Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Inspect, Demo, Excavate, Rebuild

The verse below has been my mantra for days and days... I've been listening to this song at least a few times each day for weeks now...

Artist: 2pac
Song: Keep Your Head Up

"... And since we all came from a woman
Got our name from a woman
And our game from a woman
I wonder why we take from our women
Why we rape our women
Do we hate our women?
I think it's time to kill for our women
Time to heal our women
Be real to our women
And if we don't
We'll have a race of babies
That hate the ladies that make the babies
And since a man can't make one
He has no right to tell a woman when and where to create one
So will the real men get up
I know you're fed up, ladies
But keep your head up..."

I work at a construction company.

I absolutely HATED it for the first six months. I would come home and cry myself to sleep every night because I was the only girl surrounded by so many men all day long. And each and every one of them needed something from me. I hated being surrounded by the enemy. I hated that I was there to "serve" them. I knew it would be a difficult adjustment because of my past, but I never expected how difficult of an adjustment. All I knew for sure was that things and issues would surely resurface... I just prayed I would be able to muscle through the memories, triggers and emotions...

I forced myself to stick with the job because I needed the money. I promised myself I'd relocate to wherever the money was because I desperately needed a stable financial situation to pursue writing. I went from working three jobs every day of the week and carrying a full load of writing courses to a regular Monday through Friday work schedule. I needed something new. I needed something challenging to make me feel alive again. I needed routine. I needed stability. I needed time to rest.

This job offered all of those things.

But I also knew I was being tested.

I was dumbfounded at the irony of it all: Of course this was the only way I'd confront my worst nightmare - by working for a construction company... and you know the stereotypical image/actions of construction workers. Of course this job was my fate... and I was the only girl at it's center.

Life sure does work in mysterious ways...

Today, though (just about a year since my initial start date), things are the exact opposite. I adore everyone I work with. I do struggle some days - especially when I have nightmares and flashbacks - but I recognize I am just adjusting to having some kind of life again. I recognize that being around men all day long is helping me to know myself better:

I am becoming more aware of my surroundings.

I note when I am secretly snapping on the inside because I suddenly feel overwhelmed, angry or drained.

I feel myself suffocating at times and know when I need to leave the office in order to breathe.

I am learning how to communicate.

I am recognizing the characteristics which make me feel safe and endangered.

I am letting others get to know me again.

I am learning how to be objective and fair.

I am learning that not everyone is out to use me and hurt me.

I am learning to trust my feelings more, regardless of how crazy I feel for letting myself even feel them at all.

I am recognizing my boundaries in certain situations.

I am learning about men: All men are NOT the enemy. All men are NOT sure and determined. All men are NOT careless, hurtful and vengeful. All men are NOT cold, hard and angry. All men do NOT hate all women.
I don't work in a normal office-type setting. Instead, I work on location at different job sites. These job sites are breathtaking estates in rich and famous neighborhoods. I am right there in the heart of it all - the jackhammering at the opposite end of the wall, the crane lifting full grown imported trees overhead, the custom designed underground tunnel being dug out of Mother Earth, the roof being thrown to the ground for a third story add-on... I'm the one manning the satellite office for not just one project, but dozens of gazillion dollar estates owned by my employer's most lucrative and prestigious client. I have a pretty amazing job despite the insane levels of stress and ridiculous deadlines we are always up against.
It was the aforementioned jackhammering in my ear that made me realize:
My life is a construction project.
Before any initial work begins on a project, preliminary interior and exterior inspections of the entire property must be completed - you have to know what you are dealing with before you can proceed. Then, demo can begin to remove the necessary existing structures. Excavation begins to further dig - or remove - the "bones" in order to... rebuild into a beautiful, customized, strong, healthy, new structure withstanding the forces of any future complications.
First, I must inspect my life:
I must look at my past from as many different angles as possible. I must look at each situation's advantages and disadvantages. I must consider the history of the original foundation and existing structure prior to beginning any kind of work. I must research, organize and confront the facts before I can proceed. If there is no history or foundation, then there is no future.
Second, let the demo begin:
This blog site is a record of my personal demo on my life. These raw, painful, hurtful, numbing memories are evidence of the removal of my outdated structure. These stories are the demo-ing of my mind, body, heart and soul. I have to cut away here, chop away there, knock down this and drill away that in order to make room for the new and improved. And even this is not that easy... sometimes, when I demo, new problems surface. Unexpected setbacks were overlooked during the initial inspection because they were hiding too deep and too far within the structure. They only became visible after removing this door or tearing down that wall. They were hiding in the cracks of my frame, beneath the surface. They surprise me, freeze my plans and force me to pay attention.
Third, excavate to the core:
As painful as it is, I have to dig even futher beneath the surface. I have to chisel away inbetween the tiniest and most fragile of my bones in order to attack and destroy my dirty little secrets. I don't even know what's hiding anymore... it's been so long since I've rapidly shoved everything deep down, covered it up, and walked away only to never look back... until now. And why am I looking at it now? Because my dirty little secrets are molding from my nonstop tears. The mold is spreading inside of me like wild fire. It is a different kind of cancer I have - Cancer of the Core. My past has created a tumor consuming my heart and soul. I have to dig and dig and dig until every pebble of my molded tumor is removed. I have to scrape, jackhammer and bulldoze until my core is visible, clean and healthy.
Last, it is time to rebuild:
Rebuilding is even more difficult than continuing with what you have. You know what the existing structure consisted of, including its strengths and weaknesses. And after completing the demo and excavation, you stare at your fresh start, fully recognizing that you are building over in a new time - in the future of your past. Different requirements must be met in order to pass an inspection now than before the demo. Rules have changed. What used to be acceptable before may very well be null and void now. The noise from the hammering and machinery has stopped, but the work is just beginning. You don't want the tumor to return. You don't want to leave any secret hiding places for your shame and guilt to grow any more painful mold. You examine your Life's blueprint and finally realize:
You will always be building.
This is precisely what Life is about.
As angry, ashamed, pained and alone as I am, I take great comfort in knowing a few small truths about my Life:
I will ALWAYS be inspecting, demo-ing and excavating my life because: IT TAKES A LIFETIME TO (RE)BUILD A LIFE.
I am fascinated with my deep pain and internal turmoil because: IT GIVES ME THE STRENGTH TO NEVER GIVE UP.
There are an infinite number of quick-fixes (one-night stands, cocaine, ecstasy, shrooms, acid, pot, pills, alcohol...) but: I DO NOT NEED FIXING BECAUSE I AM NOT BROKEN.
The love I deserve will find me because: EVERYONE DESERVES TO BE LOVED.
Dear God,
Please give me double the strength and wisdom you deem necessary... just hanging on by an invisible thread...

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Red Like Brake Lights

“Here is a test to find out if your mission on earth is finished: If you’re alive, it isn’t.” Richard Bach

I headed down south last Saturday afternoon to clear my head again. It was dark by the time I was ready to drive home. I was lost in thought, just listening to music, really trying to understand who I am and how I feel. I suddenly noticed all of these red spots everywhere. They were keeping me company. The only light around me was coming from the brake lights of all my roadside companions.

I remembered her.

My eyes welled up with tears.

I'll call her Tracy.

Tracy was a few years older than me. We grew up together. Our parents had been friends for years and years... they used to socialize as young newlyweds even before we were born.

Junior High: My family was invited to her parent's house for dinner. Tracy was going to meet up with her friends afterwards. She asked me to help her decide what to wear. I felt so cool because she wanted my help and trusted my opinion. We even began playing around with her jewelry and started to try on different clothes for fun. I kind of looked up to her. She was one of the "big kids."

Junior College: Tracy randomly showed up at a dinner party one weekend. We were all so excited to see her. Since she started her master's program in LA, she was keeping pretty busy with classes and a full time job. She looked good. She looked happy. There were a lot of people at this dinner party, at least five or six families altogether. All of our parents had been friends for over 20 years. All of us kids were like brothers and sisters. It was kind of becoming tradition for us to sneak some alcohol, make fun of our drunk parents, and watch a late night movie after playing video games. I remember Tracy not wanting to watch a movie, though. Instead, she wanted to do funny, random girly stuff. So all of us girls, about seven of us, started to play around with our makeup because we were so bored. I remember watching a friend apply Tracy's eyeshadow... she loved it. We all shared makeup tips and continued to drink, laugh, play video games, watch tv... It was a good night.

College: My mom left a few messages to call her back over the period of about one week. She needed to talk to me about something, she said, but to only call her when I had time to talk. I was starting to mess up real bad at this time: The more I started dating, the more I remembered my rape... my secret rape I never told anyone about. I was joining a sorority, lived in a new college town, carried a full load of writing classes... my time was very limited... my plate was rapidly overflowing with unexpected memories.

