Yes folks, believe it or not I did. It was 1989, I was incarcerated in the Kern County Juvenile Hall in Bakersfield. I had already done 6 months previously so this was a walk in the park. I knew the ropes.
During the waiting period to be transferred to the Kern Youth Facility I managed to land my self a position in the kitchen. This was awesome. Everyone wanted to have the opportunity to be in there for a few reasons. One being, you got out of your room more and away from the day room. Second, you got to listen to music while in there. Third, you accumulated more points. The points were gained by your activities participated in, attending school, behavior and if a coin could bounce off your bed after you made it. At the end of the week those with the most points got to stay up late on Friday night watching movies and enjoying snacks such as popcorn, granola bars and soda.
The head kitchen guy had tattoos and told us about a tattoo on his right forearm that he cut out because it had been gang related. You could see the gnarly scar. He would tell us stories. We alternated music stations from one night to the next so we all got to hear what we liked at least one day a week.
One day this new girl came in. I will keep her name anonymous. For the purpose of this blog I will call her Sherrie. She was welcomed to my group. A day or two later she turned two of us from the group onto the dope she had brought into Juvy. She said she didn't have a choice but to put it in her privates to keep from getting busted. Boy, oh boy, being locked up and tweaking was no joke. Way too much time in your head. You start thinking weird stuff.
So, off to kitchen detail. I was so relieved to be out of the room more than ever. Only I didn't want to wash the pots and pans again. I always did that. I had asked in the past if I could run the industrial dishwasher and was denied every time. The people who ran it said it was real easy and all you had to do was rinse everything and put the stuff in. Pots and pans required bending into the sink that would hurt your back by the time you were done. I asked again and once again I was told no.
That night in my room I started thinking about why does he always tell me no. I came to the realization that hey, it was only the prettier girls who got to do it. I was mad. He is a pig. I decided the next day that after all the cleaning of dishes and we were all doing the cleaning of counters and such that I would put some cleaner in his drink.
Next day, as usual he put his drink in the same place. I had noticed where all the cameras were a long time ago and knew the cameras wouldn't see anything. The whole crew at one point or another would pass by his drink. With my bottle of cleaner I adjusted the nozzle so when I would walk by I could do a quick direct shot in. I did this several times. When we were all done he took a drink and started yelling about somebody putting something in his drink. He lined us all up. He went on yelling. He asked who it was. I was a little nervous. I didn't know you could taste cleaner. It's not as if I had sampled it beforehand. He asked if anyone seen who did it. Everyone said no. Damn I was good. But obviously not good enough because he knew someone had done it.
Anyways, my karma came two days later when staff caught onto our tweaking. But that's a whole other story.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Blood is Thicker Than Water: I Beg to Differ
We may be blood related but what I've discovered over the years is that doesn't really matter. I have friends who treat me better than my own family. I also learned that in the name of 'Love' family may molest you, beat you, degrade you then turn around and say they love you.
My fathers side of the family never once came to visit me or my brother all the years we were growing up in Ridgecrest. The only time we seen them was when our mother would take us up to the Vacaville area to see them. I loved them all so much and would cry because I wanted to be near them. Grandma and Grandpa always sent cards.
I was locked up for over a year as a teenager and not one of them came to see me or wrote me. Which was ok but a word of encouragement to do the right things would have been nice. When I was released I moved to my other Grandmas house near Vacaville for a year. I seen dads side of the family a lot more. I especially hung out with my Aunt Maureen. We became very close and are to this day. I enjoyed being around all of them.
A year later my the grand parents I was living with were moving to Oregon. My other grandmother (my dads mother) said I could move in with her. Her and I made a deal regarding rent. This was an arrangement mutually agreed upon. I had my own income but not enough to live on my own. One day my Aunt K comes at me all crazy that I was using her mother and that I needed to go. My feelings were very hurt because of the way she spoke to me. She didn't talk to me like another human being. She ask me anything just attacked.
I packed and left. Went to Oregon. I was there for less than 2 weeks. The high school wouldn't take me because I was 4 months shy of being 19 and needed too many credits. Said I couldn't get the credits in time for graduation. I left back to Ridgecrest.
A year and a half later my son was 5 months old when my father had come for a visit. He got in a little trouble and went to jail. My fathers sisters all drove down to Ridgecrest to pick him up. Wow! I was so excited that 3 of my Aunties were there and they could meet my son and his father. They came to my house. They weren't out my house but maybe an hour. During that time my Aunt K sees a family photo on the wall with my husband, son and myself. She said "I don't like this picture. You look too seductive." I couldn't believe it! I was blown away. I didn't say anything. I felt crushed. They left. As I looked at the picture I became angry. The people who really knew me thought it was a great picture. After having my son I didn't even feel pretty let alone seductive.
