Solitary Confinement

(Image from:  indybay.org)

Alone with my Thoughts

I’m not my worst enemy

I’m a prisoner, an unwilling hostage

Confined by thoughts of despair and solitude

Incarcerated in the darkness of my regressive mind

Images cloud my tired mind

Some strikingly clear, others somewhat hazy

Slivered light – Dawn signals a new day

Not enough to fend off my mind’s tricks

The mildew of indescribable sadness

Fills my nostrils, making me gag

My heart aches, but no tears fall

No-one hears the silent screams of my misery

Dampness clings to my cheeks

Tears have escaped, during my sleep

I’m alone. No Love to cover me

My vivid imagination my only hope of freedom

Seated on the slimy mattress

I contemplate jumping into the chasm

At least there I will be free

Thoughts…they won’t be able to harm me

There is no prison warden

With an evil grin, nor the keys

Only I have the means to leave

I need strength to fight the loneliness

Yearning

I woke up on Sunday morning, opened the blinds and smiled with relief when I saw the blue skies because I wanted to take a solitary nature walk, to connect with a part of myself that I miss.

Image

(Photo from saidaonline)

Alas, the weather has turned foul, so my plans were shelved for the moment.

I had had some friends round the night before for a small get together.  We had a few laughs and when everyone had left and I was doing the last of the dishes, I suddenly felt like someone had ripped my heart out.  Just.  Like.  That.  I waited until everyone had let me know they’d arrived home safely and I crawled into bed.  Horrid dreams plagued me all night.  I was awake at five am again…

I had my morning shower and put on some Lady Antebellum – it’s great Sunday music.  The strangest thing happened when All We’d Ever Needed started playing – I was overwhelmed by a flood of tears and a gut-wrenching yearning…for someone.  The question is who?  Some days being alone really gets to me; it makes my heart ache so badly. My folks got home from a weekend away and we went out for lunch to a local steak house called Cattle Baron.  Elizabeth joined us, as did Aunty Carol and Uncle Barry.  Lunch was divine, as were some shooters…but even more scrumptious was our waiter, a tall, dark haired, blue eyed god called G.T.  The old folks left and Elizabeth and I stayed behind, drinking coffee – but G.T I’m sure knew we stuck around to just perv over him.

After I got home, the Sunday blues grabbed me again, so I forced myself to write something – I have had no inspiration for quite a while now and many people notice that I’m devouring books.  What they don’t know is that as long as I’m reading, I’m not writing much.  I read three novels last week…

Yearning

A simple tune drowns out the white noise

But it doesn’t stop the raging storm

Waves of emotion crash over my rocky heart

Changing its exterior with each swell

A deep, insatiable yearning sets in

Tears blur my vision

The melody continues to taunt me

Rubbing my solitude in my face

Taking pleasure in my heartache

Evil voices laugh in my head

Making me doubt my worthiness

I wonder if you see what I see

Is that why you keep your distance?

I know you’ve noticed me

Yet you keep me at arm’s length

Or do I just blend into the background?

The yearning to be part of your life

Devours my mind

Day and Night

Dawn and Dusk

Through my soft sobs

I wipe my tears

The yearning isn’t gone, but the ditty is finished

I have to carry on, face the day…and not lose hope.

Insults Injure

I pinched this picture from a friend on Facebook.

The sad thing is that, as true as I would like this sentiment to be in my life, I am easily insulted and hurt, whether I value a person’s opinion or not. It’s simply because I have an incredible yearning to be liked, and that is because I have so much love to give… Probably a fault in many people’s eyes, but in mine, it is an asset. So many people are fighting some kind of battle and if a smile or kind word from me can help, then I’m happy to help.

Many of you know that since November last year, I have been following a strict gym and eating regime – and as a result of my dedication, I have dropped a dress size and lost 9.6 Kg (or just a little over 21 lbs). I am very possibly in the best shape I have been since my school days, and I feel rightfully entitled to show my new found figure off. So yesterday I dressed in a halterneck top, with literally a centimeter of clevage showing in the front and went out with Mom to the casino. An oldish (I guess about 60) man I don’t know from Joe Soap commented to someone that I know there, about my breasts (and he wasn’t exactly polite in his compliment either). I was so insulted – I felt so cheap, so I replied somewhat adamantly, “Thanks for your comments on my breasts, but they have f*** all to do with you.” Apparently he is one of the richest blokes in our town, so he must think that makes his behaviour acceptable. Actually quite tragic that money can’t buy class…

On a lighter note, I came second at the poker last night 🙂

Today fortunately went off without any insults. Mom, Aunty Carol, Elizabeth and I went to the mall for a girl’s day. Mom bought me two new tops and a pretty purple lace hairband. We went to a local café and had a brunch – I had the most divine rye sandwich, filled with roast chicken, honey-glazed bacon, avocado, pecan nuts and rocket. Aunty Carol and Mom had a good time, they spent a lot of time laughing. Sometime I look at the dynamics of their sibling relationship, or that of Elizabeth and her sisters and I think that as an only child I’ve been short-changed in some areas. Fortunately Elizabeth’s sisters have opened themselves to me and made me an official sister of their hearts.

