THE VOICE THREAD
Sometimes the strangest aspects in life are non fiction stories of interactions between people and not always the standard one-on-one face boy meets girl and so it goes...
I guess I was just a voice and not too much more
can you fall in love with a picture and a voice? IDK...
but letting go of it sure felt like a love bee sting
I saw his picture with her and he was happiness
I want that for him above what I want for myself
I love his happy...
what a ride...
but its over...
I wish him only good things
I want what he gave her...
in real time
I deserve that...
life moves on ..
can you fall in love with a picture and a voice? IDK...
but letting go of it sure felt like a love bee sting
I saw his picture with her and he was happiness
I want that for him above what I want for myself
I love his happy...
what a ride...
but its over...
I wish him only good things
I want what he gave her...
in real time
I deserve that...
life moves on ..
POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER
I write opening about my post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) derived from the trauma of the sudden death of my husband as I reflect back on the person I was before his death and I think I was so self absorbed and spoiled. His death has had me on a journey that has been a struggle for balance when all I seem to do is react to situations that are no longer relevant.
HAVE TO FIND YOUR OWN WAY OUT :
In order for me to get past the trauma of my husbands death I had to face my grief , guilt and regret all of these grabbed at me and I felt a panic as if I was drowning. No one could reach me as I went under so many times sinking into the grief feeling the weight of it pull me further down into darkness. I wanted my old life back and I would kick to surface of the depth of it all trying to regain what I felt I lost and not seeing the value of my new life. I wanted that security I had felt and the closeness of a mate to not solve my issues but to listen . I could not comprehend that a certain part of my life was over and to move towards the future I was stuck deep, I had moved to the ocean and would run for miles every day until I was exhausted and looking at it all now I pushed myself so hard so I did not have the energy to do the real work to heal. I was running from physical and spiritual healing of the self and I often would stop high atop the cliffs as the sunset with tears just falling . I would pray to find a way to want to start over and blamed anyone who dared get close to me as I displaced my emotions.
Many people with PTSD isolate themselves and I was a classic case as I believed I needed to be alone to grieve and that was a huge mistake and caution anyone going through trauma NOT do that as expression of emotion through communication is vital. I lived to run and my skin became a rich honey gold brown as I slowly gained much of the weight I had lost during the first six months post trauma. I started taking photos just because I saw so much beauty on my long distance runs it seems to preoccupy my mind from the focus on my situation. I pushed everyone back, not away just back so I could think except one person the one I had fallen hard for I pulled him to join my pain. I would cry each night and express unfocused thoughts that blamed him another displacement to shrug off what I did not or could not accept . He never said much but was there almost every night and with each change as I struggled to find a life. I was horrible to him on many levels and only "we" know how bad that was, I take no pride in that but I cannot undo it and honestly feel grateful that I now identify it. I blamed him for my loving him in my twisted thought process I could not face the guilt of the hurt that love caused my late husband so I punished him. He wanted me to be still but I could not handle this in the manner he lived his issues I thought look what his way does for him? He drank a lot and would not open up on his past I think to face it would mean he would have to recognize how exposed his feelings were? I did not see that I was pulling him down and he was kicking to swim free it was too much for him and he did not want to visit the past.
I started acting out horribly saying things that were treacherous in their impact on people but it made me feel better as I felt the burning of emotions decrease as a slashed out at anyone mostly him. It continued until I went into therapy to help me understand why I was behaving in such a dysfunctional pattern and this where I received the diagnosis of PTSD.
As I learned how to reorganize my thought patterns and identify my triggers I became to understand how this condition had reached into my life to either disrupt or destroy parts and relationships. Its never really fun to see how much damage one has caused but I had to be accountable and tried my best to be fair.
I want so much to let the love that I feel and know is there as my memory returns of how good I felt with some feelings and all the joy. But he finally moved on after a few years of just my hurting him and I understand it but on the same side he has also acted out towards me. Honestly who could blame him but I find my trigger is the hurt I feel in his moving on and his way of abruptly ending everything, I do think that could have been done better. I kept saying " let me get a little better handle on my life " meaning finish therapy and manage the new coping skills I was learning. But he could not and that is his choice but when I want to reach out to him because I still need him and care this huge hurt comes forward as if to choke me . I feel such sadness and that turns to frustration resulting in my acting out. Is he now my trigger? He wont help me defuse it and why should he as how much can one person take? But then I need validation of what I feel and he will never provide it.
CHOICES MADE :
I have two choices : one is to continue this resulting in my acting out causing everyone new to scatter away, I know I would which is only hurting myself . Or to let him finally go regardless of what I feel so I can find some peace? I already know the answer and I accept it all as sometimes love can not heal the hemorrhage that remains between two people. I need what he won't give me which is closure in a honest equal "lets fix this " conversation as I am blamed for it all. Am I to blame alone? I don't think so but that is pointless as well, as I soaked in the hot bath I felt defeated an the need to let it go. Some how it feels better to let go of this one sided life rodeo .
Is this how it should have been? I will never know but the pain has to stop and it can if I let go as I need to survive this life and deserve peace too.
None of it's his fault but then not mine either and really does blame matter? I think not, and I need to move forward into the many new opportunities happening around me. My creativity is on level high and I cannot stop creating art, comedy and writing.
This is the best time of my life and I see it now and its clearly directly in front of me.
HAVE TO FIND YOUR OWN WAY OUT :
In order for me to get past the trauma of my husbands death I had to face my grief , guilt and regret all of these grabbed at me and I felt a panic as if I was drowning. No one could reach me as I went under so many times sinking into the grief feeling the weight of it pull me further down into darkness. I wanted my old life back and I would kick to surface of the depth of it all trying to regain what I felt I lost and not seeing the value of my new life. I wanted that security I had felt and the closeness of a mate to not solve my issues but to listen . I could not comprehend that a certain part of my life was over and to move towards the future I was stuck deep, I had moved to the ocean and would run for miles every day until I was exhausted and looking at it all now I pushed myself so hard so I did not have the energy to do the real work to heal. I was running from physical and spiritual healing of the self and I often would stop high atop the cliffs as the sunset with tears just falling . I would pray to find a way to want to start over and blamed anyone who dared get close to me as I displaced my emotions.
Many people with PTSD isolate themselves and I was a classic case as I believed I needed to be alone to grieve and that was a huge mistake and caution anyone going through trauma NOT do that as expression of emotion through communication is vital. I lived to run and my skin became a rich honey gold brown as I slowly gained much of the weight I had lost during the first six months post trauma. I started taking photos just because I saw so much beauty on my long distance runs it seems to preoccupy my mind from the focus on my situation. I pushed everyone back, not away just back so I could think except one person the one I had fallen hard for I pulled him to join my pain. I would cry each night and express unfocused thoughts that blamed him another displacement to shrug off what I did not or could not accept . He never said much but was there almost every night and with each change as I struggled to find a life. I was horrible to him on many levels and only "we" know how bad that was, I take no pride in that but I cannot undo it and honestly feel grateful that I now identify it. I blamed him for my loving him in my twisted thought process I could not face the guilt of the hurt that love caused my late husband so I punished him. He wanted me to be still but I could not handle this in the manner he lived his issues I thought look what his way does for him? He drank a lot and would not open up on his past I think to face it would mean he would have to recognize how exposed his feelings were? I did not see that I was pulling him down and he was kicking to swim free it was too much for him and he did not want to visit the past.
I started acting out horribly saying things that were treacherous in their impact on people but it made me feel better as I felt the burning of emotions decrease as a slashed out at anyone mostly him. It continued until I went into therapy to help me understand why I was behaving in such a dysfunctional pattern and this where I received the diagnosis of PTSD.
As I learned how to reorganize my thought patterns and identify my triggers I became to understand how this condition had reached into my life to either disrupt or destroy parts and relationships. Its never really fun to see how much damage one has caused but I had to be accountable and tried my best to be fair.
I want so much to let the love that I feel and know is there as my memory returns of how good I felt with some feelings and all the joy. But he finally moved on after a few years of just my hurting him and I understand it but on the same side he has also acted out towards me. Honestly who could blame him but I find my trigger is the hurt I feel in his moving on and his way of abruptly ending everything, I do think that could have been done better. I kept saying " let me get a little better handle on my life " meaning finish therapy and manage the new coping skills I was learning. But he could not and that is his choice but when I want to reach out to him because I still need him and care this huge hurt comes forward as if to choke me . I feel such sadness and that turns to frustration resulting in my acting out. Is he now my trigger? He wont help me defuse it and why should he as how much can one person take? But then I need validation of what I feel and he will never provide it.
CHOICES MADE :
I have two choices : one is to continue this resulting in my acting out causing everyone new to scatter away, I know I would which is only hurting myself . Or to let him finally go regardless of what I feel so I can find some peace? I already know the answer and I accept it all as sometimes love can not heal the hemorrhage that remains between two people. I need what he won't give me which is closure in a honest equal "lets fix this " conversation as I am blamed for it all. Am I to blame alone? I don't think so but that is pointless as well, as I soaked in the hot bath I felt defeated an the need to let it go. Some how it feels better to let go of this one sided life rodeo .
Is this how it should have been? I will never know but the pain has to stop and it can if I let go as I need to survive this life and deserve peace too.
None of it's his fault but then not mine either and really does blame matter? I think not, and I need to move forward into the many new opportunities happening around me. My creativity is on level high and I cannot stop creating art, comedy and writing.
This is the best time of my life and I see it now and its clearly directly in front of me.
WAKING UP ALONE....
