Wow, fate works a lot I suppose. Just a few months ago a couple of skanks worked together to have me thrown in jail. I served my time on one charge only to have to turn around and have to do ten more days. After my first night in jail on the second charge, my mother died. Nothing in that allows for forgiveness to me. Even though my mother would not advocate holding a grudge, that bullshit is just something that I won't ever forget, or likely even forgive for.
So while I anxiously awaited fate to step in and bring around what was sent around, I was very impatient this time. Although I would not ever do something to speed up fate, I desperately awaited word that she had indeed done her job.
So I want to thank you fate, as now I know that those two skanks are soon to pay for what they put on me. As I sit here now the police are looking for one skank, while the other skank harbors her. I now patiently await the day when those who would jeopardize my freedom have theirs snatched from them.
Alas, all the pain and desperation of feeling and seeing your bad deeds returned to you must be horrifying. It must be scary to think that you may lie and deceive those who are used to such things and get away with it for a moment, only to see the universe itself bring it back to you tenfold. And just think, I didnt have to lift a finger. I didnt have to drive somewhere and risk getting charged with filing fake charges. And even better yet, I didnt have to sell my soul to the devil for getting away with something for which you surely owe a large part of yours.
And last but not least, for those of you who would lie to me about your involvment in these things. For those who truly believe that I truly believe you, well, try to remember you are simply unknowing messengers of mine and your ignorance will cost you more then you can afford in the end.
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Saturday, May 24, 2008
For my Sister; Part 3
Even being 15 and having had been through the insanity I had lived through at such an early age I still had some wisdom and patience that a lot of adults envied. I realized even then that to tell my son the real truths of the ugliness his father put me through wasn't fair. To him or to his father. I decided early on that I would allow my son to formulate his own opinion of his father. I moved on with my life once I moved back into my parents house. But just as I had left home early for a reason, I couldnt stay in theirs for long either.
While I was living with my parents I went to Virginia Western to complete my GED. My education up to that point had never been important to me at all. School itself was a laughable subject. But I realized that having a child and being the hater of hypocrisy that I was, that I couldnt expect a child of mine to finish an education if I didnt have one myself. So in 92 I took part in a very nice event that Va Western through for the GED graduates that year. Within a few months of graduating I finally had my first apartment. It was in Tinker Creek and my son would be starting Lincoln Terrace the following year, but things were starting to look up. There was a world full of adversity for me. Every friend I had, that I had had since pre-teen years, all had serious drug problems. This being my first apartment and all, meant every friend I had ever had just had to come and stay with me. And they did, and they brought their drama and their problems to my door along with themselves. Sometimes even their children. Since I had learned my lesson about sex and pregnancy early on I was very adamant and religious about taking my birth control pills. So three months into my new apartment living, when I found out I was pregnant again I was also very adamant about not wanting another child. Especially with the new boyfriend with the same old abusive problem as the old ones.
When I confronted the guy I was seeing at the time and asked him for the money for an abortion he told me he didnt want me to do it. He told me he wanted a child. Being the person that I am I conceded. I would have never went through with it. But in anger I suppose I wanted to hear him say he wanted the baby too.
To make an extremely long story short, I went through with the pregnancy, spent it completely alone since the father spent the entire pregnancy in jail, had my son whose birthday was a small miracle in itself, and then immediately had him taken from me when I refused to get back with the father. A pain no mother should have to live with.. to date I havent seen my youngest son in 5 years. Not because I dont desperately want to, but because every time I had a visit with him his grandparents would torment him endlessly with questions about his mother. It got to where every time our visit was drawing to a close he would cry uncontrollably and tell me the things they were about to put him through. I couldn't keep putting him through that. And I have pages and pages of proof of my fight and struggle for him stored away, stored to show him on day he turns 18, that I fought for him until the fight started causing him pain.
Everything felt right though to me. When I was living in Tinker creek and just after my youngest son was born, I had a visit from Bob Underwood, and Edith Boyd. They both had their own stories to tell, and some of it I recognized as truth and some of it I recognized as fabrications. My mother told me that one day social services had showed up and just 'taken all her babies away.' As harsh and straight forward as I am I still couldnt bring myself to tell her the truth that I knew. The one where my older brother had screamed and cried when the police took his little sister from his arms. The baby he felt he had to protect. I always thought that one day I may tell her I knew the truth, but before that day came she died. And the way she died wasnt exactly free of foul play. My oldest sister Laura, one who has the mentality of a 12 year old due to the fetal alcohol, had written a letter to my mother 3 days before she died. The letter said she was going to kill her. Edith had called the police and turned the letter over to them. Apparently they ruled her death accidental, because Laura had given her the last dosage of insulin that she ever took. Just a massive load more then she required. Even though her death was investigated nothing ever came of it. But I knew what happened. At her funeral there were whispers of my true beginnings. The stories I had heard from people who had no reason to lie.
