The scars of our memories.

When I was around 7 years old my father hit me on the head with a wire hanger. My "crime" was that I had scuffed the toes of my new school shoes. He checked them just before I was ready to head out the door to school and his reaction was rather extreme...if I say so myself. 

Grabbing the first thing available, one of those wire hangers that had a cardboard cylinder for a base, he smacked me on the head with it several times. He then kicked my butt, literally, and sent me out the door crying and with abusive words and threats ringing in my ears. Unknown to me, but I would shortly find out, was that he had actually managed to hit me hard enough that the wire had entered my skull...thus I was bleeding quite profusely as I stumbled shaking and crying down the street on the way to the bus stop.

 It was one of those moments where you don't realize you are injured until someone points it out to you. In this case, it was one of our neighbors that happened to be out in her yard and who quickly let me know something was wrong with me by her piercing screams and bug eyed look as she rushed towards me. 

She actually scared the cry right out of me as I saw her come rushing at me and I wanted to turn tail and run back to the house. Not often children see strangers come running at them while screaming and reaching out in such a way...but back home was the stuff of my nightmares...and so I stopped dead in the street and waited for whatever fate this screeching woman intended for me. 

It was then I realized I felt a very warm sensation oozing down my face and shoulder and I reached up to wipe it away only to come away with a hand drenched in blood. I stared at my red hand wondering just how it came to be covered in blood and couldn't think of one good reason. Suddenly the screaming woman went silent though her mouth still made the motions of screaming...only to be replaced with a very loud buzzing sound. Just before I went weak at the knees I was scooped up by someone I hadn't seen coming up behind me. My mother. 

Apparently my mother hadn't witnessed my father's early morning lessons on keeping my shoes unscuffed, but had heard me crying as I left the house and came to the door to see if I had left or not. It was then she noticed blood droplets in a haphazard line leading away from the door and towards the sidewalk. She told me her heart stopped in her chest when she saw that blood, assuming I had been taken by someone and injured in the process. She ran down to the  sidewalk just in time to hear the neighbor woman start screaming...and assumed the very worst.  

As she rushed me back to the house intending to take me to the hospital, not knowing how I was injured but seeing lots of blood, she was met with my stony faced father who quickly took charge of my "medical care". He refused to allow her to take me anywhere and insisted I be put in the shower so all the blood could be washed off. I remember him insisting my underwear stayed on which seemed rather odd when I thought about it years later. All the while he was washing off the blood he was on a long rant of how it was my fault and these were the consequences of disobeying his orders. I made not a peep in my own defense knowing it would do no good and also knowing it could make matters far worse. 

My father investigated my head to see what the injury was and declared there being no need to pay a fortune for the hospital when all I had was a pin sized hole in my skull from the end of the wire hanger. My mother did not insist...in fact she said very little. Something I took in stride at the time but would recall years later as being silent acceptance of my fate at his hands yet again. 

He kept me home from school that day and we never spoke of it again until I was grown and my mother came to visit me. She said that she didn't want me  to be hurt more than I was so she remained quiet...to protect me. Considering what that man did to me over and over again for the next 10 years I find it hard to believe my safety was what motivated her that day...but who knows.  Possibly she had my short term safety more in mind back then.

I think about that particular moment of abuse more than lots of others because I have a scar on my head to constantly remind me. It started out as a small raised bump but over time it has grown bigger and gets scratched my hair brush quite often. My father is long gone but his mementos are still around keeping his memory alive. Yay me. 

Another memorable event that always comes back with unending clarity were when he forced me to stand in the corner with my sodden underwear pulled over my head. I was a horrible bed wetter as a child and it lasted until around the age of 9 I believe. My older sister absolutely hated sleeping with me as I generally soaked us both with my nocturnal offerings more often than not. I remember my father making it a point to come check the bed every morning and me laying there fully aware of what he was going to find yet again. 

No matter how hard I tried or what I did (using the bathroom before bed, not drinking anything for hours ahead of time) it never seemed to help much. I actually recall having dreams as a child of me getting up and using the bathroom, feeling that sense of  release when you have been holding it and then get to finally go as you sit down...only to wake up and realize it wasn't a dream. For the rest of the night I would lay there cold and shaking from both the wetness and fear. 

On those mornings he chose to come throw the covers back and pull me from the bed I knew what fate awaited me...hours with my face pressed into the corner with my own panties snug against my face. Of course it didn't end there. Once his particular brand of punishment was over I still had my older sister to contend with. She always found time to punch or pinch me while hissing in my ear about how disgusting I was and what a baby I was and did I need diapers again? 

For the life of me when I think about these episodes...I can't remember what my mother had to say about it or if she ever did anything for or against me other than once again change the sheets on the bed after letting it air outside for a few hours. To this day the smell of urine triggers memories of those mornings spent in the corner while everyone else went about their routine as if I were invisible and inconsequential. Good times.

Years later when my own youngest daughter had her own bed wetting years, I should have made the connection, one of many, but it just never clicked until hind sight gave me 20/20 vision about that and a lot of other clues as to what was going on. Another reason to feel such guilt about my blindness. 

When these memories, and so many others, suddenly intrude on a perfectly nice moment, I can't help but wonder what memories my own children have locked away that also cannot be forgotten and make for unwanted company now and again? In my own defense (if I even have the right to make one) I did not remain quiet from the moment I learned what he was doing. I know this does not mean anything against the painful memories my children suffer from when I was clueless but it at least lets them know that if I had known sooner...I would have stopped it sooner. 

Small solace but something I try and convince myself means something. 

 

A reoccurring dream has me head scratching...again.

As I have stated several times on this blog, I often have dreams over and over again that generally end up meaning something to me, or coming true in some cases. Quite often these reoccurring dreams occur in the same place, like a bedroom or a particular road that ran near where I lived for awhile in my teens. One dream I have had many times over the past few years puts me in a bedroom, though this one is a room I'm not familiar with, in which I am on one side of the locked door and someone else is on the other side trying very hard to get in. That someone is almost always my father though now and again it is some unknown person. 

These dreams are not exactly scary but I do wake up from them feeling stressed and a bit anxious. I'm not sure what the purpose is considering my father has been dead for quite some time now. It's not like I will ever find myself on the other side of a door from him while he tries to knock it down. 

The more interesting thing to me is that I don't feel as if I dream that often. I know we forget our dreams generally upon waking giving us the impression we don't dream, so that may be it, but most mornings I wake up with no memory of having dreamt. When I do dream they are vivid life like events that have very little fantasy type scenarios involved. In order to come true they need to be capable of coming true. Dreams that reoccur often do come true in some fashion, though, so I suppose if I dreamed of flying it could be me in an airplane and not me personally flying...but my dreams don't generally work like that either. One thing doesn't generally stand for another thing. If I ever dream that I can fly chances are I can and just need to muster up the courage to jump off the highest available peak. My dreams are more like that .

