This is how I feel tonight.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
February
February is fire and ice. It is frost on the ground by the time we were done and were heading home to pretend to sleep for a few hours before school. It is the burning cold of bare feet on frozen ground, bare back on frosted grass. It is the burn of the ceremonial fires. It is the heat of a man on top of me. It is the heat of unwanted breath on my neck. The burn of penetration.
February is when the contrasts get to be too much to take. Too many opposites functioning at once. It will drive you mad if you try to think on it too long.
Don't.
February is when the contrasts get to be too much to take. Too many opposites functioning at once. It will drive you mad if you try to think on it too long.
Don't.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
The Ceremony
This is the continuation of the story "January 17th". The cult I grew up in got me pregnant that first time in 1996 on purpose, to sacrifice my unborn child. Several weeks after the abortion had been preformed in a clinic, this ceremony was conducted at a local church, a church I had before and have since attended and sung in many times. Please be kind in regards to spelling and grammatical errors. This was written by Lisa, one of my alters who was born on the night of abortion, in one shot, and I have not edited it at all.
Please read with caution. The following is graphic and true.
It's dark.
And I'm waiting..
The baby is gone, sputtered from my womb like diarrhea. They gave me ten minutes to clean my self up, redress and get back outside. Ten minutes wasn't enough.
Six weeks later and I'm waiting in white, somewhere in the bowels of the church. Fuck, I hate it here at night. It's so spooky. I can feel the darkness of this closet pressing in against me. Where were they now? The few who had noticed the cuts on my arms? How sick I was every morning? I know they couldn't know; I didn't even miss one day of school; it was forbidden. But still, they had bugged me with insipid questions when I was trying hard not to throw up right on them, the morning sickness was so bad, and now when I was stuck, where were they? Safe, that's where. Tears came again.
NO NO NO!! There was NO way I was doing it that way; not tonight.
I rehearsed my part over and over in my head to keep the tears at bay. As the air in the closet became stale and still, I had to fight crying even harder as I knew it would use up my air more quickly. If they came for me and found me passed out this time, there'd be real Hell to pay.
BONG!
The church bell rang once. I jumped in the pitch black and hit my head on something. God knows what else was in this closet with me. I just hoped it wasn't someBODY else.
CLANG. Two. I held my breath.
Silence. It would be tonight.
The door flung open and a Red Sir stood there. Shit! RED?! This was really going to happen tonight. I needed no command or hand to lead me, not that he would have touched me anyway and defiled himself in his holy relics. I stepped out, my face uncovered for once and relished the fresher air, though relief was fleeting to say the least. I held the lillies in front of me, like a wedding bouquet. My hair was pulled back; my dress was white. Blood shows up better on the white. I followed the Red, and as I stepped out, a barrage of Blacks folded in behind me, moving, as they always did, as one, like liquid, like something gelatinous. I was puzzled at this; no brothers ever patrolled me; I was obedient; there was much more than freedom from physical pain riding on it. Red's sparkly symbols reflected even the dim lights and hurt my eyes.
We passed the giant organ, looming like a monster in the darkness, seeming to breathe, to be almost alive. I shuddered, remembering times behind and underneath it. Pleading with it silently. You have seen this, You know where we are going. DO something. But it loomed large and soulless. Another enemy. Of the more common kind. Not the kind that hurt me. The kind that sat and watched.
The organ was, however, a landmark and now I knew where we were. Down the staircase and past the bathrooms, pitch flooding from under the doors. I am sweating now, passing those rooms. Remembering having to wash my mouth in the urinal. What my breasts sound like slapping against the cold wall.
Just
Keep
Walking
As we near the sanctuary, I realize the need for the black escort behind me. It is full. Every seat. Every pew. Black hooded figures sit straight and still among the candlelight. I can't tell if they are people or trash bags. Either way, I give up then and there. It is all of them. This is it. If I don't die on that alter tonight...
