Reconstruction

She,

In the dark,

Found light

Brighter than many ever see.

She,

Within herself,

Found lovliness,

Through the soul’s own mastery.

And now the world receives

From her dower:

The message of the strength

Of inner power.

Stories, I have told you many of them as of late. Today I would like to share one in particular that has made a colossal influence on how I live my life now. Not to say that the other recollections in my previous writings weren’t impacting, but this specific memoir holds detailed meaning to the here and now for me. It is what drives me to be who I am and do what I do on a daily basis.

Tapping my skinny fingers on the desk that lies before me, I scan around apprehensively trying to assess the other timid teenagers; my fellow prisoners. I was admitted into a rehab facility less than 72 hours prior, and my head is throbbing, my body aches, and my brain is sprinting at a million miles per minute trying to conjure a plan out of here. Shakes have set in and my body is twitching with desire, longing for what I cannot possess while I am locked up in this institution. The metallic taste, muscle spasms, pounding headaches, nausea, and hallucinations all flood through my entirety; taking over my being as any reminisces of the white creature trickle out of my system. Detox; an unpretentious process to some, to those that endure it…it can literally rip you into fragments from the inside out. Your body honestly feels like it is being shut down and the only way to restart it, is with a simple heat up of a spoon. Something you cannot partake in anymore, recovery-that’s what they call that one.

Upon entering into such a trivial tucked away village (yes, it was like a little village in which young adults occupy in order to get well) I didn’t have the correct mindset. But in all honesty, who did? You’re forced into a place against your will, destroyed from everything you knew before, and raped of your privileges and rights as a citizen, all to make you “better”; excuse me….HEALTHY. I was (still am) an extremely headstrong and stubborn person, it took more than sealed doors and shrinks to get me to break. I was immoveable; I wouldn’t and couldn’t give up just like that.

The therapist started by asking if anyone had any issues, complaints, or this one’s cute good news to share with the group. A few arms shot up and for the next hour we listened to sob story after sob story of these children go on about what their problems were. Meanwhile my illness as I refer to it was raging through my system and causing me to panic, and turn violent. I shouted obscenities and tore others down during their speeches, I kept rubbing my eyes thinking they were bleeding but really they were uncontrollable tears that just kept gushing out, I stood up and threw things, I hurled what little food had been force fed to me before hand, and I kept shaking. SO MUCH SHAKING. One thing that I’ll never get over is the tremors; they made my bones feel like they were gradually being broken one by one. It was probably the most unbearable pain I have ever felt physically, and yes that’s including the other actual broken bones sustained from my celebrated ex who threw me out of cars, through walls, and into furniture. I would give anything not to experience tremors again; unfortunately that’s just how withdrawals work. They come, and they go, whenever they please. I wrote this poem when I was in my first stages of rehab, the draining continued and I still felt like I was being murdered a slow, painful death.

 The number one rehab killer=withdrawals

Drain this sorrow and forget my past,

Drowning deeper...how long will this last?

With a blade that longs to feel,

Open a vein, make it real.

Feel the rush, encourage the drive

Stick me with needles,

Feel so alive.

Pulsating pleasure, divine high

With all this pain,

I am ready to die.

I was taken into rehab in hopes of rectifying my behavior and cleansing my body, riding myself of any more drugs no matter what kind they were. I was there for two and a half months; I played their games and acted like I had changed. The light bulb clicked after I was apprehended for my therapy outburst, I realized what I had to do to make my break. I needed them to believe I was getting better…healthy. I needed them to think that I was going to be the perfect girl my mom thought she brought home from the hospital back in 92. I had to do what I had always done to make things work, I had to cheat, steal, and LIE. Two months of brutal group therapy sessions, family therapy, individual therapy, physical therapy, therapy, therapy, therapy. I finally was released back into the real world, my old life. Addiction will rule your entire realm if you let it, it will take over everything that you do, and it will keep you from the healing process. I think I was addicted to my own self destruction. I couldn’t escape from my past, I couldn’t move on. I had to go back, I needed to go back. Too bad that ole mommy dear didn’t know, once you get the monkey off your back the circus still hasn’t left town yet.

I was cautious at first, didn’t want to leap right back into the swing of things, they would have noticed. I waited and about a week later I was back in the arms of the demons that inspired me before. I was sitting in the basement of the apartment I first partook in my dangerous road of substance abuse and holding a flame to an old bent spoon. Relapse; oh dear good sweet relapse. It was magnificent, it was everything. My whole body was in frenzy over the rush of having the white creature ascend through me, I was airborne again. I gave up all of the things I was working on, to go flying for just one more night. Because that’s all that it took, that night and the moment I came home they all knew. By 8 AM the next morning I was hunched over in a rigid chair in the office to my rehab with my suitcases beside me. They all knew, what’s worse is I didn’t fool anyone but myself.

I lasted a week and half and I was back to square one, only this time they were going to be watching me a lot more carefully and this time withdrawals weren’t just going to be physical or mental, they were going to be emotional. I had just disappointed every single person who had tried to help me the first time. I was alone and lost by myself in an empty room without any shoes, rights, or comfort; all I had to console myself was my thoughts and sobriety. In the words of fight club, It’s only after we have lost everything are we free to do anything. I think I always wanted to be healthy even from the beginning of the first time, I just didn’t know how to go about it and how to accept help. I didn’t love myself enough to get better, which is sort of ridiculous considering how much that line is used during therapy sessions. You HAVE to love yourself to become a better person, I think you don’t need love from just yourself but you need to experience love throughout every aspect of your life. I needed it from everyone, everything, and especially myself.

