unknowing the unknown

Daydreaming through a teardrop.
Sensing the Freefalling echo as it races down my cheek.
Remembering yesterday has never been as arduous as when trying to imagine tomorrow.
While yesterday is a collage of happiness mixed up in regret, folded up nicely like an origami puzzle. Tomorrow is a vastly empty bright nothingness that will not share its secrets with me.
Stinging thoughts vaporize my memory as I stretch my unknowing mind to comprehend now…
Now what.
Now when.
Now.
Now is an uncompromising bitch that threatens to devour me on dark days, and merely mocks me with an empty blank stare as I search through what I had thought I known from yesterday.
Unknowing the clumsy known.
I examine the travesty of reckoning with time.
Time is endless.
…and a baffling facade of incoherent theories, troubling proclamations and never ending hypothesis.
We do not know.
We really only know the tiny ribbons that connect us…
We do not know what time is, how it was created, if it always was, or if perhaps we created it to overlay the troubled reasoning our mind creates deep in the night.
The more I know the less I’m sure of…
Troublesome yet irreversible is the quantum that chases me when I try to rest.
Dire warnings go unheeded as I travel the realm of lunacy.
I cannot stop to ponder the mere thoughts of others as I dunk my spirit into the babbling brook of what I do not yet know.
I seek to dismiss. I seek to reason. I seek to find my peace.

Confession…introspection…

I believe that I killed my Q.

My thoughts swirl like a bastard wind that won’t stop blowing.

I fear my thoughts, so I shut them down, refusing to look at them as they hurl themselves into my understanding.

I can’t abide for my eyes to be open. I do not deserve to see.

The world quakes with blurred sight as the tears cascade down my face.

I hate where I work.

It is a stupid place to work.

We have no answers.

We merely create, then ignore the quest.

I told him to walk away.

…just walk away.

Get the fuck away from your crazy chick.

Crazy chicks will put you in jail.

Then I will have to change jobs.

My personal little crusade will be for nothing.

And it will be your fault.

I killed him.

He walked away..

…and then he died.

My thoughts tangle themselves around my throat and gently squeeze the life out of me.

I shall let them.

I do not fight for breath…but breath comes anyway.

Nausea and fatigue are my soul mates.

I have no answers to give them anymore.

I don’t know how to make the ignorant things stop happening.

My advice will kill a person.

My mouth should be sealed shut.

I no longer speak freely, I begin to think…but it must be kept silent.

I have no answers.

I am inside out with questions.

I have spent some glorious time blaming others.

But I know, that it was my words that lead him away that night.

I know.

She was just being who she was and what she will always be... psychotic.

Living is dangerous business.

Teaching is a minefield of FUCK!

Who we are is what we say.

I am a killer.

And I am a disastrous mess of simple answers to complex enigmas.

306 words and I am no closer to retribution.

The earth should swallow me whole.

It is not the purge that is the point.

The purge could never ease the disgrace.

I admit there will be no absolution to the wound I pick at to keep me awake.

I no longer seek…

Seeking is pointless.

We can all dance around the words…and words have such power….such power.

I found no solace in the blaming…

It merely is what it fucking is.

To late to rethink.

Thinking is what caused this great tragedy.

Thoughts are evil.

Evil is merely the absence of God.

Rambling, shambling unease will qualify the audacious.

I cannot lead. I cannot speak. I cannot.

They pull me into a room to understand the circumstance.

I have lost my words.

I fake the answer.

I talk in circles to alleviate the drama.

I shouldn't be there.

Still, I know and comprehend more than most, but it is not good enough.

The effects of the medicine washes over my soul, as I try to disembark from the rest.

Silent calm eases the fire in my mind.

I should not be calm… I do not deserve the whiteness of bliss.

I gulp the tranquility because I am human…merely mortal…merely a girl.

I was a girl who told him to get away from the crazy to save himself…but instead it killed him.

none

  hmm, So my daughter has asked me to help her to write a paper for her.  She asked me to read it and help her think about what else she needs to say. The paper is on schizophrenia.
    so I read it just now.
I don't think I can do it.
I think I will have to think about it longer then the time allowed to hand the paper in.
Imokimokimokimokimoimok
fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

                       tripped into the damn rabbit hole again.
fucking rabbit.
        she has quoted quite a few statements of mine... I wonder if I'm right?
I wonder if she is going to cite my delicate thought pattern at the bottom of the page.
I wonder if the Cheshire cat is hiding in the branches above my head...or in my head...I'm confused.
Sometimes I amuse me...most of the time, though I wear myself out thinking... I get so sick of hearing my thoughts amplified inside my mind.
   I wish they were always in my voice...then they really would be just thoughts, and not 'auditory hallucinations.'
   I wish I didn't have such an interesting existence.
My kids don't.
they love the interesting things I come up with to think on.
sometimes I wish I could just be ... quiet.
I wish my thoughts would be quiet.
I guess my other daughter and I are amusing to watch at night.
we both roam the house...
All awake but still asleep.
.........bouncing into one another but not being aware of each others existence in our dream state.
Fate tells us that she couldn't sleep...cuz we kept waking her with our antics.
It seems I guess we, Lyric and I play off each other while we dream.
the rabbit hole is becoming larger.
  I always knew I could relieve my clients pain if I could get them to sleep a good sleep. A deep REM sleep, ya know so the dreams don't fuck with them while they are awake.
that is boring.
I like the random flow of lunacy...I can't get all my thoughts out right now tho....I'm constipated with delusions.
I need to purge before they become a part of the magic that is I.
                    :):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):):)
I know, understand, comprehend when I am being preciously irritatingly irrational.
             I just like it.
especially if your believe everything I say....
......come on Alice....there is a tea party somewhere....

I never knew how much a broken heart could make a sound when you are stuck inside a silent scream.
 Trying to reason when you have lost all reason is precarious.
understanding the pain of another brings a knowing you cannot unknow.

Living inside a fixed horror show is exhausting.
trying to 'be' in a world that doesn't comprehend the audacious living your busy with...

unfrozen

My nature dances across the heavens.

My lightness of step is transfixed in time.

I laugh as the seconds are frozen in instance.

Reasoning has left the stratosphere.

Silly madness is the common.

Your unbelieving fear is not relevant to the most guarded certainty.

The truth is still the truth.

Breathing into the circles of thoughts that erupt inside my mind I cascade my doubts to the flowing river beneath me.

The waters flow as my sorrow joins them at the juncture of remembrance.

Tranquility is fleeting as I grit my teeth against the reality of forever.

Time has no hold in the unending space of evermore.

Wrestling with pain is exhausting when there is no end.

Sleep is yet another place to find unspeakable thoughts.

Taunting beliefs threaten to transpire my ego.


Knowing to much is torture.

Having an end is not the end.

Riding the currant of perception is releasing my body to unclench.