I think unless you've ever been a widow or someone that has lost a loved one suddenly it's really hard to understand what I'm going through and why I think the things I do. How I react to the world around me as I try to put everything back together again and I've never been on my own before I don't really know what I'm doing I know how to buy things but I don't how to be alone. It's three years out since the sudden death of my husband and I'm better I say that and it's true I'm better I don't think about him like I did I started actually feeling really happy and carefree and remembering things from before his death and feelings that I had before everything went bad . I had such a wave of guilt and insecurity it was like how could I enjoy my life and think about other people while he was dead and was cremated and he's in a bag in the cupboard? I started feeling unloyal to his memory and Un loyal to my family. I felt like a traitor in the truest sense of the word and I felt like a had before my husband died I had feelings for another person I never cheated I told my husband everything he knew , we were separated well we were divorced,
Why does this start to sound like a funny comedy story "we were separated but well we were divorced " ????i'm glad I am typing this because I have a little kids voice and it really would sound like some dork telling a comedy story. Most days I'm 100% myself well my new normal but I guess I had to face and have to think about like I don't have any right to be happy or to care about somebody else? I cried myself woke up with a big headache . I had one glass of wine last night I was not drunk although I was a little dizzy. I was taking the last shots of the evening and all of a sudden tears just you know started coming down my face and so I called the driver and I came home and all these feelings just hit me like a wave and I was overwhelmed. I'm better today 😳😳😳 I am I can't tell anyone about this that knows me personally because they would start to say oh " Bonnielynn is getting sad again " but I don't want that because I am not sad . I had already written the chapter on guilt for my book I guess I'll just Add with an edit.
I tried for so long to bury my feelings and I started remembering yesterday all the good things that I felt and they WERE good feeling and it gave me such happiness. I want to feel that way again sometme soon. i guilt is natural it even has a label call it "survivors guilt " it's a part of Grieving. I know that as a therapist but when you're actually going through it and it's really hard it doesn't matter how much education I am still a person with feelings and failings. I never hide my feelings and express them even if I offend people I don't ever want there to be a misrepresentation of who am as a person.
Just my thoughts on my weird.
Why does this start to sound like a funny comedy story "we were separated but well we were divorced " ????i'm glad I am typing this because I have a little kids voice and it really would sound like some dork telling a comedy story. Most days I'm 100% myself well my new normal but I guess I had to face and have to think about like I don't have any right to be happy or to care about somebody else? I cried myself woke up with a big headache . I had one glass of wine last night I was not drunk although I was a little dizzy. I was taking the last shots of the evening and all of a sudden tears just you know started coming down my face and so I called the driver and I came home and all these feelings just hit me like a wave and I was overwhelmed. I'm better today 😳😳😳 I am I can't tell anyone about this that knows me personally because they would start to say oh " Bonnielynn is getting sad again " but I don't want that because I am not sad . I had already written the chapter on guilt for my book I guess I'll just Add with an edit.
I tried for so long to bury my feelings and I started remembering yesterday all the good things that I felt and they WERE good feeling and it gave me such happiness. I want to feel that way again sometme soon. i guilt is natural it even has a label call it "survivors guilt " it's a part of Grieving. I know that as a therapist but when you're actually going through it and it's really hard it doesn't matter how much education I am still a person with feelings and failings. I never hide my feelings and express them even if I offend people I don't ever want there to be a misrepresentation of who am as a person.
Just my thoughts on my weird.
FOSTER CARE
I don't often write about my time spent in Foster Care because I seldom think of it on a daily basis. I have never been a person who carries too much faith in the belief that we need to carry our pasts into our future. I always knew as a child my life would one day be my own and I would then control what happened. I can remember just singing and dancing or pretending I was on a pirate ship bound for a distant place. My mother did her best to keep me entertained in my performance goals by having the Saturday shows starting me and she would play the music I would sing along to. My Grand Mary sitting in the front row with her glass of ale and Uncle Bill her second husband who she said " the love of my huge life Bonnie girl". My family was a mixture of first generation Scottish people with Irish blood, married to an Englishman sort of crowd. I loved to perform and I was fortunate to be encouraged at home by my mum who had purchased hundreds of records for me to listen to so I could dance. I had been home from Foster Care almost two years and was almost myself again with the love and support of my mother and grandfather. I forgot much of what I had learned prior to entering Foster Care and had to learn math and spelling over as if I had never learned. It was hard for my mother as I would not speak of what happened to me as I could not tell her I had seen her cry the day my father left and I swore I would never do that to her. I would not speak nor let anyone close to me I was not mean I just moved away and would not embrace anyone. I went to live with Grand Mary my Irish great grandmother who had named me Bonnielynn as my mother could not give me the attention I required she had five other children to raise. She used to cry " Bonnielynn what did they do to you?" I would just look back at her. They took me to doctors who assured them I had not been molested but I needed counseling to overcome the abuse I had hidden inside my mind. I would go to the doctors office sitting on a big chair with my torn keds on looking at my hands as he asked questions I would not answer, I knew he would tell my mother. He would gently suggest what had happened to me as if probing? I thought him strange and decided early on I would tell him lies as that is what he deserved. I was confident he was just another person to harm me, I sat quietly thinking about baseball. The doctor told my mother it would take time but to try and let me have as much of a normal routine as possible. I was in third grade and subject to the ridicule of the kids because I said very little. I did not mind being teased but if anyone mentioned my mother ? I went for them at recess and daily I was in the principal's office with a note pinned to my coat as we had no phone. After a while they just left the safety pin on my coat as I would had the note over to my mother after school she would gasp " Bonnie girl again?" I would just nod and take my place on the "time out " chair . I would watch my mother cook dinner and listen to her advice which I never took as I fought because they made fun of her and I could never tell her , so I just nodded . She sent me to live with Grand Mary who could dedicate more time to me tearfully saying " I just don't know what to do with her all she does is fight " I thought not true I play a pretty mean first base looking down at my toes that came out of my sneakers. So with one swoop I went to stay with Grand Mary and Uncle Bill who still drove like he lived in London. I would laugh and giggle as I rolled around the back seat of his car listening to the horns and curses of other drivers, as would yell back at them , " you rotters ", and continue on as if he was completely faultless. I liked Uncle bill but he never really said much except " yes Mary and no Mary " I guess Grand Mary spoke enough for both of us. I stayed in the spare room and Grand Mary had rag dolls sent over from Scotland and gave them to me to care for saying " please don't scrub them up like you have that poor Mr Teddy he has no fur left" . We would read every night and practice spelling, as slowly I started to let people sit closer to me and Grand Mary could put her arm around me.
Here is what happened to me the first day in Foster care and why I would not let anyone I loved close.
That day was a typical Michigan fall day cool and colder at night but the snow had yet to start falling and I waited for it desperately wanting to build ice houses. It was the last day of my weekend stay with my paternal grandfather and I spent the day playing in the huge barn with the baby kittens. They were barn kittens who my grandfather said " they kill the rats" matter of factly. He was a tall thin man who had left Germany to start a life here in America and he viewed the animals on his farm as workers . He has six german shepherds that guarded his huge farm known as "the homestead" but they were not raised as pets, and they stood along side my grandfather as he spoke and with a snap of his finger they ran off to run the parameter of the farm. I never tried to pet these dogs and I never saw my grandfather pet them either I was happy with the baby kittens who I had lined up on a bench to watch me dance and sing. But it was time to leave and I put two of the kittens in my coat pocket one a black kitten with yellow green eyes and the other a black and white tiny kitten as I could not think to leave them . I hugged and kissed them telling them " be quiet or grandfather will make me take you back to the barn" they just blinked at me. I patted my pockets as grandfather drove me home as I spent some weekends with him and I adored him, he greeted my mother as I ran out of the truck not wanting the kittens discovered . He had always liked my mother and said " my son is the biggest disappointment of my life" and I would nod and say " mine too grandfather", he would laugh. My mother invited him in wiping her hands on her apron and he declined respectfully and waved at me as he drove away. My mother knelt down looking into my face, " Bonnie girl what are you up to?" and just then the black kitten stuck his head out of my coat pocket and said "meow" , I pushed him back in, too late. My mother laughed and pulled the kitten out and the white/black kitten popped out, she laughed harder. I stood there waiting to be told to go sit on my time out bench but she hugged me and said, " they need some milk and a bath if we are to keep them" my heart just was so thankful as I skipped ahead towards the house. We had very little but I did not know it and I ate dinner giving the kittens tiny portions and we all prayed for my father, well they did I mouthed the words. After bath time we all drifted asleep in living room the kittens layed next to me . It was some time late in the night when the door was busted in by the police and child protective services who were there to take us from our mother, there was yelling and screaming. I was confused and frightened as my mother's screams filled my ears as I climbed off the sofa I ran to her. Apparently someone complained that we were not well cared for as they thrust the papers in my mother's face and we had no phone she could not get her family's help. I stood there hugging my mother as they collected my brothers and sisters, I kicked at the police and hung on for life. I thought , " if I was bigger you would not be so brave", and I heard them say grab that little red head before she lands a good one. I was yanked from my mother and set on the couch told to put my coat on and I did as instructed . I heard the baby kittens crying and I impulsively put them in my coat pockets, I did not know I would not return home two years later . We were placed in a big van everyone crying except me I was trying to figure out how to escape like a good pirate would, I looked up and saw one of the police looking at me. He glared " you better sit down little tough girl" , I slid back into my seat as we drove off I heard my mother crying and was so confused. Everyone got out of the van as we stopped by a huge house with lots of lights on except me I was told to sit down apparently there was not enough room in the warm house for me? My siblings just looked at me terror stricken as I drove off with the police and family protection team. We drove a long while and finally stopped at a small run down farm and as they opened the van door it smelled like cows and urine. They walked me into the tiny kitchen and I looked at who was to be my foster mother she was scraggly with yellow blonde hair and smoked cigarettes I felt dizzy. I was told to go lay down on the hard leather sofa and fell into a fitful sleep of dreams of screaming and crying. I was not given a blanket or pillow so my neck was sore the next early morning and I pulled the baby kittens out of my coat to pet them. They were hungry and started to cry loudly as I tried to sooth them the door opened up and they demanded the kittens from me. I refused and looked back at them my eye narrowed prepared to fight them, and they understood that so their voices changed to nice sweetness promised me to care for the kittens. I knew the kittens needed to eat so I gave them over I felt my heart drop as I was truly alone. We had a small breakfast and I was allowed to go outside to play and as I walked along the gravel path littered with goose feathers I was approached by a teenager of 13 years in age. He towered over me and smiled I remember he had yellow teeth and he said he was their son and in charge of me ? He pulled my coat and asked " do you want to see your kittens?" I looked up and nodded following him to a clearing that had a huge barrel on pegs a fire was still smoldering as he pushed me towards it, " look inside your kittens are in there" , I felt sick as I approached the barrel. I peered inside and could see the remains of both baby kittens and I became mortally afraid . The monster came up alongside putting his hand on my neck " see those kittens I burned them alive and I will kill your mother and anyone you love if you ever tell anyone about this place" , I knew he meant it and why not he had just killed the baby kittens . I felt something switch off inside my head, like ? A blank sheet and I knew terror as I stood with a monster who had proven he would kill, I thought of my mother and how good she was, I believed him . I did not have time to grieve for the kittens as I knew my life was in real danger and I feared greatly for my mother. I blamed myself for the kittens death as if I had not put them in my pocket they would still be alive. I knew I had to be quiet like a tiny mouse so no one would get mad enough to go harm my mother, as little kids believe adults and why they are abused with no one knowing.