My personal road to recovery went as follows:

Realizing that I was worth it.

Experiencing true happiness.

Caring about myself.

Overcoming my demons.

Validating my worth.

Eating without regret.

Relapse-it’s going to happen, it’s inevitable and that’s okay.

Yearning to live.

I had to fight like hell and fighting like hell made me who I am today. I went through a vast amount of scuffles through my life, but getting addicted to drugs and becoming sober has made me a greater human being. As insane as that may sound to some, I honest to god believe that. I believe that the most beautiful people are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These people have an appreciation, sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen. Don’t get me wrong, overcoming addiction was extremely difficult; I was challenged in many ways but in the words of the famous Socrates: “The secret to change is to focus all of your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new.” That’s what I did; I reconstructed a whole new life from the ashes of my old one.

Whilst rebuilding, I found out so much about myself. I thought that my dependency was the thing that was always putting me back together whenever I fell apart so I clung to it until I realized that it was what was breaking me to begin with. Through sobriety I came to the realization that I had injured and devastated so many relationships with my family, friends, everyone. I couldn’t just reestablish myself, I had to restore with every single person I have ever and will ever meet. After discharge from rehab ten months later, I was a new person being released this time. I decided to live through consideration, understanding, and most of all true happiness. I was high on life this time.

I just feel like I need to save everyone to redeem myself. I need to be the best that I can be, in every aspect. I want to have friends everywhere, I want to be there when you need me, and I want to show you what love and being happy means. I think that everyone needs to experience that; everyone needs a little bit of that in their lives from someone else. When you look at a person, any person, remember that everyone has a story. Everyone has gone through something that has changed them. This changed me; I literally transformed who and what I was as a total being and made what I am today.  I am by no means perfect, I promise you that, but I really strive to be a genuinely compassionate person.  As overused as it may be, everyone deserves to feel love in some shape or form. The world just needs a little bit more love in it. (Call me silly, but it’s absolutely the truth).

There are many individuals out there struggling, just trying to survive. I want to save them all. We think that we want to disappear, but all we really want is to be found. I want to be the savior to everyone, I like being there for others. I like to help in any way possible, through any adversity that my friends and or family may be dealing with. This is who I am today, and this is why. I am trying to make better on my new life, in order for me to forgive myself of my old one I took on this silent vow inside of me. I don’t want any of my loved ones to have to go through what I did; it’s not a road anyone should have to take nor should they travel it alone.

I have a lot of various people ask me why I let others walk all over me, or why I keep offering help to those who ‘don’t deserve it’ because one day they are going to be a magnificent person out there in this grand world. I want to help them get there, because I am indebted for those who assisted me when I was at my lowest point. If it wasn’t for my family and friends who never gave up on me, I probably wouldn’t be here today. I make it my personal goal to try and reach out to at least five people a day and try to make their lives better in some way. I like who I am now, and I like what I do. I am actually ecstatic and optimistic that I am making a positive influence on this earth. I am washing myself of who I was and I am hoping that I am doing the same for another lost soul out there.

Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary destiny. –C.S. Lewis

Prisoner

“Many abused children cling to the hope that growing up will bring escape and freedom. 

But the personality formed in the environment of coercive control is not well adapted to adult life. The survivor is left with fundamental problems in basic trust, autonomy, and initiative. She approaches the task of early adulthood――establishing independence and intimacy――burdened by major impairments in self-care, in cognition and in memory, in identity, and in the capacity to form stable relationships. 

She is still a prisoner of her childhood; attempting to create a new life, she reencounters the trauma.” 
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery

Tucked away gently in a small cubby with my braided hair, petite figure, and a self-protective attitude, I am hidden from any harm; or so my seven year old mind is led to believe anyways.  Occupying a place full of destruction and damaging people who prey on young outgoing and trusting children, you become a defensive person always looking for ways to protect yourself after one too many encounters of painful events taking place. I find solace in hiding from the chaos of children that play, cluttering the daycare that we all attend. A constant game of hide n seek, only I hope to never be found. Suddenly, the curtain on the cubby is ripped back and squatting down beside me is a group of older roughed up boys staring at me with fierce eyes and vulgar expressions. They grab my feeble arms and yank me from my place of consolation and encircle me with their larger bodies. I am surrounded by pre-teen young men who are starved for attention and damaged by god knows what that goes on in their homes. Frightened and alone, I let them take turns at teasing me and tormenting me with their ravenous hands. One of them retrieves a pocket knife from his jeans and holds it up to my delicate and exposed throat asking me if I want to taste blood. (As if anyone would even say yes to this question). I don’t utter a single word I just stand frozen, immobilized while he runs the blade across my skin gently. A young woman yells from another room signaling that lunch is ready and we are to be seated in our assigned seats immediately. The boys release their hold on me and lunge towards the lunch area to begin eating. I grudgingly follow, taking my time along the way to collect myself. Upon entering the other room I notice the other children are already feasting upon their plates laid out, I find my chair and plop myself down. Displayed in front of me there is canned beans and microwaved frozen chicken nuggets, talk about gourmet meal. I find my appetite has escaped me completely and therefore I just sit and stare at my meal. My older brother is shoveling his food into his mouth down the table and looks up only for a moment to lock eyes with mine, I motion for the food in front of me and he nods. I then push my plate down towards him and he scoops up the nuggets and beans in a quick gulp, then proceeding to shove the plate back. I stand from my chair and display my empty plate for the young woman to see that I have finished and she points towards the trash can telling me to clean up my mess. I do as directed and then proceed to ‘go play’ outside as per her orders.

