Ripping Off the Bandaid

This was a post that was started last night.

I am having a hard time sleeping still.  I thought that when I ripped the bandaid off that maybe the sleep would find it’s way back.  Not being able to sleep could also be a product of the very thing that I did.

I don’t want any alarm bells to go off in anyone’s head because of this entry.  So… to continue.

I’m thirty years old and I know what it’s like to be tired of watching the days pass.  At 17 years old, I walked down the two-lane highway to my friends house.  I remember telling my friends mom that I couldn’t do it anymore.  I was tired at 17 years old.

I was too scared to tell Jack A. (his pseudo name and everyone else’s will stay as such) that I wanted to move out.  I had no where to go.  My friends mom tried to get me to think and I remember us calling my grandparents.  They lived in Lewisville by the lake.

In my first entry, I spoke of a sanctuary.  These were the same grandparents.  We worked out a possible solution.  I don’t know if I ever truly got up the courage to go back home.  But I did.  I don’t remember walking or if my friend and her mom drove me home.  I walked through the front yard.  The property was on an acre.  Over half of it was the ‘front yard’.  Jack A. was spray painting this old truck that he had acquired.  I walked past him and into the house.  Sat down at the kitchen table and told my mother that I wanted to move out.

She said: “Okay but you’re telling your dad.”  I took a deep breath, walked outside, and told him I wanted to move out.

First words out of his mouth was “Where are you gonna go?”

I got roped into moving in with family friends.  I was a live in baby sitter and house keeper for my mothers best-friend, her husband, and four kids.  I got a job working with my mother at K-Mart in Sherman, Texas.  I worked with my mother got the silent treatment from my step-father and had very little free time because I was always with the four children.
I no longer had my step-father standing over my shoulder telling me what to do every second of every day.  Sadly, I was lost.  After a few months of the silent treatment, the depressing job where my mother watched everything I did I made a decision to try to disappear.  I took off with a friend to El Paso.  My step-father tracked me down and coerced me to come back home.

I didn’t tell the people that I lived with that I was leaving and just disappeared around bedtime.  I know that it was wrong to do it the way that I did and I put a lot of stress on them.  But I had been broken.

The day that Jack A. found me in El Paso, I had gone out to eat at a restaurant with my friend and we had gotten back.  His mom told me the second that we walked in the door that she needed to talk to us and that we needed to sit down.  She began to tell me about the conversation she had on the phone with my stepfather.  He told her that if I didn’t come home, he would come after me.  I was terrified.  I was told by Cierra (my friends mother) that I was supposed to call him back to let him know my decision.  When I did, he put Suzie on the phone and told her to ask:

“Why did you leave?  Was it my fault?”

The part that terrified me was that if he did come after me, I would be stuck in a car for nine hours and fifty-two minutes with a countless number of miles with nothing and no one.  I knew that if he came to get me, I would never make it back to my hometown.  So I said I would come home.

My mother and stepfather purchased a bus ticket for me.  The next day, I was on it and headed back to live under their roof.  I wasn’t aloud to leave the house.  I wasn’t seen in public.  I was made to stay in my room.  I wasn’t aloud to go to the kitchen when/if meals were made.  They made me wait until they were done eating before they brought me food or something to drink.  I didn’t last more than a couple of months before I begged my mother’s parents to let me move in to go to college since my ‘parents’ weren’t allowing me to do anything, go anywhere, or allowing me to function.

It was the pinnacle of my tiredness.

I am in need of my readers . . . Coming out of the closet.

Out of the Closet

Out of the Closet

For the last several weeks, I have had a very difficult time sleeping.  I have been contemplating this email since the very first day that this blog was started.  I’ve been absent for some time so I’m not sure how many will read this entry, but I hope that all do.

My real name is Mary Dewitt.  I grew up in Texas.  I consider my hometown to be Whitesboro but lived in several places around DFW throughout my life.  I’ve had this long and drawn out entry planned but I think this is all that’s needed.

My story is in no way complete and I have more to write about.

Dear Fate

Jacques Delille said,

Fate chooses our relatives, we choose our friends.

Someone, please-oh-please tell Fate that I want my money back!  I would like to return my relatives.  I don’t want to exchange them, I just want my money back.  I feel cheated!  I have some pretty awesome friends, so I will keep them but … Fate, you gotta take the other ones back!  The refund is not to include three individuals (my husband and my daughters).  My husband Conall, I have to say that you were pretty spot on with that pick.  He picks me up when I fall.  He protects me when I feel I need it and even when I don’t think I do.  He compliments my rough edges with his softer ones.  As far as the two little baby girls… their presence alone lifts my spirits and puts a smile on my face.  They bring out all of the ‘motherly instincts’ that I thought would elude me after my childhood.  So, I’m going to keep those three and give you the rest back.  You can take them.  Today.  No, I don’t want to wait till the end of the ‘waiting’ period.  You can even keep my deposit!

Heinrich von Pierer,

Control your fate or somebody else will.

Fate… I really has a HUGE bone to pick with you on this one.  Need I go over the list?  I didn’t think so.  I think I see a lawsuit coming over the horizon for pain and suffering and anything less than six figures would be insulting to my pride.  I will give you thirty days to make good on this before I contact my lawyer.