 The dream about my father on the other side of a door trying to get me is on my mind a lot as he recently showed up in once again doing just that. The way my dreams generally work doesn't mean my father on the other side of a door trying to get me symbolizes some inner angst...but that at some point in my future, my dad will be on the other side of a door trying to get me. That is what the dream tells me..but that is impossible. Over the years I have had this same dream too many times to count, but I don't give it too much thought because my father is dead. End of story. The dream can't come true...so why do I keep having them?

One other interesting thing about my dreams is that I don't dream of the people currently in my life all that often. While married to my ex for 20 years he rarely showed up in my dreams...as did my father while living at home. An occasional cameo role is about the most they could hope for. My children probably show up more often than any others in my life, but then again, still not as often as it would seem they should. The love of my life probably even less so. This is something I have always found a little strange. My dreams are generally about me, of course, but often just me or me with unknown people set in familiar surroundings...friends and family are almost never co stars. 

I have no idea if that means anything at all in regards to my psychological make up or sanity level but it is something I have experienced all my life so is normal, whatever that it. However, dreaming of my dead father in a way that makes it seem as if a future event might take place that is impossible (unless one believes in the zombie potential...hmmm) but also knowing that those dreams of mine that do reoccur often come true in surprisingly accurate ways has me scratching my head.

Not sure if I should find this interesting...or be worried about it. My dad alive was hard enough to live with....not sure I want to find out what the alternative is.

A Squeezing of the Heart

A Squeezing of the Heart

For much of my life I was alone. Yes, I had a family growing up but I was not like any of them..or they were not like me. Not sure which is more relevant or if it matters. What matters is that I wasn't very connected with them and so spent much of my time alone...and by alone I don't actually mean physically alone, since that was rather impossible, but more emotionally alone or mentally alone. I spent more time inside my head then out of it...if that makes sense. 

When I married things didn't really change all that much. I really had no connection to my ex, who never read a book, never thought too deeply about anything important, and never understood why I did. I spent more time alone then with him...both physically and mentally. 

I couldn't really make friends either. Mostly because he didn't allow me to be with people, for the most part, but even when I was I didn't really know how to foster friendships and maintain them...so either he broke them up or my inability to be properly sociable did. Either way, I was alone more often than not. I was alone a lot in my life. I could say I was use to it but that wouldn't be true. Choosing to be alone is one thing...having it forced on you is something else.

And then I met someone who changed all that. 

This person was (is) everything I thought I would never have in my life. Something I thought I never deserved to have in my life.

 I was taught from a young age that I was worthless, useless, a waste of space and not very good at anything. Not a good daughter, sister, wife, mother, Muslim, friend, girl friend...etc.. Even though my I.Q. was higher than most children my age (I was tested and skipped grades blah blah blah), I was made to feel stupid and never encouraged to build or make something of my intelligence. My father couldn't be bothered to allow me to see just how smart I was. He refused to send me to college...hell, he refused to pay for SAT to get into college. I couldn't take them because I had no money of my own. I took the free ASVAB and went into the military. Not what I wanted in my life but the choice was not mine at the time....and see where that got me.

My ex spent 20 years destroying what little self worth I had left. He degraded everything there was to degrade in me..both physically and mentally. We both knew I was smarter than him...yet he made it a point to attack me in every way possible so that my intelligence was never a weapon I could use against him. I was too busy trying to get through each day...day after day...trying to be a better wife, mother, Muslim etc. so that the words and abuse would stop. If I could be better...he would be nicer. Didn't work with my dad but it might with the ex.

It didn't work but we all know now that it never would have. Abusers don't care. Period. No amount of fixing yourself will fix them....since they are the ones who are truly fucked up. 

At any rate, by the time this person entered my life...I was about as low as one could go and not actually be under ground in a grave. That all changed...to a point.

There is something about being loved by another human being that changes you. To see how he or she looks at you to the exclusion of anyone else in the room. The way he or she softens their voice to speak just to you...softens their touch just for your skin. The way they sit closer to make sure their body has some kind of contact with you. The way the sound of his voice causes a  reaction in you...or the way her gaze focused on you makes goosebumps crawl up and down your arms. That reaction your body experiences just because that person is near...or if they are not near...just thinking about them can do things to you that nobody else can. The way they go out of their way to make sure YOU know how important you are in their life. How special you are. How loved and appreciated you are just for being you. It's like your existence suddenly makes sense...you exist for the soul purpose to be loved by that someone special. 

Now it is one thing to have someone fall in love with you, quite another for you to believe it...to believe you are worthy to have such a love given to you when you have been made to believe that you are unlovable, unable to generate any emotion other than disgust, hate, or worse, indifference, in others. To have someone open a door and enter your life that knows none of your history, none of your emotional hangups and can't see the scars you have on the inside that are far worse than the ones on the outside...and just loves you because of YOU...not only is that hard to believe...it is hard to understand. 

There is obviously something wrong with me...for my entire life people have been detailing exactly all that is wrong with me. They can't all be wrong...can they? So how is it you can't see what they see? How is it you can see my intelligence? My sense of humor. My blue ocean eyes that sparks a shiver inside you when I look at you with that intensity that you love so well. How is it that my touch, which has always been described as cold and unwelcoming, is suddenly, not only welcomed but longed for? Who is this person you see when you look at me that nobody else can see because it seems you are looking at a stranger. Someone I certainly don't recognize and have never heard of. Since there is something obviously wrong with me...yet you find me desirable, lovable, and all things good...then there must also be something wrong with you. Yes...that is how my mind has been working during the course of this relationship.

Of all the things I have had to work on within myself..my anger, my self esteem, my sense of purpose and worth...believing I am worthy of another person's love has to be the one that has come hardest to me. People who professed to love me have been leaving me all my life...and usually after doing something  truly horrible to me (so better they left really but still painful), and those that stayed in my life made sure I understood they were the ones suffering from my existence because I was more work then I was worth. It is hard to get past a life time of that sort of conditioning. It doesn't happen over night and not just because someone enters your life and tells you that you are loved. 

It doesn't work like that. Believe me. 

No matter how much that person will express his or her love. How much they might go to pains to show you, prove it, live it every day of your life. No matter how much you want to believe it..there is always that little voice in the back of your mind saying, it's only a matter of time before he or she discovers that same person everyone else was aware of, that unlovable person, and do what they all did...either leave or stay and suffer from your existence. 

So because that voice is the voice of the demon that lives in your head and has lived in there since you were old enough to know that a demon lived in your head...it is the voice that dominates much of your thoughts, your choices, your life. No amount of love from another human being can silence the voice of the demon that assures you that no matter what that person says...you are not worth being loved. Period. 

