For all the broken, a love letter.


Here I am, a month after deciding to never write again.

I have grieved hot collar soaked tears for accusations of my writing being “abusive” and “selfish,” a deer in massive confusion, headlights, big moving powerful blows to the body and soul have come out of nowhere, just me, licking my wounds, wondering what the fuck just happened.

If only I had been hit by a car.

I was afraid the intentions of my heart would never be shown, that if being known for 33 years brought this much adversity over my views on life and my journey, and I had lost valuable relationships because of that, well, I just gave up.

I gave in.

Beautiful things occurred as well, not just my relationship with Thelma, or the promise of our hard work beginning to take exciting new turns, my girls a daily part of me now, and sleep, I had gotten down to three numbers on my phone, even that had felt overwhelming.

The best news is that Lola and I share a room, and bunk beds, a post I can’t wait to write, for another day.

Tonight is about the pull to myself, writing being the nucleus to my soul, and I made a decision to that soul, the shame, the fear.

I will write, rather it be harmful, selfish, abusive, or cruel.

I am not responsible for the people I have caused pain, for they chose to read, and they chose to leave. I am only responsible for me, and if one day, I see that I was wrong, I will write about that as well, asking all my jurors and God, supposedly the ultimate Judge, for forgiveness.

I got a letter from my father, just a few hours ago, hence my inability to sleep, my frustration over my first post written with joy in my mind is now erased, his words replaced.

I have no doubt in my vulnerability been seen or read, and even with that, I ask how writing this horrible little blog could ever have served me, for if I were selfish, I would have kept my secrets and image, my relationships in tact, my little lie of a life safe.

Not today, nor tonight, the wound so deeply cut I want to run and run, like Jenny in Forrest Gump, get on a bus and ask God to make me a bird to fly far far away, a fist of stones I would throw, straight at him for wanting to hurt me again and again, straight at her for saying she loved me, when I weep for like a little girl, I don’t even care..

I want my mommy to tell me love is something real.

And she won’t even pick up the phone, nor return my last email, in which I begged like a pathetic teen for a boy who didn’t love her, to come back, to just please forget it all, say she was sorry, and do the right thing.

“Come back to me,” I cry, and she isn’t and won’t, the reality I sit in tonight, wondering what the fuck this God means by salvation, love, mercy, and hope, the very things she taught me, all the verses memorized still run through my mind.

I know something amazing will show up from this, in my silly positive little jar of bullshit or fath that removes all mountains, which I don’t know, but I will hold on to it, and wait.

If I can get through this night, the loss, the silence, maybe just maybe, God will arrive.

Voices laugh and snarl that I am an idiot to hope, not for one more soul, but tonight I climb on the top bunk, as promised, with Lola, who along with Kat, are the best things I ever did.

“Mama,” she whispered.

“Yes, baby?” I had the night light on so I could read the other night.

Her little red head popped over the top bunk, and she put her hands up in animation, “YOU are the best roomie I could ever have. I could just cry over how you made our room so fancy.”

I had given Kat her own bedroom, for which she in exasperation and tears, rightfully claimed her sister could not respect her stuff, talked too much, was messy, and stole her things.

She has become alive in my room, while Lola, in a room with my heels and real make up and art supplies, chats and chats, both of us in constant trouble for forgetting over and over again, to not talk.

I had thought just the other day, how I was ready to come back, to write about how no woman in a house full of treasure and closets as big as my room had what I had.

My heart is broken as well as my silly dreams but I will not let them take my joy.

I will die before I give it away, and if it takes all that I am and have, I will not just survive this, I will float.

The first thing I wrote on the Happy Wall is appropriate now, its message I never knew would vibrate so strongly, “God doesn’t give us victory over war. He raises us off the batte field.”

Good night, dear cyber hearts, I need you more than ever, and it is an honor to return to you, for you have been loyal on your end, and I deserve that gift, and hope and pray I am not what they say, but that someone out there, in this cold heartless world, will be seen, changed, not alone, soothed, or inspired.

It is all I have left.

4 thoughts on “For all the broken, a love letter.

  1. AS always you inspire me. I read your post and quickly turn my head to the left and right and say to myself “Is she in here? Is she in my head? am I in hers?” I feel your pain so ever true. Hands that never have before desire so strongly to shake your hand, arms that never knew you desire to hold you and tell you “It’s ok, it will all be ok” and stroke your hair like good friends and mothers do.

    I know there are times you have said you thought I was nuts and after reading your “Crazy” blog I never laughed so hard nor felt so connected. I will be writing a blog in your honor soon. You will know when I am talking about you, the friend I never knew, but had in my life on Facebook for a brief moment err, “I” was the one deleted sadly and you are the friend I so strongly want to know to chat with, to converse with to get to know better just as you yearn to get to know the school teacher. See, life comes around full circle KSM, and sometimes it is you who are the doing to others and sometimes it is done to you.

    Others feel what you feel, others live what you have lived, other know your pain…sadly and all too well…I know because I am one of them. 🙂

  2. Sorry about the deletion Trish. Honestly, you scared me to death cause as you can probably understand, I seem to attract stalkers, lol. I know now you couldn’t harm a fly if you tried. Ugh a post in my honor is so not necessary but maybe since I can’t give out my address it will be the next best thing lol! Who knows maybe I will write one on you too my most adoring loyal reader!! You keep being you!

  3. Don’t let the world dictate who you are. On this crowded and overpopulated rock called earth there is only one you. Remember that. You are here for a reason so as you open your wings don’t pay to much mind to those intimidated or even offended by the beautiful colors that your ever expanding and beautiful wings expose. After all, you have to open those wings to fly my dear heart. My advise to you is, boldly open your wings and set sail.
    Xoxo,
    LilyWhite

  4. I understand rubber band. 🙂 Believe me I have 3 business and I have been writing on my blog since 2005! I used to model and I am a “moth to the flame” kind of girl meaning people are always drawn to me.

    I know I scare you. I don’t scare you in teh “I think she is going to hurt me” kind of way, I scare you in the “Holy Shit that woman is WAAAY to much similar to me!” and that scares you. I get that. As always, a loyal KSM follower. I am always me baby! I refuse to be anything else! 😉

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