There were many incidents in my life where family members have done messed up things. Steal from me, say stupid things, yell at me for no reason and I have always forgiven them. All because I wanted to be loved. All because I believed blood was thicker than water. All because I believed in forgiveness. All because I believed it must be me and I need to change. I did something wrong. Something must be wrong with me. By doing this I had sacrificed my happiness. Because if I did anything less I would be selfish and risk losing the love I so desired. Funny that I haven't felt loved by very many family members yet I continued. Hoping that if I changed enough they would love me.
This year has been eye opening. I have had to take a look at myself and what I want in my life. Certainly not people who don't some how enrich my life. I like to have fun. I like to be silly. I don't want to be attacked by those who say they love me when I haven't done anything wrong. I love the song by Tina Turner "What's Love Got to Do With It". Precisely! I may love you and I may care about you but not necessarily like you. I may merely tolerate you. And now at this point in my life I have to say I am no longer going to tolerate bullshit. If you love me, then treat me like a human being. If want to be a part of my life, treat me like a human being. If you want me to be nice then be nice.
I have friends who accept me for me because they like me as a person. They may not always like what I say or how I act but they let me know in a respectful manner. Never yelling, never aggressive. My kids' step mother treats me better than some of my own family.
So, the days of 'blood is thicker than water' are over for this chick. You will be treated with the same level of respect as you give me.
My fathers side of the family never once came to visit me or my brother all the years we were growing up in Ridgecrest. The only time we seen them was when our mother would take us up to the Vacaville area to see them. I loved them all so much and would cry because I wanted to be near them. Grandma and Grandpa always sent cards.
I was locked up for over a year as a teenager and not one of them came to see me or wrote me. Which was ok but a word of encouragement to do the right things would have been nice. When I was released I moved to my other Grandmas house near Vacaville for a year. I seen dads side of the family a lot more. I especially hung out with my Aunt Maureen. We became very close and are to this day. I enjoyed being around all of them.
A year later my the grand parents I was living with were moving to Oregon. My other grandmother (my dads mother) said I could move in with her. Her and I made a deal regarding rent. This was an arrangement mutually agreed upon. I had my own income but not enough to live on my own. One day my Aunt K comes at me all crazy that I was using her mother and that I needed to go. My feelings were very hurt because of the way she spoke to me. She didn't talk to me like another human being. She ask me anything just attacked.
I packed and left. Went to Oregon. I was there for less than 2 weeks. The high school wouldn't take me because I was 4 months shy of being 19 and needed too many credits. Said I couldn't get the credits in time for graduation. I left back to Ridgecrest.
A year and a half later my son was 5 months old when my father had come for a visit. He got in a little trouble and went to jail. My fathers sisters all drove down to Ridgecrest to pick him up. Wow! I was so excited that 3 of my Aunties were there and they could meet my son and his father. They came to my house. They weren't out my house but maybe an hour. During that time my Aunt K sees a family photo on the wall with my husband, son and myself. She said "I don't like this picture. You look too seductive." I couldn't believe it! I was blown away. I didn't say anything. I felt crushed. They left. As I looked at the picture I became angry. The people who really knew me thought it was a great picture. After having my son I didn't even feel pretty let alone seductive.
There were many incidents in my life where family members have done messed up things. Steal from me, say stupid things, yell at me for no reason and I have always forgiven them. All because I wanted to be loved. All because I believed blood was thicker than water. All because I believed in forgiveness. All because I believed it must be me and I need to change. I did something wrong. Something must be wrong with me. By doing this I had sacrificed my happiness. Because if I did anything less I would be selfish and risk losing the love I so desired. Funny that I haven't felt loved by very many family members yet I continued. Hoping that if I changed enough they would love me.
This year has been eye opening. I have had to take a look at myself and what I want in my life. Certainly not people who don't some how enrich my life. I like to have fun. I like to be silly. I don't want to be attacked by those who say they love me when I haven't done anything wrong. I love the song by Tina Turner "What's Love Got to Do With It". Precisely! I may love you and I may care about you but not necessarily like you. I may merely tolerate you. And now at this point in my life I have to say I am no longer going to tolerate bullshit. If you love me, then treat me like a human being. If want to be a part of my life, treat me like a human being. If you want me to be nice then be nice.
I have friends who accept me for me because they like me as a person. They may not always like what I say or how I act but they let me know in a respectful manner. Never yelling, never aggressive. My kids' step mother treats me better than some of my own family.
