Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

Life Goes On June 1, 2013

TRIGGER WARNINGS

She refused to do anything about the rape. After that day, she didn’t want to talk about it. J is  much like me in her ability to bury things deep inside. It kills me to see her do that, because I know what burying secrets does to you. The secrets come out at night and haunt your dreams. They creep up randomly in the middle of the day and make you unable to breathe. Secrets that you keep buried eat away at your soul, swallowing it bit by bit. Trust me, I know.

But burying secrets is a way to survive and keep living. It is a coping skill; a bad one, but a coping skill nonetheless. I was once gang raped by a group of guys who I thought were my friends. I was drunk and high on drugs, so the next morning I buried it away. After all, I put myself in that position. It was my fault. Those were the thoughts I had at the time, so I pretended it didn’t happen. Even when I saw them later in the week, I pretended nothing was different. Inside, I felt dead. I continued doing drugs and drinking heavily for a few more years. I attempted suicide several times. When I wasn’t attempting suicide, I lived as recklessly as I could. Dying seemed better than living.  I was in a bad place for a long time. It was years before I could grieve and even admit to myself that I was raped.

I worry so much about J. She carries so many wounds and she is not tough like I am. She feels every little jab deep in her heart. She is so trusting, yet she keeps getting hurt. J is a good, loyal person with a heart of gold.  She trusted that when she said no, he would listen. It wasn’t a playful, ambiguous no. She was crying. She meant it.

My anger is still boiling. She begged me not to tell anyone, not even her dad or sister. So I have another secret that I must carry, because when I make a promise I keep it. I do not know what will happen if I run into him somewhere. In this small town, it is bound to happen. I know where he works. I could easily find out where he lives. I lay in bed at night and dream up scenarios of what I would do to  him if I could. I will not share with you what my twisted mind concocts because it frightens me to think I can even  dream of such terrible things. But she is my baby, no matter her age. She is handicapped mentally and he took advantage of that. To me, that is more inhumane than the horrors my mind creates.

I am here, drinking my coffee and beginning my day. J spent the night with a friend and is planning her best friend’s wedding. The birds are chirping and the sun is rising. Life goes on.

 

No Means No May 27, 2013

She was raped. That son of a bitch raped her last night. I am boiling with fury and probably shouldn’t be allowed to blog right now but I have to let it out somehow or I will hunt him down and cut off his dick. If you are offended by my language then please don’t read this post. I am seriously trying to keep from going after him. I do not need to go to jail, because then who would she have? Her dad, who lives in la-la land? Or her sister, who gets angry every time J’s bipolar/anxiety prevents her from being “normal”?

I have always joked that if someone raped either of my daughters I would take him in a house and nail his dick to the windowsill. I would then set the house on fire and hand him a knife and tell him, “You get to choose. My daughter did not.” I thought I was joking. Now I know I was not. I want to inflict terrible pain on him. I want to see him beg for mercy. How could that son of a bitch do that to her? She is already so fragile….years of work probably undone because he wanted to get off.

To think, this was a “nice boy” whom I knew and LIKED!!! It wasn’t one of the losers she found on the dating sites (nothing against dating sites, but J is known for picking losers and it never turns out well); this was a “local” guy who seemed very earnest and straight-forward. My heart is broken for her. She will not press charges because they will never stick. And I agree; they will not stick.

J told him no. Forcefully. Repeatedly. But she did not fight. She did not scream for help. She kept saying no and crying but did not stop him. My guess is because of her incredibly low self-esteem she just let him finish. She was so hurt and confused when she told me. My poor baby.

No means no.

 

 

 

This Is Me May 2, 2013

I live each day with a smile

helping, hugging, loving

all who are in need.

 

No one knows

no one would even believe

the darkness inside…

 

I lock away my sadness

hide it under well-formed layers

wishing  in vain for it to vanish.

 

I look for beauty in all things

so I have a reason

not to die today.

 

This is me

how I live

how I am.

