Poems

"Incested.

She learned real young in life, in order to get by she must do what is expected and never question why...
It didn't seem to matter how she felt- or why she cried... Each time she was Incested more child-likeness died...
Too young to understand why she deserved the thing-she buried her emotions and the torture it would bring.
He said that she must never tell another living soul- too small to know the reason, yet...she knew...she wasn't whole.
She felt it was imprinted for all the world to see- I am dirty, I am ugly, please.. Don't look at me.
She'd never heard of incest yet she knew its symptoms well... The harder that she tried, it seemed, the harder then she fell...
She knew she was responsible for everybody's pain- so she tried hard to fix it over... And over...again."

-unknown

"A Choice"

She had no choice when she was little,
She thought she must obey
She wanted it all to stop
But she did not see a way

Like a lamb to the slaughter
Over and over again
She felt so very helpless--
When would it ever end?

Was life supposed to hurt so much?
What had she done wrong--
To deserve to be used like this?
She thought on it hard and long

If she could only figure out
The reason she was so "bad"
Maybe she could make it all stop
It was the only hope she had

But no matter how good she was,
No matter how hard she tried,
The nightmare went on and on--
And something in her died

"There is no hope for me," she thought
"I guess I'm just too bad"--
And so day followed weary day
For a child who was always sad

Eventually it did all end,
This killing of her soul--
But by then it hardly mattered
She would never be whole

She blocked it all from her mind
But it shaped her whole life
She grew up not understanding
This pain that cut like a knife

Then one day it all came flooding back
It was almost too much to take--
After trying to deny it, she had to admit,
There was no way it could be fake

But, accepting it and dealing with it
Are two very different things
And it would be years before she started
The journey that healing brings

This is, of course, MY story,
That little girl was me--
I was the one who had no choice,
Only the longing to be free

Now I struggle on day by day,
I have a worthy goal--
To overcome the abuse of my past
To someday, somehow, be whole

There are many obstacles to deal with
And the way grows very long,
But as I face each new step
I find I have grown strong

Hope wells up within me--
I believe this can be done
Standing tall, I take a deep breath
And turn my face in to the sun

No longer a child, now I have a choice
And no one can take that away--
I am no longer helplessly obedient
To healing, I am finding a way.

- Author Unknown...but I love it.

Little girl

Little girl with long blond hair
hides in her room again tonight.
Another long day has come to an end,
maybe this time she'll get it right.
Her desperate prayers have got to be wrong.
His answers shouldn't take this long.
She dials His number and recites the words,
...nobody ever seems to be home.
She looks out the window and checks the sky
...the lights are on but nobody answers the phone.
So she fixes her nightgown and crawls back into bed,
she straightens her blankets and lays down her head.
This little girl with long blond hair
will wait another night for someone to care.

Blond haired girl with eyes of gray
wakes up alone, just another day.
She goes through the motions like the day before
never thinking there might be something more.
This life of hers is as good as it gets
she "should be grateful and have no regrets."
But the pain inside just grows and grows
This poor girl hurts and nobody knows...

...it won't stop hurting. I can't make it go away. I can't stop crying on this miserable day. I keep on praying, but it doesn't help at all. I can't last much longer. Who will notice my fall? I'm screaming inside, but no one can hear. I'm dying inside, all I feel is fear. I'm so tired of always feeling cold. I'm sick of not having a hand to hold. I'm sick and tired of coming in second place. I hate closing my eyes and seeing your face. Everyone seems too busy to care. It's not like I expect them to notice or share, but why can't they look? Why don't they see that I am not who I am pretending to be. So many tears still roll down my face, leaving behind only but a trace, of many painful memories that can never be erased...

She writes these words in a desperate plea, hoping to God that someone might see.

Another tearful night but she doesn't muffle her cries
praying the Lord will take her soul when she dies.
The blond haired girl is little no more.
Looking back makes her sick, sick to her core.

...Sometimes the hurting subsides, but it never goes away. It only perpetuates the cycle that I believe will always stay. I'm so afraid to cry, to believe, admit, or even ask why. So I just doubt, second guess, and justify all of the confusion I feel inside...

