Wednesday, April 29, 2015

Face to face

****TRIGGERY**** Not 100% sure I want to go here on my blog, because it opens some doors that I've kept closed on purpose. But for some reason it feels right today.

About 11 years ago, a woman flew out from Georgia to meet me.

Around 6 years ago another woman drove from Chicago to Oregon to meet me.


Messed up psycho me.

They both met me on the message board I used to write on.

The first one I think left disappointed. My quiet non-impressive real day to day person that I am every day didn't match up to the online person that wrote the powerful posts. I think she was expecting to find some enlightened being. She came looking for the healer, and found only me.

The second one, came looking for me. She was looking for the flawed person that wrote not the magical on line persona. Because she came to see the real person, she got to meet both of me.

I still find it mind blowing that anyone would travel over 1/2 the U.S. to meet me. Let alone two people.

I guess something deep inside of me can't let go of the self  hatred that has haunted me all my life.

How the hell did that hatred get implanted in my brain? Were there some words spoken to me that planted that seed? Was it a physical action? non-action? a pill? how in the hell does something that damaging get in the soul of a young child.

If I can't like my self how can other? A riddle that haunts me too.

Therapy didn't fix this issue, but it added a strong challenging counter argument. It put a healing salve on the wound. The issue has scarred over inside of me. I no longer HATE  my self. Now days its more of a you irritate me some days, kinda vibe.

While not at 100% peace with my body, I have come a long ways in making friends with it. But when the shit hits the fan, guess what gets the fuck burned, hit, punched and scratched out of it? Yup my body.

Today I gave up on trying medications to help with the nerve pain.

Resigning my self to being in pain. May be the medication trails are failing because I am suppose to be in pain.

I sat in the doctors office today and was questioned point blank about how I was doing with the suicidal issues I wrestle with. As usual I was honest.

"For some reason, I have no idea why, an awful lot of people are attached to me. That is why I can tell you that I am still fighting the urges, that plus I promised my therapist I would stay alive until I was 65, after that the contract come up for renegotiation."

She looked at me, and didn't say anything for a second then scooted her chair closer and leaned into make direct eye contact. "Are you serious that you have no idea?"

I of course being the big chicken that I am, ran in my head. (dissociation...a handy skill when you have no where to physically run too.)

She chased me with her eyes trying to keep the eye contact.

Then she told me why people like me.

I have heard those words before, but never literally face to face, from someone who has seen me at my worst and knows a lot of my dark secrets, and is in that bunch of people who like me none the less.

I left the appointment and bawled all the way home.

Those words are like a key trying to open a damaged lock. the hell did that hatred get implanted in my brain?
Were there some words spoken to me that planted that seed?
Was it a physical action? A non-action? a pill?
how in the hell does something that damaging get in the soul of a young child.

I know the answer to these questions.

The soul shattering damage is the result of the sexual abuse I lived through as a child.

Boundaries shot all to fucking hell.

Emotions scrambled and distorted.

Brain and body severed.

The seeds of hatred planted.

You didn't kill all of me. You might have changed me and set me on a path of self hatred. You might have shattered my soul and messed up my head, killed parts of me, but you didn't kill all of me.

I am like that severely injured burned and battered dog that licks the hand of the vet that is euthanizing it. You turned me into a monster, so I focus the hate inwards on me so I harm no one but myself.

I refused to die back them.

I am still refusing to die today.

You will not win.

 I know you can't fathom how your actions can still haunt me today so many years later. This hell is not my burden to carry.

But I can't put it down.

Since I can't put it down, I swing it like a bat. I go after monsters that haunt other survivor's. I reach out to help others from a place of deep understanding. Each time I have reached for another survivor I am in a way reaching for that lost little girl in me too.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

Man over board!

I reach over the boat edge and grab you by your collar and bring your face above the surface.

You spit water in my face as you sputter and growl. "let me drown."

I jerk you hard and whap your face against the side of the boat. Then dunk you back under.

You come up swinging and cursing.

"Stop swimming down." I growl at you.

I feel your body give up the fight in it, and grow heavy in my hands. You bob there silently taking fast deep heavy breaths that slowly slow down until you are calm.

"I failed." you at last say.

"failed?" I echo.

"Failed at being a grown up, failed at my job as parent, spouse...human name it all of it." you lean back in silent agony, eyes closing with a lifeless sigh.

