Sunny Storms

That summer was one of the driest scorching dull heats the village had experienced in years the old ones said at the store every time anyone walked by, ’twas the hot topic, giggle. It was just the beginning of summer break I spent everyday in, on, near that tobique river my heart still beats to the flow. That summer many of the girls I was growing up with had began to experiment with the super duper awesome world of self expression via cosmetics. Oh the colours, styles, patterns. The way other girls began to dress and act intrigued me so much. I would watch grown women put on lipstick and stare cause it was so pretty, womanly. I see all things nice and “girly” perfectly wonderful for girls to enjoy. When did feminism become not feminine? My mom did not at that time take care of herself at all, embarrassing really sweat pants and google glasses just given up barely alive miserable worn out look. To see other moms style their hair, place the backs on earrings, the makeup all these lovely things made me giggle inside. I wanted to do it too. I wanted to be just as pretty and as a girl I associated pretty with what made me feel happy. When does that logic stop? So much going on that summer as a young girl explores the waters of womanhood. The breasts that ache all the time as your chest swells, you awkwardly hide these new developments uncertain the whys. The first time shaving my legs, the Knicks and scratches, oh dear had to wear pants most that summer. Boys began to act strange, feelings are developing that are so incredibly foreign.

All things pretty & frilly for me.

I remember walking into Greers store on main street this wee store that held every imaginable thing you could possibly need. The two doors swing in and I remember touching all the ladies garnets as I walked past, I have a need to touch fabrics textures are very important. In the second first isle was a section for ladies products and on the bottom shelf a box popped off the shelf, none else did I see. I held up my first box of hair dye, a beautiful women with this vibrant fiery red hair. The lady on the box was tossing her gorgeous hair back with this warm smile, she was the most beautiful woman. The box red “paprika red” I was in love I could see my face on the box, that woman was who I wanted to be, to look like I connected to the image greatly. I got home before lunch from town with my grams with that box of dye hidden in my bag. I was so excited to get home and instantly become this red bombshell who I personally selected. Liking picking your identity like a random image in a tattoo parlour. I knew mom and dad would not be home from work yet dad was never home and mom was working driving the roller paving our road route 385 the road up river. I mixed up this orange paste and randomly squirted it on. I’m sure I was staind red I had no idea what I was doing, dear girl.

It burnt, stank and itched it felt like forever with red rice crispies on my head. That moment I took the pink towel off my head I saw that brilliant red, that’s all I saw, so incredibly joyous I got dressed, put on some snickers watermelon roll on lipgloss and a smudge of cotton candy perfume. I fluffed, I puffed, I brushed and turned around admiring my first choice towards the image I naturally was drawn towards. Down over the steps the pebbles under foot on my bike and down the road, just like I was flying as I rolled down the big hill towards the pig house. The warm sun on my face, my red hair blowing in my face, catching the sun like fire twinkling in the sun. The air lifts my heart I felt so very beautiful. I really felt some special. Red stains and all I was on cloud nine. I took the wide swing at the bottom and stood to paddle back up. As I crowned the top I could see the truck letting you off in the driveway. That blue & white cooler in hand. You hated working, hated it. I’ve seen you sabotage yourself to hurt yourself in order to be off. From allergies to lupus, imaginary bone pain in a metal joint. It’s always been something so you didn’t have to work. When you did it was horrible! You became the worst tyrant known while you counted the hours till you’d fall into a ditch, twist your ankle if and the I fell over a tree one that got you a year income while you laid in bed. You were miserable all summer. I rode up to the top and as you looked my way I saw your eyes glare me down. You threw that cooler and charged at me, knocking me into the gravel. “You destructing whore! Tramping up and down the road like a painted tramp. Get you fat face inside, you trollip. I ran into the house I could hear my heart pounding… I ran up to my room and fell all apart. You stood at the bottom yelling up the stairs.. I could only hear me trying to gag back my noises as to not instigate you further. I pulled the covers over my head and things go blank……

blank….

Blank……

my young brain going into shutdown mode. I have so many blanks that randomly burst into images. Like this feeling I had. Today as I vainly glanced upon myself this hit me like a brick. I loose my ability to maintain rhythm in breath, my hart stops, catches in flutters that hurt. The sweat pours and tears fill.. I’m transported to this exact moment.