I enter the playground and without any hesitation I head for the swings, they are without a doubt my favorite. After a few minutes or so I am joined by the rest of the children who are cluttering the playground. When I spot the younger woman and another young man approach me from the daycare center, I tense up.

“Hey little one, why don’t you come inside with us? I have something REALLY cool to show you.” She speaks with kindness and no sense of dishonesty. Boy, was I naïve little girl.

I follow her and the young man into the back room of the daycare, the area that the children are not allowed to venture into, also the area that the attendants spend most of their time occupying. They usually come back with glazed eyes and seem really distant, displaced from everything. They aren’t around much which is usually why the older kids tend to get their way with the younger ones. Story of my life it seems. Inside I find tipped over chairs and furniture and a disheveled mess of garbage and other items strewn around the room. There are needles and tiny bags of substances that I can’t place as to what they may be tossed on the table towards the wall, the other attendants are inside propped throughout the space, and apparently waiting on us to arrive. The woman closes the door and turns towards me, standing there in the middle of the room. I am the center of attention, the main act of today’s show. I look around shyly, confused as to why I was brought here. The woman reaches out to me and asks me to take off my clothes.

“You know when you take baths with mommy and daddy and they have you take all of your clothes off? Well just pretend you’re going to take a bath and go ahead and take your clothes off. It’s okay, really.”

Not wanting to disappoint my leaders whom I see daily after school and spend almost all of my free time with while my parents are away, I begin removing my clothing from my small body. Once completely naked they take turns taking photos of me cooing me with sayings like “you’re so pretty”, “you are like a movie star” and “this makes us very happy, you want us to be happy don’t you?”

After our mini photo shoot my body was used as a slave to the men and women who wanted to touch, poke, prod, and defile for the next hour. I was put in different positions I did not understand, and forced into sexual favors I knew nothing about. After it was all said and done they decided it was time to ask me a few questions before I leave.

“These are really fun games huh? You can only keep playing if you just don’t tell anyone about them. Because people will get jealous and want to play the games too, so make sure you never tell anyone. You’re the only special one and that’s why you get to have an extra snack at snack time today and you can also pick the book during story time. Promise you won’t tell our secret?”

“You pinky promise you won’t tell your parents either, they don’t need to know, okay?”

“You don’t’ want to upset us do you?”

All of these questions caused me to wonder whether or not it was the right thing to do, even my seven year old brain knew it didn’t feel accurate, but I didn’t want to make them angry nor did I want to make the other kids jealous. They already harassed me and treated me poorly; I couldn’t give them more of a reason to do so. I agreed and made a pinky promise to the attendants and bowed out of the adult room.

Come snack time, I got an extra cookie and I also picked out the book. The giving tree- My favorite.

Just keep giving, give it all way.

 Just keep giving, let them take it away.

 Just keep giving them everything they want, because eventually you won’t have anything left to give and they just might give up on you.

 Give, give, give, and they can keep up the take, take, take.

One day you can escape just go ahead and fake.

Let me explain, this did not start on this particular day. My nightmare began years prior to this. Ever since I was five years old I have been in therapy, ever since I was two years old I have been sexually abused and used by countless different older humans, ever since then I have been emotionally and mentally fucked up. Although I can’t put my finger on a lot of events that took place before I reached the age of five, I know that they did happen. I know because of stories that are told to me by others, I know because sometimes I have night terrors that wake me up in the night from what I assume is past recollections, and I know because sometimes I will hear something about young children being mistreated and it stirs a flashback in my mind that brings reality to my heart. They say that mental anguish always results from the avoidance of legitimate suffering. For the longest time I couldn’t fathom as to why I was so petrified of walk-in closets, they simply just frightened me; I couldn’t be inside one alone without having some form of panic attack rise within. It was frustrating and honestly sort of embarrassing. One day I woke from a dream where I was inside a walk-in closet tied up and shaking uncontrollably, I was bound by my wrists, ankles, and tape was covering my mouth. I later went to identify this as the time when our babysitter prior to daycare had locked us in there like that whenever we were “naughty”. I believe I was only three at the time. These sorts of memoirs come spilling out of me at night usually and I start to recall what abysmal things that took place years and years ago. Wanna hear more? I am full of them. Perhaps, another day I can start to unravel those threads of discomfort.

Back to the whole daycare fiasco, my two brothers and I went there every single day after school. We were picked up in a minivan and driven to the location a few blocks from our house. The attendants were all college age minus the woman who owned the institution was much older, a very daunting and frigid looking woman who always smelled like smoke and coffee. We stayed there until roughly six in the evening when our father would come and pick us up after work and take us home. My mother worked graveyards and slept during the day, so as not to disturb her and her rest we would go to daycare. On the weekends we were there from seven in the morning until the same time at night when either our mother or our father would arrive. All can I decently say to put this in the finest terms was it was like hell on earth. It was by far the vilest and most dismal time in my life, and as you all know I have been addicted to drugs and beaten by men who have hospitalized me. This tops all of that, by a long shot.

 I can recollect the first grade on Valentine’s Day walking out of my classroom with my Valentine’s box full of chocolates and sweets overfilling my little arms towards my brother’s big kid class, to meet him before we embarked to the minivan that awaited us outside. Upon approaching him with his Valentine collection I proposed that we skip going to daycare and walking home instead to hide in the basement while mom slept. I begged him to not go to the dreadful place and just be really quiet when we got home so as not to wake her. He agreed and together we held hands and left the building out the back way to head home. We snuck inside and kept as silent as we could downstairs in the basement while we picked at our treats and whispered about our days. My mother being the light sleeper that she is must have heard a few giggles that escaped out of our mouths and woke up. When she found us she was infuriated, she screamed and stormed off to get dressed in order to deliver us to daycare. I literally got down on my knees and pleaded for her not to, I wept so hard I thought I might burst, and I screamed for her to let us stay with her. She did not budge, she never did, ever. I cannot even begin to count how many times I have come home bruised, bleeding, scratched, and crying and she still did nothing. She didn’t even bat an eye lash. N O T H I N G.

