Judgement.


The Raw and the Cooked meets redemption.

There are two things I promised myself and readers when I began to write this blog.  First, I would be completely honest.  This is not a difficult choice for me, as I cannot seem to be otherwise, almost to a fault.  Second, I would bring the light and the dark part of myself into my posts.

See, we walk a fine line between being human and self-realization in human form.  The things we experience (both good and bad, right and wrong) are all valuable experiences.  The most dark times, when things are ending for us, are truly a beginning of another phase of life.  Knowing this, does not make us any less pained or reactive at times.  Sometimes it can even give us what we need to let go and take the plunge into that dark, deep, cold water….knowing we will resurface ever stronger.

The other day, when I wrote “The Raw and the Cooked”, it was rather self-serving.  I knew it was ugly, but I was in pain and so, I said:  “Here it is, my dark, how do you like it???”  I wrote it almost like a child’s story….Once there was….and the girl who was now a woman…etc.   This was an attempt to make it even more ugly than it stood on it’s own.

I wrote it  to be confusing….you sometimes didn’t know, which girl, which woman was being pointed out in the story.  This is to show the way history repeats itself, and how one abused child, who tried to break a cycle, became part of a world of abuse for another child. The story is dark, nasty and honestly no attempt at showing my ability as a writer.  Just my struggling ability bring the dark into the light and burn the judgement away.

Judgement is something we all do everyday….this apple tastes better than this orange.  This person is dressed nicer.  I shouldn’t do that, that makes me look like an ass….I will wait until no one is around, and then I will do it!!

We are creatures of habit, we do what we do when we feel pain….drink, exercise, talk, cry, scream, eat, smoke…..write.  I have always uses writing as an outlet.  A way to pull out the darkest bits of me.  A way to examine something and see it for all its gnarly barbs and pointy sticks.  There are times when I write something now, and say….why did you post that?  Well, that certainly isn’t going to help business!

I have to laugh, because no matter how hard another judges me, I will judge myself ever harder.  There is no other reason for me to do what I do, except to help myself and others.  That is what I do.  I spend my own time in judgement, of myself, of others, of whatever.  We all do, we sit in judgement.   What flavor ice cream?  This one is gross, that one is good…..every flavor has value.  Every experience has value.  Every person has value.

Here is where I use my own words to heal myself…”Every person has value.”  This is the hardest thing I will ever say, but it must be said:  If every person has value, then so does the boy who was angry.  See, I thought I had brought to light my ability to forgive him for the things that he did.  It was then that I realized, it was far worse than I had ever hoped or imagined.  The boy who was angry, was angry because he was abused and neglected.  He took his victim-hood out on others.  I wore my victim-hood (and still do), like a suit of armor.  Or, as I am reminded by some words that someone once  said, not directly to me…but I got it…and often think of it:  “Don’t wear your wounds like a badge!”

Now, I must see it, feel it, and walk myself through it.  Now, I must sit in judgement of myself, and realize that a) there was nothing else that I could do or b) I just didn’t know how or c) I didn’t try hard enough.

I say:  all of the above.  Perhaps I am guilty of all three.  Perhaps I was just ignorant and afraid.  Perhaps…

Judgement.  This is what a great spiritual reader and new friend told me I would be dealing with.  Judgement is so large in my life at this moment….it’s big, it’s dark, and it’s ugly.  This is the time of facing my demons, and bringing them to rest for the moment.  I have work to do folks!

So, whatever you may think about me, or my blog, or anything else for that matter.  Please remember when it seems the darkest, and we are the most weary, is when we are doing the hardest work of our lives.  This is the darkest place that we will go, and every one of us will have to do so to walk into our own light.  If we want to fill the space inside with light, we have to get the sludge out.  There are easier ways, but I have always been on the dramatic side…so, eh, well…..what can I say.

I apologize to the little girl.  It doesn’t mean much, but I am sorry.  I am sorry that I couldn’t protect you.

Here is to being human!

May the road rise up to meet you,

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

May the rains fall soft upon your fields,

and until we meet again

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

For the sake of clarity, toast with whatever you think you should toast with!