The rigid loss of rapturous laughter is hateful.

I’m stuck between tearing off my scab and letting it bleed or leaving it alone and letting it heal.
If I let it heal…has the poison left or will it eventually effect my entire body?
If I keep picking at it will I scar severely?
It’s a mind fuck of what ifs.
I don’t know how I should feel. I really liked not feeling anything. Silence. I felt silence. My thoughts were silenced.
I stare.
I stare at nothing and let the slideshow of memories freshly wound me yet again.
New memories.
Memories I had almost forgotten.
Those memories were kept back it seems to disable me …or was it to taunt me…I wanted so bad to purge them all at once to be ok once again. I keep forgetting it will never be ok again…not ever.
Each fresh memory takes every ounce of breath I have ….It leaves me powerless to intake air.
I turn my mind to focus on…
Please give me something else to think on.
Or is that wrong too.
 Should I pick my wound or leave it to scab…

I wake to find myself running through my hall deep in the night. In my dream state I can feel him trying to tell me something…something important….something that will help me rest again…he is talking but I cant hear him.
It makes perfect sense, this telling he tells  to me in this state of between dreams…this state of almost sleep I reside in… But when I am fully awake I cannot grasp the thoughts.
I fear it is like dreaming that you should make coffee in the toaster. While your in the ‘in between’ state of dreaming, it makes perfect sense to make coffee in the toaster…but when you wake…the thought is ludicrous.
Are these wakeful dreams I try to run from just as ludicrous?
I wake running and the image of his little face in my dreams…its like he is shouting, he wears a sad face…he is trying to say something, but I can‘t hear him…

laughter is laughing at your audacity!

Validity…
To be valid. To make sense. To use logic.
       So a few years ago I did my own personal study of human reaction. I love to watch people react and interact.  Stating thoughts, weather the thoughts really mirror my own or not , just to watch the reaction of those ‘intelligent’ people around me makes my existence in the world a little  more jovial…a little more interesting.
      I am currently watching the reactions of those that think they know me or my diagnosis…hilarity is my constant companion.
      I will not deny that I have times of insanity. I do. Everyone does.
I am reminded of the great philosophers of centuries past. Those dudes were really crazy…until all of a sudden they made sense. Hehehehehe…then their weird crazy thoughts become a part of  reality. hmmmm
         I live my life with no apologies…always have.  Look,  we all have crazy tendencies, crazy thoughts, crazy interactions, crazy behavior.
That was really my point to all my crazies….embrace your crazy maybe you’re the very next Einstein.
Yet so MANY things happened because of my announcement…so so many.
First, watching people pick apart every word spoken and every nuance made was hysterical…yes h y s t e r I c a l!
  Amusing myself, I began to pick apart those that pick me apart…there are a LOT of craziness out there…just walking around…pretending to be normal. Hehehehehe
     Now I would NEVER deny my insanity…I’m kind of proud of it…like in the south they bring their crazy people out and brag…I love being so creative that I can slip into my ‘marys world’ and lose myself.  Now before when I used to say a statement like that people close to me would say…oh that’s just Mary…she is a little different and move along….but now that there is a definite known word,(schizoaffective, scitzophrenic, bi polar 11, any fucking really crazy word you would like to insert) attached to my name everyone gets all jumpy…it's so funny…cuz I have never changed…nothing about me has changed…but peoples perception of me changed…lmfao!
Problem is...im really ok… I move around a bit(transient)…but I believe I have conquered that.  I have weird thoughts (delusions). The difference in me and the resident crazy talking your ear off about stupid…is that I can recognize a weird thought and chose to put it in a story or laugh my ass off at my raining insanity.  I don’t get lost in it…like my poor crazies around me….I really really have a heart for them….they can’t find their way out and that makes me sad…but I don’t live there…I merely visit.  ;)
My words do get tangles in my mouth sometimes(jumbled speech)…I have so many thoughts...they sometimes fight themselves trying to be heard first… gripping the reality of any situation is paramount to survival.  And when you work around a lot of crazy people…well you better gird your loins. Hehehe
When I ‘don’t feel good’ I recognize it and stay away or don’t speak…’not sure’…don’t feel good’  are a very big part of my vocabulary because I do not trust my thoughts…Nor do I trust my perceptions…I contrast every nuance…sure wish everyone did!
I met a young girl the other day. She was talking with a group of girls. She told a story about her friend. She said, ‘that is like a schizophrenic…your so funny, girl.: and went on. People didn’t stop and analyze it… they announced it and went on. When I asked her about her thoughts on her ‘crazy’ friend she said, ya, she is different…very sweet, says the funniest things.” ahhh to be young.
Dang…I’m bored with this again…
But first let me remind you of the first few lines in the scriptures… God created our world while His world already existed…many worlds…I know it’s a little deep…it’s a little more then surface belief…its more then ‘Jesus loves me this I know’…oh well next time,maybe….

transforming

Riding the tale of a comet, I pause to reflect on the antiquity of my sorrows.
Yesterday is the foundation of my remarkable dash between the dates on my tombstone.
I search for peace inside the beating of my heart that matches the universe as I scale the wall to my tomorrow.
I yearn for solitude ,yet crave company in my turmoil.
I cannot fathom the reason for the face that I see.
I seek rapture and no longer crave redemption.
Passion is the fleeting symptom of release to the side of oblivion I careen into as I sleep.
Waking is merely words falling from my face as I try to rectify my existence.
Shadows slither so slowly now I can see the total outline if I stare long enough.
Solid masses solidify out of the curtain of nothing as I search for nonentity.
Seeking to name this delusion is a terrible waste of the precious beating of my aging heart.
Truth can be vanquished if we return to normalcy.
Nothing gained by pretending.