I recently after 20 years of having jet black hair to hide behind. A convenient look of my youth that said leave me alone what I should have said was help me. Never leave me alone, Help. I stepped outside a big security blanket I used to fade my face, blend in, unattractive even at points. I decided all over again like that young girl I sat in a salon while my blanket bleached and giggly picked a colour any colour in a book of white to green I saw only one.. a rust auburn, this perfect color popped off at me. With your voice screaming your ugly fat face… fat face… round fat face.. fuck you!!! I said yes. I’ve been loving my hair each day. It’s long again since you made me cut it off for prom to a pixie cut. My big, fuzzy fluffy hair now red…. eeeeeek!!! Loves it.

Another blank filled in.

Paprika

Today’s my mothers birthday. For me this day still brings me to my knees, my chest aches in such a heavy throb all damn day. I’m a logical, smart realist and this be a day my heart & mind battle. September 22nd. I have so many awful yuckies and from September 1st on I’m trying to prepare with non stop pep talks, like a Harvard football coach, if geniuses play football. No self chat can stop my heart from crumbling today, the little girl today deserves to have a day to come forward recognize her sadness, visit those memories bursting to the surface. Let my guards drop the swords and hug her. It’s ok to not be ok.

I have relived this day like Groundhog Day of nearly 30 years of broken hearts. I remember your disappointed face, the yelling, the guilt, dad forgetting the violent slap around they had for hours when he did come home. Dad was known to sleep in the logging truck rather than come home. I can’t blame him I did the same by staying with so many other families just to sleep without worrying awaiting her to bust in raging over who knew what. On puns & needles they say no no on gernaides of uncertain hate beat downs. I’m looking out my window watching those beautiful autumn leaves fall, I love fall I love where I am, it’s gorgeous.. boom! I’m 11 and your hitting me over and over cause I ruined your birthday, I remember you running, slamming doors, crying and whaling in complete distress because our gifts were not good enough. Never ever good enough. I can see your scary eyes bulging out as you yelled on my face. Yell, yell, name calling, crying the insanity, the pressure the tension always scared. Not s year that the day didn’t end in at least a week in bed not talking to me, the silent treatment., the not looking in my direction, that guilty fucking sadness with no reason just no reason .

I was pretty young I can see white strap top shoes going up the Riley broom general store porch, hollow dry boards creeked. At the back of the old store between the coke cooler and front cash was a glass display area that had a few gifts you could buy, just about anything you could need was there. I felt fear not excitment as gazing over the cute coffee cups, clocks, plates and spoons with fancy patterns. I was so afraid to pick anything, what would please her? Just a smile. I picked up a glass plate that had a farm wagon painted on it, a prairie looking round wagon. I knew you loved little house on the prairie, instant certainty calmed my knotted tummy. As my aunt wrapped up the plate and little wall hanger I paid with my milk money I had saved. My grams drove me home I ran up the steps into the house. You were standing at the kitchen sink back towards me/ you never turned to acknowledge I entered the room, ever! Just cold awkward silence. I could feel I was inconveniencing you yet I knew this plate would fix your day of crying. I spoke not sure exact words, immediately you turned quickly with a sharp knock in the teeth because of that graduation ring, those wedding bands.. that familiar metal taste of annoyance. You saw the bag in my hands and ripped it away, snorting and pulling yourself together. I remember you opening the paper and seeing the plate… nothing for the longest time.. your eyes began to fill with darkness, I knew.. I just knew. As I back away the smash of the plate hit the floor in front my shoes shattering into dust it felt. I just turned and ran. I ran to my grams house, I wanted to cry, I felt that deep throb inside but I knew the biggest rule… never say a fucking thing to that God damn cunt! That’s how she referred to the woman I loved the most, my gram. There again I sat wishing I could just say it. Mom hit me and threw s plate at me.. I knew.. just knew not.

