Category: Life

Nightmares of the human kind

Survivors know,  monsters are real.  They wear human faces,  sometimes even the faces we are supposed to love. I have survived abuse,  been raped more than once.  It is how I have become. I have seen the darkness in  mankind. And just as I am ready to stop seeing the light as possibility,  that is when someone comes to show me there is people who are still worth believing in.

I try to be positive,  for even though I have seen the monsters walking around in man’s skin,  I really don’t want to let the darkness seep too deeply in. To do that,  lets them win. So I teach my daughter that which I was not taught (that no one has a right to do anything she is uncomfortable with) And I make my own way in this scary world.  Some days that means waking up soaked in the tears drawn from the past.  Some days it means pulling away from the world on whole. This is what life is after you meet the nightmares of the human kind.

Truth is far stranger than fiction.

I ride with a trucker. Not that this is strange,  but occasionally over the road strange things occur.  Yesterday was one of those days.  It all started with us going to Dallas on a load.  Nothing unusual,  just take it to the customer and be there by 9am on Monday. Well I am sitting in the passenger seat and reading aloud,  (why buy audiobooks when I enjoy reading?)  and we are about to enter into a construction zone.  Apparently a gentlemen in a rented suv decided to try and enter it at the last second… Even though we were in the way.  So he hit us.  Well my friend pulled over,  called 911. And the  fellow who hit us comes to the driver’s door saying “what the fuck dude? ” my friend respectfully tells him that he is calling for police.  Well several calls later,  (police,  safety,  dispatch)  my friend got out to document the accident and deal with the police.

Well,  later I was informed of what went on.  The guy who hit us,  tried to convince the cop it was my friend who caused the accident.  To no avail. So as a matter of paperwork,  the police officer ran my friends license.  Only to have it come back as suspended for DUI… Mind you my friend has never had a DUI.  So we had to park until it was cleared up. So he told safety,  and after hours dispatch.  We were told the load would be relayed. So we went to bed… Set an alarm,  so he could call the Dmv in the morning. We were woke by dispatch.  Who had no clue what was going on.  He wanted to know why we were late.  So ok… We got moving on phone calls. Turns out the Dmv was upset because he had no insurance on file for a truck that was no longer owned by him. Because he is an otr truck driver getting his mail only happens every third month at best. So he had no notice of the issue.  Took him 10 minutes with the Dmv to fix it,  two hours with his company to get approved to run again.  So we get started to Dallas again… Only to realize that the cop still has his license…. Well time for paperwork to get caught up while we wait for the cop.

Too much on my mind to write fiction, so here is a dish of truth.

Identity is not something that is set in stone.  Even though society seems to see it that way. As a  child of the eighties,  the mere idea of gender fluidity was absurd.  You were either a boy,  or a  girl. And the closest to fluidity was being a tomboy or a nancyboy. Either way,  you were bullied.  And the “no bully” thing wasn’t going on then.  Now mind you,  I am not complaining.  It was just how life was.  I am pleased to see the progress.  For me,  the idea of creating who I am now,  well it is part of what I want in life.  For others it is definitely more painful.

I am “one of the guys” most of the time.  The first person who told me that,  Scared me.  As being one of the guys meant that I was flawed,  somehow less female. Still in truth,  it is how I am.  I am happy working with my hands,  no make-up,  simple hair and pants.  Once in a blue moon,  I will get girly.  Dress up in flowing skirts and soft boots.  I love science and nature,  and not just the flowers.  I have helped to do landscaping.  I have spent time in the pit at the track.  I spent summers working on farms.  Oh what is that?  Girls can do that too?  Well yeah… But I was seen as masculine because of it. I was the center for my high school football team (at one of them.)  And could out bench the football team (at another).  So does that make me a guy?  No not really.  I think that is the problem.  Identity tends to be based on stupid things.

For me,  Identity should be less about male/female and more about what you make of yourself.  I am not male.  I am not female… I fall somewhere in between.  I am a poet. I am a mother.  I am a writer.  I am an artist.  I am human.  I am a gamer.  I am…….

Random thoughts.

Random thoughts as I travel to the store.

That willow is so lovely.  How many stories hang within?

Hope my neighbor gets better.  Her cough is scary.

Such a pretty red bird. Wonder what it is called?

Someone really needs to cut the grass. Lovely little creatures might be hiding within.

Really need to finish the last page of the princess lost. Just so busy today.

What should I make for dinner?  Really not hungry.

I miss my best friend.

Small towns are fun…to visit.  I want to live in the middle of nowhere.

I want to go to college,  but I wonder for what.  No longer interested in computer programming. And taking a  course in creative writing scares me badly.  I fear I will find out how bad my writing is.

The older I get the less I like people.  Is hermit an option?

I need milk. Good grief,  i made a list, quit worrying about forgetting to get things.

 

 

 

 

Life, Death, and suicide.