It seems like none of the experiences I had with my biological parents were actually truth. But I supposed even the that when shame is involved the truth gets very twisted.
While I was living with my parents I went to Virginia Western to complete my GED. My education up to that point had never been important to me at all. School itself was a laughable subject. But I realized that having a child and being the hater of hypocrisy that I was, that I couldnt expect a child of mine to finish an education if I didnt have one myself. So in 92 I took part in a very nice event that Va Western through for the GED graduates that year. Within a few months of graduating I finally had my first apartment. It was in Tinker Creek and my son would be starting Lincoln Terrace the following year, but things were starting to look up. There was a world full of adversity for me. Every friend I had, that I had had since pre-teen years, all had serious drug problems. This being my first apartment and all, meant every friend I had ever had just had to come and stay with me. And they did, and they brought their drama and their problems to my door along with themselves. Sometimes even their children. Since I had learned my lesson about sex and pregnancy early on I was very adamant and religious about taking my birth control pills. So three months into my new apartment living, when I found out I was pregnant again I was also very adamant about not wanting another child. Especially with the new boyfriend with the same old abusive problem as the old ones.
When I confronted the guy I was seeing at the time and asked him for the money for an abortion he told me he didnt want me to do it. He told me he wanted a child. Being the person that I am I conceded. I would have never went through with it. But in anger I suppose I wanted to hear him say he wanted the baby too.
To make an extremely long story short, I went through with the pregnancy, spent it completely alone since the father spent the entire pregnancy in jail, had my son whose birthday was a small miracle in itself, and then immediately had him taken from me when I refused to get back with the father. A pain no mother should have to live with.. to date I havent seen my youngest son in 5 years. Not because I dont desperately want to, but because every time I had a visit with him his grandparents would torment him endlessly with questions about his mother. It got to where every time our visit was drawing to a close he would cry uncontrollably and tell me the things they were about to put him through. I couldn't keep putting him through that. And I have pages and pages of proof of my fight and struggle for him stored away, stored to show him on day he turns 18, that I fought for him until the fight started causing him pain.
Everything felt right though to me. When I was living in Tinker creek and just after my youngest son was born, I had a visit from Bob Underwood, and Edith Boyd. They both had their own stories to tell, and some of it I recognized as truth and some of it I recognized as fabrications. My mother told me that one day social services had showed up and just 'taken all her babies away.' As harsh and straight forward as I am I still couldnt bring myself to tell her the truth that I knew. The one where my older brother had screamed and cried when the police took his little sister from his arms. The baby he felt he had to protect. I always thought that one day I may tell her I knew the truth, but before that day came she died. And the way she died wasnt exactly free of foul play. My oldest sister Laura, one who has the mentality of a 12 year old due to the fetal alcohol, had written a letter to my mother 3 days before she died. The letter said she was going to kill her. Edith had called the police and turned the letter over to them. Apparently they ruled her death accidental, because Laura had given her the last dosage of insulin that she ever took. Just a massive load more then she required. Even though her death was investigated nothing ever came of it. But I knew what happened. At her funeral there were whispers of my true beginnings. The stories I had heard from people who had no reason to lie.
It seems like none of the experiences I had with my biological parents were actually truth. But I supposed even the that when shame is involved the truth gets very twisted.
Monday, May 12, 2008
For my Sister; Part 2
Well from the start my parents always let me know that I was adopted. I remember being around 5 years old and them buying me a book which I actually remember was called "Why was I adopted?" The writer of that book was genius and probably went a long way in shaping most of my teenage life. I will never forget a paragraph that explained to me that adopted kids were extra loved because they brought me into their lives on purpose. Maybe thats not so important or even trivial and petty to most adults, but to a very young girl it was really important to me to know that my parents went out of their way to get me and bring me into their home.
My Dad is what every little girl wants. He is my Daddy. At 34 I still call him Daddy when I talk to him on the phone. He is a hardcore italian with a soft spot rarely shown to anyone but his littlest daughter. At this point in my life I can now see that my Mom is the strongest woman I have ever known. At the time when I was a teenager we clashed badly. We had a lot of serious problems in our relationship, but she was always the rock in the house. No matter what, my parents NEVER did some of the things I know I wouldnt have been lucky enough to escape had I been brought up in Bobs home. My parents NEVER once called me any derogatory names. They never held me back. They never failed to give me as much love or as much punishment as I was asking for.
Though my early childhood was a little rough with not having a mother who was also my friend, by the time I was 10 years old I was trusted and mature enough that when my sister had a baby I was the one who babysat while she worked. My parents are far from the type of people who ever break any laws or harm children in anyway, it wasnt that at all. It was that I was a VERY mature child, at least outwardly.
The one thing that I lacked that left the hugest spot on my heart was the primal need for blood ties. That really hurt me badly. Whenever kids in school would make references to 'blood brothers' or some such reference to how much of a bond they felt with another soul, I always ached a little bit inside.
