Shockwave

* Possible Trigger Warning ⚠

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My mother was at my desk today, when I got back to work after my lunch break.

I wasn’t expecting her, she hadn’t called me to say she was coming into town, which would’ve been fine…

Except she had someone with her.

Her best friend.

A woman I used to consider my second mom.

Who is also the mother of the boy, now man, who molested me when I was 16.

You – have no idea – what happens inside, when you’re confronted unexpectedly by one of the people who traumatized you so badly as a teenager.

Yes, she traumatized me.

How?

By forcing me to confront her son immediately, as in within minutes of the attack, by not listening to me, by not believing me, by forcing me to listen to her speak about her son time after time over the years, trying to show me PHOTOS of him! Fuck!

And yet, I’m not allowed to say anything about it. I’m not allowed to bring it up, to say NO, when my mother does these things.

I loved this woman as another mother, & still care about her, because she’s my mom’s best friend.

But – they both hurt me, so much, 32 years ago, and they have continued to scrape open the wounds over the years, callously, because they refuse to acknowledge the damage that was originally done, and the damage they’re doing now.

I’ve got PTSD from the original experience, not just the molestation, but the way it was mishandled by his parents, and by my own.

No one wanted to believe me.

Everyone wanted to think I was either simply “having a nightmare” and being overly teen dramatic, or just flat-out lying.

There were times I wanted to fucking kill myself, because everyone called me a liar, and the inside of my head was so dark and hopeless.

There was a whole summer where I basically was driving myself off a metaphorical cliff, because I didn’t think my life was worth anything.

My parents thought I was on drugs.

Ha. I’ve never taken anything that wasn’t prescribed to me or over-the-counter, and I’ve never taken more than the prescribed dosages.

But what was the use of telling them the real problem, when they wouldn’t hear me? When – if I tried to talk to them, they shut me down, refused to hear it, and walked away?

There’s been so much in the news and on social media lately about why victims of abuse don’t report.

This is mine.

Because – when I told the truth at 16, I was called a liar by the people I trusted to keep me safe, so why would I trust anyone else to help me?

Maybe, just maybe, this is why I have so many issues with asking for help in any way, shape of form, from anyone, about anything?

Because when it really, really mattered…

I was left out in the cold – alone and hurting and vulnerable.

I made it through the rest of the afternoon at work.

Goddess only knows how.

I’m good at stuffing my feelings down.

But I cried all the way home.

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So Many Things

Life has been busy since the last post. At least, busy for me.

*I got a new-to-me car. I knew my little pickup wouldn’t make it through another winter without some extensive garage time, & I didn’t have the wherewithal for that, plus, it was just going to keep nickel & diming me to the poorhouse. So –

I got some financing for Rosmerta – Roz, for short.

Rosmerta is a Goddess of luck and prosperity, so here’s to bringing this into my life. She’s a dream I’ve had since I was 6 years old. Having a Jeep, that is.

My mom’s cousin, Julie, came to live with us for a while when I was about that age. She was attending community college in the town next door, & had a boyfriend named Randy.

Randy – had a Jeep.

It was one of those soft-sided Jeeps that you could zip the windows up and down, or take it off completely, and to me, it was the coolest thing – EVER.

Of course, that was partly because Randy was a great guy. He was nice, truly nice, & liked little kids.

The summer I remember them dating, Julie & Randy took me to Valley Fair, in Shakopee, just outside the Twin Cities of Minneapolis & St. Paul, MN.

I remember getting a giant tissue-paper flower on a stick (so fricking cool, I had that thing for YEARS), riding the ferris wheel, and sitting on the chair of the Jolly Green Giant with Little Green, while someone took my picture. I remember thinking that this was the best day ever, & that it just didn’t get any better than that.

So, because of one happy childhood memory, a really good day, yes, but just one day, nonetheless, Jeeps have become a part of my secret wishlist in life.

And now, I have one.

Which, also, kind of scares me, to be honest.

I have people telling me all the time that I deserve to have something good in my life. That after all the shitty things that have happened, and after how hard I’ve worked over the last few years to overcome a lot of it, I deserve to have something, at least ONE thing, good.

But, I’ve never had anything last.

So, this new, good thing, scares me…

I don’t want it to go away, too.

So many things have happened, I just – I just want one good thing to last.

Blowing Out The Candles in My Dreams

I woke up this morning with tears tracing down my face.

I’d had a dream, & I remembered most of it.

I had gone with my cousin to a bookstore. Now, this particular cousin is more like a sister to me. She & I grew up extremely close. We’re only 10 months apart in age (I’m the elder, not that that really matters, but I could see you out there, wondering).

We used to spend our summers together, my aunt (my uncle had died when we were very little) would send her to our house for a few weeks, then later, I’d go stay with them for a few weeks in southern Minnesota.

We squabbled like siblings, we laughed like best friends, & we ganged up our parents, & snuck around as teenagers do, just as though we were more than mere cousins.

So, when I talk about my cousin “L”, it’s more as though I’m talking about a sister I never had.