As we near the glass double doors, the Red on the chancel raises his arms and the chanting begins. Loud. Unusually loud. And it grows as the doors are thrown open before me. By the time I somehow get myself to the chancel they are yelling.
Then it gets unbearably fast.
Hands everywhere. Must be the Blacks; the Reds cannot touch me tonight (thank God) for I am unclean. My underwear are yanked to my knees, the white veil torn off of my head; I hear it rip. My dress is lifted to my stomach and I am flat on my back.
Lifted
Onto
The Altar
The Holy Place
To die
It is silent. I hadn't known they would all be here. This is not our group; not our small cult.
It hits me.
She is the sacrifice for them all. For the sect; for the larger cult.
I close my eyes. Have on last tremor rip through my body and know that the drugs have completely worn off. As usual. Their timing is impeccable.
I am completely terrified and aware now. Sweat is everywhere. It runs down my legs and between my breasts, which still ache and feel stretched. Calm down! I tell them. There is no baby to feed anymore. Don't you get it?
But I don't. Not tonight. Tonight she is back. I can hear them hollering at me in the car through the drug haze.
“You are still pregnant, you whore. You only thought you killed her in the clinic. You will really give her to us tonight. In our church.”
I feel the blackness coming, but awaken just enough to hear the last words as one of them not yet hooded yanks my hair.
“And you'd better scream like it's real.”
The silence continues. Time crawls again, my worst enemy. I hold the lillies on my chest and breath shallowly. I keep my eyes closed, not pinched, but peaceful. As instructed.
There are words bellowed out by the Red. I jump again but quickly compose myself. I will pay for that small movement. I am supposed to be dead.
The words continue, but I can't hear. The ringing in my ears has started. Then it turns to fizzing. Blackness even blacker than closed eyes fills my sight and I know I must stay conscious. Passing out is not an option tonight. I breath as slowly and deeply as I can without giving away my liveliness. It works. The strong smell of the lillies fill my senses. All of them. The fizziness fades and I can hear him. The Priest Red. Whom I have come to realize is my grandfather.
“In her death, we shall live!” A yell from the crowd.
“We shall gather her life force to our sigma. We will carry it with us. We will have obeyed and will be rewarded.” Another cheer. Then silence.
I feel them moving around me. My heart races and I fight passing out again. He is beside me, at my head.
“Open your eyes.”
I see the hooded faces around me, but only on three sides. The audience has to see this time. No holy circle. Presentation is more important tonight.
He leans down and gets his lips as close as he can without touching my left ear.
“Give her.”
My whole body shudders.
“Give her.”
Another tremor, not caused by drugs, but my body's feeble attempt to fight back and hold onto something that had been taken six weeks before. My uterus clamps down and spasms, looking for her, trying to hold her in. It hadn't worked against the saline. And it wouldn't work tonight.
The spasms continue as the men surrounding me start their groaning. Some cannot even resist touching themselves, they are so aroused at what is going on.
They grow stronger and are soon thrusting my hips upward and then back down so that my bare backside slaps the hard wood of the altar. Sound finally escapes my lips as the internal cramps build and my back becomes sore.
He raises his hand. The groaning and self pleasuring cease, but my gyrating takes a moment to still and finally even a Black hand on my abdomen. I lay panting and swallowing hard, trying to stop moaning with the pain.
“Take her.”
That one wasn't for me. The privileged Black moves toward me, syringe in hand.
“No!” I cannot help it. I know it is only cow's blood to squirt into my vagina and make it look like the abortion had happened here in front of all of them, but the last time a needle was plunged into me, I delivered my firstborn. Dead. And in pieces.
He chuckles and inserts in into me. I feel the oily blood going in and know it is time.
“Now. Now! NOW!” He raises his arms to the heavens and screams. Laughs that unnatural laugh. The blood begins to trickle back out.
The small groan I meant to give to placate them grows into a scream. Then another that doesn't seem to end. It doesn't seem to need breath behind it. It just goes and goes. My father shows himself to me by speaking. He holds me in a sitting position and snarls in my right ear, “Push, bitch.”