I remember all of this, every little detail of that day in particular. Do you know why? Because it was Valentine’s Day, the day you tell someone you love them including your family. I did not love my mom that day. In fact, I started to really resent her from then on.

It’s appalling to think that I could hate my mother, the woman that gave me life; but when I rationalized it back then….what life did she really give me? Because that shit wasn’t even worth living if you ask me. I did not wish to be ‘gifted’ with life; I wished to be given a family and a home where they protected each other, a place where I didn’t have to live in fear and discomfort. Not a perfect little doll house full of statues that felt no emotion and did nothing in ways of showing us sentiment. That’s all that I wanted growing up, to feel okay with myself and not question every little detail of my existence. I can even recall putting down on one of my Christmas wish lists to Santa, “Having daycare burn to the ground.” I was fucking nine years old. I was wishing arson on what is supposed to be my ‘caregivers’ building’ instead of asking for a damn pony. Does this flash red lights to anyone else? Because I’ll be god damned if my children start writing ridiculous things like that down and I don’t take notice.

I was always labeled as this weird kid, very distraught and out of place. I was apparently ‘crazy’ and a pathological liar (that’s my mom’s words….nice right?), and disturbed….I was disturbed.

Are you kidding me???? Am I taking crazy pills? This is what people actually said about me, including my own mother! Out of all that I have been dragged through, this destroyed me. I still, to this day, have an immense issue with my relationship with my mother. Rest assured, she probably won’t read this, and if she does…..Good. She needs to. I mean yeah, we communicate, and we say I love you sometimes, (I love you is a new thing for us, sort of a huge improvement as well) and we do things for each other but nothing and I mean nothing will ever forgive and take back the years of antagonism, fury, and sting that has been built up and bottled. I have changed and reshaped myself in a lot of departments in my life, I try to be a brilliant person to everyone I meet warranted or not, but this is my vice.  My one thing that never seems to be unchanging, I can’t get over it and I am not sure if I ever will in all honesty.

“A statue stands in a shaded place
An angel girl with an upturned face
A name is written on a polished rock
A broken heart that the world forgot”

These problems went unnoticed by my parents for years; I was in that daycare along with my faithful brother (he’s like my lifeline) up until they closed it down. Why did they close it down? It was under investigation for a while, why anyone would let their children still attend a place that is under heavy investigation is beyond me…but anyways, it was shut down for drum roll please……

#1 Child molestation

#2 Narcotic trafficking

#3 Steroid and social drug use

#4 Child pornography

#5 Distributing alcohol to minors

#6 Condemned for termites, cockroaches, and mice

#7 Outdated building permits

#8 Uninsured and no medical equipment or personal available in the need of emergency

#9 Cleanliness and bacteria outbreak

Yes, all nine of those things caused the business to go under and the attendants as well as the eerie owner to be arrested and taken into custody. The building was later on torn down and rebuilt; unfortunately I can’t say the same for myself. My parents chose the option of never talking about it or even just bringing it up when it happened. They just went back to finding us babysitters instead, but of course I was still attending counseling as always for my ‘personal issues and mental breakdowns’ as they called them. Just a crazy girl in need a of a good talking to, but god forbid I mention the real issues at hand, my mother would fire that therapist so quick and find me a new one. We don’t talk about that kind of stuff, no need to fill a doctor with all of my lies….right ma?

Oh that scrape? She probably got it during recess

.

Those bruises? She likes to play rough, I mean, she has brothers ya know?

Why is she bleeding from her ass? She probably ate something bad and has diarrhea.

Yep, I am just a really poor eater who plays super rough and goes hard at recess. What can I say?

Now, before this turns into an attack on my parents (Whom I promise I do love and care about very very much) I would like to address the fact that eventually some of these matters subsided and I was able to get over them. It took immense amount of therapy from doctors, my rehab facility, my friends, other family members, and me as well as time. The saying time heals everything. You heal things yourself, through your own means and methods. Sometimes it just takes a little while to put those methods into action for some people. I don’t hate my parents nor do I blame them for everything that happened to me during that time, however yes, I do hold a little bit of bitterness inside; I could never bring myself to truly hate them. They made a mistake; it just sucked because I was affected by it so negatively. We all deal with things differently, for them they can’t bear to speak of the issue or to address it…but whatever. I addressed it myself and came to terms with it. I feel as though I am a stronger, wiser, and smarter person from it. I can now take the right steps in preserving my own children and keeping them away from some of the world’s tribulations that skulk in some of the places you would least expect.

I am a harsh person on the outside when it comes to children, I show discipline and yell at them when need be, because kids do need that. However, on the inside I just want to love every child and show them the hero/mentor that they deserve. My heart is full of nothing but comfort and love for kids of the world, sometimes I dream of owning an orphanage or daycare myself so that I can restore faith in those places and bring hope to children all over that there is decent human beings out there despite all of the evil you hear and see through the news. I even wish that I could become a supporter to those who have been affected by the same trials as me. Every child deserves to keep their innocence, to be loved in every single way, the RIGHT way. It blows my mind that today, sexual abuse, child pornography, minors addicted to alcohol, and physical abuse is still a vast concern in society. It disgusts me that there is still people who continually inflict this sort of punishment on others especially our youth. Nobody deserves to be treated that way particularly our little ones.