Back to the dream. L & I had entered this super cool bookstore, which came complete with its own specialty bakery &, of course, cafe/coffee shop.

You were even able to special-order decorated cakes for occasions, & the bakers would decorate them to your specifications.

In my dream, I hadn’t had my birthday yet. This is important, later.

We browsed a bit, found books to buy, & sat in the cafe & had some cake, talking about things, catching up, since I haven’t seen L for a while. (Truth, it’s been months, & we would do this naturally)

L talks a mile a minute, so I let her blow her steam, keeping quiet & enjoying my cake, knowing she’ll listen when I tell her about my life. She always does, but, as an only child, she’s used to certain things, always being able to go first in a conversation being one of those things. I don’t mind.

Some who think they know me might scoff, but I really am quiet. When I care about someone, I’ll just sit & wait for the other person to talk themselves out completely before I speak, giving them my full attention the whole time.

When we were finished, we packed up & got ready to leave.

But first, I went over to the specialty cakes area. I’d seen a cake I wanted for my birthday, which, in my dream, hadn’t happened yet. And all I wanted was for the decorator to do some simple words on top – nothing major or fancy.

I’d filled out an order card with my contact information, & gave it to the bakery for the special-ordered layer cake.

When I spoke to the decorator about the cake, she misunderstood me 3 times, pulling out 3 different cakes, none of which were the ones I wanted. So, I finally walked her to the case & showed her the exact cake I wanted & told her that all I wanted was a simple handful of words on top.

She told me “We don’t decorate that cake. You can’t do that. Why would you even want to?”

At this point, my cousin had walked off to talk to some friends, so I was alone, and frustrated with dealing with someone who just didn’t seem to get it.

“I just want someone to put ‘Happy Birthday to Me’ on top of the damn cake, is that so hard? I always spend my birthday alone, my kids don’t come home, my parents leave the state, my friends don’t remember, or don’t live close enough to be here…I just wanted something nice for myself. Forget it!”

At this point, I walked out, with cousin L scrambling to catch up to me.

She asked what was wrong, but I wouldn’t tell her.

Later, I get a phone call from the bookstore. Could I please come down & pick up my order?

I told the lady on the phone I didn’t have an order, but she was adamant, & that I needed to pick it up.

So, I went.

When I get there, the cake is done, exactly as I ordered, and when I go to pay for it, she won’t let me, saying someone else already took care of it, although she won’t tell me who.

I take my cake & go home, wishing I had someone to celebrate with.

That’s my wish every year.

Does making wishes on candles in dreams count?

The Land of Fire

I’m walking in a land of fire

Coals scorching my feet

Sparks flying through the air

Smoke choking my lungs

I know that this trial is somehow necessary, that in order to grow, I must burn away that which has become burdensome. That I’ve come to another crossroads in my life, & I have to fight, to strive, to prove to myself that I am ready for the next step, whatever that may be.

But, Goddess, the fires are intense.

I’ve cut ties with someone I was speaking to. He wasn’t going to live up to his words, anyway. And, my heart was elsewhere.

It’s been tied up for years in someone else’s ribbons, & I don’t think it’ll ever change.

I’m probably destined to spend my life alone, because I gave my heart away to someone who will never show up to fully claim it.

But, if that’s the way it is, I’ll live with it.

My brother tried to make small talk through text about my birthday, as well. *sigh*

After years of issues between us, I’m not going to just forgive and forget everything he’s said & done. I’m not a “sweep it under the rug” kind of woman.

He wounded me deeply, and cannot admit his culpability.

So, I finally said as much back in a text, and – lol and behold – *crickets* since then.

If you cannot admit your responsibility for your actions, if you cannot admit your own wrongdoing towards another person, and apologize, sincerely and wholeheartedly for hurting them, then obviously, you don’t believe you ever did anything wrong.

Update – I just received a text that says “I have no idea what you’re talking about”.

My point exactly.

I’m done.

Convenient how they “forget” the words they use to wound others with.

But I will never forget how he said his “little sister died years ago”.

He’s right.

He killed her.

I’m not that little girl he once knew.

But then, he never bothered to get to know the grown-up woman.

Whatever.

I don’t have time for him.

I’ve got embers in my eyes, and smoke curling around my hands.

Time to take a walk.

The Little Match Girl

I had a stocking hung up on the wall, waiting for his arrival, hanging empty in anticipation of being added to – waiting to be filled with joy and the presents of the season.

My daughter took it down yesterday, carefully rearranging the hooks on the wall to look as though there was nothing missing, no void, waiting for its fulfillment.

She didn’t want me to have to do it.

Again.

Goddess, I love that girl.

I had thought about removing that stocking…I was trying to avoid it, actually, and hadn’t quite decided what I was going to do. Leave it, and have to explain to everyone why it hangs empty? Or take it down, and get the “looks”? 

Either way, I know my parents will be full of questions, ones I don’t really want to answer just yet, and some I don’t know the answer to just yet.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, and I really don’t feel like talking about it, out loud, not right now. It hurts, and like an animal with a wound, I’d like to go off into a hidden place, by myself, and bleed quietly, thank you.

