pieces

Random thoughts that mean everything and nothing . . . kept tonight . .. .


being on the bunk, michael and stacy . . . I was very afraid. There was tickling and my "uncle" but the fear was that the uncle would hurt me. How would I have had that fear? How old was I? I think around three. Trying to hide up against the wall so I wouldn't be reached or touched. everybody laughed. I laughed. but why was there fear.]

the nightmare

There is a door leading down the steps . .. I go down the steps, sometimes only four or five, sometimes its very long. There is darkness . . .a sense of disarray. Dirt, lots of dirt. there is dirt on the walls and floor. Things are crumbling. I want to get out and I begin to try to leave. I can't leave. Im' being grabbed . . . people are grabbing me. There are voices but I don't seem to be able to connect to the voice. I'm trying to yell and I can't yell. . . . I see teh stairs but I can't reach them. Im going to die. I choking. I'm dying. I'm scared . . . I try to escape but I can't go anywhere. I'm stuck. I think im dying. I can see the stairs. they are there, I can see them. I can sometimes feel them.

Michael is there, we are in a sand box, my dress is yellow and has two ruffles on the bottom. My legs are open. Michael is there. It hurts. I don't want my mom to see. im embarrased. I have pigtails. a curl in the pigtail. im scared. im embarrased. I want to go away. somebody comes. there is sand.


im sick, everybody is calling me a sickie. im upset and angry. I don't want to be the dirty bad girl. im hiding behind a hedge of grapes or floewrs. im crying. I am afraid of kendall. he has a beard and is scary. he kisses me, i don't want him to kiss me, its wet. I am a bad girl. bad girl. im sick and nobody wants to touch me, im contaminated or dirty or feel very yucky. I want to hide behind the bush. there is a couch, he is on the couch, he is yucky and wants to hug and touch me. Where is this house? I think I was four or five. this was later.

Why was i a scared child, why was fear always something that was in my life. I never feared what others feared. i feared being raped and choked to death. I feared being held down and hit, bbeing hurt badly. I thought I woudl be tortured. Torture was always a thought as long as I can remember. My fear of being caught alone, my fear of being alone. my fear. where does a small child learn to fear for teir body. In hebor, i was five, and i feared leaving the porch because somebody would hurt me and get me. i can't remember a time in my life where I wasn't scared. that fear lingered and became a cloak to my life. i never spent the night out because of fear or took a risk due to fear. what did I fear. Who caused that fear, why was that fear there.


whhy was my story of such interest to others. why did everbody think it was so funny that i told stories of rape and violence. why was thsi interesting and why did nobody step in to protect me. why has nobody ever protected me. wnhy doesn't anbyody care. I had uncles i had a dad, i had a mom. did nobody see the sign, my gramma did. what did she see to make her warn my mother. why did my mother never tell me. did everybody know. is this a scam to take the pressure off of michael. why was my little body and soul secondary to a good story. why wasn't i good enough to be protected and loved. why couldn't i be picked up off that floor and bathed and held and reassured. why was I left there. why did nobody care. why was I crying. Why was i ignored. why was I hushed.




she knew. thats what got me. she knew
how and why did this never come to me. why in all the stories of what I should go there for did it never hit me . why wasn't I told that my grandmother stepped in to save me. why did my grandmother care enough to warn but not enough to remove me. what did she see did she see the act or did she just asssume. why did my mother never care and why does she describe it as the best time of our lives. maybe it was the worst time of my life. where was my mother that she couldn't care what was happening to her baby. i was her baby once. is that when she stopped loving me? did I ruin her reality. did I scar her picture show and illusion with my broken little body. did she block this or did she care . when did she stop loving me. was it then? did she see it. did my aunt tell her. my aunt knew. She knew when she was washing the laundry in the bucket of soap outside the house on the hell. I came to her. I know she knew. She was angry with me. I was told to go in the house. there were rocks by the path. she was mad. was I bad. was I dirty. I was dirty, I was in the dirt. there was grass too. but that was a different house. That wasn't the small house. that was the house on the hill. If my mom knew why was I there. my grandmother told her well before.

two years old in oak knoll. I don't remember it. I began to talk. There was a snake, a big snake. it hurt me. there was a husband or a man. he hurt me. he raped me. how does a two year old know that. how does a two year old describe a rape unless they have endured that rape. why was that funny. why does it get told to me with such joy. why did nbody tell me before the awful truths