I just hyperventilated again... I can't believe I am starting to have trouble breathing along with the nightmares and panic attacks. It's taken a scary and solid fifteen minutes for my body to cool back down and my throat to open back up. This is fucking ridiculous. Absolutely FUCKING RIDICULOUS.

I was running out the door for a sorority thing when my phone rang. I quickly answered it. It was my mom again.

"Hey mom. Can I call you back, though? I've gotta get to the house for our big fundraiser thing I'm advertising for."

"Yeah. When will you be back?"

"I don't know. Late probably. Sorry I haven't called you back yet, just been super busy. But I got your messages. What's going on?"

"Well, I don't want to bother you if you're busy so just call me as soon as you get back."

"Okay... is everything alright?"


"Mom, what's going on? It's fine, I can be late. What is it?"

"Well... you better sit down." I didn't like the sound in her voice. I froze.


"Tracy killed herself."

I'm crying again... I wish she didn't do it... I will never know why she did it...

"(Missing)? Are you there?" I couldn't move or speak.

"That doesn't make sense. What?!" I started to panic.

"I said: Tracy killed herself."

"What do you mean? You're not making any sense, mom. That's not true. You don't know that."

"I mean she's gone. She took her own life..." I needed to throw up.

"Are you there? Are you okay?" my mom kept asking.

"That doesn't make any sense. What do you mean she killed herself??!!" I fell to the floor, grabbing onto my bed as I crumbled.

"I mean she's dead, (Missing). She's in a better place now. She's at peace. This was what God wanted for her."

"No. That doesn't make sense to me. What do you mean she killed herself? What happened? What did she do? How do you know? This doesn't make any sense..." The questions were starting to come...

"Well, she shot herself."

"What! How?! Why?! Where?!! What do you mean? Mom, this doesn't make any sense! Why would she do that? She was doing so great..."

"I know she was. I don't know why she did it. Guess she thought there was no way out and this was the only answer..." I knew how Tracy must have felt, considering how many suicide attempts I had so far. I felt guilty for still being alive.

"What happened? Who found her?"

"Well... I guess she was dating a police officer in town and they wanted to get married or something... I'm not really sure what happened. But I guess they were dating for a while and she really loved him. And they wanted to get married but for some reason or another, he ended the relationship. I don't want to say anything for sure... I don't really know. But I guess she took one of his guns and she shot herself on the steps of his house."

I couldn't believe what my mom was telling me. I couldn't believe my mom was telling me Tracy shot herself on the steps of her boyfriend's house.

"Who found her? What happened? Was she still alive when they found her?"

"I guess the neighbor heard the shot and went over and found her laying there. She died instantly. She shot herself in the head."

I don't remember much else after that except just sitting on the floor next to my bed, unable to move or say much. Everything was blurry for days after that. Instead of seeing classmate's faces, I just saw unfocused, noisy shapes. Everyone blended together. I sat in class and just stared into space. All I could see was Tracy's dead body in a pool of her own blood on the steps of her boyfriend's house. All I heard was the gunshot that she decidingly ended her life with. All I felt was incredible guilt, nausea and sadness... I didn't understand why this world would take her away and let me live, especially since I had desperately tried to end my life already. It didn't make any sense. Why was it her time to go and not mine? Why did she have to die? Why did God take her away from me?

Because there is no God.

I didn't go to her funeral. I didn't even see her parents until a year later... and even then, I didn't know what to say. I was so nervous to see her mom, but I gave her a hug, told her I missed her daughter and that Tracy is still alive and happy even though she isn't physically here. That was one of the toughest dialogues I have ever had in my entire life. My heart was racing and my body was limp.

Tracy killed herself because she loved a boy.

I wanted to kill myself because I hated a boy.

I can't get her out of my head... her motionless, cold, small body resting in a pool of her own blood.

Blood red like brake lights.

I'm Over It

I have been thinking all week: I just need to get over it.

I know I can't change my past. I know what's done is done. It is what it is. I can't beat myself up over what I should have done differently because the truth of the matter is, it doesn't matter anymore. I mean, it DOES matter, but it doesn't always have to matter with the same piercing pain and sadness. It's all water under the bridge. The World is trying to tell me that today as she continuously dumps her tears out of the sky. Her tears are wiping away my life's dirt.

There is so much shit making up my life thus far. I don't want the nightmares anymore. I don't want to see Jay anymore. I don't care about any of it. It happened. It all happened and it all fucking sucks and that's the end of that.

No. Literally. I don't know if I'm going to Nevada anymore. I'm not going tomorrow so I don't have to decide today. I just can't let all of that matter right now. I'll figure it out when the time is right. I'll know when I'm ready. I am not going to push myself.

Maybe time does heal all wounds.

Maybe this is my time.

Maybe my time is now.

I know everything has rushed back with such force the past few months because I am trying to get published right now. I know everything is resurfacing because I have been doing nothing but reflecting on my life and who I am today because of it all.

My readers have taught me that all of my feelings are valid, no matter how scared, confused and angry I get. I am learning that not everyone in this world is out to use me and throw me away like Jay. I have opened the door for my angel to come out of hiding. She sees the light and will emerge when she is ready. I just have to be patient.

I just have to be patient with myself.

You have to go through the bad to get to the good.

It all evens out in the end.

Everything happens for a reason.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Unrecognized Hero

"If one woman told the truth about her whole life, the world would split open... if one woman dared." Roseanne Barr

This is the truth. I don't want to tell it, but I have to. I don't want you to know it, but you will.

Something happened when I was very young. I can't even tell you, a total and complete stranger, because it will ruin me forever. But I still know it happened. It haunts me as I struggle to wrap my head around who I am today because of what I survived yesterday. I want to tell you, but I am afraid I cannot. I will never tell anyone. I will never even hear myself say the words. It is too painful. It is too shameful. I have never mentioned it to anyone... ever. It is that big of a secret. A secret so big and so scary that if it earthquakes out me, it will kill me instantly. I cannot tell you, but it is true.

It's happened to others in my family. But I didn't learn about it until much later. Someone was even threatened with a gun because of how bad the rumors were. But she survived. She is still here. I didn't even know this story until just a few years ago: He put a gun to her head and threatened to kill her until she confessed the truth. She was telling the truth. He just didn't believe her. He didn't shoot. Thank God.

Another was threatened with a public court trial. It became such a silent family scandal that it tore our families apart. I haven't even seen some of my cousins in years. One was just recently married. I didn't go to her wedding. I have never met her husband. I am the one who "always wanted to be white" and didn't respect her heritage. They were wrong - I respected it very much, I just never understood why women had be treated so differently. We were stronger than men, I always thought. We are the ones who really put food on the table. We grow entire human beings inside of us and bring them into this world. As far as I was concerned, women deserved to be treated BETTER than men. We gave life and nourished it every day of our lives.

Women are heroes.

Women are used, abused and thrown away everyday.

I look at my naked body and wish it was different. I touch it slowly and softly. I feel my hands smooth over his fingerprints. Jay's fingerprints are branded on my breasts, my stomach, my thighs, my back... My dad's fingerprints are branded on my face, the back of my neck, my arms, my bruised and cut up hands...

I should have come with an owner's manual.

Please fix me.

I know I am different than you. I know I have experienced too much life way too soon. I know you will never understand. I know I even don't want to understand. If I understand, then there are reasons for everything that has happened. If there are reasons, then there are no more questions. But I need the questions because bad things aren't supposed to have answers. They are just supposed to be here and there, answerless, pointless, just random with no explanation except forcing you to be more aware of who you are and who you want to become.

I am just a girl... I am an angry daughter, a doubting sister, a scared girlfriend. I have a small frame, but it is made of iron. I am not white, but all the cocaine in the world could not make me more innocent and pure. I am sarcastic and witty, but honest and dumbfounded. I am brainwashed, yet my worst nightmares are ingrained in my memory. I will walk through hoops of fire to take away another's pain, turmoil and sadness, but I cannot extinguish the fires threatening my own heart and soul. I am loving, affectionate and giving, but I am too hard, cold and paralyzed to fully express it.

I am not trying to find my niche in this world. I am not challenging joy and happiness. I am just sharing one woman's truth. I am just feeling the volcanic eruption of my past overflow into my present with such force that I can't see my future anymore.

