Life: Twists, Turns, and Trainwrecks

Defeated Life has been a complete toss of a train wreck and roller coaster over the past few years. Many life changes have happened at once, many of which I had no control over. I have moved six times in three years, got divorced, had some pretty horrible dating experiences, lost two jobs as a result of downsizing (which also resulted in a piling amount of debt), changed careers, and I’ve been dealing with illnesses and fibromyalgia flare-ups for the first time in many years. On top of emotional aches and pains, the physical pain has taken its toll on me both mentally and physically. Taking two stress tests revealed a score of 594, with over 300 being on the high end. As you can imagine, I’ve become extremely depressed and hopeless.

I’ve done little writing the way I used to, except for some poetry here and there. I’ve stopped doing many of the things I used to enjoy, either out of boredom or time restraints or lack of funds. Or sometimes just loss of interest altogether. I feel as if I’ve lost in the game of life. Many times I think what is the point of this?

Last night I came to the conclusion that sometimes the game of life isn’t made to win; often, it is made to be defeated, no matter what you do to try to make things better. How did I come to this conclusion? By playing a video game that I know is always intended for the game to win. Only by luck or by chance can it be beat. And in life, sometimes luck and chance is the only thing we have by our side; others are just made to sit and suffer along the sidelines, only wishing we can make our dreams come true.

For weeks, I tried to get through not just one but two different (but similar games) without any luck. I grew frustrated and bored, because no matter what I did, the end result was always the same. No matter how I carefully made my next move, I was beat. In fact, no matter what I did to “get ahead” in the actual game, without even knowing it, I was somehow setting up the game itself for an even bigger win. Why does this keep happening to me? I thought. To make matters worse, the game would remind me that I had failed to succeed in beating it. No shit. What a negative way to announce something to someone that’s already fighting depression, I thought. This game sucks, I kept repeating to myself. But I knew I had to keep playing.

Failure. Defeat. That is exactly how I’ve been feeling about life.

For. Three. Fucking. Years. Straight.

Three years of feeling this way is a really awful way to live. I have talked to some of my friends about everything, but I’m sure they’re tired of hearing it, so I have mostly stopped and keep to myself. Talking to a professional seems to be a waste of time, since I want to talk to someone at a certain moment, not wait for an appointment weeks later when I may already be doing something that makes me feel better for free. I don’t think I need to be medicated, like a lot of people who jump to conclusions might suggest. I just wish for things to happen in my benefit for once, to make my life easier and more enjoyable… to feel better, to wake up in the morning and actually feel like getting out of bed to seize the day. But that hasn’t happened in a very long time.

I find it difficult to get excited about anything at all anymore until it actually happens, even if it’s a simple meeting with friends. There are just certain things in life I’d always dreamed of and it just doesn’t happen, no matter how hard I work or the many directions I take. Just when I get my hopes up about anything, they get dashed right back down… as if I’m put into my place by the universe saying, who do you think you are? You’re not going anywhere. You’re no one special.

I watch others’ dreams come true without even trying, which often pisses me off and makes me realize the game of life is all about luck and chance. I suppose I will just have to accept I’m not one of those people. I know I can’t be alone in feeling this way. I know many people in worse circumstances. But right now I’m just living in my own head and dealing with my own misery and pain, the only way I know how to live anymore.

What Divorce Can Do To a Woman

broken-heart-shapeI’ve been going through a lot of emotional bullshit lately. Even though it’s been final for eight months, divorce is like dealing with death. It’s a series of grief processes. I’m up one minute, down the next. I try to keep telling myself this is good, everything will be okay, but then I sober up and feel the pain again.

I try to keep myself laughing by looking at cute and funny things – things like comedy shows and cute kitten videos. And then I start missing the animals I had to leave behind. My dog. My cat. I feel as if I’ve abandoned my children. They were my babies. I know they are left alone quite often; they used to be with me almost 24/7, because I worked at home the majority of the time. I find myself bawling at the thought of never seeing them again.

I laugh one minute, cry the next. It’s a fucked up rollercoaster.

Divorce can destroy a woman’s heart forever – make her never want to open up to another man again. It can make her feel unloved, unappreciated, unattractive, and underestimated. It can cause her never to trust again.

