I live a thousand lies,
To hide a single truth;
That everything's pretense,
Every smile a mask -
A deceit to give you peace of mind.
I live a thousand lies,
Each morning when I wake
To greet you for the day;
You do not know that deep within,
In dreams I'd choose to stay.
I live a thousand lies,
Every time I say I'm well;
And no one seems to see,
The truth behind the 'me'.
Yet still, I'll live the lies,
A thousand every day
And the single truth of what I want,
Well hidden it will stay.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Finding Home
So this week hasn't been kind to me... I don't have pink eye, but Elf was sick and she passed her cold on to me. My head is stuffed full of gunk and my throat feels like it's been sandpapered.
I've also been in a lousy mood for most of the week and have been taking it out on the poor girls. The stress of this month is getting to me, and I've been stupid enough to let it. Still, the end is in sight... Just one more week to get through.
I haven't written anything for the past couple of days because I haven't known what to write. Overall I want this blog to be a positive place, somewhere that I can vent, but also somewhere I come to in order to remind myself that even when things are at their worst, they're not really as bad as I think they are. And since I haven't felt very positive lately, it's been hard to think of what to write that didn't sound as though I was whining.
It's times like these that I miss my mom the most. She really was my best friend. When I needed to cry, whine or just plain rant at the unfairness of it all, she was always there to listen, sympathise, and then, in the kindest possible sense, tell me to get on with life. It was hard to be negative when she was around because she simply didn't allow me to throw pity parties.
The weirdest thing is, I know my mom battled depression. She was depressed for most of my life, and it showed in the little things she did. My mom very seldom laughed. She slept; a lot. She didn't like to go out. She loved to entertain, but seldom did. She stopped cooking. Just... little things. And it wasn't that she was a negative person. In spite of her depression, she had the ability to find the positive in every thing; in every day. I so seldom heard her complain, that it was easy to forget that she was depressed.
My mom lost her job a year and a half before she died. And though she searched, no one wanted to hire her. She was too close to retirement age. I was fortunate in that I had a decent job, with a decent salary; and I could more or less afford to support two households. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't a problem. My mom had spent 22 years working hard to support us and raise us well, and she did a damn good job. But even though I tried to reassure her that I didn't really mind, that it had always been my intention to look after her when I got a job; I knew she hated being dependent on me. We may not have had much, but we always took pride in the fact that we never sponged. If we needed help; and we often did, in one way or another; we always tried to find a way to repay the generosity of friends and family. And they were incredibly generous. We were so lucky to have the friends that we did. And I know it's mostly because of the kind of person my mom was. She inspired the love and loyalty and generosity of people. And she returned it in spades.
True, my mom wasn't perfect. Like everyone, she had her faults. But they were easy to overlook. Easy to forgive. In many ways, I think I've managed to block out the negatives since she died. It's natural to want to remember the positives, to forget the irritations that seem so trivial now she's gone.
It's hard being back home again. I moved back at the end of October last year, but then I kept myself so busy with friends and house-sitting and stuff in an effort to avoid coming home, that I only really spent a few days a month here until I finally had no choice but to come back. And now I'm here and it feels like home again, except that it doesn't. My mom isn't here.
It's hard to describe how I feel about that. On one hand, I know I've accepted her death. I've started to move on from it, and I've started to live my life as an adult without my mom around. On the other... well, I miss her. Obviously. But it doesn't really hurt the way it did in the first few months after her death. The gap that was there has been filled with my memories of her, and I do have a lot of memories, good and bad. Fortunately more good than bad.
Even though I miss her though; I'm not entirely sure that I would want her to still be alive if I was given that choice. And I know that sounds odd. But if she hadn't died; I wouldn't have found the strength I needed to stand on my own. I wouldn't be who I am now. And I wouldn't have the family I do now. Elf and Orphan would be two strangers, my brother and I would still be fighting like cats and dogs (which is not to say we don't still fight); and most of all, I wouldn't have figured out that even though she's gone; my mom is still here.
The memories I have of her, the lessons I learnt from her, and the fact that she set the best example of how to live life: without complaining, and finding the positive in everything no matter how bad it seems; those are the important things. And those are the reminders I find when I look for her at home.
So no, home isn't the same without her. It's different, but it's still home. And it's just as good.
I've also been in a lousy mood for most of the week and have been taking it out on the poor girls. The stress of this month is getting to me, and I've been stupid enough to let it. Still, the end is in sight... Just one more week to get through.
I haven't written anything for the past couple of days because I haven't known what to write. Overall I want this blog to be a positive place, somewhere that I can vent, but also somewhere I come to in order to remind myself that even when things are at their worst, they're not really as bad as I think they are. And since I haven't felt very positive lately, it's been hard to think of what to write that didn't sound as though I was whining.
