According to me…..

Posts tagged ‘pain’

Life seems to have gone crazy…

Trigger warning:  I haven’t been here in a long time.  I’m still doing all I did before… Only two jobs and one volunteer.  The long distance relationship.. well, it’s busy and painful and beautiful.  It might not end well.   I do love him.  The police tell me they have arrested my dad… I guess he isn’t allowed to leave the country and has to go to court to set a date.  This will take a long time.  I wonder if he will live that long.  Thing is… if he just admitted it… I’d have closure.  I guess … him being charged again, same charge – is a bit of closure.  It’s the world saying ok, we know it happened and the process has begun to make amends.  But no one can make amends for what he did.  No one can fix it.  17 years of abuse… I’ve been living with / through… I kid myself if I think it hasn’t affected my world.  What do I want?  I never wanted jail time for him… just help.. but there is no help for that.  So I don’t know.

I’m living in a warehouse.  I’m probably going to be homeless at some point.  The city says we aren’t allowed to live here.. but I love it here.   My day consists of biking to an apartment to shower… handwashing dishes in cold water, carrying buckets of water up and down.  Of wondering when I’m going to be homeless .. and my cat too.  I wasn’t stable enough to have a pet.. but she was left to me, so I have her and love her.

I’m really shitty with money.  It’s not the end of the month yet and I’m broke. lol

I drink too much.  I think I have to quit.  I’m destroying myself.  I’m destroying my relationships.  I’ve decided to look up Al-anon meetings tomorrow… it’s my first step.  I should be in AA and IA… but one step at a time.

Basically I’m a mess and I don’t even know why I’m writing except to get it out.

It’s been a horrid week… I saw a dog get killed and my friend’s mom died on her birthday and all the rest. I don’t know.

That’s all for now.  Maybe later I can write something more important.

No Title here for Unknown Callers.

Trigger warning:  My child within is screaming at me.  DO IT!  My adult self has furrowed brows.

I got a call today – blasted unknown numbers – they never portend anything good.  This one left me a message and asked me to call back.  Some calls should not be answered.  Or should they?

The police wanted me to call them.  I did what any self respecting Google fan would do and I searched their location first.  I found them located in an area I haven’t lived in or near since I was young.  An area I’d sooner forget exists.  I returned the phone call – my stomach churning with dread, a dread that only a call from police can elicit.  I found myself nearly whispering into the phone as if not giving voice to it would make it gone – like a child stepping up to an adult in fear – knowing they are in trouble, but waiting to hear what for.

The officer was gentle with me, thanked me for calling and told me that they were clearing up old files and they’ve come across one from me as the complainant.  I laughed nervously while my mind quickly sorted through years of life and people – unable to grasp onto anything that could possibly be a reason for this call.  She said it was *from about 1980 – and it involved*, she hesitated *your step father*?  I stopped breathing.  She asked me to wait while she collected her files.  *No, no… your father, Peter.*  My lungs let go.  I couldn’t see the forest for all the trees.  This was the last thing I’d have expected – the biggest thing of all.  How did they find me?  My phone isn’t even under my name.

31 years it took them to call.   31 years of me feeling no one cared, and that it all didn’t matter.   When I tried 20 years ago to restart this, no paperwork could be found on it.  I even quoted an officer who had once come to our home.  Officer Lamb… I think.  My mother had strangled me one day, leaving finger marks around my neck – and my dad called the police and told them I was dead.  The officer told my dad he would *dance on his eyebrows* if he ever made a call like that again.  Still, they found nothing.  I felt like I was crazy like it never happened. Today I’m told she has information – right on her desk.

I told my dad that I would hunt him down if I ever found out that he hurt his next three children.  I called his new wife and told her… all she could say was don’t take it to court and I’ll make sure it never happens.  I called the kid’s school and asked them to keep an eye on the kids.  Then I put it behind me, or tried.  I haven’t done a very good job of it.  I’m actually quite a mess and I like to think I hide it.