driving to the cabin I realized its a body memory. even before I knew we were anywhee close my speech disorganized and my heart began to pound. my body remember that, my soul remember that. the cabin makes me panic, i am vile and sick to my stomach. my flight instinct takes over and I want to flee the scene. the reality begins to sink in as she tells me to put on my clinicians hat and describe what it sounds like. why didn't i see that before, its so obivious. seeing the cabin on the way back impounds that, before we hit the curb the fear wells, the intensity is there, the pain is there. it hurts but its terrifying, like crawling and fighting and gasping for air. why am i gasping for iar. im not sure I want to remember the details or not, im not sure if I should, im not sure if it matters. this is the fear though the fear that has haunted me always, im running and im fighting and im not getting anywhere. i cante get away, i can'g to, im being smothered, there is dirt so much dirt, its grinding and hurting me, its pebbly dirt. there is thumping so somebody is there, its dark, but there is light from somewhere. there is more then one but who. who is the other. there is michael

stay apolgoizes. i rmemeber stacy apologizes and I dn't knwo for what. she is in the bthroom and holding my face. i am maybe eight. I don't know for what but i tell her its ok. why is it ok. what is she apologizing for. was she the other one. no. the other was a boy. they were big. big boys. scary boys. my panties were white with pink rosebuds. where are they. brown. wet. dirty and smeared. my hair wsa full of sticks. where are the sticks from.



the utter and complete fear of stairs my entire life didn't hit me til today. my attempts at going dow nthe stairs from my room growing up. i was panicked and would race before anybody could catch me. I refuse to go down my stairs if the lights are n't on. descending into marsha and dales root cellar was torture to put it mildly. i made it into a joke but the panic and te fear tht would wel up inside me wasn't funny. when i run up my stairs at my house there is that jolt of adrenaline. i panic always. why didn't i see this before. stairs have been my giggest fer. my house on mill creek. they would tell me to go up or down the stiars and i would cry, the fear would parralyze me. i get it now. I understand it now. now i understand. my body is reacting in fear to what it experienced. i was that child held under there. it all makes sense. it fits together. everybody knew but i wa held in the dark thil the end. wy was i the laughingstock. why was i the funny story. wy wasn't anybody there to step up to the plate for me.


is that where the fear began. the fear of being so far away that somebody would take me and drag me away. is that where she tstopped loving me, because i was a dirty sameful child. my entire childhood is rooted in pain and fear, in hurt and being scared, in constant visions of rape and choking, of skinned knees and bruises. who the fuck nows that at four or five. this fear has dominated my life.

always trees and woods in my fears, bieng hurt and left out, being attacked and not seeing it coming, being the dirty one, the bad girl, the yucky one. but i carried that role. i walked right through my life with the one who wasn't good enough for any others ta. why . well now i know why. now it makes sense

like my father hse knew. so casually knew
so casually told me
how is my victimization so casual for her. Oh ya . . .theres a story . ... why am i thrity five and just hearing that story when i have heard the other for so many yars. what did she have to gain by holding the dark veil over the truth.



hes dead now. did she feel relief when he died. he raped his daughters. i forgot. oh my gld. he raped his baby girls. his twin girls. why did i not get that

when he raped his babies, did nobody look back and consider me. was i the afterthought that didn't matter. im always the afterhought, the one that is strong enough to conquer all. the one that trudges through. what if i don't want to trudge through. what if I want the be the first though. what if I wanted to be picked up and held the way his babies were held. they had a mommy that picked them up. i wanted that.



dear little girl
if i could be there now i would hear you . . . i would hear the muffled sounds and he bumps. i would come to find you knowing that there was a small child that nboody saw. I would see your litle blonde head and your fear stricken eyes. i would come and pull you off of that dirty floor and carry you out. i would wrap my arms around you and hold you tight, whispering that everything would be alreight. i would hold you and rock you and sing to you until your tears dried on your face and you no longer had a body wracking iwth sobs. you cried hard, you were scared but embarrassed to cry. you made a decision to stop crying that day but little girl i would hold you and tell you to cry. i would hold you and wipe the tears then take you in and wipe them away. i would tell you that you are going to hurt but that you are loved and potectid and that nothing will happen to you again. Little girl I would find them and keep them from you forever. i would never lie to you about your trauma and pain, i would never lead you to believe that you were fine. i would hold a place in my heart o to allow you to feel the pain that they inflicted upon you. i would hold a place to comfort you afterwards and tell you i was there to care for you. little girl I would slowly pick the sticks from your hair and the briars and dirt from your clothing. I would put you in a clean dress and wipe the dirt and soot from you. I would give you a big bowl of ice cream and tell you how safe you were. i would hang on to you when you cried and hold you through te nightmares, bringing you out of them and back into the reality owrld where nobody could hurt you. i wouldn't let them hurt you. i wouldn't let your life change because of the actions of a few. I would keep him from hurting you again. I would keep you safe. little girl I would fight to keep you and every other little girl safe. your little pigtails were curled, so blonde and short. I would comb them and put bows in them so you smile whth delight when you sa w them. you wouldn't hurt any more. i would keep you safe. little girl im sorry you weren't kept safe. little girl im sorry there was nobody there to keep you warm and protected.