It was 16 years ago.
I was broken.
I had been broken for a long time.
I thought when I got married,
started my own family,
I could erase everything that had come before.
I thought I never had to think about it again.
I would now have a family full of love…
I could make it perfect.

I kept all the pain hidden deep inside…
but it reached a point it wouldn’t be kept anymore.
I had no control.
It was stuck inside me,
it was hurting me.
I became physically ill.
I came down with the stomach flu,
but it wouldn’t go away.
It stayed.

I felt nauseated all the time.
I didn’t want to get out of bed.
I felt like I couldn’t get out of bed without puking.
I constantly felt like I had to use the bathroom.
I didn’t even want to leave the house.
I thought I would throw up or have diarrhea…
I wouldn’t make it to a bathroom in time.
Maybe I would just pass out,
in the middle of a store.
When I did go out,
I carried a plastic grocery bag in my pocket.
The first thing I did when I got some place…
find the bathroom.

After eight months of sickness and tests,
I was finally diagnosed with depression.
I soon started medication…
counseling.
I discovered it was panic attacks I was having.
I had PTSD from things that had occurred in my childhood.
My avoidance of leaving the house had a name…
agoraphobia.
Functioning in the world,
taking care of two small kids was difficult.
I couldn’t even drive.
I was so afraid of not being in control of my body,
that I would purposely drive myself off the road.
I had days where I felt such rage,
I wanted to run straight into the brick wall of our house.

I had been seeing a psychiatrist for medication,
and a counselor for over 1 1/2 years now.
I assumed I was just better,
I would never go back to the dark place.

Fall came,
the holidays were approaching.
In the past,
this had been a difficult time of year for me.
I don’t remember any other specific trigger.
I was spiraling down again…
it was going deeper.
I was crying all the time,
I didn’t want to do anything,
my thoughts continued to become darker…
the feeling of hopelessness was overcoming me.

It was November 9th, 1999.
I had an appointment with my psychiatrist.
I couldn’t stop crying,
I knew I just didn’t want to be here anymore.
There was no hope in me.
I would never feel normal,
not be plagued with the darkness.
I was scared of what I might do.
In the past,
when I was in high school,
I had made two attempts to end my life…
the last of which should have been successful.
I knew I was in that place again.
Now, I had two children,
who would be left without a mother.
A husband,
that would be left without a wife.
For this reason,
I willingly went.
My doctor wanted me to be evaluated,
at the behavioral health hospital.

I forced myself to be honest,
they asked their endless questions.
I was hopeless.
I could not agree that I wouldn’t hurt myself…
I knew I had done it before.
I was capable of doing it again.
I couldn’t trust myself.
I willingly admitted myself to the facility.
I could be kept safe for my family.

I was strip searched.
They took everything from me.
My husband was now leaving…
I was staying.

Nothing there was familiar.
I was surrounded by strangers.
I was shown to a room.
I would share it with a woman.
She had been abused by her boyfriend.
She had thrown herself down some stairs,
in an attempt to end her life.
She had a broken shoulder,
among other injuries.

The room was bare.
Two twin beds extended from one wall,
open space all around them.
We had our own bathroom,
it had no door.
Privacy wasn’t allowed,
we needed to be watched.

I laid down to sleep that night.
Cold dark room.
I missed the familiarity of my small family.
This place felt strange…
empty.
How could I ever possibly feel better,
in a place like this?
I reminded myself,
the purpose of being there was safety and not comfort…

~to be continued…

We all need to stop trying to hide our human.

Empty space,
cannot be erased.
Always there.

It feels hollow,
it aches.
I don’t always know…
but it’s there.

Sometimes I’m reaching,
trying to grab…
something…
anything…
to fill it.

Hole makes me whole.
Hole always there.
Hole is a piece of me.
I am a peace.

Looking through,
I see things.
Closer I stand,
I see more.
Vision is wider…
clearer.

If I turn,
I am blind.

Hole is beautiful.

I’m reaching through,
to embrace you.
Magnified,
I see you…
almost touch you.

You look back through,
only distortion.
You don’t see me.
Closer,
you won’t stand.
You are blind.

I am a…
Beautiful,
Whole,
Peace.

A year.
It’t been a year,
since my sweet granny passed away.

I listened to the voice message this morning…
“Peggyyyy,
this is granny.
Call me.
I need to talk to you.
Bye.”

Hot chocolate on the stove,
in the big iron pot.
Tang in an old white Tupperware pitcher,
sitting on the table.
Applesauce with evaporated milk,
“That’s good enough to make a jackrabbit slap a bear!”
Cherry orange Kool-aid slushy,
created from milk carton chunks of ice.

Snapping green beans,
running them through the stringer.
Wearing the clothes pin apron,
hanging the clothes on the line to dry in the breeze.
Descending the stairs into the dank storage room,
to retrieve a jar of homemade plum jam.
Scraping the leftovers into a pan,
dumping them in a dish outside for the cats.

Making homemade cherry nut ice cream,
on Christmas Eve.

Mixing Jello salads,
filling old Cool Whip containers to deliver to the sick and needy.
Sterility fills my nose,
there’s another ill person to visit.

Standing by her side,
turning the handle of the machine,
to postmark the letters.