My earliest memory is from when I was about 7.  The rest is gone from my mind – probably best.  Night after night of *count to ten and come to my room*.  Second after second of trying to squeeze my whole being shut.  Of watching the glowing red numbers on a clock and making everything else vanish.  Days of incessant counting so I wouldn’t think or feel, hiding, wishing I was invisible.  Dreading that knock on the door when I was in the bathroom.  Hearing the vicious fights and knowing they were about me again.  Nights where terror wore his face, days where it wore hers.  The beatings because I was a *slut* at 12, the blood, the fear.  I didn’t even know what a slut was.  The *you are special, my number one, and this is our secret*, and *if you tell they will take me away* kind of sick love/control, and the lies and pain and horror and secrets.  And the deep, deep shame – shame that I was to hold onto for many years to come.  Shame I would later learn stemmed from my body reacting exactly how it should… shame that belonged to him for abusing my trust.

All the craziness.  Cars being driven up walls, comforters cut in two, walls ripped down, knives carving furniture, climbing off roofs to get the police, screaming, homeless, caught in a car in a *compromising position* craziness.  Being fed booze and when I was sick – cough syrup and 222’s… to knock me out for convenience.  Living in family shelters, being made a ward of the court and put in a group home for pregnant teenage girls to keep me away from my parents.  Seeing my friend being raped by him.  My brothers and sister hating me for being crazy – and eventually disowning me.  Being raped and then beaten until I miscarried.  Going to court – getting no closure.  Years of repeating this cycle in one way or another.  All relationships have been just that – one type of abuse or another, cycles and cycles of them as if I’m more comfortable with crazy, as that’s what I knew.

And standing up again, wiping the shit off my knees and my soul.  Getting help, finding dignity, learning to love again – myself and others.  Years of trying to stop hating myself, and of trying to undo 16 years of old tapes they put there… tapes that played in my head and told me I was no good.  And it must be true, look what happened!  It took 16 years for that to be embedded / imprinted on my soul and it has taken much longer to undo.  I’m still trying, and I’m moving forward and trying to be a good person.  I try to do what’s right.  I’m not perfect, but I don’t have to be – I’m doing my best with the tools I have.  I’m right where I should be given the circumstances.

Then today happened.  That damn unknown caller just couldn’t butt out.  I asked for time to think about what I will do. I have until next Thursday.

I know that it’s right to go ahead – morally.  I know that there were others that were hurt and that could be hurt in the future.  I know that there is no help for the sickness that has taken his soul, and that he had no right to do any of the things he did.  I know that if someone else told me they were going through this I would tell them – do it! 

Now I’m 45 – no longer 16.  He has three more grown children.  Children that could possibly know nothing about this.  Am I responsible for ruining their lives if they haven’t been exposed to this yet?  I know it’s still him ruining their lives if this goes forward – it was his actions  – but I do have a choice now as to whether I let it go or pursue it and to pursue it could make it my fault they are hurt now.  Will I get closure from doing this?  Is it closure enough that they finally called?  Acknowledgment?  Validation?  Does it matter what I need?  What if I do nothing and his kids have kids… and so on and so on.

What if what if what if.  Would it be vindictive to go forward with this at this late of a date?  Self pity?  Or is it the right thing to do, the perfectly right course of action given the pain and horror I’ve been living.  Is my closure worth destroying more lives?  In his first marriage there were five of us that were ruined.  If I go on with this, another four people will be hurt.  Is this my concern?  I know he is responsible for it, but it’s in my court, as they say.  How do I know they aren’t already hurt?  What if they hide it like I do, and did?  What if me coming forward gives them the strength to come forward? Or they are horrified.

What will this do to me?  Will it set me back, or give me a sense of justice.  If I decide to go on… do I forewarn the kids?  How will I feel if he goes to jail – he’s 65 and it was over 30 years ago?  But it was 16 years of my life.  I trusted him.  When I tried to take him to court last time the judge asked me what I wanted to see happen.  I said not jail, but I don’t want him to be able to hurt anyone else, ever again.  It’s been so long. 

I was asked today if I had it all behind me, and I said no, no I don’t.  *Then there is your answer*… is it all that simple?

So many questions.  So much to consider.  So heavy on my heart.  Today I found myself standing by a pond, wind blowing – feeling how I used to feel – and thinking of the song Magic Power by Triumph.  I found myself not wanting to talk to anyone.  Not wanting to reach out to those that care.  I found myself wanting to hide again.  I keep going to sleep.  My head hurts, my heart hurts.

