when i was young i thought all i had to do was escape my parents. i married my first love who turned out to be a good man until the frustrations of the world became too much for him. we had no money, we were young, we had a premature baby, the stress was enormous. it started out as a game, a big Bruce Lee fan, he had always made it a teasing thing to 'pretend' kung-foo fight me. he would slap me, gently, and in the beginning that's all it would be. it would end in kisses and hugs and laughing. then as the stress got to be too much the slaps wouldn't be so gentle and the kisses and hugs and laughing disappeared and the bruises began showing up on my arms. i would wear long sleeves in the summer so no one would see. there was no one to see anyway as we weren't talking to my parents at the time.
later it became obvious that he was becoming jealous of me. i was young and tall and thin and had breasts grown by childbirth and dark hair and high cheekbones. i was told i had eyes that held a gaze until it wouldn't let go. i never realized how beautiful i really was until i wasn't anymore.
i would talk to his friends and his friends would talk to me. he accused me of flirting. we went camping one weekend when his parents watched the baby and he passed out after two beers - never one to hold his liquor. i spent the night talking to one of his best friends about his lost love that he was trying to win back. the next morning all everyone could talk about was how he and i sat up all night talking. my husband was never the same after that. he wouldn't trust me. i became untrustworthy.
we decided after a long period and another child that we weren't going to make it. we had no money, nowhere to go, no one else to turn to. we were our own best friends but should never have married. we decided we'd share the apartment, the children, and the responsibilities, but no longer the marriage bed. we'd live separate lives and let the chips fall where they may.
i didn't know how lonely it could be.
i met someone through his best friend. he was a shit. i met another person through him and went on a 'blind date'. this man seemed well groomed, responsible, nice, and we seemed to hit it off right away. he took me to dinner and said goodnight - the perfect gentleman.
we went out another time. learned a bit more about each other. meeting in public places.
we went out again and he asked me to go back to his house. he just wanted to show it to me, he said. i was foolish and naive. i agreed. i left my car at the restaurant. i've never been good about being able to keep track of where i'm at when i'm riding in a car - only if i'm driving can i pay close enough attention to get back to the place i started, or if i have a map. this time was no different. it was dark and i was lost.
he pulled into the drive of a middleclass neighborhood. well-kept, clean. he unlocked the door and led me inside. there was no furniture in the livingroom - he told me he'd just moved in and hadn't gotten much yet. he started to show me around, the kitchen, the basement rec-room. i turned, to go back up the stairs, and a hand went around my waist, another around my mouth. i was taken up the stairs and to the master bedroom. he laid me on the bed and told me i was going to be a 'good girl'. there were now two of them.
it was a long night. i began bleeding at one point and tried to convince him i was pregnant and i was worried i might be losing the baby. he let me go into the bathroom to clean up, but stayed just outside the open door. it was confusing. the were attacking me, raping me, but there was no yelling or hitting - they were talking in very calm voices as though they were discussing the weather. i prayed they'd let me go.
afterwards they took me in the kitchen and had me put my clothes back on. they discussed what they were going to do with me and gave me some soda. they tried to explain that i really had asked for it... i'd asked for it... i'd asked for it... it took me twenty years to get that out of my head.
they treated me like this had all been consensual. that i hadn't begged and pleaded and fought and cried. they took me out into the chill night air and drove me back to my car. he said he'd call me again. i got our phone number unlisted.
i started getting phone calls. i knew it was him. i had our number changed. i kept getting phone calls. i talked to the person who had given him my name in the first place. i found out he worked for the phone company. there was no place to hide. i had the phone disconnected.
we moved out of town a couple of months later. i never did go to the police. i never reported it to any authorities, never went to the doctor, never told my husband. after all, i'd asked for it.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
dream
i have always dreamed and most of the in color. some of them are soothing, some rage, some make me laugh out loud or try to scream - only a squeek escaping my lips. occasionally i get the 'wet dream' - yea, even girls get those. when i was young i had a re-occuring dream. i dreamed my mother who died was on a ship just off shore. it was the old clipper-ship type as i remember the sails in the moonlight. a full moon. a soft beach. my beagle was with me, as he always was. the ship was close enough i could see my mother's face. she was on the bow, beckoning me toward the water, toward her. i couldn't go. i was frozen in place. i wanted to go, but i was afraid. something came out of the water and grabbed my dog. i was terrified. i couldn't see what it was, only that my dog was yelping and crying for help. the ship was drifting away. i had to decide if i was going to save my dog or go to my mother. i saved my dog. when i got back on shore, i turned around and the ship was a dot on the horizon. i always woke up crying.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
eight years old
i was frozen in time at eight years old. that was what an aunt told me once after she spoke with my parents about how they treated their teen-aged daughter. she didn't know the half of it.
i was a teenager in a fairly well-to-do part of town with a large group of classmates and very few friends. we'd moved in three years before, but i'm not one to make friends easily and was still pretty-much an 'outsider'. i've said it before, but i was very much like ally sheedy in 'the breakfast club'. aloof, moody, painfully shy, smart but not aware. i hid in layers of homemade clothing and tried to melt into the walls. writing became my salvation and school my shelter. i loved school, but hated the people.
my parents didn't understand teenagers. they weren't exceptionally old when they had me, but perhaps a bit older than some. remember, in their eyes i wasn't a teenager anyway, but an eight-year-old.
i was not allowed to have store-bought clothing. this was at a time when jeans were the thing to wear to school. preppie was far away in years. jeans should be grungy looking, too, and have large bell-bottoms - bigger the better. if you wore skirts, minis were in. i wore home-made jeans that looked homemade. i didn't wear skirts often, because i would have to go to school and roll them up at the top to make them short enough to be acceptable to the others. this was uncomfortable and didn't look very good unless you had the right top. i was incredibly tall and incredibly skinny - about the time twiggy came into fashion. i know now that i was pretty, even behind the coke-bottle glasses and the bad skin. i couldn't see it then.
i would sit in my room for hours rocking back and forth in a rocking chair - a hold-over from my childhood days living with my grandparents when i would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and rock. i would stare into a mirror over my dresser while i rocked and try to see into my soul - to see the evil i was sure must be there, for why else would my parents treat me so?
i was not allowed to leave my house for most of my childhood. when i was very young, my mom would kick me out of the cool basement into the heat of the summer and tell me to 'get some fresh air'. i would go out and plant weeds in my sandbox and play with my dog... waiting until i could sneak back into the basement with my toys and my music.
when i was a bit older i was allowed to take my dog for walks each day. that became my escape.
when home, i had chores like picking up all the rotten apples that fell off the tree in the backyard every day. cleaning up the dog poop out of the yard. taking out the garbage. weeding the vegetable garden (the very large garden).
saturday mornings meant cartoons and lazy pajama breakfasts for most kids. i never saw a cartoon on a saturday until i was married with kids. saturday was cleaning day. my mother was a perfectionist. i am too, but now i try and control it. the house was cleaned from top to bottom and bathrooms were scoured with toothbrushes. by afternoon, if i was lucky, i managed to sneak into the basement and watch american bandstand for 30 minutes before being whisked away for some other task.
