfortable sleeping position. The doctor advised pain meds and offered me a prescription for narcotics, which I turned down. The whole reason I’m a medical marijuana patient is so I can avoid an addiction to narcotics for my pain. I’ll just stick to that and over-the-counter Tylenol. During the rape that monster yanked my hair really hard a couple of times and did something to my neck and I’ve been having a lot of pain there as well. Bastard! I can’t rest till I see him humiliated.
Yesterday I spoke to my co-worker about feeling that I want to start wearing my gun out in the open. She doesn’t have a problem with it at all. I’ll be wearing it from now on, out of sight but within easy reach. I am going to talk to her today about going gun shopping together. I know quite a bit about guns and what I don’t know is only a phone call away.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Broken Bones/Broken Spirit
I am feeling pretty busted up physically today. I have a broken or cracked rib up under my right breast where that monster forced my knees up and then pressed them really hard into my chest. It hurts to breathe. All the muscles in my legs and especially in my butt, hurt as though they are bruised. It’s difficult to walk and it’s painful too.
I am still taking several baths a day because I can still smell him on me. How is that possible?
I picked up the shirt I was wearing when Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship was here and I could smell him on my shirt. I inhaled deeply and took great comfort in HIS smell. I wish I could bottle that smell for the warmth and safety it lends.
This evening I spoke to a rape victim’s advocate. She was very nice, no pressure to report, and believe it or not, she encouraged vigilante justice in this case. I know exactly what I want to do, just don’t know if I have the nerve to do it myself. Hell, yes I do, I just don’t want to go alone. Where are those graffiti artists when you WANT them to paint for you? I’m not ready to give up on the idea.
I asked the advocate about getting checked for STD’s and she said it would be covered by the victim’s fund or whatever. Cool since I haven’t any insurance. Gawd I hate that walking human puss. Really great news was that the incidence of AIDS is so very low that they don’t even test for it unless the guy was a drug user or had sores. She said that AIDS is really rare in this area. That’s a relief.
The advocate told me that this guy could be on a dangerous sex offender list and she told me about links that actually work and I’m looking through those.
She told me I needed to replace the rape images in my mind with something positive. I told her about asking Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship to come over and how he held me replace the rape images with HIS face. I told her how very understanding and comforting he was to me. She said I did exactly the right thing. It really has helped to crowd out most of the traumatic imagery but now I’m back to longing to see Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship again. No one has ever held me like that before. It was just wonderful. I could die happy in that moment.
It is getting late and I have to leave at 5:00 a.m. for the hospital to be checked over so I will write more later. Hopefully brain waves will increase over the next few days because thoughts are still coming quite slowly. I hate going to the hospital alone.
I am still taking several baths a day because I can still smell him on me. How is that possible?
I picked up the shirt I was wearing when Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship was here and I could smell him on my shirt. I inhaled deeply and took great comfort in HIS smell. I wish I could bottle that smell for the warmth and safety it lends.
This evening I spoke to a rape victim’s advocate. She was very nice, no pressure to report, and believe it or not, she encouraged vigilante justice in this case. I know exactly what I want to do, just don’t know if I have the nerve to do it myself. Hell, yes I do, I just don’t want to go alone. Where are those graffiti artists when you WANT them to paint for you? I’m not ready to give up on the idea.
I asked the advocate about getting checked for STD’s and she said it would be covered by the victim’s fund or whatever. Cool since I haven’t any insurance. Gawd I hate that walking human puss. Really great news was that the incidence of AIDS is so very low that they don’t even test for it unless the guy was a drug user or had sores. She said that AIDS is really rare in this area. That’s a relief.
The advocate told me that this guy could be on a dangerous sex offender list and she told me about links that actually work and I’m looking through those.
She told me I needed to replace the rape images in my mind with something positive. I told her about asking Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship to come over and how he held me replace the rape images with HIS face. I told her how very understanding and comforting he was to me. She said I did exactly the right thing. It really has helped to crowd out most of the traumatic imagery but now I’m back to longing to see Mr. brief-but-extremely-stimulating-relationship again. No one has ever held me like that before. It was just wonderful. I could die happy in that moment.
It is getting late and I have to leave at 5:00 a.m. for the hospital to be checked over so I will write more later. Hopefully brain waves will increase over the next few days because thoughts are still coming quite slowly. I hate going to the hospital alone.
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