In My Past

I remember every single detail; I was nine.

About seven months prior, my parents gathered us in the living room and made an announcement: we were going to have a sister. I crawled off the couch, put my head in my mom's lap, and cried. I'd never been happier or more filled with hope.

Would she have dark hair like me? What would her voice sound like? Is she already alive somewhere else, just waiting to be born?

Those seven months flew by, and one day my parent's called another family meeting: we wouldn't have a sister after all. There was something called an umbilical cord that fed the baby, it got a kink, and my sister starved to death.

Later that day, my parents brought me and my older sister to the front yard. We stood around a tiny red bird house my dad had built earlier that day. My mom explained that she wanted us to see my sister. She said that what we were about to see wasn’t funny or gross, that we should try and understand the sadness.

I remember having no idea what she was talking about and I turned my face up and looked at her. When I turned back, my dad had removed the lid to the bird house, and there she was, my sister. I’d never seen anything so beautiful or horrible. I hid my face in my mom’s side and tried to scream, but I couldn’t make any sound. I ran to my room and cried, and I didn’t speak for weeks.

My sister was lying on her left side, her tiny face was twisted in pain, and her mouth was open as if she were screaming. She even had a furrowed brow, or what I imagined was a furrowed brow. Her head was slightly deflated, I guess from the lack of development. Her hands looked to be about the size of a penny. But she was perfect to me. I loved her completely. I built a little cross out of scrap wood, and my family had a ceremony together in the evening. We buried her on our land, which now belongs to someone else.

I stopped praying to anyone but her. We started having conversations. I told her I missed her and knew that someday we would be together. I imagined that she lived in a vast field with tall grass. I told her what was happening at school and what it was like to turn ten. I promised her I’d never forget. I was sad she left me behind. Time passed.

My mom had another baby who turned into my redemption from deep depression and loneliness. She brought me back to an earth filled with hope simply because she existed. We spent every waking hour together, and found ways to travel the whole world: books, an old canoe we found back in the woods, stories, everything.But after all this time, I’ve still not forgotten my little sister. And I will always miss her.

Her name was Passie, because she died on Passover.

 

Home

If I posted the entire story people who really know me would know so I will skip to the end of the book and share the happiness that I found.

My husband of 5 years was a bachelor before I married him. He was only engaged once twelve years ago but sadly she passed away. He is a military vet who fought the doctors and tests after being injured to not be qualified as disabled. He does his best to mask his pain. While he was being a bachelor I was in a horrible marriage complete with psycho in laws who my ex-husband did not protect our kids or I from. How could he when he was buried in the bottle.

My husband and I met about eleven years ago. I knew the second his hand shook mine he would change my life one day. I didn't know that he secretly loved me for years. Had he known what I was going through he says he would of. No one really knew. They saw a woman working 3 jobs, going to school, fighting in-laws and thought a strong woman. How was anyone to know the damage that was being done.

Eventually I got my ex a job, we moved, but he wasn't interested in me or the kids much. His thoughts were among other people and floating in rum or whatever he could drink. His job also kept him gone 5 days a week. 5 days a week we weren't in hell. I knew he had a new GF. My husband and I started to talk more. I thought it was in my head that I was just seeking comfort but it wasn't.

He loved me more everyday and kept quiet until one day he and my ex went to the store. My ex complained about me. They got back my now husband and I went to a different store but had the same conversation. Came home my husband said my ex and I should talk we did ten minutes later Divorce was decided.

My husband seized the day pulled me aside talked to me and now here we are. It took all his savings and A lot of love, patience and understanding but he did it all. The three kids live with us full time. I couldn't of dreamed a better ending.

He also has helped my kids heal from everything they have been through. He says I saved him and calmed his PTSD and gave him a home and a place, a family but he is the real hero. My knight in shining armor.

After Bible Study

Have you ever had a crush that felt monumental?