So you hear the words, love and enjoy how that person makes you feel, how they touch your heart, your mind, your body...while the whole time the demon is negating it all in your head. It is a constant war going on that never ceases. There are lulls, there are retreats now and then but it is a full scale war going on and the casualties are constantly piling up. Of course the casualties are the moments you let pass, the choices you made believing they were the right choices, the harm you did to your relationship because the demon dominated your thoughts. Created anger and doubt and suspicion where none existed...but existed in your head none the less. Demons are powerful things. So powerful that sometimes even love cannot conquer them. 

My personal demon was anger, of course. All the years of abuse from every corner of my life caused such an all consuming anger in me that in the end, I had very nearly destroyed not only myself...but the one relationship...the one love that was given to me freely and unconditionally. 

It is not that I don't love this person. I do beyond words. Beyond expression. It is just that I couldn't believe in myself, find worth in myself, find anything in myself to deserve what I was being given so much of. I was letting the anger and self doubt destroy even the little bit of good I had in my life. I was allowing that anger and self doubt to make choices for me that were not good choices but of which I had no power NOT to make because the voice in my head, my demon...was the most powerful force in my life up until then. Not even the greatest love I have ever had the honor of being given could quiet the voice of my own personal demon. 

I had to fall very hard and very fast and all the way to the goddamn bottom almost (almost) before I learned that the demon was alive and well because I fed it, nurtured it, and gave it everything it needed to survive. It needed my anger, my self doubt, my self loathing to live comfortably in my head...it needed everything negative I had within me...and I had a lot...and so it grew and grew and became louder and louder...until every other voice was drowned out (even my own). Even the voice of my love. 

So I made choices. Bad choices. Choices that were bad for me, for my children and for this relationship that was the best thing I have ever had in my life. At the time, of course, I thought they were the right choices but then that was the lying little demon convincing me they were. And I listened...and lost a lot. 

As my previous post indicated, I had an epiphany of sorts. Realized that I needed to just Let Things Go if I was going to survive my life. Survive with any sense of peace and happiness. I'm 44 years old and not getting any younger (so sad) and all I can say is better late than never that I was finally able to drown out that terrible horrible little voice that has been my constant companion since I was a child. Of course I still have moments of doubt, moments of in which I have to mentally catch myself from falling into bad habits of self destruction...but I'm coming along quite well for the most part. 

However, I have learned that just because I am healing myself...working on myself and doing what I can to ensure I am a mentally healthy person...that doesn't mean the damage all that anger created isn't still being felt by those that are closest to me and suffered the most from it. Most especially by the one person that loved me when no other person on this planet could find one reason to do so (not including my children here of course...that is a different kind of love). I damaged this relationship a lot by making choices that hurt us both. I thought they were the right choices at the time...but they were choices made in anger so obviously were not going to turn out well. Unfortunately, fortune telling is not one of my skills...and I'm worse off because of it. 

So now that I have let the anger go (mostly, still working on some issues) and have gained a lot in my life because of it (inner peace, happy thoughts, better choices made with a clearer mind and losing weight), I find that now this relationship is in danger of coming to an end. Not because the love is gone, it isn't. Still as strong as ever. Not because the desire to be together is gone. Still there...but because my anger has been a very real part of this relationship even when we both tried to ignore it or excuse it. My decisions and choices were made from anger and they turned out very bad for all concerned...and so this person is use to being hurt because of my anger and the resulting fall out. Hard to convince someone that it's no longer an issue when it always has been before. Sort of like convincing myself I am worthy of being loved...even when everything in my life convinced me that I wasn't. 

I am so afraid now. More afraid than at any time in my life. More afraid then when I thought my father was going to actually kill me. More afraid then when I thought I was going to actually kill my husband. More afraid then when I thought I was going to die at various times in my life. None of those moments of fear can measure up to the this overwhelming fear that now consumes me that NOW...when I have finally gotten my life on a good track. When I have accomplished so much mentally, physically and emotionally...to the point where I can feel actual happiness is within my grasp...now when I believe that this relationship can actually be better than it has ever been before because NOW I won't be busy destroying it with anger and self doubts etc....now is when it will finally succumb to all the pain it has had to endure over the years. 

Now....when it has the best possible chance of succeeding...is when it will fall apart. 

Irony...Karma...which ever it is...you are a bitch.  

I am fearful that my vanquished demon will return with a vengeance because even though the anger is gone...it is being replaced with fear of abandonment once again. I cannot blame this person for leaving me...lord knows I did my share of pushing away...but I cannot seem to find the right words to convince that all will be better now.

Words have abandoned me, it seems....and without the power of my words...what do I have left to convince with? Words are all I have ever had to truly express myself. To make people listen up and pay attention to me when most of the time I am invisible and ignored. 

I have accomplished so much within myself this past 5 months or so...but my greatest fear is that it is simply too late. I will end up losing the one thing that kept me going when nothing within myself could do that. And for that reason...I am terrified. 

It is hard to remain positive and moving forward towards happiness when that very source of my happiness seems intent on moving further away no matter what I do. I cannot blame anyone but me for this. Which is ironic considering I have been blamed for all the failures my abusers had within themselves but pushed off on me all my life...I didn't deserve those blames...but this one I actually do...and I am afraid it will send me free falling back into the black that I have worked so hard to pull myself out of. 

I have dealt with abuse, with neglect, with anger and self doubt. I have lived through soul destroying loneliness and unhappiness. I have survived when my abusers have died alone or continue to live but are alone having lost everything. I survived all of that for better or worse...but I am not sure I can survive this person leaving me (or worse yet, becoming indifferent). 

It will be one leaving too many. 

All I can say is that I love you. Need you. Want you and that I am so sorry for my past mistakes. I have no excuse other than that I am a work in progress. I cannot undo in such a short time what 40 plus years has had time to create in me. Have a little more patience with me and I promise it will all be worth it. I am trying so hard. Please don't give up on me. 

Please.

Grandma Coolred...how awesome is that?

 Maya Rashid AlJuma March 24, 2013

During my long absence my oldest daughter had the nerve to make me a grandmother without so much as asking me. As I said...what nerve. She was due around March 23 and thus I made it my goal to be with her during one of the most terrifying wondrous moments of her life. I was alone for the birth of all 5 of my babies so I know what it feels like to not have a hand to hold or someone to calm me down...I didn't want her to feel that way even for a moment. 

Of course I told her I wouldn't be able to make it because I simply didn't have the money for such an expensive ticket. She believed me...so gullible.

I got busy on my side, ensuring I had a month off from work (all my coworkers seemed as excited as I was by the prospect of me becoming a gramma...ancient jokes were in abundance) and I waited impatiently for my tax return to show up. It was the only way I could afford to go but it was taking it's damn sweet time and time was running out on me if I was going to make it there before she delivered. 

Now here is the thing. Other than my kids over here...and coworkers of course...I told nobody that I was going to Bahrain...not even my best friend there. The only person I did tell was someone I knew who wouldn't spill the beans..so he could pick me up at the airport. (well that didn't work out as well as I hoped but what to do?)