'You cant miss what you dont know.' Even right now I want to agree with that. It sounds like it should be true. But to a 15 year old who just found out she was pregnant. It was everything. I never once considered an abortion, and when adoption was brought up to me I nearly lost it. Once I knew I was going to have my son, all those references to blood ties and strong bonds became the most important thing to me on earth.
When I look back on it, my 15 year old teenage self, SO smart, so much common sense but still lacking the most important thing that only time can give you, wisdom. Then I start to wonder, you know.. What the hell is a 20 year old man doing with a 15 year old girl anyway. Of course when I first found out, my parents, my Daddy especially, just wanted the guy in jail. After we worked that out we all decided that it would be best for me and the baby if I just went ahead and moved in with the father of the baby.
So I did. And through all those months where he had played on the emotions of a young girl who desired nothing more then to be loved by someone other then her parents, he showed his real self all too soon.
The pregnancy was hard. I was a very small 15 year old. Very athletic but just too tiny still to be carrying a baby. The high risk pregnancy was also riddled with some ridicule. I was 15 and I finished my 8th grade year, but not without some amazingly horrible dirty looks and a lot of embarrassing moments when I had to repeat to people how old I was.
By the time I was 7 months pregant he showed me what kind of human he really was. I was 15 and 7 months pregnant when a man first decided to hit me. I recall my son being about 2 months old when one of those assaults happened to me, out in the front yard, in front of his whole family. When he decided to stop beating me in the head with a brick, I staggered to my feet, with them all still watching, not offering a lick of help. And when I passed by them to get to the front door, his father told me "ya know honey, you really shouldnt make him so mad." The physical abuse in that situation paled in comparison to such ignorance. Even at 15 I KNEW I hadn't 'asked for it'. I knew that it wasnt acceptable no matter what I had done.
When my son was only 3 weeks old I found out I had gallstones. I was immediately admitted to the hospital through the ER and in surgery within an hour. It was about to kill me. It was also incredibly scary for a 15 year old. Still sore and exhausted from childbirth. Now I had a 6 inch scar on my belly, with 60 staples holding me together. Even with all that going on I was an anxious mother. When my baby moaned or sighed or didnt breath when I thought he should be I would be up and at him. I recall when he was around 3 months old one time that the exhaustion took over and when he woke one morning I never heard it. After I had gone to the bathroom his mom thrust a baby at me and told me she couldnt believe I let that baby cry like I did which is why she had come and got him. And I laughed to myself thinking, Wow! and I thought I was alone before.
I finally left his father after one of his abusive incidents. I had no where to go at that point and ended up living with his cousins who lived just down the road. When my son was 8 months old he came after me. While I was standing near an alley which was in the back yard of his cousins house, I seen headlights coming for me. I gripped my son a little more tightly and moved out of the direct headlights and seen who it was. By then I had only the amount of time it took to literally throw my son to a by stander and within seconds his car ran over me.
After the police were called and my Daddy showed up ready to kill him, I decided it would be okay if I moved back home. So I did. I cant even describe the blessing my parents were, have been, and still are, all these years. But they were there for me. I was lucky enough that I was able to be a mother, be responsible, work and my parents were right there begging to watch the baby while I went out and enjoyed what was left of my childhood.
A month before I got my very first apartment my best childhood friend died in a car accident that I felt soley responsible for. It was amazing to me everytime I thought to myself that things couldnt get worse. And they did for a very long time.
I cant explain how lucky I feel through all of it. But the universe or God or whatever the highest power calls itself, has always had an eye on me I believe. For every thing that it ripped away from me, it has tried to give it back. Sometimes though, you cant see the forest for the trees, and sometimes, hurt and scared teenage mothers cant make out a face that is looking at her with love, because the tears make it impossible to see.
My Dad is what every little girl wants. He is my Daddy. At 34 I still call him Daddy when I talk to him on the phone. He is a hardcore italian with a soft spot rarely shown to anyone but his littlest daughter. At this point in my life I can now see that my Mom is the strongest woman I have ever known. At the time when I was a teenager we clashed badly. We had a lot of serious problems in our relationship, but she was always the rock in the house. No matter what, my parents NEVER did some of the things I know I wouldnt have been lucky enough to escape had I been brought up in Bobs home. My parents NEVER once called me any derogatory names. They never held me back. They never failed to give me as much love or as much punishment as I was asking for.
Though my early childhood was a little rough with not having a mother who was also my friend, by the time I was 10 years old I was trusted and mature enough that when my sister had a baby I was the one who babysat while she worked. My parents are far from the type of people who ever break any laws or harm children in anyway, it wasnt that at all. It was that I was a VERY mature child, at least outwardly.
The one thing that I lacked that left the hugest spot on my heart was the primal need for blood ties. That really hurt me badly. Whenever kids in school would make references to 'blood brothers' or some such reference to how much of a bond they felt with another soul, I always ached a little bit inside.
