Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

Where Were You, When I died? February 1, 2014

Filed under: about me,all,Poems,poetry — rainey46 @ 5:45 pm
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Where were you, when I died?

Watching the game

with your hand deep in a bag of chips

licking the bits from your fingertips?

Where were you, when I died?

Driving to work

mind drifting and problem-solving

as you dart in between the cars?

Where were you, when I died?

You were right here

beside me, looking past with glazed eyes

as I crumbled.

You were right here

and you never even noticed.

 

Cracks in the Veneer September 14, 2013

For days, weeks, and even (if I am lucky) months at a time, my life is shiny; covered with a beautiful glossy coat. Everything rolls along and falls into place as it should. Even the bumps in the road are handled with humor and navigated well. Good times are enjoyed, bad time are endured, and average times are sweet.

Then, for some unknown reason, the glossy veneer of my beautiful life begins to crack.

It always starts small. Something I forgot to do, and hubs mentions it. Or the boss mentions it. Or maybe no one mentions it, but I know and I feel it. It sours things just a wee bit, and the first tiny crack appears in the glossy veneer.

Even if I immediately take care of it, whatever caused the first crack haunts me. It reminds me of every other time I screwed up. It makes me feel like I am in over my head in this life; that sooner or later, I will be found out. I’m not good enough and everyone knows it. I am just living a lie.

So what is the difference? How is it that I can handle things so well for periods of time, then suddenly it all falls apart? I need to know, because I can feel the cracks creeping in, and things have been so good for a while now; I don’t want the darkness. I will fight it, but it always, always wins.

 

I Took Back My Power From the Rapist June 9, 2013

 

TRIGGER WARNING: Rape

It’s strange how J mimics my own life in some ways. I wish it wasn’t so.

She saw her rapist at the grocery store.

The same grocery store where I saw mine.

Years ago, as a very young and wild teen, I was gang raped by “friends”. Long story….I know I wrote about it already, but I don’t feel like searching for it to create a link. Maybe later.

A year later, I moved on. I made all new friends, cut my ties with that so-called group of friends (all of them, not just the ones who raped me). I literally moved on to a new boyfriend (who became my husband) in a new town. The first town is about a 35 minute drive to the town I moved to. I grew up, married, had kids, and became a teacher. My life moved forward, but my soul did not. Just as I did with the molestation I endured as a child, I covered it up and pretended it didn’t happen. If I don’t think about it, it can’t hurt me, right? Or so I thought.

One year, one of my students happened to be this weird little dude I will call Paul. I taught fourth grade, and some little boys having a crush on me was the norm; it goes with the territory. After a week or so, they usually get over it and fall for a more appropriate love interest, like the cute blonde with freckles who sits next to them in class. Paul, however, persisted to fawn over me all year. Like I said, a weird little dude. I met his mother several times during conferences and we laughed together over his strange infatuation with me.

At the end of the year we had a big awards ceremony. The day before, Paul gave me a strange smile and said,”My dad is coming to awards tomorrow.” I was slightly shocked,  as Paul’s dad had not attended any events that year. In fact, Paul NEVER talked about his dad, so I assumed he was a very un-involved parent. Then Paul said, “My dad knows you.” He giggled and ran off.

I truly didn’t think anything of it until the next day. I was standing in my classroom when Paul’s dad, my old friend and rapist, stood in my doorway. Time stood still as our eyes met. The world around me faded away and all I could see where those eyes in the darkness. I was unable to blink or breath until he smirked and turned away. He told his son he would see him at the ceremony and then he was gone. When I was able to move again, I looked at Paul, who stood there, staring at me, with that same smirk. Like he knew.

Somehow I got through that day. I pulled Paul’s records and realized I lived one street over from my former friend. We lived one street apart and I never knew until that day.

But he knew. He knew the whole time that I was Paul’s teacher.

That summer I saw him again. This time at the grocery store. I left my groceries in the cart and walked out.

It began to eat away at me. I couldn’t sleep without nightmares. I began spending most of my waking hours doing the “What If” game. What if I had pressed charges. What  if I called him out in front of his wife. What if…

Finally I realized this was very counter-productive for me. I had to take my life back. I could not run from this anymore. A few days later, in the same grocery store, I saw him. I followed him. When he saw me, the blood drained from his face. I was angry and I did not look away. I would not back down. I took back my power when I looked him in the eyes and loudly said, “Fancy meeting you here. Does you wife  know you are a rapist? Does she know how you gave an under-aged girl drugs until she passed out, so you and your sick friends could rape her?” I saw true fear in his eyes for the first time. In that moment, I got my power back. He and his fear no longer controlled me.