It's times like these that I miss my mom the most. She really was my best friend. When I needed to cry, whine or just plain rant at the unfairness of it all, she was always there to listen, sympathise, and then, in the kindest possible sense, tell me to get on with life. It was hard to be negative when she was around because she simply didn't allow me to throw pity parties.
The weirdest thing is, I know my mom battled depression. She was depressed for most of my life, and it showed in the little things she did. My mom very seldom laughed. She slept; a lot. She didn't like to go out. She loved to entertain, but seldom did. She stopped cooking. Just... little things. And it wasn't that she was a negative person. In spite of her depression, she had the ability to find the positive in every thing; in every day. I so seldom heard her complain, that it was easy to forget that she was depressed.
My mom lost her job a year and a half before she died. And though she searched, no one wanted to hire her. She was too close to retirement age. I was fortunate in that I had a decent job, with a decent salary; and I could more or less afford to support two households. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't a problem. My mom had spent 22 years working hard to support us and raise us well, and she did a damn good job. But even though I tried to reassure her that I didn't really mind, that it had always been my intention to look after her when I got a job; I knew she hated being dependent on me. We may not have had much, but we always took pride in the fact that we never sponged. If we needed help; and we often did, in one way or another; we always tried to find a way to repay the generosity of friends and family. And they were incredibly generous. We were so lucky to have the friends that we did. And I know it's mostly because of the kind of person my mom was. She inspired the love and loyalty and generosity of people. And she returned it in spades.
True, my mom wasn't perfect. Like everyone, she had her faults. But they were easy to overlook. Easy to forgive. In many ways, I think I've managed to block out the negatives since she died. It's natural to want to remember the positives, to forget the irritations that seem so trivial now she's gone.
It's hard being back home again. I moved back at the end of October last year, but then I kept myself so busy with friends and house-sitting and stuff in an effort to avoid coming home, that I only really spent a few days a month here until I finally had no choice but to come back. And now I'm here and it feels like home again, except that it doesn't. My mom isn't here.
It's hard to describe how I feel about that. On one hand, I know I've accepted her death. I've started to move on from it, and I've started to live my life as an adult without my mom around. On the other... well, I miss her. Obviously. But it doesn't really hurt the way it did in the first few months after her death. The gap that was there has been filled with my memories of her, and I do have a lot of memories, good and bad. Fortunately more good than bad.
Even though I miss her though; I'm not entirely sure that I would want her to still be alive if I was given that choice. And I know that sounds odd. But if she hadn't died; I wouldn't have found the strength I needed to stand on my own. I wouldn't be who I am now. And I wouldn't have the family I do now. Elf and Orphan would be two strangers, my brother and I would still be fighting like cats and dogs (which is not to say we don't still fight); and most of all, I wouldn't have figured out that even though she's gone; my mom is still here.
The memories I have of her, the lessons I learnt from her, and the fact that she set the best example of how to live life: without complaining, and finding the positive in everything no matter how bad it seems; those are the important things. And those are the reminders I find when I look for her at home.
So no, home isn't the same without her. It's different, but it's still home. And it's just as good.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
One... two... eleven?
I'm off work today. I think I have pinkeye. I'm hoping I don't. But just in case; I called in sick. A colleague had it a week ago, and I don't want to risk maybe passing it on if it is that. (Besides, the weather is perfect for staying in bed. Now if only I can resist the temptation to rub my eye...)
It's not going to be a wasted day though... Eventually I'm going to drag myself out of bed and go sort through a couple of boxes, clean up a bit and try to get some writing done.
Speaking of writing, that's yet another reason for starting this blog... I write a lot of stories. A lot. But finishing them seems to be a problem for me. Go figure. The problem is, I start with a story, which is planned as a novel, get a quarter of the way through, and then hit a dead end. So I sit with nothing for a couple of days, until a new idea for a story hits. And then I'm off again. Full speed ahead. Into a brick wall. And at the end of it; I'm left with a great big stack of unfinished stories. Speaking for myself, there's nothing I hate more than starting to read something; getting involved in the story; and then it just... ends. In the middle of nowhere. So for me to do it to myself, and to the poor friends and family that I force into reading my never-quite-finished stories... it's just unfair.
Which is why my New Year's Resolution has two parts: To finish what I start. And to not start something until I'm finished. I plan on finishing every single thing I've ever started to write, and if I can't; then I'll save the idea until later and rework it into something I can use. Until everything I currently have in progress is finished, I won't be starting any new stories. This could take a while, since I currently have over ten stories that have yet to be completed. Some were meant to be novels, others were just long short stories that ran out of steam.
And so, without further ado, I present the list of In Progress titles:
- Silvermane - Currently sitting on about five completed chapters. It's supposed to be a short novel of about twenty/twenty-five chapters.