Two years later I am sitting on the couch with Grand Mary thinking its ok to let her love me that monster won't get her and slowly as time passed I felt safer and started to open up more. I never told my family and why I trust animals over people sometimes, and shelter my heart until I know you are not a monster too.
Here is what happened to me the first day in Foster care and why I would not let anyone I loved close.
That day was a typical Michigan fall day cool and colder at night but the snow had yet to start falling and I waited for it desperately wanting to build ice houses. It was the last day of my weekend stay with my paternal grandfather and I spent the day playing in the huge barn with the baby kittens. They were barn kittens who my grandfather said " they kill the rats" matter of factly. He was a tall thin man who had left Germany to start a life here in America and he viewed the animals on his farm as workers . He has six german shepherds that guarded his huge farm known as "the homestead" but they were not raised as pets, and they stood along side my grandfather as he spoke and with a snap of his finger they ran off to run the parameter of the farm. I never tried to pet these dogs and I never saw my grandfather pet them either I was happy with the baby kittens who I had lined up on a bench to watch me dance and sing. But it was time to leave and I put two of the kittens in my coat pocket one a black kitten with yellow green eyes and the other a black and white tiny kitten as I could not think to leave them . I hugged and kissed them telling them " be quiet or grandfather will make me take you back to the barn" they just blinked at me. I patted my pockets as grandfather drove me home as I spent some weekends with him and I adored him, he greeted my mother as I ran out of the truck not wanting the kittens discovered . He had always liked my mother and said " my son is the biggest disappointment of my life" and I would nod and say " mine too grandfather", he would laugh. My mother invited him in wiping her hands on her apron and he declined respectfully and waved at me as he drove away. My mother knelt down looking into my face, " Bonnie girl what are you up to?" and just then the black kitten stuck his head out of my coat pocket and said "meow" , I pushed him back in, too late. My mother laughed and pulled the kitten out and the white/black kitten popped out, she laughed harder. I stood there waiting to be told to go sit on my time out bench but she hugged me and said, " they need some milk and a bath if we are to keep them" my heart just was so thankful as I skipped ahead towards the house. We had very little but I did not know it and I ate dinner giving the kittens tiny portions and we all prayed for my father, well they did I mouthed the words. After bath time we all drifted asleep in living room the kittens layed next to me . It was some time late in the night when the door was busted in by the police and child protective services who were there to take us from our mother, there was yelling and screaming. I was confused and frightened as my mother's screams filled my ears as I climbed off the sofa I ran to her. Apparently someone complained that we were not well cared for as they thrust the papers in my mother's face and we had no phone she could not get her family's help. I stood there hugging my mother as they collected my brothers and sisters, I kicked at the police and hung on for life. I thought , " if I was bigger you would not be so brave", and I heard them say grab that little red head before she lands a good one. I was yanked from my mother and set on the couch told to put my coat on and I did as instructed . I heard the baby kittens crying and I impulsively put them in my coat pockets, I did not know I would not return home two years later . We were placed in a big van everyone crying except me I was trying to figure out how to escape like a good pirate would, I looked up and saw one of the police looking at me. He glared " you better sit down little tough girl" , I slid back into my seat as we drove off I heard my mother crying and was so confused. Everyone got out of the van as we stopped by a huge house with lots of lights on except me I was told to sit down apparently there was not enough room in the warm house for me? My siblings just looked at me terror stricken as I drove off with the police and family protection team. We drove a long while and finally stopped at a small run down farm and as they opened the van door it smelled like cows and urine. They walked me into the tiny kitchen and I looked at who was to be my foster mother she was scraggly with yellow blonde hair and smoked cigarettes I felt dizzy. I was told to go lay down on the hard leather sofa and fell into a fitful sleep of dreams of screaming and crying. I was not given a blanket or pillow so my neck was sore the next early morning and I pulled the baby kittens out of my coat to pet them. They were hungry and started to cry loudly as I tried to sooth them the door opened up and they demanded the kittens from me. I refused and looked back at them my eye narrowed prepared to fight them, and they understood that so their voices changed to nice sweetness promised me to care for the kittens. I knew the kittens needed to eat so I gave them over I felt my heart drop as I was truly alone. We had a small breakfast and I was allowed to go outside to play and as I walked along the gravel path littered with goose feathers I was approached by a teenager of 13 years in age. He towered over me and smiled I remember he had yellow teeth and he said he was their son and in charge of me ? He pulled my coat and asked " do you want to see your kittens?" I looked up and nodded following him to a clearing that had a huge barrel on pegs a fire was still smoldering as he pushed me towards it, " look inside your kittens are in there" , I felt sick as I approached the barrel. I peered inside and could see the remains of both baby kittens and I became mortally afraid . The monster came up alongside putting his hand on my neck " see those kittens I burned them alive and I will kill your mother and anyone you love if you ever tell anyone about this place" , I knew he meant it and why not he had just killed the baby kittens . I felt something switch off inside my head, like ? A blank sheet and I knew terror as I stood with a monster who had proven he would kill, I thought of my mother and how good she was, I believed him . I did not have time to grieve for the kittens as I knew my life was in real danger and I feared greatly for my mother. I blamed myself for the kittens death as if I had not put them in my pocket they would still be alive. I knew I had to be quiet like a tiny mouse so no one would get mad enough to go harm my mother, as little kids believe adults and why they are abused with no one knowing.
Two years later I am sitting on the couch with Grand Mary thinking its ok to let her love me that monster won't get her and slowly as time passed I felt safer and started to open up more. I never told my family and why I trust animals over people sometimes, and shelter my heart until I know you are not a monster too.
The Only thing Real:
IRISH POEM
A man takes but one woman as wife
and that the message secure that she stands before all others
one cannot wash away the proprietary of the last name on the second who
should have been first,
Out calls the day :
Choices made as a grave marker
A man gives a woman worthy or not his last name
Choices made
I dance away ..
Put it in a box and push it away
his choices are his own to burden down with late night ...
Blame it on the mist of the sea:
I sail away from a point once you would have had to fight me for..
I do not want it anymore ...
I cried the sails full as it moves towards open sea..
The day is Irish done:
in my family we wait up for the last one working to come home then we sit down together to eat.
Always wait for the one who works ...
He would fly away in the sky full of hopes and dreams and all I thought was? " I will wait until he lands"
I saw the man ...
I do not make tea anymore:
Let that cloud go by as it carries a wife with his last name one he thought to give her not you and that will be the last shovel of dirt in a grave that laid awake long to long to be filled.
I do not want her burdens.
WAVE GOOD BYE TO THE IRISH SKY
IRISH POEM
A man takes but one woman as wife
and that the message secure that she stands before all others
one cannot wash away the proprietary of the last name on the second who
should have been first,
Out calls the day :
Choices made as a grave marker
A man gives a woman worthy or not his last name
Choices made
I dance away ..
Put it in a box and push it away
his choices are his own to burden down with late night ...
Blame it on the mist of the sea:
I sail away from a point once you would have had to fight me for..
I do not want it anymore ...
I cried the sails full as it moves towards open sea..
The day is Irish done:
in my family we wait up for the last one working to come home then we sit down together to eat.
Always wait for the one who works ...
He would fly away in the sky full of hopes and dreams and all I thought was? " I will wait until he lands"
I saw the man ...
I do not make tea anymore:
Let that cloud go by as it carries a wife with his last name one he thought to give her not you and that will be the last shovel of dirt in a grave that laid awake long to long to be filled.
I do not want her burdens.
