0

Wake me up when September ends

Late June to late July is an emotional clusterfuck.

It’s why I initially scheduled my Aussie trip there so I’d have good memories in the time frame of a hellish month.

But Beth died.
But it’s the one year mark of my father dying.
The two year mark of the back surgery that screwed up my life.
The four year mark of Nick dying.

It’s such a hard month.
It’s such a hard time frame.

Now I have happy and amazing memories from the time frame (which I will blog about and post pictures and stuff about soon, promise!).

But it’s hard.

I’ve cried more recently than I’ve done in the past year. So many tears. So much pain. So much heartache.

So much loss.

0

My dad was an asshole, but then he died.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that my feelings are okay. That it is okay to feel angry, upset, grief, happiness, and everything all in once.

Just because he is dead, does not mean it is wrong for me to speak ill of him.

Just because he is dead, does not mean that I have to pretend that everything was peachy keen when he was alive.

Because that’s not the truth. It’s dangerous to have that mindset.

Now that he’s dead, I’m free.

It’s okay on this father’s day if you hate your dad. If you love him. Or fuck, even both.

It’s okay if you don’t want to call him.

It’s okay if you don’t want to send a card or get him a present.

It’s okay.

It’s okay if you long more than anything to be a father but you cannot or are not for whatever reason.

It’s okay.

Your feelings are still valid.

Your feelings are yours and yours alone.

Don’t let anyone tell you that they’r not okay or you have to do this or that or you’re a “bad daughter” or “bad son” or “bad child”. You aren’t.

And that’s okay.

0

Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans

14462e1a6b31656182422961e934e157It wasn’t so long ago that I was in high school. That I graduated high school despite incredible odds. That I even graduated with honors (though it should have been high honors as I got an A in creative writing but my teacher turned in his grades late so that’s not what the graduation program says.

Despite learning disorders, despite that being the year I turned my father into the police, despite that being the year my health completely fell apart, I still graduated high school. Even now, nine years later, it’s one of my proudest achievements.

Nine years ago, I had so many hopes and dreams. I wanted my PHD. I wanted to do something with children. Never did I think my health would continue to spiral downhill. Never did I think that in 2007 I would be approved for SSI in less than a month. Never did I think that my father would die at the age of 66. Never did I think that in 2015, I would still not even have my bachelor’s degree.

I’ve come  to accept that life isn’t always what we want. Even though I have an incredible amount of debt from my college education that was never completed, I truly don’t think I’d trade it for the world. I would have never met Nick. Anna and I wouldn’t be as close as we are. For all I know, I wouldn’t have Athena. Life happens. It’s not always what we want, but it’s all what it’s supposed to be. Somehow.

0

Journey from the past

I have a really old LiveJournal. It’s from back when you still have to be referred to join. I also have (multiple) really old Xangas. And a few open diary/teenopendiary which thank GOD do not exist anymore. This is kind of a trigger warning for child abuse, so, please tread carefully. This is mostly me doing some dumping of various sorts – I don’t know that I even expect anyone to read it. If you actually do, hugs and good thoughts are welcome. This was hard. If you want the good stuff, go to the end where I gave the asshole a piece of my mind.

Some of the stuff made me cry. Like, I actually wrote that? It’s out there? Parts of my childhood abuse are that well chronicled? Me talking about getting yelled at for making a mistake that caused my father to reboot the computer. I found this entry and I was so heartbroken at junior year, overdramatic me. This is from when I was 17.

“Got it? I quit life. I’m sick of it. I asked Dad to call the doctor, so
I can get my meds, right? He throws a fit, becaue he doesn’t think I
have a problem and need them..then asks if I think I do. Now, the ones
they had me on worked like CRAP. But now I don’t have any…and I’ve
noticed in the few weeks since I’ve been off…I’ve been more down.”