as a teenager, my parents became even more protective. i was sitting on the front step one beautiful afternoon doing my homework when my mother came out and accused me of 'flaunting myself' and 'watching for the boys to go by'. i was sent to my room and for several months never left the house except for school. i went to a sleepover at a girlfriends' house one time and one time she came to mine. that pretty much did it. i loved it. she hated it. big surprise.
i walked to school. no matter what. no matter if the neighbor lady offered me a ride when it was -10 degrees. no matter if it rained, sleeted, snowed, beat down 102 degree sunshine. i walked to school. one time i actually counted out how many blocks it was when i was an adult. it was 12 blocks. that doesn't seem like much until it is one of those mid-west blizzards and you are huddled in an extra 20lbs of clothing and your glasses fog over with each step. god forbid you should cut across your backyard and along the empty lot behind your house to save yourself a few steps.
on top of the walk, there was the time limit. 15 minutes. no more, no less. if you weren't to school in the allotted 15 minutes, you'd be tardy. if you were later than 15 minutes coming home you were punished. punishment ranged from screaming to slapping to worse. once i had to stay after school for a special project and got home 30 minutes late. that was the time i got knocked into the kitchen cupboard, my glasses spilling off into space.
i started to lie. again.
i wasn't allowed to wear makeup, so i began sneaking around - running most of the way to school so i'd have time to slip into the bathroom and put it on before school, and running most of the way home so i could wash it off before i left. i was allowed to get a part-time job after school (as long as my grades stayed good) and saved enough to buy my first pair of jeans and a crop-top. my mom wouldn't allow me to wear them to school, so i would sneak them, too. finally, i asked my mom if i could shave my legs. remember, this is when i was in 9th grade. she said no. you never asked 'why not'.
i was in band one day and happened to wear a skirt when one of the 'cool' girls noticed that not only was i not wearing hose (another inappropriate thing, according to my mother) but oh.my.god. look at the hair on her legs. if i could have made myself invisible at that moment i would have. i took an old-fashioned razor from my parents bathroom that neither of them used (the kind that uses the double-edge blades) and shaved that night. cut the hell out of myself. got found out. tried to explain, then gave up. that was usually what happened. i just gave up.
one thing after another. i finally was able to get contacts. the craters that were errupting on my face decided to ease off a bit, and a boy in band noticed me.
i stayed after school to talk to him. i got in trouble. i lied.
'wait 'til your father gets home'.
father got home. at 16 years of age my father took me in my bedroom and told me to strip. everything. naked in my shame, he made me lay on my bed and beat me with his belt. i bit into the bedspread, tears pouring out of my eyes as i swore to myself i would not let him hear me made a sound. i know it made him angrier because he couldn't get me to respond, so he hit me harder and faster. i could hear the effort he was making in the grunts. the pain was unbelievable. i don't handle pain well. i amazed even myself.
i swore i would lie whenever possible.
i never forgot.
i was a teenager in a fairly well-to-do part of town with a large group of classmates and very few friends. we'd moved in three years before, but i'm not one to make friends easily and was still pretty-much an 'outsider'. i've said it before, but i was very much like ally sheedy in 'the breakfast club'. aloof, moody, painfully shy, smart but not aware. i hid in layers of homemade clothing and tried to melt into the walls. writing became my salvation and school my shelter. i loved school, but hated the people.
my parents didn't understand teenagers. they weren't exceptionally old when they had me, but perhaps a bit older than some. remember, in their eyes i wasn't a teenager anyway, but an eight-year-old.
i was not allowed to have store-bought clothing. this was at a time when jeans were the thing to wear to school. preppie was far away in years. jeans should be grungy looking, too, and have large bell-bottoms - bigger the better. if you wore skirts, minis were in. i wore home-made jeans that looked homemade. i didn't wear skirts often, because i would have to go to school and roll them up at the top to make them short enough to be acceptable to the others. this was uncomfortable and didn't look very good unless you had the right top. i was incredibly tall and incredibly skinny - about the time twiggy came into fashion. i know now that i was pretty, even behind the coke-bottle glasses and the bad skin. i couldn't see it then.
i would sit in my room for hours rocking back and forth in a rocking chair - a hold-over from my childhood days living with my grandparents when i would sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and rock. i would stare into a mirror over my dresser while i rocked and try to see into my soul - to see the evil i was sure must be there, for why else would my parents treat me so?
i was not allowed to leave my house for most of my childhood. when i was very young, my mom would kick me out of the cool basement into the heat of the summer and tell me to 'get some fresh air'. i would go out and plant weeds in my sandbox and play with my dog... waiting until i could sneak back into the basement with my toys and my music.
when i was a bit older i was allowed to take my dog for walks each day. that became my escape.
when home, i had chores like picking up all the rotten apples that fell off the tree in the backyard every day. cleaning up the dog poop out of the yard. taking out the garbage. weeding the vegetable garden (the very large garden).
saturday mornings meant cartoons and lazy pajama breakfasts for most kids. i never saw a cartoon on a saturday until i was married with kids. saturday was cleaning day. my mother was a perfectionist. i am too, but now i try and control it. the house was cleaned from top to bottom and bathrooms were scoured with toothbrushes. by afternoon, if i was lucky, i managed to sneak into the basement and watch american bandstand for 30 minutes before being whisked away for some other task.
as a teenager, my parents became even more protective. i was sitting on the front step one beautiful afternoon doing my homework when my mother came out and accused me of 'flaunting myself' and 'watching for the boys to go by'. i was sent to my room and for several months never left the house except for school. i went to a sleepover at a girlfriends' house one time and one time she came to mine. that pretty much did it. i loved it. she hated it. big surprise.
i walked to school. no matter what. no matter if the neighbor lady offered me a ride when it was -10 degrees. no matter if it rained, sleeted, snowed, beat down 102 degree sunshine. i walked to school. one time i actually counted out how many blocks it was when i was an adult. it was 12 blocks. that doesn't seem like much until it is one of those mid-west blizzards and you are huddled in an extra 20lbs of clothing and your glasses fog over with each step. god forbid you should cut across your backyard and along the empty lot behind your house to save yourself a few steps.
on top of the walk, there was the time limit. 15 minutes. no more, no less. if you weren't to school in the allotted 15 minutes, you'd be tardy. if you were later than 15 minutes coming home you were punished. punishment ranged from screaming to slapping to worse. once i had to stay after school for a special project and got home 30 minutes late. that was the time i got knocked into the kitchen cupboard, my glasses spilling off into space.
i started to lie. again.
i wasn't allowed to wear makeup, so i began sneaking around - running most of the way to school so i'd have time to slip into the bathroom and put it on before school, and running most of the way home so i could wash it off before i left. i was allowed to get a part-time job after school (as long as my grades stayed good) and saved enough to buy my first pair of jeans and a crop-top. my mom wouldn't allow me to wear them to school, so i would sneak them, too. finally, i asked my mom if i could shave my legs. remember, this is when i was in 9th grade. she said no. you never asked 'why not'.
i was in band one day and happened to wear a skirt when one of the 'cool' girls noticed that not only was i not wearing hose (another inappropriate thing, according to my mother) but oh.my.god. look at the hair on her legs. if i could have made myself invisible at that moment i would have. i took an old-fashioned razor from my parents bathroom that neither of them used (the kind that uses the double-edge blades) and shaved that night. cut the hell out of myself. got found out. tried to explain, then gave up. that was usually what happened. i just gave up.
one thing after another. i finally was able to get contacts. the craters that were errupting on my face decided to ease off a bit, and a boy in band noticed me.
i stayed after school to talk to him. i got in trouble. i lied.