The Raw and the Cooked


Did you ever have someone impact your life so greatly that all that you experienced…every part of it…reaped havoc on your soul for all of your days?

There once was a girl, 14 years old, sad, but hopeful…hopeful someone would come love her and heal her heart.  Hopeful that she could survive. Her mother was a drunk and a drug addict, who never protected her, and at 14 she was on her own.  Not knowing anything about living, but very well schooled in surviving, this was all she could do.

There once was a boy, 16 years old, angry and disturbed.  His father was a drunk who used his fists on his mother.  He told the girl he loved her and her heart swelled.  Then one day, her lip swelled and her body bruised, and she knew fear.  Fear that was stronger than all the fear she had felt before.

She dressed as he said, talked as he said, did as he said, and cried and cried.  One day he asked, “Why do you always cry when we make love.”  She learned to lay still and say nothing.

She learned to run and hide when he became angry, and she was never ever, ever to tell.  One day, the girl woke up and she knew something was different.  Time had slipped by and she had swelled, and bruised, and hidden a great deal now.  She was more afraid than ever….because she knew that she was different now.  Her heart swelled.  Suddenly, she felt love!

Soon her breasts swelled, her belly swelled, and her ankles swelled.  All day, every day, she thought about the baby.  All day, every day, she was afraid for the baby.  There was a day when he came to her and threw her to the ground.  “It’s time for you to die.”, he said, and told her how he would kick the baby out of her.  She lay on the ground holding her belly protecting her baby.  She was already eight months along.  She believed he would eventually kill her.

He threw all her belongings into the street and shut the door behind him.  She stood there in the middle of the night, cold, and afraid.  She picked up her things and walked away.  It was snowing and dark, but she felt better for walking.  She passed her parents house, and kept going, because she was unwelcome there.  She flipped them the bird.

She walked all night until she arrived at her aunt’s house and there she slept on the floor.  She tried to leave him, but he followed her.  He always followed her.  He followed her to work, he knew when she got her check and made sure he brought her right to the bank to cash it.  “Here is twenty dollars for you.” he would say.  She would be grateful.  He followed her when she was walking down the street, on the bus, or just in the bathroom.  One day he came in while she was using the toilet, he peed on her, and then just walked away.

He followed and watched, waited and accused, he hit and he screamed and he said “Get in the back seat, you slut!”  He did what he wanted…even when she choked.  He did what he wanted…even when she cried.  He did what he wanted.

One day, a baby girl was born and he wouldn’t let her hold her.  He took the baby and he told the social workers that he didn’t know what was wrong with her and how she wanted to leave him.  A woman came by to tell her to be nice to him, that he was trying so hard to love her.  Once they were home, he forgot all about them for sometime.  Then she was alone with her baby.  She sang to the baby and wrapped her in swaddling blankets, she fed her her breast milk and tried to stay healthy.

One day he was angry again, and he went to take the baby.  The baby was on the bed and could fall off, but she grabbed him and wouldn’t let go.  He punched her and punched her, but she wouldn’t let go.  He punched her in the stomach until she could not feel it anymore.  He punched her until he was tired, but she wouldn’t let go.  “I won’t let you hurt my baby! “, she yelled.  She stayed up at night thinking of ways to escape.

She went to the nuns, but he found her and brought her back.  She asked her dad for help, but his wife answered by calling her “Whore!” and shutting the door on her.  She went to the police, they took reports and put them in a folder.  She got a restraining order, but he broke into her new apartment and held her there and took their daughter.  He ripped out the phone and took the baby into the other room and wouldn’t give her back.  He stayed there for hours.

When she left her house he was hiding in her bushes….she ran and ran…she ran to the police station, but they “couldn’t do anything” because he was not there now. His brother knew the mayor of the town (yes, really!). They kept taking reports, but they could never find his folder when she needed it.  When she was on the bus, she watched constantly to see if he was following behind her.  They went to court.  She told social workers about being raped was told “You picked him!”, and “None of that matters!”  “Does he hurt the child?”

“No, he has not hurt the child, but I’m afraid he will.”, she said.

“Well, that is not good enough.”