Divorce can force a woman to seek others that give her the attention she yearns, but not always the right type of attention, and often attention that turns into more hurt. It can make her question her ability to satisfy a man. It can make her wonder will she ever be good enough – for anyone?

Divorce can make a woman cold, cause a void that can never be filled.

I used to be such a loving, caring person.

I’m not that person anymore.

I can never and will never be someone’s wife ever again.

How I Lost My Virginity

This is probably going to be somewhat disturbing to some readers, so this is fair warning.

When I was 16, I worked with a guy that went to my school. For about a year he begged me to date him, but I wasn’t interested. Eventually, I gave in to him and he was my “first love” so to speak. He had a car, so we’d sneak off and park in wooded areas or parks to make out and have sex.

One night when I was babysitting he came to the house. We were on the living room floor (the person I was babysitting for was in her room asleep by then) making out. He was acting like an asshole, which was typical of him anyway, but here’s where this gets disturbing… All of the times I thought we were having sex, he wasn’t actually inside of me. I think maybe the tip was, but he’d never actually put himself entirely inside of me. I was that naive and inexperienced. I was on top of him, but he was much stronger than me. He held me against him and shoved himself inside of me without warning. It was excruciating!! I tried to get off of him, but he held me tightly against him. I told him he was hurting me, but he didn’t care. I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t. I didn’t want to scream or wake up anyone, so I bit him on the shoulder, because it was the only thing to make him stop. Then he hit me and called me a bitch.

I was so confused. Here I was with this person that I “loved” that didn’t care he was hurting me. I didn’t know at the time whether or not to consider that this was on the cusp of being raped.

I didn’t stay with him much longer after that – he ended up cheating on me and physically abusing her.


Taking a new turn – a brain dump and secrets

originalI have decided that relationships are not for me. I can either have a career or a relationship, but not both. When I put my all into something, it’s 100%. I cannot juggle both things and make everyone happy. Not even myself, because at some point my passion is being extinguished by the demands of domestication.

The last time I gave up my income/job/career over a relationship (marriage), I ended up screwing myself. Big time. I can never allow myself to do that again. And now I am starting over – again. Quite frankly, I have grown tired of starting over. The instability is tiring.

Yesterday was the first day I sat down and wrote – something I hadn’t done in quite some time. Pages and pages of handwritten shit flying out of my mind onto yellow lined paper. Poetry, prose, thoughts. I guess you could say my brain took a dump – lots of shit was piled up inside my head… shit that I didn’t even know was there. I had pent up my feelings to no avail for going on close to two years.

How did I manage to last this long? Alcohol. Lots and lots of it. And no, I’m not proud. I have secrets. Lots and lots of them. Only a few select friends that understand me know about them.

My writing is taking a new turn – more for adults at this point. I have lots and lots of things to share that I wouldn’t normally dare to share with anyone… all about relationships and sex. Sordid details. Stay tuned.



Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 8

Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 8 – told from a child’s point of view

Even though the visits become less frequent, I look forward to visiting Daddy, and I have already forgiven Bianca for butchering my hair. Their house is always warm and cozy. Bianca has down comforters and nice pillows and warm beds, and they have a warm fireplace for the winter, air conditioning for the hot months, and things that I’m not used to having. I am even allowed to take hot baths and sit in the tub for as long as I want!

I have wanted to shave my legs since fifth grade, because my friends are already shaving and making fun of me. Mom says I have to wait until I’m thirteen, but when I speak to Bianca about it, she gives me a razor and tells me to go at it. It must have taken me an hour or more, and I cut myself a few times, but I am grateful to be able to do at least one thing all of my friends are doing. Plus, I don’t have boy legs anymore.

By the middle of the summer between sixth and seventh grades, I decide that I want to live with Daddy and Bianca. They convince me that living with them will be better than living with Marcus and his drinking and drug habits.

I agree, but know that I will miss Mom. I hate the thought of leaving the babies and her alone with Marcus. What if something happens and she needs me? I hesitate calling Mom on the phone because I fear her reaction.

“I don’t want to tell her,” I say to Dad and Bianca.

“You’re the one that has to tell her, not us,” Bianca says.

I pick up the phone. Mom answers. I’m crying.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“I don’t want to come home,” I say. “I want to stay here.”

I can tell she isn’t happy. But I also know that I might be in trouble if I do decide to go back home.

“Why don’t you come home and we’ll talk about it?” she says, but I feel that it is more than a suggestion.