'wait 'til your father gets home'.
father got home. at 16 years of age my father took me in my bedroom and told me to strip. everything. naked in my shame, he made me lay on my bed and beat me with his belt. i bit into the bedspread, tears pouring out of my eyes as i swore to myself i would not let him hear me made a sound. i know it made him angrier because he couldn't get me to respond, so he hit me harder and faster. i could hear the effort he was making in the grunts. the pain was unbelievable. i don't handle pain well. i amazed even myself.
i swore i would lie whenever possible.
i never forgot.
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
the devil's in the details
when i was young my parents were overprotective to the point of suffocation. i don't think they even realized at the time that what they were doing may have been considered abuse. i think now they did the best they could. i thought then they were the devil.
i grew up in several towns in the midwest. most were small and pretty tight communities. these were the days when my homemaker mother went to 'coffee' with the neighbor ladies.
one such woman and my mother got to be good friends. her husband eventually became my father's best friend. they lived a few doors down from us and had two daughters, one a couple of years older than me, one a year younger. i played with them both at various times, but never with both at the same time - they didn't get along very well with each other.
it was a time that i thought i was the happiest. i had a girl who lived next door who became my best friend and was in my class at school, and another one a few doors up the street who would play with us, too. one of us was always on the 'outs' with the other ones. it seemed it was always two against one and usually i was the one, since i was the new girl. when that happened, i would go down the block and play with the other girls - my parents' friends.
one hot summer day my parents and their friends were going to be gone for the day. i was supposed to stay at the other people's house where the older girl was going to babysit us younger ones. we were in fourth grade, so not totally helpless. the neighbors were going to have a backyard carnival and we were going to work on decorating while our parents were gone.
the older girl had some girlfriends over to help, too, and together we were all getting along pretty well decorating. at least i thought we were. As i mentioned before, it was a very hot day and the older girls decided to go inside and make some lemonade. after awhile, when they didn't reappear, the younger one suggested i go inside and see what the hold up was.
things went downhill from there.
i went inside, but instead of finding them in the kitchen, they were in the basement. i heard whispers and giggles as i headed down the basement stairs, wondering what they were up to. the lights were off, but there was enough sunlight sifting through the dirty windows to see them all huddled in a corner of the room, hunched together like some strange beast. i made some comment and it startled them, the oldest hiding something behind her back. i told them we were waiting for them to come back up and help....
to this day i don't know what they were looking at or why they turned on me. i can only speculate they'd found one of their father's playboy's or a hustler magazine. all i know is when i tried to turn around and go back up the stairs, a couple of them blocked me. the older girl that i knew had a strange look on her face - a grin that suddenly seemed cold. she looked at all the other girls and they started laughing and shaking their heads yes...yes...yes...
"we'll let you go back upstairs if you take your clothes off", she said.
"what?!?!" i replied
"you heard me. we want you to take your clothes off."
"no."
i tried to push through the girls, but i was a pretty scrawny thing for my age and even then a couch potato. i fought with two of them as the other three started pulling at my clothes. someone got my shorts down, then my underwear. i was too young to wear a bra, so there wasn't much to getting my t-shirt off. i was exposed. in the scuffle i lost my glasses, but i wouldn't have been able to see with them anyway, my eyes were so full of tears. i sobbed and curled in on myself and they called me 'baby' and 'sissy' and 'stupid' and 'cunt'. my mind was reeling - wondering what i had done to bring this down on myself.
they laughed as they went up the basement stairs, back into the daylight.
i found my glasses and put on my clothes. going up the stairs as quietly as possible, i went around to the front door and slipped out without them seeing me. i ran home to my empty house and waited shivering in my bed for my parents to come home.
when my parents came home a couple of hours later, i never got to tell them what happened. my father started yelling at me for coming home early and not helping the others with the carnival preparations. he called me 'lazy' and 'stupid' and 'unreliable' and 'bad'.
several months later when the neighbors went on vacation i was to watch their cat. i was to go to their house every day and feed it and water it. when they came home the older girl told her mother i'd stolen some money out of her room. she got me once again.
my parents believed me to be a liar and a thief. that brand stayed with me for the rest of my childhood.
i grew up in several towns in the midwest. most were small and pretty tight communities. these were the days when my homemaker mother went to 'coffee' with the neighbor ladies.
one such woman and my mother got to be good friends. her husband eventually became my father's best friend. they lived a few doors down from us and had two daughters, one a couple of years older than me, one a year younger. i played with them both at various times, but never with both at the same time - they didn't get along very well with each other.
it was a time that i thought i was the happiest. i had a girl who lived next door who became my best friend and was in my class at school, and another one a few doors up the street who would play with us, too. one of us was always on the 'outs' with the other ones. it seemed it was always two against one and usually i was the one, since i was the new girl. when that happened, i would go down the block and play with the other girls - my parents' friends.
one hot summer day my parents and their friends were going to be gone for the day. i was supposed to stay at the other people's house where the older girl was going to babysit us younger ones. we were in fourth grade, so not totally helpless. the neighbors were going to have a backyard carnival and we were going to work on decorating while our parents were gone.
the older girl had some girlfriends over to help, too, and together we were all getting along pretty well decorating. at least i thought we were. As i mentioned before, it was a very hot day and the older girls decided to go inside and make some lemonade. after awhile, when they didn't reappear, the younger one suggested i go inside and see what the hold up was.
things went downhill from there.
i went inside, but instead of finding them in the kitchen, they were in the basement. i heard whispers and giggles as i headed down the basement stairs, wondering what they were up to. the lights were off, but there was enough sunlight sifting through the dirty windows to see them all huddled in a corner of the room, hunched together like some strange beast. i made some comment and it startled them, the oldest hiding something behind her back. i told them we were waiting for them to come back up and help....
to this day i don't know what they were looking at or why they turned on me. i can only speculate they'd found one of their father's playboy's or a hustler magazine. all i know is when i tried to turn around and go back up the stairs, a couple of them blocked me. the older girl that i knew had a strange look on her face - a grin that suddenly seemed cold. she looked at all the other girls and they started laughing and shaking their heads yes...yes...yes...
"we'll let you go back upstairs if you take your clothes off", she said.
"what?!?!" i replied
"you heard me. we want you to take your clothes off."