So, the days of 'blood is thicker than water' are over for this chick. You will be treated with the same level of respect as you give me.
Friday, January 13, 2012
My Neighbors Son Died
It was March 15, 2002. I attended my grandmothers funeral that day in Vacaville, CA. I was emotionally wiped out. My son and I returned home to our apartment in French Camp.
We lived at the Deville apartments which were the only apartments in French Camp. They were ghetto. It was all I could afford as a single mom. I didn't know my neighbors and didn't want to know them because of all the chaos. There were stabbings, shootings and pitbull fights. I kept to myself.
After we had returned home we went to bed. My son was 10. I was in a deep sleep and was awakened abruptly to a loud noise. I jumped out of bed, grabbed the phone and opened my front door. There I seen a man lying face down in front of my apartment. Other people were outside of their apartments. They were all standing around. But no one came near. I yelled if anyone knew what happened. No one responded. It was really weird. I yelled again. Someone said they thought he may have been shot. I dialed 911. I asked someone to grab a blanket.
As the 911 dispatcher asked me questions I checked for any exit wounds. I didn't see anything. I had never examined someone for bullet holes before so I didn't know what I was looking for. There was a female to my left who kept crying saying Raymond. The dispatcher wanted to know his name. I asked the girl if that was his name she said yes. My neighbor who lived right next door to me was off to the right staring and crying. He was an older hispanic man who spoke very little english.
I stayed on the line with dispatch. I kept talking to Raymond telling him to stay with us. I told him who I was. I think he tried to speak to me twice but it only sounded like he was gurgling. I will never forget the chilling sounds. As the sirens neared the girl started freaking out about how she had a warrant. I told her to sit in my apartment and shut up. After the paramedics and police arrived the girl came out. She said she was Raymond's girlfriend. She left with Raymond to the hospital. Raymond was pronounced dead.
The girl had left her purse in my apartment. I figured she would eventually return to for it. A couple days after Raymond's death the Hispanic from next door knocked on my door. I let him in. He had cookies for me. He was teary eyed. He told me, in very broken English, thank you for being there for my son. I gave him a hug. We never spoke again but in passing there would be a small smile between us.
Another couple days passed when the girls mother came by my office at work. She said she was the girls mother and wanted to get her purse. I told her they could come by my apartment to pick it up. The mother asked if I could bring it to work with me the following day and they would both be by. So I did.
When they came by the mother shared she knew I worked there because she was a client there and had seen me before at the apartments. The girl cried and talked about Raymond. They had children together. He was shot by some guys over a green card. They weren't even there for Raymond but for his older brother. Her and Raymond had left but had returned to lock the apartment to make sure his dad would be ok. Raymond was 21 years old.
We lived at the Deville apartments which were the only apartments in French Camp. They were ghetto. It was all I could afford as a single mom. I didn't know my neighbors and didn't want to know them because of all the chaos. There were stabbings, shootings and pitbull fights. I kept to myself.
After we had returned home we went to bed. My son was 10. I was in a deep sleep and was awakened abruptly to a loud noise. I jumped out of bed, grabbed the phone and opened my front door. There I seen a man lying face down in front of my apartment. Other people were outside of their apartments. They were all standing around. But no one came near. I yelled if anyone knew what happened. No one responded. It was really weird. I yelled again. Someone said they thought he may have been shot. I dialed 911. I asked someone to grab a blanket.
As the 911 dispatcher asked me questions I checked for any exit wounds. I didn't see anything. I had never examined someone for bullet holes before so I didn't know what I was looking for. There was a female to my left who kept crying saying Raymond. The dispatcher wanted to know his name. I asked the girl if that was his name she said yes. My neighbor who lived right next door to me was off to the right staring and crying. He was an older hispanic man who spoke very little english.
I stayed on the line with dispatch. I kept talking to Raymond telling him to stay with us. I told him who I was. I think he tried to speak to me twice but it only sounded like he was gurgling. I will never forget the chilling sounds. As the sirens neared the girl started freaking out about how she had a warrant. I told her to sit in my apartment and shut up. After the paramedics and police arrived the girl came out. She said she was Raymond's girlfriend. She left with Raymond to the hospital. Raymond was pronounced dead.
The girl had left her purse in my apartment. I figured she would eventually return to for it. A couple days after Raymond's death the Hispanic from next door knocked on my door. I let him in. He had cookies for me. He was teary eyed. He told me, in very broken English, thank you for being there for my son. I gave him a hug. We never spoke again but in passing there would be a small smile between us.