So this is my life. I am a silent rape survivor. I am the interference in my dad's drunken rampages. I am the niece of my murdered uncle. I am a drug abuser. I am an easy one-night stand. I am the fucked up one who has the perfect life. I am the social butterfly who is always alone. I am the one with the perfect figure, except I am too broken to stand up straight. I am daring and determined, but challenged and afraid.

My rape has torn apart my insides to a depth I am barely able to see and feel. There are parts of my heart and soul that are so vaporized by what Jay did to me that I have to just let it go because I know it will never be the same. The only solid make-up of my entire alienated being are the holes that float inside my wasted shell.

Does that even make any sense??

Does it even make sense for a person, an alien, to be so strong from her broken past that nothing can tear her down anymore?

Does it make sense that as her tears burn her branded skin, her eyes begin to see a little clearer?

Does it make sense that as regretful, hurt and pained I am of my horrible, freight-train, whipped memories that I am just as grateful and appreciative of them for helping me live a life to its absolute fullest - good and bad?


I am drunk again.

Another bottle of wine down the hatch.

Anything to make it all pour out of me.

Like a waterfall.

I am, after all, my father's daughter.

Please God,
Please let my nightmares rest tonight.

MANTRA: Precious

Every time I turned on the radio this weekend, this song had played - including right now, this morning. I didn't listen to the words until I was driving back Saturday night from another mini road trip to clear my stuffy head... I was thinking about my friend who killed herself. That's another story I'll tell you... when I'm ready.

Didn't sleep again last night - up every hour. What a royal pain in the ass. And now back to being the only girl working with fifty men. Sweet... Surrounded by the enemy.

I know my life won't always be so confusing. I know I won't always have nightmares and panic attacks and lightening rod memories of my rape. I know it will get easier. I know that sometimes it just takes longer than others to accept and heal from this new life we did not choose, but were thrown into. This new life that is so foreign, blinding and foggy that even when I do get a moment's peace at a time, it makes my pain all worth it... because whatever is growing inside of me, this new life, this new understanding, this remodeled heart and soul, it is making me whole again. It is very painful and extremely draining, but if I have survived everything else thus far, there is no reason I can't survive my... well... survival.

Artist: Depeche Mode
Song: Precious

Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God what have we done to you
We always tried to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have put you through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

Angels with silver wings
Shouldn't know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you
If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it's your eyes
He's seeing through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I pray you learn to trust
Have faith in both of us
And keep room in your hearts for two

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

Sunday, March 26, 2006


"If you understand everything, you must be misinformed." Chinese Proverb

I have been doing nothing but a whole lot of thinking lately. Just driving around, listening to music, noticing the world around me, listening to Her, feeling my heart slowly accept everything she has denied for so many years...

A question I used to always get into trouble for asking as a young girl: WHY?

If I was told to clean my room: WHY?
Take out the trash: WHY?
Set the table: WHY?
Bedtime: WHY?

I always needed a reason. I always had to know the purpose. I had to know why my dad drank so much. I had to know why I couldn't do the same things as my brother. I had to know why the sky was blue, why the ocean made loud sounds, why my dad hated my grandpa, why Jay raped me, why there weren't more drugs around if they made me feel so good, why I was the life of the party on the outside when I felt so dead on the inside...

And my biggest WHY question yet: Why am I alive?

I know I'm not the only one who's asked myself this. But for me, personally, it's a tough question to stomach. I am beginning to realize there is rhyme and reason to everything. I am beginning to feel like although nothing makes sense to me right now, it may make sense in the big picture of my Life. I started thinking...

I have seven suicide attempts under my belt. Seven is a lucky number. Lucky 7. Let me remind you of my seven deadly sins: LONELINESS, BLAME, DENIAL, PAIN, DOUBT, FEAR, ANGER. My rapist lived on Alberta Street. Alberta has seven letters. My birthday is on the 17th. My rapist lived seven exits away from my parent's house. There are seven days in a week. When I was very young, I marched into my parent's office declaring I was writing a book about my life entitled: Seven Days in a Week. There are five senses tied to the body, seven if you include the mind and soul. I only trust seven people in this world: four girlfriends, my brother, my aunt, and myself. It took me seven years to finish college, dropping out when I returned to therapy... I couldn't do both at the same time. The first names to both my blog name & my real name have seven letters in them. My dad drank Seagram's 7 Whiskey. Whiskey has seven letters. I have been in seven car accidents. My address is 270. My work addresses are 670 and 771. I was raped on a Saturday, the seventh day of the week. The first time I admitted my rape was seven years ago. SURVIVE is a seven letter word...

Every single day I take a tired and excruciating step in this world, I wonder, "What's the point of it all? Why? What am I supposed to do with everything I have been handed? Why do I have really good days and really bad days? Why can't I just let it go? Or, better yet, why won't it just let go of me? Why the nightmares? Why the pain? Why the confusion? Why can't I just learn what I need to learn to move on?"

Because Life is not that simple.

Shit happens to everyone.

I am not alone in my survival.

There is not one thing to learn now or later to make it all better, simpler, easier to move forward.


That is not what Life demands of us.

Living is:

Always questioning and trying to understand. Always striving for what you feel, not what you see. Always accepting what you are handed, although your plate is already too full. Always allowing yourself to ride the coaster of emotions because when you don't open your heart, you close your soul. Always playing to win even if you don't know the rules. Always loving when you have been hated. Always trusting when you have been betrayed. Always finding peace when you have been in war.

I know I must heal and learn from my experiences before I can fully accept who I am, but all of that confuses me. Don't I already accept all of this? Haven't I already moved on from it? Isn't this sharing proof of that? Or is it that there will always be new and different learning opportunities as I move forward? My best friends are getting married one right after the other... all of this "settling down" is quite unsettling. But only because I am beginning to think about my future and my children. What if I have a daughter? I don't want a daughter. I don't want her to suffer through the same things I have suffered through. What if I'm not a good wife? Or a good mother? What if my pain and turmoil continues until I destroy my relationship with my husband and children? What if I hurt my family like my family has hurt me? What if my daughter is raped and she fears me as I fear my parents?

What I know for sure: I don't know anything at all.


Our greatest destiny is to reach that point in our lives when we don't exhaust ourselves chasing after it.

Our greatest learning will come when we realize we will ALWAYS be learning... from EVERY experience, good and bad... and they both happen to all of us.

Our greatest healing will come when we accept we are not alone in our pain.

I wish I had answers. I wish I could fast-forward through the memories and nightmares to a time and place in my life where I am happy, safe and whole. It's mind over matter... If you wear a smile on the outside, you will feel it on the inside.

I am desperately trying to feel comfortable in my own skin again, except that I don't like it. I must constantly shower to wipe away his stains, the branded wounds. I am not white like cocaine. I am not white like my angel from the night I was raped. I am dirty. I am always brushing something off of me, trying to keep any more dirt away, trying to keep my scarlet letter as unnoticed as possible. I am raw and sticky, like his intoxicated tongue slowly raining down my innocent neck, small breasts and nauseating stomach.

I can feel him again.

I saw my friend, Jill, a few days after that night. She asked me what happened in his room. I was shocked.

"Nothing," I told her. "I was just uncomfortable."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Why?" I let out a nervous laugh.

"Oh. You just looked like you had seen a ghost or something. You sure nothing happened?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. I just didn't want to sleep in there anymore is all."

"Okay. Well, good. I thought he raped you or something!"

I froze. I let out another nervous laugh saying something like how ridiculous that sounded. I don't remember much else about what Jill and I talked about after that. I just remember needing to throw up somewhere but having no where to go... again.

I know Jay will not always be with me. Trust me... I know this.

Or do I??

Maybe this is why I have to see him. But what good will that even do? What will I even say to him? Why do I need to see him so badly? Why do I have to see his horrible and dirty face again???

If you are a survivor, you will understand the confusion, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the guilt, the incredible dirty feeling you can't get rid of, the anger, the regret...

If you are NOT a survivor, you will NEVER understand why we have good days and bad days, how the pain gets deeper as time progresses, why we love you and hate you, why we deny your honesty and support...

I am rambling tonight. I am confused. All I want to do is see him. I just need to go see him. And maybe kill him. I should take a gun and shoot him here and there, just watching him squirm and plead for his life like he make me plead for mine. Just watching the blood slowly ooze out of his pores... and then I would let in the wolves to lick it up and tear the rest of him to tiny bits and pieces.

Is it safe to see him again?

Am I walking into my own trap?

Should I go alone?

Who will I take that understands what this is like? Who will want to be there with me as I confront the biggest, most terrifying skeleton in my closet?

No one.

I have to do this alone.

I have to see Jay right now.

I don't know if I can wait until my birthday.

I may go sooner.

I really don't know much else anymore... except that he lives in Nevada and I have to see him.