WAVE GOOD BYE TO THE IRISH SKY
SUITCASE FULL OF MUDD
I was a kid who loved baseball and was quiet in class and a good student when I was not in trouble. I was in third grade just home from being in Foster Care and very much deep into my head. I had stopped talking ever since coming home and my mother would cry " what did they do to you please tell me" , I just had no words. She took me to a doctor who told her I had been traumatized and would eventually come out of it, she had to give me time. So my Grand Mary, a wild Irish woman who was my actually my Great Great Grandmum came over to take me to live with her as my mother was just to over whelmed with the other five children to help me. I had always been close to Grand Mary and most in my family were terrified of her. I was not as she made me laugh and her husband Uncle Bill an English man who adored her, he still drove as if he lived in England. I would sit in the back seat not belted in rolling around as Uncle Bill tried to avoid all the oncoming cars yelling at them " bloody idiots get on the right side of the road" and Grand Mary telling him to be safe. I would laugh all the way to our destination he was a funny guy and they made a great team. I was always at their place any way as Grand Mary would take me for long weekends teaching me to sing and dance, mostly we would just laugh. Then I went into Foster Care suddenly and I did not see her for the longest time, and when I returned I would not talk. Grand Mary did not pressure me and I attended my school life started to have a routine. I would not let anyone touch me or give me a hug, I did not act out I just sort of moved away from them. I guess I felt I was done trusting anyone . She bought me new shoes I refused to wear them and wore my worn out red keds, that seemed right as I did not feel "new" or that I wanted attention new shoes bring. I was not unhappy .
School for me meant I could play baseball with the boys and looked forward to recess and I was a good student . The kids made fun of me because we were very poor and my mom was divorced but mostly because I did not talk . My teacher who should have been neutral did not attempt to level any fair playing field for me, as she let me get bullied every day and joined in to laugh at me. I knew I was not liked nor would I ever be and I sat in the back of the class feeling I guess isolated in a room full of people. My desk was constantly violated and destroyed and my homework ruined, which led the teacher to accuse me of not bothering to complete it. I never defended myself ever I knew I was out numbered as I had yet to start fighting back that would come later. I can still remember that big hurt that sat inside my chest at all I had been given in life and I accepted it all. Each night I would have dinner and a hot bath, then sit on the sofa with a big story book that GrandMary would read to me. My hair had been cut boy short in Foster Care and my Grand Mary cried when she first saw me, " Bonnie girl what did those devils do to you" , she would try to hug me but I always pulled back. It would take time to heal but each day I felt better and would bring the story book and climb on the couch to read about an adventure. She never asked me again what had happened in Foster Care and I never told my family as I did not want to hurt them.
The weekend of the official third grade field trip was coming up and it was planned to go to a camp to play hockey and learn about nature. I did not want to go as a weekend getting bullied was not my idea of fun but I never spoke up I just went .
We left on Friday after school and Grand Mary had seen me off trying to hug me and telling me to enjoy myself and Uncle Bill quiet by her side as I think he thought she spoke enough for both of them patted the top of my head. I had an small bad and my Mr. Teddy a stuff bear my father had given me when I was a tiny baby. I got on the school bus to name calling and laughter at my expense. I was quiet and looked out the bus window for the long drive to the camp I was not happy nor excited to go.
Our cabins were simple and clean and I unpacked my clothing neatly and put Mr Teddy on my pillow, his fur almost gone due to the baths I would give him and he wore a red and white dress. I remember thinking he was real just silent like me .
We were lined up to go play hockey in the gym a few buildings down , I did love hockey and was a good player but I tried not to get too much attention as it brought on name calling and pushes . We played a game of championships with the teams trying to out play each other to be the final winner. It was a good game but some of the girls starting pushing me around and one tripped me over as the whistle blew. Our teacher who was the ref came running over asking what had happened they all pointed at me on the ground saying " she is fighting again" , I said not a word. The teacher sneered at me , " you again I should have known as your just no good at anything , why don't you go back to the cabin and wait for us . We don't want you here anyways . Get up and get out", the rest of the players laughed. I got up and walked to the cabin feeling very alone and afraid. I entered the cabin and sat on my bed, looking down at my boots all dirty from the trail. I started to cry at the feeling of just never ever fitting in or at least being tolerated, I hugged Mr. Teddy and thought , " one day this will just be a memory", I looked around the cabin at everyone's bed all clean and their suit cases still unpacked. I thought they will never ever like me ever and they make me feel so bad, I need to make them feel bad too. And I do not know how I thought of it but I went to the door of the cabin and got a bucket that was left there and went to fill it with mud. I brought it in the cabin and opened my teacher's suitcase first and dumped the mud inside it and forced it closed. I then proceeded to do the same to all the other suitcases and then sat down to wait for their return.
They came in shortly after my task of styling their suitcase contents was completed. It did not take long for my deed to get discovered with screams and cry's of disgust, " who put mud in my suitcase ! OMG its every where !!!!" I heard my teacher's voice mixed in with the other's as I just sat on the bed waiting for my punishment, she came forward with her finger in my face, " you did this !! WHY?". I looked up at her and felt so confused like why would she not know why I had done it? How many times did I need her protection as my teacher not because she liked me but because it was the right thing and fair thing to do? How can a kid feel safe when the very people who are suppose to keep them safe joins in on the abuse? I dropped my head and just listened to the insults and crying , ironic as I thought, " you had your fun at making me feel bad now its my turn to fill your suitcases full of the dirt you are" , I knew I was in big trouble. The teacher was beyond furious and called my Grand Mary to come and get me stating , " she has acted out in a horrid manner and she must be picked up NOW" . I felt bad cause I knew that meant Uncle Bill would have to drive . I waited in the office with my duffle bag and the teacher by a small desk as Grand Mary entered, " there's my Bonnie girl, what happened my darling?" Of course my teacher filled her in and Grand Mary said " what did those devils do to my Bonnielynn that she would do such a thing?" . I looked up at her standing there with her hands on her hips, defending me in spite of being told of my actions. The teacher paused as if she had been slapped and the look of guilt on her face was all my Grand Mary needed to see, she said loudly ," I know you devils been teasing the girl and giving her a bad way. NO she never complained once but it is not hard to see a child who is suffering. Don't you say a bad word against my daughter, COME ON BONNIE GIRL we are out of here". The teacher's face was pale and she started to say something but we were already out the door. I climbed in the back seat as Uncle Bill's wild ride home began in silence, after a while Grand Mary turned around in her seat, " Bonnie girl , I always knew they were hard on you and for what ever reason you felt you needed to put mud in their suitcases? I support you " and then she turned back around. We never discussed it again and when I returned to school on Monday the class was awkward and quiet, my teacher sort of looked at me differently as if her abuse of me was ok when she thought no one knew, but now? Her treatment of me never really improved but she no longer joined to when I was teased and I was not teased that much from then on, as I had shown I would fight back. School had gotten no better but it was no worse either , I could accept that too.
I do not speak anymore to my used to be best friend as well that's a story for another day, let's just say I put a lot of mud in his suitcase too.
I was a kid who loved baseball and was quiet in class and a good student when I was not in trouble. I was in third grade just home from being in Foster Care and very much deep into my head. I had stopped talking ever since coming home and my mother would cry " what did they do to you please tell me" , I just had no words. She took me to a doctor who told her I had been traumatized and would eventually come out of it, she had to give me time. So my Grand Mary, a wild Irish woman who was my actually my Great Great Grandmum came over to take me to live with her as my mother was just to over whelmed with the other five children to help me. I had always been close to Grand Mary and most in my family were terrified of her. I was not as she made me laugh and her husband Uncle Bill an English man who adored her, he still drove as if he lived in England. I would sit in the back seat not belted in rolling around as Uncle Bill tried to avoid all the oncoming cars yelling at them " bloody idiots get on the right side of the road" and Grand Mary telling him to be safe. I would laugh all the way to our destination he was a funny guy and they made a great team. I was always at their place any way as Grand Mary would take me for long weekends teaching me to sing and dance, mostly we would just laugh. Then I went into Foster Care suddenly and I did not see her for the longest time, and when I returned I would not talk. Grand Mary did not pressure me and I attended my school life started to have a routine. I would not let anyone touch me or give me a hug, I did not act out I just sort of moved away from them. I guess I felt I was done trusting anyone . She bought me new shoes I refused to wear them and wore my worn out red keds, that seemed right as I did not feel "new" or that I wanted attention new shoes bring. I was not unhappy .
School for me meant I could play baseball with the boys and looked forward to recess and I was a good student . The kids made fun of me because we were very poor and my mom was divorced but mostly because I did not talk . My teacher who should have been neutral did not attempt to level any fair playing field for me, as she let me get bullied every day and joined in to laugh at me. I knew I was not liked nor would I ever be and I sat in the back of the class feeling I guess isolated in a room full of people. My desk was constantly violated and destroyed and my homework ruined, which led the teacher to accuse me of not bothering to complete it. I never defended myself ever I knew I was out numbered as I had yet to start fighting back that would come later. I can still remember that big hurt that sat inside my chest at all I had been given in life and I accepted it all. Each night I would have dinner and a hot bath, then sit on the sofa with a big story book that GrandMary would read to me. My hair had been cut boy short in Foster Care and my Grand Mary cried when she first saw me, " Bonnie girl what did those devils do to you" , she would try to hug me but I always pulled back. It would take time to heal but each day I felt better and would bring the story book and climb on the couch to read about an adventure. She never asked me again what had happened in Foster Care and I never told my family as I did not want to hurt them.
The weekend of the official third grade field trip was coming up and it was planned to go to a camp to play hockey and learn about nature. I did not want to go as a weekend getting bullied was not my idea of fun but I never spoke up I just went .