Another couple days passed when the girls mother came by my office at work. She said she was the girls mother and wanted to get her purse. I told her they could come by my apartment to pick it up. The mother asked if I could bring it to work with me the following day and they would both be by. So I did.
When they came by the mother shared she knew I worked there because she was a client there and had seen me before at the apartments. The girl cried and talked about Raymond. They had children together. He was shot by some guys over a green card. They weren't even there for Raymond but for his older brother. Her and Raymond had left but had returned to lock the apartment to make sure his dad would be ok. Raymond was 21 years old.
My Step Dad Committed Suicide
My first step fathers name was Gary. He and my mother got together when I was 4 years old. Mom, my brother Stephen and myself lived in an apartment in Vacaville, CA. My earliest memory of him was one day when my mom was not home. I guess he was babysitting me. I loved chocolate chip cookies and wanted one. I asked if I could have a chocolate chip cookie. He said yes but I had to do something for him. After that the events are very blurry. I remember being naked. I remember him telling me that if I ever told anyone that he would kill my mom and my brother. I loved them and didn't want anything to happen to them.
We moved to Ridgecrest, CA when I was 5. From the age of four to ten Gary frequently molested me. On numerous occasions I would be playing with other neighborhood kids and he would tell me to come inside to play. I knew what that meant. I would be sad and scared. When his son and daughter would visit he would make me and his daughter 'play'. We would do what ever he told us to do. Whether it was with each other or with him. When my mom would leave the house I would beg and cry to go with her. Sometimes she would get annoyed and say I was being clingy. I know she never would have said that had she known the reason why.
The summer of 1982 I went to stay with my biological father and his wife in Sacramento. During this time mom moved out of the house and had her own apartment. At the end of the summer my dad brought me back. I was happy to be with my mom in her apartment. For the first time that I could remember I felt truly happy. I didn't feel scared.
Moms landlady said we had to move because children weren't allowed. So mom and I moved. She rented 2 rooms from some man. I can't remember his name, but I didn't like him. He was always making the moves on mom and she felt uncomfortable.
The place we were living wasn't far from our old house. Gary still lived there with, mom said, a prostitute and some fat chick. One day I went over to the house because I wanted some of my toys. I opened the garage door and started digging in boxes. I came across a dildo. Although I didn't know that was what it was called at the time. I froze. I looked at it then put it down. I found my stuffed animals. I carried a few back to where we were now living.
A month or two passed and suddenly mom says we are moving back in with Gary. I felt my world crumble. Our first day back he wanted me to give him a hug. He was wearing the robe he was usually wearing he would molest me. It was thick with maroon and gray vertical stripes. I hugged him. I could feel his penis against me through the robe. I was glad mom was standing there. As long as she was home nothing would happen.
We weren't back long before Gary asked if he could put it in me. I remember saying no and then I remember absolutely nothing else until the night he committed suicide.
That day he had left. When he returned he had been drinking. This really wasn't unusual. He was a drunk. Mom and I were in the living room when he got home. He and mom were arguing. She had the keys and he wanted them back. She told him no because he was drunk and shouldn't be driving. He went outside, came back in with a gun. Mom was in the corner of the room. I was on the opposite side near the door. He was in-between facing mom. He asked again, she said no. He shot at her.
I ran out the house yelling down the street for help. He had gotten in the car and drove up next to me and told me to get in the house. I told him "I hate you and I wish you were dead!". He drove off
Mom and I went to her friend Vikkis house. I was friends with her daughters Angie and Sally. The three of us stayed in their room. They had bunk beds. We sat on the top one. There were police outside. I could see our house and the lights on the police cars. It was dark out. At some point Gary drove by. He didn't stop. The police took off after him. I've often wondered if he came back by the house that night to kill us. Probably thought because I wished him dead that I had told mom what he had done.
Later that night, the police showed up. They wanted to confirm what he was wearing. My mom was telling them. The police said they had chased him but lost him. When they found the car Gary had shot himself in the head and was dead. I screamed. I was hysterical. Why, you might ask. In my mind I had caused him to die. It was my fault. I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I was happy that he was dead.
I had the next week off from school. I remember dancing around in the living room with my pig tails bouncing. I was free. Free from his grasp, or so I thought. At least physically I was.
At his funeral everyone walked by his open casket. One by one. When I got there, I looked and him. He looked weird. I told him "I'm glad you are dead. If you hadn't killed yourself, one day I would've killed you".
