Rape

Because rape happens so often, it wouldn’t be such a taboo if it was a man who did it. It wouldn't be hard to explain to a man I was trying to be intimate with.   They would forever understand my situation and would sympathize with me.  To be able to explain (as opposed to hiding) why when I am in bed and flinch because of a certain touch, they would be able to understand from my past why that touch makes me flinch.   They would understand why an orgasm is hard to reach and would be gentle with my needs.  They would understand that it still feels good to me, but that something deep down inside just won’t let it happen.

If I had been raped by a man, everything that is wrong in my life would fit in its right place.  No make-up would be acceptable.  No contacts would be warranted.  Baggy clothes would go un-noticed.  If I had been raped by a man, the copious amounts of medication I have put down my throat might actually help me.  My drinking problem and promiscuity would be explained, and I would have more outlets than I ever thought possible.  The cuts on my legs would be accepted as a coping mechanism and people would want to help me instead of judge me.

In my ideal world, being raped by a man would have changed the core being of who I am to this very day; however, I do not live in my ideal world.  I live in a world surrounded by lies and disappointment.  A world full of random sex with strangers, alcoholism, and a serious nicotine addiction…or perhaps the alcoholism is more serious.  To counteract those horrible acts, I have a severe panic disorder that has created a true homebody.  At 26, I am nobody, but surprisingly, I am going places so fast that my head spins.

I have fought my past for so many years, but I am over my current state of thinking.  It is time to reveal my truth to the world.

Reader…think back to your earliest memory…Do you have it?  Are you three and sitting in a kiddie pool surrounded by loved ones who are enjoying their time with you?  Are you four and having your birthday at Chuck E Cheese with all your friends eating pizza and drinking caffeinated soda?  Are you five and starting your first day of kindergarten, worried that no one will like you?  Where are you if not in a sandbox or swinging on a swing?  My guess is that your earliest memory is something fun, as it should be, because at that age you had so much to learn.

I was five when I created my first memory.  Anything prior to that I unintentionally blocked out.  Every day after early morning kindergarten I went to Mindy Peore’s house.  She had an at home daycare ranging with kinds from birth to 6^th grade.  Walking in her house you could smell old cooked food that seeped a stench of B.O. Mindy had long, stringy brown hair and resembled a look of way too much Sun-In in  during the summer months.  It was almost a golden brown…but an ugly golden brown.

I liked Mindy’s house at first.  She gave us all treats after school and she let me play with her daughter’s barbie dolls. None of the other kids ever got to play with the Barbies.  Mindy made us sit at a plastic playschool picnic bench and color inside the lines.  If we strayed from inside the lines, Mindy made us start a new page. She would tell us to re-do it and then walk away.  Coloring had to be perfect at Mindy’s house.

The story is that Mindy walking away left me an opening to act out an experience I had learned about and unwillingly experienced.  Even if unwilling, I learned to love the feeling it created.

Underneath the Playskool slide was a toddler; probably about two, still in diapers.  I thought, “This could work.”  I made my way over to the toddler, who was underneath the slide and out of vision from all other occupants of the room.  I mounted the from behind.  I dry humped this poor child until I had an orgasm.  What sways be sideways is that when I was done I went back to coloring as if nothing had happened. 

True story…that is my first memory.  I dry-raped a child.  I don’t even remember their name but can only hope to this day that I didn’t create their first memory. How dare I beget an unwanted act at the infantile memory of an innocent?

Are you asking yourself how I could do such a thing?  Where I would have even learned it?  It is a simple story.  My sister had sex with me before I could even speak full sentences.  Is it her fault that this happened?  No.  It is the teenager that thought it would be funny to have her sister and my sister have sex with each other.  From what I have gathered, the older girls watched.

Did they think it was funny?  What would ever possess someone to do such a thing?

Reader, I don’t blame my sister for the start of this scenario as she was only seven; however, I do blame her for letting it go on so long.

Visit me soon if you can even fathom reading more.

-M

           

Detox

I think I smoked three cigarettes during my ten minute drive to the hospital.  And I was just pissed the entire way. How did we end up back here, nine months later, in the same situation?  Why was I only one of two people he contacted?  Could I even hold my anger together?  I was in as much rage as a child in a mosh pit.  FUCKING RAGE!

I gripped the steering wheel tight with my right hand as my left discarded my cigarette directly onto the “no smoking beyond this point” sign.  I wasn’t even half way finished. Don’t these people know that when I am in distress I tend to smoke like a chimney?  What are they thinking!

At the front desk stood an older white woman and a young adolescent hindu/Indian/mexican boy.  His eyes were dark and questioning.

“And how can I help you today, Miss?” she asked.

“I am here to see Mat Booker.” She has me spell it because apparently it was far past her vocabulary.

She wrote my name on the visitor pass.  “It’s room 332 dearie.”

“Sounds great,” I retorted, “but how do I get there?”

“Just down that hallway to the main elevators and up to the third floor.”

The two floor ride seemed like an oceanic flight.  Nine hours of terror.  What will happen?  What will he look like?  Will it be as bad as last summer?  Will he be paper thin and shaking through every sentence?

