Posts tagged ‘forgiveness’

February 16, 2011

Nineteen years and counting…

Thoughts of my father surfaced recently. I am so frustrated.  How do you settle what can never be settled… find closure with someone you can never speak to again… have one last moment with someone who is gone forever?

It’s going on 19 years soon… but still… a part of me feels like the 14-year-old he left behind… only more tired… less youthful… and the void he left behind… larger and more empty…

Still not sure how to make peace with his death… with all of my unacknowledged feelings… with all of my pain… with my daddy issues… with my never-enough-complex…

I don’t know what I wish… that he were here maybe? Healed hopefully… but more than likely… he’d still be drunk… and high… disappointing me… and feeding my complex… and lord knows… my mother does that enough.  I have never heard her say she was proud of me… never…

I cried myself to sleep two nights ago… torturing myself with thoughts of him… the few good times we had together during his sober moments… he was the apple of my eye then…

I have my own regrets… I guess never imagining that our time would be cut so short… always thinking there would be that later time… hoping that he would get his shit together… and that we’d finally get to have our time… that finally I would have my time… just to be a kid… to be free… to be loved… to be his baby girl… to be number one… to be a priority… to feel safe… and taken care of… to be worry free… to not be second… shit… third even… to his drugs and alcohol…

That time never came… and my heart still feels like it’s waiting…

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February 14, 2011

the funny thing about never…

the people you thought would never leave your side…
are gone…
the love you never could have imagined…
exists…
the times you never thought you’d get through…
were survived…
the things you thought you’d never be able to laugh at…
are finally funny…
the people you never thought would let you down…
have…
the mistakes you promised yourself you’d never make…
were made…
the tears you never thought you’d cause…
were cried…
and the tears you promised you’d never cry…
streamed down your cheeks…
the ties you swore you’d never cut…
were snipped…
the lies you promised you’d never tell…
were told…
the people you said you’d never forgive…
were forgiven…
and the things you never thought were possible…
have happened…
 
…that’s the funny thing about never…
it’s never certain…
February 8, 2011

Fireworks

So, someone found it necessary today to question the time that it took for me to fall in love.  I should probably say… that I am still falling, every day.  So, are we questioning when I began to fall?  Well then yes, it was probably pretty quick.  What can I say?  She is breathtakingly gorgeous.  She is kind, thoughtful, generous, chivalrous, intelligent, driven, goofy…and so many other things that I would have to dedicate another post just to describe her adequately.  I feel so honored and blessed to have her in my life.  In our short time together, she has shown me things that others could not during an entire relationship.  And yes, I love her.  I love her very much.  And what makes it so wonderful, is that she appreciates all of my expressions of love… and she is just so easy to love. 

I think often we are convinced that loving takes CONSTANT WORK, that it takes CONSTANT tweaking, and requires a CONSTANT effort just to keep it going… when love is like a job that leaves you feeling exhausted and drained, I am now convinced, that isn’t love at all.

Sometimes love is so effortless, so comforting, so incredibly nurturing… that it is impossible NOT to fall, because you feel so safe in doing so.  And I do.  Feel safe.

I feel completely at peace in the way I left my previous relationship.  I was honest, loyal and 100% faithful. 

I NEVER NEED someone to make me happy. To fulfill me.  I am a naturally happy person.  I know who I am.  I am an “old bitch.”  I don’t need time to FIND myself. I am not filling any voids, or searching aimlessly for a love to complete me.  The fact is, as stated in another post, my love is a gift.  You do with it what you will.  I will always BE READY for love if and when it presents itself to me.  And I will never run from love because of “timing” issues.  Who is to say when the right time for love is?  This love is RIGHT ON TIME. 

I am IN LOVE… and it feels healthy and wonderful.  I have no regrets.  I am not looking in my relationship rear view mirror questioning should haves and could haves.  I am confident that everything is exactly as it should be.

Anyway, who needs a flashlight when you have fireworks?

November 16, 2010

this day…then.

so many things happened…
on this day, then…
things I wish I could change…
and forget…
you left this world…
and me…
maybe the world didn’t notice…
you slip away…
but I have felt…
the insatiable emptiness…
of your departing…
every minute…
of every day…
you left this world…
and me…
this day, then…
eighteen years ago…
and now you’re in a place…
where your heartaches…
are painless…
and your burdens…
are weightless…
but I’m still here…
in this world…
living without you…
but a part of me hasn’t lived…
since this day, then…
eighteen years ago…
when you left this world…
and me…
RIP Daddy 11.16.1992
November 8, 2010

want it…give it.