Grated cheese & mayonnaise sandwiches.
Macaroni & tomato sauce.
Cherry chip cake.

Dyed black hair,
shimmering a hue of purple in the sunlight.

Some people called her “Peg”,
I was special,
we had the same name.
I can still hear her saying,
“Peggy”
with a special rise in her voice,
as I come through her door.

Burnt toast and crispy cookies…
“That’s how papa likes them.”

“Go around the house,
write your name on the bottom of things,
so you can have them when I die.”
I couldn’t imagine it would ever be true.
Cosmetology school,
she made me promise to do her hair…
“Make me look pretty in my casket.”

I didn’t get to mourn her…
two weeks later…
she called to mom.
I didn’t know she was coming for her.
She must have known…
mom would be leaving soon.

My sweet granny.
She embodied sacrifice,
service without ceasing.

She left…
she was there…
waiting for mom.

Again, I listen…
“Peggyyyy,
this is granny.
Call me.
I need to talk to you.
Bye.”

I saw The Abolitionists last night…

I feel sick.
I know.
I sorrow.
I fear.

Hold them,
protect them.

Knowing drops from my eye.
Sorrow streams.
Fear piercing.

How can they do this?
Why?

Thrown away.
Disposable.
An object.
Used.

Shield?
I can’t find it.
I’m here?
Why must I endure?

I’m so scared.
Save me.
Someone?

See me.
I’m here.
Make me matter.

Cowering…
rocking…
a ball.
Trying to hide within myself…
face, stained.
Shrinking into nothing.

Alone.
I am dead.

Please don’t make me.
My sorrow is eating me.
I cannot escape.

I am nothing.

We all moved in together.
We liked him.
He was nice.
He drove a cool red Trans-Am with t-tops.
He earned good money.
I secretly had a crush on him.

It was a fancy town home.
The nicest place we had lived in a while.
It was inside a gated community.
I had felt safe there…

In the center was a terrarium.
It extended up through the top of the ceiling.
Vibrant green plants lived inside,
covered in a constant mist of wetness.

There was an office,
large living room,
and a kitchen.
Two bedrooms.
The master,
and the one I shared with my two brothers.

It had a swimming pool,
with a hot tub built into the side.
It was fun to go from the cold pool,
to the hot tub,
and back again.
We never had our own hot tub before.

Off the master bathroom was a sauna.
It was huge to my 12-year-old self.
Square room,
tiled in royal blue from floor to ceiling.
Shower heads protruded all around.
Built-in tile benches lined two walls.
My brothers and I thought it was cool.
We had our own sauna.
We are rich…
and special.

I wasn’t attending school.
I should have been in 7th grade.
My mom wasn’t home that day.
I had freedom to do whatever I wanted.
I was grown up.
Mom had just taught me how to shave my legs.
I was home alone.

I had gone swimming.
I now sat in the sauna,
wrapped in a towel.

I can still smell the hot rocks…
feel the fog that enveloped me.

He walked in,
wrapped in a towel.
He saw me sitting there.

We both knew,
how he felt about me.
I avoided him,
since the day she told me.

He walked to the shower head,
turned it on,
dropped his towel.

I felt his stare penetrate me…

I sat there…
paralyzed,
eyes fixed down,
blue tile.
I could not move.

He said nothing.
I said nothing.

I could not move.
I could do nothing.
He was bigger than me.
He was stronger than me.

Maybe he thought it was okay…
we all knew the truth now.
Maybe he was going to touch me.
Maybe he was going to do things to me.
Maybe he found out,
I secretly had a crush on him.
Maybe this was my fault.

I could not protect myself.
I had nowhere to go.
No place to hide.
Paralyzed.
I felt numb,
my body humming.
Eternity.
No one was coming to save me.

He’s gone,
I still can’t move.

Courage.
I got up…
each step was heavy…
get to safety.

I spent all of my teenage years and beyond into adulthood being scared of older men. It didn’t matter who the man was… if he got too close to me, I felt sick. It didn’t matter where I was… at church, the movies, on a park bench, at the mall, at a party… it didn’t matter where and it didn’t matter how many other people were around… I felt like that 12-year-old girl, paralyzed. I knew they were thinking about doing things to me.

It doesn’t take a physical touch to leave a mark.

Why?
Why would I let people see me?
The real me?
Why would I show a picture,
of such depth of feeling?

I do it because I love myself… and I love you.
I love people.
I want to know people,
I want people to know me.
I don’t want to float through the world bumping into people.
I want to connect.
We all need connection.
Even if it’s not direct connection.

We need to know that our story matters.
We need to find meaning in our story.
We need to know the feeling of that connection.
Most of us are drifting around,
starving for that connection.
I have been starving…
I’ve been inside my head living there all alone.
I don’t want to live there anymore.
I want to breathe.
I want to inhale deep and connect.
When I connect I feel a sense of contentment.
I’m tired of only having the conversations inside myself.
I have a voice and it’s been straining to be freed.

Will you allow me this freedom?
Can I be me?
Is it safe out here?
I know it has to be.

I see you… I know you long to be free.
Free from fear,
free from restriction,
free from judgement,
free from the grind,
free from expectation,
free from obligation,
free from being someone you’re not,
free from the dark,
free from the loneliness,
free from suffering alone,
free from being disconnected.
FREE
FREE
FREE