- S.P.O.O.K.S - Currently on four long chapters. I'm aiming for twenty-five/thirty. I already know how it's going to end.
- Devourer - Also on about five chapters, this is meant to be a short horror story. I still have no idea how it's going to end.
- Dragons' Rising - On eight chapters; this is the very first novel I started. I know how I want it to end. Getting there is proving a problem. I'm aiming for thirty chapters.
- Once Upon a Wicked Witch - Currently on two chapters. It's a long short story of about ten chapters.
- Witch's Blood: Inherited Magic - On two chapters, it's also meant to be a short story of about ten chapters.
- My 'special' project - A five book series; something is written for each of the books. I already have the ending for the final book. This is the project I've put the most work into so far, and the one I'm most paranoid about. I really want to finish it.
So there you have it... 11 books I have to finish before I can start on something new. And how will the blog help? Well, I plan on having at least one post a week detailing progress on any of the above, with the idea that the shame of not having anything to report will spur me on in my efforts to finish them.
Wish me luck.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Memories Found
In September of 2010 I was in a smash and grab. I had stopped at a red light on the way home, about 10pm, and the next thing I knew, a man had smashed my passenger side window, grabbed my cellphone, my necklace and my bag. I froze. Literally. I couldn't move until he was out of the car and gone. With my belongings.
For a week I was in a state. There were other things happening in my life at that stage, and I can honestly say that I didn't know if I'd get past it. It's the lowest I have ever been, and I hope to never go there again.
When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran. To my aunt and uncle's house for the weekend. Somehow, I had to find my strength again, and I knew I couldn't do it at home; and no one else would be able to help me with it either. It was the best thing I've ever done.
When my mom died, I spent a couple of weeks searching for things that would remind me of her. I found a lot, but the one thing I couldn't find was her scent. That particular perfume that would remind me of her. As far as I know, my mom never had a favourite perfume, and she seldom wore any. It bothered me. Scents have always triggered strong memories of people for me; my grandmother always smelt of mothballs and baby powder for example. But I couldn't find a scent I associated with Mom.
Until I arrived back at work, and happened to be walking past the flowerbeds. I caught a hint of a scent, my head whipped up, and I stared. It was my mom through and through. The flowering plant, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow (Brunfelsia pauciflora). I was ecstatic! Finally, a scent that reminded me of my mom.
I don't remember who I told, but I know for sure I never told my uncle. And then, last year; on the 11th of September, a week after the one year anniversary of my mom's death, and five days after my safe little world shattered along with my car window; my uncle led me into the darkness of the spare bedroom and asked me what I smelt.
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow... My uncle had opened the window to let in the scent of the bush that grew right outside it. And the room was full of the comforting scent of my mother. I was safe and calm for the first time in a week. And even when I left at the end of the weekend, that feeling stayed with me.
I never did get any of my stuff back. The only thing that bothered me about that though, was that my notebook with my poems in it; and my memory stick with all the writing I'd ever done had been in my bag. And things like that can't be replaced. The memory stick bothered me especially, because I couldn't remember it being in my bag at the time. I was sure I'd left it at home. But search as I might, it was gone.
Until this morning. When Orphan made my day by handing it to me and saying it had been in her bag all this time. It only took four months for me to get it back... But at least it's better than if some thief had it and I'd never found it again.
You've gotta love those memories. ^_^
For a week I was in a state. There were other things happening in my life at that stage, and I can honestly say that I didn't know if I'd get past it. It's the lowest I have ever been, and I hope to never go there again.
When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran. To my aunt and uncle's house for the weekend. Somehow, I had to find my strength again, and I knew I couldn't do it at home; and no one else would be able to help me with it either. It was the best thing I've ever done.
When my mom died, I spent a couple of weeks searching for things that would remind me of her. I found a lot, but the one thing I couldn't find was her scent. That particular perfume that would remind me of her. As far as I know, my mom never had a favourite perfume, and she seldom wore any. It bothered me. Scents have always triggered strong memories of people for me; my grandmother always smelt of mothballs and baby powder for example. But I couldn't find a scent I associated with Mom.
Until I arrived back at work, and happened to be walking past the flowerbeds. I caught a hint of a scent, my head whipped up, and I stared. It was my mom through and through. The flowering plant, Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow (Brunfelsia pauciflora). I was ecstatic! Finally, a scent that reminded me of my mom.
I don't remember who I told, but I know for sure I never told my uncle. And then, last year; on the 11th of September, a week after the one year anniversary of my mom's death, and five days after my safe little world shattered along with my car window; my uncle led me into the darkness of the spare bedroom and asked me what I smelt.
Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow... My uncle had opened the window to let in the scent of the bush that grew right outside it. And the room was full of the comforting scent of my mother. I was safe and calm for the first time in a week. And even when I left at the end of the weekend, that feeling stayed with me.
I never did get any of my stuff back. The only thing that bothered me about that though, was that my notebook with my poems in it; and my memory stick with all the writing I'd ever done had been in my bag. And things like that can't be replaced. The memory stick bothered me especially, because I couldn't remember it being in my bag at the time. I was sure I'd left it at home. But search as I might, it was gone.
Until this morning. When Orphan made my day by handing it to me and saying it had been in her bag all this time. It only took four months for me to get it back... But at least it's better than if some thief had it and I'd never found it again.
You've gotta love those memories. ^_^
Bits and Pieces
One of the reasons for starting this blog, is to detail the process of dehoarding my house. When mom died, she left behind a ton of stuff; that admittedly my brother and I had added to over the years. We moved almost every year growing up; and each time we moved, things were stuffed into boxes, and hidden neatly away in a storage area.
Currently, 24 years worth of stuff, is occupying the fairly large back room in our garden. Which is not to mention the junk I brought back with me when I moved back home; which is currently making our living room unliveable, and our dining room non-existent. Not to mention the fact that the passage way is now half its normal width and my bedroom consists of a pathway to the bed, and the computer desk; surrounded by yet more stuff.
I know I'm a hoarder. I see something that any logical person would throw away; and I just know there's a use for it somehow. I also know that it's utterly ridiculous to keep hanging onto stuff that we've lugged around for years, and never used. I didn't realise until this weekend just how difficult the process of dehoarding was going to be.
I started with a box that my DVD player came in. I still have the DVD player, but when I moved back home, it was packed into the car without the box. Why? Because the box had been stuffed full of, well, junk. There are some things I can throw away without a problem. Papers that have no sentimental value for example. Newspapers I save, because I use them to line the bottom of the bird cages, and we never really have a surplus of them.
But when it really hit me, was when I unfolded a poster that has moved from one box to another over a period of about 7 years, and has never once ended up on my wall. It's not even a poster I particularly like: a herd of horses running through the sea foam. It's not the best picture, not printed on quality paper... it was just, well, ugly. And it irritated me, because the splashes of sea foam looked lilke dirty spots on the paper. But I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. Because, it might still look good if I framed it and stuck it on my wall. Yeah, right.
So I asked for help. Elf, after having a good chuckle at my expense, very kindly took the really ugly poster, and even more kindly, and with a look of great satisfaction on her face, proceeded to rip it up into tiny little shreds, which I then had no trouble throwing away.
Orphan wasn't as helpful. I happened across a wallet that I used to use; which, while not in a bad condition, was also in dire need of a good clean. Or a good dustbin. I tried to throw it away. I did. Orphan dug it out; insistent that it could be used, that she would use it or find someone to give it to for them to use. She wiped it with a damp cloth, put it down; and as far as I know, it's still lying on top of the chest of drawers amidst a ton of other clutter that seems to accumulate on surfaces in my house. It's okay... I figure, when her back is turned, I'll go through the clutter on the unit, and quietly throw it away. Besides, at least I'm not the only one who has trouble throwing things out.
Paper gift bags are saved to be reused. They will eventually end up in the drawers which we plan to use to store our craft goodies. As soon as we empty them of the junk they currently contain of course. (On a side note; why do most hoarders seem to be incredibly creative with several lifetimes worth of craft supplies?)
And then the hardest part... I used to make my own doll 'clothes'. Every little scrap of material I happened across, was saved to be used as something for the toys I owned. A triangle cut out of a piece of felt became a cape for my Barbie, for example. And what should I find in the box; but some of these scraps of material. Too small to be of any real value; but still... If I dug out my toys, I could make something for them. Right? Uh... no. (About this time, I'm busy bashing my head against a mental brick wall, aware of the sheer idiocy of wanting to hang onto those little pieces; but unable to stop thinking about the various uses I could put them to.) Besides which, I've had them for over seven years without harm coming from them, how could it hurt to keep them now?
Once again, Elf proved useful. Her slightly-cruel-but-not-deliberately-so laughter got to me. So I chucked them. And then had to hold back tears. Those stupid little pieces of material had no real value... But to a child, with an overactive imagination; those pieces of cloth were blankets to a freezing cold Barbie. They were rolled up and became bedrolls that were strapped on behind the saddle of her horse for those long trips through harsh terrain. They were tents, and carpets and silken sheets... And they spoke of an innocent enjoyment of the simple things, that as an adult, I'd almost forgotten. They were a reminder that innocent pleasures are often the best to be found; and that sometimes the treasure isn't in how something looks, but in how we choose to see it.