MANTRA: Schism

Artist: Tool
Song: Schism

I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, fundamental differing
Pure intention juxtaposed will set two lovers souls in motion
Disintegrating as it goes testing our communication
The light that fueled our fire then has burned a hole between us so
We cannot see to reach an end crippling our communication

I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame it doesn't mean I don't desire to
Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover communication

The poetry that comes from the squaring off between
And the circling is worth it
Finding beauty in the dissonance

There was a time that the pieces fit, but I watched them fall away
Mildewed and smoldering, strangled by our coveting
I've done the math enough to know the dangers of our second guessing
Doomed to crumble unless we grow, and strengthen our communication

Cold silence has a tendency to atrophy any
Sense of compassion
Between supposed lovers/brothers

Saturday, March 25, 2006


"He who doesn't risk never gets to drink champagne." Russian Proverb

I gave this site address to a few people I know. I don't know why I did this anymore. I'm kind of regretting it now that it's all said and done, but at the same time, I'm tired of wishing I wasn't "lying" to everyone by hiding what my life is really all about. I'm generally pretty happy but as I start to prep for publication, I am beginning to realize that there is so much shit I have kept buried so deep down that I am absolutely, positively, incredibly and indefinitely screwed up... in more ways than one.

My memories are electrocuting my insides. I wish I didn't give this address to my friends. But I did. I don't know why. Or maybe it's because of this:

Ever since I was a very young girl, I knew I would always be on my own. I had my parents, but I wasn't taken care of. Bad things happened. A lot. Things that when I am just thinking about them now make my tears rush forward... like a waterfall.

I am not sad. I am not angry. I am not in pain. I am not confused. I am not depressed.

I am just accepting.

I am just surviving.

I wonder what my friends will think of all of this shit their eyes are reading and knowing of who I really am. What are you thinking? How do you feel about me now? Don't feel sorry for me because I don't want your pity. I don't need your pity. I don't even need your help. I just need you to understand that real fucked up things happen to real good people and there is nothing anyone can do, except embrace the experience for what it's worth, integrate it into their lives, understand it is a part of their Life and move on the best way they possibly can.

I should really practice what I preach.

I haven't smoked pot in five weeks - a record, I think. So I've just been drinking. A lot. I have been making frequent trips to the store with each receipt reading only a healthy list of purchased wines and a grand total... think I've been wine shopping more than grocery shopping. I guess I'm killing two birds with one stone - wine is made from grapes.

I'm so confused that I cracked open a bottle of wine 30 minutes ago. Whatever I have to do to find my heart again. Whatever I have to do to make all of this ooze out of me so it doesn't continue to eat away at my insides, to burn them, to electrocute them to ashes.

I have to put my life back together somehow, some way. I have found joy in many people and experiences, but that isn't enough for me. My life is exactly where I need for it to be. Except that I am still disconnected from it all.

It's that angel I lost during my rape.

I can't get her out of my head.

When I left his house that morning, he smiled at me, as if to say, "Thanks for letting me rape you."

I was driving home with my best friend and told her, "I was naked last night."

She looked at me with this huge grin and said, "You finally hooked up!"

I said, "No... I was naked, but I wasn't supposed to be."

She looked at me with the same smile and said she was proud I finally hooked up. And that she was glad I had such a great birthday.

She heard my words, but she wasn't listening to what I was saying. I didn't say much on the way home. I knew I couldn't tell anyone if I couldn't tell her. I was just raped on my birthday and had no where to go, except back home to my dad's Canadian Whiskey, heavy hand and bottles of pills to overdose on.

I cannot believe I gave this site address to people who actually know me. What the fuck was I thinking?!!

I am thinking: Fuck this. Fuck all of it. Fuck my rape. Fuck my dad. Fuck the suicide attempts. Fuck the butcher knife into my stomach. Fuck my deadly car accidents. Fuck the rumors. Fuck aborting my rapist's fucking kid. Fuck the boyfriends who deserted me because of my rape. And fuck you, too, for thinking I am fucked up.

It only means I am normal.

It only means I am just like you.

Good thing I am drinking a bottle of wine at two in the afternoon. Sweet. I am, after all, my father's daughter. So this must be how it all begins...

I don't care what you think of me, dear reader. I don't even care about what my life has been like for so long because I can't EVER imagine being anyone else. I can't EVER imagine being someone to deny another's pain and not do everything in my power to help him/her to not feel so empty and alone.

I gave this address to people I know for two reasons and two reasons only:

1) This fundraiser: SURVIVOR AID FOR RAPE AND ABUSE AWARENESS is the most important, most rewarding, most fulfilling thing I can ever do in my entire life. The moment I realized I could very well be carrying my rapist's child - and had no one to go to - was the moment I realized I would dedicate the rest of my life to helping other survivors. It is surreal we are really making this happen. And we need all the help and support we can get to make this as successful as it deserves to be.

2) Fuck what people think of me... this is my life. If you don't like it, then leave. I am used to it. I am bigger and better than other people's opinions. I hold more strength and wisdom at my young age than most people can muster in their whole lives. I am not only a rape survivor, I am a proud survivor. Fuck Jay. Fuck his kid. Fuck the fact that he ruined my life. The truth is it could always be worse... and I'm not alone.

Years went by until I even told my brother what happened. I hate saying the word RAPE. I hate hearing other people say it. I hate seeing it staring at me on this computer screen right now... RAPE RAPE RAPE. It fucking sucks. It kills a part of you that you never knew you had, which makes the pain and suffering so much more unbearable. It touches pieces of your heart and soul you never knew existed. The only way these pieces came to life was through the pain of this experience... and when you start to realize there are parts of you already damaged - parts you haven't even had the chance to know yet - you get angry and confused, feeling like it's you against the world.

Last week, my brother said the word RAPE to me for the first time. I was talking to him about how everything is rushing back now. How I don't know what's going on. That I know this isn't my whole life, but everything is so fucking confusing because as I am prepping to write my book for publication, I am realizing there is A LOT of SHIT I just shoved away. I can't even sleep anymore... he's in my dreams every night. My brother has never said RAPE to me before. I froze. I felt so awkward and dirty. I needed to take a shower. I immediately flashed back to the moment I told him I was raped:

I was breaking up with a boyfriend - Hands Dropper. We met through our jobs. I had the night off, he didn't. We had already been having problems. I knew he was getting more and more disgusted with my rape. He was slowly drifting away... couldn't even look at me anymore. We took a trip to Lake Tahoe for a week over New Year's... he wouldn't even snuggle with me at night. It felt like I was kissing a wall when we kissed. I knew he was already gone. When we returned home, we had to deal with what was happening with us. He was supposed to come over after work to talk about why he's been avoiding me. I couldn't wait. I called him at work. He said, "I don't know why. I just can't. I'm not okay with it... I wish I was, but I don't know how to be. It just really bothers me... I'm sorry but I can't do this anymore." Before I could say anything, he had to go and said he'd call me right back. Five minutes later, the phone rang. I thought it was my boyfriend. It was my brother.

He was in a good mood. He asked what was going on, how I was doing... I just started to sob uncontrollably. I couldn't hold it in.

"What's wrong?" he asked me.

"I can't tell you," I said.

"Yes you can. What happened? What's wrong? I'm here... talk to me."

"I can't say it. I don't want to tell you."

The tears are starting to come again... I wish this wasn't my life, but I'm afraid it is...

I was crying so hard while my brother was trying to figure out what happened. I told him my boyfriend and I were breaking up right now because of something that happened and I was waiting for him to call back.

"Okay, baby. But what happened? You can talk to me. Just take your time and tell me what's going on."

I started to sob. "Something bad happened... with a boy."

"Like what? What did he do?"

"I can't say it. I didn't want it to happen. I tried. It wasn't supposed to happen." I was crying so hard.

"It's okay, sweetie, it's okay. You don't have to say it. But I'm going to ask you something and just say yes or no, okay?"

"No, I don't want you to ask me."

"Why not? You just have to say yes or no. You don't have to say anything else."

I started to sob again. "Please don't ask me," I pleaded with my brother.

"Why not?"

"Because you already know the answer."

Just then, call waiting beeped in. I told my brother I had to go. He said he would call me later. But before he hung up, he told me he had this nagging feeling all day to call me for some reason. He's been busy with classes, but today, while he was driving home, something inside just told him to pick up the phone and call me right now. So he did.

I think it's pretty ironic I am game for anything involving incredible levels of risk, like jumping out of planes, driving absolutely hammered, multiple suicide attempts, confronting my rapist in eight months... except the one and only thing I desperately NEED to risk now more than ever - my faith.

