waking up at night, gaspin, clawing at the bed with the sheets wrapped around me . . . Hearing the agony of screams as somebody is trying to escape the pain, slowly realizing the screams are my own. Waking with the dry throat and the heaving breaths . . .trying to figure out if I am dying or awake in some strange place. Nightmares. They come in waves . . . easing off just when I think I can't handle one more night of lying there . . . terrified to sleep and yet exhausted by the mental and emotional strain of walking through my daily life.

Why now? Why so many dreams and thoughts, memories filtering to the top of my consciousness like oil drifts to the top of the water. Nothing is new . . . except the memory of the fear . . .sometimes dull and aching, other times sharp and painful. Awareness is new too. I was such a scared child. I had no safe place, no safe harbor, no place to bury my head and know that all was going to be well.

Living in our Skookum house is where the fear began. Thoughts drift through my heart and through my soul. I feel my chest tighten and my legs begin to grow weak . . . my toes tingling when I remember, when I free my mind and go back.

Memories of walkign down that damp dark porch to Dads shop . . .screaming "daddy daddy daddy" I would scream and shake, afraid of the dark and the cold but so much more afraid that when I opened that door my father would be lying in a bloody pool in an effort to end his own life. When he would finally answer me the relief would wash over me in waves and I would race to get out of the dark and cold . . . race to the shop that held his tools and machinery to tell him to come to dinner.
Dinner. . .meals .. . those were loaded times. Never knew when Dad was going to be furious and screaming or throwing things. Moms shelf was always in danger of having things thrown from one end to the other. Dad in a fit of rage, mom crouched on the floor begging him to stop. "mitch please please stop" she would cry. It was my job to intervene. My job to calm him before he became more violent and took it out on us. My job was to protect her and goddammit i was so young, I must have been about nine. Hannahs age.

The night we broke down, coming back through Sams valley late at night. We blew a tire and had to go into town. Dad was telling me that he hated my mother and wanted her dead. He wanted to twist her head off off her neck until she popped like a balloon and was no longer alive. I had just seen a movie where a woman's head exploded and couldn't erase the image from my mind of my mothers head exploding all over me. I begged my father to calm down, told him to hit me but not my mom. I didn't want my mom hurt. I told him she didn't mean to . . . I was always defending her. He was shaking in rage, his face red and sweaty. He was furious . . . over what I no longer can recall. Eventually we were able to get home and I thought I would die that night. He was screaming and jerking the wheel all over, the car was veering all over the road. My mom was screaming back. I huddled in the back with my hands over my ears trying to drowned out the screaming.

Always screaming and threats, always violence. Bruises and scrapes from thrown items were the norm. I was so proud to have Robin come to visit for a weekend. She was the most popular girl in the school and I finally had a friend over. Dad was furious . . . he threw a cup of coffee at me and struck me with it. Robin was scared and her parents came for her. I didn't understand. I knew I was bad and had lost a friend . . .

It was awful. The therapist made my dad take his guns out of the home because he was threatening to kill us. He took all but one out. He still had the one gun . .. always so aware of that gun and wanting to use it to shoot him. I wanted him dead. Then came the day that he loaded it and began parading with it. Mom and I ran as fast as we could to the van to get away. My legs couldn't move fast enough. That all too familar feeling of adrenaline racing through my veins. Both mom and I were crying and praying that God would allow our van to start that day so that we could get away. i ran so fast I couldn't turn to see if he was behind us. I thought we were dead. I knew that would be the day. As we hit the van we realized it was going to start and we could get away. My mom drove as fast as she could down that driveway when we realized that he was shooting at us. he didn't hit us . .. but he did hit the trees lining the driveway. Was he trying to kill us? Did he hate me that bad? Do I wonder why I live in constant fear of men?

