Does It Ever Really Stop?

Calling the hotline after so many years makes me wonder if it ever will really stop.

The underlying flashbacks just waiting to erupt at any random trigger.

The lack of trust in new relationships.

The pain that never really left my side even though I moved on long ago ~

I still remembered the number.

1(866) 2 My Ally ~

And again, another young woman answered the other line.

Calmed me down.

Told her how taken back I was to have so much anxiety at work.

Needing to sneak in another office to make a secret call at work.

So familiar.

So reminiscent of my distant past.

I asked her how can this be happening when I am an advocate now ~ an online advocate ~ a writer for the abused ~

And yet I am riddled with anxiety ~ flooded with tears ~ remembering him and how much he once controlled me ~

He affects my present in ways I do not wish ~

He ruins my today ~

But not my tomorrow ~

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This Moment in Time

Never have been happier as I am right now in this moment time.

Sometimes, you have to simply let go of all the pain of the past for happiness to seep back in!

All in God's Time ~

So worth the wait ~

~ The Time of My Life ~

One Step Closer

The scissors came out.

And I got one step closer to getting back to The Original Me.

Put the navy blue hairband away.

Not going to need it anymore.

I looked in the mirror and thought, "There she is."

There I am.  Looking back at me. 

Eyes still the same.  Maybe a little more weathered.

But a lot more wiser.

And full of so much more soul.

The second half of my life now begins.

Chapter Three ~



The Third Character

I got nostalgic about the Santa Cruz Mountains today.

I spoke to a kind person on the bus about my time spent there and how Ben Lomond always felt like home to me.  I had started a new job at the local university back in 2000 and found a rustic little studio near Highway 9.

I think back to those earlier days of peace and tranquility and had one of those "Little Did I Know" moments that everything would change so suddenly after entering an abusive relationship so long ago.

In so many of my survival stories, the Santa Cruz Mountains is the third character.

These mountains witnessed my isolation.

My terror.

My tears.

These mountains wrapped me in their arms when I cried myself to sleep, hiding out in Lil' Red's room on so many nights when the end was near.

Theses mountains wept with me each time I called the hotline from behind the knotty pine walls that separated me from him during my times of crisis, the same walls in which my head was bashed into multiple times back in the Summer of 2003.

These mountains held my hopes for breaking free and seeing my family again.

These mountains held my dreams that could not be deteriorated by any amount of abuse.

These mountains watched me grow into a stronger woman that final year.

These mountains kept me safe throughout the whole ordeal.

These mountains bid me farewell that hot July afternoon when I hurriedly packed up Lil' Red in the old Camry, backed down the alley, and courageously left my life in San Lorenzo Valley.



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Where I Am At

Just when I get so discouraged from the layoff from 2 1/2 years ago, I am reminded I am supposed to be where I am at this moment in time..

Along comes a mother of a new student pleading with me to take care of her daughter ~ the first in her family to attend college ~ "Watch over her," she says, "Let her know that this is a place she can come for help."  I give her my card and tell her I will be here for her just like a second mother.  I step around the counter, and we have a group hug.  The mother cries softly.

The money is tight ~ the hours are far less ~ in the job offered to me nearly 19 months ago.  But it is times like these that make me realize how much I make a difference in a simple moment in time ~ on a seemingly routine day ~ the gesture of reassurance to a parent who trusts me to take good care of her daughter.

 

 

 



 

 



New York

My Muse, My Hero

My Heart, My Soul

My Dreams, My Hopes

My Inspiration, My Determination

My Friend, My Soulmate

New York

Threshold

The mental block.  The emotional block.  The inability to cross the threshold of pain.

So much shared these past three years.  So much still hidden from the world.

The Degradation.  The Humiliation.

The Dehumanization.

I relive these memories in flashing images.  Winced away as soon as they appear. 

I block them out for the moment just to get through the day. 

But they are not really blocked out.  They are not really forgotten.

The stories unshared.  The stories unwritten.

The threshold of pain.

Peaked eight years ago.

The threshold of healing.

Uncrossed.

 

 

 

~ Dedicated to all the beautiful women I am helping to heal by sharing my story ~



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