We left on Friday after school and Grand Mary had seen me off trying to hug me and telling me to enjoy myself and Uncle Bill quiet by her side as I think he thought she spoke enough for both of them patted the top of my head. I had an small bad and my Mr. Teddy a stuff bear my father had given me when I was a tiny baby. I got on the school bus to name calling and laughter at my expense. I was quiet and looked out the bus window for the long drive to the camp I was not happy nor excited to go.
Our cabins were simple and clean and I unpacked my clothing neatly and put Mr Teddy on my pillow, his fur almost gone due to the baths I would give him and he wore a red and white dress. I remember thinking he was real just silent like me .
We were lined up to go play hockey in the gym a few buildings down , I did love hockey and was a good player but I tried not to get too much attention as it brought on name calling and pushes . We played a game of championships with the teams trying to out play each other to be the final winner. It was a good game but some of the girls starting pushing me around and one tripped me over as the whistle blew. Our teacher who was the ref came running over asking what had happened they all pointed at me on the ground saying " she is fighting again" , I said not a word. The teacher sneered at me , " you again I should have known as your just no good at anything , why don't you go back to the cabin and wait for us . We don't want you here anyways . Get up and get out", the rest of the players laughed. I got up and walked to the cabin feeling very alone and afraid. I entered the cabin and sat on my bed, looking down at my boots all dirty from the trail. I started to cry at the feeling of just never ever fitting in or at least being tolerated, I hugged Mr. Teddy and thought , " one day this will just be a memory", I looked around the cabin at everyone's bed all clean and their suit cases still unpacked. I thought they will never ever like me ever and they make me feel so bad, I need to make them feel bad too. And I do not know how I thought of it but I went to the door of the cabin and got a bucket that was left there and went to fill it with mud. I brought it in the cabin and opened my teacher's suitcase first and dumped the mud inside it and forced it closed. I then proceeded to do the same to all the other suitcases and then sat down to wait for their return.
They came in shortly after my task of styling their suitcase contents was completed. It did not take long for my deed to get discovered with screams and cry's of disgust, " who put mud in my suitcase ! OMG its every where !!!!" I heard my teacher's voice mixed in with the other's as I just sat on the bed waiting for my punishment, she came forward with her finger in my face, " you did this !! WHY?". I looked up at her and felt so confused like why would she not know why I had done it? How many times did I need her protection as my teacher not because she liked me but because it was the right thing and fair thing to do? How can a kid feel safe when the very people who are suppose to keep them safe joins in on the abuse? I dropped my head and just listened to the insults and crying , ironic as I thought, " you had your fun at making me feel bad now its my turn to fill your suitcases full of the dirt you are" , I knew I was in big trouble. The teacher was beyond furious and called my Grand Mary to come and get me stating , " she has acted out in a horrid manner and she must be picked up NOW" . I felt bad cause I knew that meant Uncle Bill would have to drive . I waited in the office with my duffle bag and the teacher by a small desk as Grand Mary entered, " there's my Bonnie girl, what happened my darling?" Of course my teacher filled her in and Grand Mary said " what did those devils do to my Bonnielynn that she would do such a thing?" . I looked up at her standing there with her hands on her hips, defending me in spite of being told of my actions. The teacher paused as if she had been slapped and the look of guilt on her face was all my Grand Mary needed to see, she said loudly ," I know you devils been teasing the girl and giving her a bad way. NO she never complained once but it is not hard to see a child who is suffering. Don't you say a bad word against my daughter, COME ON BONNIE GIRL we are out of here". The teacher's face was pale and she started to say something but we were already out the door. I climbed in the back seat as Uncle Bill's wild ride home began in silence, after a while Grand Mary turned around in her seat, " Bonnie girl , I always knew they were hard on you and for what ever reason you felt you needed to put mud in their suitcases? I support you " and then she turned back around. We never discussed it again and when I returned to school on Monday the class was awkward and quiet, my teacher sort of looked at me differently as if her abuse of me was ok when she thought no one knew, but now? Her treatment of me never really improved but she no longer joined to when I was teased and I was not teased that much from then on, as I had shown I would fight back. School had gotten no better but it was no worse either , I could accept that too.
I do not speak anymore to my used to be best friend as well that's a story for another day, let's just say I put a lot of mud in his suitcase too.
THE LAST STAND OF THE STRANGLED KITTEN
A few years ago there was a story about a woman with a wonderful guy, in all appearances perfect man whom she adored. I cannot recall why she video taped that one day but she did and to her horror discovered that her "wonderful" man had thrown a blanket over her cat and proceeded to beat the cat for a long duration. The cat struggled to get out of the blanket torture session but each time the mad man pulled him back to pummel him more. The look on his face filled with such anger and hate that I became so fearful to know that this " perfect man" had an evil violent monster inside of him. Of course the woman had come home to a cat who could not speak of his terror and she would wonder was this the first time or one of many abusive sessions? There are people who wear masks to disguise just who they are and their intentions. Do we really know people? This story reminded me of my own struggle to free myself from an abusive relationship.
The friendship started innocently enough with a person who appeared to be this "wonderful guy" with a huge heart and loving fans of his music. I was to discover this was just another " video cat beater guy" with false intensions with a gang of trolls.
The stalking first occurred while I lived in Florida by an anorexic former heroin addict who for some reason focused in on me with games of harassment meant to humiliate me. My friend acted as if to set her straight so I relaxed and let the issue go as I knew she was sick. I know now he was in on the "good cop bad cop" routine meant to secure my trust and it worked. I had limited experience with playing games and believed everyone was upfront with good honest intentions. Again I was to learn some hard lessons in life .
After my husband's sudden death I was so emotionally weakened I did not see what was in front of me, that I was caught up in a game made up by my "trusted" friend and his friends. I was harassed and made fun of told " you will never make in Hollywood, and Everyone thinks they are a model" , I know now I was actually being emotionally abused meant to keep me down . I truly believe it was the scrawny anorexic who made it her goal to keep me so beaten down that I would not attempt to reach out for any success . For a long while that worked as it was one attack after another and my "trusted guy" did nothing and frankly I did not connect him to any of the abuse. I thought he had cared but in reality the game was to give me just enough kindness to keep me believing . I was a game of humiliation and beaten down like the cat with a blanket of hate and lies, solidified by betrayal. One person tried to warn me as he said " they are making fun of you " it was the only true act of kindness . I really did not put together the harassment and prank phone calls, finally the ruin of my art work. This was all a game facilitated by my "good friend" the guy everyone thinks is so kind and loving as he manipulates the media he secretly seeks people to harm. I wonder was I the only one? I don't think so and I have escaped hopefully. He follows me to other internet sites and his trolls as well who seek to get some attention from him . I want none of it and the last interaction had him masquerading as some person with little lures and then actually posting to me . He verbally abused me yet again using filthy words and accusing me of " telling everyone about his life" no I did not he did that with his anorexic side kick. The anger and hatred frothed at me was alarming as he mentioned topics from years ago and then stated " your going to say five years was just nothing?" he was beyond angry. He was furious over my photos and accused me of ruining everything, the next day the post were taken down, but I of course saved them. I told him to get help and confronted his vile temper and filthy mouth, he is the worst coward ever, he is a punk.
So unlike the poor video cat who could not escape I finally fought back when one of his terrible videos was released as I lashed out at him and left the post there for anyone to read. I am done with the mess I let happen and feel as if life is anew and positive . I gave him what he had done to me by his drunken troll friends and I feel bad that I did not listen to those good people who tried to tell me the truth.
Be very wary of anyone from the internet, be cautious.
The friendship started innocently enough with a person who appeared to be this "wonderful guy" with a huge heart and loving fans of his music. I was to discover this was just another " video cat beater guy" with false intensions with a gang of trolls.
The stalking first occurred while I lived in Florida by an anorexic former heroin addict who for some reason focused in on me with games of harassment meant to humiliate me. My friend acted as if to set her straight so I relaxed and let the issue go as I knew she was sick. I know now he was in on the "good cop bad cop" routine meant to secure my trust and it worked. I had limited experience with playing games and believed everyone was upfront with good honest intentions. Again I was to learn some hard lessons in life .
After my husband's sudden death I was so emotionally weakened I did not see what was in front of me, that I was caught up in a game made up by my "trusted" friend and his friends. I was harassed and made fun of told " you will never make in Hollywood, and Everyone thinks they are a model" , I know now I was actually being emotionally abused meant to keep me down . I truly believe it was the scrawny anorexic who made it her goal to keep me so beaten down that I would not attempt to reach out for any success . For a long while that worked as it was one attack after another and my "trusted guy" did nothing and frankly I did not connect him to any of the abuse. I thought he had cared but in reality the game was to give me just enough kindness to keep me believing . I was a game of humiliation and beaten down like the cat with a blanket of hate and lies, solidified by betrayal. One person tried to warn me as he said " they are making fun of you " it was the only true act of kindness . I really did not put together the harassment and prank phone calls, finally the ruin of my art work. This was all a game facilitated by my "good friend" the guy everyone thinks is so kind and loving as he manipulates the media he secretly seeks people to harm. I wonder was I the only one? I don't think so and I have escaped hopefully. He follows me to other internet sites and his trolls as well who seek to get some attention from him . I want none of it and the last interaction had him masquerading as some person with little lures and then actually posting to me . He verbally abused me yet again using filthy words and accusing me of " telling everyone about his life" no I did not he did that with his anorexic side kick. The anger and hatred frothed at me was alarming as he mentioned topics from years ago and then stated " your going to say five years was just nothing?" he was beyond angry. He was furious over my photos and accused me of ruining everything, the next day the post were taken down, but I of course saved them. I told him to get help and confronted his vile temper and filthy mouth, he is the worst coward ever, he is a punk.