I am pleased to say that though I have endured some trials that I wouldn’t even wish upon my worst enemy, I am a resilient, independent, and full of life person. I look forward to continuing on this path for the rest of my life, surrounding myself with the correct people who build me up and help me whenever I am falling down. Because yes, I still trip from time to time and occasionally I stumble pretty deep. However I  keep my will/drive from ever faltering. I can’t wait until one day I have a family of my own where I can show them (especially my children) unconditional and faithful love throughout every aspect. Let it also be known, if I ever catch anyone and I mean anyone messing with my family I will ruin them.

There are only two lasting bequests we can give our children, one is roots, and the other, wings.

Life after Death

My road to recovery

Twelve steps, feels like I have 12 million more.

It’s an unhealable wound, a constant open sore.

100mph to 0 in less than a day and my body is only getting frailer,

I really don’t think I can stay.

Heavy footsteps, faint voices, shining lights, pale faces.

Giant towers of depression gloom over me,

Keep looking up, that’s all that I see.

Frantic expressions, wide eyes, every gasp is full of lies.

Deep breath, in and out, over and under, let’s try to work this out.

Fading fast, don’t know if I will last

When is this feeling going to pass?

One more paddle hits my chest; maybe this is what’s best.

A black blanket, it’s dark in here, that’s all that I can tell

Nothing left inside of me, just an empty hollow shell.

Floating again, I’m wide awake; I can see the faces clearer, the ones I can’t shake.

Taking in my surroundings, nothing seems just right

Everyone is staring at me, and I can’t comprehend their fright.

Shooting pains, confused by my sight, nothing is the same as it was earlier in the night.

Cheating death, and escaping my fate, perhaps next time they will be a little too late.

We are all trying to stop the clock, halt time, and keep us from dying. Keep us from slipping away, from everyone, everything, all of it. We are trying to prolong the inevitable, steal a few more moments here in the now. Why? What’s so dazzling about life? Let me just tell you, seven years ago I couldn’t quite fathom why becoming extinct was such a debauched thing. At one point, I actually hungered after being able to feel something, anything, and death was what I was craving, because I wanted to know the feeling of dying, falling off this planet and awakening some sort of sensation out of me.  You’re probably questioning, what the hell is wrong with you? I have asked myself that question for years about numerous different things.

What IS wrong with me?

Why did I feel this way?

I am lying in a hospital bed eyes wide open but no life dances inside of them. They are blank, stare less, no one is present inside. The doctors have two paddles they are vigorously propelling onto my bare chest, and the room is animated with swift movements by every hospital personal present. My carcass lies rigid, no drive besides the surge of electricity as they attempt to restart my heart.  30 seconds of forceful movements and efforts towards bringing me back to life, I finally come to and the beeping on the monitor lights up with the lines of life. Everyone breaths a heavy sigh, and I glance around with deep confusion and fresh breathes of a new me. I am reborn, and I can feel the stiff glowers of those around me with mistrust and some (belonging to my family) of relief. Pain, this time it’s not just physical, it’s everywhere in everything that I am. 

P a i n.

Let’s clear things up a bit; first of all, overdosing was never part of my great master plan. Not that I am even sure I had a plan. Unfortunately it just happened, I miscalculated one evening and before I knew it someone (just take a wild guess who, he controlled my entire being) had dropped my almost dead and gone figure upon the footsteps of the emergency room in downtown and drove off. Perhaps to mitigate getting into trouble, but I think that it’s because he honestly did not care enough to walk me the extra few steps inside and was only thinking of his selfish high. I sure knew how to pick a winner didn’t I?

Anyways, Yes I did in fact by the books ‘die’ around 11 PM that night, and within 30 seconds I was back to inhabiting this planet. So, let’s explore this shall we? I died, and I came back to life. That was it. I didn’t have some epiphany or outer body experience, nothing. There was darkness, and then there wasn’t. That was all that my life was worth apparently, not a god damn thing. It’s funny because I hear and see all these different stories of experiences while being gone and then they come back enlightened and rejuvenated. I did not in any way go through that and I am here to tell you with a heavy heart it gave me the exact opposite feelings. I wished they hadn’t of saved me, and I wished I would have just eased out of this place right then and there. Because dying is easy, living is what was tough.

         Upon leaving here where do you go? What happens to you? Do you disappear?

Heaven. Hell. Who is to say what really exists? I lost my faith a long time ago; I think I might have even lost it when I was too young to understand what it actually was. I guess you have a string of rotten events take place in your lifespan you begin to become numb to religion or the idea that anything could get restored, even the afterlife. As I recovered slightly the rest of the night I thought of heaven and hell, and I thought of my soul being taken to some other place had I not returned. I still to this day am unsure as to what would have happened to me, nor do I know what will become of me now if I were to take a wrong turn and leave again. Heaven, it seems like a nice delusion to play into but then so does Hell. I think people just need something to hold onto to keep them from being so petrified of dying; I think people need the justification for being who they are.  

But that is very pessimistic of me isn’t it? Perhaps so, but I think that a lot of people do use religion and faith for those reasons whether they realize it or not. I like the idea of religion, and I like the idea of being a better person because of said religion. However, I am not one for organized faith. But hey, that’s just me.  When I look back on some of these memories and especially this one in particular I really question what I stand for and what I actually believe in. I would like to share with you today some of my views and values that keep me going through this wild life that I have been living almost 23 years now. I noticed as I was contemplating some of these things, my perspective on life itself sort of changed. 

