Rock Bottom

My life, I picture as a cavern in the middle of the ocean. This cavern is deep, deep as the deepest part of the ocean. It has ridges and cliffs on all sides. It must be like that. The bottom has never been seen. It is unknown territory. I say all of this because I hear people whisper, she has hit rock bottom. Yet there is no bottom, well I haven;t felt it yet. I fell as a child when my coach molested me in the pool. I was low. The rocky edges cut and scraped me, but the water receded and I lived for a while. I didn't learn  though. I hated myself, I was dirty and I tried to cleanse my soul with tequila or rum or really anything I could find. Passed out on the bed I am raped and only wakeup to smell his horrible smell. The smell that I will never forget, I still heave when I smell it. OMG that had to be rock bottom. I fell far and deep but I survived. I was bruised, physically, I was cut wide open, figuratively, I was filthy now. What was ever the point in caring about anything. I was good at being bad. I liked it in the dark. I loved it in the cold depths of my sea. Then there was the pregnancy and Rhiannon and her death. That had to be rock bottom. But it wasn't. I looked for anything to ease my pain. The cliff was steep and narrow. I couldn't stay there long. I swam to the surface. I married Harlen and started a beautiful family. Life was wonderful for a while, but then one Fall morning I was thinking of other things and in a hurry to get back home to make a dessert for Mike's funeral. I didn't see the truck. I drove the same road every morning for thousands of mornings, but this morning was different. I don't remember the truck, but I remember the bloody aftermath. I remember watching my kids suffer more than any child should ever have to. This had to be rock bottom. I kept slipping down further. I made so many poor choices, falling farther. There is no way out of this one. I have been drowning for so long, 10 years without a real breath, a hearty one that fills your lungs and recharges every cell in your body. So many people try to pull me out, but I believe this is where I belong. Others, evil, uncaring Fucks like the policeman in Nyssa they enjoy pushing you down further, before you can get a breath. They push your kids down. I have found my new bottom. I am a killer to people in this town. I am making a 4 yr plan to get the hell out of this hole. Lea graduates and we are gone, a fresh start, a fresh move, I have something to look forward to.

#Metoo is not nearly enough

My sexual abuse started when I was a lee lady, at the age of 8. My swim coach would get in the pool with us to try to "improve our technique".  He would in the most innocent way, stick his hands up the crotch of my swimsuit, not on top, but deep inside where I had been told was precious, holy, that should not be defiled, but it was and I was left dirty, an 8yr old whore.
Count 8 years later. Me and a friend of mine were asked to go to an older guys apartment.  They had free  booze. How could this rebellious teen refuse. When we arrived there were 4 men. 2 I knew well. They were married. I remember so much. The smells, the Seagram's golden wine cooler. I drank too much, way too much. I crawled to the bedroom to sleep it off.  I was passed out. I woke up to a 250lb man laying on top of me. The smell of beer lingered in the air. I couldn't breathe. He had ripped my panties off and was raping me. I was out if it. I couldn't even scream. He pinned my arms above my head. I wriggled as much as I could, but my intoxicated body was no match. I was bleeding when I finally gained consciousness.  I kept silent. He was a member of the bishopric.  Who would believe me,  a troubled girl who was drinking at the time? After all I had always been a troubled child. These stories on the news are triggering me to the point of panic. The 80's was not the time for sexual assault. Don't ask . Don't tell should have been the slogan of the era. His weight.  His breath. The pain. There is no safe spaces.
That night he took my virginity.
He took my dignity.
He took my childhood.
He took that life.

I never told. He went on to be successful.  I have lived through so many trials.
Life is Fair.
I am not ok
Can I have a do over?

Dark Days

Dark Days

It's your fault.
Wounds with salt.
A fucking whore.
Can take no more.
What can I do?
Nothing new.
My sins show through.
His are few,
Really what's a sin?
Just a story of where I've been.
But you see only what I want.
This past will only haunt,
If you knew would it change your mind.
Better if you stay completely blind.

Kendalee 2017

You can choose to be happy

As you know reading this blog I have chose not to have religion or god in my life. The pain and guilt attached to the two is more that I can handle. I choose not to believe in a God that closes his eyes and ignores the suffering of his creations on Earth. I am constantly looking for something that will ease this pain and longing of losing two children.

Today is the day Rhiannon died. 29 years ago she left me. She was laying next to me in bed. I woke up to find her cold and blue with blood coming from her nose. The images never leave my mind. So the day after Memorial day I am grieving like it was yesterday, but I have been grieving for what seems an eternity. One of Maya's friends is pregnant. She brings back so many memories for me. She sang in her last choir concert. She graduated. She stands proud. I want to put my arms around her and tell her to take everyday as a gift, to love that little girl, to take picture after picture. Not to be like me and take life for granted, to not take pictures, and to hold her every minute of every day.

The person who should be my biggest supporter has grown tired of my sadness and depression. He yelled at me and told me it has been long enough. He said 9 years is time enough to get over the death of my son. I said that I still haven't done it in 29 years. I cannot choose to be happy. There are days I am happy. I am coaching Lea's softball team again this year. I love it. I am happy some of the time, but some times I am paralyzed with the panic, anxiety and sadness. Some days I have a hard time getting out of bed. It makes me feel worthless. It makes me feel like I will never be normal again. Do you think I choose to be debilitated? He has diabetes. I told him he should choose not to have diabetes. I don't see a difference. I do not choose to have PTSD. I do not choose to be paralyzed when sirens go off. I do not choose to have uncontrolled shaking when a cop is behind me. I do not choose to have tremors so bad I can't write the roster for my softball team. I do not choose any of them. I do not chose to be miserable, but some days I am.

I did not choose to be sexually abused.

 I did not choose to lose my virginity to a 30 year old man who raped me when I was passed out drunk at 16.

 I did not choose to lose my baby girl when I was alone at the age of 18 and I did not choose to drive into a parked farm truck killing my handsome son, injuring 3 of my other children. I did not choose it. I am doing the best I can. 

Please don't place more guilt on me. Please don't knock me down further. Don't hold my head deeper under the water. I am losing consciousness. I am drowning. It doesn't matter the amount of time that passes, 9 years, 29 years, 31 years, or 38 years. I am doing the best I can. It may not be what you think is the best I can, but I am trying everyday I get out of bed. Everyday I love my babies. Everyday I do what I can to help them in their lives. If they call I am there for them. I am happy for Cyrus and his upcoming nuptials. I have the invitations done.

So there it is. Whatever you hear in church or on your radio Christian shows it is not true. I am not able to CHOOSE TO BE HAPPY.  These people , these church leaders and speakers think they know. I hope one day that diseases of the mind will be treated with the same attitude as diseases of the any other part of the body. PTSD cannot be prayed away. It cannot be wished away. There is no magic  cure, no blessing that will miraculously fix it. It is a difficult and excruciating process to be able to function in this world. I take my medicine. I see my counselor. I am trying.

I just wish the world could understand. I wish my loved ones could too. But just like CHOOSING to be happy it isn't that easy. If only I could choose I would.