Paying Homage

 Poetry is a philosophy, or a physiological way of outwardly showcasing one's emotional bearings. 

Sometimes, ONLY emotions can be verbalized through writing. Often times, when I couldn't find the exact words, exact concept, or proper approach to a situation, or feeling, I piked up a pen and decided to write. 

I want to first and foremost start with thanking my Heavenly Father, my Lord and Savior. Because of  him, I was truly BLESSED with the innate ability to speak freely, utilizing my imagination and painting the world as I see it to to others. Without Him, I nor my work, would begin to exist. 

🎔🎔🎔🎔🎔🎔🎔

I owe much gratitude, also, to my father and his wife. Throughout the later part of growing up, they dealt with a great part of my inner demons. With a lot of patience, understanding, and strength, they were able to pull me out of the dark void I saw myself slipping into. They are wonderful grandparents to my two beautiful children, and are amazing parents, to ALL of their kids. Thank you for steadily believing in me, even when I have moments of sheer uncertainty withing myself. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

To my Grandfather, My wonderful Angel. Many times you were my silver lining in the darkest of dark situations. The constant protection and adoration has carried me through some of the HARDEST moments in my life. From the silent  but immense amount of love you've poured into my soul, to the drive you've instilled in me. For standing behind ALL of my decisions, even if you disagreed with them. For protecting my well being.....THANK YOU> Thank you for always believing in me and helping me see the woman I have become today. 

❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

To my heart. 

Thank you for allowing me to comprehend and process, openly, the secrets to REAL LOVE; unconditional love. No price tag, no strings. The ability to unequivocally nurture me and my heart back to it's original stance. Allowing me to once again enjoy the wondrous complexities life has to offer, on any spectrum. For being my cheerleader when I doubt myself. For teaching me that love requires much effort, has many faces, and embodies different emotions, settings, seasons, mentalities, strengths, and opinions. Thank you for reminding me that even when it seems non-existent, love carries much more, and can and will carry you through the roughest of storms. To you, I owe the very best of me. To you, I owe so much. My inspiration is always flowing and abundant. Thank you for sharing the humbling experience in celebrating myself, through my art. 

 

Being a Survivor & What It Means

   How do I see myself as a Survivor? 

I'm present. I am able to reflect. I am able to tell my story. I am able to say that I am a survivor. I survived major emotional, mental, verbal, and physical abuse, by the hands of my mother, who for personal reasons, shall remain nameless. She is already dealing with her punishments, and karma. No need to further deepen her misery. I earned my title. I earned my position. I earned the right to advocate for those who weren't, couldn't, and can't. I am a survivor because I fought to be! 

    Surviving abuse of any kind is extremely difficult. Every individual's response to coping, or surviving, is also very different. It's very traumatic, very stressful, very life altering. Domestic Abuse is nothing short of being a prisoner to someones rage, anxiety, stress, and and/or depression. imagine living in a situation where it is dished everyday, all day, for 15+ years. Imagine having to live with someone who's personality was hot (or good) one day, and the exact opposite (cold), the next. Imagine having to wake up every day, to the mental and verbal bashing from someone you instinctively PROTECT you from harm; keep you safe. Instead, they became the reason you sought refuge in so many other people, places, or things. The terror of not knowing when any given day, could be your last day. The humiliation of being lied on, falsely accused of actions you never took part in, heard of, or experienced. The shock of letting someone who wasn't your parent, put their hands on you, and sat and did nothing. There are so many instances where I nearly lost my life, It's so disheartening, to have to deal with that, every waking moment, of every single day, for over 15 years. Could you handle it? Can you imagine the pain and suffering? 

    For reasons STILL unknown to me, I was the guinea pig for my mother's actions, beginning at the age of 8, and still, sort of deal with them, today. I have done nothing short of wanting to be the best child to her; for her since then. Unfortunate;y, even with the conversations, apologies, arguments, and consistent fabricated, I've had to pull myself out of the trenches and move forward in my life. Relationships have been destroyed, tried and tested, because of this, trust issues are deeply in place, with any and everyone I come into contact with; it's really hard to let anyone in, including the rest of my family. 

    Choosing to be a survivor means no longer being scared to speak up, or out. Being a survivor means no longer hiding in the shadows, blaming myself for what happened to me. (otherwise known as victimizing ones self). Taking on the responsibility to advocate for those too scared to speak on their own trauma, allows me to shift the dynamic of the situation, giving a different, more powerful light, to the darkest situations some experience. Everyone's situation is different. Everyone's story doesn't have a happy ending. There are situations that ABSOLUTELY cannot escape Domestic Violence. Whether it is from a parent, spouse, sibling, guardian, etc. 