'You cant miss what you dont know.' Even right now I want to agree with that. It sounds like it should be true. But to a 15 year old who just found out she was pregnant. It was everything. I never once considered an abortion, and when adoption was brought up to me I nearly lost it. Once I knew I was going to have my son, all those references to blood ties and strong bonds became the most important thing to me on earth.
When I look back on it, my 15 year old teenage self, SO smart, so much common sense but still lacking the most important thing that only time can give you, wisdom. Then I start to wonder, you know.. What the hell is a 20 year old man doing with a 15 year old girl anyway. Of course when I first found out, my parents, my Daddy especially, just wanted the guy in jail. After we worked that out we all decided that it would be best for me and the baby if I just went ahead and moved in with the father of the baby.
So I did. And through all those months where he had played on the emotions of a young girl who desired nothing more then to be loved by someone other then her parents, he showed his real self all too soon.
The pregnancy was hard. I was a very small 15 year old. Very athletic but just too tiny still to be carrying a baby. The high risk pregnancy was also riddled with some ridicule. I was 15 and I finished my 8th grade year, but not without some amazingly horrible dirty looks and a lot of embarrassing moments when I had to repeat to people how old I was.
By the time I was 7 months pregant he showed me what kind of human he really was. I was 15 and 7 months pregnant when a man first decided to hit me. I recall my son being about 2 months old when one of those assaults happened to me, out in the front yard, in front of his whole family. When he decided to stop beating me in the head with a brick, I staggered to my feet, with them all still watching, not offering a lick of help. And when I passed by them to get to the front door, his father told me "ya know honey, you really shouldnt make him so mad." The physical abuse in that situation paled in comparison to such ignorance. Even at 15 I KNEW I hadn't 'asked for it'. I knew that it wasnt acceptable no matter what I had done.
When my son was only 3 weeks old I found out I had gallstones. I was immediately admitted to the hospital through the ER and in surgery within an hour. It was about to kill me. It was also incredibly scary for a 15 year old. Still sore and exhausted from childbirth. Now I had a 6 inch scar on my belly, with 60 staples holding me together. Even with all that going on I was an anxious mother. When my baby moaned or sighed or didnt breath when I thought he should be I would be up and at him. I recall when he was around 3 months old one time that the exhaustion took over and when he woke one morning I never heard it. After I had gone to the bathroom his mom thrust a baby at me and told me she couldnt believe I let that baby cry like I did which is why she had come and got him. And I laughed to myself thinking, Wow! and I thought I was alone before.
I finally left his father after one of his abusive incidents. I had no where to go at that point and ended up living with his cousins who lived just down the road. When my son was 8 months old he came after me. While I was standing near an alley which was in the back yard of his cousins house, I seen headlights coming for me. I gripped my son a little more tightly and moved out of the direct headlights and seen who it was. By then I had only the amount of time it took to literally throw my son to a by stander and within seconds his car ran over me.
After the police were called and my Daddy showed up ready to kill him, I decided it would be okay if I moved back home. So I did. I cant even describe the blessing my parents were, have been, and still are, all these years. But they were there for me. I was lucky enough that I was able to be a mother, be responsible, work and my parents were right there begging to watch the baby while I went out and enjoyed what was left of my childhood.
A month before I got my very first apartment my best childhood friend died in a car accident that I felt soley responsible for. It was amazing to me everytime I thought to myself that things couldnt get worse. And they did for a very long time.
I cant explain how lucky I feel through all of it. But the universe or God or whatever the highest power calls itself, has always had an eye on me I believe. For every thing that it ripped away from me, it has tried to give it back. Sometimes though, you cant see the forest for the trees, and sometimes, hurt and scared teenage mothers cant make out a face that is looking at her with love, because the tears make it impossible to see.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
For my Sister; Part 1
My adoptive parents. Joanne and Don, born in 1937 and 1938 respectively, lost their only biological child when they were about 26. Their son was stillborn and my mother was told she would never be able to have another child. Shortly after this incident they decided to start fostering children. They fostered ANY kids. Mentally or physically handicapped, refugees, even kids who didnt speak english. Once they had spent a few years doing this they decided they wanted to look for a baby to adopt. I could definately understand this, they sacrificed a LOT to take care of children who they would raise, one spent 3 years with them, and then the state or parents would take the children back. It must have been heartbreaking for a couple who had so much love to give a child, just couldnt manage to keep one long enough to pour the brunt of that love into. When Joanne and Don were in their early 40's they got a call from a lady they dealt with often who said words that I know my mother had longed to hear all her life. "How would you like a little redheaded baby girl?" Thats what she told me the lady said when she answered the phone. My Mom told me then that she went to her friends and told them and at a bowling game between them all they managed to pick out a name for me.
They were given guardianship of me when I was 4 months old and in December of 74 they were allowed to apply for the adoption process. The reason they had to wait was because Bob had applied for custody of me when the state removed me from Ediths care.