In case you haven't noticed, if you don't see,
this poem is a story all about me.

...I have a secret that nobody knows
shhhh! Should I tell? This is how it goes:
Everything I am is a happy cliche--big smiles, endless laughter
but that's only today. What happens behind closed doors? When the world gets in the way?
There's no point in screaming...nobody hears you anyway.

Raindrops on my windshield are the tears I cannot cry.
Loneliness surrounds me while life passes by.
Dreaming comes so easily because it's all that I've known.
Truth is a fairytale. I'm scared and I'm alone.
My darkest days are behind me, still nothing seems quite right,
as I sort my lost emotions on this long and sleepless night.
I know it's not just me who feels horrible inside.
I'm exhausted from always trying to expose these things I hide.
Yet, it's all just temporary--these things I do and say.
Maybe soon I will be able to heal.
Starting today...

~SS
written September 2010

I'm learning...

After awhile you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul. And you learn that love doesn't mean possession and company doesn't mean security. And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts, and presents aren't promises. And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace of an adult not the grief of a child. You learn to build your roads today because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans, and that futures have ways of falling down in mid-flight. After awhile you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much. So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure, that you really are strong, you really do have worth; and you learn.
   ©1971 Veronica A. Shoffstall 

Pain

All I can think of is I’m glad I didn’t do it. I was so close but just couldn’t go through with it. After that I thought I was weak; too scared to take my life. But still no one even noticed that I had a problem. Everyone simply looked the other way. I was just passed by. It’s strange how I felt- I was so good at faking it, that everyone thought I was fine! I was just a happy-go-lucky and optimistic girl. It’s surprising how powerful you can feel when you are able to manipulate. I also felt crushed that nobody cared. Was I that good of an actress, I could just paint on a smile and everyone was convinced?  I was hurting so badly, and the only way I knew to make it go away I was too pathetic to do. I had the perfect plan, nothing would go wrong. It would have been done.  All I had to do was pull the trigger, sweaty in my nervous, fourteen year-old hand. There I was, in the basement, at my father's desk, in an empty house. But something made me put that gun down. I still don’t know what. I cried for days. I was ashamed and embarrassed of my helplessness. Still, nobody knew how close I was. Life just went on like nothing happened. Going back to school the next day...everything as it was the day before, but I was forever changed. Will I ever get to that point again? Could I ever actually do it? Can I promise myself that I will never feel that way again?

Awakening

I was laying in bed thinking, as I usually do, and I had a profound moment. I have been through a lot. I mean I have made it past a great number of experiences. A little over a year ago I was so broke that I applied for food stamps. When I was denied, I had to live on a grocery budget of $25 per month. I sold gold jewelry that my Grandmother gave me to pay my bills. I did my laundry at a friend's apartment...or blend in with the students and break into the laundry rooms at the local university. I refused to go back "home" to ask for money or to use their things. I refused to be guilt tripped and controlled, again, by those who abused me my entire life. I had finally broken free from their grasp. I didn't care how hard it was going to be. I was working 4 jobs (two of them were for no monetary compensation) and going to graduate school. ...It all just kind of hit me. I do value life, my own life...when for so long I was convinced that I didn't have any worth. If that's true than how in hell have I made it this far? Sometimes in those quiet solitary moments, just before you're greeted with sleep, you have a great awakening. A beautiful experience of strength and resilience. I am strong. Maybe I am a survivor...

Ghost

First of all, there is about to be a lot more self-disclosure here. I'm not exactly comfortable with it, but hopefully I can maintain some level of anonymity. I have been wanting to share this for a while so I'm just going to do it.

This is a charcoal "projective" technique I did in an art therapy class a few years ago. Our directions were to draw a scribble with our eyes closed and then complete the drawing...whatever it is and come up with a story about the image. We were then asked to title our drawings and hang them up around the room. Then the class was given the opportunity to discuss them and process them (if we wanted to). Projective techniques are supposed to tap into our unconscious selves. Those who wanted to share, did. Those who didn't want to, didn't-including me. Then everyone was asked if they have any they wanted to know more about-they all pointed to mine. I refused to share. Others' in the class were unrecognizable scribbles still. Others were turned into hearts and such. One woman's was titled "Woman of life and love" and resembled a woman sitting and hugging herself.

