Rainey Daze and Crazy Nights

Poetry, Paintings, and Ponderings: Through My Eyes

Life Goes On June 1, 2013


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.


I Will Survive December 27, 2012

I survived the past 24 hours by sleeping. J seems to be doing well so far today. Her appointment is not until late this afternoon, so hopefully she will have a good day.

Today is a cold, but bright and sunny day. I love the cold and hope the sun doesn’t warm it up too much. If I had my camera I would go outside and look for something interesting to shoot. I really, really miss my camera!

I NEED to clean house and wash clothes, but things like that are not as important to me as they used to be. I guess when you’ve repeatedly wiped the vomit from your daughter’s face after yet another suicide attempt, dirty dishes in the sink kinda loses its position on the Top-Things-That-Are-Important List. I used to keep an incredibly clean house; not so much anymore. When J moved back in with us because she couldn’t handle living on her own, she brought back with her the messiness and disregard of others that she always had. Yes, I raised her better than that; but when depression joins in the party, J is unable to do the simplest tasks. She also becomes very overwhelmed when the mess in her room piles up. It’s after the next round of mania that she can clean it up. Me? I just don’t feel motivated to clean baseboards and ceiling fans anymore.



Steps Into the New Unknown Day December 21, 2012



The doctor in the ER told me just how close J came to really dying this time. She took 1/2 bottle of Xanax and washed it down with Tequila. If she hadn’t started vomiting like she did, she would have died.  If she hadn’t panicked and sent us all goodbye texts, she would have died. If she hadn’t been on her side, she would have drowned in her own vomit.

The night she almost died, I never cried. The next day in the ER, I still didn’t cry. I never even felt the urge. I thought it was because I have been through this so many times that I had no tears left. I thought it was because of the antidepressants that I take.

Today, two days after the fact, I had a break down. I began violently shaking and losing focus on the world around me. Breathing became difficult. Thinking rational thoughts was impossible. After ten minutes that felt like a century, it passed. My breathing became normal and my hands stopped trembling.

Every day I wake up and wonder if this will be the day. Is this the day she kills herself? Is this the day my mind finally snaps because it cannot take another moment living like this? Is this the day hubs walks out because he cannot handle life with a bipolar daughter and batshit-crazy wife?

But every morning, as these thoughts pass through my brain, I think about the other what-ifs: What if this is a day of laughter and joy? What if this day finds J happy, but not manic? What if this day is just an average,  normal day in the life of my not-so-normal family?

This thinking allows me to swing my legs over and step into the new, unknown day.
Steps to the Unknown


My Beautiful Girl December 20, 2012


she longed for~

silence in an unquiet mind

peace in a turbulent heart

healing for a damaged soul.

but she got~

demons speaking more violence

family angry, sad, hurt

poison that almost ended it all.

what she needs~

time to heal deep festering wounds

new eyes to see the truth of a beautiful soul

forgiveness for her humanness.



Best Present Ever

We are finally back from the hospital. J survived this suicide attempt. (See previous post, here). We spent many hours sitting in the ER, but by the time a doctor saw her she was feeling better. While waiting, she was shaking, clawing at her skin, and mumbling to herself. People around us in the waiting area looked on with pity in their eyes. I didn’t care; all I wanted was some help for J. After a while, she finally got a bed and talked with the doctor on call. When he came and talked to me, I was able to confirm what she told him; the major crisis was over and she was no longer a danger to herself. He released her.

We were able to get an appointment to see her psychiatrist, so when we left the hospital we drove straight there. J stopped going to therapy about a year ago because she (nor I) could not afford it. He told her that he would do the therapy and she could make payments and work on a sliding scale. I am so grateful to him! There are good people in the world!

She is exhausted and I am exhausted, but we are home and she is safe. That is the best Christmas present I could have.