My daughter constantly made comments about wanting me there and how she was getting so nervous and worried. I told myself if she really did start to freak out I would ensure her I was coming to calm her down...but that point never arrived so all was good. The day I left I constantly texted her and everyone over there all the way across the U.S. until I lost contact in the air. By this time my best friend sort of had a clue of my intentions as I would see in all the texts back and forth later...but she wasn't positive. 

I arrived in Bahrain after a torturous 23 hour flight all together. I was exhausted...and to make matters worse...my expected ride was no where to be found. My phone had discharged at this point so I couldn't even see his number to call him. I still wanted to surprise my daughter but wasn't sure what to do at this point. My plan wasn't working out...grrr.

I ended up waiting about an hour before I decided he wasn't coming (I was the only red head in a sea of dark haired people..he wasn't there or he would have seen me) so I decided to take a taxi to best friends house. Surprise her...then go to daughter's house and let the party begin. 

By the time I got to best friends house it was fairly late..and she wasn't there. I spoke with her housemaid who ensured me she would be coming soon...so I hid in her ladies salon where I could see when she arrived. Unfortunately, her housemaid wasn't very good at keeping secrets and sort of let the cat out of the bag as soon as best friend arrived. So much for surprises...grrr. 

She was surprised, to a point, but had a feeling I was coming over and so expected me as well. By this time it was quite late and since my daughter was late stage pregnancy and didn't need middle of the night surprises...I decided to wait until morning to spring my awesome self on her. I spent the night at best friend's house and anticipated the morning's adventures. 

A little bit of back story at this point. I had told my daughter previously that I bought a lot of baby things for her...but would mail a box to her and hopefully it would arrive on a certain date (my arrival date no less). She was constantly asking me if I had mailed the box and I told her be patient. So the next morning my best friend calls her and tells her SHE had the box..as I had actually mailed it to her...not my daughter. My daughter was sort of miffed at that but was happy just to know it arrived..and told best friend to bring it over. 

When we arrived at daughter's house...best friend knocked on door and indicated that the box was so big a man from the street was carrying it for her to the door. As I sprung around the corner..my daughter was standing there with a very skeptical look on her face at this point...but it immediately dissolved into a pool of tears as soon as she saw me. I quickly realized how relieved she was to have me there..and I was very happy that I had decided to come despite the crazy cost of the ticket. 

After celebrating we got down to the business of waiting for baby to arrive. She still had about a week to incubate so we shopped, and readied baby room and just enjoyed the next few days while baby was still on the inside (always the best place for them). 

During prenatal visits the doctor kept mentioning C-sections and epidurals as choices my daughter  could consider and I was rather irritated by that. Why not promote natural birth first and foremost...why even bring those up unless the need was very apparent? By this point baby was being just a tad stubborn and delayed her arrival by a few days so induction was talked about. My daughter decided March 24th would be the day to get baby moving. We waited for that day to arrive with bated breath and mixed feelings of Fear and Finally it would be over with. 

The morning of the Big Day we arrived at the hospital very early in the morning and daughter was settled in and prepped for an I.V. etc. to begin the process. She was scared but I could also see that she was very relieved to have me there..along with her husband. I might add at this point that her husband is a wonderful man and was there every step of the way with her (as much as he could be). Always attending her prenatal visits...always very interested in what she was going through and doing whatever he could to ensure her comfort and calm state of mind. They chose a private hospital that would allow him to be with her during the whole birth process as well and he was with her every moment. I like him a lot. 

When her doctor arrived...she still brought up a possible C-section and epidural..even though my daughter was doing fine up to this point. Yes she was experiencing pain but she was handling it well..so what the hell? I talked with my daughter and advised her to do what she thought was best but that natural birth was the best choice unless something warranted such actions. She seemed intent on doing it the natural way...which didn't seem to please her doctor for some reason.

My best friend arrived at some point and we all spent the morning listening to the fetal monitor, getting my daughter whatever she needed..and counting the minutes down. She was very slow in dilating, was experiencing more and more contraction pain, but was doing OK. Once again the doctor came in and advised her to consider a C-section or epidural. Her comment was that she didn't think my daughter could handle the pain...which was odd considering that's exactly what she was doing up until this point. My daughter told her...I'm fine right now. Give me a chance to do it this way. 

Shortly before noon, as we were all gathered around, my daughter (while suffering through more intense contractions at this point) suddenly demanded we get the nurse. It seemed the urge to push had just arrived. The nurse came and did a pelvic check and was surprised to learn that my daughter had went from barely 2 cm over several hours to 7 cm in no time flat. Suddenly things got serious and nurses came in preparing to take her to the delivery room. 

Best friend and I waited just outside the delivery room for awhile...alternating between crying and excitement...waiting impatiently for good news. Her doctor came out at one point and said we could go in if we wanted. Wow...that was awesome. I didn't think I would be able to be with her..just near her...at that point. We put on gowns and hurried into the room. 

Daughter was concentrating on her moment in the limelight...SIL was holding her hand and doing his part to keep her calm...and the nurses were running around like those last few minutes before the curtain was drawn and the show began was at hand. 

Best friend and I elected to stand just behind the curtain since it was close enough to offer support but not in the way of all the activity. We shouted encouragement to her every step of the way..until we eventually heard what we had all been waiting anxiously for 9 months to hear...the indignant cries of a new life brought into the world. 

We were all crying, excited, and overwhelmed...but not too overwhelmed that we didn't record the moment when new baby Maya was brought over to the table for her first check up. It's an awesome video that I would have loved to have with any one of my own children. Oh well..sign of how things are changing in Bahrain from the 80's. For the better in some regards. 

At some point my daughter looked at her doctor and told her...see, I did it without drugs or anything. I proved you wrong. That's my girl. Don't let the doctors bully you into unneeded procedures unless it's absolutely necessary. Everything and everyone came through with flying colors. 

And  I was a new grandma. Grandma Coolred. How awesome is that?

I spent the next two weeks helping daughter with whatever she needed but she assured me that she had a perfect example on motherhood due to her own mother. She had this. Very cool. A million pictures and a hundred videos later...I was sad to see my day of departure arrive. I had to say goodbye to my two kids, my new granddaughter, SIL, and best friend that I love so much. It was the first time I had ever found it hard to leave Bahrain. Imagine that. All it took was a new little baby to make that happen...well not just that...but more on that later. 

So little Maya is well over a month old now...thriving and keeping her parents on their toes. I get lots of daily pics and videos still and share them with everyone who doesn't run away at this point. My daughter is planning a trip here so her siblings can see their new niece and her husband can visit the states for the first time. I can't wait to see them. 