I left the material in the trash. The memories of silken sheets and warm capes will be enough.
Currently, 24 years worth of stuff, is occupying the fairly large back room in our garden. Which is not to mention the junk I brought back with me when I moved back home; which is currently making our living room unliveable, and our dining room non-existent. Not to mention the fact that the passage way is now half its normal width and my bedroom consists of a pathway to the bed, and the computer desk; surrounded by yet more stuff.
I know I'm a hoarder. I see something that any logical person would throw away; and I just know there's a use for it somehow. I also know that it's utterly ridiculous to keep hanging onto stuff that we've lugged around for years, and never used. I didn't realise until this weekend just how difficult the process of dehoarding was going to be.
I started with a box that my DVD player came in. I still have the DVD player, but when I moved back home, it was packed into the car without the box. Why? Because the box had been stuffed full of, well, junk. There are some things I can throw away without a problem. Papers that have no sentimental value for example. Newspapers I save, because I use them to line the bottom of the bird cages, and we never really have a surplus of them.
But when it really hit me, was when I unfolded a poster that has moved from one box to another over a period of about 7 years, and has never once ended up on my wall. It's not even a poster I particularly like: a herd of horses running through the sea foam. It's not the best picture, not printed on quality paper... it was just, well, ugly. And it irritated me, because the splashes of sea foam looked lilke dirty spots on the paper. But I couldn't bring myself to throw it away. Because, it might still look good if I framed it and stuck it on my wall. Yeah, right.
So I asked for help. Elf, after having a good chuckle at my expense, very kindly took the really ugly poster, and even more kindly, and with a look of great satisfaction on her face, proceeded to rip it up into tiny little shreds, which I then had no trouble throwing away.
Orphan wasn't as helpful. I happened across a wallet that I used to use; which, while not in a bad condition, was also in dire need of a good clean. Or a good dustbin. I tried to throw it away. I did. Orphan dug it out; insistent that it could be used, that she would use it or find someone to give it to for them to use. She wiped it with a damp cloth, put it down; and as far as I know, it's still lying on top of the chest of drawers amidst a ton of other clutter that seems to accumulate on surfaces in my house. It's okay... I figure, when her back is turned, I'll go through the clutter on the unit, and quietly throw it away. Besides, at least I'm not the only one who has trouble throwing things out.
Paper gift bags are saved to be reused. They will eventually end up in the drawers which we plan to use to store our craft goodies. As soon as we empty them of the junk they currently contain of course. (On a side note; why do most hoarders seem to be incredibly creative with several lifetimes worth of craft supplies?)
And then the hardest part... I used to make my own doll 'clothes'. Every little scrap of material I happened across, was saved to be used as something for the toys I owned. A triangle cut out of a piece of felt became a cape for my Barbie, for example. And what should I find in the box; but some of these scraps of material. Too small to be of any real value; but still... If I dug out my toys, I could make something for them. Right? Uh... no. (About this time, I'm busy bashing my head against a mental brick wall, aware of the sheer idiocy of wanting to hang onto those little pieces; but unable to stop thinking about the various uses I could put them to.) Besides which, I've had them for over seven years without harm coming from them, how could it hurt to keep them now?
Once again, Elf proved useful. Her slightly-cruel-but-not-deliberately-so laughter got to me. So I chucked them. And then had to hold back tears. Those stupid little pieces of material had no real value... But to a child, with an overactive imagination; those pieces of cloth were blankets to a freezing cold Barbie. They were rolled up and became bedrolls that were strapped on behind the saddle of her horse for those long trips through harsh terrain. They were tents, and carpets and silken sheets... And they spoke of an innocent enjoyment of the simple things, that as an adult, I'd almost forgotten. They were a reminder that innocent pleasures are often the best to be found; and that sometimes the treasure isn't in how something looks, but in how we choose to see it.
I left the material in the trash. The memories of silken sheets and warm capes will be enough.
Friday, January 14, 2011
What Is My Name?
The last few posts have been rather serious; and while this blog will be about dealing with real life, and all the issues that come with it; I also created it with the idea of sharing the amount of fun that I have since the girls came into my life. Not a day goes by that we don't end up in stitches laughing at one thing or another, or sometimes at nothing at all.
That being said, when I spoke to them about starting the blog, I had to ask them about names. Obviously we can't use our real names. That would just be stupid. Duh.
So we had a bit of fun brainstorming, and coming up with some truly ridiculous names.
Elf went through
Orphan was harder. She's the 'wife' out of the three of us. I am no longer allowed to cook (I would complain but her cooking is so much better than mine anyway), so she does it all. She also does the cleaning, because there's no way Elf is ever going to do housework; she lives up to her name and works in the garden instead. We've found a tentative sort of balance between who does what in the house.