Why do I always have to suffer? And the other day, I just wanted my
daddy to notice me. I showed him my new pretty bracelet, but he was too
busy playing fucking neopets. Yes, I just cussed. Live with it. I was
so hurt, that a DAMN WEBSITE was more important then his own daughter.
It’s all he does! He literally RUNS down the isle at church as soon as
it’s done, and I have to struggle to keep up with him. Why does he go
so fast? Because he wants to come home and screw around on the computer
before work. We hurry to leave after Wednesdays. And I hate it. I wish
i’d NEVER told him about neopets, I’m sick of hearing him whine when I
get good stuff, and he doesn’t. I’m sick of him bragging when he does
good. I’m sick of it being the only thing we hvae in common to talk
about. I’M SICK OF IT. I made the biggest mistake of my LIFE when I
told him about that site. I just want to slap him and tell him it’s NOT
REAL, and that hey, I’m real. And all I wanted was some attention..for
him to notice the bracelet I’d spent time making, and I just wanted him
to acknowledge me. I just wanted him to see me. What the hell is he
going to do? I’m going to be GONE in a year and a half. And I can’t say
I’m upset about it. I’m looking foreward to it. I’m to the point where
the further away I get from home, the better.”

And yet, I was gone before that. Oh, I got emails. The blackmail emails. Cruel, cruel posts.

“This was the year that you were to get something (for Chirstmas) of your grandmother’s that she would have wanted you to have, but no. Jim and I will sell it. Also, my will said you were to get the imported china that dad brought back from Japan at then end of WW!!-but that is now changed. Jim and I will sell sell it.”

“Just to let you know-You and and your mother had many choices as to what to do. You both chose to take the road that would cost the most problems for me. Giving you the comuter finalizes my agreement with the police department. I am now forced to pay for slightly over year for something that I do not have, and all because of the phone call your mother made-instead of any other choices available. This whole thing was cost me dearly, $$ and more. But tell your mother that it is not it is not over until the fat lady sings, and she has not yet sung.” (What did I do? I turned him into the police for possessing child pornography. And by the way, my mother did not make the phone call. I. FUCKING. DID. And like 18 year old me was going to confront him!? I did do other things, douchebag. I went to my youth pastor and the senior pastor of the church, who tried to convince me not to turn his sorry ass in and instead ‘confront’ him. HELL NO).

I am sorry, but I am done. I have done everthing in my power to contine to communicate with you, but it is you, not me, who has shut off everything. Again, if you cannot communicate with me, I feel I have no other choice than to discontinue your insurance coverage.” Why did I shut off everything, oh yeah, you’re a fucking child abuser.

Oh, and then there is the time at age 20 I finally epically lost my shit at him and gave the asshat a piece of my mind. This is the email, and this is my response. The check was some insurance bullshit.

I cannot send a check out until next week, and WILL do so then.

Just to let you know, I do NOT remember any check for this amount, but to avoid problems, will send it anyway. I have asked, repeatedly, to see you, but get denied every time. You do not, and cannot possiblly have a Dr appointment every day. And, almost every mail I receive from you seems to be a request for money.

I don’t know what happened–it cannot be just what happened over the computer. You were my very best friend, and I felt, before you left here, I could confide in you just about anything. There are still things I wish I could talk to you about. But e-mails are not the place.

I love you very much, but things just can’t go on the way they are now.

I am asking you one more time–can I PLEASE just have a time when we can meet one on one–just for lunch? Any day–any time–up to your to set the time. I am still off on both Tues and Wen.

Dad”

“Thank you for sending the checks.

No, I do not have an appointment every day. However, since Mom is off on Tuesdays, I normally have them on Tuesdays. Wednesdays I’m in class all day. So neither day works for me, sorry. I barely have the strength lately to hang out with my friends, I’ve only seen one of my friends this entire summer. Between school, doctors, and homework (and getting ready to transfer next year) I doubt if I’ll even have time to hang out with them at that. I’m sorry. I also cannot make plans very far in advance, as I never know when I AM going to have an appointment. I am lucky enough to be able to attend class each week, nonetheless make outside plans.