"no."
i tried to push through the girls, but i was a pretty scrawny thing for my age and even then a couch potato. i fought with two of them as the other three started pulling at my clothes. someone got my shorts down, then my underwear. i was too young to wear a bra, so there wasn't much to getting my t-shirt off. i was exposed. in the scuffle i lost my glasses, but i wouldn't have been able to see with them anyway, my eyes were so full of tears. i sobbed and curled in on myself and they called me 'baby' and 'sissy' and 'stupid' and 'cunt'. my mind was reeling - wondering what i had done to bring this down on myself.
they laughed as they went up the basement stairs, back into the daylight.
i found my glasses and put on my clothes. going up the stairs as quietly as possible, i went around to the front door and slipped out without them seeing me. i ran home to my empty house and waited shivering in my bed for my parents to come home.
when my parents came home a couple of hours later, i never got to tell them what happened. my father started yelling at me for coming home early and not helping the others with the carnival preparations. he called me 'lazy' and 'stupid' and 'unreliable' and 'bad'.
several months later when the neighbors went on vacation i was to watch their cat. i was to go to their house every day and feed it and water it. when they came home the older girl told her mother i'd stolen some money out of her room. she got me once again.
my parents believed me to be a liar and a thief. that brand stayed with me for the rest of my childhood.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
hide the knives
i used to think i was nuts. i would ride around on the lawn mower, mowing our 5 acre lawn, and the entire time i was trying to think of the best way to leave my family. i would just think of getting in the car and driving as far as i could - not thinking of ever coming back. i'm sure my family may have missed me and i probably would have missed them, but at the time i saw no downside to the trip. these dark thoughts filled most of my waking moments, but not every day.
i finally got to the point i went to the doctor to see if i was going crazy. this was in the 80's when pms wasn't really very talked about and people were just starting to figure out this may be why crazy great-aunt anne was really crazy. the doctor didn't ask me specific questions, just basically let me talk and tell him what was going on with me.
after we concluded our conversation and he'd given me a physical, he suggested that I should start taking some estrogen to try and level out my moods. unfortunately, they didn't have specific dosages, so it was going to be a trial and error type of thing.
the doctor verified that i did, indeed, have pms. he told me there were three levels: the first is where the woman/wife kills her husband and has no clue she's done it. the second is where she gets the knife, wants to kill him, but stops herself. The third is the mildest where she just wants to kill him but doesn't go for a weapon. he told me i was the second type.
from that day forward, my wise husband began not to ask me if it was 'that time of the month' or 'are you pms-ing?'... but rather, 'is it time to hide the knives?' he got a much better response that way.
i found the estrogen made me a zombie. it just made me lethargic. i finally asked my husband if he would rather have me bitchy or a zombie and he agreed the bitch was much better - at least he was familiar with her and knew what to expect. gotcha.
i have a sneaking suspicion my condition contributed to my first marriage sinking. i'm pretty sure it has a lot to do with the terrible mood swings i had in the early days of my second marriage. i'm very grateful that my husband is such a patient man and knew it was going to be a long haul, but he's here. i'm much better now.
i finally got to the point i went to the doctor to see if i was going crazy. this was in the 80's when pms wasn't really very talked about and people were just starting to figure out this may be why crazy great-aunt anne was really crazy. the doctor didn't ask me specific questions, just basically let me talk and tell him what was going on with me.
after we concluded our conversation and he'd given me a physical, he suggested that I should start taking some estrogen to try and level out my moods. unfortunately, they didn't have specific dosages, so it was going to be a trial and error type of thing.
the doctor verified that i did, indeed, have pms. he told me there were three levels: the first is where the woman/wife kills her husband and has no clue she's done it. the second is where she gets the knife, wants to kill him, but stops herself. The third is the mildest where she just wants to kill him but doesn't go for a weapon. he told me i was the second type.
from that day forward, my wise husband began not to ask me if it was 'that time of the month' or 'are you pms-ing?'... but rather, 'is it time to hide the knives?' he got a much better response that way.
i found the estrogen made me a zombie. it just made me lethargic. i finally asked my husband if he would rather have me bitchy or a zombie and he agreed the bitch was much better - at least he was familiar with her and knew what to expect. gotcha.
i have a sneaking suspicion my condition contributed to my first marriage sinking. i'm pretty sure it has a lot to do with the terrible mood swings i had in the early days of my second marriage. i'm very grateful that my husband is such a patient man and knew it was going to be a long haul, but he's here. i'm much better now.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Illusion
I had an interesting conversation with my youngest daughter the other day. She's 24. We're very close, and have been called 'twins' for years. Not just that we look alike, but we have the same mannerisms and voice, too. Of course, we're not obviously twins - it's easy to tell I'm the mom, but it's jokingly an accurate description.
I have four children, two boys and two girls. Though, at this point in their lives I should be saying two men and two women. Guess they'll always be boys and girls to me, tho'. Over the years we've been through good things and bad things, as do most parent-child relationships. For the past several years, however, we've been on great terms. I consider myself extremely lucky.
When thinking and discussing my kids with my daughter I told her how I'd come to this odd conclusion that my kids were all different parts of my personality. I've been married twice, and although I can see parts of my children's fathers in them, it still seems to be my personality that is dominant. My eldest (girl) is married, has a child, and although works outside the home, is a very nurturing mom and wife. She is very much a family-oriented person and is the one who takes it upon herself to call her biological father or her grandmother and tries to keep the ties going with that side of the family, even though their father pretty much drifted out of her and her brothers' lives years ago. She is the homemaker in every sense of the word.
My next oldest (boy) who shares the same biological father as the eldest, is a very creative type. He originally wanted to go to New York and be an actor and still has some of that travel lust in his blood. He is graduating in a couple of weeks from college where he has spent nine years trying to get a four-year degree in MIS. I love him for that. His stamina, his persistance. He's had job offers to quit school and go to work for big money, but he decided to stick it out and finish. I'm so proud of him for that. He's my travel-guy-computer-geek side. Very smart. (Yes, I'm a mom, I can brag.)
The next one down is the daughter that I'm so much alike. She is smart as a whip and questions everything in the universe. She's married, now, but went through the phase where she didn't think she ever would, and right now doesn't think she'll probably have children. That's okay with me. I'm not a woman who HAS to have grandchildren. I have one, and if none of my children ever have another that's just fine. As long as my kids are happy, that's all I want. She's the animal nut in the family, too. For years we thought she'd be the veterinarian, but she went to college and got a degree in anthropology. She, however, now works in a pet store and is quickly moving up the chain into management and much to her new husbands' dismay she's begun her critter collection. Hubby keeps telling him he's just along for the ride... if she's like her mother (which she is) he'd better get used to it. She was the one who changed her major several times while in college because she has waaaaay too many interests. She started off in an art field, which is an area she excels in, also. I love to paint, take photos, write, draw, work with rubber stamps, do cross-stitching, sewing and crocheting, and generally be creative and she mimics all those things - only does them better. She and my eldest both love nature and are avid gardeners as well as loving houseplants.
My youngest (boy) is probably the most like Hubby. He's the one into stock car racing and fabricating and engine building. However, he's also an animal nut and is close to his family. He has a soft heart and finds the time for hurting friends. He's shy until he knows you, then can be as gregarious as his father. He is honest as the day is long and doesn't mind putting in a full day's work - if not longer. He loved the farm when he was a child and has a knack for all of it... but ran away from it in his teens to find his own way. He worked for a couple of different businesses who built race car motors and found it to be very rewarding and he learned a lot. Then he learned there is a down-side. The business doesn't stay very busy year-round. He did a lot of soul-searching and in his twenties came home to help Hubby farm. The years apart gave them both time to grow and mature. They now can talk about the work as equals instead of father-son and he has found a love of the work once more. It's been a blessing.