Thats the only uncomfortable flash back in time today. I’ve visited the tantrums the rage the aching tummy. It’s all very real, very very real and I can’t no matter my realism make this stop. I can help myself get through these memories and deal as best with the horrible anxiety I feel. Yet I continue my regular duties, hiding here and there to catch my breathe,, fighting the yuckies with a straw today but tmr I’ll begin to rise my sword again.

Dear little girl:

I can’t take any of this away. If I could protect you I would. I know your in agony today while anticipating the attack that’s sure to come. A card, message who knows what I’ve even gotten flowers with hate notes inside, ripped up photos? A non stop cut off voice mail? Little girl it’s ok. It’s not your hate to feel. You will grow a voice. I hug you and hold you close today, if you need to grieve it’s ok I am as well for your sad little face. I wish you could see that someday you’ll feel safe.

Today will pass as have they all. It’s ok to not be ok dear vulnerable girl.

We will do this.

Dear mom

Happy birthday. I’m thinking of you. I hope my thoughts find you safe. Mom I feel your sadness though miles away. Mom please find peace this is my wish for you, may it be a birthday miracle.

I wish that today as you sit alone because of your actions you decide that maybe just maybe it was time to get proper help & care. Maybe just maybe you will.

Mom I love you.

Happy birthday from the invisible girl

I’m sure I’ve mentioned my children a million times, I’m obsessed with my creations. I know I’m the hands on stay at home mom cliche that can’t let her kids go, yep totally! One tiny little flicker on a black & white micro screen above the rumble of Torontos streets. Just a tiny kidney bean with tiny nubs wiggling like a fish tail, that exact moment I connected to another person so woven in my fibres and instant love. Life jumped up and tipped over my kayak, splash into a new person, a new side is activated. I loved both these tiny humans instantly. Named, rooms done by 5 months. I literally did nothing just to insure they stayed right there. I feel like having such high risk pregnancies has left me traumatized. A unhealthy attachment occurred, I’m so terrified of the world I’ve known to be the one they know too. Well I can’t hold on this close, am I smothering them, I think so. I’m just trying & learning a with no examples or persons to fall on. It’s at times like these that I wish for the idea of a mom, sigh.

I’m not dealing well with a few events right now and I don’t know how exactly to feel, what’s natural? I’m full! How selfish right. In six months I’ve found out that both these amazing kids are going to have special needs and struggles. Dear things right out the gate a hurdle. My son is struggling greatly with what’s expected to be ADHD or some form there of. This breaks my heart. If I could take that coat and wear it for him I would. When I see his bright sunny face looking so scared kept away in a sensory room. It’s terrible. Was it me? Was it the medications I took during his pregnancy? Was it the weekly ultrasounds? Was it the high blood pressure? High sugars? Low placenta function? What if my not knowing till four months during such I lifted all day? Could it have been any of this? Was it me? Is it because I’m so flimsie in deciding

Yet I yell. I yell it’s not a proud thing but my weakness is I bark in a high tone. Is it that? Is my raised voice that made him auditory sensitive? I feel guilt constantly that my poor son spent a year of his life getting his social time with other children at my hospital visits, the surgeries, the doctors, dear boy we took him because we had to. No family the motherless mom. Is it my complete over doing? He has done little for himself, I do it. Is it my shit parenting my ignorance towards raising a emotionally healthy human because I’m a enotionally abnormal person. Is my oddity why? Did I give him any form of my curses? Is it me?

My daughter can’t walk. My perfect radiant little girl sits on the floor looking up at me. We have not yet come to a approach or game plan yet we are in the diagnostics of it. I look at her and feel pity. I carry her everywhere seeing her sitting on the floor scotching in her dear bum breaks my heart. Was it me? I have a shorter leg, is this the issue? Is is the medications once again. Fucking medications. I have no choice but take them. None. I know this and we did everything under a specialists care. Again the same things,,, sugars, and on and on. Was it me?

I’m being a great mom and cheering them along in their journeys not about me here eh but boys I’m a mess about this. I’m all shaky inside, keep feeling like I’m flipping over my heart feels all fuzzy.. it’s a uncomfortable feeling. I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing here. May my ignorant choice and guidance be enough to at least start them in the world.