My stomach knots. I can barely swallow. My heart races. I am scared to death and know I cannot turn back now. I cry harder. Daddy takes the phone from me. Bianca hugs me and says everything is going to be all right.

All I have to do is go back there to pack.

UNHEARD: a memoir Now Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble!

Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 7

Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 7 – told from a child’s point of view

Marcus makes up lies about everything. At first Mom doesn’t believe him, but he has a way of manipulating and convincing her that the sky is green, even though it’s blue. If she doesn’t believe him, they fight all night. It is a never-ending battle with him.

“See? See? That kid is making us fight again!” he tells her.

When I was eight years old, Marcus accused me of calling him a son of a bitch, which was a lie. He claimed he’d heard me say it when he was in his garbage truck one day when I was on my way to school with Rebekah. Passing him on our bikes and waving, we yelled, “Hi Marcus!”

But he ignored us. Instead, when I got home from school he claimed that one of the guys on the truck heard me call him a son of a bitch. No matter how much I swore that I never said that, and his story changed from one of the guys hearing it to hearing it himself, I was still in trouble. It didn’t matter what the truth was.

The truth was this: I hadn’t called him a son of a bitch at all; I actually called him an asshole, and it was under my breath so that no one could hear me. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

* * * * *

I walk in from school and go to my room. I notice something on my bed – on my pillow. A gift? I am excited until I realize what it is.

“What is that on my pillow!?” I storm out of my room, down the steps.

I look at Mom.

“What’s on your pillow?” She is clueless.

“There’s a maxi pad on my pillow!” I yell.

Mom thinks it’s a joke, looks at Marcus.

“Did you put a pad on her pillow, Marcus?” Mom asks, puzzled.

“You left it on the bathroom floor. I stepped on it and blood came gushing out,” he lies. “I almost got sick.”

“You’re a liar!” I scream. “A big, disgusting liar! I hate you!”

I storm back to my room. He is the biggest liar I’ve ever known. There is no blood on it at all, but it doesn’t matter what the truth is even if the evidence is in plain view. I don’t think Mom believes him, either, because she knows I am not on my period. But instead of speaking up to him, she tells me not to worry about it.


Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 6

Excerpt from Unheard: a Memoir – Chapter 6 – told from a child’s point of view

Other family gatherings involve being with Marcus’s weird family. His father (whom Mom secretly calls Hitler because he is a tyrant and has a dark mustache) refers to all children as “rotten little kids”. I am no exception, but the name-calling doesn’t end there. Marcus’s obedient mother, Rose, is nice most of the time and tries to keep the kids as far from her husband as possible – and he sees to it she does just that.

Just because it’s a holiday doesn’t exempt them from being freaks. Marcus still refers to me as “The Monster,” particularly in front of his own family members, as if to impress them. They laugh and joke about calling me names; even when the babies were born everyone laughed and said they looked like aliens. I guess they think it’s okay and normal to make fun of people, especially small children. Sometimes Mom secretly looks at me and rolls her eyes, because she knows they are stupid and immature. Mom never really says anything, though. I think she’s afraid, so she pretends to laugh along with them. Rose does the same. I hate being around them.

Hitler has never been nice – never one kind word or gesture – nor does he ever speak to me except to bark out a command or an insult. Because he wears dark eyeglasses that hide his eyes, no one knows what he is looking at. Hitler served time in a Florida prison for embezzling money when he worked for the city. On top of that, he is weird and creepy and always stinks because he doesn’t wear deodorant. He isn’t very nice to the babies, either. When we moved out of their trailer and into the new ugly house, Mom discovered a peephole in the bedroom wall. Hitler had been secretly watching her.

Marcus’s younger brother, Melvin, is the only one in their family who is remotely nice to me. He flirts with me, and everyone else seems to think it’s cute and funny – even though I am only in sixth grade. I think it’s weird. Melvin is married to a teenaged girl from his high school. They’re going to have a baby together. Melvin also went to jail for tying up and having sex with a girl the same age as me.

Marcus’s older brother, Arthur, is just as weird as the rest of them. Most of the time he keeps quiet, but when he speaks he says stupid things. And he smells like a troll. Every time Arthur holds the babies under his arms, Mom has to wash their heads because their uncle does not wear deodorant. No wonder he never has a girlfriend.