This is what came out of me. I am not an artist. I can't draw to save my life, at least not normally. I was shocked by this. I am actually a bit proud of it. My story was that this little girl was/is me as a ghost-sitting and staring at my own grave. I know that's terribly morbid, but in my story I was also born dead... so strange. But this is literally what popped in my head. I had to go with it and be honest. That's why I didn't want to share.

One of the diagnostic criteria for PTSD is a sense of a foreshortened future...meaning you don't believe you will live a long and fulfilling life. I had always believed I would never live past 18. All of my friends would punch me, but I truly did not see myself living into adulthood. I did this drawing in class just a few short months before my little triggering incident that sent me spiraling into my past and history of all sorts of abuse. But it was definitely a warning sign of what was to come.

I guess our subconscious really is much stronger than we think...and sometimes it will literally shout out to us in order to finally be heard.

Well...now that I am capable of receiving the messages, I'm finally listening.

~SS

Anniversary

On this very night, New Years Eve two years ago, I experienced a "scary situation" (I'm still not quite sure what to call it, so call it what you will). This was the triggering event that finally opened the floodgates, unlocked Pandora's box, and shined the light on my life. All of my past experiences of abuse and assault came rushing back with such unstoppable power. This was the beginning of my treacherous and labile healing journey that I am just now beginning to navigate. For that reason alone, I am glad it happened. This is the story...

