Saying goodbye to 514 South Ivy

This is for you LW....I will post the whole series of emails but I wanted to start with this one.

Back story for everyone else who missed these the first time around. I lived at the above addy for 11 years.  We out grew it and were waiting for our tax money the spring of 2011 so we could move. One month before the money was due our rental unit was sold and the new owners evicted all the tenants. They were going to turn it into a drug rehab place for families. They gave us 60 days.

I do not cope well with change as it is...and when you add the extra pressure of a ticking deadline, wow did things deteriorate.

We got out on time...but wow the ride was like no other. The stress drove me to write this series of emails to my family. Trying desperately to cope with everything.

And what really BITES MY BUTT is ....they rushed to get us all out of there....and the rental units are STILL EMPTY 14 months later.

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******Trigger warning******* as in this is going to give you a glimpse into the darkness of my life and might be unsettling, please read with caution

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A...

B...


C...*snap*


My brow wrinkles in disappointment. I push my cotton candy colored glasses back up my nose and then continue twisting the apple stem.


D....E...F...G...H...I..J !! I pretend it comes off in my hand. My grimy tanned face smiles happily. I am going to marry a man who name starts with a J! I slid down off the porch railing and off I galloped to join my siblings.


I was ten years old.  Head over heals in love with  my classmate James Lee Staley.  I want to marry him. He wants to marry me. Mama's words ring in my ears as she passed on the old wives tale of how you can tell what your future hubby's first name will start with as you twist off apple stems.


I have already decimated Mrs Johnson's daisy patch with many rounds of he loves me, he loves me not.


I always cheated and always end on "he loves me."


I want to be happy. I want the dream of a loving husband and a life of love and happiness. I want more than anything on the planet to find someone who can love me. More than anything on the planet...well except a big black stallion with a flowing mane and tail who will only let me ride him....and a candy store. I am after all only ten.


But i am no ordinary ten year old.


I have ghost words that haunted me on a deeper level. A very cruel and mean grown up felt the need to grab me by my arm and tell me when I was 3rd grade that I was so ugly that I would never have a husband. But perhaps even more damaging was the person who told me that I would never have a child. Ever. That I would be alone forever.  The "ever" always hissed mockingly in my ear. I grew up knowing that I would always be surrounded by people, but forever alone.


June 1st James was killed in a motorcycle accident. A few days later Mama tossed the obituary page in my lap "did you know him?"



A...


B...


C...*snap*


"yes" I whisper and retreat to the solitude of my mind. I stare at his name on the page and feel my soul fracturing.  He died because I loved him. I poisoned him. I vow to never love another living person ever again.


I lived my life as Simon and Garfunkel sang...I am an island, I am a rock.  I was alone.  Sometimes I was a piece of sea soaked driftwood rolling on the endless waves, always just inches from drowning in the wine dark seas.


I was a very depressed and miserable person. The rage and hate I harbored towards this world that didn't want me, had no room for me ate at me till the only way I could deal with the pain was to cut my skin to create mouths that screamed and cried tears of blood. To burn my skin and leave large ghostly white scars all over me.


The Beatles were my friends. Their music was my salvation as child. THEY KEPT ME SANE. I allowed my self to love them because, how could they hurt me?


As the years passed the loneliness snuffed my desire to live on.


December 8, 1980 John Lennon was gunned down.


I didn't think I would ever recover from that night. In short order I drove away KKW (my only friend). I kept everyone at arms length. I wanted NOTHING to do with any living person EVER AGAIN.


My dark eyes reflect madness and hatred behind a veil of bangs. DON'T LOOK AT ME.

Graduate at 17 and start working graveyard on a locked geriatric-psych-ward....no one will find me here among the demented. I feel strangely at home locked up with madness and the voices hollering “help help help” . I  save my money and that November buy a travel trailer and move into on my parents property.  A princess locked away in a tower. But there was no prince coming for me. I knew I was never to marry.

I have three goals in life.
1. To have dark circles under my eyes.
2. Have grey hair.
3. Be dead by the time I am 23.

The night shift psychosis is sweet and I enjoy the new madness in my mind. I move my trailer to a co-workers farm. We pool out measly min-wage checks and live better.

We are social outcasts and we hate people. I ride her horse to escape...endless hours cantering through the woods. I happily plan the day I will die. My 23rd b-day. At last my pain and suffering will be halted. I
will be free. Free of the stink of my decaying brain. Free of this body that clings to life with no food and fresh blood trails dripping down it.

Co-worker I live with’s daughter has a baby girl. Despite my attempts to not love her, I fall head over heals. I protect her vigilantly, no harm will become this child. She never lacks for touch of love from me.

I am sitting on the couch feeding her and with my right hand writing out my will, when I glance over at baby KSS. Who will teach this child to ride? to dance? to twist the apples stems?