The first thing I believe in is second chances. If you don’t already know this, I have been clean from Meth for seven years now. (It feels so good to say that finally.) How did I get here? Definitely a lot of second chances were dealt out to me, sometimes even third chances, fourth, fifth, etc. It was not an easy road to recovery and it took many endeavors to get clean and start fresh with different situations. I am glad that I was afforded more opportunities than one. You need to start giving people more room to rebuild and show you that they can be better. I truly and one hundred percent believe that. If you live by the standard “fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me” you’re wrong. I don’t follow that rule, because sometimes it takes a few ‘fooling arounds’ to get it right. Nobody is perfect and if you judge someone else’s progress off your success in that subject you are only putting down a potentially outstanding citizen one day. You may have gotten something on the first try, but for others it could take a few more. I am a perfect example of that sort of walking disaster, everyone deserves to be built up even if they are the reason they were tore down in the first place.

The second thing is, judging others. I could put down some cliché Bob Marley quote like “who are you to judge the life I live” some garbage like that, or I could just simply state this; Remember that time you were going through a really horrible situation and everyone hung your dirty laundry out to dry for you and embarrassed you? Or remember when you were struggling so bad that you had to ask for help and people dismissed you and made you feel insignificant? Do you remember ever hearing people talk about you when you’re already down on your knees praying for another life? It didn’t feel that great did it? So stop doing it to other people. As over used as it is, treat people they way you want to be treated. Stop talking shit and help them. If you see someone who is a total mess, be the bigger person and don’t TALK about it, DO something about it. When did we lose our sense of community over these years? When did our neighbors become someone to gossip about instead of reaching out to? Be the bigger person, and don’t be ass holes. Help someone out, because I wish and I mean wished with all of my might that someone, anyone would have offered me some support instead of labeling me as this dirty drug addict with a million psychotic problems and talking about me negatively which in turn sent me on a spiral downwards.

Show compassion, in everything that you do. Love everyone, love everything, love life, every damn thing you see or come across. Love it. You never know who is deprived of love or is starving for some sort of consideration to be shown to them, warranted or not. Out of all of the awful things I went through, I took away from it that you need to be caring to all people especially those with wounded spirits. You’d think I would be so broken and torn down after everything and very negative towards things in general…not quite all the way. I actually have a pretty positive mindset. I went through an immense amount of struggles and I think that out of all of it I owe the world some form of decent person who tries to do well in all things. I made a lot of mistakes and did some harm to those around me, so I strive to show everyone this kind, caring, and excellent human being in hopes of rectifying what and who I was. How's that for rebirth? (It only took me years to figure it out)

These are a few of the principles I try to live by. I am by no means in any way shape or form where I need to be in life as excelling towards this brilliant person I want to be. However, I do try my hardest to outshine in all aspects that I have noted for you. I still have a tough time trying to decide if I believe in heaven or hell or any religion for that matter, but like I said, I enjoy the idea of it and I think one day I just might be able to wrap my mind around something. As for now, I am just living in the here and now and pushing towards being an outstanding being in society today. I stumbled through my childhood with little hope, but honestly I am really starting to look up towards the future. I am depressed some days, and others I am thrilled at the adventures I am thrown. I think I am going to make it though, just a couple of steps at a time.

So this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.

Who are you really?

you are not a name or a height or a weight

or a gender

you are not an age

and you are not where you are from

you are your favorite books

and the songs stuck in your head

you are your thoughts

and what you eat for breakfast

on saturday mornings

you are a thousand things

but everyone chooses

to see the million things

you are not

you are not 

where you are from

you are

where you are going.

Reawakening old Scars

Long sleeve shirt, tattered jeans and a back pack swung over my shoulder I embark out into the chilled summer darkness through a cracked basement window. The entire house is hushed, lifeless to the night as the tenants are soundly snoozing with the dim whisper of snoring coming from the top floor. I leave the window with a slight slit and brace the screen up against it for looks and deceiving the eye of anyone who might pass by it. As I hop the four foot chain link fence and head towards the blue sedan parked across the street with its lights turned off and a trail of smoke flowing out of the openings, I feel a flash of exhilaration smash against my body. A man emerges from the vehicle and silently gestures for me to slide in, after doing so he then shoves himself into the seat next to me and squishes my figure against the jam packed backseat overfilled with strangers. I am greeted instantly by my boyfriend behind the wheel; well, the man I assume is my boyfriend considering he fucks me when he wants to, he shoots me up with the white creature and forces me into any sort of substance he can get his hands on, and he doesn’t let anyone else touch me or look at me for that matter. If they do, he takes it out on my tiny body with hits that could knock down The Rock himself. He is not the most rational person, but he is all that I have in my life. I crave his attention, I long for the words that drip out of his luscious smoke stained mouth, and most importantly I yearn for the delusion of being needed by him. He supplies the drugs as long I go out scavenging ways and money to get them and I put out for his needs, fulfilling all of his requests. My master, my love, my everything.

“Hey you, ya ready to go flying?” Josh says as he puffs on the cigarette and offers a devious smile through the rearview mirror. I glance around nervously at the other occupants of the car all gazing off expressionlessly into the black sky, eyes deterred away from me entirely, intentionally. I nod and offer a cautious smile towards Josh; without any words to say, being the obedient slave that I am to him. He accepts my wordless answer and jingles the keys in his hands. The car stirs to life as he cranks the ignition and pulls off down the street away from home.  “Let’s rock n roll boys.” And with that, we are off into the dark night.