I exited the elevator to a deafening silence on the floor.  I could feel the death in the air and it exhausted me.

Alone I walked through the left corridor.  My heart pounded in my chest.  301…302…305.  Damnit – wrong side of the hallway – who marked this shit and why are they prolonging the inevitable ahead of me.

329…330…331…here.  I took a deep breath as I entered the room.  I had envisioned him to be the same as last year in his frail state; skinny and frail.  But a repeat of last year was not what I saw.  Not even my worst night terror could have prepared me for what I saw.

He lay there on the bed, shaking, yet barely moving.  His hair mimicked that of someone who had just put their finger in a light socket.  His lips appeared glued shut and his eyes were rolled into the back of his skull.  The thin sheet that covered him failed to disguise the exposed knee, foot, hip, shoulder, and chest bones that have popped out over time.  His face was dark and eyes sunken in…almost bulging out of his prehistoric skull.

With vomit in my throat, I tried to turn around.  But I couldn’t.  Everyone else had already turned their back and I just couldn’t leave him on his own.  He had to know that somebody cared.  If he came back once before…he can come back again.

“Hey Buddy!” I gasped.  “It’s me, Michele.”

He briefly opened his eyes, but as quick as they met my gaze, they rolled back inside his head.  It appeared for a moment as if he was trying to say something to me, then all I heard was confused moans attempting to gasp through dried tight lips.

Something was wrong.  I ran to the nurse’s station.

“Hi!,” I gasped.  “Hello!  I…I think my uncle needs some help. 332.”

The nurse followed me into the room.

“Mat.  Mat!” She gently touched his shoulder to alert that she was there.  “Do you need some help?”

He looked at me.  And then back to her.  I couldn’t understand a word he said, but she knew he needed to go to the bathroom.  He was unable to get up for himself so she brought a bed pan out.

“I’m not sure what you will want to do, hun,” she stated as she glanced at me, “but he has to go number two and I am not sure if you will want to stay.”

“nope, sure don’t.”  I grabbed my purse and headed for the open seating area.

Dial number one…Mom…No answer.

Dial number two…Dawn…No answer…this time I left a message.  Dawn already knew he was in the hospital, mom didn’t.

As I dialed my uncle, Dawn beeped in.

“Hey Michele, grandpa’s here, you are on speaker phone.  Are you at the hospital”

SHIT!

“Hey Dawn,” my voice shook.  “Yeah, I’m here.”

“So, how is he?”

“I’m not sure I want grandpa to hear what I have to say,” I retorted.  “I can’t really filter how I feel.

I can hear her ask him in the background if he wants to hear what I have to say.  Then I heard his “mmmhmmm.”

“He said yes Michele.  Give it to us straight.”

I couldn’t believe she was doing this.  Give it to her straight.  She fucking hates him.  Way to put on a show for grandpa you dumb bitch.

”Okay.  He is worst than last summer.  He looks like a hospitalized freak anorexic who doesn’t eat anything.  He is hallucinating and doesn’t know who I am.  His eyes are rolled backward and he can’t even lift his torso with his arms to move in his bed.  He fucking looks like a God Damn Holocaust victim suffering in the depths of a German winter.  I honestly don’t know how to feel right now.  I know I feel sick but I am pissed he has done this to us again an no one cares.  And the only person that can get info from the doctors, your ‘oh so special sober’ brother, doesn’t even want to talk to him.  He is so sick that even without the C-Diff he had last year, he is still in a diaper and shitting himself.”

I heard my grandpa mumble in the background.

“We will be there later today,” my aunt informed. “Will you tell him we are coming.”

“Yeah.  But like I said, he doesn’t even know who I am right now and I have actually talked to him since his last stint.”

I just had to get that little jab in there.  Enough for my grandpa to hear.  (and that my friends, is becoming a different story.”

I saw the nurse come out of the room and seized the opportunity to talk to her. There is no point in dialogue here because I couldn’t get anything.  He needed to be alert and coherent enough to give the nurses permission to talk to me.

I walked back in the room and said goodbye.  For a second I thought he was puckering his lips to kiss me goodbye, but I was fooling myself.  He is HALLUCINATING! So I just said goodbye without the normal kiss on the cheek and left.

Introduction

Reader -

Welcome to my blog.  At this point in my life, I am ready to tell you the stories that have shaped me into who I am today.  As I write these stories, I will post them for you to read.  I hope to reach you on a level that you have never thought about before.  From my readings; I want you to laugh until you can't breathe, cry until puddles form, and rage until your face is red.  I'll tell you this; you will only get the truth from me and I expect the same in return.

Just remember...whenever you feel that you aren't loved, know that someone out there does indeed love you.

Just a thought

Sometimes…when things don’t work out, you will feel miserable inside for a while.  Then there is a glimmer of hope inside your lying mind.  And that glimmer is fainter than a dying candle in the pitchest of black. Yet you sit there staring and dreaming of what could be; hoping the light will never fade.  But, then it happens… and that candle dies, and you are left alone in the dark wondering what you ever did to deserve such loneliness.

~Michele