Candles in the Wind…

This past fortnight has been quite emotional for me.  It can be written off to the Mirena I had put in when the doctor did the other two procedures in November last year.  It’s normal.  Apparently.  I must just ride the wave.  Does that mean surf’s up?

Last week was a particularly bad week for me.  I would go from zero to bitch to activist to snivelling heap, to centre of attention to strong silent type in a matter of minutes.  Add to that I sometimes have foreboding premonitions and well, you pretty much have a category five hurricane on your hands.

I don’t often have these gut feelings, but when I do, they’re generally not wrong.  My friend Cassey was on my mind a great deal last week, and instead of just touching base, I kept putting it off.  Turned out she, along with another friend of mine, both lost parents last week, and one of my FB friends lost her brother, but the heartbreak doesn’t stop there 😦  On Saturday Shayla-Rae let me know that a couple of our former teachers lost their eldest son in a tragic drowning accident.  He was only seventeen.  A young man, with his entire future ahead of him.  It puts things in perspective for me once again.  Life is precious and in the blink of an eye, it can be ended, whether after a long illness, or in a heart-rending accident.  It also leaves one asking Why? Why did God decide to snuff their candles out?  Only He knows…

grief-loss

In the bigger scheme of things – you all know how scared I am to lose my parents, but having heard of all this loss this past week, I’m grateful The Toppie only broke his arm.  It could have been a lot worse.  A few people have sent well-wishes after my post about The Toppie.  As I said, going back to work did him the world of good.  I also think it saved The Bean from committing murder 😀  The next bridge to cross is when the plaster comes off.  I’ll give y’all another update shortly after.

On a happier note, I’m having a catch-up with Carmen after work tonight.  She’s visiting her parents for a few days.  Can’t wait to have a decent chinwag with her.  Even though I saw her three weeks ago, it feels like years has passed.

Have a great week everyone, and remember – tell the important people in your life that they mean something to you.  You never know when they won’t be around anymore!

Advertisements

Fear…

coffeestainquote

So, I have been quiet.  Honestly, I haven’t felt much like writing.  Work is hectic; fuses are slightly shorter than usual all round and, I’ve been preoccupied with both good/fun-, and not-so-good/fun things.

A friend introduced me to a great guy, Charlie, with whom I’ve been chatting for quite a while already.  To get to know each other better, we’re doing the “50 I’s about Me” challenge, that I did on this very blog eons ago.  It’s fun to see how some of my answers haven’t changed at all while others have done a complete one eighty.

We haven’t been doing them in the same order as the original list.  Yesterday’s “I” was meant to be “I fear”, but I just couldn’t face it.  You see, I realized yesterday, that more than my fear of dying by drowning or smoke inhalation, I fear being an orphan.  Even as I type the words, bile rises in my throat and my vision becomes cloudy.  Ironically, in a previous conversation, Charlie said that fear is a learned emotion.  When we’re born all we fear is loud noises; everything else we fear is imprinted on us.

I’m sure you’re wondering Where the hell is she going with this? So, I’ll get to it:

Neither my mom nor I knew The Toppie had decided to take the garbage out early yesterday morning.  All we heard was a loud “Ooohhhh”, followed by a blunt grunt and then an even louder, “Owww!!”  I bolted down the wet stairs to find him at the bottom, bleeding, shaky and unable to stand.  He had a gash above his right eye, a long cut on his arm, so deep that the bone was visible and instant bruising on his legs and thighs.  My first aid training flew right out the window.  I began to shake as adrenalin began to course through my veins.  All I knew was he would need stitches and that we had to stop the bleeding.  Mom gave me a towel which I wrapped around his arm before loading him into the car and driving like Lewis Hamilton to the local state hospital, all the time  quietly reciting, Please God, don’t let him die. Please! 