I find the strength to reach out.

After a psych eval at mental heath department I find my self in the office of a man named Richard. I choose him from a list of therapist because he shared the same name as the Beatles drummer.


My first appt. I tell him I plan to be dead by the time I am 23. He nods his head and asks when my b-day is. I tell him. We have a DEAD line, a time table, we have a lot of work to do.

Richard had never worked with a client who self mutilated. In hind sight that was truly a blessing. He had no idea about SIV (self inflicted violence), no preconceived treatment plans or biases.
We learned about it together. In my attempts to educate him about it, I in turn had no choice but to learn my self. He was the perfect T for me. A pleasant older male who kept his distance and never tried to touch me. I value his professionalism and his ability to keep us on track. I loved his humor and his easy going manor. His giant collie dog frequented out sessions. It was nice to be treated both by a human and a four legged.

We talked initially about how I was treated by others, and how I felt like an alien.


He asked “are you human?”


“No” I replied .


" animal?” he asked gesturing to the sleeping dog at his feet.


“no” I whisper fighting tears. “I'm not good enough to be an animal”


He waited patiently as I fought internal battles. “I am nothing, I am dust, I don’t feel like I belong on this planet, I feel like I was dropped off and my race is gone. I am a crack child. (crack in the true meaning of the word - a space between two objects) I belong no where. I exist between light and the dark. I am like a missing link.”

He sighed deeply and I saw pain in his eyes. “P we have to get you reconnect with your people.”


 “Everyone is a foe till proven otherwise.” I say with narrowed eyes.


“P in order for this to work you have to trust me.”


I am gone. Lost behind my walls in the darkness of my madness. Hope? trust? what the ?? why can’t he understand that: ALL I KNOW RIGHT NOW IS HATE - PAIN- ANGER- FEAR. that is all I speak.  My feelings long ago bottled up and hidden away.


“can you trust me?” he asks. “or at least give me a chance to earn your trust.?” He addresses me as if I am a fox caught in a trap.


I ponder his words as I feel my foot being bit by the cold steel trap. What choices do I have?
Allow this man to help guide me and strive to live a better life...or...chew off my leg and scurry away and remain wounded and injured for ever.


I go internal and face my selves. we are tired of the pain. we are tired of fighting the madness, we are
tired of living everyday, every second in a state of constant suicidelness.


I speak to Richard. “yes...yes we will give you a chance.”

That man saved my life. I owe him a debt I cannot repay.

The next man to touch my life on that depth would not come into my life for another 11 years. Excruciatingly long lonely years.


A...


B...


C...*snap*



My boss introduced us. I was set up to play chess with this Corey Russell. I went into the friendship with the knowledge that it would be be just that. A friendship. By then the "you will never marry, never have kids, never be happy" was simply a part of who I was. I had sadly accepted it to be true. I was 34 years old and for all intense purposes invisible to the male population.

We talked mostly via email. We got together about every 2 weeks and played chess. I worked had to learn what he had to teach both about chess and his faith.

I learned he had been praying for a wife for three years.

His words amplified the loneliness in my heart. I felt overwhelming compassion for this gentle man and his personal quest to find someone to be with. I could relate to the wanting and needing...and not having.

By then I knew him well enough to tell him "you will make someone a wonderful husband." Never guessing he would be mine someday.

When he asked me to marry him it was a warm Thursday evening in August. I still wanted to look over my shoulder to make sure he wasn't talking to someone else.

Here was someone who wasn't afraid of my past or my scars. Someone who didn't believe the lies told to me as a child. Someone strong enough to hold me and love me.

We married September 28, 2000 and after eating at McDonald's with B, S and M he drove me to 514 South Ivy street.

And my life began again.

I got the "never life" I had been dreaming of, complete with a loving husband and days of peace and happiness.

Finding someone who can love me is a blessing beyond description...and finding someone worthy of my love is too.

So much laughter, and loving and joy happened there. So much healing and growing happened there. Lots of tears shed there, both sad and glad. A childhood lie exposed and shattered there as JUR and Hansolo  joined our lives.

Layer and layers of warm peaceful memories flooded this tiny place in Oregon. Our home for nearly 11 years.

In less then week we will be moving the stacks of boxes from here. I will dry  Hansolo's  tears as she wants to bring the stairs with us. JUR and I will stand in the kitchen and bid a fond farewell to the ants. I will lovingly dust and untangle the cargo net of computer cords for Corey so he can move them easily.

When the house is empty I will come back and clean it alone. I will lovingly clean it and fill its emptiness with gentle healing prayers for the families who will move in next. I will pray it gives them a safe place to heal and grow too. That they too will be blessed to the degree I was while living here.

When its clean I will lock the door and head out without looking back. I will drive out and put the keys in the landlords mail box and hurry home to Withington  Street and join my family....and I will continue to live happily ever after.