I spoke to my daughter about all of this and she began laughing. Maybe... she said...it was all a dream and you'll wake up and find out you never did get married (twice) or have kids or anything! You never imagined in your life that you could go from growing up in a fairly large midwest city to being married to a farmer for 25+ years and living in the country. Maybe it never happened. Maybe you'll find yourself in that padded room you always figured you'd end up in. Maybe.
Wow.
I have four children, two boys and two girls. Though, at this point in their lives I should be saying two men and two women. Guess they'll always be boys and girls to me, tho'. Over the years we've been through good things and bad things, as do most parent-child relationships. For the past several years, however, we've been on great terms. I consider myself extremely lucky.
When thinking and discussing my kids with my daughter I told her how I'd come to this odd conclusion that my kids were all different parts of my personality. I've been married twice, and although I can see parts of my children's fathers in them, it still seems to be my personality that is dominant. My eldest (girl) is married, has a child, and although works outside the home, is a very nurturing mom and wife. She is very much a family-oriented person and is the one who takes it upon herself to call her biological father or her grandmother and tries to keep the ties going with that side of the family, even though their father pretty much drifted out of her and her brothers' lives years ago. She is the homemaker in every sense of the word.
My next oldest (boy) who shares the same biological father as the eldest, is a very creative type. He originally wanted to go to New York and be an actor and still has some of that travel lust in his blood. He is graduating in a couple of weeks from college where he has spent nine years trying to get a four-year degree in MIS. I love him for that. His stamina, his persistance. He's had job offers to quit school and go to work for big money, but he decided to stick it out and finish. I'm so proud of him for that. He's my travel-guy-computer-geek side. Very smart. (Yes, I'm a mom, I can brag.)
The next one down is the daughter that I'm so much alike. She is smart as a whip and questions everything in the universe. She's married, now, but went through the phase where she didn't think she ever would, and right now doesn't think she'll probably have children. That's okay with me. I'm not a woman who HAS to have grandchildren. I have one, and if none of my children ever have another that's just fine. As long as my kids are happy, that's all I want. She's the animal nut in the family, too. For years we thought she'd be the veterinarian, but she went to college and got a degree in anthropology. She, however, now works in a pet store and is quickly moving up the chain into management and much to her new husbands' dismay she's begun her critter collection. Hubby keeps telling him he's just along for the ride... if she's like her mother (which she is) he'd better get used to it. She was the one who changed her major several times while in college because she has waaaaay too many interests. She started off in an art field, which is an area she excels in, also. I love to paint, take photos, write, draw, work with rubber stamps, do cross-stitching, sewing and crocheting, and generally be creative and she mimics all those things - only does them better. She and my eldest both love nature and are avid gardeners as well as loving houseplants.
My youngest (boy) is probably the most like Hubby. He's the one into stock car racing and fabricating and engine building. However, he's also an animal nut and is close to his family. He has a soft heart and finds the time for hurting friends. He's shy until he knows you, then can be as gregarious as his father. He is honest as the day is long and doesn't mind putting in a full day's work - if not longer. He loved the farm when he was a child and has a knack for all of it... but ran away from it in his teens to find his own way. He worked for a couple of different businesses who built race car motors and found it to be very rewarding and he learned a lot. Then he learned there is a down-side. The business doesn't stay very busy year-round. He did a lot of soul-searching and in his twenties came home to help Hubby farm. The years apart gave them both time to grow and mature. They now can talk about the work as equals instead of father-son and he has found a love of the work once more. It's been a blessing.
I spoke to my daughter about all of this and she began laughing. Maybe... she said...it was all a dream and you'll wake up and find out you never did get married (twice) or have kids or anything! You never imagined in your life that you could go from growing up in a fairly large midwest city to being married to a farmer for 25+ years and living in the country. Maybe it never happened. Maybe you'll find yourself in that padded room you always figured you'd end up in. Maybe.
Wow.
Friday, June 03, 2005
strange bedfellows
i once had a boss who'd been divorced for many years and her best friend was still her ex. he was a cowboy in a city that didn't have any. he liked country and western, wore a cowboy hat, boots and a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate. his hair was long and his beard was longer. he looked like willy nelson, only lots taller.
his horse was a motorcycle. his life was building them and fixing them before it became a popular tv show. i met him through her. she thought we would be good together. i was fifteen years younger than he was. she was dating a man thirteen years younger than her. she seemed to have a strange attitude toward may-december relationships.
she seemed very conservative. he walked on the wild side. i had a hard time picturing them together. ever. he scared me with his 'business associates'. he picked no favorites when working on bikes and he was good at it. the rival gangs left him alone and he was friends with them all. i once met the biggest, deadliest gang leader in town. he was very charming. i'm glad i didn't know who he was until we'd left the bar. i'd led a very sheltered life.
as a partner he left some things to be desired. sometimes he treated me like his daughter. sometimes, a lover. sometimes a whore. i was in love. i was a baby. i wasn't sheltered very long. he even set me up to fuck the ex-wife's boyfriend. he watched. she knew. she pretended she didn't. i think she was more jealous of the ex watching than the boyfriend i was with. i never did figure her out.
he sold drugs to the bikers. i found his stache. it wasn't hard - his entire bedroom dresser was full of bags of pills. every color and shape. he wouldn't let me take any. it made me mad at the time, but i grew to be thankful. i had some later in life. i remember thinking if only...
one night he said he loved me too much to keep on going this way. i didn't know what he meant. a few days later he was gone. the shop was empty. the small apartment he lived in above the shop was locked up and dark. i didn't know any of his associates well enough to know where to even begin to look. i got the impression he didn't want to be found. the ex wouldn't tell me where he'd gone or why. she knew, i could tell. she cried.
i got on with my life.
his horse was a motorcycle. his life was building them and fixing them before it became a popular tv show. i met him through her. she thought we would be good together. i was fifteen years younger than he was. she was dating a man thirteen years younger than her. she seemed to have a strange attitude toward may-december relationships.
she seemed very conservative. he walked on the wild side. i had a hard time picturing them together. ever. he scared me with his 'business associates'. he picked no favorites when working on bikes and he was good at it. the rival gangs left him alone and he was friends with them all. i once met the biggest, deadliest gang leader in town. he was very charming. i'm glad i didn't know who he was until we'd left the bar. i'd led a very sheltered life.
as a partner he left some things to be desired. sometimes he treated me like his daughter. sometimes, a lover. sometimes a whore. i was in love. i was a baby. i wasn't sheltered very long. he even set me up to fuck the ex-wife's boyfriend. he watched. she knew. she pretended she didn't. i think she was more jealous of the ex watching than the boyfriend i was with. i never did figure her out.
he sold drugs to the bikers. i found his stache. it wasn't hard - his entire bedroom dresser was full of bags of pills. every color and shape. he wouldn't let me take any. it made me mad at the time, but i grew to be thankful. i had some later in life. i remember thinking if only...
one night he said he loved me too much to keep on going this way. i didn't know what he meant. a few days later he was gone. the shop was empty. the small apartment he lived in above the shop was locked up and dark. i didn't know any of his associates well enough to know where to even begin to look. i got the impression he didn't want to be found. the ex wouldn't tell me where he'd gone or why. she knew, i could tell. she cried.