Unsuccessful Suicide December 19, 2012

Various pills

Various pills (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


My daughter tried to kill herself again today. I never thought I would write that statement, but here I am. She took a bottle of pills. Again. She waited until she was at home, alone. Hubs and I were about 20 minutes away having supper at a local Mexican Restaurant. After she took them she got scared, so she started texting “goodbye” messages to all of her best friends. She sent me one, too. “I really love you and dad” it said. My phone was in my car, so I didn’t see her message until I was driving home. Along with her message was about 5 from her friends trying to make sure she was okay and that I was with her. I called her, but she didn’t answer. Next I called the friend who lives closest, Angel. Angel was already on the way over to the house to check on her. I drove like a maniac, running 80-100 all the way home.

Angel and her boyfriend got there right before me. She told them she took some pills. I was about to call 911 when J started vomiting. She was very groggy and could barely lift her head. She vomited over and over, so I felt like enough came up that she was out of danger.

I didn’t cry. I didn’t get upset. But every time this happens, another part of my heart dies.

I am just tired. We have gone through this so many times now, that I hardly feel anything. It’s just another day in my life. My daughter tried to kill herself again. She didn’t succeed. Tomorrow I will go to work. Life goes on.




My Erotic Mistress December 11, 2012



She is a beautiful, erotic mistress

who beckons me with slender fingers.

Her beauty radiates from her eyes

two deep, dark liquid pools

that threaten to swallow me

if I stare too closely, too deeply.

Her voice whispers seductively in my ear

filling my body with a red-hot desire.

“Just take the leap” she moans

“Close your eyes and give in to me.”

I lean over the edge of the cold railing

Gazing at the water that seems miles away.

“Come fly with me,” my mistress whispers

“Take my hand and you will be free

No more pain; no more heartache”.

I long to please her, so I step on the rail

Feeling her moist, warm breathe

on the bare skin of my neck

sending icy chills up and down my spine.

I shiver and almost lose my balance

In that moment, as I teeter on the edge between

life and death…

I choose life.

My mistress sighs, then leaves me

as I step away from the edge.

Life wins, once again,

but my heart knows that my mistress, Suicide,

will soon return for another try.


**NOTE: This is just a poem; I am not currently suicidal. When ideas for poems or fiction come to me, I have to get the thoughts out. I have felt this way, more times than I care to admit. But, just like in the poem, so far life wins.







Rainey: Unedited and On the Edge of Losing It July 19, 2012

Trigger Warning: I am struggling today, and this post is my brain rambling about many things…including suicide, sexual abuse, and other things. It is NOT a cry for suicide prevention help.

***I apologize in advance for this post…it is not my usual, and it is unedited and straight from the heart. I can’t hide anymore. Many of you may not want to read.