Okay here is the rough part, not because of the context of it as much as because while Im a firm believer in 'walk in my shoes' as well as a mother I have conflicting feelings about not only what I know, but how much of it is true. We all know how things can get overplayed, underplayed and distorted through the telling, and especially with time.
From what I know, when I was a month or so old, my oldest half brother Harley who was around 9 or 10 at that time was brought in by a neighbor who called child protective services because he had seen them and asked them if they could help him feed his sisters. I have two half sisters who are older then me, but they are the only ones of Ediths 4 children who have serious mental disabilities because of Fetal alcohol syndrome and a syndrome called Fragile X. Its very similar to Downs syndrome with the exception of it has the tendancy to effect boys more severely. Whereas girl children are usually just mildly handicapped in socialization and particular education subjects like math etc, the boys effected by it are limited to a pre-teen mentality and capabilities for their lives. Fragile X doesnt seem to shorten the lives of those who have it like downs does, but there is rarely a male with fragile x who is able to live independently.
So there is Harley 9 or 10, Laura 7, Melissa 4, and me a couple of months old and thats all I know. I dont know where anyone was or what they were doing. Just what was reported to me at the time I made the request for my biological parents information. Most of the things I know that I would feel confident in repeating came from a lady named Corinne Gott at Roanoke City Social Services, who not only still worked there from the time I was born until I reemerged seeking my familys history, but because of my blaze orange hair she never forgot me. Knew who I was before I even told her why I was there. She remembered what had happened after I was born.
For whatever reason she said that Bob did request a custody hearing for me, and that after several months of investigating him she just could not feel comfortable putting me in his custody. So she had sent the adoption to Richmond to be processed at that time. I was adopted instantly since I had already spent the required year with the adoptive parents by then.
As I said before, Ive spent my life being non-judgemental of people in general and the whys and whens of how things happen. I always try to remember that I wasnt 'there' when all this was going on, I had never walked in their shoes and it wasnt for me to judge God or fate or whoever as to how things had ended up. I recall that really hitting me as Corinne had spoken to me about what she remembered. How one action had led to another, and another and the result was that a mentally handicapped woman gave birth to four children who she wasnt capable of taking care of, and a little part of me hurt for her wondering why her children had to go hungry before someone noticed she needed help. And to this day I feel horrible for that 9 year old boy who desperately tried to take care of his little sisters. I was told that when the cops and cps arrived that Harley screamed and cried when they took 'his baby' from him. All those children were seperated by the state that night and had to look for each other to find them. I dont have an insane amount of maternal bones in my body but the thought of all that makes my heart ache if I think on it too long.
When I met Bob and Edith the first time, I think I was 21 and living in Tinker Creek at the time with my two sons. They told me their story. That didnt include anything that Corrinne had told me. Even though I knew the things they told me likely had little truth still I reminded myself that although Corinnes version was likely more fact, and my parents more emotion there was probably a good version of the truth somewhere in between. When Edith died 5 years later she still didnt know the version I knew. I had no plans of ever telling her. Because regardless of her actions and the responsibilities she failed in as a pregnant woman and mother, she was still a woman, young with 4 kids, who no one had paid attention to before her kids ended up hungry alone on a neighbors doorstep. Her relief in my acceptance of her version was extremely obvious. Even having had a relatively bad experience with Joanne as a young girl, my soul knew that this was my mother, she had given me life, although shakey, and thats why I was standing there right then. Its not anywhere in my usual nature to let anything I feel is a slight pass, to me or my family or friends, go unspoken. I always speak up. As a young girl I wrote a lot, I still have journals from when I was 16 where if I found myself alone I could still voice the stories of my life somewhere.
Well Joanne and Don adopted two more daughters within a few years as well. Cindy and Mary were adopted when i was a year old. Cindy was 11 and Mary was 6. Their mother had recently been killed in a car accident in Jacksonville Florida where they lived, their father was a vietnam vet and would never leave the V. A. Hospital so couldnt care for them.
We all grew up without a clue how lucky we were in my opinion. And although I wish a lot of things could be different I am forever greatful for the series of events that led to Joanne and Don being given a little redheaded baby.
They were given guardianship of me when I was 4 months old and in December of 74 they were allowed to apply for the adoption process. The reason they had to wait was because Bob had applied for custody of me when the state removed me from Ediths care.
Okay here is the rough part, not because of the context of it as much as because while Im a firm believer in 'walk in my shoes' as well as a mother I have conflicting feelings about not only what I know, but how much of it is true. We all know how things can get overplayed, underplayed and distorted through the telling, and especially with time.