We also debated calling her Psycho; but for some reason, 'The Owl, the Psycho and the Elf' doesn't sound like the kind of thing anyone would willingly choose to read. Can't think why? We eventually settled on Orphan, because of her history and because, well, it just works for the title. -shrugs-
As for me... Well, I was shoved through the wringer when it came to names. Everything I came up with was either 'stupid', 'lame' or 'sad'. Thanks girls. I love you too.
And then, Elf asked me why I didn't go with Owl? I don't know why I didn't think of it, but my brain has a tendency to send out a whole lot of useless junk before it sends out the treasures. My mom loved owls. They were one of her favourite birds. And we're a bird obsessed family - we have seven of our own. Birds, that is. Not owls. And since 'Bird' was rejected as 'stupid', I became Owl. Cos I'm the oldest; apparently I'm the responsible one, which equates to 'wise'; and because I've been ever so slightly obsessed with owls since mom died. To the extent that I want to get a tattoo of one on my shoulder...
Yep, definitely a wise, old Owl. OvO
That being said, when I spoke to them about starting the blog, I had to ask them about names. Obviously we can't use our real names. That would just be stupid. Duh.
So we had a bit of fun brainstorming, and coming up with some truly ridiculous names.
Elf went through
- Squirt (Which she rejected because her mind is generally in the gutter);
- and Monkey (Rejected because that's a personal nickname);
Orphan was harder. She's the 'wife' out of the three of us. I am no longer allowed to cook (I would complain but her cooking is so much better than mine anyway), so she does it all. She also does the cleaning, because there's no way Elf is ever going to do housework; she lives up to her name and works in the garden instead. We've found a tentative sort of balance between who does what in the house.
We also debated calling her Psycho; but for some reason, 'The Owl, the Psycho and the Elf' doesn't sound like the kind of thing anyone would willingly choose to read. Can't think why? We eventually settled on Orphan, because of her history and because, well, it just works for the title. -shrugs-
As for me... Well, I was shoved through the wringer when it came to names. Everything I came up with was either 'stupid', 'lame' or 'sad'. Thanks girls. I love you too.
And then, Elf asked me why I didn't go with Owl? I don't know why I didn't think of it, but my brain has a tendency to send out a whole lot of useless junk before it sends out the treasures. My mom loved owls. They were one of her favourite birds. And we're a bird obsessed family - we have seven of our own. Birds, that is. Not owls. And since 'Bird' was rejected as 'stupid', I became Owl. Cos I'm the oldest; apparently I'm the responsible one, which equates to 'wise'; and because I've been ever so slightly obsessed with owls since mom died. To the extent that I want to get a tattoo of one on my shoulder...
Yep, definitely a wise, old Owl. OvO
It's a Hard-Knock Life...
WARNING: I spent a lot of time debating with myself as to how blunt I should be when posting this. There are numerous reasons to censor myself, and even more reasons not to. I have decided not to; since the story I am posting is real, is horrifying, and most definitely is upsetting. If you are sensitive about stories of child abuse, (and there is a very good reason to be); and there is a possibility that you will be traumatised by reading it, then please; do not continue.
Soon after Elf came to live with me, she met in person, a friend of hers that she'd been talking to online for almost four years. They were close, had done the online dating thing once, and now that they'd finally met in person, Elf wanted to ask her out. I was naturally wary of this. She'd barely been clean for week, and was still trying to get her life sorted out, and she wanted to jump head-first into a new relationship. I didn't know the friend very well, aside from a few odd conversations with her online when she came across as extremely clingy and needy and various other things besides. I didn't know how good she'd be for Elf, and the last thing I wanted was for Elf to commit to something and have things go bad, again. Besides which, I wasn't sure I particularly liked the potential girlfriend anyway. (Yes; I know... Typical Mother-In-Law Syndrome. And the worst bit is, I'm not even Elf's mother).
To cut a long story short, Elf did indeed ask her out. And so, Orphan entered my life. She lived almost an hour and a half away from us; the half added because she has absolutely no logical perception of distance and we got horribly lost following her directions the first time we went to pick her up. The speed bumps in the road that she described were a few hundred metres up the road, rather than 'after you turn into the road, go over two speed bumps'. The rest of the directions were similar, but that's a story for another time.
In June of that year, Elf received a frantic call from Orphan. Her stepfather had found out about their relationship and he was going to do something drastic. I can't really remember what exactly happened, I was on the receiving end of a two sided conversation filled with panicked tears and absolute terror. One thing was clear. Orphan was no longer safe at the flat she called home. A flat paid for by her stepfather. A car owned by her stepfather. A job where her stepfather was her boss. In short, a life controlled entirely by her stepfather.