I have to risk it all in order to get it all back. I do have faith, but I don't exactly know in what. I don't believe in God, but who/what else would see me through all of this shit? I don't believe in love, but if my dearest friends didn't love me, then who else would save me from my excessive drug use? I don't believe in family, but where else did I come from?

I have to keep taking these risks. No matter how scary or how difficult they get, I have to keep taking each day one risk at a time in order to see the light of my next day. As much as I regret giving this address to those that know me, I will regret it even more if I stood in the way of them knowing the real me. I have to remember that it's okay to have a bad day, a rough night and painful memories because this is my life.

This is who I am.

For better or for worse.

This is my life.

Dear God,
Please help me to live it.

Friday, March 24, 2006

Survivors Can Thrive!: Survivor Aid--Dream to Reality

LINK: Survivors Can Thrive!: Survivor Aid--Dream to Reality

Okay... we are REALLY doing this.

Ever since the moment I was raped, I knew I would be a part of something huge to raise awareness and show The World that rape and abuse is happening EVERYWHERE.

It could even be your own daughter and you don't even know it yet.

My parents still know nothing of my rape.

I have been secretly planning and keeping all kinds of notes of all the different things I can do to help others survivors not to feel so helpless, alone, ashamed, scared, dirty, guilty... the list goes on and on.

I cannot erase what happened to me, but I cannot run and hide from it anymore. I am too tired and too broken to let Jay win again.

MY RAPE IS NOT WHO I AM, but it will always be a part of me. I cannot let my sadness embrace me. I cannot let my anger break me. I cannot let my fear shut me down. I cannot let my loneliness come to life.

Because I am not alone.

These are my dearest friends, pieces of my heart and soul working together to heal others as we heal ourselves.



I beg you to join us on our incredible journey!!

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Angel in Silence

"Some stories you can tell. Some you spend the rest of your life trying to pretend they never happened." Jerry Stahl

I've been having a lot of Missing Link days lately. Days where I just spend time alone and do whatever I want to do, just go wherever the day will take me, do whatever I think of right then and there. Just need time to think about my life, to think about who I am and where I want to go. Just need to give my heart the space she needs to breathe freely. Just need to let Life and The World point me in the right direction because I am too blind and too broken to know what to do next.

I ended one of my Missing Link days one night by ordering dinner-to-go at one of my favorite local restaurants. I had some time to kill while they prepped my chicken ceasar salad and cajun shrimp pasta, so I wandered around for a little while and plotted myself in a local art store. This is a fairly new store, but I absolutely adore it because is sells things only made my locals. I find it quite inspiring to occasionally check out all of this local art. That was my ultimate favorite thing at my last job, a local gift store carrying all kinds of personal & handmade things. I was continuously touched at how I could almost feel the artist's passion through his/her work... and it was even more rewarding when I met these artists in person. More often than not, every single one of them had been through some kind of horrific tragedy - something so life altering that they devoted the rest of their life to their art because it was the one thing that helped to keep them sane and human. I can relate to that.

Anyhow, I found these matted pieces of art with different sayings written around handpainted images. There were plenty left for sale, but only one was left with these words wrapped around a colorful handpainted angel:

In my dream,
the angel shrugged & said,
If we fail this time, it will be

a failure of imagination
& then she placed
the world gently
in the palm of my hand.

I kind of freaked when I realized this was the last one left with this quote. It was a sign. I bought this piece.

This is a story of my rape.

I am 1,000% certain I will never forget this moment the night I was raped:

"Is this why you kept feeding me beer?" I asked him. He boldy held my face with both hands and repeated he wasn't "like that" or "one of those guys." I couldn't fight him anymore. I was tired, broken, drained, exhausted. It was happening. My worst nightmare. And I couldn't do anything about it. I couldn't move. I went from being scared and tired to totally and completely limp and frozen.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling as he continued to take off my clothes and rape me. I couldn't beleive his touch was the first I would know. I just lay there, unable to move or make a sound. I wanted to call for Jill, my friend in the next room, but no sound came out. I was muted.

I don't want to cry, but the tears are starting to come.


I looked up at the ceiling and saw myself looking back at me. I was dressed in white. White like cocaine. I was fluttering in place, holding myself there, watching my own rape. I had wings. They were white, too. Like white chiffon. I watched Jay rape me. I silently screamed at myself, my angel self, "Why is this happening?"

She replied only with a tender and reassuring smile: It's okay. We will get through this. She stayed there, fluttering, calm, smiling, watching Jay from above. Doing whatever he wanted, feeling like I was his right.

I was just floating there - angel like - while Jay raped me. I couldn't move. I couldn't make a sound.

The only thing I focused on during my entire rape was that angel. My eyes never left her. She was there for a reason.

I am certain this was the moment I disconnected from my body. Jay had my body now. He used it. I was damaged goods. I was trash.

One man's trash is another man's treasure.

I am a treasure.

A lost treasure.

I hyperventilated earlier tonight. That has never happened to me before. I have panic attacks. And nightmares.

I don't want to tell you any more stories about my life. There are too many like the ones your eyes have already read. But I cannot run and hide anymore. I cannot live in anymore fear.

LIFE = Living In Fear Everyday

I have run out of lies. So this is my truth. These are my wounds.

Time does NOT heal all wounds.


It slowly and carefully makes my skin sizzle as the wounds fall deeper and deeper inside. I take shower after shower to put the fire out. But the salt from my tears becomes fuel for the fire. There is too much smoke for my heart to breathe freely... she is suffocating. I am branded:


My life will get easier. I will be happy. I will have a successful, healthy, bright and whole future. My past gives me the strength and courage to be an independent woman, a loyal lover, a trusting friend and a determined survivor.

My life will get easier. I will be happy. I will have a successful, healthy, bright and whole future. My past gives me the security and wisdom to be patient and aware, cautious and daring, giving and tender, alive and warm.

I am a lost treasure. I need my angel. But I have buried her deep inside with my dirty little secrets. I have to let her go. But what if she never returns? What if I never find her again?

If you love something, set it free. If it is yours, it will come back to you.

I have to set it all free.

I have to let it all go.

Dear God,
Please help me set her free. Please help her fly. Please let me rest tonight.

Monday, March 20, 2006


"Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding." Kahlil Gibran

I only write what I know. This is what I know:

My dad was a mean alcoholic. My parents have NEVER said, "I love you." I have never fallen in love, or at least have had someone love me enough to say those precious, sacred words to me. I always knew I was different than everyone else ever since I was a young child. My life has never been easy, but it could always be worse. I want to fall in love but I am deathly afraid of it as much as I am of my rapist. My rapist was my first experience with a man... my first kiss was his tongue shoved down my throat. My dad had the heaviest, most intoxicated hand I have ever known, but he loves me more than anything in this world. Love really does hurt. I am a survivor. I am a believer. I am a dreamer. I am struggling to breathe every day. My mouth waters for an eight-ball of cocaine and a bottle of vodka, but I cannot slip again, or it will be the end of me forever. My best friend died in a car accident... wish she was here to talk to. My family loves me, but only because I am who they want me to be. I have a full mind and a full body but they are mismatched, disconnected and malfunctioning. I have a wise soul, always searching for something greater, something bigger, something better than what I have been handed. It's not about the hand I was dealt, it's about the game I am in... and I always play to win. I love life, but am deathly afraid to live it. I look in the mirror and only see my rapist's eyes staring back at me... "I'm not like that. I'm not one of those guys..." I know my past is in the past, I must live in the present, and my future is up to me. I am stronger than I feel. I am more beautiful than I can see. I have the world to offer to Life and all her children, except I am too scared to open myself up... I am too scared to know myself as a human being in this World... because I have never, ever felt human. But I am. These feelings are proof of that. I am human. I am a person. My dad did not intentionally hurt me, he just did. My rape was not my fault, it just is. I was raped on my birthday. My first kiss was my rapist's tongue shoved down my throat... at my very own birthday party. I am disgusting, dirty, stained, hopeless. NO. I am beautiful, mysterious, determined and so, so fucking strong. I am strong. I am stronger than my rapist. Only weak people rape... it is about power and taking it away from someone for your own self gain. But no, Jay, I am more powerful than you will ever be. You do not define me. You hurt me. The more I break inside, the more I connect with the outside. The more gray my life gets, the clearer my heart gets. I have to let my heart feel. I know I have to feel everything. This is my right. The good, the bad, the ugly... this is my life. It is my right to own it.