Life is funny. That was years ago, and I have not had a chance encounter with him since. He still lives one street away, but it no longer haunts me. In fact, I hadn’t thought about him and those events in a long time.

I wonder how long it will be until J gets her power back.

 

 

Firsts May 11, 2013

It takes guts to try something you’ve never done before. When I think back to many “firsts” in my life, I can still feel the butterflies in the pit of my stomach.

 

My first bicycle ride without training wheels: My sweaty palms gripped the handlebars of my banana seat Schwinn as I pushed off the pavement in my sneakers. My dad had his hand firmly on the sissy bar, so I started off well. The moment I sensed his hand let go I began to wobble. The front wheel jerked back and forth as though it were having a seizure, and my heart nearly pounded out of my chest. I had no control over the direction it took and in seconds the row of mailboxes loomed in front of me. I heard screams of “Hit the brake” but my legs were frozen and unable to respond. CRASH! My first ride ended in tears and bandages. Learning to ride was put off until I could lick my wounds and heal my pride.

 

My first time teaching my own class: I am not going to lie; the first day I was alone in my classroom I cried with joy. It took me seven long years to get my teaching degree, and it was the hardest thing I ever accomplished. I was proud and overwhelmed to finally be there, in MY classroom. Nerves drove me to dive in and prepare the bare room for my 24 students. Books were labeled, shelves were filled, and bright bulletin boards were assembled while the butterflies danced so hard in my stomach that I couldn’t even eat. I bet I rearranged 50 times before the first day of school! When my students walked in on that first day, all my nervousness disappeared. I knew I was right where I belonged. I stepped to the front of the class and began teaching.

 

My first pregnancy: Unless you have experienced this firsthand, you can only try to imagine. Having a life, a real, tiny human, growing inside of you is beyond anything else in this world. My nerves were at times so bad I would shake. Other times I felt confident that I would be a good mother. As my belly grew, I became more afraid. I was terrified I would do something that would damage this wondrous little piece of perfection. After giving birth, I held my body so tightly clenched the nurse kept telling me to relax. It was weeks before I finally gained some confidence and began to enjoy my baby girl.

 

Firsts can be scary, but trying new things or doing something for the very first time makes you feel more alive. Even if you fail, you gain from the experience of trying. I haven’t had any firsts or new things in a while, so maybe that’s what I need. I need to find a good, worthwhile “first” to try. It’s time to shake things up…

 

English: A Schwinn banana seat with sissy bar,...

English: A Schwinn banana seat with sissy bar, bobbed fender, and slick, square-profile tire, on a bicycle. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

 

Screw-Ups May 5, 2013

Filed under: all,Poems,poetry — rainey46 @ 2:45 pm
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When his fists rained down

on her  bent and shattered body

the pain was further affirmation

of her lack of worth.

She brought out the demon

because she was a screw-up

and screw-ups always

got what they deserved.

 

 

 

Gypsy Vs. Small Town Me March 30, 2013

I am so restless. I itch to make things happen, and yet I do nothing. Is it because I am scared? Is it because I am just a lazy dreamer? Is it because I don’t know how to start? I don’t really know.

Am I destined to live my life with this restless spirit, or is there some way I can live this life I have and satisfy my desire to wander? It is like I am two people in one: one reliable person who is the wife and mother living in Small Town, USA. This person baked cookies, made homemade jelly, coached softball, and taught all the neighborhood kids how to create awesome science projects. She desired a house with a big yard and traditional furnishings. She is the good wife, daughter, and mother. The other person inside of me is a gypsy. She doesn’t care about social norms; she lives by her own set of rules. She believes in the spiritual goodness found in nature. Her one desire is to wander the earth to see all there is to see. Her life is found in a traveling caravan. She creates beautiful things just for the sake of beauty.

I know we all have different parts of our personalities, but mine seem to be constantly waging war with one another because they are polar opposites. The older I get, the more Gypsy me tries to take over. It’s like I have been what society expects me to be for as long as I could, and now I feel restless and rebellious to let the ‘real’ me take over. I want to see things, do things, have experiences that Small Town me could never do. Some times I am disgusted by what I allowed myself to become, because it is not the me I hold in my heart.

So, do I just walk away from this life? How do you walk away from a family that  you love? YOU DON’T! So how do you find a peaceful way to allow the Gypsy me to be satisfied without harming the people and life I led? I feel selfish just THINKING these thoughts; I lived my life putting my family before me. I have much to be thankful for; please know I am not complaining nor do I take what I have for granted. I just know this restlessness is not going away…it is growing stronger day by day.

flower5

 

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.