 

 

Feeling Better, Anti-Weepies, and Good Friends March 25, 2013

I’m getting there. Despite the chaos around me (or maybe BECAUSE of it) I feel…lighter. The heaviness in my head and chest is a little better today; the haze is lessening. I still have a certain sadness, a melancholy, if you will, but it is not crippling. I am able to think of tomorrow, and that there is a reason to see another tomorrow. That’s progress, my friends!

My dear friend Hannah (and she is a friend, even if I have never met her in “real life”) made a comment on my last post. She said I was bat-shit crazy and why didn’t I go take some damn anti-lunatic pills and stop pissing around already.

No, she didn’t really say that. 😉 But I wouldn’t be offended if she had! (See, I’m feeling better because my sense of humor is back.) This is what she actually wrote:

Don’t take this the wrong way, but have you considered medication? You are a wonderful, loving, giving person, and if you need some help getting through this period in your life, then you should have it. I’ve been on medication, and yes, it’s absolutely a crutch, but you know, sometimes you break your leg and it’s ok to use a crutch for a time. Not forever, maybe, but to get through the worst of it. So, all I’m saying is, if you don’t need it, then ok… but if you do, that’s alright, too.

My friend, I agree. Here is the sad thing: This is me on drugs. I AM ON MEDICINE!! And, here is the kicker…..they have changed it and increased it multiple times. Most of the time, I sail along with the usual ups and downs. But in recent years, the lows take me way, way down. Some may be situational…  after all, my life is the kind they write books about (and you would think it was all made up; no one could REALLY have a  life like that!). Some may be the residual effects of the abuse I suffered at a younger age. But I know some of these feelings are not based on current or past situations. Those mornings when I open my eyes only to see the darkness has descended; those days when nothing interests me; those nights when I beg my dreams to take me away, but all they do is mock me….that is depression in the purest form.

The pills do work. I stopped taking them once. Within days, all I could do was weep. Yes, weep. I’m not a woman to use that word lightly, but when the shoe fits…there is no other way to describe it. I. Could. Not. Function. I went back on the medicine, and felt like myself a few days later. That is NOT an experience I ever want to repeat. Don’t get me wrong; I like an occasional good cry: it is a powerful release that leaves me feeling cleansed and emotionally stable again. But WEEPING, however, is NOT FUN. You make no sense, the tears flow without any feeling of release, your nose gets all snotty and gross, and YOU CANNOT STOP! There is no end to weeping. It just gets quieter, but it doesn’t stop. It is a pathetic kind of crying with no purpose other than to make you look weak and stupid, and, yes, CRAZY. So I have no plans to stop taking my beautiful little “no-weepies” pills each day.

Do I need to go back and try a new kind of pill? Maybe. Okay, yes, I do. But that will have to wait until this summer, because I cannot afford to dive into the weepies at work. They kinda don’t know how unstable I really am, and I hope to keep fooling them for another day week year or two, if possible. So I will continue, the best that I can.

As for you, my dear friends, thank you. Thank you for your kind, encouraging words when things get tough for me. I’m not able to reply when things are bad, but I want you to know I am reading and it does matter. I know my bouts with depression are not fun to read about, but it is healing and helpful to me to get it out. I cannot say what I feel, and I hide it from those around me, but for some reason I can write about it straight from the heart. When I write, I don’t censor. So you are seeing me naked, down to the very center of my humanist. I am honored that any of you stick around to read. The fact that so many of  you actually care enough to comment and wish me well…it blows me away. It gives me hope for the human race. And yes, if I hadn’t taken my pills, I might even be a little weepy right now…

 

Trying Not to Fall Into the Abyss March 24, 2013

I’m trying. I really am. Every day when I wake up and look in the mirror, I tell myself all those positive things the therapists and self-help books tell you to say: “You are a valuable person. It’s okay to not be perfect because no one is.  You have empathy and talent. You are worthwhile. There are people who love you just as you are, faults and all. You are lovable.” Sometimes I even believe a small part of what I say, but mostly I look into my eyes and see a nothing person. But I promise, I am trying to find reasons to be alive.