I question every single thing. Every single thing. I’m clueless and pulling stuff out my ass daily. Is it me? I don’t talk much, if I was alone I could go weeks in silence easily. Actually more comfortably honestly. Is it me not making none stop baby talk? Is it me?

Man old man is it me?

Dear children.

I will always try: I will always be there. Please know your everything.

Your perfect! It’s all me

My husband is my knight in shining armour.  A lot of the time the patient becomes priority and the ones who hold them togethers feelings are never looked at.  I have to contribute every single step of my recovery and the unbearable symptoms he’s not only seen but had to survive as well, why?  Because my symptoms manifest in behaviour.  My husband has seen things And been through episodes that yes are horrible to go through as the patient but the real heros are the ones who take the storm and let the symptoms reflect off their back.  Like a armour of love.  Somehow no matter how horrendous I’ve been while in a episode is unforgiveable yet when I’m back behind the wheel he’s still there.  That’s something he deserves so much recognition for yet he lays low.

I live in such a heavy guilt quilt over my actions st times, so embarrassed, disgusted at times that I could do or say such things.  It’s shameful.  My husband stood by me post diagnosis, he watched me spiral and go Wild.  He walked me home nightly cause I was so drunk everyday I’d sleep in the street.  I was just a friend.  He sat in bars night after night and watched me to make sure I did not do something that could hurt me, I had no common sense.  Even with his eye I left under his nose in a jeep full of men I just met that night.  He worried about me and he tore into me when he found me, drunk, high on perks, shrooms and swaying up the road, he’s the first person who just kept coming back, over and over.  He’s sat by my bedside night after night to make sure I did not overdose even a few occasions having to watch me have seizures pissing myself, vomiting and thrashing around.  He stayed.  He’s watched me try over and over to just make him run, leave me like the rest.  Yet he stayed.

My husband has come home after long hard days at the funeral home to find his girlfriend then passed out on the floor full of blood, bottles of pills and vodka, he’s wrapped my wrists and held pressure on my wounds that I sliced into my own skin.  He’s come home to me crying hysterically curled in the shower just trying to get the noises and voices to stop.  Yet he stayed.  My knight has not slept for weeks unable to trust my actions he’s worried himself sick just walking out the door wondering if he’ll come home to find me dead by my own mind.  Yet he comes home.

my knight has seen my heart ripped out and held me till the tears are groans.  He’s gone to battle with my dragon no second thoughts, he’s saved me.  He’s believed in the person inside away from the chaos.  He’s chased me down when I run away he has been hit, screamed at, called unthinkable names.  I’ve beat myself around till bleeding and he’ll jump in first chance and hold me down.  He’s sat in the er all night while the doctors try to stop my episode, over and over. He’s come to years  of  dozens of psychiatrists, several hospitals therapy programs.  He’s takin days and days of work to get me to my programs at the hospital.  He fills my prescriptions, monitors my moods, he’s been a nurse he’s taken on a disabled person as a spouse knowing for better or worse really means both.  He’s got up every night with both our children to feed them, change them after working all day to care for us, because if I don’t sleep I may have a psychotic episode, could you do it? it’s been a long road having children but never hesitate if asked again.    My husband has to make all the decisions, handle our funds and do way more than any husband should because his wife is sick.  His wife has a disease that is not a casserole how are you doing disease, he’s doing all this alone.  His shoulders are heavy yet somehow he’s happy, living and still standing after every episode.  He’s the real warrior.

my knight does not deserve any of this, he could have easily left that ward in 2006 called my mother and never come back. Would you? Really think about that.  To him if asked it never even occurred.

