Untitled

after combivir,
viread,
childbirth,
losing my bowels on john's bedroom floor,
still.
keep on...
confuse.
wet body dance
for blood heart cry

Girl Back Home

Last night just as I finished packing my son's sippy cups into his bookbag for the morning I got a text message on my cell phone - an Amber Alert - which said a 4 year old girl was taken by a man, and his liscense plate number is and she weighs...

I laid in bed and cried and cried for her, and then for the Johnny Gosch children that Angela recently brought to our attention.

And now she's home. She got back to her mommy. God bless you, baby.

Strong hands don't equal...

For those of you who don't know, I'm a massage therapy student. I want to get more into my body and help other people get more into theirs (whoa).

When I've been working on people during the past few weeks the way that I think it feels best to be worked on (with strong hands that know where they're going and don't make the skin and the tissues underneath the skin afraid). I've been noticing time and time again that everytime my hands hold tissue or body parts a certain way - firmly - I feel like I shouldn't like what I'm doing because I see my dad's hands in mine. I feel my dad's hands in mine. I don't want to work on client's with my dad's hands.

Which brings me to the question... do strong hands have to equal my dad's hands? How to claim my hands and my strength as my own?

What I'm for

I'm in the process of beginning EMDR with a therapist that I've recently started seeing. A few days ago she had me bring up the memory that I wanted to start the processing with. The youngest memories are so fuzzy that it doesn't feel right to me to start there. Even though the abuse doesn't historically begin at 15, that's where it seems to begin to me in my head. So we're starting there. I pulled up a moving picture in my head and she asked me to describe it to her. After a few minutes I was asked what belief was coming up. It was

"This is what I'm for."

That's what it taught me. That that's why I exist. To be laid open again and again under a never ending man, a never ending weight. No fucking wonder. No wonder I've done what I've done since. If this is what I'm for, my life up until this fall makes so much sense.

oh my god!

What freedom will come with letting myself completely believe that this is not what I'm for? Well I'm getting there and I'm loving it.

I'm a Little Trauma Ball Short and Stout

I woke up after a very bad few hours of sleep with the teapot song in my head. So... this.

Repeat After Me

I am not my father. I am not my father.
I am not my father. I am not my father.
I am not my fath
I am not my father
I am not my
I am not
I am

not my father

Tiptoeing. Is that how you spell tip toe ing?

Memory Artist asked where I've gone (thank you).

I've been getting back more of a real life than I've ever had. Letting myself be vulnerable for a change. WOO

I've been dealing with sickness... my son has been sick and it scares me... I've been sick and today I have to whisper because my throat and ears hurt so much. I hate not having a voice. But when I have one I don't know what to do with it.

Like here, on my blog. I've been away because I've been tired and busy and sick or taking care of my sick son, but I've really been away because I don't know what else to say. Sometimes I get tired of being angry, of being active, of being brave. Sometimes I just want to ignore it or sleep through it or study/drive/spend/paint/tiptoe around it...

Happy New Year... all you have to lose is your virginity.

Last year on New Year's Eve, the anniversary of my first rape (which I wanted to write in a tiny and HUGE font at once), my best friend and I went to that place - behind a movie theater - and performed a healing ritual. I left white roses on the ground for her (15 year old me). The details about what we actually did are fuzzy though I still have photos, writings, and my journal entries. After midnight we slept and I finished the ritual with my mom as the sun rose, speaking of new beginnings and watching the night turn into day because I never had expected that to happen again on the same night 4 years earlier. It was beautiful. I felt like I had resolved something unnameable that needed resolution.


This New Year's, I was pretty sick with a ear (neck/life) infection or something. When I got home from the urgent care clinic, my family was at my house. At 9:26 pm my legs tingled and I knew what I have known every other year at that minute but never have known inbetween. That that was when. In my head I watched a crying person with their head in their hands who was seated in a chair about 4 feet away from the person who was being raped and the three of us were unaware of each other but we were all the same. I laid on the couch drifting in and out of sleep and my best friend stopped over (on her way to play kazoo downtown to set a world record) and left a letter she had written me on my chest. There was an asthma attack at 11:59:41 and after the ball dropped Fergie and Ludacris and all these other dudes started singing mostly skanky songs. NBC bleeped out the words "hard" and "wet." My "favorite" part was Luda's line "all you have to lose is your virginity."