We moved to Ridgecrest, CA when I was 5. From the age of four to ten Gary frequently molested me. On numerous occasions I would be playing with other neighborhood kids and he would tell me to come inside to play. I knew what that meant. I would be sad and scared. When his son and daughter would visit he would make me and his daughter 'play'. We would do what ever he told us to do. Whether it was with each other or with him. When my mom would leave the house I would beg and cry to go with her. Sometimes she would get annoyed and say I was being clingy. I know she never would have said that had she known the reason why.
The summer of 1982 I went to stay with my biological father and his wife in Sacramento. During this time mom moved out of the house and had her own apartment. At the end of the summer my dad brought me back. I was happy to be with my mom in her apartment. For the first time that I could remember I felt truly happy. I didn't feel scared.
Moms landlady said we had to move because children weren't allowed. So mom and I moved. She rented 2 rooms from some man. I can't remember his name, but I didn't like him. He was always making the moves on mom and she felt uncomfortable.
The place we were living wasn't far from our old house. Gary still lived there with, mom said, a prostitute and some fat chick. One day I went over to the house because I wanted some of my toys. I opened the garage door and started digging in boxes. I came across a dildo. Although I didn't know that was what it was called at the time. I froze. I looked at it then put it down. I found my stuffed animals. I carried a few back to where we were now living.
A month or two passed and suddenly mom says we are moving back in with Gary. I felt my world crumble. Our first day back he wanted me to give him a hug. He was wearing the robe he was usually wearing he would molest me. It was thick with maroon and gray vertical stripes. I hugged him. I could feel his penis against me through the robe. I was glad mom was standing there. As long as she was home nothing would happen.
We weren't back long before Gary asked if he could put it in me. I remember saying no and then I remember absolutely nothing else until the night he committed suicide.
That day he had left. When he returned he had been drinking. This really wasn't unusual. He was a drunk. Mom and I were in the living room when he got home. He and mom were arguing. She had the keys and he wanted them back. She told him no because he was drunk and shouldn't be driving. He went outside, came back in with a gun. Mom was in the corner of the room. I was on the opposite side near the door. He was in-between facing mom. He asked again, she said no. He shot at her.
I ran out the house yelling down the street for help. He had gotten in the car and drove up next to me and told me to get in the house. I told him "I hate you and I wish you were dead!". He drove off
Mom and I went to her friend Vikkis house. I was friends with her daughters Angie and Sally. The three of us stayed in their room. They had bunk beds. We sat on the top one. There were police outside. I could see our house and the lights on the police cars. It was dark out. At some point Gary drove by. He didn't stop. The police took off after him. I've often wondered if he came back by the house that night to kill us. Probably thought because I wished him dead that I had told mom what he had done.
Later that night, the police showed up. They wanted to confirm what he was wearing. My mom was telling them. The police said they had chased him but lost him. When they found the car Gary had shot himself in the head and was dead. I screamed. I was hysterical. Why, you might ask. In my mind I had caused him to die. It was my fault. I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I was happy that he was dead.
I had the next week off from school. I remember dancing around in the living room with my pig tails bouncing. I was free. Free from his grasp, or so I thought. At least physically I was.
At his funeral everyone walked by his open casket. One by one. When I got there, I looked and him. He looked weird. I told him "I'm glad you are dead. If you hadn't killed yourself, one day I would've killed you".
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Life Changed
My alarm was set for 5:30am as it always was. Just enough time to shower, eat and prepare myself for the work day. I started work at 7am 20 minutes away. The evening before was a typical work week evening. I left work at 3:30 and headed home. When I came in the cat was there to greet me. Husband and son were both still at work. I cleaned the house and cooked dinner. Awhile after dinner my husband and I went on a power walk. Showered, watched a little television and fell asleep.
Little did I know the next morning would change my life forever. I woke up around 5am. I felt groggy as I usually do when I first wake up. However, normally I don't ever wake up earlier than the alarm. I went to use the restroom. I felt really dizzy. I was unable to wipe myself after using the restroom. My right arm just flopped.
I went back to my room. I felt very confused. I walked around in circles. I went to the wall and stood there. No idea why. I tried to open the door and couldn't. I sat on the bed. I looked at this man sleeping there. I felt he was suppose to be there but I didn't know who he was. (I didn't realize it at the time but this was my husband). My confusion increased. My weakness increased.
My husband woke up. He said something but I couldn't understand what he was saying. He looked at me. He says he asked if I was ok and that I responded with "I don't feel good". When he shares about that he says I sounded like a really little kid. Slow and drawn out. He decided to take me to the hospital.