I give up. One more raspy breath in from the screaming and I push. Feel the blood coming out, pooling around my thighs. The men dip their fingers in it and smear it on my chest, my face, in my mouth.
The buzzing in my ears is back and I can't fight it this time. I scream her name and black out.
Please read with caution. The following is graphic and true.
It's dark.
And I'm waiting..
The baby is gone, sputtered from my womb like diarrhea. They gave me ten minutes to clean my self up, redress and get back outside. Ten minutes wasn't enough.
Six weeks later and I'm waiting in white, somewhere in the bowels of the church. Fuck, I hate it here at night. It's so spooky. I can feel the darkness of this closet pressing in against me. Where were they now? The few who had noticed the cuts on my arms? How sick I was every morning? I know they couldn't know; I didn't even miss one day of school; it was forbidden. But still, they had bugged me with insipid questions when I was trying hard not to throw up right on them, the morning sickness was so bad, and now when I was stuck, where were they? Safe, that's where. Tears came again.
NO NO NO!! There was NO way I was doing it that way; not tonight.
I rehearsed my part over and over in my head to keep the tears at bay. As the air in the closet became stale and still, I had to fight crying even harder as I knew it would use up my air more quickly. If they came for me and found me passed out this time, there'd be real Hell to pay.
BONG!
The church bell rang once. I jumped in the pitch black and hit my head on something. God knows what else was in this closet with me. I just hoped it wasn't someBODY else.
CLANG. Two. I held my breath.
Silence. It would be tonight.
The door flung open and a Red Sir stood there. Shit! RED?! This was really going to happen tonight. I needed no command or hand to lead me, not that he would have touched me anyway and defiled himself in his holy relics. I stepped out, my face uncovered for once and relished the fresher air, though relief was fleeting to say the least. I held the lillies in front of me, like a wedding bouquet. My hair was pulled back; my dress was white. Blood shows up better on the white. I followed the Red, and as I stepped out, a barrage of Blacks folded in behind me, moving, as they always did, as one, like liquid, like something gelatinous. I was puzzled at this; no brothers ever patrolled me; I was obedient; there was much more than freedom from physical pain riding on it. Red's sparkly symbols reflected even the dim lights and hurt my eyes.
We passed the giant organ, looming like a monster in the darkness, seeming to breathe, to be almost alive. I shuddered, remembering times behind and underneath it. Pleading with it silently. You have seen this, You know where we are going. DO something. But it loomed large and soulless. Another enemy. Of the more common kind. Not the kind that hurt me. The kind that sat and watched.
The organ was, however, a landmark and now I knew where we were. Down the staircase and past the bathrooms, pitch flooding from under the doors. I am sweating now, passing those rooms. Remembering having to wash my mouth in the urinal. What my breasts sound like slapping against the cold wall.
Just
Keep
Walking
As we near the sanctuary, I realize the need for the black escort behind me. It is full. Every seat. Every pew. Black hooded figures sit straight and still among the candlelight. I can't tell if they are people or trash bags. Either way, I give up then and there. It is all of them. This is it. If I don't die on that alter tonight...
As we near the glass double doors, the Red on the chancel raises his arms and the chanting begins. Loud. Unusually loud. And it grows as the doors are thrown open before me. By the time I somehow get myself to the chancel they are yelling.
Then it gets unbearably fast.
Hands everywhere. Must be the Blacks; the Reds cannot touch me tonight (thank God) for I am unclean. My underwear are yanked to my knees, the white veil torn off of my head; I hear it rip. My dress is lifted to my stomach and I am flat on my back.
Lifted
Onto
The Altar
The Holy Place
To die
It is silent. I hadn't known they would all be here. This is not our group; not our small cult.
It hits me.
She is the sacrifice for them all. For the sect; for the larger cult.
I close my eyes. Have on last tremor rip through my body and know that the drugs have completely worn off. As usual. Their timing is impeccable.