Sitting in the cold waiting room, my poor dad was rocking backwards and forwards with pain.  I have never seen him so vulnerable.  It just made me even more aware of how mortal he and my mom are and just how much I’m not ready to have God take either of them away.  He started to doze off and I panicked thinking he may have a concussion, so when a nurse came to call another patient (of about twenty sitting in the waiting room), I walked up asking how long the wait would be, given that he was now drifting in and out of consciousness.  It was then that the brain fog cleared and I remembered the big words I’d learned in first aid training, cranial contusion and bleeding laceration to right forearm with suspected fracture.  Bless the nurse, who told me to immediately bring him in.  We waited a long time for help, but once the nurses got busy, they were efficient and professional.  The doctor saw him, and said that X-rays would be required, because she too suspected a broken arm.  The X-rays took a long time because the radiographers (in both state and private hospitals) don’t work on weekends.  In the instance of the former, the hospital waits until there are at least five patients requiring X-rays before they ask the radiographer to come in.  If there aren’t a time of at least two hours must elapse.  The nurses in the meantime disinfected the wound on his arm, which had him flinching and then applied strips to close the gaping hole – he couldn’t have sutures because his skin is too thin and gave him a shot of morphine for the pain.

It was frustrating to have to wait, but Aunty Carol, Uncle Barry and Cousin Lola popped by with a bite to eat, a flask of coffee and two magazines.  It helped to pass the time until the radiographer arrived.  The process of the X-rays was quick-sticks.

The verdict – broken ulna, less than two thirds, which thankfully means that no surgery is required.

Ulnar-Fracture

Not The Toppie’s X-ray – just a Google one for example.

The doctor applied a temporary cast (because the arm my still swell) and told him to come back on Friday, for it to be removed, the wound to be cleaned and a proper cast to be applied.

It was a harrowing six hour ordeal that left The Toppie broken and bruised, The Bean emotionally frazzled and Yours Truly on an emotional rollercoaster.

I’m scared that it might happen again, and that if it does, it won’t be just a broken arm. I’m furious because so many people knew where my parents were when the going was good, but 95% of them have disappeared into the woodwork now that it isn’t the case anymore.  I’m tired of the pretenders; exhausted in fact.  I’m willing to wager that had we called for help, only a handful of people would have come to our rescue.  I’m relieved that it was only a few bruises, a bashed head and a broken arm.  I am hopeful that everything will be okay in the end.  As Cousin Lola said yesterday, ”This too shall pass” and it will.  My mantra right now is that EVERYTHING that is happening now is for my ULTIMATE GOOD, even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.

Sexual Abuse Leaves Scars…Forever!

Many of you who read my blog know this already, but for those of you who don’t. I am a survivor of sexual abuse. I was abused by my biological father, who, if I had to see him in the street, I probably wouldn’t recognize, and, if I did, I would probably spit on him and carry on walking. As far as I’m concerned, he’s dead. I locked the horrors away in the dark recesses of my mind for years and, it was only in high school, that something triggered the memories. Whether or not there has been a complete healing process, I don’t think so. I have problems with certain intimacies and at a certain point in some intimate situations, my brain totally shuts the rest of my body off and I just can’t carry on. Needless to say, this doesn’t exactly bode well for my sexual relationships. A close friend of mine has recommended hypnosis, but part of me is too scared at just what I might remember.

So, when I heard this on the radio this afternoon, I was immediately heartbroken. What drives men to steal a child’s innocence.

Humansdorp Grandfather Guilty of Sexual Assault

Tears of anger and heartache sprang into my eyes as I listened – and then I got to thinking, “If this man molested his own daughter, the likelihood of her letting her own daughters near him would be nil, so he must be the father of the children’s father. Kudos to the courts for convicting him. Now sentencing awaits…although whatever faces him in prison will be some kind of justice. The stories one hears of what happens to child molesters in South African prisons is enough to give you sleepless nights.

One thing I wonder about though, is, after not seeing my father for 21 years (we left him when I was 9) and still harbouring resentment towards him, how are these people going to feel towards the man (their father(in-law)) stealing their daughters’ innocence. All I can do is pray for the family – while the scars the children have might not be so visible now, they will be as soon as these young girls start forming relationships with members of the opposite sex. It’s the sad reality of cases like this.