My 7 deadly sins:


Acceptance: I accept what is my life and who I am... or do I? Am I challenging this? Am I being stubborn? Am I standing in my own way? I feel even more dirty when I realize my harsh truths and realities. Dear God, if you even exist, give me a few pills of ecstasy, a few bags of cocaine, a few tightly rolled blunts, a few handles of vodka... and another one-night stand to make me feel WANTED when I don't even want myself anymore.

Drugs: I want them now more than ever. My mouth is watering at the thought of rolling a bill and dancing with my favorite lady of all time: Lady Cocaine. She makes me feel clean... because she is white. The more I ingest, the cleaner I become. Oh, just thinking about her makes me miss her terribly. I lived next door to my coke dealer for so long. My LA dealer had a crush on me... he would always call when he had "really good stuff." I would never have to pay for it... it's tough being an attractive party girl, I suppose. "We're lucky you're hot," my guy friends would tell me. I was always the only girl still partying with all of them until six, seven or even noon the next day with mounds of cocaine and bottles of beer everywhere. Cocaine made it all go away. Lady Cocaine wiped my slate clean. Literally.

Love: I don't know what this is. The only love I have known is my love for the next big party. No. Wait. I am in love with the unknown. Life is a big unknown. Why my rape happened is a big unknown. Why it happened in the most fucked up, horrible, messy way is a big unknown. Figuring out how to abort my rapist's baby was a big unknown. And here is a flashback:

His hands were hot and eager. They brush my thighs as he removes my pants in one big swoop. I think, "This can't be happening. This isn't happening." I feel his breath in my left ear as he kisses my neck and makes sounds. He shifts his body directly on top of me. I melt under him. "Is this why you kept feeding me beer?" I ask him. I am crushed. Literally. I know what is happening. I realize this is my fate tonight. It is my birthday... and he will not stop until he feels like he gets what he deserves. He will rape me. My first kiss was his dry, coarse, drunken tongue shoved down my throat. He is raping me tonight, on my birthday, at my very own birthday party.

I don't know if I can ever forget his eyes that night. He grabbed my face with both hands as he told me over and over again, "I'm not like that. I'm not one of those guys. Okay? I'm not like that." But you are, Jay. You know you are. I know you have raped other girls. I looked for a gun in your room that night. All I found was socks to keep my feet warm and family photos on your dresser. I would have killed you if you had a gun. I would have lit you on fire and watched you burn into the same pile of ashes you left my heart in. You told everyone we had sex. You lied... that is why you never looked at me after that night. You know what you did. You know you raped me. You know you can't erase that. I will tell you when I see you. I hope, for your sake, that I don't have a gun.

What if I do kill him? What will happen to me if I see him lying there - dead, motionless, empty, cold... like me? No. I don't want to kill him. I want him to know what he did to me. Just like I cannot ever forget him, he cannot ever forget me.

My birthday is November 17. The day of my birth is the anniversary of my death... ironic, isn't it?

But I am going to see you, Jay, on the anniversary of it all... on my birthday. November 17. Will we talk? Will I yell? Will you try to hurt me? I don't know... but I will see you soon... My rapist's name is Jay and he lives in Reno, Nevada.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Big Idea - Need Your Help!

I wanted to post this here for anyone that is interested in helping.

Click on the SURVIVORS CAN THRIVE (Blog) link on my sidebar...

Read the March 16th post: Survivor Aid for Rape & Abuse Awareness
It's all about working together to raise money for survivor's aid relief... Check it out and feel free to comment any suggestions, ideas, thoughts or the like...

We appreciate any kind of support you can provide!

The Closet

I can feel another little breakdown coming on. I wonder if I am intentionally doing this to myself for some reason. Am I secretly beating myself up and blaming myself for my rape? Is this why I can't get it out of my head? Why do I keep remembering all of these horrible memories? There are too many. I am too young to have this much burning inside of my tired, fragile little heart... this heart that is barely hanging on by a thread... this thread that is about to break any second from the force of my tears rushing past it.

And the tears have started to come. I remember the closet.

My tears are so heavy right now. These words are blurring once again as I am trying to get this out. I can't keep it in anymore. I wish I wasn't alone right now.

The Closet:

I was in high school. My dad was really angry for some reason. He was really drunk... again...

I don't want to tell you this, but I have to. I have to get it out of me. I can't believe this is the only life I have known - this life of always being in constant fear and constant pain... physical, mental & emotional pain.

My dad was really drunk and angry. We were fighting. I wrestled him away from my mom and took it again. We were in the living room.

I can't stop my tears right now. I hate this.

We were in the living room. It was over and he went into the kitchen to refill his Canadian Whiskey and water. My mom was in the living room. I was exhausted and tired. The only thing holding my body together was my skin. My skin was the only thing holding this broken mess inside of me together.

I left the living room, walked down the hall and locked myself in my room. I heard things falling and him yelling again. I heard him yelling through clenched teeth. I knew he had my mom again but I couldn't go out there. I was too tired. I was already too broken. I just stood by my bedroom door and tried to listen through the crack. I grabbed my phone, walked into my closet, closed my closet door and called my brother at his college dorm. I prayed he would answer. His friend answered and handed him the phone.

I said hello and asked what he was doing. He said he was just hanging out with his friends watching a game. He asked what was going on - the usual small talk. I told him nevermind, that I would just talk to him later because it sounded like he was busy. My brother said he wasn't busy doing anything, they were just watching a game. He just started making small talk. I started to cry so hard.

"What's wrong?"

"It's so bad. I don't know what to do. I'm so scared. I don't know what he's going to do."

My tears have started to pour out of me again. Like a waterfall. I have never forgotten this night. It was one of the scariest nights of my life. I am certain my dad doesn't know just how much he has hurt me.

"What do you mean?" my brother asked me. "Where are you? Where's mom? What's going on?"

"I'm hiding in my closet." I am crying so hard that my brother can't understand me. I have to repeat myself over a few times to explain to him where I'm at.

"I'm in my closet. I have my bedroom door locked and my closet doors closed so he can't hear me." I tell my brother where my mom is and what happened that night.

"Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? What did he do to you? Where did he hurt you?" I am still crying so hard that my brother has to calm me down and ask me each question over again, one at a time.

"Are you hurt?"

"I don't know. I don't feel good. I hate this. I hate him. It's not fair. I just want it to stop."

"I know you do, sweetie. But you have to tell me if you're hurt. Where are you hurting?"

"I don't know. It's not supposed to be like this... I'm sore. I'm so tired. I'm just sore everywhere." I continued to sob uncontrollably.

"Are you bleeding anywhere? You have to tell me where he hurt you."

"No. I'm not bleeding. My arms and legs are just really tired. I can't move them. I just want to go to sleep."

"Do you want me to come home?" I start to cry even harder because I want him to come home so badly, but know he is too far away. I don't answer. He asks me again.

"Do you want me to come home? Tell me if you want me to come home."

"You can't. You have midterms."

"Fuck my midterms. I'll come home if you want me to."

"Yeah. I want you to come home. You have to. I can't do this. Please come home fast." I am crying so hard that I can hardly hold my head up while talking to him.

"Okay. It's okay, baby. It's going to be okay. But you have to listen to me, okay?"


"I have my keys in my hand. I'm just going to grab my backpack and I'm coming home, okay? I'll be home in an hour."

"Okay. I'm so tired. Just come home."

"It's going to be okay, sweetie. Listen to me. He's not going to hurt you, okay? Just stay in your room. I'm on my way. I'll be home in an hour. Just lay down in your bed if you're tired. Just stay there & close your eyes. Don't open the door. I'm leaving right now. I'm going to hang up now so I can come home."

"Okay. You'll be here in an hour?"

"Yeah. I promise. So I'm going to hang up now."


"Everything's going to be okay. I love you. I'll see you soon. Stay where you are."


My brother did make it home in an hour. He had the most disgusted, angry look on his face when he walked through that front door. He threw his backpack on the ground. He and my dad started to argue. They had a fight. They started to wrestle and my dad started to swing at my brother. But my brother handled himself - he wasn't the drunk one. They continued to fight. My dad crashed through the hallway wall. There was a big hole there afterwards.

I just stood there and watched the whole thing, knowing this was not normal, knowing this was not what other high schoolers were doing at that same time. My dad made a hole in the wall, just like he made a hole in my heart.

I will never forget that night. But now that I have told you, I may not have to remember it anymore.

Dear God,
I beg you to let me sleep tonight. Please. Just let me rest.

MANTRA: Crawling

Artist: Linkin Park
Song: Crawling

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming /confusing
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling /I can't seem

To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Wthout a sense of confidence and I'm convinced
That there's just too much pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

Discomfort, endlessly has pulled itself upon me
Distracting /reacting
Against my will I stand beside my own reflection
It's haunting how I can't seem...