So unlike the poor video cat who could not escape I finally fought back when one of his terrible videos was released as I lashed out at him and left the post there for anyone to read. I am done with the mess I let happen and feel as if life is anew and positive . I gave him what he had done to me by his drunken troll friends and I feel bad that I did not listen to those good people who tried to tell me the truth.
Be very wary of anyone from the internet, be cautious.
THE PRICE IS RIGHT AND OTHER LIFE MYSTERIES
I felt the rush of the hot air as I entered the garage located on the second floor of the high rise unlocking the door I turned on the air conditioning as soon as I started the engine. I have little tolerance for humidity unless the location is an exotic topic island with there is an open doorway direct to the beach .
THE PRICE IS ALWAYS RIGHT:
I had organized for the nurses on my unit to attend a filming of the game show "The Price is Right", we six in total with the final nurse an elder who worked almost everyday. I smiled when I saw her approach and hugged my welcome as I think she is such a positive personality. Her husband died years before and since she worked to support her daughters. Lately I noticed her stressed as her hands shook while writing her notes.
She was nervous and giggly but balked when we had to have our photo taken pulling back behind me, "you go ahead Bonnielynn", shrugging I agreed. Her turn she asked the technician " do I have to take my photo?" he instructed her, " well if you hope to be a contestant" . She took her photo smiling but looked sad getting back in line ," I am fat and old", I turned to face her looking rightly in her eyes. There is a multitude of people who were never taught to love themselves in joyous wonderment of this life, " my dear friend never ever verbally put that negativity out into space for some horrid troll to use against you. You are beautiful and thinking that projects that, do you really not like yourself?" She looked up," no I ..like myself ...I did not realize how that sounded." I offered her my unopened water instructing her to drink to keep hydrated, she complied.
Life will run you down if you let it so dance and sing :
My childhood is a story of overcoming barriers of poverty and having idiots for parents, the one saving grace was my Grand Mary. She was my Great Grandmother from Scotland born in Ireland, she was tiny with natural platinum hair. She had what I called the " family sky blue Scot eyes", and was very tiny. An easy laugh thick accent she traveled to help my mother who had married the "Catholic" my father right before my birth.
Scotland right in the middle of Michigan:
My family were immigrants from Scotland, Aberdeen, a fishing economy , my Grand Mary a young wife found herself unhappily married to a miserable hard drinking man. She had a daughter named her rightly "Margaret" the first name to all the first born female in our family, this goes back generations. Her daughter sullen and heavyset grew up in the small Scotland village traveling to the United States with her then husband to start a life anew. They traveled with their two daughters, Margaret and Betty to make a home in Detroit. During her years as a young wife she became the neighborhood mid-wife a skill she had brought with her from Scotland.
Her family life seemed to fail as to why no one really knows she wouldn't speak on many things. Soon she remarried with my mother her last of three daughters born at home to the neighborhood midwife. My grandfather was a highly educated American Indian graduate from Georgia Tech, he died before I was born of alcoholism. No one spoke of him, frustrating as apparently when you died in my family you name no longer fell from anyone's lips. Did not their memory deserve a mention ever?
The dreams of a young purposeful wife:
My mother married my father much against Grand Mary's warning, " those Catholics are a treacherous lot " being raised Protestant my mother was heating the already hot disdain my family had for that particular religious faction. For a long time I thought my fathers name was "Catholic" as that is how he was addressed. My mother remained quiet to their vocalization of her perceived bad choice and had six children in less than ten years, my Grand Mother used to say ," those Catholics get the dick right" , she was a colorful personality .
Trouble brews and the family makes tea :
My mother became ill with my older sister Laura Jean and doctors informed her that she could not have a fourth child as it might end her young life. My father ignored those cautions again the family concerned, Grand Mary sailed for the Americas. She had remarried her husband Bill an English man devoted to her letting her boss him publicly but in private she fell to his feet nightly. She was going to attend my birth and perhaps bury her grand daughter, she was Irish furious. The story tells of her first meeting my father while sipping her tea in Grand Margaret living room as she refused to visit " that Catholic shrine of the idiot" . My father would not let my mother name any of her children and it sent lighting through out the family when her first born daughter was named, " Rebecca " , my Grand Mary seethed.
It's a Bonnielynn Day :
I was the first to be born at the hospital as my mother's heart required monitoring, delivered safely I slept in my mothers arms when Grand Mary entered her hospital room. My father stood at the side of the bed, taking me from my mothers arms she exclaimed " look her red hair and how tiny she will be, it's a Bonnie day" , turning to my father, " you will not name this child she is of our blood too", no one spoke an answer. They say my father was so shocked by my Grand Mary and her forcefulness that he hardly spoke to address her. And so it began the bond between my Grand Mary and her great grand daughter and she would be more a mother.
Turn out the lights :
Waking to the sounds of chairs crashing mixing with my mother's screams while she was beaten, I lay frozen in thought " am I dreaming ?" I laid still, my sister Laura Jean hiding under the blankets. Another sound of pleads from my mother as she was man punched to ground, like so many nights before this one. She would carry the black eyes and bruises for weeks after never hiding them or explaining when anyone asked. My father the leader of the idiots had started drinking nightly coming home to beat his wife to make her sorry for his heartless soulless life. I was four and I hated my father with a child's passion and listening to the beating. I had enough as I jumped from bed a fury rose up in me starting from the center of my heart I thought, " one day he will kill my mum" I ran to the living room and pushed him. My mother was on the ground in a bloody heap, " no no Bonnie girl stop", as I kicked my tall father back. He stood to back up his huge brown eyes grew wider, I stood with my hands on my hips in my pink nightgown, " get out and leave my mum alone you Catholic " I was in such a rage, this ended tonight. Drunk he looked at my mother, " I am never coming back here Delores never", and I kicked at him , " good devil leave " and locked the door after him, I helped my mum to the couch. I went to the brightly painted yellow kitchen to stand on the chair I used to wash the dishes a job I took control of as it matters that the dishes are clean properly, I prepared a cold cloth. Turned on the kettle for tea returning to the living area to attend to my mum's cut lip, she had her head down, " it's OK mum he won't hurt you anymore", she buried her head against me, " oh Bonnie girl you should not know of these things", perhaps I thought but this is the way of it .
Life promises :
I saw my mother crying that night and I vowed no one would harm her again or make her cry or they would face me rightly.
I promised myself that one day I would have a life I deserved if not this one perhaps the next life but for this time I had to take care of those I loved.
I swore I not be indebted to any man or person who could take it all away with violence and I shut down that part of a woman's heart at age four.
I understood my parents were idiots who did not deserve to have children because my father was a prick and my mother unable to fight back in life. With my father abandonment we faced extreme poverty and episodes of starvation these life lessons given by my parents failure.
Go forth and join the Army:
I remember holding the door handle of our kitchen door and glancing over towards my mother who sat at the table, she smiled " go on Bonnie girl it's OK" , I nodded and felt my entire being terrified. I was leaving for basic training location Fort Jackson and I had never been away from home . I pushed through the doorway into the dark morning, the car was there to drive me to airport. I do not recall if I talked to the driver I felt my world spinning into the great unknown. So many things I did not know about or even knew they existed and I could not hide that aspect from people becoming afraid of being the object of cruel bullying. I had finished high school while working two jobs during day and attending night classes. I wanted college but I understood there was no money for that and I had to utilize the military for this opportunity. I was well aware of my five foot one ninety five pound frame but i also knew I was very strong physically due to all the hard work at the neighborhood grocery where I stacked milk crates in the cooler for hours each day. I knew I deserved a better life and I would have it no matter how afraid I was or how little my height.
BIAS
The four core values that influence my nursing career and interacting with others would be human dignity, freedom, accuracy, and justices, as I believe in these and base my career choices on the strength of setting such a standard for my life. In many ways these four words parallel the Bible in treating others as we would desire to be treated, maintaining human dignity people by providing accuracy in interactions documentations which come to completion with justice. Judge, not least I am judged and to not bear false witness against another, regardless the person everyone deserves the same opportunity for justice. I do not support the concept of the “VIP” ideal in hospital clinical setting as I treat everyone the equally and give my very best to everyone.
A challenging experience for me professionally was the morning I received the report from the labor and delivery nurse a young female emergency room drop off who came in active labor who stated she was unsure how many weeks her unborn baby was, as she screamed for pain relief, it was too late for an epidural. Apparently, she had tried to abort the baby at five months gestation and had spent the entire pregnancy using meth and THC, never seeing an obstetrician. A short while later she vaginally delivered a baby boy promptly refusing to have his skin to skin next to her requesting her newborn be removed.
They wheeled her into the room where I walked behind her trying to catch up so as to greet them expecting to see some monster the nurse’s report left me with, as who could want to actively destroy another human being and her own child? The wheel chair paused and as the delivery nurse locked the wheel chair to steady the patient as she stood, and turned, I saw a very young female with wild dirty hair who smiled at me, and unlike me, I would not meet her gaze. I walked into the room to orientate her to the unit routine, plan of care and begin my assessment. I noticed her hands shaking as she held on to the guard rail of the bed, she had dropped her gaze and I could sense she knew I had judged her. I completed my assessment and exited the room to start the transfer process when I nearly bumped into the social worker who had informed me the baby had taken a turn for the worse and now was admitted to the NICU, I nodded, “of course nine months of poison and he finally is free of it “, I could feel everything I stood for as the core principles of my practice fade into nothing but shadows of ideas. I ignored the sting of knowing I was judging another person based on what I knew of their life crimes and I thought of the baby causing me to shrug off my guilt. I provided her excellent care but I disliked what she had done to her defenseless baby who now struggled with withdrawal.