From what I know, when I was a month or so old, my oldest half brother Harley who was around 9 or 10 at that time was brought in by a neighbor who called child protective services because he had seen them and asked them if they could help him feed his sisters. I have two half sisters who are older then me, but they are the only ones of Ediths 4 children who have serious mental disabilities because of Fetal alcohol syndrome and a syndrome called Fragile X. Its very similar to Downs syndrome with the exception of it has the tendancy to effect boys more severely. Whereas girl children are usually just mildly handicapped in socialization and particular education subjects like math etc, the boys effected by it are limited to a pre-teen mentality and capabilities for their lives. Fragile X doesnt seem to shorten the lives of those who have it like downs does, but there is rarely a male with fragile x who is able to live independently.
So there is Harley 9 or 10, Laura 7, Melissa 4, and me a couple of months old and thats all I know. I dont know where anyone was or what they were doing. Just what was reported to me at the time I made the request for my biological parents information. Most of the things I know that I would feel confident in repeating came from a lady named Corinne Gott at Roanoke City Social Services, who not only still worked there from the time I was born until I reemerged seeking my familys history, but because of my blaze orange hair she never forgot me. Knew who I was before I even told her why I was there. She remembered what had happened after I was born.
For whatever reason she said that Bob did request a custody hearing for me, and that after several months of investigating him she just could not feel comfortable putting me in his custody. So she had sent the adoption to Richmond to be processed at that time. I was adopted instantly since I had already spent the required year with the adoptive parents by then.
As I said before, Ive spent my life being non-judgemental of people in general and the whys and whens of how things happen. I always try to remember that I wasnt 'there' when all this was going on, I had never walked in their shoes and it wasnt for me to judge God or fate or whoever as to how things had ended up. I recall that really hitting me as Corinne had spoken to me about what she remembered. How one action had led to another, and another and the result was that a mentally handicapped woman gave birth to four children who she wasnt capable of taking care of, and a little part of me hurt for her wondering why her children had to go hungry before someone noticed she needed help. And to this day I feel horrible for that 9 year old boy who desperately tried to take care of his little sisters. I was told that when the cops and cps arrived that Harley screamed and cried when they took 'his baby' from him. All those children were seperated by the state that night and had to look for each other to find them. I dont have an insane amount of maternal bones in my body but the thought of all that makes my heart ache if I think on it too long.
When I met Bob and Edith the first time, I think I was 21 and living in Tinker Creek at the time with my two sons. They told me their story. That didnt include anything that Corrinne had told me. Even though I knew the things they told me likely had little truth still I reminded myself that although Corinnes version was likely more fact, and my parents more emotion there was probably a good version of the truth somewhere in between. When Edith died 5 years later she still didnt know the version I knew. I had no plans of ever telling her. Because regardless of her actions and the responsibilities she failed in as a pregnant woman and mother, she was still a woman, young with 4 kids, who no one had paid attention to before her kids ended up hungry alone on a neighbors doorstep. Her relief in my acceptance of her version was extremely obvious. Even having had a relatively bad experience with Joanne as a young girl, my soul knew that this was my mother, she had given me life, although shakey, and thats why I was standing there right then. Its not anywhere in my usual nature to let anything I feel is a slight pass, to me or my family or friends, go unspoken. I always speak up. As a young girl I wrote a lot, I still have journals from when I was 16 where if I found myself alone I could still voice the stories of my life somewhere.
Well Joanne and Don adopted two more daughters within a few years as well. Cindy and Mary were adopted when i was a year old. Cindy was 11 and Mary was 6. Their mother had recently been killed in a car accident in Jacksonville Florida where they lived, their father was a vietnam vet and would never leave the V. A. Hospital so couldnt care for them.
We all grew up without a clue how lucky we were in my opinion. And although I wish a lot of things could be different I am forever greatful for the series of events that led to Joanne and Don being given a little redheaded baby.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Open Wide and Say My Name
I left my soul a million miles away
I drink from your tit
I sing your blues everyday
Now give me the strength to split the world in two
I ate all the rest
And now I gotta eat you
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
What the Fluff!??~?!!@
Ive always known that Roanoke Countys judicial system was a little tainted. Ive seen that firsthand, up close and personally. Sometimes that has come in the form of a band of merry County Mountys illegally taking my own child and giving him to someone else.. someone with a track record of raising menace to society children. Someone who brought up one of the best woman beating, drunk-n-raging idiots this side of the Mississippi in the last century or so. Those same leaders of law who periodically ram their cars into peoples houses, then charge the next person who does with wreckless driving and speeding. Then there was the peach of them all, the cop who pepper sprayed the 88 year old lady, for facing the wrong way in traffic on her little back country road so she could get her mail. (SHIT I DO THAT OMG...OMFG!!) Then there was that little momentous evening where they had somewhat of a tazer party with me being of course, the guest of honor at their lovely bed n breakfast.
Funny how they have the habit of charging people with CRIMINIAL CHARGES that hold JAIL TIME and somehow they convieniently forget to offer you an attorney. A LAW THAT NO STATE IS ALLOWED TO IGNORE.