That’s love.

at this time in my life the kids are growing up a bit no more babies or illness related to it.  I’m finally stabilizing very nicely I feel safe inside medications re adjusted to help me and my emotions not so much uncertainty over my head.  I’m ready to possibly atain my Embalming  liscense for this part of the country.  I have come to terms with the word disabled, it’s a awful hard thing for me to except.  I was raised to work and never ask for hand outs.  It was preached to me by my father who has work hard labour and never ending days to just survive.  His back breaking work is admired I think the world of that characteristic in him.  My family see disability as a cop out a excuse to sit on your ass taking government hand outs.  If you can walk to the mailbox to get your cheque you can stock boxes at the store like a “retard” a horrible word but that’s my family very harsh, judgmental lovely people but not warm and fuzzy. I would use ignorant in the manner of not knowing any better per say.  These sayings and a dozen more were repeated almost preached daily.  From memory we got 2 pennies a stick of wood we carried into the cabins and houses each day on our family hunting & fishing business. We would haul wood in a wagon and pennies got counted as dropped into your pay jar, that grams cashed into money for store trips to buy whatever.  Treats, food, movie rentals whatever.  This was always referred to as going to work, earning your keep.  5 cents a cabbage moth, 5 buck to shovel the steps off, 10 bucks to mow the huge lawn and so on.  I agree with this completely and will do so for my children, teaches so much.  The moment I was diagnosed the topic of disability was mentioned but I refused and worked full time for 11 years I think despite struggling almost drowning at times.  Well I’m ready to start taking wee steps outside to return to society a bit by embalming.  I’m disabled, absolutely I accept this now years and years later.  My brain is not ever going to return to post children it can’t my disease has progressed my delays are greater I see it as do those who know me but see my family does not know me.  I moved away way too young and now would never return cause they love me now not knowing my daily struggles or weirdo behaviour.  I chose to stay away so they don’t talk about me, I hate that, judging with empty skull.  If one of they saw me in a episode they would have a ton of insults on hand I’d be outcast at first thought I’m sure.  They’d try to understand but I’d scare them.  I don’t want people to fear this side of me it’s low blood sugar in the brain  look at it like that. Being a disabled woman, mother is somehow linked to a trailer, meth teeth and fuzzy bunny slippers taking hand outs see what I’m saying.  Well it’s not that at all.  Now like I said at this time I’m ready to try and establish more confidence as returning to prior activities that feel like independence.  I reallly feel like I’ve lost so much independence, I’m literally a co dependent of my husband, me, that’s a jagged sword in the back to a woman who has worked since memory.   Reality is I’m sick.  Though it’s an invisible demon it’s no less real than a amputated arm just not obvious therefore can’t be right?.

I am in the middle of working towards such goal right now, a step towards independence, yay!  The Funeral Board is working with us and my health team to obtain my license here.  I’m so very excited about this!

There are many regulations that are set as requirements to obtain.  I’m unable to take regular testing now because of my fear of authority figures, just can’t do it.  This is real for me in smart and could easily pass this test, 5 years ago yes.  So together we are adjusting a few things to make a mentally disabled person like me be able to work again.  This is a achievement and a big step towards further recovery.

All these awesome cool things are happening for me.  The invisible girl

So in recent I super proud to say I have lost 87 pounds! Like that’s a super duper awesome thing for me, it’s taken some ton of work.  Not only did I have to simply learn to eat again in a healthy way not only nutritional but to not eat for comfort or to hide.  I used food exactly the same as I’ve used booze, every darn narcotic available up till 2006.  The surface became like dropping Exstasy.  I had my son and started dealing with a rush of bad health the postpartum of being like me hormones make it so high risk.  My instinct and habit would have been to binge on whatever I could get my hands on and have a massive breakdown leaving a pool of blood and vomit razor in hand. Not a option once I became a mom that for me was the moment I knew I was pregnant.  Having m children has saved me and forced me to stay healthy in recovery.  What better reason does anyone need?

So as the bubbling anxiety built and heartbreaking events occurred one after another I ate.  Well since that relapse I’ve had another child, also high risk near death fearful pregnancy on bed rest and insulin, the hormones once again caused a great deal of postpartum.  So again I ate.  If you know how scary it is to go to sleep and know your baby may be dead inside cause you can’t monitor every movement, it’s terrible!  So I comforted. The day I checked in to have my daughter my youngest I weighed 320 pounds, devasting!  After the cesarean a week later I weighed in at 270 pounds.  120 pounds more of myself since my first hospital stay, damn insulin and anti psychotics would fatten the smallest of people.  I know that being morbidly obese has traumatized me, it’s always been a deep installed fear to be a “slob”  there are firsts along the way that just hit home how heavy I was getting.  First time you experience chub chafe, this was so embarrassing. For me being weighed and dieted daily growing up one diet after another being beaten into my head how gross fat people are, your nasty voice arises and beats me down each first.  The first time you buy 2x clothing, it’s like you shopping for your gramma, it was painful.  All the clothing I had wouldn’t even come close to buttoning.  Why I kept going even though I saw obvious changes physically and mentally.  I feel I had no other choice if only I knew how hard the road to loosing weight and finding my body inside a suit.  Once I reconnected me to the body I had once again failed myself or so it felt.