title me done

Hmmm, I have battled this subject for such a long time.  A long enough time that I have become quite an expert on the subject.  The vast first hand knowledge that I have is to encompassing to sort through all at once.  I am forced to write my thoughts today in fear that I will become bitter if I do not at least let some of them go from me…out into the infinite whiteness of this computer screen.
        Rape victim…not what is a victim, as we all think we know what that is… but the battle the victim fights…
         I have been a victim.
         My children have been a victim.
And like all victims I have ever met, and it has been a considerable number,  how do we not remain a victim.
I would love to tell you that once your ‘perped on’ you move forward as if the event never happened. I would love to tell you that ,but I cannot…It would be a lie. This is a vast phenomenon of human misunderstanding, human fear, human reactions.
   As I walked myself calm at the YMCA last night I pictured in my swirling mind the rage and disbelief falling from my form as I strove to answer the screams in my head.
         I turned to my young pre teen daughter and told her, “We have not, as a society come any further then Tamar’s’ story  in the biblical days.”
   Tamar is not a well known story in the bible, so if your scratching your head in wonderment your probably not alone.  It is a very short story.  It is contained a  very short number of paragraphs. It is a horrendous testimony contained in one chapter.  
        I use her story almost daily, as victims will continually seek me out.  As I have said the story is very short, and there is not a lot to teach from.  In the beginning of my wavering teachings it was enough to let the other victims know that they were not alone…that this atrocity had been happening for a long time.  Yet as time has merged into a place where I should be able to offer something more then just a comrade in this horrible event, I am forced to look at society and how we fail victims so miserably. It is not enough to shake my head at the world around my little victims as they try to steer through a world that still protects the perpetrators.  It is not enough to understand how a victim feels. That only goes so far.  It is not enough to parrot back how they feel as someone somewhere (everywhere) do not know how to proceed in the fragile world of a victim of such an atrocious crime.  The emotions a victim goes through is to raw to talk about, and It would not be fair to share such  intimate details.  Furthermore it is my firm belief that you as a reader already know…the statistics are truly staggering.  The age old question then rears it’s ugly little head.  Why treat the victims as if they have been wrong in complaining about their treatment…their rape…their total loss of power over their body, their life, and their future.  Why do we re-victimize the victim?
     Even victims will turn into victim abusers.  Why do they do that?  Where they as victims told the age old lie themselves.  Where they told that it was not to be spoken about.  Where they told by not speaking it was inherently telling them that they were not good enough to proceed to the truth. That  their pain was not important.   And in so doing then they made life choices based on the assumption that they were not worth a second thought as they fought to find solid ground.  So they made life choices that did not speak to release and happiness but to pain and despair no matter what anyone else told them.  They forever from the moment someone told them to,  “hush be quiet”, they started telling themselves that their sanctity, their body was only a tool , only something to be used for the power and control of another.
      I know a lot of victims.
          I’ve met victims that sell their body because someone somewhere first made them a victim.  Secondly, someone somewhere told them that it was ok for that to happen to them.  The victim didn’t really believe that but find her only solace with the others like her. Those others that had also been hurt and then told to shhhhhh.  Those who also knew it had been wrong.  those who welcomed them into their personal hell.  Their world that survived in the underbelly  of existence away from the ‘clean’ parts of society. They became a counter -culture into and of themselves. Bound by their own rules. But first they were a victim.
        I know victims who are so angry you  can feel the anger roll from their  bodies like waves of hate.  They are unable to move through the stages of a victim,  because no one was there to give them the tools.  No one was there to offer them a hand out of the pit they had been thrown into. First they were a victim.
       I know victims that  accept horrendous treatment from their lovers, husbands,  pastors, teachers, church  leaders… any one with power over them because they had been told to shhhhh, don’t say anything…and they didn’t.  First they were a victim.
      I know victims that need,  achingly need to use something…anything to make the angry voice in their head be quiet for just a minute so they can be human for just one second. They use any sort of substance, so they can halt the hate tirade that lives in their head endlessly. The inner shouting voice that tells them that they are not good enough for fair treatment.  The loud accusing voice that tells them that they deserved to be treated like a mattress. First they were a victim.
       I know victims that reside  more in then out of mental institutions because they cannot find their peace with what has happened to them.  No one took the time to look them right into the eyes and tell them that what had happened to them was wrong, and they are right to be angry.  Their fractured thoughts are so jumbled that they have to be medicated to not attack themselves.
 First they were a victim.
I also know a lot of victims that live a semi-normal life hating and pushing people around them so that they feel powerful, if only for a minute.  They need to feel powerful because they once  at one time was so powerless.  They made it through to appear normal to the world, but they hate themselves daily. 
 First they were a victim.
        Each victim is my victim.  Because they were first His, and He has taught me to reach out to them with dignity, compassion,  with no judgment or control over how they get through to the other side of the abyss they swim in.  I cry for them when they can’t see me cry.  I won’t let them see me break.  I am a tower of strength for my vics…I am their goal, the way they want to live, the way out of the pit. I offer my shaking hand to them.  I warn them that there will be pain, utter pain….and they will hate me…and that is ok too.  Cuz while they are hating me…I will still be loving them …pulling them forward through their personal debris. 
 But…I can’t fight the world, can I?
Society is a stubborn mistress that seeks to annihilate  the panic stricken of the hurt and abused.
You know those pictures on the internet. The ones that are a picture of something but if you stare long enough you see the hidden picture.  When I look at the picture I immediately see the hidden picture.  Victims are like that to me.  Their victim-ness jumps out at me.  I instantly see the pain and disbelief they try to hide.  
But that is not the point of this writing.
My plea is for us , as society to stop  treating victims the way you were treated and bring civilization to the standard it should be...we have been arguing this argument  since biblical times beginning with Tamar.
       Let me tell you about this tough chick named Tamar.   Tamar was a princess.  She was King Davids daughter by one of his wives.  King David also had several sons by other wives.  The point is that Tamar and ansolem were half siblings.  They both lived in the grand castle, with each having their own servants. Anmon was in love with Tamar.  She was very beautiful.  She and her  full brother were two of the most beautiful children of the castle.  Anmon could not stop thinking about her day and night.  He grew frail from loving her from afar.  His cousin told him of a plan to finally have her for himself.  So he did as his cousin suggested and pretended to be sick.   When the king came to check on him. Amnom told the king, his father that he needed Tamar to cook for him I his chambers so that he could feel better.  The king ordered it so.  When Tamar came in to cook for her brother she was merely being a good sister.  She was doing the right thing, the proper thing.  In short she was being a good girl and following orders.  Amnom told her that he could not eat unless she brought it to the bed for him after he had told all servants to go.  She did as instructed as did the servants.  As soon as the servants were gone Amnon tore at Tamars clothing.  She begged him not to do this thing. She reminded him that it was wrong. Wrong against God, wrong in society.  She reminded him that the king would give her to him if asked.  He did not care he had to have her and he did.  As soon as the rape was completed. His disgust for her was as encompassing as his lust had once been.  He told her to gather her robes and get out.  Tamar knew that this was a certain kind of societal death for her. She would be reduced to mere servant now. Her future was gone.  She would never be allowed to marry of have children of her own.  Her life was over. She plead with him again to marry her, so that she could have some sort of life, some future beyond servant hood.  He not only refused to listen to her.  He ordered his servants to escort her out and bar the door.  
         Our little Tamar refused to go away quietly though.  She tore at her glorious virginal robes to indicate her loss and screamed through the streets.  She was not a silent victim.  She had been wronged.  Gotta love that brave chick.  But what did she have to lose? She had already lost everything.  He had taken everything form her.  Everything she had held dear to her.  




To be continued…

Leaving the tapestry of my rigid thoughts.

Diagnosing my fear as a symptom of disgust.

Living as if I can find solace.

Laughing glances follow me to oblivion.

Radiant lovely whispers caress my tongue.