    For me, because I am able to, and because I chose to,  I live, everyday, though I have forgiven my mother, for the pain and trauma I've had to endure, reclaiming things I will never fully be able to hold, cherish, or experience. To a degree, I can say I understand why I went through what I went through, or can even comprehend why it had to happen the way it has; other times I cannot understand it. I want to, desperately understand. I am thirty, with two children of my own. My story, at this point, has become a blueprint and road map of what NOT to do with my own children. Especially, my baby girl. I love them both enough to know what my boundaries are with them; but I owe it to my daughter, to give her what  I never had, and never will have, from my mother. I vow to protect them wholeheartedly, from as much as I can, for as long as I can. I want my children to be able to come to me about anything. I want them to be as comfortable with me and as transparent with me as they allow themselves to be. Because they TRUST ME. 

If you are reading this, you matter. You ARE important. You are seen. You are not invisible You are not insignificant. You are not worthless, a waste, or ugly. You are beautiful. You are important. You are Intelligent. You are Gorgeous/handsome. You are everything you imagine yourself to be. It's okay. It does not last forever. It will end. You will find peace. I promise! 

Chapter 2-Betty Joyce

 You ever have that one person, thing, comfort zone, idea, memory...? That security that gave you all the comfort in the world? 

My comfort, my joy, my world, my everything, was my maternal grandmother, Betty Joyce. Or my BJ. WE were so close, that close isn't close. That woman would brighten up the darkest of times!!! I was her Baby Bop, and she was my BJ! (If you know, you know....telling my age here). 

When I remember my bestfriend, I remember the smell of fresh lemon and mint tea, peppermints, and potpourri. I remember turkey wings and rice, those crumbly, cubed square erasers during homework time, eating multiple Big Sticks (the cherry, pineapple and orange popsicles that were .50 off the ice cream truck). She was the sweetest little librarian, stern and serious about the value of an education, especially for little girls (I'll explain later), presenting yourself as a strong but sweet soul, very spirtitual (raised by a Lutheran, I was)...she was a soul you CRAVED to be around. I've only ever seen her IRATE....never. Slow to anger; quick to protect. 

I'm smiling, just remembering her spirit. It feels warm and peaceful around me. My BJ. 

In the short time I grew to know, love, and adore her, I found her to be the definition of a firecracker, that one. Betty Joyce was all of 5 ft 4 inches, with a crackle like no other. She was a quick wit, always matching thought to thought. She was NOT going to argue with you. Her word was law. No, it was never executed harshly. This woman could reprimand (a soft scolding at best) you with a voice that covered you like the finest silk. (I am so serious). You'd learn from her, about how to garden, how to keep something clean, how to cook, how to care for, or how to save something. 

I miss her so much. I lost that soul, 22 years ago, this October 4th. I was 8 years old. And I was so lost. That woman was my everything. 

How do you really heal from letting someone like that? 

Chapter 1-History

DISCLAIMER❗❗This is not your average story. I am not about to sugar coat or hide anything. I am a very transparent person. I have spent much time, emotion, energy, and life into being able to experience what I am allowed to experience, present day. 

The beginning of this story isn't your average beginning. So,we'll start with a cool fact. I'm a brat! 

Hahahahaha.....Funny right? Seriously though, I'm the product of two military parents, making me a military brat. (Go figure, right)? I was born in Fort, Ord, California, near base or on base.  I have traveled the world early, and experienced different cultures from a very young age. I could technically say I'm multilingual, but that's a joke, and a yeah right!!! (None of which I remember clearly, except very blurry memories, certain phrases, and weird tastes). I can remember snow, bright lights, beautiful sunsets, and traffic. So, not as eloquently as in the movies, and other narratives play it out. I can't remember any of those early life details. I really wish I could. Would be an awesome thing to brag about, though, right? I have the memory of the stories, that I have been told; but I just cant remember anything.

My parents were hard working service members, United States Army. By the time I was able to process information, age appropriate, of course, I was 2, and I knew Mommy lived in California, and Daddy lived with the pretty trees (the Spanish Moss), and lakes, and boiled peanuts. I grew up with two different cultures, two different mannerisms, two different ways of thinking. One loud, bright, fun, explorational celebration, and one quiet, quaint, and strict, more traditional setting. But on both sides, I was taught respect, honor, courage, honesty, love, Faith, and religion.  I grew up loving basketball and volleyball, gymnastics and hating hockey and baseball. I used to sing and play tennis, run track. Realizing that I cannot stand BBQ or good ole Southern food. I enjoy Mexican. My favorite is Italian. I enjoy fresh juices, and can gorge out on Coca-Cola (remember reference later). I can appreciate and thoroughly enjoy walks in the park or on the beach. I can happily admit, that I am WEIRD, to say the least, lol. I'm properly balance, though to. Very diverse. Very in tune and observant. Very intuitive. That's just me. 