What makes it more bitter to swallow is the holidays… lonely enough as is, now?

I’m nothing more than the Little Match Girl…sitting out in the cold, lighting matches (what a metaphor for a dating site, Hunh?),  trying to stay warm for a little while, & seeing hope in the flames. Hope that never blooms into reality and warmth. Each and every time I strike a match, I end up getting burned, but can’t stop from lighting the next as the previous one gutters out. Soon, my heart will give out, tired from the exertion, it will lay down to rest, and freeze, not to get back up again.

Goodnight, dear friends, for a little while.

Until the holiday is over, at least, I don’t think I can be here.

The Wheels on the Bus go Badunk-a-dunk….

…Last Saturday, I attended a holistic healing & psychic fair with a coworker. I wrote about it in an earlier post to a certain degree, & told you that there was more to the story.

Well…one of the lecture sessions we attended was concerning Past lives & Karma, & how the two things can collide and coincide.

I do believe in reincarnation, let’s just get that out there. 

One of the things that this woman spoke about was how… When you reincarnate, you carry over lessons you didn’t learn from previous lives, into the next one, & have to repeat them.

Like summer school.

Oh, I only wish the teacher could be so cool. 

Well, I got to thinking about things.

I know that I have things in my life that I need to learn to let go of. There are things that I’ve held onto for so long…and I know, that if I don’t resolve them in this lifetime, I’ll be repeating these lessons in the next.

But, it’s really not going to be easy.

These are very triggering, emotional issues for me. And I don’t know how to just forgive the pain and trauma that was done to me. 

One – I have to figure out how to forgive my brother for what he did to me those years ago, when he hurt me so badly. When he declared his little sister dead, & basically destroyed any relationship we had, or ever could have. I don’t know how to forgive that. I really don’t. I know that I can’t let him back into my life as though nothing happened…so how do I forgive?

Two- and this one is the worst…

I have to figure out how to forgive my molester.

I have to stop letting the trauma of that experience affect me, stop allowing him to have any power in my life, & forgive…..

How the fuck do I do that?

I know I have to do both of these things – for myself, not for anyone else. This is for my own spiritual health & emotional well-being…

But I know that I’m raking some hot-burning coals, here.

And it could all go up in flames within minutes.

Yeah, there are other things I also need to figure out – like how I keep going through the same relationship failures, no matter who I seem to be with – they bail on me. But that’s something I’ll either learn or I won’t, & may have to repeat. I’m not as fraught with anxiety right now over that. 

The other two – however…those are going to put me under the tires of that Karma bus.

And that Karma bus just keeps right on Rollin….

Dim The Lights

And so we come once again to November, one of my least favored months of the year, containing my least favorite holiday.

Actually, I could do away with Thanksgiving altogether, and never miss it.

I think I’ve borne a deep-seated resentment towards this holiday since I was a child, to be honest, and I’ll tell you why.

As a kid, Thanksgiving meant having to dress up, and stay dressed up, All Damn Day. As a tomboy, this was one of the worst possible punishments you could inflict on me. I loathed wearing dresses, and having to wear one for a whole day… Not being able to climb trees with the cousins, or scurry up and down the cliff behind our house – hell – simply having to stay clean all day… It was hell.

And OK, the food thing was alright, but I was always a picky eater, so I pretty much stuck to turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing & corn. No funky salads, no strange fruity jello things, nothing unidentifiable, thanks. Pumpkin pie for dessert, with plenty of whipped cream, & I was done.

And then… Ultimate boredom set in.

The menfolk took over the living room to watch football, while the women ruled the kitchen.

There was nowhere for a tomboy cursed to wearing a dress for the day to go!

Gah!

I usually ended up sitting in my room, playing records on my record player, wishing I could change into my ratty jeans & scuttle down the cliff to the freedom of the river below. 

No joy. The maternal police in the kitchen guarded the stairway & would’ve caught me.

As a grownup, I became resigned to the holiday – until my brother destroyed it a few years ago for me with his hate-filled email one year, & a ranting phone call another year.

I… Quite simply… HATE … Thanksgiving with pretty much every fiber of my being.

And yet – every year, I’m forced to partake in this much-loathed ritual, to make my parents happy.

*sigh* 

At least I don’t have to explain why Mom asks me to make the pumpkin pie every year anymore, since my sibling & his family moved away. 

I wish I could say no.

I wish I could be far away this year & not have to “do” Thanksgiving.

I’ve never really seen the true need for this holiday. A secular holiday “celebrating” something that ended up being basically a farce? Pilgrims & natives eating together in thanks? And then European settlers basically trying to destroy the natives in their greed for land and domination? 

Why are we giving thanks again?

I’m thankful most of the year for what I have, I don’t need this one freaking day to remind me to give thanks – thanks anyway.

And shitty things always seem to happen at this time of year, so I walk around, cringing, waiting for the other shoe to hit me on the back of the head.

I’d like to just fit a dimmer switch on November… Turn it down, gradually, a bit at a time…until that day rolls around… And I can just dim the lights & pretend to not be home?