i got on with my life.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
night crawlers
i used to be a night crawler. i'd climb out my bedroom window about 11 p.m. and not climb back in until close to 6 a.m.. once i even saw the paperboy on his morning route. my parents didn't know i had this bad habit going and i maintained good enough grades to keep everyone fooled. i had an art class first period, so didn't have to be too alert for that. a little creativity went a long way.
i was fearless, as the young are. i'd get into cars with people i didn't know. i'd have unprotected sex. i'd race the truckers on the interstate with a piece of shit gremlin until i blew the motor and ended up stranded in another town.
i had a crush on an older guy once who was nice to me. i wasn't used to that. i'd take off on a friday after work, drive for three hours to his house, spend the weekend screwing our brains out and get home just before dawn on monday morning. once i went with some friends who had been begging to meet him. he spent the night making passes at one of my friends and i left them there and headed home. i didn't care how they got home. i figured he could take them.
i hadn't figured on the blizzard. i got off on the side of the road and found there was no side of the road. stuck in a snowdrift, i spent the night in short bursts of waking to start the car and heat myself up, then turning it off to conserve fuel and not kill myself. just before dawn i crept out into the ditch to relieve myself and a trucker was kind enough to come along and offer to dig my car out. as he was digging me out, my friends went by and saw me. i ended up taking them home.
i burned all his pictures.
i stopped going out. at all.
i was fearless, as the young are. i'd get into cars with people i didn't know. i'd have unprotected sex. i'd race the truckers on the interstate with a piece of shit gremlin until i blew the motor and ended up stranded in another town.
i had a crush on an older guy once who was nice to me. i wasn't used to that. i'd take off on a friday after work, drive for three hours to his house, spend the weekend screwing our brains out and get home just before dawn on monday morning. once i went with some friends who had been begging to meet him. he spent the night making passes at one of my friends and i left them there and headed home. i didn't care how they got home. i figured he could take them.
i hadn't figured on the blizzard. i got off on the side of the road and found there was no side of the road. stuck in a snowdrift, i spent the night in short bursts of waking to start the car and heat myself up, then turning it off to conserve fuel and not kill myself. just before dawn i crept out into the ditch to relieve myself and a trucker was kind enough to come along and offer to dig my car out. as he was digging me out, my friends went by and saw me. i ended up taking them home.
i burned all his pictures.
i stopped going out. at all.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
first
he was my first. first boyfriend, first love, first husband, first divorce. he was kind and funny. he was short and dark. i was tall and pale. i was 16. he was 18. he had graduated from high school. he was living at home. he worked where i worked. for him it was a full-time job, for me it was extra spending money. my parents let him take me out. once. he picked me up at the house. it was summertime. he was tan. he always turned very dark. it was the 70's. he had an afro. he had a large afro.
my parents sat me down for a talk the next day. we're sure he's a nice boy, but we think he's too old for you. uh-huh. too old or too dark? he's swedish, i say. he doesn't look swedish, they say. that's not the issue, they say. he's too old.
i began sneaking around to see him. i'd think of reasons to close at work so i could be with him a little longer. i'd skip my last class and he'd pick me up from school and we'd drive around and neck.
we went to my house and my parents were at work. we made love. we were both virgins. it was bad. it was uncomfortable. we kept at it. we got better.
i found an apartment. i moved on my 18th birthday while my parents were at work. i left a note at my dad's office. in it, i told him he'd better tell mom before she got home from work. i didn't tell them where i went. they found out from my boyfriend's parents. it was okay. they left me alone.
they tried to convince me they liked my boyfriend now - since i was bound and determined to marry him. they took me home. they tried to make nice. we planned a big wedding. a week before the wedding, i called it off. my parents told me they thought i'd done the right thing. they never liked him after all. we eloped.
he'll always be the first.
my parents sat me down for a talk the next day. we're sure he's a nice boy, but we think he's too old for you. uh-huh. too old or too dark? he's swedish, i say. he doesn't look swedish, they say. that's not the issue, they say. he's too old.
i began sneaking around to see him. i'd think of reasons to close at work so i could be with him a little longer. i'd skip my last class and he'd pick me up from school and we'd drive around and neck.
we went to my house and my parents were at work. we made love. we were both virgins. it was bad. it was uncomfortable. we kept at it. we got better.
i found an apartment. i moved on my 18th birthday while my parents were at work. i left a note at my dad's office. in it, i told him he'd better tell mom before she got home from work. i didn't tell them where i went. they found out from my boyfriend's parents. it was okay. they left me alone.
they tried to convince me they liked my boyfriend now - since i was bound and determined to marry him. they took me home. they tried to make nice. we planned a big wedding. a week before the wedding, i called it off. my parents told me they thought i'd done the right thing. they never liked him after all. we eloped.
he'll always be the first.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
denial
my mother died when i was a child. i was three. i only have one true memory of my mother. she had polio and was in an iron lung and i was taken to see her in the hospital. i remember riding on my father's shoulders and laughing at the nurses. my father is very tall, so i had to duck not to hit the lights. i remember standing on a stool next to my mother's face. she asked the nurses to adjust the mirror above her head so she could see me better. she was beautiful.
at some point after my mother went into the hospital, i was sent to live with my father's family. i remember his older brother - my uncle - driving me many miles to my grandmother's house. i liked living at my grandparents'.he was a manager of a supermarket who loved to fish and she was a lovely woman with a quick laugh who had raised four children and still had the youngest in high school.
i remember the wedding photo of my mother in my grandmother's bedroom setting on the cedar chest where i could go in and look at it. i remember one day it was gone and we never spoke of her again.
my father would come to my grandmother's and visit me. one time he brought a lady with him who would become my stepmother. i was five.
every year on memorial day we would make the two-hour drive to where my mother was buried. we'd take flowers and clean up the gravesite, but nothing was ever said about her. i'd learned early that to bring her up was to get scolded - i learned not to bring it up.
most families have photographs of their children around the house or at least in an album where they are produced for family events and memories are thoughtfully revisited. i never saw a picture of myself until my maternal grandmother gave me some photos when i was thirteen. i finally saw myself and my mother and a picture of a little girl standing on a stool next to a woman in an iron lung with a lovely smile.
in my thirties my husband had some deep conversations with my father. things i think he'd been waiting to say but couldn't bring himself to say directly to me. knowing my husband would be the conduit. one of the most shocking things i was to find out was that my mother didn't die of polio. she'd actually been getting better and had been in rehab and was going to be able to come home when she contracted pneumonia. it was the pneumonia that killed her. it explained a lot.
in my twenties i had pneumonia and was in the hospital for a week. my parents didn't come. my parents didn't call. they didn't send flowers. they ignored me. this was highly unusual. when i finally got ahold of my father to let him know i was better and was going home from the hospital, his comment was, "i guess i won't have to sent the flowers to the funeral home, then". at the time i was shocked. even for my cynical father the comment seemed exceptionally cruel. it would not be clear to me what was going on for another ten years.
my grandmother always said i looked exactly like my mother. my maternal aunt who hadn't seen me for many years finally saw me and told my grandmother that she couldn't get over all the mannerisms i had that were just like my mother. i guess my father couldn't handle it. i wish he had. the denial hurt.