We come to a halt outside a shady convenience store downtown crawling with homeless people and beggars of the strip. Josh turns to me and looks at my body from head to toe, scanning my entirety.

“You ready to get some goodies, so we can play?” His eyes burn into mine with intensity, he grabs my knee with his masculine hands, gripping tightly with possession. The entire car is quiet as he awaits my answer, his hand still gripping my skinny leg. “Yes of course, what do I have to do this time?” I reply, with eagerness and longing to get a taste of the white demon as it flies through my veins.

“The boys are gonna go break that truck open and you’re going to be the runner. You have to grab everything you can and rush back here. You know the deal; it’s the same shit every day. Keep your head straight and you will be rewarded. Don’t fuck this up….or you WILL be punished.” He lets out a deep sigh and withdraws his hand from me. I squirm at his removal and long for his touch back.

“Okay….I am ready.” I sound confident and controlled as I prepare to thrust myself from the sedan and towards the truck. The boys are already in position working on the lock while I am patiently waiting with Josh. He turns to me and grabs my head of hair forcing me towards his face; I cringe a little at the pain but follow his lead. He pushes his lips onto mine and then breathes words into my mouth.

“Do NOT fuck this up.” I try to respond with encouragement but he is holding my head with his constricted hold and he starts to say something else. “You are mine, only mine. Don’t make me unhappy or else….” Just then we hear the call of one of the strange men we arrived with and he drives my body towards the door screaming for me to get out and go. My legs feel like jelly but I power myself to sprint towards the truck where they are standing with the door wide open. They jog back to the sedan where Josh is sitting observing me as I climb into the truck and search for any valuables. I pick through every single pocket, compartment, and seat to find whatever I can. I know I can’t come up empty handed because who knows what part of my body will be corrupted with the hateful blows of Josh when he is angry and disappointed in me. Under the passenger seat I find a laptop and a couple of used DVD’s, I heave them into my back pack and explore the rest of the interior. I find the jack pot in the glove box where there is cold hard cash stashed, swiping it and tucking it into my jean pocket, I quickly grab small knick knacks from the dash and hastily run back to Josh to show off my findings. I climb into the Sedan and hand over the backpack to the front and slither into the back seat without saying a thing. He speeds off and hits the highway towards his trailer. When safely out of the city and descending towards his humble abode he has the guy sitting in front scan through my backpack to see what I came up with. When all is said and done and the backpack is empty he looks back at me asking why I did such an appalling job at getting decent loot. It’s not enough, and Josh is less than thrilled. I shrug and as I am about to pull out the forgotten money from my back pocket he turns off the freeway and orders for his friends occupying the backseat with me to open the door, they reluctantly do so and just as I start to process what is happening he commands them in a fuming tone to ‘Push the stupid bitch out’. The man sitting next to me mouths sorry as I scan around with hurt eyes and then chucks my petite carcass out of the moving vehicle and onto the coarse asphalt. My torso absorbs most of the blow, but my head bounces as I slide across the jagged black top. I can sense my skin being shredded off me as I develop road rash up and down my spine and limbs.  I am speechless and writhing in throbbing pain when I squint to see headlights whipping back toward me. I try to push myself up off the ground and out of the way but I can’t move, motionless and aching raging through my every limb and body part I lay in a heap in the middle of the road. The car slams on its brakes and out steps the driver with high beams shining into my weak eyes. Josh picks up my bloody, fragile, and damaged body and places me into the car, this time in the front seat right up against him. His eyes lock onto the cash that is still clinging to my jeans and he swipes it from me before I can even mutter a sentence. He then strikes my face with the back of his palm cursing me for withholding. I let out a slight whine of discomfort and he immediately grasps my head still dripping with crimson fluid into his hands; “I told you not to fuck this up.”

We finally arrive at his hole in the wall of a home, by this point my body is screaming as I attempt to act like I am fine. My ribs feel like they have splintered inside of me, my breath is superficial, my head is hammering, and my skin is still leaking blood, seeping my clothes with its oozing.  At this point I am begging for a taste of the creature to relieve me of all of the internal and external agony that is sweeping over me. Josh retires to his room momentarily and returns with all of the usual supplies for our devious habits.

“Since you scored some cash, I’ll still take you flying. Even though you are backstabbing bitch for not offering it up right away. But, you received your punishment and now baby’s gonna take away your pain. You want to go flying don’t you?” He spits at me, dangling a small white baggy in my face as I sit propped up against the wall for support. I nod impatiently with pleading eyes as he taunts me with its beauty. He squats next to me and I hold out my still bloody arm towards him, he slides my sleeve up my arm exposing past track marks from other “flying” experiences. I haven’t had my fix in over eight hours so my skin is crawling with unsteady shakes. He tightens the belt around my bicep and drives the needle into my clammy stained skin. I let out a profound euphoric moan and my structure relaxes. He removes the belt and starts to repeat the process on himself.

All of my symptoms dissolve away and I feel the room open up around me. I am climbing high above now, ignorant to the world around me. The creature is dancing through my bloodstream and my body is electrified at her presence. My attention coasts away from existence and I am off into my own realm now. Josh slips into his own oblivion beside me, giving himself into the pleasure of the creature as she too devours his troubled cranium.

 I’m safe, up high, nothing can get me.

