The first few years when I celebrated my day of independence it was solemn, almost frightening at times. In later years I was nearly in party mode with excitement about how much more life I had left. It’s true, with each passing anniversary it’s significance impacts me differently, in a more profound way than words can explain.
This anniversary I was in the middle of a flair up which meant my skirt didn’t get finished and I didn’t feel like getting dress up. At one point during the day I needed to take a nap due to fatigue which is common with Lupus. I later got up, grabbed a cup of coffee and cleaned the house. I moved about the day doing regular, everyday life things but I did it with satisfaction. “Just because” it was my anniversary it didn’t mean the world was going to stop or that my responsibilities would disappear. As a matter of fact those responsibilities made the day even better because they’re part of the life I have now, the life separate from my abuser and her family. While caring for the aquarium isn’t something someone would do on a day of celebration it is a task one takes on during a real day with other real life happenings. Caring for the aquarium is something I enjoy doing as is doting on my furry creature family. It makes me happy to care for them so to do it on this day felt right, natural.
Continue reading ‘Ordinary Can Be Extraordinary’
The question has arisen: It’s been eighteen years, does it still feel the same as when you first started observing this day? Answer: No, it feels better each year.
So why do I observe February 2nd of each year? I observe it because I made it out of there. I lived through it and went on to work towards thriving. Too many survivors didn’t make it out alive or made it out with scars that left them without human compassion or the ability to connect to any living thing. I made it out with my heart which seemed impossible to do under the circumstances. Another reason I observe this day is that too many, way too survivors died without us knowing their name, without us knowing their struggles so I take a moment each February 2nd to honor them.
Each year that passes that I stay away from that family I say loud and clear, “It’s over. You can’t hurt me anymore.” Each year that passes I get stronger and stronger and the resolve is harder to break. February 2nd is a moment of pride because I managed something I was never prepared for. I managed something I was told I could never do but here I am, 18 years later living.
Continue reading ‘I’m doing this for me’
She’s five years old and twin sister to Amy Pink. Both of their names are Amy. I have no clue why. Here’s the thing, for some reason Amy Smiles keeps popping out unexpectedly. Last night she was out while talking to a friend. I can’t remember how long she said Amy was there. I just remember being totally exhausted after it. Then today in therapy she was out almost the entire session. This isn’t a regular occurrence so I was sort of concerned by it. I was concerned too because I was so far away and couldn’t get back. It was as if she was stuck forward.
After therapy I decided I didn’t want to cook so I drove to pick up a bite to eat. She came out behind the wheel. This isn’t a good thing. My little one’s are NEVER to come out in the car and they know that. Also, when this friend called it was Amy who picked up. She knows very well she’s not supposed to pick up the telephone, EVER. The only person who answers the phone is Joan. I don’t even answer it. It’s always Joan. It’s set up that way for a reason.
Continue reading ‘Amy Smiles’
It feels odd that I’m about to turn 38 years old. I think I expected to have a hard time this year because last year I was a tad bit depressed, but not so much this year. I don’t feel the dread I felt last year or shame for living. I don’t want to curse God for allowing me to survive nor am I overly grateful that he did. I guess I’m just saying at this point I don’t have the same feelings I did surrounding my birthday. I still don’t celebrate it (for religious reasons) but at this point I don’t loath this date or feel foolish for having the nerve to be alive.
One thing I find interesting as I approach 40 is that despite the age of my body we usually feel young at heart. I know my body itself feels old and tired but I think there’s a youthfulness to us connected to our alters. We only two alters inside over the age of thirty-five. The one that is out most (me, Joan of Arc) is and has always been 28 years old. Maureen and Robert are nineteen. Renea is nine years old. They spend a lot of time forward as do the twins who are 5 years old. With these changes I have an idea of what it’s like to be a teenage girl, a teenage boy, and a child. I know what it feels like when a 35 year old male is forward but I don’t know what it feels like to be a 38 year old woman.
Continue reading ‘Thirty-Eight In This Body’
Yesterday Indiana got 3.8 inches of rain. It rained all day long. There were downed trees, power lines, and flooding everywhere. The lightening was incredible, so much so that Fife Junior moved from the garage into the second bedroom upstairs. That means he’s now living inside the house full time. The space he’s sleeping in on the floor is only enough for him to lie on his back or stomach. He can’t roll over or move. The only thing he can do is sleep. He squirms to get in that little spot.
I talked to Dr. D today about how little sleep we’ve been getting and how having him here has changed our sleeping habits. Fife Junior is no threat to us physically but he is emotionally. Every conversation is about how much he hates gays. He started this crap the last time he lived here. He calls himself a homophobe, says he doesn’t care who knows it. I can’t even go there right now. He’s so offensive in his speech that Destiny stays forward to deal with him.
Continue reading ‘Lights Out’
The other day at the Disabled American Veteran’s discount store I realized Mousy wasn’t in my pocket. I freaked! I went around the store looking for him but I couldn’t find him. All these thoughts went through my head. What if someone tries to buy him? What if I have to take my bear from the arms of a toddler. I’ll do it!
I frantically went to the front of the store to tell my friend who is also a cashier there that I couldn’t find the Mouse. My frantic six year old said to me, “I want this motherfucker on lock down.” Not only was I stunned she said it I had to correct her language and explain to her that they wouldn’t announce a Code Adam for a teddy bear. Amber Alert’s don’t apply to plush.
I went up to my friend with eyes as big as saucers and tried to explain what I was looking for. I realized I was just babbling. I couldn’t get real words out of my mouth. I couldn’t get out a description of the bear or his red scarf. All I could say was “gone. he’s gone.” I was totally freaked out then a lady came up to me and told me she found him on the floor by the toy isle.
Continue reading ‘Teddy Bear Lost’
This is a follow up to the entry Mother’s of Inner Children. Other than that there’s no introduction paragraph.
I’ve tried to keep my word with my little ones. I’m able to keep it in most cases with other people but I use to routinely break promises to my inside kids. It took a bit before I stopped doing that. I mean heck, they’re part of me and I have little respect for me so why keep my word to someone I have little respect for right? I’ve tried and have been very good at keeping my word. Sometimes when I tell them something they’ll say to me, “Say it out loud.” They know if I say it out loud it’s final. It’s a promise and I’ll go through with it. They stay on me and remind me that they matter and count and that respect is not an option with them, it’s a right.
In recent times I’ve changed how I manage giving things away or tossing things out. Their stuff was always the first to go. I didn’t stop to consider that they’d want it or how they’d feel about losing their things. I simply acted but now I respect their personal belongings, their personal space and how they feel about their belongings and boundaries.
One of my little one’s doesn’t want me to post photos of one of her dolls because it’s hers and if everyone sees it then it makes it less hers. She wants this all to herself. Even if it makes no sense to me I don’t post photos of her stuff. I lose nothing by respecting her boundaries but I gain a whole lot.
Continue reading ‘Respect, Space and Boundaries’
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