I see everything as though I am peering through a thick, black fog. The haze is so real I can taste it. It leaves a heavy metallic taste on my tongue. My eyes feel gritty from trying to see beyond the haze, so I often just close them. When I am home, I try to sleep, but dozing is the best I can do. My mind is filled with every demon from my past chasing me into a corner. I fight the urge to just surrender. Giving up, surrendering, seems so alluring and easy, and yet I still fight. Something in me makes me keep fighting.

I think it would be better now, but life circumstances are conspiring against my healing. My dog, who is one of my huge reasons for living, is back in the emergency hospital with seizures again. I ache for him. Another financial problem reared up to cause even more stress. And then, of course, there is J, who is herself teetering on the edge of mania gone wild.

I can almost see the edge of the cloud, but my fingertips are tired; they ache to let go and just let my body and soul fall into the abyss.

Life circumstances are hard right now, and that is not helping.

 

It’s Coming March 14, 2013

It’s coming. I can feel it, breathing down my neck. It’s not here yet, but it is close. When I gaze in the mirror, I can feel it hovering just out of view. When I walk down a long hall and turn the corner, I can almost catch a glimpse. As I stare into my own eyes, I feel it staring back, right there behind the dark brown flecks of my irises. Just the thought is wearing me down.

There is nothing I can do. It will come, it will stay as long as it wants, and it will leave just as abruptly as it came. It will tear me apart if it wants, and leave me in tiny little pieces that I can never, ever make fit perfectly again. I will fake it for as long as I can so that no one else can see the turmoil it brings. I will fake normal so no one will know my secret. But I know, and IT knows.

How long is my uninvited and unwanted guest going to stay?  Will I make it? Will my life be so interrupted that nothing is ever the same again? Only it knows.

I hate depression.

 

 

Too Much Suffering February 20, 2013

She is running. J is never home these days, and when she is it is not for long. She is frantic. Her speech is like verbal garbage falling from her mouth. Her eyes are huge and she barely blinks. She is the walking poster child for mania.

It doesn’t help that she just got paid and her tax money is due any time now. For J, money and mania is as deadly as drinking and driving. I’ve talked to her already and she sees the signs. But how do you pull back? How do you stop the freight train that is flying down the track without any brakes? The doctors never really answer that question. How do I sit and watch the accident unfold? All I can do is warn her, but when she is in this state it doesn’t stop until…well, you know.

Depression. The evil twin of mania. It will slow her speech, stop her traveling, and halt her spending. Each time, I pray it doesn’t take her life. And, if I am being truthful, I pray it doesn’t take my life. Every time I watch her go through this, I die. I rage against a God, or Gods, or just the fucking universe, for doing this to her. Yeah, I’ve heard it before: there is a reason for everything. I have to say, I don’t see a reason for this suffering she must endure. I don’t want to know that there is an all-powerful BEING who would allow the agony I have witnessed. For that matter, what type of glorious  GOD would allow me to be molested at the age of four? Or gang raped as a teenager?

Sorry, I got carried away. I’ve seen too much suffering lately. I sat in the hallway today as a nine-year old described her home life. She lives with eleven other people, all but one older than she. They make her fist fight her eight-year old brother because they think it is funny. She had a busted lip. I’m pretty sure she’s been molested, but I cannot get her to admit it yet. Another child was so hungry he was literally shoving food into his mouth like some sort of caveman. This was on Tuesday, right after we returned from a three-day weekend. I wonder if he had eaten at all since school on Friday.

There is so much pain with our young people. They don’t deserve this kind of life. My daughter is a good, decent person. She doesn’t deserve the pain she deals with every day. The children I see at school are too young to deal with the adult issues they must deal with daily.

My heart hurts today. I’m having trouble seeing the beauty in this world when all I see is immense pain and suffering of our children.

 

An Angry Child February 12, 2013

Hot, pulsing anger pushes her

flows from her fingertips

like bolts of lightning.

She wears a daily  mask

of hatred and apathy

so no one can guess her reality.

But, if you look closely

you might glimpse in her eyes

the scared little girl inside…

Eight in years but thirty-eight in her soul

too wise for her young age

too broken to still be a child.