 

If things were really this easy, I think that a lot of wounds would be healed… child abuse would become a thing of the past because all a child would have to do is trade in their abuser for a mother like June or a father like Ward Cleaver.  I don’t know that I would specifically choose those as my trade-in option but I don’t think that I would have hesitated.  Sadly this world isn’t a perfect one and we just can’t make a trade-in for the relatives that have hurt us so deeply.  We can’t sue fate for the raw end of the deal.  So, who’s to blame?  Where is our retribution?

 

Poetry: Death of a Schizophrenic

This is a poem from my high school days.

the demons crowd around me in unison
the cry of death is deafening
i’m scared and hovering in my corner alone
the guitar is my battle cry
singing and screaming, siphoning me of all life
my vision blurs and one becomes two combining into four
the razor blades cry my name and the mirror has no reflection
i run from my shadow and blend in with death
i won’t try to argue
the point is clear and the time to dance with the train is near
i can taste your fear as it oozes from your pores
my heart races and the tears fall
statues move and the turtle dances
blood spills into puddles on my clothes
and the dead walk the earth
anger and hatred rip through the flesh and leap as fire towards the havens
cries to god go unheard
a forgotten child plays with the snake
crawling in fear toward hell
the devil shall parish in his own flames of evil
dragons fly across the moon and the pegasus dances on my grave
a forgotten promise flies on the wings of a dove
my name is echoed in the padded room
i shrink down to nothing in this straight jacket
i become the disease of nothing in particular
the hurricane rages in your mind
a photograph is taken and the panther lurks in the shadows
the termite chokes on the splinters and the boat left without the captain
in the eyes of the demons a child cries
for fear of death is blessed by the world
worldly values become figments of my imagination
dreams become the tear drops falling from the sky
at your feet lies the puddle of water that leads to the ocean
lightning flashes and the sky falls
whales fly and the one-eyed cyclops screams in fear
the dance has ended and the piano is out of tune
the demons crowd around me in unison
jostling each other out of restlessness for action
laughter is heard over the screams
it’s a long way down and i’m staying on the ledge
the gremlin hunts the demon of my heart
loneliness takes its toll and the dagger killed the love
the stars dance around my hands
it’s been awhile since death reconciled with life
it was a black wedding for you
and the snake reclaims the child
cold sets in and I’m left to stare at a mirror
it sucks you in and drags you down
in the picture lies the dead man petting his dog
walking the tightrope without a net
i let myself fall
i’m bent in two the wrong way
the guitar plays my song
the ghost dances with its body
the demons cry and my name and i answer with my battle cry of tears
the man in the uniform shot the innocent while i lay in my grave
the ring is from my finger and the telephone sits silent
the wolf howls at the moon where the dragon sits eating the pegasus
memories are where you lay them
buried is the hemorrhage in my hand
you fight for your life and all you get is death in the end
the demons crowd around me
the spell goes unbroken from broken promises
the cat ate the fish and the dog ate the cat
mexico at the dog that had a death wish and crossed the border
the riot rages in the white house where patriotism kills
the edge becomes my interest as i stare at the ants from the ledge
the demons disappear and life becomes death in the end
closing my eyes, i fall and……………

Poetry: To a Soldier

I wrote this April 6, 2003 when there was a possibility that my husband (then boyfriend) was almost recalled by the Army.

Broken hearts and bloodied tears,
Scars that still burn.
The ground rolls with thunder and spears of fire.
Innocence dies in a nameless sea that churns and churns.
As we are all prisoners of war.

A mother cries for her son and daughter.
Little children with scraped knees playing cowboys and indians,
Worlds spread apart by water.
History is re-born behind buildings in shadowed ally’s.
As we are all prisoners of war.

Thunder claps overhead.
They march single file.
Into the face of the unknown they are led.
Being bound by duty all the while.
As we are all prisoners of war.

The proud and the beautiful
With dirt smudged hope.
Their battle cries are heard by millions that stand faithful.
Letters of assurance are written and sent home.
As we are all prisoners of war.

Poetry: The Labyrinth

This is another one of my poems from my high school days that I was able to protect from Jack A.  Anything that I wrote while under his roof had to be hidden.  I truly believe that if he had caught me with any of it, he would have killed me.

The Labyrinth
Like the Grimm Reaper, I walk a fine line.
Living in the eternal hell of hatred peppered with desolation.
Possessing no illusions and blotting out all consciousness.
The seconds are slipping by like sand through my fingers.
I can hear the seconds ticking and tocking.
TICK TOCK TICK TOCK DING
It’s precision bringing me closer to the end.
Synchronized in time in which we all dance with death.
I dance alone.  I know the end is near.
My body becoming a canvas of tortured vessels.
All of the colors are gray and black.
Mirroring my world and it’s inferno of midnight.
Living without a soul and without feelings.
I have become numb, losing all sense of humanity.
He is the pilot of my slow walk to death.
Unable to stop or slow this forced pace.
I can feel the cold hand of the reaper on my neck.
Beckoning me closer to death.