......and it stops there. This was in my "draft" folder for my blog. I remember who I was writing this for, but not what prompted me to set fingers to keys. There is a certain level of inner pain in another person that will vibrate in my soul and make me reach into this space within my self and reach out to try to help.

Often I write stories that I hope the one who needs to see it will read themselves into it. Some times I address them out right. And in this case, sometimes my words end up unspoken.

I wish I could find a way to tap into this part of my writing and force it. I find it engaging and almost hypnotic at the speed it draws you in and connects with you  I have a rogue writer within, that has a soul with endless compassion and empathy.

Quite the contrast to the monstrous angry part of me that writes the dark stuff.

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Tear in your hand (complete)

(Sorry for the delay gentle readers - I wanted the story to go "right" and it wanted to go "left". I had to give in and follow it left. I have little control over that part of the writing process. Some stories simply write themselves, I just type them in.  Part one included since its been a while.)


Gather around little ones...

It's story time.

Wiggly-one jumps up and claps her hands "Oh! oh! oh! tell us a forest story!"

"No tell us a story with drums and wild Indians!" Giggly-one interjects.

Quiet-one slowly lifts her heavy eyes, "please retell us the story of the purple wings."

"YES!!!" everyone cries in unison.

I settle down  in my chair. "alright."

I open the book in my mind and draw back the worn pages carefully until I find the one marked by a single feather.

A lone glittery purple one.

I twirl it slowly as the story calls to me with each twinkle of the glitter.

Of a girl,


...lost in a dark forest.

I lived in this dark place for many years, an angry hurt girl, full off rage and mistrust, my fists always tightly clenched. Lost until I stumbled across a man named Richard who sat with me on the damp ground. We talked, and talked and talked for years. He eventually got me to get up and walk.

I stumbled blindly, my eyes still couldn't see in the darkness.

In the cool, dew slicked bark was my braille tablet. The towering trees my protectors....and my prison guards blocking out the sun light.

Richard took my hand and led me to two ladies, who let me curl up like a cat on there couch as they talk and talked with me.

All this talking wore a chink in my armor.

There syrupy voices undulated in the silence of the forest and I felt safe enough to one day unclench my hand.

With a searing pain a small hole tore in my palm, and as I held it up to look at it....

....light shown through it into the darkness of my lostness.

The love and care of three people.

Changed me. redirected me to find my footing on the healing journey.

They put the lantern into my hand.

...I, in turn, put in her hand.

She refused to take it.

It dropped with a clunk to the forest floor.

She didn't want to have hope. She didn't want to join the others. She wore the ancient pain like a damp cloak of moss heavy with dew.

It gnawed an ate at my soul. This little girl who was both lost and right where she needed to be.

"This way." I pointed.

"why?" she asked.

"The way through the forest is this way."

"No, I am fine here." she said snuggling into the dirt.

I reluctantly head down the path and leave her behind.  Off on my own journey. Running over the well worn trails that used to make me stubble and get lost.

Others come and go. We share words. We hold hands. We go forward. We go back. Always heading to the edge of the dark forest. some place most have never seen.

I know she is still there. Skirting the edges of my peripheral view. Periodically I stop and stare back into the darkness. I hold up my lantern.

...can you still see my light Little Tear? I ask with my heart. I know you are out there dear one.

This way.

This way little one.

Sometimes I trek back and find her. Calling her out of her cocoon.  Gently prying her fingers open and placing the lantern in her hand.

It always tarnishes and rusts in her hand.

Sometimes she will hold it, sometimes she will blow out the light, and more then once she has sent it whizzing past my head to land in a crumpled up heap.

I patiently smooth out the dents, and relight it.

With a powerful will she blows it out.

determined to journey in the dark.

One day the forest gives way to a massive river.

I stare at the swift current and crashing rapids.

Across the water, something new.

a long meadow of rich green grass, that lead to a lighter forest.

There are many travelers sitting on the bank starring lost at the river.

"How do we cross?" someone whimpered.

A slow murmur echoed amongst those gathered at the bank.

A familiar echo that reverberated in my heart.

"I have stood on these banks before." I said, walking out to the edge.  "I have sat sobbing on these very shores." I knelt down and pressed my hands in to the indents in the bank. "I have clawed rocks up here and flung them into the river until I was exhausted."

"Did you get across?" one asks.

Standing, my eyes travel to the distant shore. "yes."