Normally, having everything laid out for you by your parents would be a cause for joy, or at the least, gratitude. But in Orphan's case, it was a cage, ruled by fear and hate. Her stepfather had keys to the flat, and she was his as far as he was concerned. His to use as and when he wanted. And she had no escape.
It had been that way since she was a child. Orphan's story is not unique. With a mother who didn't care, by the age of 4, Orphan had been molested by ten different men. When her mother married the man who would become her stepfather, the abuse; instead of coming to an end, continued; this time by the man who claimed to want to love and protect her as he would a daughter.
Between the ages of 4 and 8; Orphan endured neglect, abuse and the knowledge that no one really wanted her as she was shipped between different family members. And then, at 8; she was given to a foster care.
Two families rejected her, before she was moved to a place of safety. She was there until the age of 10; when she was put into a children's home. Where a boy of 16 proceeded to molest and rape her. Repeatedly. When he left, things settled down for her. Until her mother found out where she was.
Orphan found out she was no longer an only child, she had a brother and a sister. The home allowed her to start visiting her mother, and that's when her stepfather started abusing her again. At the end of 2003, at 13, she was permanently given into her mother's care. In an effort to get her stepfather to leave her alone, she started eating... and eating. He hated fat people and she was sure if she was fat enough he'd leave her alone. In two years, she gained 28kg. But it didn't work.
In August of 2006; Orphan gave into her stepfathers begging, and finally slept with him. She was sixteen. In April of 2007, Orphan found out she was pregnant. She'd conceived in February when they'd gone on holiday. She kept it quiet until she started bleeding - a miscarriage scare.
In August, when she was 6 months and 3 weeks pregnant, she was forced to go for an abortion. Her mother was present. The rest of that story has not been shared with me, as it's an emotional one; and Orphan cannot talk about it just yet. For whatever reason, the abortion failed, and Orphan gave birth on the 27th of August; to a little girl. Forced to give her to her mother so that the rest of the family wouldn't find out about her pregnancy; Orphan sank into depression; and tried to take her life. She failed.
After promises from her stepfather that he'd never touch her again; she went back to finish school. When he took her shopping for school supplies in January of 2008; he raped her on the backseat of the car. After that; if she needed anything; school supplies, clothing and the like; she would have to sleep with him. He was buying her body. She was eighteen when she started drinking to escape reality. She was allergic to alcohol, but she thought it would be better than cutting. And she started planning her escape.
When she finished school, on the day of her final exam; she moved out of the house, and in with a girl she'd used as her escape route. She had a girlfriend, a flat, and a job, but her stepfather was still contacting her; begging her to come home; offering her her own flat, a car and the chance to study further. At Christmas, she gave in and in January of 2010 she moved back home.
Fast forward six months; and Orphan was living with Elf and myself on a 'temporary' basis. We'd gone to rescue her and that same night had moved her out of the prison her stepfather called a flat. A couple of weeks later, she moved in with her friend and found a job. But it wasn't ideal. And when she joined us on a week long roadtrip in July of 2010; it was unofficially decided that she would move in with us permanently.
At twenty; Orphan had finally decided to live.
* Before anyone feels the need to ask; I have both Orphan and Elf's permission to post their stories. In fact, they want their stories told; in the hope that if someone in a similar situation should stumble across it; they will know that there is hope out there.
** The statistics on REPORTED sexual crimes in South Africa are truly horrifying. Between 2009-2010; approximately 68 332 cases were reported to the SA Police Service. However, these are only the cases that are reported. In a case like Orphan's; there are no legal ramifications for the perpetrator. They remain unreported due to fear; or circumstances beyond the victims control. In Orphan's case; her siblings; and her daughter; will be the ones to suffer should she report him. And thus far, there has been no sign that he is abusing his children. Should that change, we will take action against him. For the time being, it is enough that he no longer has control over Orphan.
*** This situation is very real, and terrifying. But there is help. If you or anyone you know is being abused, please contact someone who can help.
Soon after Elf came to live with me, she met in person, a friend of hers that she'd been talking to online for almost four years. They were close, had done the online dating thing once, and now that they'd finally met in person, Elf wanted to ask her out. I was naturally wary of this. She'd barely been clean for week, and was still trying to get her life sorted out, and she wanted to jump head-first into a new relationship. I didn't know the friend very well, aside from a few odd conversations with her online when she came across as extremely clingy and needy and various other things besides. I didn't know how good she'd be for Elf, and the last thing I wanted was for Elf to commit to something and have things go bad, again. Besides which, I wasn't sure I particularly liked the potential girlfriend anyway. (Yes; I know... Typical Mother-In-Law Syndrome. And the worst bit is, I'm not even Elf's mother).