Well I forced myself to take a step, this single step snow balled into a wonderful journey through myself to myself like I was so far from me it’s sad how sad I was yet in the greatest years of my life. Chemicals can do silly things.  Since that step I’ve completed many competitions and fundraiser while creating this new first time ever revealed me.   Each pound was like chiseling a figure out our stone as the fat fell off.  This is my best point so far in my life.  I’m at last able to sit alone and not taunted by flashes all the time.

I have wrote my stories though many sad this is true but outside these tails is a quirky woman arising.  These are my tales towards freedom.

i look in that oh so dark and hurtful mirror and can recognize the person looking at me, I’ve never seen this person before, it’s not who I was in the midst of the worst.  This is the woman that crawled out the sewer smiling.

Talk talk talk,

if you feel it then someone else does too, never alone.

recovery is earned not given.

There are these exact moments in time where everything stops around you, it’s a click that captures a changing moment in time detail by detail, freeze frame. The person you were is now gone.  Who are you now?

Freeze Frame.

i sat on that musty mothball stuffed couch covered in a brown knit quilt the yarn was itchy with risen yellow and orange 70’s style flowers that stuck off oddly covered in nibs.  I could hear the wife’s work boots uniquely thumping on that tore up hollow Lanolin in the kitchen.  The stove door drops down of it’s hindges slightly a dull deep thud as the busting coals crackle as she tosses in the fresh maple into the fire.  A cool breeze tingles my feet winter blew a kiss in the door.  My tummy hurt a ache in the middle that felt hot and sore, I knew today the wife was going to town and I could not go usually incase mom came by to grab me.  The door knob rattled loosely as wife calls out to him.  Bang.  Alone time.

Their bedroom backed off the living room that musty couch against that wall.  We sat head to back with a paneling thin wall.  Their bedroom was piled over my head in garbage and clothing tossed around, a small rather high window across the entry. The price is right wheel clicking began to fade as I heard the springs creek and twang, the bump of the floor as his feet hit the floor.  My tummy ached like a cramp. Flick…. flick…. crackle.. long deep inhale with a pleasuring exhale of a post nap smoke.  The tension in my shoulders throbbed.  Cough… cough.. grunt rubbing of hair I could hear a mouses foot step.  That pong of the springs as he got up.  Out the door to my right he staggered to the door casing clearing his mucous filled throat.  I stared directly ahead.  “Well hello pretty girl”. He walks past me looking down at me smiling those yellow teeth.  He was black with dirt, long scratchy black beard tangled curly hair all stuck down.  I can hear his urine pouring into the toilet.. aaaaahhhhhhh!!

I hear the ice hit the glass.  He walks back across the tv towards the bedroom.  I set tense tummy in a knot.  He disappears into the room.  “Come on in, let’s watch a movie together sweetie.  I thought maybe if I don’t go he will forget in his constant booze coma, I was wrong.. ” I said come on In dear hop up”

i entered the room but head could not rise, so scared but I knew from our previous educational visits that progression was certain but still I did not understand what exactly I was about to learn.  I jumped up the mattress seemed so high, he quickly scooped me up onto his lap as he sat Indian style holding me.  “So today I want you to see what people do when they really love eachother”. He pushed the tape into the VCR  while squishing me.  He sits back “ok now you watch closely this is important to know”.  A black screen with words scrolled in the middle came on then faded to a soft store like music.  He began to rub my back, oddly I felt relaxed by this.  As two people began to engage in previous lessons.  “Remember how?” I nod yes and he holds my chin up to look at me directly.  “Now show me how much you love me” its a very bitter chunky like coconut water at first, the smell was so offensive as he guided my head holding my cheeks his hot fowl breath blows my hair over and over it tickled my face.  The hair made me gag but this seemed to please him.  Time just stops.