They went to court over and over and over.  She kept losing her job for absences…he made it hard on her.  He said he was being denied his visits so he got more time. He assaulted her daycare provider, but the woman didn’t want to see him “go to jail over it.”  He yelled at the pediatrician because “he had rights and he wanted to see the little girl’s medical records, and Who the fuck do you think you are?!”

The girl was becoming a woman now and when the doctor called her to explain what happened, she asked for his help, but he did not want to “get involved in that!”

She got a lawyer, but couldn’t pay him.  His lawyer was paid by his well-off brother.  She asked some people to help her.  She asked someone to “take him out of the picture”….”give him a warning”….but they looked at her like she was crazy.  She didn’t feel crazy, she felt fear.  She called an abuse shelter, but they didn’t take women unless “they were currently being beaten.”

She called social services to get help.  She was getting an interview to tell her story! Her drunken mother called the social worker and told them horrible stories.  “She was only trying to help!”  The social worker cancelled her appointment.

The girl, becoming a woman, felt like a helpless child and cried and cried.  She was fired from her job.  She would get strange phone calls in the night…breathing…listening….waiting.  They went to court again. It was the last time.

“If you don’t stop coming in here, and straighten out your own issues, we will make your child a ward of the state!”  He would get her!  He would get her!  He would get her!

There was no help, no job, no place to live….she moved into a slum apartment building, with a slum landlord, and slum drug-dealers.  Someone was shot in front of her house.  The girl who was now a woman,  felt fear and she cried and cried.  The little girl was four now.

She had a new boyfriend and decided to get married….could he protect them?…would he protect them?.  They would have more money and she could work again.  She survived.

He didn’t protect them and he didn’t help.  He didn’t do anything. The woman had another little girl.  Now there were sisters..she taught them to love each other…she taught them to be careful…very, very careful…they had a code word for strangers..it was banana.  She watched and waited and prayed every day.  Take care of my baby.  Please take care of my baby.  They moved away and she hoped it would be too far for him to travel, that he would give up.  It wasn’t and he didn’t, and when she was 12 the little girl asked to not see her father any more.  The woman, could finally breathe just a small breath at a time.  Small breaths…small breaths…small breaths.   Two years passed by and they had not seen the monster.  The girl, now 14, had been going to therapy for some time.  She was “better” now.  The woman got a divorce from the man who didn’t protect them.  He did even less and still didn’t protect them.  When she asked him to check on the children when she went to school at night, he said he would, but didn’t.  The girl, now 15, and her sister, now 11 stayed home alone.  The girl, now 15, had her first boyfriend.

As sometimes happens in divorce and otherwise….the children were confused, upset, and sad.  They pointed fingers.  “Tag!, You’re It!”  As sometimes happens in divorce and otherwise, the woman was depressed and would sometimes stay in bed, she had trouble managing money and paying for their needs.  They survived.  She didn’t know how to teach them to live.

The little girl, now a woman, married her high school sweetheart when she was just twenty, she had a beautiful baby girl, and was a good mother.  The woman did not know how unhappy her daughter was.  She did not know that the daughter was drinking or feeling depressed or that she was having difficulty.

The little girl, who was now a woman was drinking away her memories.  The little girl drank too much and too often.  The little girl was suffering and trying to do everything right, but didn’t have the support she needed.  Things happened that shouldn’t have, and the little girl’s family came apart at the seams.  The sister went one way, the girl went another, the mother went this way, and the little girl’s little girl went to live away.

The woman cried.  She cried until she had no more tears.

The little girl came to the woman and told her she remembers, she remembers what her father did to her.  The little girl, who was now a woman cried and was very frightened.  She didn’t know what to do.

The mother cried, but it didn’t help anything.  The little girl, who was now a woman drank, but it didn’t help anything.

The little girl, who was now a woman hated her mother……why did you let that happen to me?

The woman, who was no longer young, or a little girl tried to explain all that she did to keep her safe, but it didn’t help anything.  The woman knew it was her fault too.

They yelled and swore and left each other, and now the little girl is gone, the little girl’s little girl is gone, and the woman stands alone.