Breathing becomes labored as I seek the valor of my thoughts.

Taking the encapsulated pieces of time resurrect my soul…one second at a time.

Wide eyed stare keeps me safe from the harm I feel all around me.

Talking to air is my rapture.

Knowing the degree of time is a constant nuance of forever.

Comprehension of knowledge inside the madness of laughing bubbling lights transpires my clinging fingers from the darkness.

I leave nothing unturned.

I furrow the depth of my weakness’

There is but one that can hold the madness back…

Only one.

musings....

musings....

Wiping away the vapor that encapsulates my mind,I look around me like a toddler touching grass for the very first time.

Raidiating luminosity rains inside my brain freely…

Easily I take in the landscape around me.

Clinging to the past is not consequential.

There is nothing to be gained by standing still.

No ground to cover if I remain in the same steps that led me there.

Boredom teases me with melancholy.

My mind springs forth and travels well before my troubleome body relents to journey.

tresspassing into the confines of normalcy I remained unchanged.

My heart,my soul remains intact as I continue my search for more…

Pondering my ability to remain still…I seek the confines that will not shackle me.

befriending truth

Stuck in the hiccup of pain…

Coaxing degradation from innocence…

Unwinding ribbons of hatred…

Recognizing agony casually, while trying to replace responses…

Survival is a tragedy…

Stuck in the hiccup of pain…

Taking the hand of a silhouette that cannot tolerate touch…

Transpiring against lunacy to negotiate with rage…

Living inside raw liquid emotions that must bubble to the surface without abatement…

Relinquishing history is a truce between the shadows that trip through the night…

title it...done

WE ARE ALL HUMAN…

I have crazy ridiculous faith.

I know it makes no sense…it is by mere definition lunacy…they all called Him crazy…

My battle to free the victims…

I have a person that I know. He is not a friend. He is not allowed around my girls. He is not allowed to know where I live. He is just a guy I know.

The year after our court battle was bizarre and surreal.

I met lots of characters.

Before this time my thoughts were black and white.

Your wrong. You did a bad thing. You must never to be looked at again. End of story.

Then that mystical, rapturous, ever pressing God made me open my eyes.

His people. His people were all victims…even if they victimized others…first they were victims. So, how do I draw the line in the sand.

Ahhh that’s a biggie isn’t it.

Let me tell you about Crazy Roy.

I’m not being derogative…he asked me to call him that…and trust me friends and neighbors…he is a crazy man!

I met him and he was merely annoying, dirty, bothersome…just weird.

But I had trained myself in the study of sexual predators…so many different kinds. I was not going to be fooled again! I was an expert in the field…my field. I knew he had red flags…I knew he was a situational molester…heehee, I really did have categories of molesters...I could quote statistics too…I was an expert bore from utter fear.

Anyway, when he found me somewhere and endlessly talked to me…I could hardly hear what he was saying cuz I was so busy hearing the bullshit instead…its like you gotta be real dude cuz I cant hear your babbling anymore…you gotta come clean…and he did…he told me that yes he did do that, and he fought the urge everyday…and he had been questioned about it…never charged tho, just like so many…never charged…cuz no one wants to admit his nastiness was near them. He is a real character. So just questioned . Then we broke through the bullshit that ALWAYS follows the admission. He gave me every tag line…every excuse they always give …I don’t really want to go into all that. Because its boring to me now.

But trust me, he is a sexual deviant…and you should never try this at home because he is a very, very dangerous individual.

We cut through all his bullshit…and …and…well, I didn’t run away from him. I did however put very bold, strong boundary’s around him, cuz I am not an idiot.

I remember once I was busy paying and he was in the store, he saw that I was busy and ran, literally ran out to the car to talk to my girls,(A real deviant) I wasn’t afraid I stood at the window and watched and laughed. I watched Fate push the button that automatically rolled up the window and locked the doors. She wasn’t afraid, her face was a mask of pure nothingness. She had to fear of him…just total mistrust. Hehehe…I met him at the car still laughing. I said she aint going to talk to you…she KNOWS you. Groom away…you’ll be talking to air. I talked to him a bit longer then told him to be good…like I always do…be good,Roy. No fear.

Over the years…I have so many stories about him.

Once a tornado knocked a huge tree into my door blocking the path in and out. I had to use the back door. I am a single mom I have no resources. Crazy roy pulled up in his hoopity wagon and got out a handsaw…yes a handsaw and went to work. It took him more then a week to get it gone. The tree was twice the size of him around, and he had just a handsaw…but he kept at it everyday till it was gone. No fear.

One time I came up to the store and he was ,um…outside his ever loving mind…he was past psychotic…and he was scaring everyone…badly. I distracted him with my bullshit. He didn’t even know who I was…he was so gone inside his mind. I motioned for the clerk to the store and she called the police. I kept him talking…cuz he was clearly sick. When the cops appeared, he of course tried to flip out . I yelled for fate to get down in her seat…roy reached into his truck and pulled out a gun…I calmly told him that he was being ridiculous that we were helping him…he put it back and with that patented roy shit eating grin, and told me there were no bullets…The cops pulled in and I went to them and explained that he was very sick and needed an ambulance… He was crazy yelling again and blocking my path to my car. He hadn’t seen fate cuz she was hidden. I was stuck. I watched the police try to talk with him…then they had to man handle him down to the ground…it hurt my eyes, but it had to be done. I explained to the police that he was altered …not himself…didn’t even recognize me…they took him in patient…and he got better.

Next time I went to the corner store he ran out to me . I was trying to get gas. He took out a dirty tattered 20 and told me he was paying for my gas. He apologized for being crazy…it told him it was fine, he wasn’t in control….he bought my gas the next few times…It made him feel good.

I had treated him as a human. He had told me his dirtiest deeds (no details tho…I am human too), he had done some very bad deeds…Then I had seen him acting badly….still I smiled and looked him in the eye. I didn’t just talk at him…I listened to him…and it was always painful to listen to him. He stuttered and his face would freeze trying to get the hardest words out, but I was patient. I used my patience not because I would get something out of it…Not even the good feeling you get when you help someone. With him I never received that release of feelings. With him…I don’t know he just makes me smile. He is dirty, smelly, psychotic, …not sure if he could be redeemed in this world…he is so very lost…

….He confounds me…I don’t know why I treat him human…I just do… with him there are no little moments of ah ha. With him, I will never have a oh! I finally said the right word in the right sequence moment …With him, I don’t know…He is my thorn in my side…He is a rapist, pedophile, attempted murderer…and now finally murderer. He just continues to make horrible choices that effect so many people…Yet….he worked for over a week on my damn tree. He used money he did not have to buy gas for me so I could work. He is a real deviant.

No one will testify against him…because trust me, the dude would fucking kill you…no problem.

His blue eyes twinkle when he talks to me.