What if I just let go? What would happen? I have held myself in check for my entire life and it is becoming harder and harder and harder. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I don’t want to be the one who fixes everything, makes it all better, handles all the problems, listens and gives sage advice. I have never allowed myself to fall apart. I cry a little, let off some steam, but never, never, never do I let go completely. I am so afraid I will not be able to come back to “normal”. When I went to the west coast to place J in a treatment program I participated in counseling sessions with her and the counselor, Navid. Navid said he had never met anyone who kept such tight control of their emotions. He kept digging and trying to get me to let go, so I finally faked it and cried a little. I have major issues that I keep under wraps because everyone, I mean EVERYONE, in my family depends on me to hold it together. I’ve watched J try to kill herself numerous times….I held it together.  S moved away…I was a rock. My husband, P, had cancer. I held it all in. Then he had a stroke. I carried on. I’m so tired. I don’t even know who I am anymore because I am so caught up in being who everyone NEEDS me to be. I am one big stupid lie. If I let it all out the madness will overtake me and life as I know it will be over. I’m beginning to think that is not a bad thing. Can I walk away from all that I have? I’m not talking material things, that doesn’t mean shit to me. I’m talking family, friends, job, my LIFE. There is no one, not one single person in my entire existence, that understands. That, I know in the very center of my being. Do you know that when I started dating my husband, P, I told him about the sexual abuse I suffered as a child. He accepted me anyway, and that meant THE WORLD to me. Then, when J was in the hospital it came up in conversation and he said, “WHAT? I didn’t know that!”. All these years I felt so good knowing he accepted that part of me, and HE DIDN’T EVEN FUCKING REMEMBER OR CARE!!!! What does that say about me? I have surrounded myself with people who think they know me, who only allow themselves to see what they want to see, who think they might even love me, but they have no idea, really who or what I am because I LIE with my actions, with my words, with my smiles. There is a madness inside of me that I have hidden for so long, and it has been patient, but time is drawing near….it cannot be patient much longer. I know I have severe mental problems but I continue to function and no one even guesses anything is wrong with me. Am I that good or do people around me really not care? As long as I am there for them, right? I know you will say go to  a doctor. I have no desire to go through what J goes through, what so many of you go through,with doctors and medicines. I know I will have to before all is said and done, but procrastination is one of my biggest faults. I was supposed to go this summer, but cancelled the appointment. I know I will either kill myself or fall completely apart.  A part of me wants to just walk into the nearest mental hospital and commit myself and just let the pieces of my life fall apart. My husband will leave me, my parents and siblings will turn their backs, I will lose my job, my friends will be nonexistent…only my daughters and my dogs will stand by me. Really, that doesn’t even make me sad or upset. I just feel numb inside, and overwhelmed by what will happen. So instead of doing anything, I sit here because I feel overwhelmed at what I will do after that. What will a broken, mental, middle-aged woman with no job, no place to live, and no personal relationships do? Where will I go? How will I survive? These things keep me paralyzed. and so….I continue to live this lie. I don’t think I can hold on much longer.


The Destruction of Flowering Bushes April 22, 2012

This fiction writing deals with death and suicide. If this upsets or offends you, please do not read. I do not want this to upset anyone, or trigger bad thoughts or memories.

Craig pushed his body down into the mattress trying to make his body as small as possible. He wanted to simply disappear. He pulled the plaid bedspread over his head while pressing his hands tightly against his ears but nothing could block out the image burned into his brain or the sound that he still heard ringing in his head. He finally leaned over, stretched his arm down and felt under his mattress. His fingers grasped the Ipod and headphones that had become his refuge as of late. He shoved the ear buds into each ear with one hand then turned on the music with practiced ease. The sound of Nirvana filled his head, replacing the screaming voices from before. He settled back on his bed and prayed for blissful sleep. Sleep would not cooperate, however. Not even Nirvana could keep his thoughts from traveling back to the horrible incidents of the day.

His day had started just fine. It was Saturday, so he slept in until 10:00, then got up and readied himself for the day. It was the beginning of spring, so Craig knew he had outside chores to do.  He went out without being told to pull weeds in all the flowerbeds in the front yard. He could hear his mom vacuuming the house, first downstairs in the living room and then upstairs in the bedrooms. His dad was at work, as usual. It seemed that his dad was either at work or off with his buddies more than he was at home these days. His sister, Leia, was still in bed. She had been in bed for the past three days, coming out only to go to the bathroom.

Craig surveyed the yard. The flowers were just beginning to bloom on the multitude of bushes in the flowerbeds. He could see little buds of pale pink, white, and deep purple erupting on spindly limbs. He and Leia helped plant most of the bushes just a few years ago when they first moved to this house on Maxwell Street. They were just little kids then. Leia was 7 and Craig was 6 when their parents bought the “fixer-upper” 3 bedroom house. To the two kids, the house seemed like a mansion because it had such tall windows and high, 12 foot ceilings. Over the years their parents had pounded and painted and decorated until the “fixer-upper” became a showcase. Craig and Leia had helped, as much as small children can help, and they were all proud of the house and yard.