The moral of the story?  Unknown callers are evil.

Update:  I intend to go ahead with this.  I cannot turn from it.  After seeking advice from all who love me and from my inner self – it would be very wrong to not go ahead with this.  The choice to not do it would be much harder.  I’ve lived with it this long – I can certainly put up the fight needed to fix it.

Special thanks to my son.  Your letter was phenomenal.  My daughter… thank you for offering to come with me.  You both mean the world to me.  My guy?  Steady as a rock you are.  My friends?  There are no words… thank you all so much for all your support, your wisdom, your hugs – and your ass kickings.  lol  xoxoxox

Another thought that just came to me.  Why don’t I want him to go to jail?  When I hear on the news that someone has hurt a child this way… and they only get five years, I’m thoroughly disgusted.  He’s no different.

Update:  Oct 7, 2018

It’s taken me this long, two years, to make this a public post and update it.

I did go to court.  I did – sort of – have my say.  Lawyers are experts at stopping you from talking.  They tripped me up on addresses and locations.  Given that it was 30 years ago and I was a child… that’s a pretty horrible, cowardly thing to do.  The judge said that he knew “something” had happened but because of my mother not backing me.. and my memory not being cement, he couldn’t say beyond a shadow of a doubt.  At least I tried.  After that, my father turned and laughed at me, mocked me.  I’ll never get that out of my mind.  Did I get closure?  Nope.  I now don’t believe there is such a thing.  There is, however, being a better parent to yourself than they were.  They were pretty piss poor parents.

Latest Project – Transgender Day of Remembrance.

~Transgender Month of Remembrance~

I have the day off, I have the day off!    🙂

Well, sort of. lol  I don’t have to physically GO anywhere…. so that to me, is a day off.  🙂

My latest project.  This month, November, is Transgender Month of Remembrance.  The official day this year for the 12th Transgender DAY of Remembrance is November 20th.  It’s a month to think on and remember all those that have died brutally, cruelly because of something they have no control over.  No one would choose to be *the wrong sex*.  No one is born and thinks… *hey, I think I’d like to be the opposite sex than what I was born as, because I want to be ridiculed and beaten and murdered*.  It’s not about being gay, and it’s not about making the *wrong*  life choices, it’s about being born genetically one sex but really feeling you are the other.  Why is this so important to some folks on this planet, that they need to destroy lives, to squash people?  How does it affect their lives, and why does it?  Are they really so weak and easily threatened?  By what?  Another human simply wanting to feel right about themselves?  It’s disgusting that people have to go through this pain and degradation, murder, and that no one is screaming it from the rooftops… alerting the public, stopping it!

This last week I’ve been putting together a video / slide show.  We’ve gathered as many names as we could find, and trust me, there are too many.  In order to add each person to a slide, I did some extra research.  I’ve read about some of the most devastatingly nasty crimes that I’ve ever heard of.  In a world where so much horror is publicized daily…how did these things never make the papers?  The crimes I’ve read about are beyond comprehension.  People are being decapitated.  They are being dismembered.  They get tortured, and are held captive in horrid conditions for days sometimes before being killed in some unmentionable manner.   Gunned down in the streets, without a thought.  Burned, bruised, hurt.  Dumped, unceremoniously in ditches.

I’ve read about a 16 month old boy that was beaten to death by a 20 year old… The 20 year old said that he was trying to make the boy *act more like a boy, and not like a little girl*.

I’ve read about a woman that was held captive in a pit for two days, brutally beaten, abused, and murdered.

And so much more.  Too much more.  It makes me nauseous deep in my soul to be part of the human race, the part that is capable of such evil atrocities.