The social worker left the young woman’s room to inform me of her situation, as it seems she had struggled her entire childhood with a cold abusive mother who berated her into anxiety, which lead to depression and anorexia. She had run away from home to escape the constant abuse and found her pregnant and in a panic told no one, she kept her pregnancy a secret too afraid to ask for help for her drug issues that she could not stop. She admitted wanting to terminate the pregnancy because she understood her drug use must surely have damaged her unborn infant beyond a healthy life, racked with the guilt she just used more drugs to self-medicate her emotional pain. A pregnant substance abuser will refrain from seeking out prenatal care due to fear of or actually demonstrated bias against them. (Seybol., Calhoun, Burgess, Lewis, Gilbert, & Casto, 2014)
The next day I was baby catcher working adjacent the NICU as we were very busy but I did notice the young mother sitting by her son’s crib, I nodded in her direction, she still smiled at me. Later that day I saw that she had not left her son’s side, and when she thought no one had noticed she placed her arms around the isolette as if to hug her son, as she started to cry placing her forehead against the crib. I saw her then as she was, a kid alone, afraid as she comprehended just how much she did love her son and what she had done to him. I let her have her moment of self-awakening to the rush of love she felt for her son and how that alone could be enough to start to heal her childhood injuries.
After a few more deliveries I returned to see the young mother had not moved from her protective stance around her son’s isolette , I moved to stand a long side her, after a few moments I held up a small cup of water, I whispered, “ you have a beautiful son “, and she nodded her agreement.
Later that day upon reflection and prayer I felt not only had I let myself down with my bias against someone who used drugs during pregnancy, I let my patient down when she needed some kind words of support. I recognized my own bias and it was debilitating ugly cold, I asked myself, “who was I to judge another person who suffers?” It was a turning point in my life changing me for the better as I promised never treat another person again as I did that young female, a person who never knew love as a child but had discovered love through the birth of her small son.
Reference
SEYBOLD, D., CALHOUN, B., BURGESS, D., LEWIS, T., GILBERT, K., & CASTO, A. (2014). Evaluation of a Training to Reduce Provider Bias Toward Pregnant Patients With Substance Abuse. Journal of Social Work Practice in the Addictions, 14(3), 239–249. http://doi.org/10.1080/1533256X.2014.933730
A challenging experience for me professionally was the morning I received the report from the labor and delivery nurse a young female emergency room drop off who came in active labor who stated she was unsure how many weeks her unborn baby was, as she screamed for pain relief, it was too late for an epidural. Apparently, she had tried to abort the baby at five months gestation and had spent the entire pregnancy using meth and THC, never seeing an obstetrician. A short while later she vaginally delivered a baby boy promptly refusing to have his skin to skin next to her requesting her newborn be removed.
They wheeled her into the room where I walked behind her trying to catch up so as to greet them expecting to see some monster the nurse’s report left me with, as who could want to actively destroy another human being and her own child? The wheel chair paused and as the delivery nurse locked the wheel chair to steady the patient as she stood, and turned, I saw a very young female with wild dirty hair who smiled at me, and unlike me, I would not meet her gaze. I walked into the room to orientate her to the unit routine, plan of care and begin my assessment. I noticed her hands shaking as she held on to the guard rail of the bed, she had dropped her gaze and I could sense she knew I had judged her. I completed my assessment and exited the room to start the transfer process when I nearly bumped into the social worker who had informed me the baby had taken a turn for the worse and now was admitted to the NICU, I nodded, “of course nine months of poison and he finally is free of it “, I could feel everything I stood for as the core principles of my practice fade into nothing but shadows of ideas. I ignored the sting of knowing I was judging another person based on what I knew of their life crimes and I thought of the baby causing me to shrug off my guilt. I provided her excellent care but I disliked what she had done to her defenseless baby who now struggled with withdrawal.
The social worker left the young woman’s room to inform me of her situation, as it seems she had struggled her entire childhood with a cold abusive mother who berated her into anxiety, which lead to depression and anorexia. She had run away from home to escape the constant abuse and found her pregnant and in a panic told no one, she kept her pregnancy a secret too afraid to ask for help for her drug issues that she could not stop. She admitted wanting to terminate the pregnancy because she understood her drug use must surely have damaged her unborn infant beyond a healthy life, racked with the guilt she just used more drugs to self-medicate her emotional pain. A pregnant substance abuser will refrain from seeking out prenatal care due to fear of or actually demonstrated bias against them. (Seybol., Calhoun, Burgess, Lewis, Gilbert, & Casto, 2014)
The next day I was baby catcher working adjacent the NICU as we were very busy but I did notice the young mother sitting by her son’s crib, I nodded in her direction, she still smiled at me. Later that day I saw that she had not left her son’s side, and when she thought no one had noticed she placed her arms around the isolette as if to hug her son, as she started to cry placing her forehead against the crib. I saw her then as she was, a kid alone, afraid as she comprehended just how much she did love her son and what she had done to him. I let her have her moment of self-awakening to the rush of love she felt for her son and how that alone could be enough to start to heal her childhood injuries.
After a few more deliveries I returned to see the young mother had not moved from her protective stance around her son’s isolette , I moved to stand a long side her, after a few moments I held up a small cup of water, I whispered, “ you have a beautiful son “, and she nodded her agreement.
Later that day upon reflection and prayer I felt not only had I let myself down with my bias against someone who used drugs during pregnancy, I let my patient down when she needed some kind words of support. I recognized my own bias and it was debilitating ugly cold, I asked myself, “who was I to judge another person who suffers?” It was a turning point in my life changing me for the better as I promised never treat another person again as I did that young female, a person who never knew love as a child but had discovered love through the birth of her small son.
Reference
SEYBOLD, D., CALHOUN, B., BURGESS, D., LEWIS, T., GILBERT, K., & CASTO, A. (2014). Evaluation of a Training to Reduce Provider Bias Toward Pregnant Patients With Substance Abuse. Journal of Social Work Practice in the Addictions, 14(3), 239–249. http://doi.org/10.1080/1533256X.2014.933730
SUICIDE BLONDE
AM DRIFTING :
Sparky the LA loft kitten pulls instantly at the bed cover, one of the few costly items in my loft, I slowly open my eyes to meet his light blue grey vision orbits, " good day Sparky", so the day begins. I wonder why cats do that in front of your feet death cheat nearly killing their parents especially those of us with eyes just near morning shut. I am almost airborne landing in small kitchen, " thanks Sparky cause with out that I would hardly wake the day", he is unaware that my life just danced in front of my eyes, frankly disturbing. I fill his plate with his favorite food and run the near dead coffee maker, sipping my caffeine fix I think about the day ahead, my goals for the day list. I have been like this since childhood when I fully understood I was cheated and life fvcked right out of normal to settle into ugly weird and desperate poor. Since age four or close to that tender age I understood I had to take charge and if that meant I climbed up on chairs to do it ? So be it.
PENCIL ME INTO MY LIFE:
It was early as I sat down to write as I had planned in my schedule, then work at hospital for eleven hours to return home for tea then run off to gym. This routine is not breached as my goals are not dedicated to anyone's needs but my own, and I will not alter them unless an emergency occurs. Family calls and we discuss many topics one being the anniversary of my wedding to my late husband, I feel weird but hiding it as weird people can do if practiced . That was another life time of a person that no longer lives except in the minds of those who are comforted by that delusion, and why I left Florida, so I would not be the " widow" a concept more idealistically weirder than me. Frankly I felt detached from that life time ago and some where only she knows I bet my Grand Mary is laughing at her daughter. I would too if I weren't me.
TOUCH EVERYTHING:
My mother often sent me to the store along with my older sister Laura Jean, who was and still is a shy withdrawn personality with self depreciating facts based on not a thing that ever had any substance. It was winter and my mother needed something for my baby brother and she pinned it to my little red coat, I thought "adults humiliate children with their concepts of what they think we don't know" I sighed. My mother's response to my audible expression, " Bonnie girl do not act like you won't get distracted by some thing that takes your imagination away resulting in your forgetting what I needed you to purchase, and sit up straight girl you are short enough", I nodded thinking " oh boy, thanks mum " while placing my hands inside bread bags then the socks which took place of real mittens. I was confident the Lord did not mean for my childhood to be so misguided as I stood in our tiny kitchen looking like a Goodwill mixed combo of the clothes no one wants.
We lived in a country setting where there miles between some homes and we walked to the nearest grocery mart in the deep snow the note on my coat flapping around, we did not talk much as Laura Jean was not one to let her thoughts be known, some people need that mental space.
We arrived at the store covered in snow with red faces my sock mittens were frozen which made the bread bags hard, I pulled the door to the store open feeling the warmth hug my face, the snow that covered me started to melt. Laura Jean followed behind as we looked for the item requested by our mother, we walked up and down the aisles, and then up above the drug counter I saw the item. I thought , " how strange to put an item up so high, and it had what looked rubber bands holding it secured, looking around I found a chair , of course . Laura Jean just stood there as I went about my task dragging the chair and climbing up to pull on the item boy it was tied down well, but I managed to almost free it, when I heard, " what the hell are you doing up there?" I froze and turned my head slowly towards the deep angry voice. A tall guy stood behind the counter scowling at me, " those are samples not for purchase get down from that chair", I looked down at Laura Jean who had her head down, and I let go of the item which was held back by one rubber band causing it to snap back like a rocket knocking down the display.