Monday looms, and with it new challenges. I’m looking forward to it!

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…

Emotional Day…

*Note that this post may contain some swearing*

I have only been awake 7 hours and already I have experienced a flood of emotions:

Anger

I seldom watch the news – there is inevitably something depressing to be heard, but I do follow certain columnists on the net, like my good friend Simon Williamson who is a freelance writer currently living in Hong Kong.  This morning when I was reading his latest column on News24.com I found a number of links on the same page pertaining to child abuse and/or rape.  Wanting to include something like this in my novel, I decided (against my better judgement) to read the articles (on an empty stomach).  Pardon my language, but WHAT THE FUCK is going on in this country, particularly in Kwa Zulu Natal?

The police shoot a man in the leg (again, WTF!?) after catching him in the act of raping a 7 year old little girl.  They should have shot the fucking piece of shit dead!  What kind of life is that little girl going to have.  She is going to be traumatized for life.  Therapy can only help so much.

Another story tells of a nanny who raped the 5-year old little boy in her care!  She has finally been sentenced to life imprisonment (which our taxes are paying for!) after she was arrested for this crime a year ago.

And the last one I could handle before I totally lost it was the story of a stepfather who is now on the run (fucking coward!) after being caught red-handed by his wife raping his 10 year old stepdaughter in the bed he and her mother share.

Satisfaction

Dinner last night was fabulous!  Despite it being a week night, my guests only left at a quarter to midnight! Everyone was very impressed with the food 🙂 which I was thrilled about (although I must admit that I nearly cremated the bruschetta!  Thank goodness I had enough French loaf left to make more).  There was quite a bit of chicken and couscous left over, so I have dinner for tonight too 🙂  The Italian kisses went down well, although I somehow managed to give Elizabeth only vanilla ones.  I don’t know how that happened.  Must have been all the wine I drank 😉

Sadness

It was Greg’s memorial service today, and while I only got to meet him briefly some years back, I went to the church service – Elizabeth was quite broken, but putting up a tough exterior.     Another friend of hers and Greg’s came all the way from Phalaborwa, along with a number of his military colleagues for the burial and the service.  Even though I didn’t know him that well, I got a huge lump in my throat when his colleagues did their eulogies.  Greg was only 40 and died of a heart attack.  The minister gave a comforting message, but even so, it is evident that he will be missed by many.  I can’t begin to imagine the heartache and pain his parents are going through.  The circle of life is meant to work that children bury their parents, not so?  Steph has also been dead for 7 months already 😦  Life is truly so short 😦

Regret

Jay has asked me not to blog about him or discussions between us, which I have not, out of respect for his wishes.  But I feel like a right royal doos – he sent me an email last night and I over-reacted to something he said and immediately sent back a bitchy, uncalled-for reply.  I don’t know what the hell came over me.  My conscience was still plaguing me way after midnight that I eventually got out of bed and mailed him an apology.  Fortunately Jay has accepted my apology, but it doesn’t make me feel any less of a doos.

Joy

On a happier note, it’s one of my closest friends, Kelly’s birthday today.  We have been friends since 1993 when we in Standard 6 together.  Even though we live in different parts of the country, we are still close and talk often.

Picture courtesy of http://lizandbeccabake.blogspot.com/

Kelly Darling, here is wishing you a wonderful day and a new life year that only offers the best of the best!  Remember that life is short, so savour every moment.   Remember the good, forget the bad and keep whatever makes your heart smile.  I love you lots!

Tonight I am going to Elizabeth – she asked me to come around; in actual fact she didn’t give me much of a choice:

“Are you coming to visit tonight?  Yes you are.  Okay, see you later…”

I think it is going to be another late night – the only real cure for a sad heart is your friends, wine and hope that tomorrow will hold better things.

 


 

ANOTHER Sad Day…

Mom’s phone rang just after 8 last night.  It was Kayla, one of my most dear friends in the whole world, whom I don’t get to see enough because she lives in Johannesburg and I live down here.  She was the bearer of bad news.  Our mutual friend, Rentia’s mother passed away last night.  Like Steph, she too died after a long illness, but unlike Steph who died on her own birthday, Rentia’s mom died on her youngest daughter,  Sarah’s birthday.  How tragic…

I will admit that I haven’t had much contact with Rentia in quite some time – as life happens, so people sometimes drift apart.  I sent her a message last night and again this morning.  My heart is with Rentia, her father, her siblings and her children.  Again, I am reminded of my own mortality…

Goodbye Steph…

…I received word from Elizabeth that our close friend, Lisa’s mum, Stephanie, passed away at 04:20 this morning after battling various illnesses.  Even more tragic is that today would have been her sixtieth birthday, if Rachel is correct.