Beatings routinely rain down on her

a small punching bag for mom

rape is her unwelcome companion.

She knows only searing pain and hate

lashing out at school because

love and caring are foreigners.

All she really wants, all she really needs

is someone to see; someone to care;

someone to save her.

 

 

 

 

 

Riley Update February 8, 2013

RILEY GETS TO COME HOME TOMORROW!! WOO-WHOOO! If all goes well tonight and he remains seizure free, I pick him up in the morning. That is, if he will come home; those pretty young college girls who are training to be vets have fallen in love with him. He does not spend time in a pen or crate; oh, no, not my Riley; he is too busy being cuddled by all the ladies! They take turns holding him on their laps while they work. Even the head vet of the department put him on a leash and let him walk around with her as she worked! That’s my boy: working his little chunky boy charm on the women! 🙂

It’s amazing how much better I feel. I will not completely relax until I have him home and safe in my arms, but just knowing he is doing better and feeling normal again makes me smile. It is so nice when the planets align and the stars twinkle just right and my life is on track for at least a moment or two. J is doing well at the moment, Riley feels better, my virus is gone, S (my other daughter) and her partner E are doing well…life is good.

But, you know me, there is that little awful voice in the back of my head saying….something bad is about to happen….things never stay good for long….

I am visualizing that little mouthy bitch that is always saying those negative things in my head…I am visualizing her as a little cartoon character with short dark hair and big brown eyes….now I am visualizing pounding her on the head with a hammer so she will GET OUT OF MY HEAD and let me enjoy some happiness for a while. There, that worked. That shut her up!

As I was saying, life is good!

 

 

An Interesting Day February 4, 2013

Today was…interesting. I watched a child, age 7, place a rather large hair barrette in her mouth. As I was saying, “Don’t put that in your mouth! You might swal….” she did. She swallowed it.

Now, this was no little bitty barrette. It was two inches long when closed and puffed out to look like a bow. It had a clip in the back, but I’m not sure if the clip was open or closed when it took the trip down her throat. Either way, it was scary and dangerous. The child looked at me in shock and said, “It’s gone! I swallowed it! That kinda hurt!”

I did the logical thing. As soon as I saw that it went down WITHOUT CHOKING HER TO DEATH, I went to the office to have them call her mother. The office called, and, after several attempts, finally got up with her. This was at 9:30 this morning. Mom arrived….at 2:05. After speaking with her child (quietly, off in the corner) she came back and told the office staff, “That lady was mistaken. I counted her barrettes this morning. She’s not missing any. That lady was mistaken.” She then took the child and went home.

THE LADY WAS MISTAKEN? THE LADY WAS MISTAKEN???? What the hell? That barrette was large enough to do possible damage on the way through her little digestive system. I was shaking, I was so mad. SHE COUNTED THE BARRETTES THIS MORNING? Really? Because I know that is what I did when I put barrettes in my child’s hair. I counted. Yep. Every time.

I know that kids will be kids. Children do not have the ability to think through their actions (neither do we as adults sometimes!) at this age. Children always have, and always will, do stupid things. That’s why they are supposed to have parents with some sense.

When I was four years old, there was a large bush that grew in my yard. The bush was covered with beautiful, bright red berries. My mom cautioned me to never, ever put the berries in my mouth because they could make me very sick. As I was an obedient child, I listened to my mother. Not once did I eat the berries. But she never said I shouldn’t shove them up my nose.

After shoving three or four of those big-ass berries up my tiny nostril, I couldn’t breath very well. My nose started snotting up and I cried. When mom came running, I told her what I did with the berries. After several torturous minutes of her rooting around in my nose without success, she called a friend to take us to the doctor. Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the doctor’s office, nature took over and I let out a nose-clearing sneeze that solved the problem without any further assistance.

Child nose

Child nose (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The point is, I did something stupid, like kids do. And my mom did what good parents do: she handled it. This little girl who is currently digesting a huge chunk of plastic, deserves to have a parent who will handle it. Not pretend it didn’t happen.