Friday, August 31, 2012

In Seven Years


In Seven Years, I will be the same age she was went she left me.

The same age when cancer struck quite suddenly ~ the earliest signs showing up mere weeks after I returned from my dream trip to New York ~ the trip she and Dad so generously made happen for me.

I think about her and how young she died.  How much living she had left to do.  I wonder what else she had planned for her life.  What remaining dreams she had yet to fill.

I think about the possibility that I could die young, too.

I think about my dreams unfilled.

And realize how tired I am of my dreams being on hold.

Where will I be in seven years?

Will my life be completely the same?

Will I still keep reaching for the same dreams?

I am fairly content with my life, but a spark flickered within me once I started the writing blog.

My second story "Dreams" revealed my childhood dream of being a writer living in New York City.

Is it possible to finally live my dream?

Mama believed in my dreams.  

Dad believed in my dreams.

They sent me to New York in the Summer of 1993.

It's time to go back.



 
Summer of 1993


.


Monday, August 27, 2012

Underground

I have been thinking of going underground.

Not in the same way I used to when I was in my abusive relationship.


But now as a domestic violence advocate who writes an online blog, who is working toward getting more involved with national conferences, and now hopes to eventually get published ~ well, I think I may use a pseudonym.


I do have a very big fear that he will eventually find out about my writing.


The blog is featured in my local newspaper, and I share the blog links on public Facebook pages.


I worry about Google searches.


I do not really want to give up my name, my identity, and the direct acknowledgement that I am the one who really wrote those words. 


But I need to feel safe.


I think back to those long years where I investigated going underground.


I always envisioned New York.


I would visit the website for Safe Horizon and take the virtual tour through their shelter. Over and over, I would visit the rooms in the shelter and imagine myself feeling safe there.


I did not know if I would have to change my name or cut my hair, but I knew I could start over in New York City.  The thought of going underground was scary yet full of all the dreams and adventure I had envisioned as a child of being in New York ~ the city ~ one day.


Recently, I submitted two poems to a poetry writing contest for domestic violence survivors, and they asked if I wanted to use my real name, another name, or remain anonymous.  I struggled with giving up my real name but ~ with the help of my father ~ decided on a pseudonym:  Stella Rhea.


I think about Stella Rhea and all that she has been through these past eleven years.


She is empowered now.


She wants to help others more than ever.


She wants her words, her experience, to truly make a difference.


She is willing to go out in the world by going underground.


I embrace her, love her, and rally behind her.


My name is Stella Rhea, and I am a survivor!







Uncensored





Sunday, August 19, 2012

Dodging My Past

For six years, I have dodged them.

Walked the other way, pretended I did not see them, even not responding to a shout out, "Is that you?"

But today, I turned around, when she shouted, "Aren't you the one who used to date __________ (insert name of abusive ex)?

She did not even remember my name.

But she knew it was me.

And in a split second, I was confronted by my past.

The people of the Santa Cruz Mountains seem to find me in my circus of a second job ~ where I deal with the public in the hot sun ~ and hide behind the hoards of faces ~ when they walk by me.  It's easy to get lost in a crowd.

So, yes, it is me.

And nothing about "How are you?" ~ only about how bad he is doing these days ~ how he has lost everything ~ all because he returned to the drugs after nearly 20 years sobriety.

"Yes, I heard," I nodded, emotionless.

Then looked her straight in the eye and told her I have no contact with him anymore.

"That's good," she said with a smile.

That's good, I thought to myself.  Because I, too, lost everything, just by being abused by him for those four long years.  

I lost my money, my belongings, my housing, two cars, my pride, my dignity, my confidence, my spirit, and nearly my soul ~ just by being abused by him for those four long years. 

I nearly lost my life.

Although he tried very hard to take that away from me ~ just by being abused by him for those four long years.

Those four long years flashing by my eyes, flowing through my veins, making me nearly gasp out loud ~ because I acknowledged my past in a split second.

Today, I have decided to keep dodging them.

If someone asks, "It that you?", I will keep walking.  Walking forward.  Away from my past. 

No, it is not me you see. 




Uncensored