I remember chatting to Elizabeth’s mum about Steph, not having met her yet.  Elizabeth’s mum summed her up as flamboyant.  When I eventually did have the honour of meeting Steph, she was flamboyant…and caring…and funny…and loving…and gracious…and inspiring…and the list goes on.

People often say when one no longer walks a road with someone to “remember the good times” – and I do.  I have searched the deepest recesses of my mind for a tainted memory of some sort and nothing comes up.  I distinctly remember the last time we had a get-together at Lisa’s flat (behind her parents’ house).  The lights of the main house were off, so I just popped into the flat – moments later Lisa’s phone rang.  Steph was on the line wanting to know why I had not popped in to say hello.

I went in to say hello and we ended up chatting for almost an hour!  She was always positive about everything, despite her troubling health.  I remember telling her how much the farm takes out of me and that I know it is not something I see myself doing long-term and she would encourage me to do what would make me happy; to never stop dreaming.

She also had a strange, yet fond fascination with my hair.  Whenever she saw me she would compliment me on it, or run her fingers through it.  She was also always interested in potential romances; she would tease Rachel often about all her “boyfriends”.

My heart is aching terribly today – not only for Steph’s departure; for Lisa and her father and Steph’s mum left behind, but because it brought me to a terrible realization that Steph was younger than both my parents.  It made me realize just how fortunate I am to still have them with me.  Seems as I get older, Death makes me a little more aware of my mortality.

Steph – You were loved by many, and you will be sorely missed.  Rest now, in the arms of the angels.

Have You Ever Been in Love?

Some time ago, I took my CD wallet out of my car and forgot where I put it. This isn’t an unusual thing for me to do – I never put my keys in the same place twice, nor do I get dressed in the same sequence twice. It’s one of those quirks that is individual to a few others like me. So, when I didn’t find the CD wallet to put it back in my car, I just wrote a few MP 3 discs, which, up until recently were what I listened to in the car.

Out of the blue, I found the wallet again and have thus been rehashing some of the CD’s in it. There are some good memories there and some music that I can’t believe I ever listened to, let alone, enjoyed. One CD, or rather, song on a particular CD had me so reflective that I only realized I was crying when I looked in the rearview mirror and saw my sodden cheeks.

It was Celine Dion’s version of Have You Ever Been in Love.

Oddly enough, it came on when I was about 10 minutes away from work on my way home and the sky was a golden bronze haze, dotted with pink clouds…almost identical to that first evening I met Paul* at the airport in Johannesburg.

We had met online, in a Trivia chatroom and we immediately realized we were kindred spirits. Eventually cellphone numbers were swapped and daily text messages became the order of the day. We had a few really fun virtual dates (dates, not cybersex) and after, we would have a real phone chat. One morning we sat talking until four in the morning.

He was in Johannesburg, and I was in the Cape, and at that time, the radio station here played the same music every day and this song in particular would always tug at my heartstrings. Paul eventually started listening to the stream on the net and inevitably when it would play, one of us would text the other almost instintively.

I will never forget the day I was standing in Aunty Carol’s* kitchen, nowhere close to a radio, when I got a text saying, “So, have you ever been in love?” Without thinking twice, I replied, “I am now.” Not soon after that I went to Johannesburg to meet him – and no, it wasn’t love at first sight. He was almost a head shorter than me (and that is saying something because I’m only one point six meters tall), but there was just something about him that made me think, “he’s perfect.”

We spent the weekend together – falling asleep holding hands the first night and spending most of the next morning exploring one another. It wasn’t carnal lust, it was tender passion. We made love, yet loved one another with each breath.

The Sunday he took me back to the airport, things were awkward (and I was very naive to think they wouldn’t be), and while we did stay in touch, our communications were vague. It took me a long while to get over the fact that I’d slept with a man I didn’t really know, but I never regretted it. We both moved on and eventually lost contact completely.

It was April or May 2008 when I received a text message from a number I didn’t know – telling me that Paul and his son had been killed in a tragic motor vehicle accident in Namibia (his home country) and that his brother was in critical condition in hospital. I was stunned. I got into my car and went to my then-boyfriend for an engagement with him and his family, but by the time I got there, I couldn’t hide the shock, nor the sadness. I apologised to them, got back in my car and went to sit at the beach. It struck me like the proverbial ton of bricks that I had loved Paul, as short lived as our “relationship” had been.

Not soon after, I received another text from the same number who had let me know of the tragedy, wanting to know if I wanted the letters I had (hand)written Paul. I was speechless. Not because I didn’t know if I wanted them back or not, but because he had kept them. I got them back, along with a photo of him and again, soft tears stained my cheeks.

And today, in almost identical weather to the first time we met, Have you Ever been in Love played in my car and I silently mourned for a love lost. Part of me cried because I realized that I made a mistake not fighting for it to work, but the other part of me cried as I once again realized, I have been in love…with Paul. He made me touch the moonlight…he made my heart shoot stars…he made me walk on air…he made me feel like I was dreaming.

So yes, I have. Have YOU ever been in love?

*Not their real names