I will make an effort to be in Maya's life because my own children did not have that sort of connection with their own grandmother (thought hind sight tells me they didn't miss out on much but at the time it was very hurtful to me)...plus I have so many things to teach this precious little girl. Sarcasm and a sharp tongue being top of the list...as self defense against the Stupids of the world.

 It's the least I can do. 

 

Just Let It Go

For those that use to read me regularly you may have noticed that I haven't written anything significant for quite some time. Writing is my Thing. It's what I do and I have always enjoyed it since I realized I do it rather well. However, this past year hasn't been My Year, so to speak. I've been in an up and down roller coaster ride that has had me either hanging on for dear life...or raising my hands in the air and enjoying the thrill. All this has resulted in one very troubling aspect in my life...I lost the desire to write.

Period.

It just left. No idea why...or really when but I realized at some point that I just had nothing to say anymore. Or maybe I felt my words had lost their ability to really convey what I was feeling or what I wanted to express. I have no idea but the end result was silence in the one area of my life I had always depended on to get my demons out...or my humor (I choose to call it that) or whatever was on my mind. Without being able to write...it has all been locked up inside me...and damned if I haven't suffered because of it.

I went down the rabbit hole more or less and apparently enjoyed it so much I decided to stay there for a spell. I have been down that hole before (my past made it a place I tend to visit from time to time) but I have always used my writing to pull me back out again. This time I did not have even that ability to rescue myself...so there I stayed.

Around the first part of this year I had a revelation of sorts. I was angry. Very angry. Angry at the people in my life (past and present) that have done things to me that turned me into a negative, pissed off person. Every day I was fuming about one thing or another. My temper, which use to be so hard to trigger, was now on a veritable trip wire. Anything could set me off...and I was a raging ball of fire. I was a seething mass of negative energy that ended up corrupting everything good in my life...because I was too angry to pay attention to the good things in my life.

I was letting my past ruin my present...and destroy whatever good my future held for me. I was allowing all that bullshit that was my past life...be the sum total of my present life. I was my past..and my past was me. When I realized that I was allowing those people, that are long gone from my life, to still be a part of it (taking up full time rent free space in my head) and therefore impacting and corrupting it...I knew I either accepted the rabbit hole as my forever dwelling...or fight my way out of it.

Everyone who reads (or did) about my life know that I have 5 kids. I had a blast with my kids while they were growing up. We were rarely apart for any reason and they were a close knit group of siblings. My kids are mostly all grown now. I have my youngest, 15 years old, at home still but the rest are off living their lives. The silence that is my house now weighs on me terribly. Gone are the sounds of the music they all played, the fighting or laughing...the messes they each generate in their way. This silence has fueled my anger in ways...because I had no distractions from that anger and could spend copious amounts of time nurturing it and feeding the flames. My children are the soul reason I survived my marriage. Having them in my life, knowing I needed to be there for them..meant I couldn't give up or give in. Even if I felt my life wasn't worthwhile or important, theirs was...and I had to make sure they knew it. Now they are gone (generally speaking) and Ive been alone with my thoughts, my inner demons, my anger issues...and that has meant I had little respite from the inner destruction that was going on.

As I said, I realized one day that I might as well still be married if I was going to wake up every day and spend my time, my precious time, living as if my ex was still a real and meaningful presence in my life. If my memories of the past were going to keep me company as I went about my daily routine, ruining whatever happiness I might gain from even the smallest of joys then why bother living. If the experiences I had while living in Bahrain for the first 20 years...were going to color and corrupt whatever came after that then what was the point of the divorce..of gaining my freedom...if I was still going to live as if I were a prisoner?

I realized that the only person that could save me from my anger and issues with my past...was ME. Once I realized this I set about on a course of emotional healing. I spend far too much of my time alone...but one thing that being alone affords me is time to think....and think... and think some more. At times I would lay in my bed, during my time off from work, and just think. I would do nothing else but think about my past, my anger issues and where they came from...and what I could do to change what I was becoming (or had become) into someone better. I would literally lay there for two days solid and just stare at the ceiling...going through every damn issue that had turned me into a person that others didn't want to be around (did I mention I have lost several "friends" this past year as well)...I thought it was them...but realized it must be me since it kept happening. I find it incredibly hard to make friends, went most of my whole life without really having any, so losing the ones I did have was like a confirmation to my already low self esteem that I'm not even worthy to remain friends with. If others can't stand me..what did that say about me?

I worked my way through issues that were like open wounds on my soul. I poked and prodded them and made them bleed out all that pent up corrosive blood until only fresh blood remained. As I dealt with each issue I would ask myself...why is this still making me so angry...and is it worth it still? Of course, most of the time (damn near every time) the answer was no. Anger and self loathing, low self esteem and feelings of unworthiness were not worth it. My past was what it was...I couldn't change that...but I could change today, tomorrow and whatever came after that. As I worked my way through each and every issue...the end result would be to Just Let It Go.

Like a balloon that yearned to be free and sail off into parts unknown...I released, one after the other, issue after issue that was weighing me down, corrupting my relationships, my goals, my life. As each balloon sailed away I felt myself become lighter inside. I started feeling something I hadn't felt in so long I wasn't even sure I was calling it by the right name.

I started feeling happy. (don't be as shocked as I was please)

Happiness is not a feeling I have really felt too often in my life...and when I say happy I mean more than just a fleeting moment of happiness that is more like a memory than a state of mind. It felt unfamiliar and alien at the beginning...almost like an impostor had set up residence after I kicked out the abusive squatters. I almost didn't know how to handle this new emotional state. I felt like a beginner at happiness..a noob that needed to feel my way around and learn the rules and tricks before really putting my all into the game.

Apparently the "new" me was attracting some attention. I have had people at work comment more than once that I always seemed to walk around with a scowl on my face (I'm sure I was as I always had some inner demon playing with my mind)..or that I looked like I wanted to punch someone. Now they were amazed to notice that I was smiling, whistling...even singing...while going about my work. I had a few people ask me if I was in love..had I found someone that had brought about this change. Well, first off, yes...I am in love, have been for years now, but that relationship was one of the ones I was busy destroying due to my anger issues and one I was desperately trying to save at that point....but the reasons for the smiling, whistling and singing was due to another person all together.

Me. I was happy....or working hard so that I knew it was coming. I could feel it...see it...taste it. As I worked my way though each issue...I finished with it..and then Just Let It Go. I could not possibly explain with adequate words the effect this had had on me emotionally. Yes of course I still get angry (more than I like still...a work in progress) and I know that to never get angry is just not possible...but when I trip up and fall into a full blown anger melt down, I mentally try as hard as I can to reign myself in and put a halt before it gets out of control. (again, not always successful but I'm far better at it then I used to be). I ask myself, will this matter in 5 minutes, ten...tomorrow...and of course it most likely won't. And when I realize this...I can almost  feel myself relax and feel the anger start to recede and dissipate. It has stopped my anger in its tracks most of the time...most, work in progress as I said.