Not like puppy love or that giggly-girl crush but something that made your skin tingle? He was beautiful multi-colored eyes and a mischievous smile. He was that boy that makes you glad you're a girl. He was tall and kind and, for a moment, he was mine. I could feel it when he walked into a room. I'd never felt physical desire like that. Like a punch to the gut, if a punch to the gut could be pleasant. This wasn't butterflies in your stomach this was a stampede of horses in your chest. It was horrible and glorious, all at once.

Because I was that girl, the girl that guys were friends with, the tom boy, the one that all the guys liked, but didn't LIKE, if you get my drift. And there were moments when I though he felt the same. Conversations between the two of us had an edge. Not like flirting but more like meaning. That our words were loaded with more than just consonants and vowels.

I remember that night, there was a storm. The power went out and all the teenagers were down in my sister and I's room talking and waiting for the power to come back on. The conversation turned to guy/girl dynamics, as they are wont to when you have young people of the opposite sex together. He said, 'A guy always knows when a girl likes him.' While saying this he was looking directly at me. I felt emboldened so I grinned and said, 'Is that right?' He smiled back and said yes.

I remember thinking that this was finally it, he was going to say something, anything, and what had been wishing and dreaming and insubstantial but so incredibly there, would become an actual reality. I would no longer be that girl, I would be a girl someone liked, heck, a girl someone would maybe one day love.

But the conversation continued and he made another statement: That if the guy liked a girl back, he acted on it.

He never acted on it. Never.

You know that feeling when hope dies? The sinking, slow death that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes ache? That dagger to your chest when you realize that maybe it was just in your head all along and maybe you'll always be that girl?

 

Random Restaurant

I knew my him for over ten years. We even dated for a little while in college.

After being married, having kids, divorcing from a toxic and abusive relationship, I prayed every day for a soul mate that would be a partner and want the same things in life. I have so much love to give.

Then, one day, my friend asked me on a date. I said yes, but I was inexplicably nervous. I arrived in time, but sat in my car for 35 minutes before gathering the courage to go in. Then, I sat on the waiting bench for another 15 to get the courage to join him at a table where he'd been waiting for an hour.

The moment we met eyes, I KNEW this was serious stuff. And I knew HE knew. And we both KNEW. It was almost laughable because I never believed in instant love nor had I considered him more than a friend since our brief tryst many years before.

We married 3 months later. It's been three years, and despite what sounds to be an impulsive move on our parts, we still KNOW. Our marriage is the best thing that has ever happened to me or our children.

At A Music Venue

I was in high school. It was my first punk show, which sounds silly now, but at the time it felt nice to be able to align myself with some kind of culture or community. Especially one that I saw as "radically progressive". Especially one that seemed all inclusive. Especially one in which mosh pits existed.

It was an all female band, and I was excited to go because I had just learned about riot grrrl and was starting to read a lot of bell hooks and feminist theory. I was on the edge of the crowd. People were everywhere so it was impossible not to bump into someone, and while I was alone, I felt safe. I figured I was with my own kind, that nothing bad would happen here. That we all had the same morals and ethics and ideals and political values. These were likeminded people and we were all in support of each other. And then I felt a hand reach up my skirt in a way that could never be interpreted as accidental.

I didn't know what to do, and by the time I turned around, the person was already gone. My stomach was starting to knot up and I didn't know how to feel. I felt ashamed that I had let it happen. I was embarrassed, and helpless and terrified.

The rest of the show was a blur and I distinctly remember trying not to cry at one point. I felt so helpless. I wanted to tell a bouncer but talked myself out of it because I didn't know what the guy looked like. I didn't think the bouncer would believe me. I thought he would accuse me of making it up. Or that I should have known something like that would happen because I was a girl, alone, in a skirt, at a crowded show where things were bound to out of hand. That I had been asking for it to happen.

I didn't go to another show for years after that.

At his house

On Valentine's Day, D.T. asked me to go to dinner with him. I was 16. He was nearly 30. He took me to a bar, not a restaurant. We drank rum until I was well beyond in control of myself.

I was 16.

We went back to his house and he injected speed which I'd never seen before and he offered to inject me. I refused but did Inhale some. He started kissing me, then he was biting me and scratching me and I could tell he was going to leave marks on me.