I remember him helping me to the car. I remember staring out the window. I remember numerous cigarettes in my mouth at once. Guess I wanted a cigarette, or two, or three. I don't remember going into the emergency room. Everything seemed slow motion. Kind of like looking at polaroid pictures someone else took and know nothing about what happened in between. Everyone was speaking a language I couldn't understand. I remember seeing squiggly lines in my vision. Then there were lots of people in white coats. Then my boss and two co-workers. Then I seen my son with tears in his eyes. Then I was in another room.
The new room I was in was the ICU. This ended up being my place of residence for 3 of the 4 days I was in the hospital. People came to see me. I thought it was my birthday and happy to see everybody. I may have thought it was my birthday because I got gifts. The day after I asked my mom what happened. She said I had a stroke. I said ok. At the time, I heard her but I didn't really comprehend the significance of this.
After my hospital stay people would share things with me that were interesting. My husband said that when I was at my worst, I put my hand on his arm and said "God can take me now". This scared him because I said it clear as day yet nothing else I said before or after made any sense. Another scary thing is that wasn't something I would normally EVER say. I guess I was able to cuss. My words were cunt and fuck. I didn't know my kids' names. What I do know is this: I felt no pain and I felt no fear for 4 days and it was wonderful.
The after effects have been difficult. A challenge to say the least. I tried to go back to work part time. After months of trying to keep up I filed for medical retirement. I can't handle loud noises. I get frequent headaches. Both of these have caused me to miss out on some awesome concerts. I can't remember things. I may remember right now but in 10 minutes I can't. It may and may not come back to me. I forget that I'm doing dishes, cleaning, cooking and numerous other things. I lose my balance and bump into things. I mess up words and create new words all the time. Sometimes I stutter. I always had anxiety and a little depression but are worse since the stroke. All these things are intensified the more stressed or tired I am. I make myself to do lists then can't remember where it is. Misplace my phone daily. Put my mascara in the freezer, which by the way wasn't found for three weeks.
Now that I'm not working, and unable to figure out what kind of work I could do that wouldn't be too difficult, I am going through a depression. I had a really good paying job. My daughter is wanting to attend University of San Francisco next year. I don't know how much money we can contribute to her tuition. On the other hand....my stroke made me realize some very important things in life. My family. My kids especially.
Little did I know the next morning would change my life forever. I woke up around 5am. I felt groggy as I usually do when I first wake up. However, normally I don't ever wake up earlier than the alarm. I went to use the restroom. I felt really dizzy. I was unable to wipe myself after using the restroom. My right arm just flopped.
I went back to my room. I felt very confused. I walked around in circles. I went to the wall and stood there. No idea why. I tried to open the door and couldn't. I sat on the bed. I looked at this man sleeping there. I felt he was suppose to be there but I didn't know who he was. (I didn't realize it at the time but this was my husband). My confusion increased. My weakness increased.
My husband woke up. He said something but I couldn't understand what he was saying. He looked at me. He says he asked if I was ok and that I responded with "I don't feel good". When he shares about that he says I sounded like a really little kid. Slow and drawn out. He decided to take me to the hospital.
I remember him helping me to the car. I remember staring out the window. I remember numerous cigarettes in my mouth at once. Guess I wanted a cigarette, or two, or three. I don't remember going into the emergency room. Everything seemed slow motion. Kind of like looking at polaroid pictures someone else took and know nothing about what happened in between. Everyone was speaking a language I couldn't understand. I remember seeing squiggly lines in my vision. Then there were lots of people in white coats. Then my boss and two co-workers. Then I seen my son with tears in his eyes. Then I was in another room.
The new room I was in was the ICU. This ended up being my place of residence for 3 of the 4 days I was in the hospital. People came to see me. I thought it was my birthday and happy to see everybody. I may have thought it was my birthday because I got gifts. The day after I asked my mom what happened. She said I had a stroke. I said ok. At the time, I heard her but I didn't really comprehend the significance of this.
After my hospital stay people would share things with me that were interesting. My husband said that when I was at my worst, I put my hand on his arm and said "God can take me now". This scared him because I said it clear as day yet nothing else I said before or after made any sense. Another scary thing is that wasn't something I would normally EVER say. I guess I was able to cuss. My words were cunt and fuck. I didn't know my kids' names. What I do know is this: I felt no pain and I felt no fear for 4 days and it was wonderful.
The after effects have been difficult. A challenge to say the least. I tried to go back to work part time. After months of trying to keep up I filed for medical retirement. I can't handle loud noises. I get frequent headaches. Both of these have caused me to miss out on some awesome concerts. I can't remember things. I may remember right now but in 10 minutes I can't. It may and may not come back to me. I forget that I'm doing dishes, cleaning, cooking and numerous other things. I lose my balance and bump into things. I mess up words and create new words all the time. Sometimes I stutter. I always had anxiety and a little depression but are worse since the stroke. All these things are intensified the more stressed or tired I am. I make myself to do lists then can't remember where it is. Misplace my phone daily. Put my mascara in the freezer, which by the way wasn't found for three weeks.