Anyway...lost myself there a little bit. I  can be a bit long winded......

At that time, I had both sets of grandparents, and I was able to experience things that most children could only dream about, regardless of creed, religion, or status. I was happy and healthy. And I was living, what I thought was a basic, "normal" life. From what I DO remember, I was close to both my parents. Of course, I had a different relationship, with each of them. I was my daddy's little girl, his princess. (At least, that's how I had it in my mind, lol). I was my mother's best friend...so I thought. Again, I do not remember much of my childhood, before the age of 8. We were close, like most mother's and daughter's are expected to be; in my eyes, my mommy was the coolest! To me, she was brave, strong, had the most beautiful smile, infectious laughter! She was a force to be reckoned with, and did not play, but she was my (S)hero. We fussed, and we disagreed, but with my maternal grandparents, (her mother and father), and my Uncle, (her brother), I can honestly say I was spoiled rotten. (generally the case). I was the FIRST!!!! First child, first grandchild, first niece. I basically got anything. Not bragging, just, ya know, saying....

That quickly changed when my younger sister came along, in January of 1999. In the months leading up to my sister being born, I now can see where it all began to unfold. Within this time of new transition, something in the dynamic of my family, changed. There wasn't as much love. There were higher levels of tension. There were clear signs of past trauma, and pain, resurfacing, and being cycled into the next generation (me) of raising a child. More arguments began to occur. More hostility, harsh and obscene words were spoken onto a child that, in my defense, shouldn't have had to experience. More profanities being spewed. Physical violence began to occur. More vile and hateful punishments....just more and more misery. To a child who seemingly had it all, my life went from being "perfect" to the exact opposite. (None of which, then, I could or would even BEGIN to understand). I just noticed that it was a lot more, unhappiness, bitterness, resentment, hate, and loathing as I began to grow, and learn. When it came to me, it was cold, unwelcoming, a feeling of un-want, that I tried so hard to fight against. But, it seemed like no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't change the hate, or disappointment, or whatever it was that had turned my mother against me, off. 

I sought refuge and happiness, joy, love, and comfort from my grandparents. I loved them with all my heart. Unfortunately, when all of this began, I was losing my grandmother, to cancer. It was not an easy thing. I experienced a lot of pain really early, and all at one time. I never properly healed from that. I want to though, and I will. 

Starting now. 

The Backstory

    For the first time, publicly, I am speaking out and up for the survivors of in home trauma, abuse, and violence. As an adult, I want to be one of the soldiers, brave enough to tell the story, in it's truth. I am not looking or seeking sympathy, or things done to me well over 15 years ago. But I am, in honesty,  looking to finally bury this pain, and revolving burden, once and for all. So, maybe if I share, and bring further awareness, to what others have, may be experiencing, or cannot bring light to their situation, from my story, then maybe I can save another soul, or help souls to come forward. 

Bare with me please.....because before the age of 8 years old, I cannot remember what my life was like. I have bits and pieces stored...but have somehow managed to block all recollections of my life prior to April 28th, 1999.

FUN FACT: 

 1 in 7 children has experienced child abuse and/or neglect, by the hands of a parent, close family, for family friend(s). It's estimated that at least 1 in 7 children in the US has experienced child abuse and/or neglect in the past year. Neglect is the most common form of child abuse, followed by physical abuse, sexual abuse, and psychological abuse. Relatives of the child are most often the perpetrators of child abuse. In particular, parents make up the majority of child abuse perpetrators. In 2008, more than 80% (81.1%) of perpetrators were parents of the victim. I myself, am the survivor of physical, mental and emotional abuse.

    Again, this story is not for the faint of heart. There are a lot of patches, that I still do not have clarity with...and unfortunately, don't feel as though I will ever have the answers to. However, what I do know, and can share, I will. This is as much my story as it is anyone else's. 

    I cannot complain, or even fabricate that I was not a lucky, or blessed child. Because I was. From what I do remember, and what I can recall, I was immensely blessed. I also want to make it very clear that I am not saying I was the poster child for perfection. No child is. No one person can or will be. I give credit where credit can be placed, respectfully, but...I will be as HONEST about my situation as I can possibly be. 

I will try to, the best of my ability, be as upfront and honest with any questions you may have had. 

    For those that know me, knew of my situation, or may have experienced me at some point in time, throughout my abuse, THANK YOU! You are truly appreciated, loved, and forever apart of me. 

This is MY story. This is my TRUTH. I will not be silenced. I will no longer be ashamed. I will no longer be afraid. I want to help. I deserve to heal. More than anything, I want to forgive for ME, so that I can live and give my children everything I did not acquire from my mother: unconditional love, protection, adoration, and appreciation.