Meditating on treating others as you wish to be treated…

it seems simple enough… you want respect, you give it.  you want love, you give it.   you want consideration, compassion, kindness…you GIVE IT.

i witnessed lots of violence and unhealthy behavior in my childhood…and almost never got the treatment i so hungered for.  so i definitely don’t think it is something that is necessarily taught… or maybe it is… inadvertently. 

my hunger for love and affection was always the reason why i gave it so freely… i always yearned for the same treatment in return… more often than not… i was disappointed… my kindness was often abused and taken for granted…

today i am just as giving… and treat people in the manner in which i wish to be treated… i just don’t allow myself to be taken advantage of…

it is still my hunger that fuels me…and i still find myself disappointed at the lack of reciprocation… but today i am able to understand that not everyone has been able to take their past and their pain and use it in a constructive way…

some people have been abused…some people have been starved of love and affection… and as a result they have allowed themselves to become hardened… cold… ruthless …callous … and even worse…  they have a sense of entitlement … they demand a level of respect and consideration that they themselves do not give…

i have had to learn that it is NOT me.  it is NOT that i am NOT worthy of all that i give… sometimes i just give it to people who are not ready to receive…

September 4, 2009

i didnt forget you daddy.

his day was a week ago.  i tried to let it pass quietly.  but i have been feeling the tug.  the need to write about him.  i want him to know that i still remember him.  that his loss will forever be felt.  we lose people, we mourn them, but over time, it gets easier.  we think of them a little less as the years go by.  its only natural. life goes on.

its been seventeen years, and it hasn’t gotten easier.  at times it seems as if it has become more painful.  every time i see a father reading to his little girl.  or a daughter and father walking hand in hand.  a teary eyed dad walking his baby down the isle. it breaks me.

i was watching intervention and saw a family destroyed by alcoholism.  i saw a man near death.  i saw him get the help he needed.  i saw a family united and witnessed a happy ending.

im so jealous of that.  i wanted that so badly.

they say you have to let them hit rock bottom.  apparently for my father, that bottom was pretty low.  and on the way there… death caught up with him.  his painful journey to that final day was difficult to witness.  even as a child i remember wanting to help him.  wanting to assume the parent role and show him that we could be happy, as a family.  i can still see the glazed look in his eyes… seemed as if he were looking right through me.

i miss him.

i’ve had more years without him, than i had with him.

i dont go to his grave often.  i think in the seventeen years he’s been gone, i have been there maybe three times.  i think maybe i will go there and lay a blanket on his grave and just be with him.  although i know thats not him anymore.   its tangible.

Daddy, I wish you hadn’t left me so soon.  I wish I could have seen your heart healed.  I wish my children knew your laugh.  You would have been an awesome grandfather. My heart still feels heavy.  I still feel the pain I felt on that day.  I won’t ever forget how carelessly it was told to me.  I wish I could wake up, and this would all be a dream.  Though I know I would just be waking up to the nightmare that was your life.  I hated that we left you in that apartment alone, but you left us little choice.  I remember when you tried to get better.  You came to church with us every Sunday and you walked around with a Bible, preaching to your friends.  You were better for a short while.  But the pain and reality of having lost your family.  Having to reside in that house  that was once filled with my voice and moms voice.  The scent of home cooking filling it.  The TV blaring my favorite shows.  My best friend… and she still is Dad, 28yrs now… she’d be there acting a fool…the dog barking… I know the quietness was torturous.  You relapsed for the last time.  And you died alone… and I hate that.  I hate that I didn’t see you one last time.  I hate that you died thinking that I didn’t love you… and that you had failed me.  I hate it.  I am so sorry for not coming to see you that last weekend.  That decision still haunts me.  I forgive you for everything.  I don’t want time to steal you from me.  I don’t want my memories to be come vague.  They are all I have left. Our good times were good.  We were robbed Daddy, you and I.  We weren’t done.  Not anywhere near it.  A part of me didn’t grow anymore after you left me.  The little girl that still needed her Daddy is snuggled close to you in that grave…she died with you.

August 7, 2009

love.

this is going to be a bumpy ride.

an “are we there yet” kind of experience.

my thoughts are here, there and everywhere.

LOVE.

man has found a way to put a label on everything.

has created words to describe the indescribable.

LOVE even has a definition in the dictionary as if it can really be defined.

LOVE…

  1. A deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.
  2. A feeling of intense desire and attraction toward a person with whom one is disposed to make a pair; the emotion of sex and romance.
    1. Sexual passion.
    2. Sexual intercourse.
    3. A love affair.
  3. An intense emotional attachment, as for a pet or treasured object.
  4. A person who is the object of deep or intense affection or attraction; beloved. Often used as a term of endearment.
  5. An expression of one’s affection: Send him my love.
    1. A strong predilection or enthusiasm: a love of language.
    2. The object of such an enthusiasm: The outdoors is her greatest love.
  6. Love Mythology. Eros or Cupid.
  7. often Love Christianity. Charity.
  8. Sports. A zero score in tennis.