Thank you Roanoke County, for being such upstanding members of the judicial system of this country. It is because of this small branch of the money whores of the united states of america that all over this country we are riddled with bad law and even worse law makers. If you have money, you can legally steal someones kid. If you worked for this county before you attempt this kidnapping, then hell, you may NOT even have to pay that much to do it. Or, you can be the mother of an underaged teenager who gets hit by a ginormous looking neighbor and the judge will curse you for looking angry about it. Hell, thats just the tip of this big sinking iceberg. Nevertheless, it IS sinking. One day, sometime, it will go under, and it will take all of you crooked cops and crooked judges and crooked deputies, way down with it. And who do you think will be there with huge sticks, poking it and pushing it under as fast as is possible?
Hundreds of thousands of people who have hundreds of thousands of relatives and friends who were completely screwed by you and your system all along. Arent you smart enough by now to realize what an unsettled society we live in? Every day BAD shit happens to people who fuck people over. Sometimes its as simple as a familiar murder, sometimes its as horrific as VA tech. But it all boils down to one thing, people who were or just FELT they were fucked over by you are the first to strike back. I think its time you deal with humanity as if they are humans. Not all people are guilty until proven innocent. Not all cases are alike. Will I be the one helping to push you under when you begin to sink? I dont know, are you willing to bet that when you judged me to be a bad human, when you treated me as one...that you were indeed correct and not just being a generalizing bastard? Do you want to look at death as opposed to accepting help in the form of the hand of the woman who you legally and illegally stole her youngest son from her? I dont know, I think the demon in me would prefer to see you suffer for as long as possible, so I think I WOULD give you that hand, if for no other reason then to spit in your hypocritical face.
Just think on that one, you will be judged. Can you handle that?
Funny how they have the habit of charging people with CRIMINIAL CHARGES that hold JAIL TIME and somehow they convieniently forget to offer you an attorney. A LAW THAT NO STATE IS ALLOWED TO IGNORE.
Thank you Roanoke County, for being such upstanding members of the judicial system of this country. It is because of this small branch of the money whores of the united states of america that all over this country we are riddled with bad law and even worse law makers. If you have money, you can legally steal someones kid. If you worked for this county before you attempt this kidnapping, then hell, you may NOT even have to pay that much to do it. Or, you can be the mother of an underaged teenager who gets hit by a ginormous looking neighbor and the judge will curse you for looking angry about it. Hell, thats just the tip of this big sinking iceberg. Nevertheless, it IS sinking. One day, sometime, it will go under, and it will take all of you crooked cops and crooked judges and crooked deputies, way down with it. And who do you think will be there with huge sticks, poking it and pushing it under as fast as is possible?
Hundreds of thousands of people who have hundreds of thousands of relatives and friends who were completely screwed by you and your system all along. Arent you smart enough by now to realize what an unsettled society we live in? Every day BAD shit happens to people who fuck people over. Sometimes its as simple as a familiar murder, sometimes its as horrific as VA tech. But it all boils down to one thing, people who were or just FELT they were fucked over by you are the first to strike back. I think its time you deal with humanity as if they are humans. Not all people are guilty until proven innocent. Not all cases are alike. Will I be the one helping to push you under when you begin to sink? I dont know, are you willing to bet that when you judged me to be a bad human, when you treated me as one...that you were indeed correct and not just being a generalizing bastard? Do you want to look at death as opposed to accepting help in the form of the hand of the woman who you legally and illegally stole her youngest son from her? I dont know, I think the demon in me would prefer to see you suffer for as long as possible, so I think I WOULD give you that hand, if for no other reason then to spit in your hypocritical face.
Just think on that one, you will be judged. Can you handle that?
Monday, January 21, 2008
Azathoth Souls - To Jeff
The day this blog began I was in such a low place. I was recently seperated and forcing myself to deal with all the things I had ignored for years. Almost every word I typed into this blog was punctuated with at least one tear. I didnt expect anyone to respond. I didnt think I cared if they did. I was doing it for me, for my heart and soul. Not even a week into posting I got a comment from someone that touched me. I like to think I have an extra sense but I dont think its extra. I think its something we all have, yet most ignore. But when this guy posted on my site, the words werent what shook me. It was the feeling I had in reading his words. The pull of my soul, the pressure in my chest, the feeling that my entire world was for a moment, pulled into this one little post. I suppose I went on and ignored it as most of us do. I didnt think it was going to be a regular thing. I forced ignorance on myself to save myself, as I always do.
A couple days later he posted again.
It wasnt just the words that he used to talk to me. It was the peace it brought me. The compassion and the instructions. the truth and the consequences. It was the notion that the things he said I knew, I just was not willing to give myself the credit he gave me. It was as if he knew me, truly knew me, and not the me I let others see to judge me by. An Azathoth a day kept my demons at bay for quite some time. Until his post I didnt honestly believe that there was a man alive that could really understand. One that was sensitive to my feelings and my world. He held me above water through the entire book I wrote. Without his helping hands I would have drowned in the pain and misery of it all long before I finished it. I kept looking at his post and realizing that they almost directly reflected my exact feelings.
