A rambling of thoughts.
One night last week, dressed to kill for a friend's birthday dinner, with the bottle of wine I had just picked up, I headed to this fancy BYOB hibachi joint to meet people that I enjoy spending time with. At dinner, we had many laughs along with plenty of food and saki. I paid my bill, and left a generous tip. Just a typical night out.
The temperature had dropped drastically in the few hours lost to the alcohol. As I sat warming up my car, a memory caught me off guard.
My eyes wandered across the street, where the shelter still stands....step back in time, 14 year old me. Forced roommates, scheduled meals, and showers, and sleep, and life...practice prison. Just enough credit on my account for some shampoo and a razor, purchased during a supervised walk to the convenience store. Physically fighting off unwanted advances from a girl twice my size. No privacy, no free will. Nasty girls with something to prove. I was never scared, but I didn't belong. I thought of my family in our middle class home, sitting around the table for dinner, maybe missing me...maybe forgetting.
Have I gotten somewhere or is this where I was headed regardless? Being so far past that experience that I barely noticed the old building in the first place.
By getting somewhere, I don't refer to anything of monetary value. That means nothing to me. I've had six figures in the bank, and I've had nothing. I can't equate my happiest times with either. To me, beyond survival, having or not having money has never had any bearing on my inner peace. Walking in the sun, holding onto the pinky finger of a big strong hand, or having coffee and hours of conversation with a close friend is worth so much more than anything I could buy.
But I did notice. Some emotion came over me. And that makes me angry about back then and all the things I've endured. I'd like to think my defense mechanisms are strong. I'd like to think I'M strong. Even if I succumb to those feelings for a second, I disappoint myself.
What didn't kill me fucked me up. The shelter and countless other traumatic experiences made me a person that can't sleep soundly, that is anxious and can't sit still, that thinks way more than I speak, that is nervous and strange in one on one conversation. I will drink too much and I won't trust.
I've always been this strong.
Sunday Visits
Slap across the face, burning cheek. "You stupid little bitch. Why would you piss your pants? Clean that up." The paper towel roll hits the back of her tiny head.
Last week was better. A trip to the restroom full of naked, horny, delinquent teenage boys. Open shower stalls. The green-eyed one who showed her how to shoot darts, the one that tried to burn his parents, also likes to run his tongue along the little girl's shoulder. All eyes on her.
She prayed for attention, didn't she?
Love came late.
Looking back isn't always easy. Sometimes, even years later, the wounds are still deep. Other times, I see how foolish I have been to put my entire world in undeserving hands and expect them to hold on as if it mattered. What is more absurd, is to focus one second of energy on the person that has blown off what they have done to you as child's play, or...on their "new" indistinguishable world. Let them drown in the justness of karma, or let them flourish despite their black soul. It is out of my hands, as it has always been. My life is full of peace, the love of family, a rewarding self-assurance, and a magnificent world I have yet to see enough of.
Over.
A beautiful June weekend in our favorite place: surfing and sun overload, two of the kids' first time on a board, together, hearts intertwined, smiles, belly laughs. Our private world. Seven.
Breakfast and presents and singing in bed. Happy Fathers Day to the man we adore.
Then, the text on your phone. One I was not expecting. I cannot breathe. A crushing, life-altering kick in the face. You threw it all away. Changing everything for all of us in that moment.