Now that I'm not working, and unable to figure out what kind of work I could do that wouldn't be too difficult, I am going through a depression. I had a really good paying job. My daughter is wanting to attend University of San Francisco next year. I don't know how much money we can contribute to her tuition. On the other hand....my stroke made me realize some very important things in life. My family. My kids especially.
The Angels Death
Deep below grows a beating drum
From the depths of hell demons come
Rising up from the earths crust
Only for blood they do lust
Seeking angels of another kind
Without wings they’re harder to find
But when they do, oh, what a scene
So blood hungry is a devilish fiend
An angel with faith willing to fight
For the love which shines so bright
With a powerful strength, take a stand
No one else willing to lend a hand
Blistering are the words the demons speak
Gradually the angel growing weak
For a great while the battle went on
Until the angels strength finally gone
A limp body collapsing to the ground
With a lifeless thumping sound
Demons sweeping upon their prey
Feasting on the angel as she lay
Had done the best she possibly could
To do what’s right, do what’s good
For this many did falsely judge
Carrying an unfound grudge
From the depths of hell demons come
Rising up from the earths crust
Only for blood they do lust
Seeking angels of another kind
Without wings they’re harder to find
But when they do, oh, what a scene
So blood hungry is a devilish fiend
An angel with faith willing to fight
For the love which shines so bright
With a powerful strength, take a stand
No one else willing to lend a hand
Blistering are the words the demons speak
Gradually the angel growing weak
For a great while the battle went on
Until the angels strength finally gone
A limp body collapsing to the ground
With a lifeless thumping sound
Demons sweeping upon their prey
Feasting on the angel as she lay
Had done the best she possibly could
To do what’s right, do what’s good
For this many did falsely judge
Carrying an unfound grudge
Behind Closed Doors
In front of others you always lie
Behind closed doors you make me cry
Your own words show you’re a liar
Why believe I am all you desire?
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
Lie after lie you have been caught
Behind closed doors I’m an afterthought
Pick up a whore on the street corner
And want me to believe you didn’t have her!
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
Get angry when I question your lies
Behind closed doors you womanize
One moment say you’re glad I’m your wife
The next, you’re threatening my life.
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
Upon the ground lays my bleeding heart
Behind closed doors you tore it apart
Everyone else just sees your mask
My eyes show pain but no one asks.
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
No longer do I care to even try
Behind closed doors I long to die
What’s the point of continuing this
When it will all only end with a deadly kiss?
Behind closed doors you make me cry
Your own words show you’re a liar
Why believe I am all you desire?
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
Lie after lie you have been caught
Behind closed doors I’m an afterthought
Pick up a whore on the street corner
And want me to believe you didn’t have her!
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
Get angry when I question your lies
Behind closed doors you womanize
One moment say you’re glad I’m your wife
The next, you’re threatening my life.
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
Upon the ground lays my bleeding heart
Behind closed doors you tore it apart
Everyone else just sees your mask
My eyes show pain but no one asks.
Things are always different
Behind closed doors, behind closed doors
No longer do I care to even try
Behind closed doors I long to die
What’s the point of continuing this
When it will all only end with a deadly kiss?
Anyone Care to Dance?
It's not unusual for me to feel alone. Even in a crowded room. Even surrounded by family. I have always felt uncomfortable around people. As though they could see through me. See into my soul. Would some way know who I really am and then use my weaknesses against me. Or discover they didn't really like me. I have had a difficult time developing friendships because of my anxiety. I don't just live with anxiety but I am anxiety.
I am afraid of the intimacy needed to develop a strong solid relationship with anyone. Including my husband. I hate feeling this way. I watch other people and wish I could be friends with them. So, instead of having any close friendships I tend to keep things light and superficial. I can't get hurt that way. I may not be subject to being hurt but I'm also not subject to being liked. Thus, my being alone continues.
I was talking to a friend earlier and I opened up about some things. I felt uncomfortable and then afterwards wish I hadn't shared. They didn't do anything wrong, it's me. I felt like I was an idiot. I felt like I was bugging them. I begin to think all kinds of things like they don't really want to be my friend, they think I'm an idiot, and so on. First of all, I don't know anything about what the other person is thinking. I realistically know this but as usual, I get uncomfortable and then I will clam up.