To find myself again
My walls are closing in
(Without a sense of confidence and I'm convinced
That there's just too much pressure to take)
I've felt this way before
So insecure

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

Crawling in my skin
These wounds they will not heal
Fear is how I fall
Confusing what is real

There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface
Consuming /confusing what is real
This lack of self-control I fear is never ending
Controlling /confusing what is real

Friday, March 17, 2006

God Is On Drugs

I have a dear girlfriend who is probably my most best and favorite girlfriend ever. We are very similar in a lot of ways. We have shared many ecstasy, coke-filled, drunken, trouble-making nights during (and since) our college days. But we have pretty much moved on from the hard stuff since then (although an occasional drug induced worry-free night does appeal to us here and there).

I remember when she moved away after college, we used to talk for hours about how fucked up Life can be... how she just hands us good days on a platter and then just - snap! - throws us in a dark hole and fucks us up. "Life really can be a bitch," we used to say. "She is really starting to piss us off. Why can't she just let things be sometimes?!" We have both been through so much in our lives and with our families that we just understand one another when either of us is feeling totally and completely lost and alone. There is no one else who can better understand how "the crazies in my head" (as I like to call it) operate better than she can.

During one of our many long-winded conversations, we somehow began talking about God and how the hell she decides what our lives are going to be like. We came to a conclusion: God does just as many drugs as we do. That is why the weather is always changing... just like our lives. God can't figure out our lives any better than we can. She fights with Life. She fights with Mother Nature. She fights with The World. Sometimes they all get along, sometimes they don't. When it snows, she's on coke. When it's perfect summer weather, God's on ecstasy. When the leaves turn that amazing fall color, God is on mushrooms. She trips on acid when there is thunder and lightening. And she smokes a bowls when the sun is setting.

I am struggling so hard these days that I need my girl now more than ever. I texted her to check in last weekend and when she asked how I was, I texted back that I am hanging on by a thread, everything is hitting me so hard again, and I don't know what to do anymore with any of this. And then I texted her again that I wanted to talk to her but nevermind because I will just sound like a broken record. This is our email contact:

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 - 11:57 am
Subject: hey
To: (The Missing Link)

hey there... how are you doing? i'm worried about you. what is bringing everything to the forefront again? don't ever feel like I've heard it all before, so you can't talk to me - I'm always here for an ear to listen.

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 - 12:34 pm
Subject: Re: hey

yeah... i know you're always there - who else would understand the crazies in my head?? i just get sick and tired of hearing myself talk about everything though, you know? it keeps happening every night - the rape - over and over again. the nightmares, the crying spells, the headaches, the nausea... it's all there again. this is the worst its ever been. its been bad before, but now, its like im remembering all of these things i haven't thought about it in years - even things about how bad my dad was w/his drunken rampages - meaning the hitting & how i would always get in the way when he would go after my mom so she would be safe & i would get it instead. things like when i was almost a month late w/my period after that fucked up night and how i had to secretly make arrangements for an abortion b/c i thought i was pregnant w/his fucking kid.

even just writing this email to you is making me cry but i cant because im at work. everything is so fucked up. I know it will get better, but its like... i dont know... its like now that im finally at that point in my life where i can focus on writing for publication, all of these "dirty little secrets" of my past are resurfacing... and hitting me so hard because its like the world is almost throwing it in my face and saying: LOOK - THIS IS YOUR LIFE. and i have to just accept it.

i dont know what to really do anymore w/any of this. all of this shit is really my life - that's all really hard to accept. and i cant imagine ever meeting someone that is going to be okay with all of this, you know? who would ever want to walk into all of this? who would ever want to be with such a fucked up crazy girl like me?? i dont know... everything is just so, so, so, confusing and super hard to digest - like each memory is cutting my insides so deep and the blood from all of these cuts are the tears that just pour out of me when i least expect it...

i just cant believe all of this shit that I've had to put up with my whole life... im too young to feel this old, you know? im only (age) and just feel myself rapidly losing hope.

im a royal fucking mess - just like my life.

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 - 3:07 pm
Subject: Re: hey

Jeez (Missing Link)... I'm so sorry you are going through all of this. I wish I could just erase your past for you! Are you specifically writing about the rape? Is that why it's bringing everything up? I wish I could tell you how to make yourself feel better. Maybe by going over it all and facing things you haven't thought about in years, you will work through it? I wish there was a good therapist or someone you could talk to. It's so hard to be locked in your head - you start to feel like that IS life. I'm not saying that's the solution but it might just help to have an outlet so you're not holding this torrent of emotions in.

As far as meeting someone - it's not true that you won't. So many people are fucked up in their own ways. There are empathetic, caring people out there and someone will see it through if they really care about you. But right now, you can't think that way - it's beating yourself up even more. First you have to help yourself get through this before you think about meeting anyone.

let me know if there is anything i can do and call me anytime. I can't stand the thought of you up there isolated and going through this alone.

I'm taking a little road trip next week to visit her for a little shopping, dinner and talk therapy. I haven't seen her in ages and miss our time together. We've planned to meet up next Wednesday... I can't wait to get out of here and hang out with her, to talk with her and not feel so damn fucked up and crazy. We have seen each other through so much in our lives. I need her now more than ever.

Doubting Everyone

I'm feeling about as fucked up as a girl can feel these days. Don't know what's going on. Just feel like it keeps happening over and over every night. It's been a really rough week. I have been testing everyone in my life lately - wondering what they want from me. Needing to know who I can trust and who I just want to shut the door on... Just when I think I can't possible feel any more crazy than I already do, I surprise myself...

Text Messages to Friend, Male - 03/14/06, 7:30 pm

ME: You should - your blog. Doing that with mine.
HIM: How do you do it?
ME: Unsure, figuring it out still.
HIM: Let me know if you find out for sure. How are you?
ME: Not good.
HIM: Why?
ME: You know what my blog's about.
HIM: Well, yeah.
ME: I mean I'm just struggling again...
HIM: Oh, I see. I'm really sorry. So you're whole blog is about that?
ME: Pretty much. & lots of other fucked up shit that's happened that would trip you out.
HIM: Damn. Well, sorry. Is it up yet?
ME: My site? Yeah, been posting for weeks.
HIM: Can you send me the address?
ME: You'll freak out with what you'll read. Trust me. It's not good stuff. I'm still struggling with all of it. You may never want to talk to me again...
HIM: Well, if you don't want me to read it, I understand.
ME: Don't know what I want or who I can trust - the memories are that bad right now. But also don't want to lie to you about what my life's really all about. Just need time...
HIM: Yeah, that's fine. Take the time you need. It's probably good for you to write about it.

03/15/05 - 8:50 pm

ME: Didn't mean to be short with you last night re: sending my site link. Just really confused about lots of things and people in my life right now.
HIM: It's all good. I understand. I'm kind of similar myself. I often wonder what I'm doing exactly.
ME: Yeah, mix that with the flashbacks & nightly nightmares & I am about as fucked up as a girl can get these days. Seriously want to kill him.
HIM: That's fucked up. Sorry.
HIM: When was it?
ME: My birthday... a while ago.
HIM: Damn. Who was it?
ME: Teammate of best friend's boyfriend.
HIM: I'm sorry. That's shitty.

03/16/06 - 7:02 pm

ME: Will send the - info if I figure it out but don't think I want to stay in touch anymore. Haven't really seen the point for a while... just being 100% honest.
HIM: Alright. Send it if you can. Yeah. I understand. It's probably for the best I guess. Hope things go better for you and definitely keep writing.
ME: Don't know if it's for the best, just really confused about what you want from me... and bailing is easiest right? Think it sucks but okay if you think it's for the best.
HIM: Well, I don't even know what I want from myself. I don't want to bail but I can't really provide much of anything. I'm not even a good friend right now.
ME: I'm in the same place with my life and what I can give. This is what rape does - makes you fear everything and everyone. I don't want to bail either, guess I'm just really lost.
HIM: Yeah, well I don't want you to fear me. I don't know what to say.

Nothing makes any sense to me. It seems that whenever I try to understand a situation better, I end up being more confused and drained than I was when I started. Why is everything and everyone so fucking gray and hard to read? Why is everything so blurry? Why do I have this desperate need to figure everything out? What is going on with me? I feel so damn crazy these days. This isn't who I normally am. I don't know where my head and my heart are anymore. Everything is so disconnected inside of me. Everything is malfunctioning. I don't work right anymore. I go through the day-to-day motions but nothing is processing. Nothing at all.