I wrote this poem in the car, once I’d finally managed to stop the flood of tears. If you are sensitive, you might want to stop reading now.

The image is courtesy of tclj.toasted-cheese.com


Growing Up Too Soon

I’m blind
My eyes see the pretty flowers
But here, I can’t see, I don’t want to watch!
But you make me look at “your power”

I’m deaf
My ears hear the birds outside
But here, I can’t hear, I don’t want to listen!
But you whisper “secrets” in my ear

I’m numb
My legs run on the playground
But here, I’m paralysed, I can’t move!
But you make me open them so you can touch my “womanhood”

I’m cold
My little body shivers when it rains
But here, I’m frozen, I’m dead
You cover my body with yours to “warm me from the inside”

I don’t understand
You’re not a monster like those in my storybooks
Everybody likes you, Mommy loves you…
Do they know the truth?

I’m not blind
But instead of seeing pretty flowers outside
All I see around me is hurt
“Your power” has harmed me

I’m not deaf
But instead of the hearing the singing birds outside
All I hear is heartbroken cries
Your “secrets” have made me hateful

I’m not numb
But instead of running on the playground
I run away from people who want to love me properly
My “womanhood” is tainted

I’m not cold
My body is warm to a touch
But then the fire goes out
Your “warming me from the inside” has turned me cold

I don’t understand
You are the monster in my dreams
The truth is out, you’re shunned and unloved
Yet I struggle to be free…

Curiouser, and Curiouser…

…is what Valentine’s Day has been for me.  I feel like I have been abducted by aliens.  Seriously, WTF is going on?!

For the first time since I have been on the anti-depressants, or as I like to refer to them, my anti-mental pills, I hit a really bad downer.  I have been teary, irritable, heart sore, hopeless, bitter and angry the entire day.  Not knowing how to deal with this sudden rush of well, depression, I trotted off to town and had lunch with a friend I haven’t seen in ages.  I let rip and she sat there, totally engrossed in what I was saying and proceeded to do what most of my friends do when I am on the brink of an apoplectic fit – she shoved a double thick milkshake in front of me and told me everything would be okay.

I needed some advice on another issue and because I needed an honest, insightful answer on the male psyche I gave Allan a call.  The first words out of his mouth were, “Happy Valentine’s Day Honey Child!” and I nearly burst into a flood of tears.  I told him that it has been a really crap day (it would have been whether it was Valentine’s or not).  He was the first person to wish me a Happy Valentine’s Day which just added insult to injury.  I have wished a number of people, getting the obligatory replies back.  He was relaying his advice when the wonderful invention of call waiting signaled a call waiting – from the West Coast.  I don’t know anyone there, so I ignored the call, thinking that if it was important the caller could leave a message.  He did, but more about that in a moment.  Allan gave me the insightful, honest answer I was looking for, as well as advice on how to handle the sensitive matter at hand.  I rang off feeling a bit better, but I’m still second guessing myself a bit.  I think I will have an indulgent Glenfiddich 12 year tonight.  Maybe that will give me the “oh fuck, who cares” attitude I need to get through this dip.

Anyhow, back to the mystery caller…”Hi MTM, it’s Morris here.  Morris Benjamin, not sure if you remember me.  Please give me a call at xxx xxx xxxx.  Thank you.”  I think to myself, “Okay, uhm, WTF?!  Who??”  True as nuts, when I logged into FB, I see an invitation from this chap, san profile pic (not helpful if I don’t remember you!) and then a message too…”Hi, it’s me, Morris.  Randolph’s friend from Cape Town…”  Still not having a clue who this bloke is, I rang up Elizabeth who was able to vaguely jog my memory.  I don’t know what he wants but if it’s important, he can call back.  From what is stored in my hazy memory, he was a somewhat strange (read scary-strange-weird-creepy) character…

Also, of all the songs that could be stuck in my head, it would have to be the Beatles’s “Blackbird”.  And then I heard the Rolling Stones’s “Paint it Black” and KT Tunstall’s “Big Black Horse and a Cherry Tree…”  WTF?  Red is the colour of love, not black…

Although, come to think of it, Black is the colour of my spirit today, so maybe that’s why those songs stood out more for me today.

