For the first time in my life

For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable in my skin.

All my life I said, I was comfortable, with who I was.

But it wasn’t until this very moment, that I realized,

that I was never, really me.

Rape never really allowed me, to be me.

Rape forced me to hide behind, a masculine facade.

I used to mimic my dads walk. [Atleast I did, in my head]

It forced me into a lifestyle, I don’t know that, I would have chosen.

Rape has effected every part of my life. It’s the source of my PTSD diagnosis, my depression…bipolar.

The reason, at age 12, I attempted suicide, started cutting myself and did more things,

you weren’t supposed to do, before age 21….yep, that too!

I talk about this because I must.

We have to PREVENT this from continuing!

[How many of you, are reading this now, who have been affected in the same way, suffer with mental illness and have had some kind of drug or alcohol addiction, like me?]

I was born to a mentally ill mother, who was born to, a mentally ill mother.

[I don’t know how you get someone, who has mental illness, to get help, if they don’t recognize that they’re ill. My mother and I both sought treatment.

[And how do you protect children, from a parent, with mentals illnesses?]

[I can’t remember the name of the couple, that attended to our wounds during the abuse. But the husband reminded me of Fred, from the, I Love Lucy show. It seems I may have called him, Uncle Paul. And I remember his wife being, Wilma like, from The Flintstones]

I associate a lot of things with, TV, radio characters. Does anybody else?

There was history of alcoholism. On both sides.

Mother, father.

Both mothers, child abusers.

I won’t tell you all the things, that led up to me getting raped.

But, once I was awaken as a child, by a gray haired old man, hovering over me, in his boxers.

Another time, awaken to an adult molesting me.

A year later,  raped.

[be careful, who you choose to live with, when you have children]

I drank and smoked with my mother…..yep, that too!

As a child, I wasn’t verbal. I acted out. I got angry, I walked.

[I wrote down my feelings. How is someone expressing themselves to you?]

Rape, had me not writing, not even the word.

Nobody talks about it.

The media treats it, as a blurp.

Hollywood profits off it.

[Makes me wonder, how many of them picture makers, are rapist]

Nobody talks about it, because it’s a nasty, filthy, inhumane act.

We each had different circumstances.

I recently heard, a Dick Gregory quote,

“Stay woke”

Again, For the first time in my life, I feel feminine and comfortable in my body.

For the first time, in my life, I feel like a woman!

Note: I’m a bit manic. I sometimes change topics. But, will share, when I feel it is important.

Peace

Suicide

As I read, Nicolemoncada’s blog (Bipolar Tapestry~PoeticThoughts) it made me aware of how often I think of death. Mine.

I also recognized, my view of suicide has changed.

When the media spoke of Robin Willam’s death and didn’t say suicide, it bothered me.

Because to me, omitting it, meant he died naturally, nobly.

And I thought suicide was cowardice.

But as I struggle daily, to find reasons to live, I understand why a person could make that choice.

And I understand why Nicole used the word, courage (you have to be me, etc).

Because, it’s fear, that I live today…fear I would survive the attempt.

And, I wouldn’t want to put my dad through that kind of pain.

I wish I felt more alive.

I feel like, I’m way past my expiration date.

And I wish I could just say “When” and that, would be that.

Because what is life, without quality?

Bipolar

I wish I could turn my brain off, so it could rest.

That I could stop, thinking about the issues, I’m forced to think about, as a black person, in this, united states.

I wish I could tell my brain to calm down, it’s not urgent and that I don’t have to do everything, all at the same time.

I wish I knew why, I get emotional and cry, for no particular reason, like now.

Like earlier.

Why can’t I, not think about death?

And why does a long life, seems like a death sentence to me?

Why does getting well means, being a pharmaceutical guinea pig?

Why can’t I just be, Well?

For My Dad

This is my story.

I was raised by my father. My most happy times and memories, are of my childhood, with him.

My mother, suffered with mental illness, as did her mother.

I too, have inherited this illness.

My dad just turned 79. He had cancer surgery and failing memory.

He’s in need of help. And I feel helpless.

His needs, are more than I can handle.

But there’s no limit, to what I would do for him.

It’s the least I can do.

Although, I’m disabled, I am more than willing to work/do, all I can to help my dad, live the rest of his life, as well as it can be.

As well as it should be, for the father, who did so much for me.

Who needs me to take care of him, as he isn’t able to take care of hisself.

I unable to work traditional jobs, that requires a schedule. But, I can work, hours or days, at a time.

I am trying to raise money for:

  • My dad’s care
  • House repairs
  • Healthy food
  • Outings

Would you allow me to work (give you my time) in exchange for my needs (car repair, printing, etc)?

The money I save, will go towards my dad’s care.

Thank you, Yvette