“Best friend”, eh? You sure have funny ways of showing it.

You said in an earlier email I was not the daughter you knew. You are correct. I am not the daughter you knew. I am no longer your victim – I am no longer your punching bag to push around. I am no longer the person you forced me to be. I am stronger, I am wiser. You put your earthly possessions over me. Therefore, you lost me. It’s not my fault. YOU made the choices. YOU have to suffer the consequences.

While I lived with you, you never cared about how I was doing. You would throw fits when Mom asked you to take me to my doctor’s appointments. You didn’t care about my eighteenth or nineteenth birthdays. You’d whine and throw fits whenever I asked you to do anything for me. Why the change? Why do you care about my health now? You never gave a rat’s behind before. So why now? Why the sudden burst of compassion?

No. Things cannot go on the way they are now. I am sick of you pushing me around, trying to force me and guilt me into meeting with you. I’m sorry. I cannot. Besides, what would we talk about if we met for lunch? You only care about one person – you and what makes YOU look good. You’re not interested in my life. You never cared in the past. Why should you care now? Have you realized what you’ve lost? Have you realized what you’ve done?

I’m sorry if every email seems like a request for money. However, when you were married to my mother, all you cared about was HER money. All you care about is money, and making sure you have the money to buy your beer and your potato chips. You never cared if I had the money to buy my medications, the money to buy things I needed for school, the money to pay for gas to take me to my doctor’s appointments. You couldn’t be arsed to care. So why care now?

Yes. It is more than the computer. I’m glad you finally realized that. I have finally seen your true colours. It’s the way you treated my brothers. It’s the way you treated my mother while you were married to her. It’s the way you treated me. I am not your toy to play with. It’s your utter hypocrisy – acting one way in public, and another behind closed doors.

You truly don’t care about me. Case in point. When you were in a car accident, and unhurt, you got pissed at me because I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry if I hurt you in that, but you have hurt me in the same ways. I’ve told you I’ve been transferred by lifesquad from the doctor’s office to the hospital – nothing. I’ve told you of my multiple sprains – nothing.

You pay no attention to my emails. I told you in an email I’d sprained my ankle. Your reply? You wanted to take me to play mini golf, out to a movie, and a Chinese buffet. All of which is awfully hard to do with a sprained ankle.

You say I am not the daughter you knew. You are not the father I knew. The father I knew would never disrespect his mother. You know, my Christmas present in 2005? Where you told me you were going to sell something that Dixie would of wanted me to have? I thought you truly cared – but I guess I was wrong. Sometimes we are blinded by the people we care about the most, and the same is true of you. I realized that the “love” you claimed you had for me was just an act. You’d throw fits when I’d ask you to do simple things like take me into town to get my glasses. To get my TB test read. The father I thought I knew would never do that – and that is when I started seeing your true colours.

Whenever something goes wrong in your life, you expect me to show pity, compassion. Fine. I can understand that. However, when something goes wrong in my life – I get nothing. I’m not saying I want your sympathy, I’m not saying I want your pity. However, you can’t expect me to care if you don’t.

You have hurt me in more ways then you will ever realize. Not just by the computer, but by a combination of things. Your choices led us to where we are now. I’m sorry.”

0

Nothing (To My Father)

This is a poem I wrote senior year of high school. Now that my father has passed away, it’s even more interesting (to me, anyway) to read something I wrote nine years ago.

 

I reflect upon the past,
wondering if I knew the truth
or if I was fooled, and what I knew was
nothing.

What happened to make things change?
When did you quit loving me?
Did you ever truly love me, or am I
Nothing

Stop tormenting me!
Yet why should you love me?
Whatever did I do; am I just
nothing?

You used your tricks to harm me,
and wounded me by your words.
Some scars never heal,
Nothing

Your priorities were distorted
Alcohol was your idol,
I realized I was simply
nothing

I believe Family is the most important thing
You claimed it.
Yet your actions proved otherwise,
Nothing

The lies begins to come out,
I’m victim to your hypocrisy,
and fading into
nothing

As I learned the truth,
and free myself from your grasp
I realize that I was never
nothing

Starting live anew,
running free from the past
learning to live without you, no longer
Nothing

And in the end,
I realize at last
it is not I, but it is you who is
nothing.