Curiouser, and Curiouser…

Reconnecting…

…with friends is just what the doctor ordered.

BUT, before I get to that:

A concerned friend who knows that I’m the blogger behind this blog called me up yesterday wanting to know WTF is up with me regarding my smutty post yesterday – because it has been over two years since I have written something raunchy; she even said she thinks I should delete the post because it might taint readers’ opinion of me.  I told her that my blog reflects who I am, at the time I’m in. I told her that if any of my readers found it (or anything else I write) offensive, they should leave a comment and I will use it as constructive criticism – and watch my P’s and Q’s in the future as a result, but if they don’t say anything, I am none the wiser…but just in case – if any of you that read my blog found my Sensual Shower (PG 18) post of yesterday sordid, offensive, shallow or dirty, then I do apologise.

I went through to George today to meet Mary and her hubby Mark for lunch at a local coffee shop.  Mary is 7 months pregnant (her due date is the 22nd of March) and it really agrees with her.  I’ve heard people often say that pregnant women are radiant – well it is definitely true in this case.  Mark is walking around with his chest puffed out too because the little man is the first born.  Dad is due home a week from today – I hope that his flight arrives early because Mary has asked me if I would like to go with her to her 31-week scan, which I really would like to do.  I have seen the first scan on their DVD and heard the baby’s heartbeat.  I’m seldom speechless, but I was then.  It was really kind of her to offer.   Anyhow, before I get too emotional…

From there I headed off to the farm to have a cup of coffee with Jenna who has been begging me for weeks pop round.  She and Linda in accounts are both taking tremendous strain – Linda got me alone for about 15 minutes and bawled her eyes out.  My heart went out to her, because I genuinely know how she feels.  Jenna says that she too has shed a few tears the past few weeks, but in spite of that, she is up for a G.N.O – the sooner the better.  I told her it would have to wait ’til after the cruise, so she has made me promise that it will be an entire night out – and that I will crash in her spare bedroom.  What ever am I letting myself in for?

The girls in the packhouse were very glad to see me – all smiles and hugs for the New Year.  They sang for me, which made my heart melt and left me with a huge lump in my throat.  I don’t miss the job, but I miss some of the people.

The Quality Controller in the packhouse was keen to tell me that her little one is crawling already and that when she has a cellphone that can take photos, she will send me one.

On the subject of cell phone photos – I popped down to Herold’s Bay on my way home, intent on taking photos to post here, but clever clogs here forgot to charge her phone last night, so the battery croaked before any photos could be taken.  Oh well, I will just have to go back there sometime, won’t I?

Rachel popped round for a cup of coffee and brought me a gorgeous bookmark – made out of a teaspoon!  I will take a pic of it and post – once the phone is charged.

Uncle Barry and Aunty Carol came to dinner on my invitation.  I made a three-cheese macaroni cheese, which turned out to be a winner!  I made enough for mom and I to be able to have some for lunch tomorrow, but it is all finished.  At least my cooking skills are not too shabby, but I’ll admit I’m not a gourmet…yet.

I’m still working on the text installment for my Writer’s Course, and hopefully it will be ready by the end of the weekend.  I have also asked my tutor to look at some of my creative writing pieces here, to assist me with adjusting my writing style because blogging and novel-writing are vastly different.  She initially referred to my writing as “lyrical” and asked if I have ever written songs – so I am trying to move away from that, and writing different kinds of things is the only way I will eventually get it perfect – I have set my mind to pass this course with distinction (although cum laude would be even better.)

On other subjects:

My pre-cruise tan is coming along nicely.  I’m hoping to catch some more sun tomorrow morning, because the dress I’m wearing to the Captain’s Gala Dinner is off shoulder.

I’m hoping to make a substantial dent in my latest James Patterson novel, Don’t Blink.