To cut a long story short, Elf did indeed ask her out. And so, Orphan entered my life. She lived almost an hour and a half away from us; the half added because she has absolutely no logical perception of distance and we got horribly lost following her directions the first time we went to pick her up. The speed bumps in the road that she described were a few hundred metres up the road, rather than 'after you turn into the road, go over two speed bumps'. The rest of the directions were similar, but that's a story for another time.
In June of that year, Elf received a frantic call from Orphan. Her stepfather had found out about their relationship and he was going to do something drastic. I can't really remember what exactly happened, I was on the receiving end of a two sided conversation filled with panicked tears and absolute terror. One thing was clear. Orphan was no longer safe at the flat she called home. A flat paid for by her stepfather. A car owned by her stepfather. A job where her stepfather was her boss. In short, a life controlled entirely by her stepfather.
Normally, having everything laid out for you by your parents would be a cause for joy, or at the least, gratitude. But in Orphan's case, it was a cage, ruled by fear and hate. Her stepfather had keys to the flat, and she was his as far as he was concerned. His to use as and when he wanted. And she had no escape.
It had been that way since she was a child. Orphan's story is not unique. With a mother who didn't care, by the age of 4, Orphan had been molested by ten different men. When her mother married the man who would become her stepfather, the abuse; instead of coming to an end, continued; this time by the man who claimed to want to love and protect her as he would a daughter.
Between the ages of 4 and 8; Orphan endured neglect, abuse and the knowledge that no one really wanted her as she was shipped between different family members. And then, at 8; she was given to a foster care.
Two families rejected her, before she was moved to a place of safety. She was there until the age of 10; when she was put into a children's home. Where a boy of 16 proceeded to molest and rape her. Repeatedly. When he left, things settled down for her. Until her mother found out where she was.
Orphan found out she was no longer an only child, she had a brother and a sister. The home allowed her to start visiting her mother, and that's when her stepfather started abusing her again. At the end of 2003, at 13, she was permanently given into her mother's care. In an effort to get her stepfather to leave her alone, she started eating... and eating. He hated fat people and she was sure if she was fat enough he'd leave her alone. In two years, she gained 28kg. But it didn't work.
In August of 2006; Orphan gave into her stepfathers begging, and finally slept with him. She was sixteen. In April of 2007, Orphan found out she was pregnant. She'd conceived in February when they'd gone on holiday. She kept it quiet until she started bleeding - a miscarriage scare.
In August, when she was 6 months and 3 weeks pregnant, she was forced to go for an abortion. Her mother was present. The rest of that story has not been shared with me, as it's an emotional one; and Orphan cannot talk about it just yet. For whatever reason, the abortion failed, and Orphan gave birth on the 27th of August; to a little girl. Forced to give her to her mother so that the rest of the family wouldn't find out about her pregnancy; Orphan sank into depression; and tried to take her life. She failed.
After promises from her stepfather that he'd never touch her again; she went back to finish school. When he took her shopping for school supplies in January of 2008; he raped her on the backseat of the car. After that; if she needed anything; school supplies, clothing and the like; she would have to sleep with him. He was buying her body. She was eighteen when she started drinking to escape reality. She was allergic to alcohol, but she thought it would be better than cutting. And she started planning her escape.
When she finished school, on the day of her final exam; she moved out of the house, and in with a girl she'd used as her escape route. She had a girlfriend, a flat, and a job, but her stepfather was still contacting her; begging her to come home; offering her her own flat, a car and the chance to study further. At Christmas, she gave in and in January of 2010 she moved back home.
Fast forward six months; and Orphan was living with Elf and myself on a 'temporary' basis. We'd gone to rescue her and that same night had moved her out of the prison her stepfather called a flat. A couple of weeks later, she moved in with her friend and found a job. But it wasn't ideal. And when she joined us on a week long roadtrip in July of 2010; it was unofficially decided that she would move in with us permanently.
At twenty; Orphan had finally decided to live.
* Before anyone feels the need to ask; I have both Orphan and Elf's permission to post their stories. In fact, they want their stories told; in the hope that if someone in a similar situation should stumble across it; they will know that there is hope out there.
** The statistics on REPORTED sexual crimes in South Africa are truly horrifying. Between 2009-2010; approximately 68 332 cases were reported to the SA Police Service. However, these are only the cases that are reported. In a case like Orphan's; there are no legal ramifications for the perpetrator. They remain unreported due to fear; or circumstances beyond the victims control. In Orphan's case; her siblings; and her daughter; will be the ones to suffer should she report him. And thus far, there has been no sign that he is abusing his children. Should that change, we will take action against him. For the time being, it is enough that he no longer has control over Orphan.
*** This situation is very real, and terrifying. But there is help. If you or anyone you know is being abused, please contact someone who can help.
- Childline = 0800 055 555
- Lifeline = 011 715 2000
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