"does everyone get across?" two asks.

The sadness frowns my face. "no."  I kneel down and again and touch the ground. Not everyone to travels here makes it across. "Some turn back defeated. Some linger here so long they turn to rocks on the shore, some...some drown trying to cross."

"How did you cross?" three asks.

"A gift." I say. Leaning back my head and letting the memory swirl up and pull me into the past.

...When I first came to the river, it was icy pain.
To continue on my healing journey I was told I must get across and keep traveling.
There was no boats, no bridge, no way to swim the churning currents.
I turned angrily to my guides. "How the hell am I to cross that! Haven't I had to struggle and claw and fight enough? when does the journey become easy? why is it, it always seems we are traveling up hill even when we are on flat land?"
They don't answer, they wait while I face the monster of fear and self doubt in my own heart.
The anger flairs and claw up rocks and toss them into the water. One after another until my hands are bloody and my back is aching. My breaths quick and guttural. I fall to my knees at the edge of the water.
At last, a long silent voice speaks. "Healing is hard."
Are you my protector?...the part of my psyche that has always refused to let go of the rope? I sit down on the bank and listen...

The voice isn't from within, its the river talking to me. It slows down and laps gently at my knees in a s soothing undulating rhythm.

"Healing is hard." It repeats again.

"I can't swim this river..." I say tears welling up again.

"Take the bridge." It says.

"I don't see a bridge!" I wail.

"Its not time to cross the river then. You have to have faith that as you step out the bridge will be there. It is there."


"It is right in front of you." The river says. "cross it."

"I'm afraid." I say at last, the heavy weight of it being said aloud pushes my shoulders down. "Afraid that if I have confidence in myself that I will get torn down and hurt again."

The water recedes and whispers "you don't know the secret? do you?"

What secret? I say leaning over to get closer to the water so I can hear.

"All children are born with wings."

It returns to my knees and stills, creating a rich blue mirror, in which my reflection appears. I see them behind me. That pressure on my shoulders, not a weight, but ....wings. glittering purple wings.

"When the pain in your soul and heart is great, you focus on that and don't notice other things. Your wings have been heavy shadows you have dragged with you. Others stand on them and drag you down. Your healing now. No one is standing on them."

I take in a deep breath and the wings stir, strong and ready. I stand up and they stretch out and glisten in the sun.

"Most all children choose to give you their wings as they grown up, They choose to take them off and become walkers, its a natural part of growing up. You never had that choice so they are still yours to use."

I glance out across the water. "I see the bridge now." I say. My wings tense and I take  only a couple of steps on it before I am aloft. Free of the chains that held me fast.

"Such a gift." I say. Leaning my head forward, returning from the memory.
Everyone looks at me, then slowly turns and looks over their shoulders.

In seconds the air is filled with a rainbow of glittering wings. The daunting river, now a creek as we fly over it.

We land on the grassy shore and hug tightly. I pull away and lift my lantern as I peer back over the water. Little Tear? are you still there?

"Yes." she sobs.

I lift my lantern higher...I see her sitting on the banks in a crumpled up heap. Her wings broken and damaged crushed and tangled around her.

Picking up a rock I scratch my name on the bottom of my lantern. I lash it to the bridge post. I turn it up so the light is strong.

You will get across.

bring me my lantern when you do.

I turn and join the others already making their way though the grass, admiring the flowers.

When we reach the edge of the lighter forest I again turn back. Nothing behind me but an endless sea of grass. I can see my lantern light. Its steadiness tells me its still undisturbed. You will get across! I holler back.

The journey is long...and tiring. Some slow down and make their houses in the lighter forest. Others, change paths and go a different direction. New faces find us and join our group. We keep moving forward. Only I look back, longing to see the bobbing light of her bringing my lantern back.

I stumble and fall in a deep hole....oh, I am too tired to keep walking. Just kick the dirt in and bury me.

The party reaches for me and their many arms form a chain and pull me out. Gently they dust me off.

"let me sit for a minute and catch my breath, you all keep going, I will catch up." I lie, having no plans to do anything but slither back into the hole and hide.

They walk on leaving me sitting on the forest floor. I feel my body de-materialize and sink into the rich soil. Yes, I think. I will just stay here and become a tree. I stretch out my arms and uncurl my hands and prepare to bark over and become part of the forest.

I feel something slip into my hand, its weight pulls my arm down.