I have reached a stage now where so many things that use to set me off (thoughts of my past, of Bahrain, of certain people) don't really affect me at all anymore. I can think about them without feeling that tightness in my chest that would be an indicator that rage was building. I can talk about them without gnashing my teeth or getting angry at the person I'm talking to because the person I'm really angry at isn't there. Those balloons have sailed...and I have never heard of a balloon that was set free...come back to its owner.

Now, if there was one set back to all this emotional healing...it's convincing others that it's actually taking place. People who know me, love me, are so used to Angry Red...that they are suspicious of New Red. For some reason they would rather believe that you can't change who you have always been even though those same people have been encouraging me for years to do exactly that. I have actually gotten into arguments (go figure) while trying to convince these same people that the changes are real, are reaping benefits and are permanent. I much prefer New Red to Angry Red...why would I go back to that...and why do those I love most keep insisting I do? I have no idea.

Anyhow, I have a lot more to say. That makes me happy just writing that as it means I have more writing to do...and I realize this post is not up to my usual standards but I felt the need to write and I haven't felt that in such a long time...I'm just putting it out there before the mood disappears. So you guys (if there are any readers left) get a rough copy and I'm sorry for that but it is what it is. 

A few topics I will write about are my two recent trips to Bahrain (yes...imagine that), my new status as Grandma (my granddaughter is amazing) and what the future might hold for me. I became friends again with my ex from high school and other topics that might be of interest.  Stay tuned...if you are interested. I know I am.

2011-Wrap Up (more or less)

Due to my infrequent posting this past while...decided to complete this meme to catch some people up...all 5 of you.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you have never done before?
I went rafting on a river as a college activity. It was very awesome!! I also attended a funeral for a biker that was a regular in my store. I have never been to a funeral before (just a wake/viewing..not sure what it's called) much less a biker one. It was very emotional as several friends of his read poems or said something rather informally. I might add that compared to funerals I see on tv (my only comparison) its impromptu and informal feeling made it seem more special and meaningful..at least to me.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
I consider resolutions to be like promises to yourself...and I'm not one for making promises because I'm not always able to keep them. This not only disappoints the one I made them too but I let myself down in the process as well. So...no resolutions...but I do give myself options. Options are good.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Not that I am aware of...(should check Facebook statuses more often maybe)

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No.

5. What countries did you visit?
Only the ones I read in books...I'm home after 23 years..don't plan on going anywhere anytime soon.

6. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
I specific date that will change my life...I know its somewhere up ahead...but no idea when it will manifest itself.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why.
Arab Spring...the totality of all those arab countries (the date as each one started more or less) coming to life and seeing their dictators fall one by one..with a few more still to go...but as each one falls I can't help but feel apprehensive that the only result will be a new one taking the place of the old. Let's hope, for their sake, real change will happen from deep within..and not just surface change that really changes nothing at all.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I spent most of my younger years (in Bahrain) practicing a level of patience unknown to most. I had to if I wanted to survive with my sanity intact...but these past few years a certain amount of jaded impatience had crept in and I seemed unable to stop the takeover. I worked very hard this year to gain some of that former patience back...though not to the extent I will take anything from anyone as before...I am no longer in a position of having to submit for the sake of peace or my children. It's been hard but I feel I'm gaining ground.

9. What was your biggest failure?
See #8 those times that I failed to practice patience are the times people got hurt. For that I failed them..and myself.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Ended up in the emergency room with a severe tooth infection...wasn't pretty or something I wish to repeat. Fell down a flight of stairs....killed my knee which still gives me grief from time to time. And of course the most painful of all...a heart that will remain injured and in constant pain until the only person that can repair it is free to do so. This could take awhile so...2012 round up addition maybe? *sigh*


11. What was the best thing you bought?
A ring for someone special.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
Every person that withheld their tongue from saying something that would hurt another. It takes true effort to bite your tongue and we do not always manage that...a celebration is called for (even if nobody even knows there is a need for one except you) whenever this happens. If this was you at anytime..my hats off to you. I didn't always manage it.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Humans killing humans simply to remain in power...we all are going to die..that power you are killing for..will still be there long after you are gone...is that spilled blood worth it?

14. Where did most of your money go?
Bills. Not many extras this year.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
3 "really's? Hmmm....well I got really excited about doing so well in college..hard work and no sleep pays off even if it doesn't feel like it at the time. I got really really excited as summer arrived and I knew a certain person was coming to visit. BUT my really really REALLY excited moment will be when #6 happens. It will definitely be worth 3 "reallys".

16. What song(s) will always remind you of 2011?
Bruno Mars: It Will Rain

17. Compared to this time last year, are you: Happier or sadder?
This is a tough question because certain aspects of my life make me happier simply because it is not like it use to be...but then other parts are not going as I wish them to and so sadness is also ever present. I have my ups and downs...as long as the ups last longer than the downs...I will manage to get through them.


18. Thinner or fatter?
My bank account is definitely thinner.

19. richer or poorer?
My health is fairly even..so in that I am richer than most. My bills are also paid each month (even if that leaves nothing left over..but paid is paid) so I am richer in that respect as well. I am constantly learning new things and evolving my thoughts and beliefs to align with this new knowledge..and for that I am definitely richer than many who fail to take advantage of such an incalcuable amount of information out there and prefer to stick to what they "know". However, I do not have many friends still (haven't quite learned how to make them and keep them...lived too long without much company I suppose..I'm sad to admit I am still socially inept) so for that I am definitely poorer. Also, a few of the people I love most are far from me...until they are near me again..I am most definitely poorer in that respect.

20. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Reading things that didn't have an exam after it. Ride my bike when the weather was good. Take 2 day trips or something similar and see new things.

21. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Crying...thinking of past mistakes.

22. How did you spend Christmas?
Sleeping...with my schedule I have to grab sleep when I can.

23. How many one-night stands?
Well since this is not Facebook and such information is strictly for that social outlet..I shall plead the 5th. ;)

24. What was your favorite TV program?
I don't watch much TV but watch the occasional series on netflix now and then. I got caught up in Breaking Bad. Excellent. I also liked Army Wives.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Not sure if hate is the right word...but someone that I thought loved me...proved that anyone can hold a knife and seek to shred your heart with it. I do not hate her...I simply feel nothing. To hate her would be to think about her and flame the hate...I'm past such things. I cut her from my life...unfortunately taking that knife out has proved difficult...can't reach around to my back like I could when I was younger.

26. What was the best book you read?
Didn't have lots of time to read anything outside of college but I did find time to read a few things. A book by Christopher Hitchens really spoke to me. Religion Poisons Everything. Also, Daniel Dennet's Breaking the Spell.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Adele..though I didn't "discover" her...she's been around...just had not heard of her.

28. What did you want and get?
A kindle...but really haven't had time to enjoy it as much as I would like.

29. What was your favorite film of this year?
I saw very few new films this year...still hooked on some old ones that I watched again though.

