River

In the Darkness where I dwell
I can hear the river I know so well
It flows from my broken heart
In and out like waves that part
Cold fingers pierce my soul
Ripping and tearing what makes me whole
People speak and arrows flew
Who understands the tiny clue?
In my sorrow, I tempt Fate
Is it already too late?
Ties of blood are rivers too
Division makes from one two
I try so hard that I bleed
It's a sacrifice, and a plead
Upon deaf ears, it does fall
Like a dog, you do maul.
You steal and lie, portray a mask
You give an answer before the question's asked
You judge and jeer--It's justified
If you feel guilt at all, you'll just testify
Beware the stones that you throw
It's a glass house that you're owe
I live in my deep Darkness
With the shadows that I bless
I fear their cold but not their touch
I could teach you so much
But you are not a student, seeking knowledge
You are the master; this lie you pledge.
Listen to the river as she sings
Hear the popple of concentric rings.
The river flows within and out.
Ebbs and flows does its clout
I lay wounded in its flow
One beat, two, both are slow
In the Darkness where I dwell
The last I hear is the river's wail.

Useless Rant

I feel like I'm drowning.

I don't feel as namelessly heavy anymore. That's a good thing, right? Instead of that pressure upon my shoulders and heart, it's focused entirely on my head. I haven't slept without crying myself to sleep in a week and while my panic attacks have gone down, they have left me feeling like I have to be aware of everything.

It doesn't help that I know that this place isn't safe. The threats have already begun. They are mixed oh-so-causally into conversation. They are snapped in anger. "I'm going to rip the ears off your bunny (or head of your turtle)"; "I'm going jump on you when you're sleeping"; "I'm going to squirt dish soap into your mouth when you're sleeping"; "If you don't like it, you're free to leave, but the girls stay here"; "They're mine--I don't care about you."

Lynn tried to "spank" my daughters the other day. She thinks that spanking is just smack them on the butt until your hand gets tired or your anger is expelled. There's a procedure to it--they have got to understand why they are getting spanks (which is never more than a couple of smacks) and they have got to understand that they are still loved. Lynn doesn't listen to what I say. She thinks that she knows better without a lick of research to back her up. "It's what Mom does!"

Precisely.

Mom's method of discipline is to slap wherever she could reach until she was tired or not as angry anymore. She would scream insults at you as she did so. Things like "stupid brat" and "I'll teach you!" and "I'll take you down a notch." After the beating was over, she would order you to your room and to not come out until she said to. Even going to the bathroom was a punishable act. She was quite proud of "putting the fear of Mom" into us kids.

That's not how I want to raise my children. I don't want them to fear me and what I will do. I don't want them raised in fear and hate. I don't want them terrified to tell me something because I've told them that I would kill them or turn them out into the streets.

According to Lynn, I should stop including them in my rituals and stop teaching them about the Goddess because that stuff isn't real. She says that witches aren't human, and she does it at the top of her lungs in front of the girls. This after equating the word witch with child murderer. Then when I refused to let it go, she started hitting me upside the head and shoulders. According to my Mother, this is all just a difference of opinion and I should let it go.

According to PJ, I'm just a pathetic loafer who needs to admit that I know nothing about life and just get a job already. I should stop asking family for help and just do for myself. Never mind that I never ask for help for wants, only needs, and only as a last resort. PJ asked for help getting a tablet because she wanted it--not because she needed it as she had a perfectly fine laptop and top of the line iPhone. Oh, and I should just dump "that loser" and "get over" my "obsession with him" as if eleven and a half years of a committed relationship was a childish fantasy instead a marriage.

I just want to go home. Home to me means to Alex. Alex will keep me safe. He doesn't tell me that I'm fat or ugly or stupid. When I cry or panics, he holds me rather than laughs. I don't fear him. When I'm restless, he pets me until I'm calm again.

Or we'd go for a walk together with the girls and just talk. We walked a lot and not just because it was our mode of transportation. It was something to do to connect with each other. Everyone here either doesn't want to walk or they want to speed-walk or run. There are no meandering walks where things are savored instead of rushed; where the focus is conversation or to enjoy the weather instead of trying to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Oh, Mother of Mercy, how I miss him!