Many of my friends suffer depression,  and I am not untouched by it. Although when asked if I have ever been suicidal,  well only once. When I was given medicine for the depression as a teen, the medicine made me want death.  For me,  i see it different usually.  I have heard other survivors say it,  and truth is really so much more than the words say. I don’t want to die, however on my darkest days,  I do wish I had never been born. Days where the pain feels more than I am able to bear, when the nightmares are stronger than the dreams. Those are the days where I have to recount all i have done. Those are the days when my blessings must be noted. And those are the days when kindness is most needed,  and when I am at my least kind.

Just a thought

I generally try not to rant, or be opinionated here. However, some opinions just eat at you,  until they are released. I have been in a big truck a few times,  as a passenger. I have seen how truly amazing this country is.  I have also seen the worst in people. I will only speak of one issue right now.  Parking. Big trucks can be up to seventy feet in length. And are limited to how long the can be operated by law.

That being said,  I can’t tell you how common it is to see a pickup truck in a big truck spot in rest areas or travel plazas. The frequency is astonishing. Add to that the fact that there are more trucks on the road than possible parking spots and you have a very frustrating situation for our nation’s drivers.

 

Relationships and how they work.

I am not really good at people,  and the interworkings of being a good friend or significant other.  Mostly because I speak my mind and am damaged from abuse in my past. So speaking my mind means that what I say doesn’t often make sense to others. Add to this those days when I am in pain,  or have insomnia,  or even just am deeply into my own world and forget to socialize on occasion.

How I have managed to be so richly blessed in my friends and loved ones,  I am not sure. Still,  I treasure those who are close to me. And I am not the sort to hold a grudge, mostly.  So it sometimes surprises me how angry  people can get.  And how vindictive they can become.

Relationships take work. All of them. Even family and friends,  if you want a good solid relationship,  you need to be willing to compromise. On both sides. This is much of why I am bad at people.  I have a hatd time with compromise.  I can’t afford to compromise because I have been forged by others lack of compromise.  I do not ask much. I take care of my daughter,  and of my best friend.  I try to be there for my closest friends and family.

Now that being said,  I am surprised tonight.  A little over a year ago I had a friend pull away,  for a reason that made no sense.  So I accepted that I had lost a friend,  and as I always do,  I picked up and moved on. Tonight she messaged me with an apology, and an explanation.  It eased my mind to finally understand. It also got me considering what goes into friendship.  How often have I unwittingly hurt the ones around me because I was unable to explain?  I found myself sad that I really couldn’t answer.  So many people I have perhaps hurt. I apologize for those I have not intended to hurt. Sometimes the explanation is another form of compromise. Which is one of my flaws, for sure.

 

 

Frustration

Head in my hands,

I have lain.

Frustration rules my brain.

Doubts rearing,

Words written

With no readers opinions

To reach and sway.

 

Crippling doubt

Searing the mind,

Taking the muse

Leaving only frustration behind.

 

The pen a sword,

With a double edge so keen.

Severing the need,

Laying the heart so bare.

 

No voice 

Power stolen,Silence woven.

No voice left 

To the soul broken. 

Humanity removed, 

Difference exposed. 
Protesting the darkness 

For sake of grasping the light,

Only to find the soul

Just too weary to fight.
A voice stolen completely away 

Left by society silent today. 

For though I speak clearly, 

There is no one to hear me.

Perspective unique

                                                         I have been learning a lot about who I am and who I have been simply by talking to my twelve year old daughter.  She sees things in a very straight forward way. She asks questions about life and especially about the parts of human nature that often confuses her. Her questions are occasionally embarrassing and often thought provoking. For years I fumbled through life because I was more worried about how people saw me or the way people would react to me to allow myself the freedom of being completely comfortable in my own skin. I kept my secrets; My religion,  my sexuality,  my survival to myself. 

                                                        Part of the reason was because I was afraid. I spoke of my abuse. I was called a liar. I was told I was crazy. A heart can only handle so many blows before it closes itself off. Then as I grew older,  I found that I cared less. I surrounded myself with supporters who didn’t care about those things which seemed so bad before. That helped.  

                                                                                           I lost the innocence my daughter has too soon. I grew cynical because I needed a defense. I still clung to my desires to be a dreamer, even as I lived in a world made of nightmares. I used the ability to read to bury myself in places where the pain was not mine. I used the ability to write to speak with impunity my fear and struggle.  After all, my poems didn’t have to be what I was.  At twelve,  I tried to run away from home for the second time.  For my daughter,  home is where she is certain of the fact that she is loved.  I am proud of that fact. She still has many of the issues I had in dealing with her peers. She is very mature for her age, so she doesn’t understand conversation topics that amuse them. Also she has the same lack of filter I do. If it is on her mind, she speaks it. Yet for all that we are alike,  her mind is far quicker than mine.  She has a  brilliant sense of humor and more self confidence than I ever did.