I had a friend.  Her name was Ericka Fenton.  She was so loved… generous to a fault, and fun.  She always appeared to be happy, even when she had no reason to be.  She was always ready for a dance, in for any party with her many friends…to go with Ericka for the night was to have a time to remember.  Everyone loved her.  But she didn’t know this… or she didn’t know it deeply enough.  She was very often beaten.  I can’t count how many times she was in hospital.  She was once taken down to the bluffs and held hostage.  Beaten and abused by a group of men.  She was pushed down stairs, run over by a bus, everyday was a struggle for her.  She wanted to create a website to try and raise money to get a sex change.  She was all woman, there was nothing male about her.  She struggled with depression and one day she had enough – her love of life was beaten out of her.  She jumped off a bridge and ended her life.  Many people miss her.  At her funeral I met some of her family and I met a whole group of people that were her friends that I’d never imagined or known about… we were her east end friends.  She also had a massive group of west end friends.  They were wonderful people and it was an honor to meet them all and share our love for Ericka.  We all knew that we suffered her loss because the world was harsh and mean to her.  Could we have helped?

This slide show I offered to create for our group, Queer Action Committee (QUAC) at South Riverdale Community Health Centre, was hard work.  It was gruelling and well worth the effort.  I cried many times during the making of this video.  I felt a deep respect for each person I read about, and felt their loss and pain.  I had started out with an 8 minute slide in my mind.  With all the information that was sent to me by the hard working group, the video grew to 200 slides, and it was 15 minutes long.  There were well over 200 people represented.  200 lost people.  200 humans that weren’t loved for who they were, because they were brave enough to try and live a life that made their hearts happy.  A life they were comfortable in.  I could have made the slide show much longer, there was no way to represent all of the people lost, to date.

Shame on us.  Shame on all the monsters that selfishly, cruelly, and callously take away these wonderful, precious people… and shame on the lack of protection from society for these brave and wonderful souls.

o yes, I’m happy to have a day off.  Would I trade the last week for a day off?  No… I have the luxury of having a day off and I can appreciate it, because I know I’m lucky, today.

~~Lost, but never ever forgotten.~~

Transgendered people have two symbols to choose from. The first and most obvious is a merging of the male and female symbols rather than interlocking. By putting both the cross and the arrow on the same ring, it symbolizes the male and female parts inherent in one person. This symbol is the most inclusive of the two and most recognizable. In the simplest sense, it indicates some level of androgyny.

Another symbol though, disregards the Mars and Venus symbols altogether and uses the Mercury symbol. In Greek mythology, Aphrodite (Venus) had a child with Mercury (Hermes). The child was named Hermaphroditus and possessed both male and female genitalia. Thus the origin of the word hermaphrodite. Since Hermaphroditus didn’t have a specific symbol, the symbol for Mercury was borrowed in this instance to represent a transgendered person. Mercury’s symbol has a cross extending down to represent femininity and a crescent moon at the top to represent masculinity. The two are placed at opposite ends of the circle to strike a balance between the male and female parts. This symbol seems to speak more to those trangendered persons who identify hermaphroditically or andgroynously.

This information was gathered from THIS SITE… with many thanks.

OH yes, my body hates me.

It’s official.


Just over three miles and it would like to protest, thank you very much.  I used to be used to this biking business…and my body used to play along.  Sigh…love getting older. lol  The new diet didn’t help.  Had to bail at the side of the road and gobble down some strawberries and a pickle for fear of collapsing.  lol

But I made it…. yay…..


Once upon a time, a woman moved to a cave in the mountains to study with a guru.  She wanted, she said, to learn everything there was to know.  The guru supplied her with stacks of books and left her alone so she could study.  Every morning, the guru returned to the cave to monitor the woman’s progress.  In his hand, he carried a heavy wooden cane.  Each morning, he asked her the same question:  “Have you learned everything there is to know yet?”  Each morning, her answer was the same.  “No,” she said, “I haven’t.”  The guru would then strike her over the head with his cane.

This scenario repeated itself for months.  One day the guru entered the cave, asked the same question, heard the same answer, and raised his cane to hit her in the same way, but the woman grabbed the cane from the guru, stopping his assault in midair.
Relieved to end the daily batterings but fearing reprisal, the woman looked up at the guru.  To her surprise, the guru smiled.  “Congratulations,” he said, “you have graduated.  You now know everything you need to know.”
“How’s that?” the woman asked.

“You have learned that you will never learn everything there is to know,” he replied.  “And you have learned how to stop the pain.”

~Author N/A~

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