And, she went back . . . even after he beat the car with the hammer trying to get to us. He would have killed us that night too. Even after he scraped her breast with the throw of a brush and hung her off a bridge. Even after i told her that he had molested me . . . that he had held me down in my little white gown and did what he did. she went back. "katrina, I miss my home and my animals. don't be selfish" thats what she said. Don't be selfish.

so I was selfish and I didn't go back. I began to write. Tonight I found a poem I wrote to my dad . . . then . . my words were strong. I didn't rhyme well, I was child like. . . but the words are strong. I don't know what to think . . . sitting here reading my poems from my childhood. Words that captured moments in time.

Here are my words . . .

Dad
Sadness pulls at my heart
When I think of the innocence you stold
Looking back on you
You must have been damn cold

When I think of the things you have done
I get so angry inside
You pulled me down and hurt me so bad
You wounded my innocent pride

The precious innocence you stold from me
is something i can never regain
but the sad thing is,
I'm sill under your strings
and I can't let go of this pain.

So now I hope your hurting
somewhere deep inside
I guess thats the wrong way to think
or maybe a feeling I should hide

But im tired of having to hide
my feeling thoughts and emotion
maybe this way I can forget
some of this terrible commotion.

I wrote that at fourteen. What The Fuck?

`Or, the one I wrote february 1989. I was what . . .13? This was two months before I tried to take my life . . . when I was in the thick of being homeless and shuffled around town. It was cold that winter, snow to my knees. This was two months before Jim began raping me for the next three years. I was . .. thirteen . .. .

Divorce
The word divorce has always scared me
it started way back when I was just three
member sitting in the wagon my daddy telling me
don't worry honey it will last eternity

Being the kid I was, dumb and naive
how was I to know that someday he would leave
I saw the beatings and all the fithts
but I never thought hed be gone on these long winter nights

I guess its better this way with him not here
because nwo I don't have to spend my life in constant fear
but its still hard cus theres a new fear
it only seems to happen when one of them is near

The drugs and alcohol have taken their toll
taught me some lessons, im no longer a fool.
but I know when she comes near
that shes been out and it brings back my fear

She says she don't drink and that shes fine
but I know better cus I know the sign
She says its her life to do as she wants
but late at night, its me that it haunts

I know I should stop her and not let her go
but if I do she makes me feel so low
she yells at me and leaves me confused
and says bad things that make my heart feel confused.


JESUS . . .. I was thirteen. I was a baby. How could I have wrote that. what the hell was my reality? Random lines from poems back then are tearing out my soul tonight . . " Sometimes life don't seem worth it to try, all you want to do is Cry" . . .. I was 12. TWELVE! "I feel so alone and burning up with pain, my life is like a paper that has been spoiled by a stain" . . . .

flipping through my old book of poems . .. from eleven to fourteen . . . the words rape, pain, stain, death, shame . . . over and over.

and I wonder why i have nightmares

sometimes I wonder why I do what I do?

Why I feel the need to destroy something before it can even get off the ground. There is safety in being sheltered and alone. Safety in holding the walls and doors around me. Safety in the certainty that no pain can come. Do I strive for that safety to the point of destroying my own happiness?

I feel it coming, that mad desperate need to run from absolute fear. I want to be different this time. I want to dig my feet in and stay. I need to stop running out of fear. Pain happens. I can take it. I have taken it before. I can take it again.

it would be so easy to walk away, go back to what I know, finally give in to the fight. It would be so easy to live within the madness that never touches me deeply. So easy to live a lie of a life and shut down again. I don't want that though. I don't. right?

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.

The pieces came together today. I'm not in a place in my life at thsi moment that I can unpack them but today it was like a jigsaw puzzle and the pieces came together. I realized things I never had a clue about before and it is surreal. It is bordering on painful but tonight, it can't be. Tonight I want t smile and I want it all ok. Tonight I don't want to think about the reality that soon is slamming home to me. Then again, its not reality, it is history. i am in a safe place to think about this history. I am an adult now and this gives so many answers to so many questions. I can't belive teh obvious wasn't so obvious before. I need to not go there right now but at the same time I can't shake the inevitable, its bordering on the brink . . . right there . . .threatening to slip into my emotional reality any minute. I am fighting harder to contain this primal scream then I ever have had to maintain any emotion. The terror and sadness is so close, so bordering teh edge. God I hope I make it through this night. I don't want to fuck everything up because I can't control myself. Please god why now. Why do I have to have this realizeation on thsi day at this moment. Oh god.