1

She’d tell him about her dreams, he’d just shoot ’em down

About eight years ago, my life was in shambles. The church backstabbed me, I lost my faith, and everything fell apart. I was deeply involved in self injury, I was deeply depressed, I was trapped in an eating disorder I’m still trapped in eight years later. Eight years ago, I lost my faith, I lost my hope, I lost my friends, I lost everything.

It’s funny, in a way – I think often that children of abuse victims are orphans in a way. Not in the way the world typically views orphaned but in many ways, my father is already dead to me. I haven’t spoken to him in eight years and I have no desire to ever again. I have no desire to ever set foot in that church again after what they did to me. Heck, for years I had no desire to have anything to do with the church at all.

But eight years later, I’m rebuilding. I’m rebuilding hope, I’m rebuilding grace. Eight years later, I’m finding my own sense of family, my own sense of church. I’m even majoring in ministry  though my current plan is to be a hospital chaplain and not a typical church minister. It’s crazy to see where the past eight years have brought me.


With a broken wing, she carries her dreams
Man, you ought to see her fly

0

Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong. Throw the stone away, let the guilty pay, it’s independence day

The teacher wonders, but she does not ask
It’s hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm,
Sometimes she wishes she was never born

I suppose two things come to mind on October 31st for the average person. The first is, obviously, Halloween.


The second, primary in Christian especially Lutheran, circles, is Reformation Day.

Before Halloween candy, before Martin Luther being all “TAKE THAT CATHOLICISM!”, another day comes to mind. Independence Day. Now, before you think I’ve lost my marbles, I know it’s not 4 July yet. There won’t be any fireworks tonight, although there will be in my heart. And there won’t be cookouts and baseball, because I really don’t care much for either.

Seven years. I moved out seven years ago. And while it was undeniably the best decision I ever met, it was undoubtedly the most painful. No 18 year old should have to make the decisions I made that day, and no 18 year old should have to live through that.

I was, after all, only 18 years old. And I turned my father into the police. I had people I thought I trusted turn against me. It’s so hard to believe it’s been seven years since all that happened. But there are still nights I miss my Daddy.

Yes, he’s a colossal class A asshat. But we’d watch movies together, or sometimes I could convince him to hook up the SNES or my Genesis and we’d play video games. We’d play “Name That Tune” to the Oldies Radio Station, and I’d kick his ass in Bible Trivia. He’d take me to see the movies. I can’t really name that many good qualities about him and he is, at his core, a drunken pedophile, but dammit, he’s my father. I miss him. I miss what I lost, I miss what I never had, I miss what I never will have. I guess that’s normal and I guess it’s the way it should be. But at the same time… I still deeply grieve.

But I’ve changed so many in seven years, and I will change in so many more. Next Halloween, I’ll be wearing a costume for the first time (and it’ll be awesome). The next year, I’ll continue to heal and grow and change. And who knows? Maybe one October, it’ll just pass as fleeting memories.
Like my father’s come to pass, seven years has gone so fast.

Me at eighteen. Yup. Really, not much has changed.



And with a broken wing, she still sings
She keeps an eye on the skies
With a broken wing, she carries her dreams
Man, you ought to see her fly

0

As my memories rests, but never forgets what I lost

Like my father’s come to pass, seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we all

September marks seven years since everything flipped upside down, since everything turned topsy-turvy, since my life went totally off-kilter. It’s kind of funny because even though my father isn’t actually dead as in he kicked the bucket, emotionally he’s dead to me as I don’t speak to him, haven’t seen him in seven years.

Funnily enough, this time seven years ago this song was all over the radio. I heard it on the bus going to school every single morning (along with the DHT cover of “Listen To Your Heart”). Kind of funny that seven years later, it sums up my feelings about the month of September.