He reminds me of Santa Claus….he’s got those wrinkles round his eyes…

He is never to be trusted…not ever.

He and I understand each other.

He is a true predator.

He has no feelings.

He has no deep emotions.

He is an empty, scary individual.

…and he makes me smile every time I see him.

My Gideon battle…

Here is my thought for the day…I always try to end on a happy note. I do a lot of peer counseling. It’s my title. it’s my rank. But it is really unimportant…because really it is who I am. Who I have been, Who I will always be.

It was a huge struggle to get me here, but I am comfortable here, so I think that I will stay. I have two stories in my head. I am not sure if they are related, but I will begin cautiously with this one and I have an open page for the other…they may melt together…they may not!

Gideon had built a large army, and God said wait! Do not take all your soldiers into battle. If you win this battle with this large army it would be a worldly battle. If I am to be glorified…it has to be all about me….the world will not see my might if it is all your warriors…I paraphrased but my point is I want to tell you what I learned and pass on, as a ,peer councilor’ to the hurting broken around me. In the middle of the monstrous battle in front of you, you must let Him lead you. Even when the battle makes you feel crazy, even when everyone looks at you with the saddest eyes…battle on…

I had a huge battle.

My children were raped when they were four.

I hope you never have to know how hard that was to type.

So many thoughts, but I will reign it in.

If your reading this chances are you have read the previous blog.

So, you already knew this information…

I was utterly alone.

The very worst thing had happened to us.

Our five year court battle was not even the real battle.

It was a priceless exercise to find our peace.

I have written a lot about these moments, so I wont digress.

The battle really was about not letting my girls, my young ladies continue to be victims. That is my daily battle.

If we had won the court battle…it would have been a worldly battle. We would have been justified. Everyone would have seen the outcome, but the outcome would have been so menial compared to the real release, the real ‘win’.

God ….the Alpha AND the Omega…the creator of heaven and earth….saved me and then saved us from ourselves. I wont go into the words….so many words…I am so very tired…

My daily battle is to try to show His mighty love to the victims I interact with everyday. Not in a corny ,fake kind of God loves you way…cuz that shit used to piss me off to no end. “God won’t give you more then you can handle’ bullshit…really fuck you, how do you fucking know what I can handle…and the utter despair of the battle…the depth of the pain is to deep…so fuck you . You have no idea, of the pain I can handle or not fucking handle. Let me know when you hold the body of your lifeless child who is still breathing, still fighting to breath through… ya FUCK YOU!

Maybe your better at ignoring the pain and despair around you…I am not! I react, I fight, I pray, I teach, I remind, I love…

I remember trying to walk out of the courthouse…I could hardly stand let alone walk. Workers came out of their offices to watch me try to make my way out of the building…I walked alone. They wore such looks of shock, and despair…utter confusion to match my own. The word had quickly spread that the ADA had already quit her job…she couldn’t fight another day. It was to ridiculous. Everyone had to see the tragedy walking out… No one spoke , they merely stared with their quiet support. I can still see the rows of women standing up and down the hallways. No one was whispering to each other, it was just silent. There was no need for words. Everyone knew the travesty. I could hardly open the heavy door. I faltered. No one came to help me, it would have been offensive to help me. I had begun the battle on my own. I would finish it….on my own.

The sunlight was extremely out of place when I stepped out into it. I looked up to the sky, as if for the first time. I in actuality expected God to show Himself. I wanted Him to show himself in all His mighty anger at what had happened… He did not.

I kept glancing up trying to see His mighty arm stretch out from the heavens…He did not.

There were groups of people standing around…watching.

I didn’t know where I was going.

I could form no thought to how to step down the stairs. No one came to help , they merely watched with agonized faces. I finally made it to the ’smoke bench’ outside where our little ‘witness group’ had gathered. My girls were safely stashed away. This was the second day of testimony and they had already said their part. I remember several people handed me cigarettes. I just stared at them, the smokes not the faces. I couldn’t look at their faces…My ears were trained to the heavens…I knew He was coming. Cuz there was no way the world could continue to spin.

Silence…

Excuse me ladies and gentlemen this is a train wreck…you will have to back away…there is nothing to see here…Groups of three and four gathered on the outside circle of us, witness’ . Our case was not spoken of but everyone knew of it. It was a biggie. The judge had said in open court that he believed all the witness’ but he just didn’t think it was a crime worthy of punishment…

…..so rape of children was ok….

My brain could not wrap itself around that.

God was on His way….He had to be…I could not figure out a way to breath again in this world.

He did not come.

I don’t know who it was but several people gave me pills.

I don’t know what they were. I’m sure they were xanax or something…I think I remember that. I must have looked pretty…bad. I dropped the pills on the ground and everyone took a collective step back. I still couldn’t focus on the faces around me. I couldn’t stop looking for Him… He was so late already.

Someone asked me ,ever so softly and gently where the girls were…

Suddenly I took off running…I had to get to them before… Before some one else told them… I had to get to them…the thought of them brought the floodgates of tears, the tears that would not stop…

My little group followed after me running and yelling my name. still no one came close enough for me to swing. I was an injured animal, not to be trusted. He must be waiting to show Himself…He is just late…but He is coming…I wanted to be on the highway when He came…I wanted to see all His glory appear in the heavens and see Him take their car and hurl it….

“…It would be better a millstone be tied…” I could see the actual words written in the sky…He was on His way…He was merely coming in His time…But He WAS coming…He had to. The world was upside down and inside out…this was the nonsense world the last chapter of His book talked about.

………………………………................................GASP………………………………..........................................

Gideon built his army and God said…God said, no…It has to be about me……………

I could not wrap my brain around His will. I am the great manipulator…I tried to force His will into my existence…He didn’t fit.

I tried to control His glory, He was to big.

I tried to twist His logic to fit my own, HE IS GOD.

My battle was not as I expected…If we had won we would have been vindicated in this world. This world is not relevant to the spirit…the spirit is only relevant to the natural.

All the pain, suffering despair, turmoil, harassment, cruelty, rage…

It took me a year to get it.

To understand His will.

I see them everywhere…my victims…..His beautiful victims.

Reminds me of a dream I had during the darkest of my days. I was on a beach walking along the tide. I little girl ran up to me. She took my hand and thanked me. I was confused. I didn’t know why she had said that, she pointed behind me…I looked and there was a long, long, never ending line of children…she said, “they are yours….they all want to say thank you…but keep walking…we are following…”

……….So I keep walking…I keep moving forward….that had NOT been my battle…It would have been about me had we won…besides, by this time I hadn’t wanted repercussion…I wanted freedom and peace and new life for my injured children. I wanted them to have freedom from their pain…from their despair…and I wanted to love the dirty, broken around me because there are so, so many.

….so that is the battle…and no one knows of me….so it is all about Him….and we walk forward…each of us….each of the victims who become victors…we walk forward.

holidays are hard for me

I have a hard time during the holiday seasons.