I am completely terrified and aware now. Sweat is everywhere. It runs down my legs and between my breasts, which still ache and feel stretched. Calm down! I tell them. There is no baby to feed anymore. Don't you get it?
But I don't. Not tonight. Tonight she is back. I can hear them hollering at me in the car through the drug haze.
“You are still pregnant, you whore. You only thought you killed her in the clinic. You will really give her to us tonight. In our church.”
I feel the blackness coming, but awaken just enough to hear the last words as one of them not yet hooded yanks my hair.
“And you'd better scream like it's real.”
The silence continues. Time crawls again, my worst enemy. I hold the lillies on my chest and breath shallowly. I keep my eyes closed, not pinched, but peaceful. As instructed.
There are words bellowed out by the Red. I jump again but quickly compose myself. I will pay for that small movement. I am supposed to be dead.
The words continue, but I can't hear. The ringing in my ears has started. Then it turns to fizzing. Blackness even blacker than closed eyes fills my sight and I know I must stay conscious. Passing out is not an option tonight. I breath as slowly and deeply as I can without giving away my liveliness. It works. The strong smell of the lillies fill my senses. All of them. The fizziness fades and I can hear him. The Priest Red. Whom I have come to realize is my grandfather.
“In her death, we shall live!” A yell from the crowd.
“We shall gather her life force to our sigma. We will carry it with us. We will have obeyed and will be rewarded.” Another cheer. Then silence.
I feel them moving around me. My heart races and I fight passing out again. He is beside me, at my head.
“Open your eyes.”
I see the hooded faces around me, but only on three sides. The audience has to see this time. No holy circle. Presentation is more important tonight.
He leans down and gets his lips as close as he can without touching my left ear.
“Give her.”
My whole body shudders.
“Give her.”
Another tremor, not caused by drugs, but my body's feeble attempt to fight back and hold onto something that had been taken six weeks before. My uterus clamps down and spasms, looking for her, trying to hold her in. It hadn't worked against the saline. And it wouldn't work tonight.
The spasms continue as the men surrounding me start their groaning. Some cannot even resist touching themselves, they are so aroused at what is going on.
They grow stronger and are soon thrusting my hips upward and then back down so that my bare backside slaps the hard wood of the altar. Sound finally escapes my lips as the internal cramps build and my back becomes sore.
He raises his hand. The groaning and self pleasuring cease, but my gyrating takes a moment to still and finally even a Black hand on my abdomen. I lay panting and swallowing hard, trying to stop moaning with the pain.
“Take her.”
That one wasn't for me. The privileged Black moves toward me, syringe in hand.
“No!” I cannot help it. I know it is only cow's blood to squirt into my vagina and make it look like the abortion had happened here in front of all of them, but the last time a needle was plunged into me, I delivered my firstborn. Dead. And in pieces.
He chuckles and inserts in into me. I feel the oily blood going in and know it is time.
“Now. Now! NOW!” He raises his arms to the heavens and screams. Laughs that unnatural laugh. The blood begins to trickle back out.
The small groan I meant to give to placate them grows into a scream. Then another that doesn't seem to end. It doesn't seem to need breath behind it. It just goes and goes. My father shows himself to me by speaking. He holds me in a sitting position and snarls in my right ear, “Push, bitch.”
I give up. One more raspy breath in from the screaming and I push. Feel the blood coming out, pooling around my thighs. The men dip their fingers in it and smear it on my chest, my face, in my mouth.
The buzzing in my ears is back and I can't fight it this time. I scream her name and black out.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Bad week
gets worse. So I tried all afternoon to get a dr appt and finally found one that has an after hours clinic. They told me to show up at 5:30. I was waiting expectantly for this appt as I have been sick for 5 days now, and I am still coughing up junk, and my chest is on fire. Got to the clinic at 5:25. I was told I was at the wrong location. Ok, no big deal. Back out into the cold rainy weather I went to try to find the other office. Finally did, at 5:45, and find out the receptionist I talked to didn't save my appointment and they are booked. SIGH. So now I am out in the rain, got lost, (of course) and wound up on I45 at 6 pm headed the wrong way.