Walking to the backyard, Craig noticed a lone flowering bush along the back edge of their property. As always, it brought a sad smile to his face. This bush marked the grave of a beloved family cat, Theo. Well, he was supposed to be a family pet, Craig thought to himself, but we all knew Theo belonged to Leia. As some animals do, Theo picked one family member to belong to, and it was Leia. Leia was the only one who could ever get Theo to come when called. They used to play a game called “Run, Theo, Run” where each member of the family would stand at the door at night and call for Theo to come. First his dad would try, then his mom. They would both call in sweet voices, but no Theo. Next, Craig would try. Nothing. Leia would stand back, giggling, knowing Theo would not respond to any of them. Dad would then give a fake exasperated sigh and say, “Oh, Leia, go ahead and try. But you know he will not come!” Smiling and giggling, Leia would step forward and yell, “Here, Theo!” Within a matter of seconds, Theo was a black streak running toward the door. We all hammed it up, exclaiming, “No way!” and “How do you do that?” while Leia scooped him up and grinned broadly. Then one day when Leia was 13, Theo did not come when she called. They later found him under the rosebush. He passed away peacefully; it seemed, of old age. Leia was inconsolable. She was always a little high-strung and dramatic, but this put Leia in a state of deep depression that took a visit to the doctor and a bottle of pills to overcome. That was the first of many bouts of depression that stole his sister.

That’s how it seemed to Craig. The depression slowly stole his sister’s very soul. Leia was happy, upbeat and fun; she was the life of any party and could always make him laugh. Then, without any warning, the dark blanket would descend and Leia was lost. A vacant-eyed shell of Leia replaced his fun-loving sister and nothing could bring her back. It would last for hours, days, or weeks, and then very slowly, Leia would come back to them. To Craig, however, she never appeared the same. Each time the depression took over and she finally emerged, she seemed a slightly paler version of herself. It was as if her once-vibrant colors became watered down, less intense, each time. Craig felt helpless as he watched his sister slowly fade.

Standing and looking at the budding bush, Craig had an idea. He ran to the garden shed and picked up the clippers and a basket. He roamed the yard, carefully selecting several stems of flowers and buds. He clipped them and placed each one in the basket. With the basket filled with the vibrate colors, he took it to the kitchen and rummaged under the sink for a large vase. Craig filled the vase with water then haphazardly stuck the blooms into the water. Arranging flowers was not really his thing, but he did the best he could. Maybe, he thought, allowing himself to feel some excitement, this will cheer her up. Maybe she will want to go with me to clean the flower beds in the backyard and we can throw acorns and wish on dandelions like we used to. Craig didn’t even clean up the mess in the kitchen; he grabbed the vase and held it out carefully as he ran up the stairs. At the top of the stairs he turned left to Leia’s door. He knocked quietly on her door because when depressed she didn’t like sudden, loud noises. Craig listened closely, but didn’t hear a sound. He knocked a little louder and softly called her name. Still he heard no response. This time, he spoke a bit louder. “Hey, sis, it’s me and I’m coming in!”  Craig placed his hand on the doorknob and turned, but the door was locked. That was not unusual. They had both locked their doors to keep each other out and gain some privacy for the past several years. Craig simply did what he always did when locked out; he stepped into his own room across the hall, grabbed his middle school I.D. card, and used it to pop the lock. When he heard the resounding click of the lock, he knocked one more time to give her time to get decent before he entered. This time he whispered, “I’ve got something for you, Leia. Wait until you see this!”

The door swung open to expose the dump his sister called her room. When she was younger, Leia kept her room spotless. As depression robbed more and more of her soul she cared less and less about her surroundings, and her room was evidence of this lack of caring. Piles of dirty clothes mingled with books and papers that covered the floor. Her bed was just a tangled lump of pillows, covers, and stuffed animals. The closed blinds and drapes kept out most of the morning sun, so it was hard to make out her shape in the bed. Craig stepped in the room, trying to avoid the towering mounds on the floor. He made his way to the bed, holding out his offering and calling her name. When he reached the bed, he saw it was empty. A sudden chill ran up his spine. Something told him things were not right. Something was wrong, really wrong. Craig turned slowly, glancing around the room. A noise, or maybe a movement, caught his eye and made him look toward Leia’s closet. The door was standing open. There, placed perfectly in the center of the closet rod, was Leia, hanging from a noose. Craig stood without moving, without breathing for what seemed a lifetime. His feet rooted to the floor, he still held his arm out stupidly holding the vase of flowers. Then he heard an inhuman sound somewhere nearby. He thought it might be his sister, struggling to breathe. Somehow he began moving, thinking he had to save her. It wasn’t too late. He could still hear the sound…it must be her, I can help her. Suddenly he stopped. He forced himself to look at her. Leia was swinging very slightly as if a breeze was blowing, but she was not moving. She was not struggling to breath. She was dead. He realized at that moment the sound he heard, that inhuman wail, was coming from his own lips. A few seconds later another sound joined his own. His mom entered the room with wild frantic eyes. She saw Leia and a high-pitched shriek emitted from her mouth. Still screaming and wailing they joined forces and managed to get Leia down from the closet and place her on her bed.