My girls don’t. I made sure of that…I’m a great bullshiter. They know, they just let me lie and move on.

Holidays are hard for me.

I have had some rough holiday seasons.

I had to call out some pedophiles one time.

I had to put them on blast.

They in turn…turned a complete community against me successfully.

My holidays sucked for several years…during the trial days… five years of them.

But I couldn’t let my girls be unsafe.

I couldn’t allow them to be around negative, disbelieving, and unsafe people.

So we, my little family and I did holidays on our own.

Me and two little girls enjoyed the holiday season.

When cousins got old enough to drive…as this went on for five years…they would drive over and spend a little time with their cousins on the holidays.

Such sadness.

I merely stated the facts I had been told…and our entire world turned inside out.

People…professional people kept telling me the same thing…”I have never dealt with this before.”

I understand, I really do understand, your need to tell me this…but this did not help me process the fact that I had never been through this before either. And if you ,who is guiding me, has never done this …then how the hell am I supposed to act or react….hmmm.

I’ve journeyed forward for many years trying stubbornly to not look back at separate issues, but today… today I cry.

The first year on my own…all alone for thanksgiving…was something I had never done before either. I had two little ,tiny girls, who were five years old and just wanted to be excited like their classmates about the holidays. But we were separate, segregated, alone. We were victims. We were hard to look at. We had to much pain to look directly at for to long. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to act. We were untouchable. We were dirty…unclean…we were victims.

It just hit me the other day…We were on the outside because our perpetrators were not the regular perps. Our perps were nice church going head of the nursery, great pillars of the community perps…not your ordinary hide in the bushes, drug induced bad decision making perps. These were Christians for Gods sake. How dare I spill dirty laundry in their church. In their community…in their presence.

A wise women told me years later…after the smoke had cleared…after I had picked up the pieces of my broken life…She told me, “You know that an entire community can be groomed.” yes…yes, I know that. First hand I know that.

I shake my head today as I watch people try to decide if a victim is trustworthy or lying…Sometime it makes me scoff, and sometimes…ok ,sometimes I wanna punch them in the face.

A community can be groomed.

What does that mean though?

What is grooming? Grooming is a word people in the field use to describe how a perpetrator gains access to our children. Sadly I could teach a course on this , sadly I could quote statistics to you…but I’m so tired anymore…it no longer feels relevant to me now. As, I know what I know…and it is what it is.

Grooming though goes beyond getting access to your child…it s getting access to a community of children.

During our FIVE year court battle several less privileged victims came to confess their abuse by those same perps…but since we had been so harassed, ridiculed, and subjected to such hate…how would they fair in the coming forward for justice. You pick it up and move…and that is what they did, they merely wanted to stop by on their way out of town and let me know that I was right…that these people had perped on their kid too… hope everything works out for us, but if the community acted so vehemently against me…how would they ever fair against them.

When we told the truth…

We were asked to leave the house we were renting…we had two weeks.

We were asked to not come back to the church.

I was told by my pastor that he had nothing to say to me.

My family was tore apart…no longer a safe place for my girls. The perps were a part of all those things…and they won the battle. We were the poster child to what never to say or do to victims.

So in the short time between my daughter telling me horrendous life altering things that a five year old should never know…I had become homeless, without family support, with out a church, without a pastor, and without the new friends I had acquired through the gospel of Jesus Christ…

I was utterly, and completely ALONE.

I was forced to live in a one room house. We had been kicked to the curb, and since we were homeless my father had to step in…a little. So the very least because I was his daughter, but he didn’t have to do more then just enough…because he was a great and mighty man of God, and he had to show love to the other victims…the perps. ( I have to inject a thought here, when we finally go to trail these perps had successfully turned the entire community against us and the world saw us as the assailants and the poor accused as the vicitms. This thought was so well groomed that on the day of the trail when their legions of support came to support them they walked into the victims room in the courthouse. because the perps were considered the vics. Go ahead and say wow! Cuz it really is amazing)back to where I was forced to live. There were other rooms but we were not allowed to clean it out…as, we were unworthy of the full use of the house. As a parent he had to give us something as we were about to live in my car, but we were not worthy of the whole house…only the living room and bathroom. There was no gas in the house and yep you guessed it…it was November. I cooked on a hotplate in the living room. I bought a little dorm refrigerator. We had one bed that we all three had to sleep on. The expensive electric heaters merely kept us from freezing to death…we could see our breath as we sat huddled together, licking our wounds. We slept with five heavy blankets on us for warmth.

So when you see us today and you think...wow! Those girls are very close…oddly close…yes we are we went through hell together. And I never disbelieved them. I never questioned the validity of their words. I never questioned the emotions they were going through...I just showed them love and understanding. I was Jesus to them in the worst possible moment in their life.

The shack they allowed us to stay in was placed right next to their brand new three bedroom house they had just had built. So I could hear family and friends come to them…to give them support in THEIR time of need. My girls ,like any other five year olds would get excited to see someone they knew…”Mommy, Mommy….this person is at grandmas.” and I would answer, “come inside Fate, they aren’t here to see us…we got a lot of stuff to do here…lets make a collage.” The pastor came to pray with them…not us, my poor parents, their church friends came to help them stand up…and family came…to stand with the parents….not the victims, because somehow my mother had made the entire debauchery about her…so each time I redirected my babies and we sat huddled under piles of blankets and cut out pictures to glue on paper…I made hell fun! Because I am the SHIT mom…and I would and did fight the world to save them.

Holidays are tough for me.

Easter was no better. By this time I died inside a little each time one of the great and mighty church members came to fellowship (can you see my sneer when I say that?) with my parents…so easter we spent in a hotel hiding eggs inside the hotel lobby…cuz my babies did not understand why their life, their family and their everything had changed. So the very next time you hear that a victim ‘recanted’ don’t get all jumpy with the idea that they had lied the first time…persecution is not a warm ,fuzzy feeling to have and when you’re a five year old you cannot fathom why things are very strange now. Still it would be another 3 years before our lives calmed down enough to even get to that level of process’ that a rape victim goes through. These were the very early days of the telling.

Did I ever tell you that the police department threatened to take my children if I did not produce them to be interviewed? I continued to hold them hostage anyway…I KNOW my fucking rights! I refused to take my tiny, delicate babies to big scary police department to be locked in a room away from me all alone to tell a secret to three… THREE police men...in uniform something that had made her mom so sad that her mom could no longer function as a rational human being.