I was 16.

I tried to make him stop. Finally I started crying when his hands were under my blouse and inside my bra. That finally made him stop. I was 16. I was literally wet all over my face and throat from his slobbery kissing and sucking. I sat on the porch of his house and tried to sober up and arrange myself in a way that I could go home.

16.

I went to a fast food restaurant and washed myself off as well as I could. At home I dodged my mother and took a long hot shower trying to wash him off of me. Sixteen. I looked like if been in a car wreck, I was so bruised and covered with hickeys. It took over a week to heal up. I hid from my mother and my nanny. In turtlenecks and sweaters. He called for a long time. I wouldn't talk to him.

He sent gifts. Creepy gifts. Flowers. Silver trinkets. A fucking sweater. A perfectly creepy gift for a 16 year old girl. I heard he died of liver cancer as a by-product of hepatitis. I suppose I should be grateful he didn't rape me. I've hated him a long time.

I was that 16 year old girl that accidentally tempted a grown ass man to act like a fucking pedophile. I hope he suffered wildly.

He deserved to.

In His Car

I stayed the night with a guy friend once. I was young so I didn't have when my period would come down yet. Well, it surprised me. I woke up in his bed bleeding.

He took me home in his car and when I got out I saw a big stain on the seat. I was so embarrassed. I couldn't even talk to him for days. I hate that I felt so bad about myself because of something I couldn't control.

At the Bar

I've been that girl.. who goes into self-destruct mode after a few drinks.

I'm fine after 2-3. Then I just seem to want more, and I can't stop myself. And I spiral downward into this mode that I (now) call self-destruct mode, where after 5 drinks it might as well be 15 more.

I have a great time, I'm told. I'm fun and everyone seems to think so, but then I wake up to bruises/scratches, and people telling ME stories about what I did the night before.

While I never apologize for being who I am, it does suck when you realize you have issues with alcohol and self-control.

I am always a work in progress.

In My Own House

I was always thin. Too thin. Did everything I could think of not to be thin. Nothing worked. There are pictures of me as a college girl trying to stand in such a way that you cannot tell how thin I am. So later when I was married, I was a really happy pregnant girl because it was actually fun to gain all that weight - whoa! FIFTY pounds! Of course it came right off again. Three times.

Three wonderful children. But my husband lost his job and we were poor. For a long time. So poor I became insecure about whether I would be able to feed my children. So I didn't eat. I felt like a failure. I fantasized about who I could give my children to because clearly I was not fit to care for them. Then my mother was diagnosed with cancer. There was too much I could not fix. I wanted to disappear. And I almost did.

One day I went to the doctor because I wasn't feeling well. He asked "When did you lose all this weight?" I said "I've always been thin." He said, "Not this thin. You weight 82 pounds." I was hospitalized for a week while they ran all sorts of tests. Diagnosis: Anorexia & severe clinic depression. No kidding.

Long, hard road back to health. I remember the day I crawled off the bed and went to the phone to call for help - I knew I had to do that much for myself, but I also knew I needed help. Lots of love, lots of learning. I still struggle with my body not looking like it is "supposed to."

And all I can do is to remain aware of that and try to be determined never to go down like that again. I am vigilant.

In My Dorm Room

My college boyfriend and I were having sex and he removed the condom without telling me. I was very innocent and didn't realize what was going on until after. It was only the second or third time I had ever had sex. I got pregnant. I had an abortion. Over a decade later I still run into his friends and they treat me poorly and gossip about me because they believe I was the one who hurt him in the break-up and I am too ashamed about what happened to tell them the truth. So I just live with it. He also took photos of me naked while I was sleeping. I'm ashamed of that, too. I damaged myself for years after and hurt other men who were nice to me in order to punish myself for what he did to me. He made me feel used and worthless and like I did not deserve anything good. I'm just starting to feel healthy again. Sort of.

Whoever is reading this, you're good enough. No matter what you have done or who you are, you are worth everything. You deserve everything. Be kind to yourself. Let yourself love.