Poor Elizabeth is working herself to death, but she is coming here on Saturday night to relax a bit and for me to colour her hair.  Little does she know that I need a shoulder too – part of me has been feeling very lost again 😦

Right, I’m heading off to drink my anti-mental pill and get some sleep.  All the excitement has tuckered me out.  Tomorrow is a new day, with new hope and promise.  I’m going to take it one step at a time…

Night Y’all, sleep tight ‘n sweet dreams.

Pandora’s Box

The saying says, “let sleeping dogs lie” – but as usual, my curiosity got the better of me. The fact that I had a vivid dream about my biological father on Saturday night, coupled with the ad in the You magazine and the haunting vision, didn’t help matters.

I posted a request on Facebook to find out if anyone could help with news about him. Mom was livid when she found out about it and Laura, my cousin said it wouldn’t really make a difference if I knew or not, but I wanted to know.

Two friends came to the rescue but what I have found out has left me with more questions than answers – and some fears too.

Keryn did a trace update on him – last known address is somewhere in Roodepoort and that is in 2002. He was employed as a security guard. He never moved up in the world.

His marital status is the big-M (which is a surprise because he lived with Mom for fifteen years and never married her – despite them having me). No dependants. Run of the mill stuff – nothing really concrete. She then did a credit check on him too – there is NO information whatsoever on him since 2002. It’s like he literally has just vanished.

Then Jenna, our receptionist’s fiancé, Felix did a criminal check on him and that had some interesting, and expected results (although part of me so hoped that he would have changed in twenty two years since I last saw or heard from him).

Turns out that after 2002 when he was last accounted for according to the basic trace Keryn did, he was found to have been in a rehab centre in 2007, which we surmise has something to do with a drug possession arrest at the same time. There is also a suspended sentence of five years on that. Then, in 2009 it shows that a case of fraud had been filed against him in Boksburg. So at least I know he wasn’t dead last year. There is nothing about him being dead, so the assumption is that he is in hiding, given the fact that if he is found guilty of the fraud he will definitely end up in the chookie, given the fact that he is still on a suspended sentence for the drug possession charge.

The drug possession charge doesn’t surprise me – he was a dagga smoker even when Mom and I still lived with him. Mom thinks she protected me from his terrible secret, but I knew. The fraud though, while not totally surprising, is something I wasn’t expecting. It scared me. Hell, re-tense that. It scares me.

I’m relieved though, that there is no criminal activity involving child molestation (unless Felix didn’t have the heart to tell me), because he molested me as a child, as well as a school friend of mine, and Cousin Laura too. It’s sick, it’s sad, and no matter what happens, a true reality that taints every relationship I enter into.

Now, my question(s)…Genetically we are linked. Fact. No amount of denial or time apart is going to change that. If we are genetically linked, what is stopping me from snapping one day and turning out to be just like him? Or is my conditioned upbringing going to switch off that part of my brain?

While I haven’t turned out to do anything criminal (yet), I see a destructive pattern in the men I’m attracted to because on some level, they are all like him…

Peter – looked like him to a point. Had that some suave, cocky attitude.

Jessie James – he could have been my biological father’s son. They are so the same in the way they do things, what they’ve achieved and where they’re going, it is beyond scary.

Stuart – an ex I dated twice. He broke up with me on Facebook. He lied to me, cheated on me (although I can’t point fingers because he was cheating with me on his girlfriend at the time), drank too much and bought me flowers or chocolates every time he had done something wrong. Exactly the same as my father used to do with Mom. And me. I never wanted for any toy as a child – he always gave me exactly what I wanted.

Even Mark – my heart is absolutely breaking to make some kind of lee-way with him, but he is acting like a coward, hiding behind a switched-off phone and pretending that I don’t exist. My father did exactly the same thing when things got a little too hard to handle. He would just not come home. Pretend that his problems didn’t exist, instead of facing them head-on, like a real man.

I wanted to know. I don’t deny that. But now that I do, I admit that I was much happier living in my oblivious world. This little opening of Pandora’s box has left part of me empty and broken. I suppose part of me was always empty and broken – this has just made that all the more obvious.