It has to go somewhere

She said she didn't want me. She was poor. Young. She hadn't even wanted sex and certainly not an infant.  She wanted them to take her mistake away.  She was in a hurry for me to become a bad memory. I was inconvenient. They said I should be grateful. After all, they wanted me.  I was lucky. Chosen.  But they didn't want my thoughts, and wouldn't stand for sadness.  They were ashamed of my differences. I wouldn't conform.  I was inconvenient. He said he wanted to see me. I was pretty. Smart.  But he didn't want what I could give. Only what he could take.  After his crime he didn't want to hear his mistake crying.  Must stay quiet.  I was inconvenient. He was a friend. He said that I was safe with him. I could trust.  I believed him. But, I guess even friendship has its limits.  I was in pain. Sad and weakened by pain. Despair.  He said it was too hard to see. I was no longer worth it. Not profitable.  I was defi...

Everyone who knows me well, knows I am not patient. I really don't like waiting for stuff I want. But what I really hate more, is waiting for stuff I don't want. Like surgery. The dread, the anxiety and the mental games during the wait are sometimes worse than the thing itself. So, I am frankly glad that today is here. Surgery day. Finally. And, I feel ready. I had a good meeting with Dr. K., I have done everything they asked, I've already been poked, prodded, stuck, charted and photographed. Let's just do this thing already. I've bitched a lot along the way. It's a way to cope. But the biggest way that I have coped, has been through my wonderful friends. All of you who have listened to me whine, talked to me, prayed for me, for the laughs, the talks, all the moments that got me here feeling so loved, I am grateful. Keep the prayers coming! Time to go!

With my surgery date rushing toward me, I am realizing once again that fear is funny thing. I'm sure everyone has their own way of coping with it that seems to work for them. Frankly, I do NOT have it figured out yet. So, I run the gamut. One moment I am frozen by it. A deer-in-the-headlights kind of thing. I shut down and don't think at all. I just freeze. One can only maintain that state for a moment or two and then the panic usually sets in. Oh-my-gosh-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into kind of stuff. That state seems to be my stand-by. It's not that I am particularly afraid of the pain of surgery. Don't get me wrong. It hurts. It hurts a lot. Pain killers don't seem to do much for me, and I am carrying a lot of weight. Put that together with having your body filleted open and rearranged, stuffed back in and sewed up...it's gonna hurt. But I can sorta handle that. I don't like it, but it doesn't frighten me. And, yes, I think about the risks of the surger...

She has a scarlet handprint smeared across one cheek. And a diamond plate pattern scraped into her knees. The bitter taste of copper and shame fills her mouth, And fingertip bruises scatter across her shaking shoulders. Her mind, once filled with a suffocating terror, Is now etched with a heavy fear and the memory. Of scents. Cigarettes, chewing tobacco and sweat. Of pain. Each thrust of hate so deep it reaches her soul. Of sounds. Grunting and laughing and words sharp as knives. Just a few hours in the middle of a still, summer night And She is shattered into fragments too jagged to repair. Old dreams, light and colorful, have suddenly vanished And new ones simply won’t come. One day as she adjusts her mask in the mirror--trying on a smile. She says outloud to no one, “I don’t know her.” This is dedicated to a girl I knew in high school. And to all survivors.

I wonder. I wonder if you know your power. How, when you really turn your attention toward me, I soar. How your quiet kindness can soothe my searing pain. I wonder if you know your power. How your careless words crash through my defenses. How they cut and leave gaping wounds. I wonder if you know your humor. How it’s smart and silly and truly a blessing. How our laughter has brought me so much joy. I wonder if you know your humor. How when you use it as a weapon, your face changes. How its cruelty dismisses me as nothing. I know we agreed to smile. But I wonder if you know what lies behind mine.

Sometimes I get caught up in the bad news. All that stuff that reporters love to talk about. With their painted-on look of sorrow that barely covers the glimmer in their eyes, they report on those tragic deaths, the suffering, abuse, and poverty. And, if that were not enough, I get bogged down in my own self-loathing, and pity, my own pain and suffering. And, I forget. I forget that there is the good stuff right there before me. But just recently I was reminded. Our friends invited us over. They are a 30-something couple with 2 adorable boys. Big brother is 5 and little brother is 3. They live on a cute cul-de-sac with their cat and some fish. We were excited to go because we had been promised a "camp-fire" complete with roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. It had been years since I had been in front of a good roaring fire, so although it was kinda hot out, I was optimistic it would be a nice time. Well, "nice time" is quite the understatement. It was paradise. The bo...