It is an old burnt out lantern.

I stop my decent into the depression as I am reminded of the significance. I think of my own lantern way back on the bridge post. I think of Little Tear, and I wonder if she ever crossed the river. Or managed to heal her wings.

And I am renewed enough to stand up and shake the dirt from my legs. I retrieve a match from my pocket and turn the lantern over to strike the match on it.

There, across the rusty bottom, I see my name scratched.

I spin around looking for her. Where are you little one?

I am the tear in your hand ...she says quietly.

I look down at the small drop of liquid in my palm. My tired reflection bobbing on it. "Oh my friend, I am glad to see you. I haven't the strength today to help anyone, not even myself." I collapse down to my knees and sit down on the ground.

I am not asking you to help me. You just being you is all I need.  A friend to walk with, sometimes close, sometimes far away. That you fail means nothing to me, it draws me closer as I realize, we are not so different. Your journey makes mine not seem so lonely.

"I don't want to travel anymore. I want to stop. The forest stretches on forever. I am questioning if anyone of us will ever get out of it." I say slowly closing my hand shielding the tear, and placing her over my heart.

She drips between my fingers and rises to stands before me. Her wings still broken and bent in odd angles, stretching behind her.

She says nothing but her extended hand challenges me to grasp it.

Sighing deeply I look up to face her. The wind blows her long hair concealing her face. I reach up my hand and the rays of the sun streams around the darkness of the trees and reach back.

Photo used with permission of Mona Lucas photography (c) 2015

I catch my breath....

Why are your wings broken Little Tear? my aching heart asks.

The sun light flickers and surges concealing her in the shadows.

"Not all come to the forest as children." She says. "Some have already shed the wings of childhood. You can't get back what you have given up willingly."

So you can't ever fly again? I sob.

The sunlight bends past her and presses into my face cupping it and warming it. I close my eyes and lean into its embrace. When my mind has stilled, the sunlight whispers into my ear. She is already flying dear a lady bug, her real wings are folded up in there armored compartment safe....forgotten. The knots in her shoulders, that aching is her true wings waiting to be opened and used.

My eyes open. "Is that true?"

She draws her shawl of pain closer  around her, and picks up her tarnished lantern, its light barely glowing. She shrugs her shoulder. " can't walk the same path as you and the others. It doesn't seem right to walk on the path worn by everyone's footsteps."

"Your at home clawing your way through the dense under brush." I say touching her broken wings. I understand, the safety that it gives you."

Tears well up in her eyes. "Your light...your light reminds me to keep going, It reminds me I am not alone out here."

"It's not my light, I was given it long ago, I just carry it and share it."

A soft, barely audible, gentle chuckle draws our attention.

It came from the flickering light in the lantern.

this way, this way it whispers growing brighter.

Her strength to keep walking with us travelers infuses me with a calming aura. I grab her hand and she is gone. Only a lone tear in my hand remains.

I look down at the tiny tear in my hand. I see the swirling reflection of my glittery purple wing in it. A searing pain rips my hand and it tears and the light shines through.

I smile at the tear in my hand...all ready flying... I get up, light my lantern and return to the path. I run to catch up with the others.

This way, this way the lantern sings as it swings with the rhythm of my stride.

...our feet make little noise in the forest. No matter how many walk in our party. Time has no meaning here, and drifts lazily like dandelion seeds on the breeze.. We are young and old as easily as the wind changes direction. A spring rain shower send the party seeking refuge under an ancient grandmother tree. We sit quietly, resting.

"Tell us story." someone says finally breaking the song of the falling rain drops.

I look around at the beautiful faces around me waiting with bright eyes. I grab a single purple feathers and yank it out. I turn it so the light of my lantern makes it sparkle. This way....This way.....

...a story of a journey, flying, light, comfort and girls who  may not find the way out, but they find a greater treasure...each other.

The story of

us all...

brave girls who are not lost in a dark forest.

...... I stop twirling the feather and slowly return it to the book in my mind, tucking it gently between the pages.

Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Peace in the valley

As day one without the Neurontin rolled out, the irritableness faded. By 4 pm I was like HALLELUJAH !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sanity returned.

Well at least MY version of sanity, heh.

Today I woke to find that the nerve pain was back to full force. Guess I would rather fight that then my self.

Sadly I realized the cause of the med failure. I was NOT on buspar when I was last on Neurontin.