It was NYE 2009. My roommates and I decided to throw another epic party at a local bar just couple of blocks from our apartment. We had a great time the year before and it couldn't have been any easier! It was a relatively inexpensive party that included kegs of beer, all you can drink well liquor/all you can eat appetizers and a champagne toast at midnight with ~30 of our closest friends. We knew the bar owner from working down the street from my best friend's salon. We had the perfect apartment for people to crash at and we would all go out to eat for breakfast the next day. I was wearing a knee-length cute grey dress with light brown 70's style slouch boots with buckles on the side, curled my long blond hair, and borrowed some jewelry from my roommate. The party itself was a blast. We had drinking game stations around the bar-beer-pong, flip-cup (canoe for those of you), quarters, and just card games all spread out. The TVs were all going with the different networks' NYE footage. Good food, good company, and good times all around. Once midnight struck, the night changed. Some guests of our friends got a little out of hand and drank too much. There was vomit on the bar, on the floor in the bathroom, in the sink in the bathroom...just a disaster. Last year we all helped clean up- since the owner did us a huge favor by allowing us to throw such a crazy party, we stayed and helped him. This year, it was suggested that everyone just leave. As all the folks were rounded up to stumble back to our apartment, I decide to quickly use the bathroom. No big deal, everyone was still standing around the bar. Cue twilight zone theme song...
I walk out of the bathroom and everyone had left. I see the door across the room slam shut with all of my friends walking down the street. I see the bar owner and his daughter cleaning up, looking disgruntled. I thank them both, apologize again for the disaster, and offer to stay and help while grabbing my coat and scarf. After all he was a relatively trusted business owner who had helped us have a great time two years in a row. I felt guilty. He said no it's alright, we'll clean tomorrow, come have another drink. I really shouldn't, but alright, thank you. Another vodka tonic with lime. *text messages from friends "where are you?" "Still here, [Sal] is a chatty Kathy tonight come help me!" "Alright have one drink then get out of there!" "I can't I'm stuck here come back." As his daughter finished counting her tips, he fed me more drinks "you don't turn down free booze." His daughter leaves and the next thing I know it's two hours later and [Sal] locks the doors. I see a police squad car drive by...he waves to the cop and sits back down next to me at the bar. It's now around 3 am. **text messages "Are you still there?" "yes help me." He proceeds to tell me how great of a business owner he is, how all the others in our town suck and that they'll all eventually fail. He, of course, will never fail because he knows everyone and has all the cops on his side....he's basically untouchable. Meanwhile, he begins to come on to me. "Help!! Please get me out of here" .... "Help!" "Help!!" to three of my friends. Hand on my thigh, brushing my cheek, playful shove. -he was in his late 40's/early 50's and I in my early-mid twenties...I was not okay with this. I however, had been drinking heavily for nearly 6 hours. ~side note, I always fight the effects of alcohol. I always wanted to be in control. I would, unfortunately, fight so hard that I wouldn't know when I was at my limit. I would surpass buzz and go straight to wasted because I just fought it.~ His come-ons were getting much stronger. I would try to avoid him but he had to be close to 6 feet tall. *parts of this a bit blurry... at some point he presses my body against the bar and has the scarf that's wrapped around my neck in his hands. He kisses me. I remember his scratchy beard and middle-aged man tongue...I tell him to stop; politely at first but he continued. He tries to reach under my dress and I desperately shout "I'm the same age as your daughter, are you picturing her right now?" He tells me that's disgusting and to shut up. "You're old enough to be my father." I try to slip passed him but his weight is pressed against me, with the bar behind me and two bar chairs on either side of us. He tells me to be quiet and just relax. As he takes a brief breath from eating my face...I pull my face away from his, and say I have to pee. He says, yeah, so does he...
I had to use the men's room because the women's had vomit everywhere. I try to compose myself in there and make a plan. I tear up as I look at my drunken reflection in the mirror, "how the hell am I gonna get out of here...he locked the doors." In my drunken state I remembered that the lock was above the glass on the door pushed into the door frame. I put on my best sober face and walk out, coat on, and scarf straightened. My feet hurt. Thank GOD he really did have to pee. As soon as he closed the bathroom door, I ran to the door, figured out how to unlock it and bolted. I ran down the block with the bars, shops, restaurants and salon...turn the corner out of sight from his bar...cross the train tracks, and run home...in my cute boots. Tears are streaming down my face. It's maybe 4 in the morning. Two squad cars drive right past me...
I get to my apartment and everyone is passed out. I go to my bedroom and all I want to do is go to bed....but two drunken idiots decide they would get lucky in my room and lock my door! I break down, fall to the floor pounding on the door, sobbing uncontrollably. I crawl to my roommate's room. Somebody's sleeping on the floor, I wake her and her boyfriend up. "Who's in my room?" crying..."Who the hell is in my room? Get them out!" In their drunkenness they try to help. Finally whoever was in there leaves. I am still uncontrollably crying. "Are you crying?" "Yeah" "Why what happened? What time is it?" I tell her briefly what happened and she sits down next to me on my bed. "Do you want me to help you change? Are you okay? Did he rape you? What do you want...I have no idea what to do...what do you ..? I'm sorry I'm drunk...I have no idea how to help you." "Just leave, I'm fine. No he didn't rape me. Yes it scared the shit out of me. No I have no idea why. Just go...I'm fine." "Are you sure? I'm so sorry, I just...I have no..." "Just get out. All I want to do is go to bed."
I pass out fully clothed, with my cute boots still on.

The next morning...I find a condom wrapper on the floor and I just cry again.
We all go out to breakfast. My roommate pays for me out of pity.
Everyone leaves, we come back to the apartment and I just lock myself in my room all day.
My journal entry that day begins with.... "I'm off to a swimming start this year. Definitely something to be proud of...Happy Fucking New Year!"


.......

I started seeing a wonderful social worker three weeks later who specializes in sexual assault, sexual abuse and domestic violence. I realized I have a long history of sexual (and other) abuse.
None of my friends ever went back to that restaurant/bar. Nobody spoke to him ever again. His business shut down a little over one year later. He looked like shit, aged 20 years, and lost his OTHER job as well. I'm glad his business failed. Is that bad? There are other things rumored about him and his family...but those are just harsh and mean-true or not. I'm just glad I don't see him around town anymore.

That's my story. If you read it all, thank you.

~SS