Everything else that happened that day became a blur that Craig could not remember. As he lay in bed all he could see was his sister’s body with her empty eyes. He heard the screams of his own voice and then his mom’s voice. He thought about how stupid he was, to think that some dumb flowers would be enough to make her feel better. Craig was suddenly filled with a burning, white-hot anger that propelled him from his bed. He ran, stumbling, down the stairs into the kitchen. The garden clippers were there, on the end of the bar, beside the stacks of dishes and food that well-meaning neighbors brought over when they heard the news. He grabbed the clippers without breaking stride and bolted out the back door. He didn’t even stop long enough to open the gate, but instead vaulted over it. When he saw the first bush, he stopped. A roar escaped his throat as he attacked the bush like a madman. Using the clippers and even his bare hands, Craig destroyed it. Anger still boiled in his blood, so he moved on to the next bush, and then the next and the next. He was roaring and screaming, ripping the once beautiful bushes into shreds. Suddenly knocked off his feet, he felt strong arms wrap around his body. He tried to fight but the anger that had quickly enveloped him left just as quickly. Craig realized it was his dad who held him as they both collapsed to the ground. They held each other, both crying helplessly, for several minutes. After a while the crying subsided, and they just sat there arms wrapped tightly around one another. Craig felt drained and leaned heavily on his dad as they struggled to their feet and into the house. His mom stood at the door with red-rimmed eyes. She stood on one side of him and his dad stood on the other as they made their way up the stairs. Without a word spoken, the three of them stepped into his parent’s bedroom. His parents placed Craig gently on their bed. His mom slipped in on one side while his dad walked around the other side and slipped into bed. Both his mom and dad wrapped themselves around him and held him tightly. Together, the three of them finally drifted off to sleep.


Is Confession Good For the Soul…Part 2 April 16, 2012

I am crying as I sit here. I posted yesterday not expecting such an outpouring of support, but your comments have really given me something to think about. Just knowing that many of you took time to respond means so much to me…you will never know.
For my entire life I have put the needs of others ahead of my own, and that is such a difficult thing to change. I know I need to see a doctor, and I will. I have been on antidepressants for several years now, and I don’t think I am in danger of hurting myself. It’s just a thought that is always there, like an option, you know? I know I need some other kind of help. My realization is that all this time I just thought it was depression, but thinking that I might be Bipolar just makes so much sense now that I know more about the different types. I cannot believe I was so stupid that I never saw it before!

Writing or drawing about my feelings helps to keep me from acting on suicidal thoughts. Some of my writing might be dark and gloomy, but it makes getting through some of the darkness just a bit easier.
I also like the advice of seeing a doctor and then worrying about telling my family later. Maybe the doctor can help me and give me strategies in how to tell the people in my life. I know it will damage or end some of my relationships and that is scary. But I think about the advice I would give someone else…it wasn’t much of a relationship if they walk away because of this.

Thank you again for helping me. I don’t like asking for help because I hate to burden anyone with my troubles (I am the one everyone else turns to), but sometimes just hearing someone else say it really does help. I wish I could have all of you that I feel close to live right here on my street…you are all becoming my friends in this journey and I thank you for spending time with me each week.

Thanks and Hugs to you all ~Rainey