Im already feeling the frustration grow in me. I started my placement today which went better then I could have expected. I was up at 530, getting ready to head out. I wasn't sure what to expect for my first day so just dressed casual and hoped for the best. When I got to the town I realized I forgot the directions. Great. I thought I could remember . . . haha nope. I realized that I had the old directions in my planner though and pulled up one minute before seven am. Perfecto!

The morning started off great, I got a tour of the entire facility, met the physicians and several nurses. I was able to meet the man who runs the addictions program (which I may be working with!) and other pertinent individuals. I was excited to see my office. I have a desk by a window. The office is simply decorated in tribal sayings, prints and articles. On the windowsill by my desk is a nesting of sticks as well as a piece of root that is burned ceremoniously by tribal members. It's a good reminder that this is a different kind of a work environment.

I watched videos the rest of the morning and then my new field instructor took me for lunch. We talked about various aspects of my work and what I wanted to do. She mentioned my queerness a few times. I realized I felt like a traitor. Am I still queer? I guess I am but I am with a male now, and that changes everything. I finally felt that to withhold that information would be misleading so I told her. It was interesting. Her reaction was more that of curiousity. We talked about it a little bit later as well. I didn't feel judgement but it made me realize how different this world may be for me. The day continued to be working out details such as voicemail, badges etc. It ended with a bang when a crisis happened and I was the only one available. Trial by fire I suppose.

So, I got out later then I anticipated and pulled back into town around six pm. Tired . . hot . . overwhelmed . . .I realized I had to stop for milk and bread. Into the store I trudge, my legs worn out and all I wantedto do was get home. I gathered my groceries and pull into my driveway only to be met by my kiddo. She was sobbing hysterically because Kiah locked her in the room for two hours. Not good. NOT GOOD AT ALL. Struggling under groceries and sobbing kids I meet Kiah who announces that I was the one who told her to keep Hannah in the room. My anger flew through the roof. Why would I say that? Ever? It makes no sense. Kiah and I are hashing it out while I am putting away groceries and trying to shred the roast in the crock pot for tacos.

Finally . . . dinner on the table, I still haven't sat down. I'm frustrated and tired. I dish teh kids food for them and sit at the table while they eat. Eating at this point holds no appeal for me at all. I just want to sit and do nothing. This obviously is not in the cards for me tonight. As I am trying to gather my breath I hear about Hannah wanting to play vollyball and Jake wants flag football . .. my minds screaming "WHEN WHEN WHEN" . . . Kiah is having an attitude and tells her boyfriend they can't go to homecoming cus I said no (I said no if she didn't straighten her attitude). Katies not home so I begin cleaning up after the dinner mess while doing yet another load of never ending laundry . . . dreaming of a moment to sit. . . just . . .. sit . ..

Of course, then it was sweeping, yelling at kids to take out the trash, folding the laundry . . jake can't find socks for tomorrow . . . the bedroom is a mess again . . . jakes shirts are missing OH NO they are under the stack of dirty laundry because he never put them away . . . oh my god are you kidding me . . .

Did I mention the bag of dog food split open and was spread down the hall? Seriously? Why me god? Why?

So, I gave up, left the mess, collapsed to read another chapter of Harry Potter. I pulled the wreckage of a room into the center and threatened them with their lives or at least no more ice cream if they don't have it done tomorrow . .. now its quarter after eight and I am finally sitting. I am worn out. My body hurts and my head is killing me.

This will get better. I will adjust. I need to organize . . . I bought frozen pizza for tomorrow, hell with nutrition. Hurry up June . . .

I got the call

She was raped.

God Dammit.

So young, so angry, so brave and strong and eager to run.

He took it from her.