at some point after my mother went into the hospital, i was sent to live with my father's family. i remember his older brother - my uncle - driving me many miles to my grandmother's house. i liked living at my grandparents'.he was a manager of a supermarket who loved to fish and she was a lovely woman with a quick laugh who had raised four children and still had the youngest in high school.
i remember the wedding photo of my mother in my grandmother's bedroom setting on the cedar chest where i could go in and look at it. i remember one day it was gone and we never spoke of her again.
my father would come to my grandmother's and visit me. one time he brought a lady with him who would become my stepmother. i was five.
every year on memorial day we would make the two-hour drive to where my mother was buried. we'd take flowers and clean up the gravesite, but nothing was ever said about her. i'd learned early that to bring her up was to get scolded - i learned not to bring it up.
most families have photographs of their children around the house or at least in an album where they are produced for family events and memories are thoughtfully revisited. i never saw a picture of myself until my maternal grandmother gave me some photos when i was thirteen. i finally saw myself and my mother and a picture of a little girl standing on a stool next to a woman in an iron lung with a lovely smile.
in my thirties my husband had some deep conversations with my father. things i think he'd been waiting to say but couldn't bring himself to say directly to me. knowing my husband would be the conduit. one of the most shocking things i was to find out was that my mother didn't die of polio. she'd actually been getting better and had been in rehab and was going to be able to come home when she contracted pneumonia. it was the pneumonia that killed her. it explained a lot.
in my twenties i had pneumonia and was in the hospital for a week. my parents didn't come. my parents didn't call. they didn't send flowers. they ignored me. this was highly unusual. when i finally got ahold of my father to let him know i was better and was going home from the hospital, his comment was, "i guess i won't have to sent the flowers to the funeral home, then". at the time i was shocked. even for my cynical father the comment seemed exceptionally cruel. it would not be clear to me what was going on for another ten years.
my grandmother always said i looked exactly like my mother. my maternal aunt who hadn't seen me for many years finally saw me and told my grandmother that she couldn't get over all the mannerisms i had that were just like my mother. i guess my father couldn't handle it. i wish he had. the denial hurt.
Saturday, May 21, 2005
define
i often think i am mad or insane or just plain crazy. i've thought this often since i was a child but try not to make it something outwardly noticable. mostly it just invades my quiet thoughts. i never was what i would consider a normal child. i didn't play well with others. i never had the social skills to play the silly games well. still don't. i found myself with odd thoughts at inconvenient times. sometimes i still do.
therapy a few years ago turned out to be a bust. i had a nervous breakdown, for lack of a better term. in going to therapy i found the therapist had more problems than i had that she hadn't dealt with and i spent all my time feeling i was the therapist.
due to many issues in my past, i had feelings of severe depression and thought i needed to get away from my family - to be on my own, something i'd never done. a certain well-meaning therapist told me not to tell my spouse where i was, only that i was safe. this, in turn, drove him nearly over the edge. i also had well-meaning friends (i use the expression loosely) who told him to make me an ultimatum. either tell him where i was or cut me free. i can't say that we are friends any longer.
love managed to win out. i let him come to me and save me from myself. we are closer than ever. he is a remarkable man.
i found out many years after this incident in our lives that my brother-in-law who i'd met my husband through and who i'd always championed and whose side i'd always been on held a frank discussion one night with my husband. it came out that he never liked me after that happened and he'd just been trying to be nice to me for my husbands' sake. bite me. i don't need that kind of support.
i've always said to my husband when we hear about friends getting divorced or similar situations... you never really know what is going on in the relationship unless you are the one in the relationship. everyone lies. everyone wants to sound like the good guy so you will get whatever version of what has happened through their spin machine. so many people thought at that time that i was having and affair and was leaving my husband. that was the furthest thing from my mind. i needed my husband desperately. it was only the bad advice we were getting from, i repeat, well-meaning friends and therapists that kept us from finding the help we needed - which was each other.
sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. and love. never forget the love.
i'm not fully 'cured'. i still have dark thoughts. that is why i decided to put this blog out here. although i am a happy, well-adjusted, loved, smart, attractive woman... i can still have the dark madness. this is my way of coping.
therapy a few years ago turned out to be a bust. i had a nervous breakdown, for lack of a better term. in going to therapy i found the therapist had more problems than i had that she hadn't dealt with and i spent all my time feeling i was the therapist.
due to many issues in my past, i had feelings of severe depression and thought i needed to get away from my family - to be on my own, something i'd never done. a certain well-meaning therapist told me not to tell my spouse where i was, only that i was safe. this, in turn, drove him nearly over the edge. i also had well-meaning friends (i use the expression loosely) who told him to make me an ultimatum. either tell him where i was or cut me free. i can't say that we are friends any longer.
love managed to win out. i let him come to me and save me from myself. we are closer than ever. he is a remarkable man.
i found out many years after this incident in our lives that my brother-in-law who i'd met my husband through and who i'd always championed and whose side i'd always been on held a frank discussion one night with my husband. it came out that he never liked me after that happened and he'd just been trying to be nice to me for my husbands' sake. bite me. i don't need that kind of support.
i've always said to my husband when we hear about friends getting divorced or similar situations... you never really know what is going on in the relationship unless you are the one in the relationship. everyone lies. everyone wants to sound like the good guy so you will get whatever version of what has happened through their spin machine. so many people thought at that time that i was having and affair and was leaving my husband. that was the furthest thing from my mind. i needed my husband desperately. it was only the bad advice we were getting from, i repeat, well-meaning friends and therapists that kept us from finding the help we needed - which was each other.
sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. and love. never forget the love.
i'm not fully 'cured'. i still have dark thoughts. that is why i decided to put this blog out here. although i am a happy, well-adjusted, loved, smart, attractive woman... i can still have the dark madness. this is my way of coping.
Thursday, May 19, 2005
do you believe
what do you believe in? god. satan. esp.aliens. love. innocence. truth. fairies. luck. fame. poverty. nature. survival. death. heaven. hell. all of the above.
Monday, May 16, 2005
night
she was young. naive. pretty. torn between being a 'good girl' and climbing out the window in the deepest of night to see her unapproved boyfriend. the boyfriend won. for several weeks in the chill of springtime running into the heat of summer she would meet up with him a block from her house. usually his best friend came with - it was his car. the three of them would cram into the front seat of the '69 ford mustang convertable and race into the darkness, seeking out the downtown lights and excitement of the other cars 'scooping the loop'.
one night as she returned to her bedroom window it was locked. panic hit as a 10 lb. sledgehammer would - taking her breath away and sending her pulse racing out of control. unreasonable thoughts started. sneaking in the front door and saying she'd just been out walking. trying to sneak into her room and say she'd just been in the bathroom... the garage... on the porch. a bold faced lie as she was not to ever leave the house. with shaking hands she reached out for the front door knob as she sensed movement right on the other side. someone was just inside the door waiting for her to enter.
she turned and ran down the street as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. her first thought was to go to her boyfriend, but she knew his parents didn't like her anyway and this would just give them more ammunition. she had no other close friends - her parents made sure of that. she worked part-time after school at a restaurant that would be closed, but there might be a night crew cleaning up and she could at least use the phone to call her boyfriend.