Freeze Frame.

“what a good girl you are” he lays me back my knees squeeze so thighs I can feel the muscles burn. My eyes stayed close I could feel the pulling and jiggling of being moved around with elevator music playing so loudly now in my mind.. lost in the music, I focused outside my body.  “Common dear I need you to watch, this is a very special moment for us, it’s ok I love you you will enjoy this.  I couldn’t I felt the warm pressure down below, this pressure increased with slow pulses I could feel the ripping hot sensation.  He used his hand to hold my belly pressing down, he began to whisper.. groan and gurgle in vibretos or pleasure.  The pressure,, the pressure and burning.. slowly it felt like I was being split in two… then I felt this odd feeling. A sharp stab inside.  It seemed like a second and I don’t remember a gap is here.

freeze frame.

the pressure just stops as I feel the weight of him lift off.  I was dewy in his sweat, he huffed and puffed, using a tsgirt to wipe his forehead, he tossed it to me I sat all curled up.  “A bit of a mess.  You sure love me dear, some pretty girl,, huff puff as he leaves the room.  I get up and feel the thick warm slim run down my inner thighs.  It was white with a pink tinge like strawberry swirls white boogers.  Using that tshirt I clean up.  I go to the bathroom my bottom on fire.  I hear the stove door fall down once again.. ka chunk.. as I come out I see him toss that shirt in the fire.

Freeze Frame.

Who am I now? Love hurt!

If you were to put yourself in that moment would you ever be the same?  Could you just get over that?  Would you ever trust another?

Seems cruel to expect doesn’t it.

talk talk talk.

Hello my readers ☀️

i just reached 1500 views!  Thank you!  I need to say from the bottom of this patched up heart I appreciate the warm welcome.  To those who have written me and relate to any of my struggles I send you so much love and healing energy.  To you awesome humans that found your voice may it be a wee sqweek you spoke, you took your power back, your a warrior now not a victim, so proud you shared any of your stories with me.  Kinda cool hearing and being along side many journies I’m rooting for each and every person.. Woot woot!!

as I have shared my skeletons I’ve grown incredibly, I’ve been able to let others know me and explain all my whys.  I’ve develooed real relationships, it’s lovely.

cheers to more sun less storms

the invisible girl feels seen at last.

sunny storms ☀️

This small word sounds so simple but for me this is a exact moment when something flips a switch within that teleports me right back to that exact moment. A scent, object, unfamiliar yet familiar feeling these lightbulb moments that rush in like a Atlantic tide as I fall coldly into that tunnel towards whatever emotion that’s about to rush to the surface with great possibility of painful feelings with tiny memories like air bubbles in a scuba divers blood I arise bursting from within gasping for relief. That simple word invades so much. For me I live walking around emotional land mines that trigger me to often feel very sad and overwhelmed in agony that sometimes take months for me to over examine that feeling and finally tuck that feeling back inside until it jumps out again. Even now so many years later I am crippled at times by the pain I feel the grief I survive it’s never going away but I can park my feelings most of the time in order to function my sadness if endulged only leads to destruction. I park all my pain by this I mean I have to go out to a event even though at that time I may be having a close surface day I logically say, ok I feel you I’m not denying you I’ll see you again big feeling but right now I’m gonna park you over here and go out and enjoy making these current good memories, I live right there at that time and when I need to grieve I can say hello until parked again. It’s ok to not be ok it’s ok to not know how to cope at times it’s ok to fall apart this is healthy, not acknowledging reality is only avoidance, right.

I have been struggling so greatly with having my son start school, it’s a very terrifying emotional topic that has triggered some very uncomfortable emotions that st times have unlocked memories from the dark stored memories I have shut away. Don’t get me wrong I’m over the sun excited for my child to grow and see new things he’s going to excel I feel it, for me away from responsibilities and caring eyes I’m falling apart, so anxious and filled wit unrealistic terror, I’m not doing as well as I had hoped. I’ve been preparing g for this for a year now with my psychiatrist. This was my child’s first time with anyone other than us, yes it sounds very odd to many Nd trust me a few have not agreed and have rudely voiced their reactions it’s made me feel isolated because once again I’m copping with things not many know. If they don’t know then how can they understand yet those what the fuck faces strike as judgment. I strongly feel if we talked to each other rather than about each other would solve so much miscommunication that separates us, a lonely world of unfamiliarity.