He . . . in his fucked up, twisted mind, in the depravity that hits when the soul just leaves . . .

he stold it from her.

WHY does this continue to happen. WHY do men feel they have the right to just rip the core from young girls. This will affect her forever. I know. I know . . .

He goes on . . . probably spinning some sick and twisted fantasy

She will never trust. She will always look over her shoulder. She will have doubts that creep into every decision of her life. She will live in fear, struggle to survive, die trying or die trying to prove she is worth something to somebody. I know. . ..

That son of a bitch.

drunk blogging again. not good. I wonder if i will have to delete this post to. Sometimes i write and write . . .coming back later and realizing that i make an ass out of myself when I do this. Tonight I am so torn up and raw I dont care. i'm blogging. hell with it.

this has been such a bad week at work, starting with traveling out of state to pick up a child who did not want to come with me. She made her plans, she wanted to stick with it. i wished she could have but the law is the law and I pulled her back with me. The plan was for me to have a few days off to make up for it but alas, there was no placement for thsi child so i have been babysitter de jur.

I wouldn't have minded had she been slightly reasonable, instead I am the queen of all evil to her. I spend my days being accosted by her, screamed at, cursed out, alternating between how much she loves me and how scared she is to having her tell me she may as well kill herself now because she wants to die . . . all because of me. When I don't have the pleasure of her company I have been working myself to the bone to prepare to send this child back to the state she wants to be in . . . . until today. until it came out that serious sex abuse apparently was happening. Of course I understand it. Nobody else does. i'm thrust into my own situation where I was willign to keep my mouth shut about being raped daily because it meant I had food on the table and a bed to sleep in. Gone were the days of sleeping in a car or under a tree. i had a fire a night, and it was well worth the embarrassment of having to be raped by a man thirty years older then me. After awhile rape no longer hurts. It settles into a numbness, a shield that protects the body and soul for the harsh realities of your body being invaded at somebody elses beck and call.

I'mfighting for her and she doesn't even know. She doesnt care. She cussed me out, spit on me and threw a book at me today. She told me she will get loaded regardless of what i say. She hates me. I should be dead and shewould be fine. It was lovely. I wonder what will happen when I tell her she can't go back.

I move from her to my next child, a child who spent the entire hour talking about her abuse, her trauma, her pain. She will be ok . . . she has a solid base. . . .

Back to the office I go, thinking hwo nice it would be to go hoem early, cook dinner, play with my babies. I was . . . am . . . exhausted. I miss my lover, I miss my bed, I miss my energy. I wanted to be home and recharge. Then . . . I get the call . . .

another young girl I have sent home, one I made a contraversial decision about . . .one I have been watching and monitering the best I can . . . made a suicide attempt. For confidentiality I can't speak of it but the poitn is I am responsible. I sent her home. I sent her into a pit of vipers who started again and wasn't there to save her. She t ried to save herself through death.

what the fuck am I thinking that I can do this job. I did exactly what I set out not to do. I placed a child at risk. A child almost lost her life. A child still could lose her life or her functioning. Why? because I sent her home. I . . . of all peopple . .. know that home is never safe. what was I thinking.

I came home after working several mroe hours to find myself utterly devastated. i don't know that I can continue with this line of work. I don't know how to find the words to tell her im sorry. I don't know why i thought I was well enough to do this. im fucked up and now she is fucked up.

I came home to beer and sobbing. maybe its the stress of the last few weeks, maybe its traveling, maybe its exhaustion or maybe its all. I am a mess. and, in the middle of my mess, is bill, always bill. Right there to remind me how weak and pathetic I am next to him. Right there to remind me that my lover and I will never be. Right there to tell me on one hand how much he loves me and on the other hand to tell me that he doesn't care what I ask. I told him if he cared then let me love my lover. Let me be happy, let me move on. Let me be. Just be. Thats all I ask. with his swagger he reminds me that he goes where he wants, does what he does. Its just like that. I have no choice.

im thinking its best ot just go. run. leave. gone. Why fight it. why?