Josh pulls me into his arms and caresses my wounds sustained, observing every single cut and marking with his fingertips lightly. “Oh baby, this is no good. I don’t like when you’re hurt. You need to listen better.” He whispers into my hair. The strangers we arrived with are off in various parts of the apartment lost into their own highs. Josh scoops me up and carries me to his bedroom where he proceeds to undress my tarnished clothing and drape my now nude and exposed body across the bed. He starts by kissing all of my wounds, my hero coming to my rescue. He then powerfully thrusts himself inside of me and begins his next rampage of discipline while I lay numb to his hateful crime. He eventually finishes and orders me to clean myself up in the bathroom while I am stumbling to hold upright. Upon doing so, he takes me into his arms once more and holds me close all the while whispering everything I need to hear to make it all alright again. And as always, it is….it’s alright….everything is O K A Y.

The sun crawls through the satin curtains dancing little rays of blond wash over my pale unrisen face as I come to from a bottomless coma. I peek out under my dense eyelids as I take in the surroundings of my frail and sprawled out body. My head lifts only a little from a vomit and crimson saturated pillow and I immediately feel nauseous. As I hoist myself up off the soiled bed which reeks of the nights prior endeavor’s and use my shaky hands to steady my spins, I squint around my disastrous bedroom. The floor is submerged in various pieces of clothing, my dresser drawers open with pools of objects spilling out of them, and my window is still faintly exposed from where I must have snuck back in early this morning. I rub my eyes and slap my cheeks with my hands as I try to free myself of the daze I seem to be stuck in. Again, withdrawals are setting in and my body can’t seem to operate, I have a gut pitted need for a quick fix. A faint voice comes calling from another room in the house, “Time to get your ass in gear, you’re going to be late for school!” I recognize it as my mother’s charming early-morning banter. I rise to my feet and maybe a little soon; I feel the wave of nausea really kick in as I wobble to and fro on my heels, struggling to stay upright. Using one of my bed posts to stable myself, I shrug off the feeling and start grabbing pieces of clothing from off my bedroom floor. I throw on something quick and casual but enough to disguise the injuries that still ache all over my skin and head for the bathroom to look myself over. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I read 7:00, which meant that I only sleep for an hour. That’s about the average time these days with the white creature running my life and Josh dictating when and where things will happen. I place my hands underneath the cold water of the faucet and splash my face erasing any dried blood and reminisces of last night; I run my fingers through my hair a couple of times and then return to my bedroom to grab my backpack.

It’s time to play the part, an actor to the outside world, hidden and tucked away from any feeling or meaning in life.  Time to put on a show; give em what they want, keep lying to them, including myself.

This went on for months, every single day I was using, entering a life of crime and addiction, and every single day I was being abused by someone who I thought loved me. I can’t exactly pin point when I misplaced myself, my sense of being, but at some point I became someone I no longer recognized.  The girl staring back at me in the mirror was a complete stranger. As my body thinned out and became malnourished, as my arms and feet were poked and defiled by so many needles which caused tracks of wear and tear, as my bones and flesh were being ripped and used as punching bags, and as my entire soul was being damned and taken over by dependence to these unstoppable habits I became a unknown person of no substantial place in this world. I was lost.

You wear a mask for so long you forget who you were underneath it. It wasn’t just this particular man who had broken me; I had many boyfriends/friends/family members who I let use me in some way or another. Emotional abuse, mental abuse, physical, sexual, you name it. I was a walking lifetime channel series, a poster child for therapists and addiction. I allowed these things to happen to me for years even after my rehabilitation at various different treatment centers, even after I cleaned up and rid myself of substance abuse. This was something I have dealt with my entire life.

On August 22^nd 2007 I rid myself of the drugs and continued on other paths of self-destruction and different kinds of compulsion. May 16^th 2012 I finally got an epiphany; I woke up from this dating nightmare and rebuilt my confidence. I remember the exact day because it’s when I broke up with my last ‘Josh’. I was in the desert for a training exercise with the military and headed towards a deployment to Afghanistan in the coming months. The moment I had liberated myself of this rotten man, I was a brand new person.  I took on this promise to myself to never ever again be with another Josh. Guess what? I never was. I decided I needed to let someone meet my standards instead of me lowering mine to meet theirs, I found my worth within. I have been in the same relationship for close to two years now, and I finally wised up and did well this time.  I still stumble occasionally with friends along the way, but I immediately weed out those who don’t make the cut and don’t treat me right. I found the courage to stand up for myself and to never let anyone walk all over me again. I was a fool to open up my heart to all that jealousy, that bitterness, that ridicule over the years. I try to be the best person that I can be now in hopes of rectifying who I was and what I have done in the past. I want to make better in my latter life for all of the things that I went through and inflicted in my earlier years.

When I think back on some of these memories, I am not disgusted on the actions that took place, I am curious. I am constantly trying to put together this giant puzzle of my life and figure out the reason behind everything. I want to have a better understanding, so I am uncovering all these secrets and poisons that consumed me in order to piece together who I really am. I am sick of being a prisoner of my past; I want to be an architect of my future. Part of that is locating these wounds internally and finally letting them heal like they were supposed to. I am not going to let my life waste away trying to get back what was taken away from me, I am just going to become at peace with what was and never will be again.

Bruised skin and blood stained shirt

Everything always hurts

Unmerciful fists, painful blows

Hiding all the marks, so they never show

Scars deeper than skin,

Why do I let these demons in?

Fractures of the mind, lost in thought

What if we get caught?

Damned soul, I think my body’s shot

Just one more time, maybe it’s not

Falling down, probably too deep

But fuck it, what’s life without taking a leap?

One moment I’m flying, soaring high above

Who cares, I never even needed your love.

And now I’m falling, deeper than planned

It’s time for the real me to take a stand.