30. What did you do on your birthday?
My friend took me to dinner with her husband and some friends. It was a special night...you don't turn 29 every year...well actually I do but whose counting.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
The same one I have practiced most of my life (even under the abaya)..jeans and tshirt.

32. What kept you sane?
The fact that there are still people who love me...despite my failures..or maybe because of them. Not real sure.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
I have/had (not sure if it's gone yet or I just haven't had time to muse about it) a serious girl crush on Ellen Degeneres. The lady obviously has her down times like all of us but she still manages to light up a room and make people smile...even when you don't really feel like it...and she does it without making others the butt of cruel "jokes". That takes a lot of class in hollywood anymore.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?
Bahrain protestors. (and all arab states but this one is personal for obvious reasons) This little island that is "known" for being so goddam friendly is shown to the world to be exactly what it is and has always been...a little island ruled by a corrupt family who will stop at nothing, including murder, to keep their pitiful little self appointed titles, money, and corrupt life styles.

35. Who did you miss?
My daughter who is far from me...and my love.

36. Who was the best new person you met?
My anthropology teacher was one of the most interesting people I have ever met.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011.
Realizing that even though you love someone...you cannot have them in your life if you want to keep peace within yourself and keep the drama down. You have to cut them loose even if it seems like the harshest remedy.

That's it more or less...as stated. 2011 went by so fast...and yet so slow. Some interesting things happened, some fun stuff, a few sorrows..and a couple of surprises as well. Learned a few things about myself that made me go hmmmm...but all in all...I survived it. I consider that a blessing when so many across the globe didn't.

p.s. I will start posting more here now that college is done...I had the most hectic college/work schedule and could find no time to formulate thoughts that weren't meant for a paper of some sort. One more semester of college to go..but I think I can find time this semester to post my usual drivel. Stay tuned, folks.

Me in the middle.

I grew up the middle child for most of my life. Though my mother had 5 children and I was number 4, my older brother left home to live with my bio father when he was 12 and one of my older sisters passed away when she was 5...so for most of my life it was older sis and younger sis...and me in the middle.

My (step) father was my younger sister's natural father...and he spent an awful lot of time reminding older sis and me of our lowly status in his eyes. He spoiled younger sis in ways that has affected her throughout her life. He treated her as a Princess...told her daily that she would grow up one day to be Miss America. He bought her things that she had no right owning at her age...or need to be more precise. For instance..she still didn't know how to ride a bike when she was 7 yet he went out and bought her an expensive BMX bike....with a helmet AND training wheels. Needless to say she crashed a lot...and was made fun of for the training wheels part. (it may or may not have been me making fun...shhhh) It apparently didn't matter to him that she couldn't ride a bike...he bought her one and then left it to ME to teach her. Of course she never listened to me because she was a Princess and I was a lowly handmaiden. It was a long summer.

I learned how to read when I was 4...according to my mother I just "picked it up" listening to others read. I read voraciously (still do when I have time), consuming books one after the other. Sometimes I would have several books going at once and it was never a problem to leave off one story and jump right into another. My father liked to punish us by making us do things we didn't like of course...because I liked reading...he made me read to my little sister. You might not think this is such a bad thing but she was a Princess and demanded the reading sessions be catered to her whims. This meant I might have to read the same story 5 times. I might have to read the same story but with a different voice. I might have to start over because she wasn't listening...this happened a lot. Now here's the thing...reading to her was not what bothered me so much. Reading to her even though she knew HOW to read herself is what bothered me. My father was making me read as a form of punishment. He was taking something I loved and making it a chore for me..a trial..a test of wills. Of course she always won because if I protested at all that 10 times was enough already...I was shouted at and her triumphant smile made me want to spit nails.

Anyhow, you lose dad...I still love reading.

Little sis got all the interesting toys and whatnot for Christmas. Mom got me and older sis board games mostly....games we would have to play with little sis...who had to win OR ELSE. She made no pretences of not cheating. We had to let her win or the temper tantrum that followed was met with punishment from dad. Whatever toys etc that she got were only allowed to us through forced playing with her. For instance, she got lots of Playschool activity sets...a barn house with animals...a house with furniture etc...she once had a whole Sesame Street neighborhood with familiar characters and accessories. She would insist we play with her, we had no choice really, and then spend the entire time bossing us about who got what and could touch what or where everything went. Playschool might be fun for 5 year olds but 10 and 14 year olds aren't interested. One year she got a full set of metal Tonka trucks. A dump truck, back hoe, shovel etc...we spent many hours in the back yard doing as she commanded (foreman?) digging up the yard and making roads...or pushing her around as she sat on the dump truck. I actually did find the Tonka trucks fun to play with but could never do anything with them without her permission or instructions.

The Princess got everything she wanted. Could command us at will and could pitch a royal fit when we didn't comply. She got us in trouble by making up things and couldn't keep a sister secret to save her life. We told her very little and let her in on next to nothing because we knew she would squeal..if not now..then eventually. (not like we had huge secrets or anything..but you know kids...anything mom and dad doesn't know about...won't hurt them...ha!)

Little sis abused me just like her father. She hit me, kicked me, and I had her teeth marks on my body on any given day of the week. Before I learned that I could run away from her, I had to sit and take it because dear lord help me if I so much as took a swipe at her in retaliation. Once I realized I could actually run faster than her, I would run whenever she got too close. She would actually get so angry with me that I wouldn't just STOP and let her catch me that she would stand there screaming at me demanding compliance. Of course this only worked when we were allowed outside..inside...hiding in the locked bathroom was about the only defense I could take. It was a test of patience...her anger and my willingness to sit on the pot for however long it took...of course if someone wanted the bathroom I was in deep trouble.

She didn't have to clean the house like older sis and I. We got dragged out of bed in the middle of the night more times than I can remember to clean something that was already clean. My father was crazy about our house being military clean...and would often see dirt where none existed (at least to my terrified eyes). I would be up scrubbing the toilet or re-cleaning every single dish in the kitchen (he would drag them all out and fling them everywhere) while he ranted and paced about how filthy we were. If we managed to find our way back to bed without a beating it was little short of a miracle. To this day if you remind her that she never had to clean anything she will protest loudly about that fact...but I know what I know and that's a fact. On this issue mom concurs...little sis was spoiled rotten.

Older sis was abused just like I was but more often than not she did something to warrant her punishment. Not that she deserved the horrible beatings dad gave us but she did go out looking for trouble...and it usually found her. The problem with this is she usually dragged me along...so of course I got beat too. She was just as bossy as little sis to me but only when the parents weren't around as she had no authority when they were. She also gave me plenty of beatings of her own...usually when she had gotten in trouble for something and felt I deserved to be punished too for reasons known only to her. It was rare that I could walk by her without a hair pull or sock in the arm...and of course I never gave as good as I got because she could kick my ass...and I knew it.