There must be some interaction between the two even at a dose so low the pharmacist said "THIS WILL NOT BE EFFECTIVE, IT'S A NOTHING DOSE."

Welcome to the missing link show Mr. Pharmacist. I am so sensitive to meds that if you wave a Tylenol over my head its effective for treating my head ache.

I feel SOOOOOOO much better.

Monday, April 13, 2015


Feel like cursing today. Not just the usual words that release the anger quick.


No...I want the ones that release the anger slowly and menacingly.


I am having bouts of anger and irritableness, with a side of suicidalness served with it.

My guess for this?

The Neurontin.


I don't need this side effect right now. Tax time is enough of a stressor without adding in mental health issues.

Be in physical pain ....or be in mental pain.

That's the choice I am facing right now.

Stop the Neurontin, which it taking the edge off the nerve pain....or stay on it and risk exploding into a irritable rage that results in a psych hold.

I have been hanging on by my finger nails for days now, trying to ride this out to see if the side effects will ease up/go away.

It's not.

It's actually escalating ever so slightly every day.


I have to stop the Neurontin.

I have to stop the Neurontin.

stop it.


Stopping means that dark edge to my writing will resurface. Pain is a awful muse. It extracts slivers and chips out of your soul as painment.

(interesting mistype there. I was thinking payment, and that is what my hands typed. That alone tells me I am dissociated to a point that I'm not in alignment within. Sigh.)

The only ones who win in this situation are you all. My blogs will get off again. My writing will once again be fueled by the lash of the pain whip vs the comforting weight of the fuzzy blanket.

I hope you at least enjoy my pain. I would hate for it to go to waste.

Monday, April 6, 2015

grocery list of my life

1. Almost done with the final version of "Tear in your hand" that I started and then didn't finish.  Looking forward to getting that posted in a day or two.

2. Restarted the Neurontin a few days ago and 1/2 the dose. Hoping it will help and not cause issues this time.

3. Have a co-worker who hates my guts. Interestingly we have only every had to work face to face 3 times in 8 months. Not sure why she hates me. I am so used to people hating me its not a big deal, just usually they have a reason LOL. Someone suggested maybe she is jealous?  HA! yeeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhh....there is so much there to be jealous of, toothless-old-crippled-woman-with multiple psych diagnoses and chronically pained.....there so many people just lusting after those characteristics.

4. Going to be a human book next month! excited about that, get to do some SIV educating face to face.

Wednesday, April 1, 2015

You're welcome world of weary shoppers.

As I was held captive in one of the only two lanes open at wal-mart check out...I realized their was a need for my problem solving skills.

First it was a simple run in grab one thing and run out. I really REALLY didn't need to get stuck in the longest line full of old ladies paying in nickels and dimes and 20-something couponing lunatics...and the I'm-gunna-hold-the-line-up-with-WIC-vouchers-that-expired-last-week shoppers.

Why don't you use the self check out?

Because THEY want me too. I will not be forced to get my own groceries, scan my own stuff and bag it too...that's someone's job that is getting cut, so they can make me do it for free. Nope if they want me to do self check out, they have to put me on their payroll.

So as I had time, I started blogging in my head. After three blogs I decided I needed to fix this ridiculous problem.

Here is fix-plan.

1. Teach math to Wal-mart.

Seriously ...if your store has TWENTY check out need TWENTY checkers. Capeesh? The ratio is 20/20 not 20/2.

2. We have the technology...lets use it.

We need carts with a special scanning lid locked on the top of them. You insert your items into it and it scans them. "Packed Accurately" is a key feature that everyone will enjoy. Running tally kept on the handle bar so it eliminates having to hold up the check out line needlessly by returning perishable things.

It can also be set to close automatically after a set amount to spend is keyed in.

When you hit the check out line there will be no waiting or coupon nonsense. You just place the cart in the "Just Accelerate" shoot located in the building wall and once you swipe your card the lid will be removed and the cart will be shot out into the parking lot. No waiting, no bagging.

There will be bag runners who will pack your stuff as they race you basket out to your car, if you really need the stuff bagged.

It will be machine or human will ask you to fill out a CC application, or make small talk with you as you get funneled through the  "Just Accelerate" lane. There will be no candy in the lane to distract your kids, or tempt your dieting plans. Just speed, no delay.

The whole system will be called P.A.J.A for short, and it will revolutionize shopping.