I have been with my boy every step of the way I know for certain and take comfort in knowing that no one has hurt him. For the average person who has not survived abuse in any form let alone every like me so not think of such horrid things. I fear someone will target him and molest him, it’s completely unfounded nor is it a rational fear yet for me this is so real I can’t cope at times. I’m pacing my feet into blisters this week counting the hours, minutes and seconds till I see his happy bright eyes. I’m standing outside his school waiting cause I’m early the option of tardy is a no absolutely not in every aspect in my life. I have been experiencing physical illness because of my anxiety that’s obsessed irrationally over a unlikely scenario that yes it’s common for me to know the rainbow of pain but that’s not normal in any way. I know I’m smart I can look above and say stop this your being foolish but inside I’m sick in fret. This week has been long avoided most definitely.

Has my tainted possibly decision been wrong for my son? Am I going to install co dependence and fear if I don’t let go? Have I been unable to make this step easily? All the above and a million more. This over whelming guilt eats at me I never feel like I’ve made the right choice. This week I have realized that I need to further accept the help awaiting for me so I can further heal and re file in knowledge to combat the monster in my head. After 23 years of therapy I think I’m ready to discuss in details he abuse. I’ve been accepted into a intense therapy program tha is hard to get into for woman who know violence. I will have a specialist just for this so I can learn further how to move forward and accept this. I’m a warrior that falls to their knees. I’m a queen sitting in the mud. It’s time……

Today I’m hurting.  These days come for no reason at all sometimes it’s simply a chemical complication like too much of one chemical or not enough. in this caldron a dash too much dopamine makes it bubble over.  not enough seratonine to the brew makes it ️lay flat.  The perfect combination is not possible here my brain is a horrendous Wicca chef.  A healthy brain maintains the perfect recipe with slight fluctuations that barely cause a blip.  It’s normal to be sad, happy, energetic and so on but for me being Rapid cycling day to day sometimes month to month can be way too low or way too high very little inbetween.  Today I woke up and my eyes peeled open burning in the light eyelids like sandpaper scratching.  It feels like someone took a baseball batt to every muscle while I slept, tenderized aching throbbing and so very stiff, it hurts to move and Tge pain makes touching my skin hurt.  Today it took me forever to get up I sat on the edge of the bed bringing movement slowly to be able to move, so tender so hungover i needed some relief last night I had a difficult anxiety spell the extra sedative to calm and relieve me now sits heavy in my muscles.  The mirror greets a battled me today but A warm shower to relax my back, coffee, music, often something for nausea and muscle relaxant with my morning dose of mood stabilizers sedatives, anti psychotics and anti depressants the breakfast of champions I say. Then I do the most uncomfortable few minutes of my yoga practice to further relieve my tension, depression is a hard battle and I’ll do this exact dance my whole life.

The deep down bone tired feeling feels heavy like I’m consciously lifting and moving myself it aches. I’m up here watching these adorable children of mine after completing my morning routines, very important to have a routine this has to be taken seriously.  From bedtime to sunrise the same.  My rule is up, dressed effort made towards my image, and right into kids breakfast and chores.  These days I may be slower and easily brought to tears but I make myself go.  This is where I have to do the work no medication is going to wash you, dress you or push you that all on me.  I feel personally being in hygenic, dirty, untidy and lazy are choices.  I choose to function it would be so easy to just sit around feeling sorry for myself absolutely! No work needed just sitting around feeling worse daily.  It’s giving into the disease or in many cases complaining about so many changeables.  I choose to push past the tears and pain and not activate that repeat cycle of self sorrow.  Up up and move its a rule don’t give in or give up on yourself.

Today all the pain sits just below the surface.

Today I say hello to my Skelton army.

today I’m Fighting

chin up buttercup