I had to share a bed with her for much of our lives and she generally made that an ordeal by whispering threats or promising to exact revenge for something at some future date...or often just continue whatever ass kicking she had started during the day but was distracted perhaps. I had to take it silently of course because to make noise would bring dad...and a beating by him was far worse then anything my sis could do. On the really horrible nights little sis was brought in to sleep with us (she slept in my parents room until she was 6 or 7 I believe...yeah I know...issues there) which meant I was sandwiched between a pincher/biter and a hair puller/arm socker. Long night needless to say.

Older sis was hell bent on burning bridges as I have mentioned before...so when she wasn't actively making me miserable...she was working very hard on making sure my future was miserable as well. She got in trouble doing all the regular teenage things..and then some...so that my parents forbid me to do anything at all by the time I came of age. I didn't date because she got pregnant at 15. I didn't drive because she snuck out in the car and caused mayhem (I actually didn't get a drivers license until I was 27 because ex-asshole didn't let me drive either while in Bahrain...long story) I couldn't work part time because she used her jobs as excuses to get into more trouble...and I couldn't do school activities because she had pissed everyone off that had anything to do with school: teacher/ admin/student alike.

As I mentioned before she liked to drag me into her active pursuits of defiance. For instance, my parents left for the day taking little sis with her. We were told NOT to leave the house for any reason. I was around 10 at the time. Of course, as soon as parents had been gone a reasonable amount of time, sis insisted we go outside. When I refused for fear of parents coming back (and they did often) she just grabbed my hair and pulled me out with her. Once outside I just gave up and went along for the ride....because I already knew we were going to get in trouble by this point. We ran up to a guy that had a cool looking dog (Dalmatian I believe) and asked if we could pet it. Owner said OK so we did...when we had enough and turned to walk away...the dog snapped at me and bit a chunk of my outer thigh. (still got the scar) Of course I screamed bloody murder, of course owner blamed us and dragged his dog inside....of course older sis got pissed at me for letting the dog bite me. (sigh) We went home and she cleaned up the would, put a band aid, and swore me to secrecy. We somehow knew that being outside was bad enough, throw in the dog bite and things were bound to get worse.

3 days later my sis was overcome with guilt (a rarity for sure) believing I probably had rabies. Mom and dad were at work and for some reason she decided she needed to call the ambulance for me right then. Needless to say, it did not go well. My mother was called, all hell broke loose (she went storming over to the house of the dog owner and demanded proof the dog had its shots) and then of course when dad got home...even more hell. Thanks sis.

Another time we had just come back from Sunday school and were wearing our Sunday school best. Before we could change mom sent us down the street to the store to buy a few things. She warned us several times not to go near the small creek that ran by our trailer park. Of course as soon as we were out of sight of our trailer sis dragged me over to the water. We were OK until she spotted a tennis ball floating in the water and ordered me to get it. As I squatted and reached out to snag it...she booted me in the butt and sent me head first into the water. Arriving back at the house dripping wet was bad enough...daring to sit on mom's nicely cleaned pile of towels so I didn't get the couch wet was the proverbial last straw on the camels back. Needless to say sis declared I had done it all on my own despite her warnings. Thanks sis.

So there I was, stuck between two bossy abusing sisters that never let me have a moments peace for the most part. I couldn't beat up big sis and I couldn't touch little sis. I didn't enjoy hanging out with older sis because she usually got me in trouble and of course little sis just made me miserable with her Princess mentality. At times I felt like an only child..strange I know given the circumstances. All I wanted to do was read but these siblings of mine kept dragging me into trouble by way or another (not that I never found my own but that's another story..ha ha)

Being the middle child in my family sucked in more ways than I can possibly narrate here...so many stories so little time...but what I find interesting about our childhood and the family dynamics that sprang from it...for the most part still ring true today. Older sis grew up to be a trouble making pain in the ass for everyone involved. Little sis has grown up to be even more bossy and insists that she is right...end of story...no matter what the story is. She is a loner because nobody can tolerate her personality I'm thinking. She has whitewashed our childhood to the point that she was a Princess...but in a completely benign kind of way. She insists she had to clean stuff too. Sorry sis...but no. Of course eventually dad started beating her too...around the age of 8 or so...even tried to choke her with a dog chain one time...but her personality was already set by him by this time...and now even more rigidly. She is so much like him that it's scary at times to witness "him" in her actions and mannerisms. She treats her own daughter much like dad treated us...and I find this the worst trait of all to share with him. Older sis also treated her children very badly so that by the time she passed away the two older ones had no contact with her despite their still young age (older teens).

While I am by no means a perfect mom, I have never resorted to the sort of violence those two inflict(ed) on their children...which I find very telling as my position as middle child. Having been abused by dad and both siblings most of my life I just can't imagine raining that same sort of pain down on my own children. I might also add that my own mother was rather a passive bystander during all this abuse. She could have stopped dad by leaving of course...and she could have stopped her two daughters by paying attention to what they were doing to me (she was right there many times when younger sis did it but she also knew the consequences of pissing of the Princess) and I often complained about older sis but I guess I could say she allowed it to happen to avoid problems for herself by possibly raising the anger of my dad.

It is only through my older (dare I say wiser) age that I can see that my own mother was just as much my abuser as the rest of my family members. She could have protected me, all of us really, but she chose to do nothing. I find I have a new sort of anger for my mother that I never had for most of my life because she was the "good" parent and I looked up to her so much...but hindsight tells me that while she did not physically abuse me (though there are a few times I can remember but not many) she did allow my abuse at the hands of others to continue. My own role as a mother has opened my eyes to many new views I didn't have before, but the main one is, my children come first. Always and forever. To realize that for my mother we didn't come first has caused a great deal of pain to my heart. She can give her many many oft repeated excuses as to why she "couldn't leave" or how could she leave and "start over with nothing" but in the end...she chose to do nothing...and for that I find her culpable in my abuse.

I start this New Year regretting many things in my life...and looking forward to many more. I am sandwiched between pains of the past and hopes for the future. I spend far too long analyzing my past because who I was a child and how I was "created" by those around me influenced who I became as an adult and the abuse I allowed to happen then as well. I also spend copious amounts of time actively trying to overcome my childhood/early adulthood and change into something more proactive and less accepting of what others decide to do to me..just because.

I find myself the middle child once again, though my older sis is no longer with us and younger sis can't be bothered...but now I am the middle child to the past child that I was...and to the potential future woman that I strive to be. It's not always an easy road...but I find I'm fairly easy to get along with. I don't bite, I don't kick, and I don't mind sharing my toys...or my secrets. However, I do have a rather sharp tongue (or so I'm told) so watch out.

Happy New Year everyone...and may you make peace with your past and find inspiration in your future....and always always greet each new day with a new sense of hope and potential for something good.