reaching the restaurant she knocked on the back door. the cleaning crew turned out to be an iranian man and his very blonde-haired-blue-eyed girlfriend. they were young and sympathetic and the girlfriend said she could go home with them after their shift. collapsing on a bench, she fell into a deep sleep.
awakened by someone shaking her, she found the couple were ready to leave. it was decided that she could go to the girlfriends' apartment while the girlfriend would go stay at his place. reaching her apartment, it was soon found to be small and though small touches here and there were designed to make it homey, it was too strange to be comforting. she was cold and couldn't seem to get warm. every sound in the building jarred her into an alert listening position, wondering what her parents were going to do now... expecting the police to come through the door at any minute. she had no idea where she was, only that she was in the same town.
falling into a restless sleep, she awoke to a gray day. nothing to do but pace the floor, she finally decided to wash her hair. some cheap fruity shampoo will forever make her remember this day.
no television, no phone, no books. she paces the small cell afraid to go outside, afraid to even look out the windows. the sense of panic won't go away.
mid-afternoon the man comes to the door. in broken english he explains that his girlfriend had to go to class but that they agreed to share his tv with her. she would have to come to his apartment, however. he would fix her something to eat and she could watch tv. bored and scared, she agreed.
he fixed her something spicy to eat that she had never eaten before. spicy food had never gone over good with her, but she was so hungry it made it edible. he had some game show going on the tv and the efficiency apartment was dominated by the king-sized bed. after they ate, he began rubbing her back. she asked him to stop. he began rubbing her leg... her thigh... she got off the bed, uncomfortable and feeling trapped. had he not saved her from a night on the street? hadn't he fed her? tears began to drip down her face. he told her not to cry... asked her if she would do things to him. asked her if she was a virgin. when she replied 'yes', he suggested there were other things she could do that would let her remain a virgin.
he took her back to the girlfriends' apartment before he went to work. in the middle of the night the phone rang - jerking her out of the stupor she'd been in since he'd left her. she didn't know if she should answer, but then decided maybe she should. it was the girlfriend. she began asking strange questions of her. had she seen him today? what did they do? did he try anything with her? what could she say? she was torn. if she tells the truth, the girlfriend will be jealous and hate her and will want to turn her in. if she lies, he gets away with it but the girlfriend won't be hurt and maybe she would be able to stay a little longer. she lies. the girlfriend asks again... are you sure? are you sure he didn't try anything? thinking back, she figures the girlfriend must know what a liar she is. she knows her boyfriend. she hangs up.
an hour later there is a knock on the door. she looks out the peephole. it is her father.
one night as she returned to her bedroom window it was locked. panic hit as a 10 lb. sledgehammer would - taking her breath away and sending her pulse racing out of control. unreasonable thoughts started. sneaking in the front door and saying she'd just been out walking. trying to sneak into her room and say she'd just been in the bathroom... the garage... on the porch. a bold faced lie as she was not to ever leave the house. with shaking hands she reached out for the front door knob as she sensed movement right on the other side. someone was just inside the door waiting for her to enter.
she turned and ran down the street as fast as her trembling legs could carry her. her first thought was to go to her boyfriend, but she knew his parents didn't like her anyway and this would just give them more ammunition. she had no other close friends - her parents made sure of that. she worked part-time after school at a restaurant that would be closed, but there might be a night crew cleaning up and she could at least use the phone to call her boyfriend.
reaching the restaurant she knocked on the back door. the cleaning crew turned out to be an iranian man and his very blonde-haired-blue-eyed girlfriend. they were young and sympathetic and the girlfriend said she could go home with them after their shift. collapsing on a bench, she fell into a deep sleep.
awakened by someone shaking her, she found the couple were ready to leave. it was decided that she could go to the girlfriends' apartment while the girlfriend would go stay at his place. reaching her apartment, it was soon found to be small and though small touches here and there were designed to make it homey, it was too strange to be comforting. she was cold and couldn't seem to get warm. every sound in the building jarred her into an alert listening position, wondering what her parents were going to do now... expecting the police to come through the door at any minute. she had no idea where she was, only that she was in the same town.
falling into a restless sleep, she awoke to a gray day. nothing to do but pace the floor, she finally decided to wash her hair. some cheap fruity shampoo will forever make her remember this day.
no television, no phone, no books. she paces the small cell afraid to go outside, afraid to even look out the windows. the sense of panic won't go away.
mid-afternoon the man comes to the door. in broken english he explains that his girlfriend had to go to class but that they agreed to share his tv with her. she would have to come to his apartment, however. he would fix her something to eat and she could watch tv. bored and scared, she agreed.
he fixed her something spicy to eat that she had never eaten before. spicy food had never gone over good with her, but she was so hungry it made it edible. he had some game show going on the tv and the efficiency apartment was dominated by the king-sized bed. after they ate, he began rubbing her back. she asked him to stop. he began rubbing her leg... her thigh... she got off the bed, uncomfortable and feeling trapped. had he not saved her from a night on the street? hadn't he fed her? tears began to drip down her face. he told her not to cry... asked her if she would do things to him. asked her if she was a virgin. when she replied 'yes', he suggested there were other things she could do that would let her remain a virgin.
he took her back to the girlfriends' apartment before he went to work. in the middle of the night the phone rang - jerking her out of the stupor she'd been in since he'd left her. she didn't know if she should answer, but then decided maybe she should. it was the girlfriend. she began asking strange questions of her. had she seen him today? what did they do? did he try anything with her? what could she say? she was torn. if she tells the truth, the girlfriend will be jealous and hate her and will want to turn her in. if she lies, he gets away with it but the girlfriend won't be hurt and maybe she would be able to stay a little longer. she lies. the girlfriend asks again... are you sure? are you sure he didn't try anything? thinking back, she figures the girlfriend must know what a liar she is. she knows her boyfriend. she hangs up.
an hour later there is a knock on the door. she looks out the peephole. it is her father.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
there was a time
there was a time when i was young and naive and believed the world was fair. i thought if you gave it all you had and treated everyone with kindness you would be in turn treated the same.
years later i would realize how fucked up i truly was.
when you find yourself living in an apartment in the upstairs of a house where the heat is oppressive to the point you leave the window open next to your bed and find yourself covered with snow, shivering uncontrollably in the middle of a december blizzard three days after your eighteenth birthday. within 48 hours you are found huddled in the same apartment in the back of a walk-in closet high on niquil by the fire department who have been called because you won't answer the door and your family and serious boyfriend who will one day become your ex-husband are afraid you are dead.
i wished i was.
i'm glad i'm not.
years later i would realize how fucked up i truly was.
when you find yourself living in an apartment in the upstairs of a house where the heat is oppressive to the point you leave the window open next to your bed and find yourself covered with snow, shivering uncontrollably in the middle of a december blizzard three days after your eighteenth birthday. within 48 hours you are found huddled in the same apartment in the back of a walk-in closet high on niquil by the fire department who have been called because you won't answer the door and your family and serious boyfriend who will one day become your ex-husband are afraid you are dead.
i wished i was.
i'm glad i'm not.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
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