Fantastic.
Had to call Allen to Google my location and help me get home. He was in bed cuz now he has this grunge I have been battling.
He was able to get me home, so now we are both here hacking on each other. What a week. Now I will just have to see if I can make it into the office tomorrow, or try to get into another dr.
UGH.
Fantastic.
Had to call Allen to Google my location and help me get home. He was in bed cuz now he has this grunge I have been battling.
He was able to get me home, so now we are both here hacking on each other. What a week. Now I will just have to see if I can make it into the office tomorrow, or try to get into another dr.
UGH.
Sick and Tired
Of being sick and tired. Been sick since last Thursday and am still feeling like crap. Now I just get to wait for 5:30 when I can go see the dr. I am so tired of sitting at home and am really getting stir crazy and cranky. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Bourne movies and Memory Recovery
Watched the Bourne trilogy this weekend for the first time; way cool. But of course, like so many other movies, this one is full of triggers for me. Happily, triggers no longer cause agoraphobia or panic attacks, but rather are usually just the nudge a memory sitting on the edge of my consciousness needs to be remembered.
The first thing it made me think of is how recovering lost memories is portrayed in the movies. These producers must have talked to at least a few trauma survivors as the flashes of visual memories popping in and out is quite accurate. For me, this is not the most common way things come back to me. Seeing things is usually the last part of the process. More often, it is flashes of feelings. I can be anywhere and suddenly feel the need to run and hide, or suddenly feel hot or cold. I smell things as if they were right under my nose, but which are not. The first time I began to remember the night of the last post, it came in a pain in my right side so bad, I had to leave my class with another teacher and was on the phone to my doctor asking if she had any explanation or if I should go to the emergency room. After an exam and ultrasound which showed nothing, the pain didn't stop. Once I found Richard, he laughed and immediately told me there was nothing wrong with my ovaries or appendix. It was a body memory of the saline needle going in. The mind is powerful enough to control the body like this. Scary, huh?
After a memory presents itself this way, in body memory or flashback form, I usually get sound. This is worse for me than seeing what is happening. In fact, can't say anymore about that now.
Lastly, if at all, I begin to be able to see. A lot of what happened to me occurred in the dark, so many times, there is little to remember being seen. Also, when children are afraid, they have the tendency to cover or close their eyes.
Anyway, just thought it was cool. Plus, people often ask me what remembering it is like. While hard to explain fully, this is a pretty good start.
The first thing it made me think of is how recovering lost memories is portrayed in the movies. These producers must have talked to at least a few trauma survivors as the flashes of visual memories popping in and out is quite accurate. For me, this is not the most common way things come back to me. Seeing things is usually the last part of the process. More often, it is flashes of feelings. I can be anywhere and suddenly feel the need to run and hide, or suddenly feel hot or cold. I smell things as if they were right under my nose, but which are not. The first time I began to remember the night of the last post, it came in a pain in my right side so bad, I had to leave my class with another teacher and was on the phone to my doctor asking if she had any explanation or if I should go to the emergency room. After an exam and ultrasound which showed nothing, the pain didn't stop. Once I found Richard, he laughed and immediately told me there was nothing wrong with my ovaries or appendix. It was a body memory of the saline needle going in. The mind is powerful enough to control the body like this. Scary, huh?
After a memory presents itself this way, in body memory or flashback form, I usually get sound. This is worse for me than seeing what is happening. In fact, can't say anymore about that now.
Lastly, if at all, I begin to be able to see. A lot of what happened to me occurred in the dark, so many times, there is little to remember being seen. Also, when children are afraid, they have the tendency to cover or close their eyes.
Anyway, just thought it was cool. Plus, people often ask me what remembering it is like. While hard to explain fully, this is a pretty good start.
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