I knew I looked like a raving lunatic…I resembled a hurt mamma bear striking out at anyone daring to come close…cuz so far no one had been rational to me…so far no one had ever said, Its ok…I’m going to walk with you through this fucking scary process…no one said I know what to do…NO ONE tried to make me feel safe. So I could make my babies feel safe…everyone just kept attacking me, threatening me…

So I called bullshit to their vacant threats…

…and we had no dearing house…we had no child advocacy…we had no real concept of a victim yet in this area… we were the first…

Did you know that for five years…the sound of me throwing up EVERYDAY was the sound that my children woke to? Five years like clockwork. My damn eyes would open again and reality would hit me…it wasn’t a nightmare I was enduring all alone…this was real and I had to deal with it, so every morning that wave of reality washed over me and bile rose until I couldn’t swallow it down and I ran to throw up…each and every morning of our lives for five years. Sickness and sadness were my only feelings for five years. Oh and manufactured laugher…I’m a great bullshiter.

I light another Marlboro and I ponder…what else do I need to cleanse to make this delirium moment pass from me.

Mostly I see fates huge brown eyes…

I see her remarkably great brown eyes watching me.

She wouldn’t tell for three years…she wouldn’t tell until she knew I could handle it…until she knew I wouldn’t disappear into a dot and cease to exist anymore…cuz that, my friends and neighbors is what I wanted to do.

She would just silently tend to us, her twin and I, as we suffered through the worst of it. She brought throw up bowls and wet washcloths to us as I held my limp, life less child after she had gone through yet another round of horrendous panic attacks that threatened to take us all away. The utter, sheer and complete panic on my 6 year olds face as she clawed at her throat because she couldn’t breath…her body suddenly rigid from my mere touch…her eyes would suddenly glaze over and the whimpering began…the whimpering/howl sounded like an injured animal…and she fought like hell to get out of it…valiantly she fought…it always ended in bile emitted from her tiny mouth…like clockwork fate and I had it down…miraculously fate would appear with the bowl….throw up…then the wet wash cloth to lay on her wet head… so no Fate didn’t tell me for a long time.

…we missed a lot of school…

She was so tiny…

Dark circles under her eyes…

I can’t recall now how she looked as she lay in my arms...I really don’t think I could look for to long…I watched Fate…watch us.

Today….today…we are relaxed and comfortable in our own skin…Lyric has so much grace and integrity that I am blown away by her enduring faith on a daily bases. And Fate, well Fate never wavered…even though she was so frightened she had to break 30 seconds into the trial. And she ran wailing into the back room to be calmed by the ADA and the victims asst. she stood boldly and told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth…

….so today in live in awe of the graceful splendor that they wrap themselves in. Today s a brand new day. Today is freedom. Today is peace. Today is laughter.

They saw their perps the other day…

Riding down the street in a car on their way home from church, A church they had chosen on their own…(I still suck at church.) My ladies were riding along and looked over at the persons next to them. It was their perpetrators…

Lyric used words like...mesmerized…transfixed…to describe her moment. She said she didn’t know who they were or why she couldn’t stop staring…she just felt transfixed by their utter sadness…she said they, the people next to her looked so dark black and sad….then she slowly realized who they were…she turned to look at her twin and she was looking too…and she was just as surprised…they both excitedly exclaimed…hey that was them! Did you see how dark and sad they look… Lyric later told me that she had prayed for them cuz they looked so lost and miserable. Yes that’s right…their victim prayed for them…because they looked like they were in pain…

…That’s MY God…My God makes your enemies your footstools! My God calls you out of your death clothes and brings you back to life! My God will give back to you seven fold what the enemy took from me! That’s My God, merciful, giving, enduring, loving, ravenous…yes, that’s my God…He made victims victors!

holidays are hard for me

I have a hard time during the holiday seasons.

My girls don’t. I made sure of that…I’m a great bullshiter. They know, they just let me lie and move on.

Holidays are hard for me.

I have had some rough holiday seasons.

I had to call out some pedophiles one time.

I had to put them on blast.

They in turn…turned a complete community against me successfully.

My holidays sucked for several years…during the trial days… five years of them.

But I couldn’t let my girls be unsafe.

I couldn’t allow them to be around negative, disbelieving, and unsafe people.

So we, my little family and I did holidays on our own.

Me and two little girls enjoyed the holiday season.

When cousins got old enough to drive…as this went on for five years…they would drive over and spend a little time with their cousins on the holidays.

Such sadness.

I merely stated the facts I had been told…and our entire world turned inside out.

People…professional people kept telling me the same thing…”I have never dealt with this before.”

I understand, I really do understand, your need to tell me this…but this did not help me process the fact that I had never been through this before either. And if you ,who is guiding me, has never done this …then how the hell am I supposed to act or react….hmmm.

I’ve journeyed forward for many years trying stubbornly to not look back at separate issues, but today… today I cry.

The first year on my own…all alone for thanksgiving…was something I had never done before either. I had two little ,tiny girls, who were five years old and just wanted to be excited like their classmates about the holidays. But we were separate, segregated, alone. We were victims. We were hard to look at. We had to much pain to look directly at for to long. No one knew what to say. No one knew how to act. We were untouchable. We were dirty…unclean…we were victims.

It just hit me the other day…We were on the outside because our perpetrators were not the regular perps. Our perps were nice church going head of the nursery, great pillars of the community perps…not your ordinary hide in the bushes, drug induced bad decision making perps. These were Christians for Gods sake. How dare I spill dirty laundry in their church. In their community…in their presence.

A wise women told me years later…after the smoke had cleared…after I had picked up the pieces of my broken life…She told me, “You know that an entire community can be groomed.” yes…yes, I know that. First hand I know that.

I shake my head today as I watch people try to decide if a victim is trustworthy or lying…Sometime it makes me scoff, and sometimes…ok ,sometimes I wanna punch them in the face.

A community can be groomed.

What does that mean though?

What is grooming? Grooming is a word people in the field use to describe how a perpetrator gains access to our children. Sadly I could teach a course on this , sadly I could quote statistics to you…but I’m so tired anymore…it no longer feels relevant to me now. As, I know what I know…and it is what it is.

Grooming though goes beyond getting access to your child…it s getting access to a community of children.

During our FIVE year court battle several less privileged victims came to confess their abuse by those same perps…but since we had been so harassed, ridiculed, and subjected to such hate…how would they fair in the coming forward for justice. You pick it up and move…and that is what they did, they merely wanted to stop by on their way out of town and let me know that I was right…that these people had perped on their kid too… hope everything works out for us, but if the community acted so vehemently against me…how would they ever fair against them.

When we told the truth…

We were asked to leave the house we were renting…we had two weeks.

We were asked to not come back to the church.

I was told by my pastor that he had nothing to say to me.

My family was tore apart…no longer a safe place for my girls. The perps were a part of all those things…and they won the battle. We were the poster child to what never to say or do to victims.

So in the short time between my daughter telling me horrendous life altering things that a five year old should never know…I had become homeless, without family support, with out a church, without a pastor, and without the new friends I had acquired through the gospel of Jesus Christ…

I was utterly, and completely ALONE.