I'm sure this guy, and the rest of my friends, think I am absolutely crazy these days. No one can understand why I get into these weird places - I can't understand HOW I get here. I can't understand why I STILL can't trust ANYONE. I even doubt my own brother half of the time. I think everyone is lying to me, only out to use me to further themselves. Everyone is just using me as a stepping stone to better themselves and their lives.

What a twisted, twisted, fucked up way to live.

Except that I have never known any other life.

I am totally and completely fucked up.

I can feel it deep inside.

The fucked up part. It is a twisted, rotten, dirty mass that is buried deep inside of me. It has been buried there for so long that it has become a part of me. It is growing inside of me. It is growing with my insides. This is why I am malfunctioning. It has grown in the way of who I used to be - an attractive, funny, alive, smart, spunky, witty, beautiful person. This rotten mass has become bigger than me.

I don't know what to do.

I am totally & completely lost.

I am blinded by this twisted, rotten, dirty mass.

It has suffocated my heart.

It is resting on the replay button of my worst and most painful memories.

I am rapidly losing hope.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

MANTRA: Crucify

Artist: Tori Amos
Song: Crucify

Every finger in the room
Is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces
Then I get afraid of what that could bring
I got a bowling ball in my stomach
I got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now
I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I've been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Just what God needs
One more victim

Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Every day
I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself
Every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains

Got a kick for a dog
Beggin' for Love
I gotta have my suffering
So that I can have my cross
I know a cat named Easter
He says will you never learn
You're just an empty cage girl
If you kill the bird
I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I've been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Got enough guilt to start
My own religion
Please be
Save me
I cry

Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Every day
I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself
Every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains

MANTRA: Boulevard of Broken Dreams

Artist: Green Day
Song: Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

I walk alone...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
What's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

I walk alone...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

I walk alone...

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a...

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone...

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Just Weather the Storm

It's been another really strange weekend. Just feeling - and hating - the tornados that zip around inside of me. Their force makes my toughest memories earthquake to the surface of my dirty and stained skin. This skin that I don't just want to peel off of me, but grate it off. I want to slowly grate it off of my body into little bits and pieces and then open the window to let this pile of grated skin just blow away wherever the world wants to take it. Just let it blow over here and over there, spreading itself thin to different parts of the earth's surface, planting myself wherever the world thinks I need to be. Anywhere but here.

The weather has been pretty nuts lately. I don't live in a snowy area, but the newscasters (who never know as much as they claim) were predicting snow just up in the hills from where I live, which is the beach. I finally crawled out of bed yesterday afternoon and as I was brushing my teeth, I heard a tapping on my bathroom window. Like little nails tapping softly on the glass. I turned around and looked out... it was hailing. Tiny little balls of ice falling from the sky. Weird, I thought. I have never seen hail around here. And I've been living here since college.

I struggled to take a shower and get dressed, crying off and on because I can't seem to get clean anymore. I always feel dirty. No matter how long I stand in the shower and let the water just run over my aching and beaten body, I am still dirty. Sometimes, because I am thinking so much (a problem I can't seem to get rid of), I wash my hair twice or start to shave the same leg over again because I forgot I just did that. And then I scrub again. And again. And soap again. And then just once more. And then I rinse again and just stand there while I let the water slowly wash away my dad's bruises and my rapist's fingerprints.

I made myself look extra pretty yesterday. I normally put on eyeliner and mascara, but used some light eyeshadow yesterday, too. I was feeling particularly dirty and drained so I took extra care to look "normal." I looked good. I looked happy - "looked" being the operative word here. I generally look pretty normal, I guess. You would think I have an incredible life from just looking at me, I've been told. Whatever that means. One guy - who was interested in me at the start of college - told me that I was one of those girls that guys would notice walking on the other side of the street and would want to run over to get to know better. I just had that whatever it was, he said. I don't know what he meant, but it was nice to hear... especially since I met him just after three high school friends died in a drinking and driving accident and another childhood friend had just killed herself. This guy wanted to date, I guess, but when he called me once, I pretended like I didn't know who he was. That was the end of that.

Anyhow, I didn't have a plan of action yesterday or anything... I just needed to get the hell out of my stupid place. The weather was shitty, but I just needed to get in my car and drive somewhere. Driving always helps me think. Just listening to music and driving. I filled up my car with gas and headed south. It started to pour.

As I continued on my drive, I noticed even the weather was confused about how it felt. There were black clouds to my left, blue skies above, and patchy white cotton ball clouds to my right. The ocean was calm. And then ten minutes later, it grumbled with choppy waves and loud crashes against the rocks. I was confused. It would sprinkle lightly. Then it would downpour for a solid ten minutes. And then the sun was out to join the blue sky. The world was so undecided and roller-coasting with her own emotions that she couldn't make up her damn mind. I was getting frustrated with her carelessness for my safety and well-being.

But who was I to get frustrated? The world was entitled to feel however she wanted, right? I was just as confused and rocky as she was. I feel sunny glimpses of blue skies sometimes, too. But then I panic when I see dark clouds in the distance because I don't know how hard the rain will pour out of my eyes during my next storm. At least I had a car to keep me safe and warm during Mother Nature's storms, but what about these life storms that keep interrupting my days and nights? What will keep me safe and warm during these storms? How do I feel safe when I have always been in danger? How do I stay warm when my heart is so cold from standing all alone?

I kept driving and listening to music, just thinking about how to make all of this stop inside of me. Or is that my problem? Is it that I have to feel all of this once and for all? Is it that the world, that Mother Nature, is - literally - showing me her storms as a means of helping me get through mine? I don't know...

I drove for an hour and found a store to pull into. I started to look for frames for some photos from a dear friend's recent wedding and a Caribbean vacation I took a while ago. Looking at these photos again, while trying to match frames, was a nice distraction - a little reminder that my life won't always be this difficult and draining. That I will, hopefully, be looking for frames to match to MY wedding photos because there will eventually be someone who won't be freaked out by my difficult and painful past. More than that, there will be someone who will understand that my difficult and painful past can, unknowingly and unsuspectingly, creep into the present. And he will also know that when this happens, there is nothing that I need more from him than to just be there to keep me safe and warm when I wake up from my nightmares.

Today was the same thing... another long drive listening to music until I felt like stopping somewhere. Pulled into a few stores and spent unnecessary money. But fuck it - I haven't shopped in ages. I needed to spend a little something on myself. I needed to do something nice for myself because all I have been doing is letting my past beat me up.

I saw three rainbows on my drive today, too. I have never seen three in a row. I have a picture of two in a row on my fridge because even that I rarely see. But three? That was pretty nice. And then there were two more going in the opposite direction... when the hell does that happen? Five rainbows criss-crossing in the middle of all of these confusing storms? Very strange, but very beautiful. Very mysterious, but very calming. Very hidden-message from the world to me, I thought:

Even in the worst of storms, you will find your beauty. As long as you keep your eyes open, your head up and your foot on the gas, you WILL move forward.

Wasn't Alone Last Night

Woke up in the middle of the night because I felt my bed moving. I was laying on my stomach with my head turned to the right. My right arm was tucked under the pillow where my head lay.

I suddenly felt the bed move, like someone was there. I felt it sinking in where my arm was. But no one was there, of course. I'm sure it was another nightmare. I hate it when I have these kinds of nightmares. Sometimes I even feel like someone is pulling the covers off of me or breathing in my ear. Very, very, very scary stuff.

Anyhow, I started to force myself out of my sleep. I tried to move, but I couldn't. My body was really heavy. It was the same kind of feeling like trying to yell but there is no voice to be heard. As soon as I woke up, I turned on my tv for light and noise again.

The night before last, I had nightmares about my cousin and her mom (the same two who pulled all of that shit and kicked me out of the house). This time, they were both egging me on, telling me fucked up stuff when no one was around - how they were going to do this and do that to make my life a living hell - and when other people came into the room, they played all innocent.

Fuck those bitches. I couldn't care less if they died tomorrow. They did whatever they could do to kill me, as far as I'm concerned. When I totaled my car and almost died right after they kicked me out, my cousin never even called - but of course I had to go see her when she had her fucking nose job. Bullshit. And when I totaled my car, her mom came over and needed to know exactly what happened in my accident because of how awful it was.

"Nothing," I told her.

"What do you mean nothing? Look at your car. It was something. How could it be nothing? Thank God you're all right. What happened?" she asked in her conniving, nosy, manipulative way.

"I mean nothing. You know what nothing means. The car just crashed. A lot of cars crash everyday. Mine was just one of them today."

She snickered and walked away. Too bad you bitches weren't under it, I thought.
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