September isn’t as loaded as October 31st is for me, but September is still a month of loss, a time of grief. September 2005 is when my health started spiraling out of control. September 2005 was when I started to realize who my true friends were. So much happened seven years ago. So much happened.

As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends


I fully believe that one day my memory will be at ease, but I don’t know when that day will be. I believe there will be one day that’s not taunted by flashbacks and nightmares and painful memories. I fully believe that will be a day where it will all just be another faded scar, another jaded memory. Kind of like the lyrics from the opening theme of my favourite anime (taken from the Japanese translation to English and not the English version): “Even when yesterday’s wounds remain, take yesterday’s tears and turn them into tomorrow’s strength.”

I don’t have to let the past control me. I don’t have to let myself be consumed by the memories. But just because I finally process the pain after all these years, just because I finally come to terms with the past, doesn’t mean that I forget it. It doesn’t mean that I have to forget it at all, but it also doesn’t have to be at the forefront of my memory.

A lot has changed in seven years. I’ve gone from an 18 year old high school senior to a 25 year old college student. I never dreamed on my first day of high school that these seven years would turn out the way that they did: The whole ordeal with my father, losing my health, losing some of my mobility, moving to Minnesota, taking time of school, still being in College, this, that, and the other. It’s kind of baffling, really, what all has happened over the course of seven years. And how in some ways I’m so different, but in some ways some things never change.

All this doesn’t mean that sometimes I just want to skip the month of September, and October as well for good measure. Maybe one September, I won’t just want it to end before it begins .Maybe one September, I won’t want it to just go away.

will i lose my dignity? will someone care?
will i wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
there’s only us, there’s only this,
forget regret, or life is yours to miss.
no other road, no other way, no day but today.

It’s not September yet. It will be in just over an hour. It may be a difficult time – but maybe this year at long last, I can start healing and fully living it the now, instead of being trapped in the past.

0

Because reason says I should have died three years ago

I am told that it is nothing short of a miracle I am alive, be it by the circumstances of life or be it by my own hand. I am told that many other people in my shoes would be homeless, would be drug addicts, would be drunkards. That I shouldn’t be alive due to medicine mixups, ailments, and various things I have.

At the same time, I’ve been told that if I just had more faith I would be healed. If I just believed I could overcome, things would be better. The truth is, I’ve accepted things to be the way they are. It doesn’t mean I don’t channel my energy in recovery. What it does mean is like in the serenity prayer, I accept the things I cannot change and must have the courage to change the things I can.

Oh look, I can climb the twisty thing!

Just because I’ve accepted my disabilities, I feel, doesn’t mean that I’ve let them pull me down. I’ve really beaten incredible odds. I’ve overcome so much. I still have much to overcome. I know that due to genetics my general health will continue to demolish itself. I know that if I try to push myself, believing if I just do a little better I can overcome, I will wind up making things a bazillion times worse. To focus on what I cannot do would be foolish. I can play on playgrounds, I can wade in the water. I can take walks. I can so much! Why pull myself down by  bashing myself?

I can play in the water!

I can’t control what my father did in the past and I can’t deny the impact it has with me today. I can control how I choose to act on the result. I can’t control the fact that I’m disabled for likely life, but I can choose to accept it and make the best of my life, no matter how long or short it is. The important thing is that I keep on keeping on, and instead, continue to defy odds. Continue to shoot down the ones who say I can’t make it. You know what? I may not make it in the traditional sense. But it doesn’t mean I have to give up hope, that I have to quit at life. Instead, it fuels me to go forward, propels me to keep swimming (even though, well, I can’t swim) and gives me a reason to survive.

And if you care to find me, look towards the western sky
As someone told me lately, everyone deserves a chance to fly
And if I’m flying solo, at least I’m flying free
To those who ground me take a message back from me!
Tell them how I’m defying gravity, I’m flying high, defying gravity…
Wicked – “Defying Gravity.”