Saturday, April 16, 2011
to taste--really, fully, mindfully taste--what you're eating.
Read more: http://www.beliefnet.com/Health/2000/04/A-
I flunked the test!
Friday, April 15, 2011
As you well know, 23 years later I am still dealilng with the issues. 23 years later I am seeking answers to a mileau of questions.
23 years my best friend and my ex-husband have been married.
23 years now the son that was concieved during our marriage is full grown.
The 3 of us are facing the futur.
The 3 of us are sharing the present.
The memories still fresh in my memory.
Years of therapy (and medication) and EE has not eased my pain, erased my grief or chased the ghost away.
In the midst of our battles - his quest for freedom; my challenge to keep our family (hold my world) together shattered in my hands. He continued to abuse me. He ventured into abusing 2 of our 3 children.
I faced the choice I could not faced: the only home I had ever known. Walk out of my marriage and away from the only man I had ever love (the man who calmly stated he had ceased to love me.) Walk away from the pulpit the Ministry my God had called me to. The Ministry my "people" had shunned me in. Walk away. Abandon hope. Abandon faith - except to believe God had better things for me.
I believed in homelessness, I believed in sickness and in shelters.
They married, sold my only home and progressed toward their expensive cars and the 250,000 mansion in a secluded neighborhood.
I hugged my bible. My only conselation and whispered, "God has not abandoned me. I can't feel His Presence, my prayers are failing me, sickness has shatered my body mind, soul and spirit but I know He cares for me. The Lord is on my side."
At times I found myself whimpering in pain, "Does God love me? If so why does He not rescue me." Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome gripes me once more and shadows of child Cheryl flash through my memory, "Daddy you said you loved me. You promised to come back to help me." I close my physical eyes. I close my mental eyes. I try not to see. I fight the memories. And yet I feel him. I can smell him. His body. His breath. Another man is mounting child Cheryl. My mind takes off to my "Happy Place". Adult cheryl is hugging herself. Crying and wondering when will this misery ever end.
I rise. I find something to eat. NO! I put that back. I find something to clean. I lose myself in scrubbing. But nothings ever clean enough! I am sick. I am weak. I sit. Sweating and I know. Nothing will ever be clean again.
I shut my eyes. I shut my ears but still I hear my beloved saying, " I can't stand the sight of you. I the sound of your voice sickens me." I hear him. I wonder, "Why is he saying the exact words I told him years before my mother had said to me?" "Words she said to me as she wrestled me from the play graound and tossed me into prostitution." I was 9? I was 39? My mind could no longer separate the two.
I heard him saying, "I love my children but if the price of being with them is being with you. I chose neither. " Then he did.
15 years I accepted this "truth". I pledge that my children would not suffer for the fact that I was "unlovable" "unworthy" "failed as a wife".
I vowed to keep their father in their lives.
Many years in ragged "hoopty" "push 'em - tow 'emj" cars. Many more years of sun, rain, sleet and snow on the bus stop - the children shivering at my side.
Drop them off before he gets there. Pick them up after he is gone. That was my stategy. They WOULD have what I NEVER did. A mother and a father that loved them dearly - even though we were apart!
To my dismay. To their distruction. My strategy failed. Our enemy wasz strong.
His absence loomed heavily in their hearts.
To be continued.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Tonight I discovered my nightmare is swiftly becoming my granddaughters nightmare.
The nightmare that arises from abuse, isolation and self-loathing.
The nightmare that follows you even during your waking hours.
The nightmare that whispers you will never be safe.
The nightmare that glares growling you will always be alone.
The nightmare that taunts and teasings telling you you don't count, you don't matter and that the world would be a better place if you were not in it.
The nightmare that encouraged me to slit my wrists at the tender age of 9 years old.
My grandmother helped me.
I am her grandmother.
I must help her.
Friday, April 15, 2011
As I read these words I clicked on the link secretly pleding to the writer and to myself that I would become a friend and a faithful reader of her blogs.
As I read each word she'd poured out on the pages, her words resonated my writing -my creation- process.
Then the road we were traveling so very close together took a sharp turn. There was a fork in the road and we parted ways.
For unlike this writer, when I write my blogs and create my videos
I do so in conversation with myself expressing each thought and feeling, pouring out each emotion; communications from me - to me, "Dear Diary".
I do so convinced that few people - if any - will ever see them. I feel my inner most
thoughts and emotions released as they are set free - no longer trapped within
my tortured soul. They are free. I am free. Iam moving on.
In the meantime, my blogs & my vlogs are safely floating in (digital) outter
space some place.
I feel they are read by the occasional visitor to my page.
Again, there is a sharp turn and our paths converge once more. I agree.
My readers posts are quite sincere. I believe they care for me and that they
are deeply concerned about the things concerning me. They are my friends.
Their post are inspiration and encouragement to me. Directional.
Now, I find myself wondering , "while I am in the throws of my ceation processes
should a take a moment to remember my readers - my fellow Sparktarians?
Should I calmly and kindly consider the person or persons reading my inner most thoughts. Listening to my life poured out in poetry, prose, and song? In irrate rantings (that sometimes go on and on without reason or rhyme).
Surely, "Dear Diary" if I did I would cease to post. I would feel naked, ashamed, exposed for it is only you, "Dear Diary" I safely share my true self with. It is you from which I do not - cannot - hide my true self from.
This is healing.
No, thank you. I don't need anything to eat.
Yes. I am an EE.
Yes. My emotions are running rampant just now.
I think I will post.
I believe you help me the most.
BTW, "Dear Dairy" as I read, "No One is Reading My Blogs" I discovered that my "she" turned was "he".
Just goes to prove: No matter who. No matter where. We are going through. We've escaped the same lair!
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