I was forced to live in a one room house. We had been kicked to the curb, and since we were homeless my father had to step in…a little. So the very least because I was his daughter, but he didn’t have to do more then just enough…because he was a great and mighty man of God, and he had to show love to the other victims…the perps. ( I have to inject a thought here, when we finally go to trail these perps had successfully turned the entire community against us and the world saw us as the assailants and the poor accused as the vicitms. This thought was so well groomed that on the day of the trail when their legions of support came to support them they walked into the victims room in the courthouse. because the perps were considered the vics. Go ahead and say wow! Cuz it really is amazing)back to where I was forced to live. There were other rooms but we were not allowed to clean it out…as, we were unworthy of the full use of the house. As a parent he had to give us something as we were about to live in my car, but we were not worthy of the whole house…only the living room and bathroom. There was no gas in the house and yep you guessed it…it was November. I cooked on a hotplate in the living room. I bought a little dorm refrigerator. We had one bed that we all three had to sleep on. The expensive electric heaters merely kept us from freezing to death…we could see our breath as we sat huddled together, licking our wounds. We slept with five heavy blankets on us for warmth.

So when you see us today and you think...wow! Those girls are very close…oddly close…yes we are we went through hell together. And I never disbelieved them. I never questioned the validity of their words. I never questioned the emotions they were going through...I just showed them love and understanding. I was Jesus to them in the worst possible moment in their life.

The shack they allowed us to stay in was placed right next to their brand new three bedroom house they had just had built. So I could hear family and friends come to them…to give them support in THEIR time of need. My girls ,like any other five year olds would get excited to see someone they knew…”Mommy, Mommy….this person is at grandmas.” and I would answer, “come inside Fate, they aren’t here to see us…we got a lot of stuff to do here…lets make a collage.” The pastor came to pray with them…not us, my poor parents, their church friends came to help them stand up…and family came…to stand with the parents….not the victims, because somehow my mother had made the entire debauchery about her…so each time I redirected my babies and we sat huddled under piles of blankets and cut out pictures to glue on paper…I made hell fun! Because I am the SHIT mom…and I would and did fight the world to save them.

Holidays are tough for me.

Easter was no better. By this time I died inside a little each time one of the great and mighty church members came to fellowship (can you see my sneer when I say that?) with my parents…so easter we spent in a hotel hiding eggs inside the hotel lobby…cuz my babies did not understand why their life, their family and their everything had changed. So the very next time you hear that a victim ‘recanted’ don’t get all jumpy with the idea that they had lied the first time…persecution is not a warm ,fuzzy feeling to have and when you’re a five year old you cannot fathom why things are very strange now. Still it would be another 3 years before our lives calmed down enough to even get to that level of process’ that a rape victim goes through. These were the very early days of the telling.

Did I ever tell you that the police department threatened to take my children if I did not produce them to be interviewed? I continued to hold them hostage anyway…I KNOW my fucking rights! I refused to take my tiny, delicate babies to big scary police department to be locked in a room away from me all alone to tell a secret to three… THREE police men...in uniform something that had made her mom so sad that her mom could no longer function as a rational human being.

I knew I looked like a raving lunatic…I resembled a hurt mamma bear striking out at anyone daring to come close…cuz so far no one had been rational to me…so far no one had ever said, Its ok…I’m going to walk with you through this fucking scary process…no one said I know what to do…NO ONE tried to make me feel safe. So I could make my babies feel safe…everyone just kept attacking me, threatening me…

So I called bullshit to their vacant threats…

…and we had no dearing house…we had no child advocacy…we had no real concept of a victim yet in this area… we were the first…

Did you know that for five years…the sound of me throwing up EVERYDAY was the sound that my children woke to? Five years like clockwork. My damn eyes would open again and reality would hit me…it wasn’t a nightmare I was enduring all alone…this was real and I had to deal with it, so every morning that wave of reality washed over me and bile rose until I couldn’t swallow it down and I ran to throw up…each and every morning of our lives for five years. Sickness and sadness were my only feelings for five years. Oh and manufactured laugher…I’m a great bullshiter.

I light another Marlboro and I ponder…what else do I need to cleanse to make this delirium moment pass from me.

Mostly I see fates huge brown eyes…

I see her remarkably great brown eyes watching me.

She wouldn’t tell for three years…she wouldn’t tell until she knew I could handle it…until she knew I wouldn’t disappear into a dot and cease to exist anymore…cuz that, my friends and neighbors is what I wanted to do.

She would just silently tend to us, her twin and I, as we suffered through the worst of it. She brought throw up bowls and wet washcloths to us as I held my limp, life less child after she had gone through yet another round of horrendous panic attacks that threatened to take us all away. The utter, sheer and complete panic on my 6 year olds face as she clawed at her throat because she couldn’t breath…her body suddenly rigid from my mere touch…her eyes would suddenly glaze over and the whimpering began…the whimpering/howl sounded like an injured animal…and she fought like hell to get out of it…valiantly she fought…it always ended in bile emitted from her tiny mouth…like clockwork fate and I had it down…miraculously fate would appear with the bowl….throw up…then the wet wash cloth to lay on her wet head… so no Fate didn’t tell me for a long time.

…we missed a lot of school…

She was so tiny…

Dark circles under her eyes…

I can’t recall now how she looked as she lay in my arms...I really don’t think I could look for to long…I watched Fate…watch us.

Today….today…we are relaxed and comfortable in our own skin…Lyric has so much grace and integrity that I am blown away by her enduring faith on a daily bases. And Fate, well Fate never wavered…even though she was so frightened she had to break 30 seconds into the trial. And she ran wailing into the back room to be calmed by the ADA and the victims asst. she stood boldly and told the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth…

….so today in live in awe of the graceful splendor that they wrap themselves in. Today s a brand new day. Today is freedom. Today is peace. Today is laughter.

They saw their perps the other day…

Riding down the street in a car on their way home from church, A church they had chosen on their own…(I still suck at church.) My ladies were riding along and looked over at the persons next to them. It was their perpetrators…

Lyric used words like...mesmerized…transfixed…to describe her moment. She said she didn’t know who they were or why she couldn’t stop staring…she just felt transfixed by their utter sadness…she said they, the people next to her looked so dark black and sad….then she slowly realized who they were…she turned to look at her twin and she was looking too…and she was just as surprised…they both excitedly exclaimed…hey that was them! Did you see how dark and sad they look… Lyric later told me that she had prayed for them cuz they looked so lost and miserable. Yes that’s right…their victim prayed for them…because they looked like they were in pain…

…That’s MY God…My God makes your enemies your footstools! My God calls you out of your death clothes and brings you back to life! My God will give back to you seven fold what the enemy took from me! That’s My God, merciful, giving, enduring, loving, ravenous…yes, that’s my God…He made victims victors!