In loving his soul I learned to love my own. They were so similar... I was so hard on myself while praising his every word to me as gold. It took a couple of years but then one day, I sat down to think about this guy. The one who was there for me so long. I had nothing but love for him. His kindness was more then touching, at times it was all I had. And I realized that I reached out to him just as he reached to me. And I learned very very confidently that we WERE alike. And if we were alike. I couldnt be all that bad, because I KNEW he was wonderful.
We use the word love so freely that it dimishes it in my opinion. And sometimes we ignore it to save ourselves some pain. Then again, sometimes we dont really know how intense a feeling is until it is put to a test.
When I read my email today and seen Az taking his leave of blogger, I started crying. It was truly only then that I realized the impact of it all, and how it has affected my own spirit. I can now clearly see that we are not put on this earth with only a mirror image of ourselves. We really are not limited to facing a lifetime of believing that there is only one other soul that is our mate as we strive through the thickest adversities to find them. No, indeed I can see now that this is far from reality. In reality, we come upon dozens, hundreds, thousands of other humans and occasionally for some, rarely for others, do we find another person who our soul is instantly and inexplicably drawn towards. I have met thousands of people face to face and thousands of people online and yet to this day I can still easily name the people who came into my life, who I felt my entire being, the soul and spirit, my very essence drawn to as a moth to a flame. Helplessly, yet so far from hopelessly. I imagine its somewhat of what a death is like, a moment suspended where you are weightless, peaceful and once and for all at home.
I don't pretend to know what is there for us after this life is over. But something in the core of me tells me I know these souls, the ones whom I have an instant affinity with, and that I have known them, held them, loved them, and been with them all along. I have no fear whatsoever that it is the last time I will know them. Sometimes I look for them in every face in a crowd and sometimes I just let myself enjoy their invisible presence in my life.
If you have any trouble recognizing with whom you may share this affinity there is one sure way to know it. You wish for their happiness, you pray for their peace. You never begrudge them anything and hope in your heart for them to have a safe journey even if you know your paths may never cross again. You set them free and let the world guide them, let their souls guide them...
Until we meet again
A couple days later he posted again.
It wasnt just the words that he used to talk to me. It was the peace it brought me. The compassion and the instructions. the truth and the consequences. It was the notion that the things he said I knew, I just was not willing to give myself the credit he gave me. It was as if he knew me, truly knew me, and not the me I let others see to judge me by. An Azathoth a day kept my demons at bay for quite some time. Until his post I didnt honestly believe that there was a man alive that could really understand. One that was sensitive to my feelings and my world. He held me above water through the entire book I wrote. Without his helping hands I would have drowned in the pain and misery of it all long before I finished it. I kept looking at his post and realizing that they almost directly reflected my exact feelings.
In loving his soul I learned to love my own. They were so similar... I was so hard on myself while praising his every word to me as gold. It took a couple of years but then one day, I sat down to think about this guy. The one who was there for me so long. I had nothing but love for him. His kindness was more then touching, at times it was all I had. And I realized that I reached out to him just as he reached to me. And I learned very very confidently that we WERE alike. And if we were alike. I couldnt be all that bad, because I KNEW he was wonderful.
We use the word love so freely that it dimishes it in my opinion. And sometimes we ignore it to save ourselves some pain. Then again, sometimes we dont really know how intense a feeling is until it is put to a test.
When I read my email today and seen Az taking his leave of blogger, I started crying. It was truly only then that I realized the impact of it all, and how it has affected my own spirit. I can now clearly see that we are not put on this earth with only a mirror image of ourselves. We really are not limited to facing a lifetime of believing that there is only one other soul that is our mate as we strive through the thickest adversities to find them. No, indeed I can see now that this is far from reality. In reality, we come upon dozens, hundreds, thousands of other humans and occasionally for some, rarely for others, do we find another person who our soul is instantly and inexplicably drawn towards. I have met thousands of people face to face and thousands of people online and yet to this day I can still easily name the people who came into my life, who I felt my entire being, the soul and spirit, my very essence drawn to as a moth to a flame. Helplessly, yet so far from hopelessly. I imagine its somewhat of what a death is like, a moment suspended where you are weightless, peaceful and once and for all at home.
I don't pretend to know what is there for us after this life is over. But something in the core of me tells me I know these souls, the ones whom I have an instant affinity with, and that I have known them, held them, loved them, and been with them all along. I have no fear whatsoever that it is the last time I will know them. Sometimes I look for them in every face in a crowd and sometimes I just let myself enjoy their invisible presence in my life.
If you have any trouble recognizing with whom you may share this affinity there is one sure way to know it. You wish for their happiness, you pray for their peace. You never begrudge them anything and hope in your heart for them to have a safe journey even if you know your paths may never cross again. You set them free and let the world guide them, let their souls guide them...
Until we meet again
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