SITUATION DIGRESS:
Store items flew about my head I felt a thud on top of my head that did not hurt but only added to my public embarrassment, " get down off that chair you idiot, and get out of my store" I scrambled down and said, " I need that for my mum" and handed him the now wet note once pinned to my coat. He held it by the edges as if I had urinated on it prior to handing it to him, Laura Jean hid behind me, mumbling , " there you go again Bonnielynn getting us in trouble!!", ignoring her I put the money on the counter. The tall guy took my mum's money as he rung up the total placed the item in a bag, leaning down to me, " now you get out of here and do not touch anything more ", I never dropped my gaze, taking my purchase I walked towards the exit, touching everything I could.
WAIT FOR ME:
Curiosity is an driving condition of the clueless as I opened the door to my loft I let in a friend who I found interesting in his idealist lazy concepts of life, I mean was I wrong about life? I have never in my life tried any sort of self medicating substances all I knew about was working to support my family starting at age thirteen.
We talked and laughed, and as he pulled out the pipe he used, " you said you want to try so I brought you some" , I looked up at him and his eyes danced as if he held the secret to life, perhaps for him it was? I shrugged why not just try it once so I went to stand in the kitchen next to him, he held the flame to the bowl and told me to inhale, and I did as directed. I felt nothing, and stated so , " wait Bonnielynn give it chance" laughing at me, and I waited and still felt nothing. I said ," I know I did not inhale deep enough ", my tall friend heated the bowl again placing it in front of me, I took in a long deep inhale instantly my throat burned and I started coughing. Gasping I thought, what a way to die like an alley cat in my luxury apartment loft, idiot.
I drank cold water and stopped my near death experience coughing as my friend held my shoulders, " Bonnielynn that was too much" , I looked up and the room was fuzzy and feeling strange displaced like going into a dream dark shadow hole.
I fell across my bed to crawl into a sitting position like a child I saw the other side of the loft light up as if it were a sunny day and not 2:00 AM , downtown LA time, I was transfixed. My friend was pulling on my dress , " Bonnielynn just go with it, I am here", I nodded as the I watched a man about thirty years old at a desk dressed in late 1960's fashion,he was happiness as he worked. He turned to look at me saying , " I am coming too wait for me" ,I sat watching him my eyes huge in wonderment, I did not answer, it was if I was looking in on him in his current day life event, and he saw me. I felt soft kisses on my bare back, and hands pulling me downward, " Bonnielynn you are so funny come here little girl", I let him pull me down towards his hunger. I heard a loud insisting voice, " I said for you to wait I am coming too", and I knew he would not shut up until I answered him, " ok mister if you want to" , I heard a mans laugh in my ear, " yes Bonnielynn I want", I drifted away like, a replay of Rosemary's baby drug scene.
I did not hear him leave.
ONLY ME:
The next morning I woke stretching I felt perfect like I had the best sleep ever, and remembered the night before, sitting up pulling my robe around my body, I went to make coffee, fight off Sparky , sipping coffee I received a text, " you are so cute " , my friend had sent with smiley faces, I raised my coffee mug, " yep that's me cute" , I shrugged I wanted to try and I did, frankly just too weird to want to try again.
Sparky the LA loft kitten pulls instantly at the bed cover, one of the few costly items in my loft, I slowly open my eyes to meet his light blue grey vision orbits, " good day Sparky", so the day begins. I wonder why cats do that in front of your feet death cheat nearly killing their parents especially those of us with eyes just near morning shut. I am almost airborne landing in small kitchen, " thanks Sparky cause with out that I would hardly wake the day", he is unaware that my life just danced in front of my eyes, frankly disturbing. I fill his plate with his favorite food and run the near dead coffee maker, sipping my caffeine fix I think about the day ahead, my goals for the day list. I have been like this since childhood when I fully understood I was cheated and life fvcked right out of normal to settle into ugly weird and desperate poor. Since age four or close to that tender age I understood I had to take charge and if that meant I climbed up on chairs to do it ? So be it.
PENCIL ME INTO MY LIFE:
It was early as I sat down to write as I had planned in my schedule, then work at hospital for eleven hours to return home for tea then run off to gym. This routine is not breached as my goals are not dedicated to anyone's needs but my own, and I will not alter them unless an emergency occurs. Family calls and we discuss many topics one being the anniversary of my wedding to my late husband, I feel weird but hiding it as weird people can do if practiced . That was another life time of a person that no longer lives except in the minds of those who are comforted by that delusion, and why I left Florida, so I would not be the " widow" a concept more idealistically weirder than me. Frankly I felt detached from that life time ago and some where only she knows I bet my Grand Mary is laughing at her daughter. I would too if I weren't me.
TOUCH EVERYTHING:
My mother often sent me to the store along with my older sister Laura Jean, who was and still is a shy withdrawn personality with self depreciating facts based on not a thing that ever had any substance. It was winter and my mother needed something for my baby brother and she pinned it to my little red coat, I thought "adults humiliate children with their concepts of what they think we don't know" I sighed. My mother's response to my audible expression, " Bonnie girl do not act like you won't get distracted by some thing that takes your imagination away resulting in your forgetting what I needed you to purchase, and sit up straight girl you are short enough", I nodded thinking " oh boy, thanks mum " while placing my hands inside bread bags then the socks which took place of real mittens. I was confident the Lord did not mean for my childhood to be so misguided as I stood in our tiny kitchen looking like a Goodwill mixed combo of the clothes no one wants.
We lived in a country setting where there miles between some homes and we walked to the nearest grocery mart in the deep snow the note on my coat flapping around, we did not talk much as Laura Jean was not one to let her thoughts be known, some people need that mental space.
We arrived at the store covered in snow with red faces my sock mittens were frozen which made the bread bags hard, I pulled the door to the store open feeling the warmth hug my face, the snow that covered me started to melt. Laura Jean followed behind as we looked for the item requested by our mother, we walked up and down the aisles, and then up above the drug counter I saw the item. I thought , " how strange to put an item up so high, and it had what looked rubber bands holding it secured, looking around I found a chair , of course . Laura Jean just stood there as I went about my task dragging the chair and climbing up to pull on the item boy it was tied down well, but I managed to almost free it, when I heard, " what the hell are you doing up there?" I froze and turned my head slowly towards the deep angry voice. A tall guy stood behind the counter scowling at me, " those are samples not for purchase get down from that chair", I looked down at Laura Jean who had her head down, and I let go of the item which was held back by one rubber band causing it to snap back like a rocket knocking down the display.
SITUATION DIGRESS:
Store items flew about my head I felt a thud on top of my head that did not hurt but only added to my public embarrassment, " get down off that chair you idiot, and get out of my store" I scrambled down and said, " I need that for my mum" and handed him the now wet note once pinned to my coat. He held it by the edges as if I had urinated on it prior to handing it to him, Laura Jean hid behind me, mumbling , " there you go again Bonnielynn getting us in trouble!!", ignoring her I put the money on the counter. The tall guy took my mum's money as he rung up the total placed the item in a bag, leaning down to me, " now you get out of here and do not touch anything more ", I never dropped my gaze, taking my purchase I walked towards the exit, touching everything I could.
WAIT FOR ME:
Curiosity is an driving condition of the clueless as I opened the door to my loft I let in a friend who I found interesting in his idealist lazy concepts of life, I mean was I wrong about life? I have never in my life tried any sort of self medicating substances all I knew about was working to support my family starting at age thirteen.
We talked and laughed, and as he pulled out the pipe he used, " you said you want to try so I brought you some" , I looked up at him and his eyes danced as if he held the secret to life, perhaps for him it was? I shrugged why not just try it once so I went to stand in the kitchen next to him, he held the flame to the bowl and told me to inhale, and I did as directed. I felt nothing, and stated so , " wait Bonnielynn give it chance" laughing at me, and I waited and still felt nothing. I said ," I know I did not inhale deep enough ", my tall friend heated the bowl again placing it in front of me, I took in a long deep inhale instantly my throat burned and I started coughing. Gasping I thought, what a way to die like an alley cat in my luxury apartment loft, idiot.
I drank cold water and stopped my near death experience coughing as my friend held my shoulders, " Bonnielynn that was too much" , I looked up and the room was fuzzy and feeling strange displaced like going into a dream dark shadow hole.
I fell across my bed to crawl into a sitting position like a child I saw the other side of the loft light up as if it were a sunny day and not 2:00 AM , downtown LA time, I was transfixed. My friend was pulling on my dress , " Bonnielynn just go with it, I am here", I nodded as the I watched a man about thirty years old at a desk dressed in late 1960's fashion,he was happiness as he worked. He turned to look at me saying , " I am coming too wait for me" ,I sat watching him my eyes huge in wonderment, I did not answer, it was if I was looking in on him in his current day life event, and he saw me. I felt soft kisses on my bare back, and hands pulling me downward, " Bonnielynn you are so funny come here little girl", I let him pull me down towards his hunger. I heard a loud insisting voice, " I said for you to wait I am coming too", and I knew he would not shut up until I answered him, " ok mister if you want to" , I heard a mans laugh in my ear, " yes Bonnielynn I want", I drifted away like, a replay of Rosemary's baby drug scene.
I did not hear him leave.
ONLY ME:
The next morning I woke stretching I felt perfect like I had the best sleep ever, and remembered the night before, sitting up pulling my robe around my body, I went to make coffee, fight off Sparky , sipping coffee I received a text, " you are so cute " , my friend had sent with smiley faces, I raised my coffee mug, " yep that's me cute" , I shrugged I wanted to try and I did, frankly just too weird to want to try again.