I dislike ANY public speaking. This includes any and all speaking. I prefer to write it or type it. Sharing me, is scary.
I don't like to be somewhere and everyone is looking at me. I have won several raffles but I never go up to claim my prize. If someone is with me I have them go get it. If not, then I lose out. The only exception to this is dancing. I am in my own little world and don't notice anyone else. Perhaps I should dance when I talk.
I am afraid of the intimacy needed to develop a strong solid relationship with anyone. Including my husband. I hate feeling this way. I watch other people and wish I could be friends with them. So, instead of having any close friendships I tend to keep things light and superficial. I can't get hurt that way. I may not be subject to being hurt but I'm also not subject to being liked. Thus, my being alone continues.
I was talking to a friend earlier and I opened up about some things. I felt uncomfortable and then afterwards wish I hadn't shared. They didn't do anything wrong, it's me. I felt like I was an idiot. I felt like I was bugging them. I begin to think all kinds of things like they don't really want to be my friend, they think I'm an idiot, and so on. First of all, I don't know anything about what the other person is thinking. I realistically know this but as usual, I get uncomfortable and then I will clam up.
I dislike ANY public speaking. This includes any and all speaking. I prefer to write it or type it. Sharing me, is scary.
I don't like to be somewhere and everyone is looking at me. I have won several raffles but I never go up to claim my prize. If someone is with me I have them go get it. If not, then I lose out. The only exception to this is dancing. I am in my own little world and don't notice anyone else. Perhaps I should dance when I talk.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Creepy Baby Dream
I told my mother something she didn't want to hear. She yelled at me and told me to go away from her. I screamed that I was leaving and she would never see me again. I went to the room I was staying in and my grandmother was lying dead on the bed. A hand came out from under the bed grabbing at me...I looked away and started screaming. I was afraid to look to see what it was. It told me it wanted to help me. I looked down and it was zombie looking. As it came out from under the bed it turned into an over-sized bald baby with creepy blue eyes. The baby told me they will be investigating a murder and I was going to die. The hands grabbed me and pulled me under the bed.
Melting Mouth
I had a dream that I woke up got out of bed and left my room. I turned on the hall light and preceded to walk down stairs. It is unknown to me as to why I woke up or the purpose of going down stairs. At the end of the stairs is another short walkway which straight ahead leads to the kitchen and to turn right would be another short hallway leading to the living room. I stopped and thought about heading to the living room. I felt something creepy, something evil was there. I turned and headed back upstairs to tell my husband. As I began walking upstairs my legs gave out. I could no longer use them, I was paralyzed. I could feel the darkness coming upon me. I yelled out. I was suddenly silenced by my mouth melting and becoming sewed closed. I couldn't scream. I used my arms to pull myself up the stairs. I heard someone enter the bathroom. Once at the top landing I slithered to the bathroom. I pushed the door open and seen my husband on the toilet. I needed his help. He turned and looked at me. His face was charred. Black like coal and pieces were falling away and evaporating like a vampire does in light in the movies. I woke up.
Done
For some, life just seems too rough
Coming to a point of having enough
Not another day can they bare to spend
Deciding to bring life, to an end
Feeling as though there is no hope
The internal pain, can no longer cope
What would bring a person to decide
To end their life in suicide?
Was it something they’d often thought?
Was it a fight they’d always fought?
Finally giving up, giving in
Believing there was no way to win
In this world feeling so alone
Being a part of, they’ve never known
For happiness had they ever seen?
Did anyone care to intervene?
Were there signs that one could tell?
Did no one notice this empty shell?
Was silently planning their own death
Ready and willing for their last breath
No longer can handle living life
Sharpening the dull bladed knife
Tub full of water, knife in hand
Slicing the artery, just as planned
Blood flowing, turning water red
A single tear of relief is shed
Life now over, life now gone
Their life in memories we carry on
Coming to a point of having enough
Not another day can they bare to spend
Deciding to bring life, to an end
Feeling as though there is no hope
The internal pain, can no longer cope
What would bring a person to decide
To end their life in suicide?
Was it something they’d often thought?
Was it a fight they’d always fought?
Finally giving up, giving in
Believing there was no way to win
In this world feeling so alone
Being a part of, they’ve never known
For happiness had they ever seen?
Did anyone care to intervene?
Were there signs that one could tell?
Did no one notice this empty shell?
Was silently planning their own death
Ready and willing for their last breath
No longer can handle living life
Sharpening the dull bladed knife
Tub full of water, knife in hand
Slicing the artery, just as planned
Blood flowing, turning water red
A single tear of relief is shed
Life now over, life now gone
Their life in memories we carry on
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