REALLY?

man has even written a book.  called it the bible. and deemed it the right way to live.  the right way to love. the only way to truly know God.  and adherence to the rules within this man-made book is the only way to enter the pearly gates of heaven…as if there are iron workers in heaven.

each time i have loved. my definition of love has evolved.  each time i said I LOVE YOU. i meant it. i meant with all my heart knew of love, at that time.

i remember being five years old or so, and standing before my mother as she knelt down to fiddle with my scarf. she wrapped it in a way only a mother can. air tight. i knew that was love.  i remember asking her… “mommy, why do you let daddy hit you?” i knew that wasnt love.

funny though, i knew that wasnt love, but it was all i knew. and i would know it first hand.

before i knew i was gay.

before i knew what love really was.

before i had any business loving anybody.

when all i wanted was attention.

i loved him.

and he loved me too.

he told me so.

he said, “i love you so much.  I will break both your legs if you ever leave me.”

he said, “i love you so much.  I will kill you if you ever cheat on me.”

crazy, but it felt like love to me.  i thought wow… he REALLY loves me!

i was only twelve years old. and it was the only concept of love i had ever known.

he went to jail shortly after confessing his love to me.

when he came home from prison.  he found out something that i had done (another post).  he called me upstairs. he lived in the apartment above mine.  i ran up.  he greeted me by the door.  i dont recall him saying anything.  he slapped me hard across the face. it stung.  i was paralyzed. in complete disbelief. BAM….again, and again, and again.  i felt the warm stream of fear trickling down my legs.  he was yelling at me. but i cant tell you what he said.  i havent a clue.  when he dismissed me, i ran down the stairs. into my apartment. to my bed. and cried. he called me later that night to say he was sorry. i was happy to hear from him.

fast forward.

summer of 1993. i was fifteen. our one month old daughter was sleeping in the crib. it was about 4am.  we were watching a movie. i was eating   chef boyardee ravioli. he started questioning me about the same incident that happened back in 1991. a knot formed in the pit of my stomach.  and just as i had anticipated.  the ravioli went flying. my eyes became wide as i looked at the intensity in his.  he had this evil look about him when he became enraged.  he asked me questions, and ended each question with a powerful slap to my face. each one harder than the last. or maybe my skin just became more sensitive with each blow.  i backed myself onto the sofa and hugged my knees.  he punched my legs as i buried my head into my arms. he jerked my body out of the ball i had formed myself into.  and wrapped his hands tight around my neck.  crazy how your body reacts to intense fear.  its as if your brain goes into some kind of self preservation mode.  and it can no longer waste any brain cells on things like bladder control. i felt a gush of warmth escape me. it almost felt good. his grip was terrifying.  i felt my face. the horror that was all over it.  the look on his was worse.  blank. angry. emotionless. he took me into the room and held my face over the crib.  said some taunting things about me never seeing our daughter again.  pushed me into the corner of the room. and began punching me all over. twice in the face. my legs. my stomach.  when i keeled over in pain. he punched me on my back.  the sun had come up.  my mother heard the commotion and began knocking on our locked bedroom door. he told me to tell her to go away.  each time she knocked. he slapped me in the face and told me to tell her to go away. this happened several times until she noticed the pattern.  finally she stopped.  he told me to lay down. i did. he plopped himself down next to me. i cried and sniffled as quietly as i could. i told him i had to pee.  he gestured for me to go.  i held my head in my hands as i sat on the toilet.  i flushed and turned on the water. i stared at my reflection. bruised. puffy. red. scared. i left the water on and ran. i ran out of the apartment. and kept running. i was barefoot.  with nothing on but a night shirt. no panties.  i approached a man who was standing in his doorway talking to another man.  now in a panic with tears streaming down my face i begged him to use his phone. he pulled his friend inside and slammed the door. i just kept running.  i noticed someone in their kitchen, and knocked on their door.  i told them it was an emergency, and begged them to use their phone.  the man looked around for a minute and opened the door for me to come in.  he sat me down and his pregnant wife inquired silently about the almost naked hysterical girl in her kitchen.  he handed me the phone and she rubbed my back. it hurt but her touch felt comforting.  i called the police. the husband gave me a pair of shorts to put on. i wanted to stay with them.

i arrived back at the house to find him putting our infant daughter in his car.  he drove off.  i ran after the car with every ounce of strength  i had.  i could hear the sirens not far behind me.

he was arrested.

the day was long after that. painful. i had never in my life been hit before.  oddly enough, my father NEVER struck me.  he slapped me one time when i got a little too crazy playing rough with him.  he whooped me with his belt another time after i had run away for two days.  but it was funny to me. didnt hurt. i could tell he didnt want to.

i didnt press charges. he stood away for a while.  talked about moving to north carolina. but he was back home in less than two weeks.  he made me destroy the photos of my black eyes and bruised body.  i stood nine more years. and suffered many more torturous episodes. only difference was, i think he realized, the less evidence the better. so he stuck with mostly throwing me around, fear tactics and choking.

i remember one time he was angry with me about some shit.  i was in the bathroom using a curling iron.  he snatched the cord from the socket that was above my head.  and the metal part of the plug hit me in the face.  on the soft skin right under my eye.  i flinched and instinctively shut my eyes as it struck me.  when i opened them, there was this single red stream of blood pouring down my face.  as if i was crying blood.  he sucked his teeth and walked away. he felt stupid because he hadnt intended to go that far. but was too much of an asshole to comfort me.

i just stood there staring at myself.

with all i knew. and didnt know.

i knew this wasnt love.

August 5, 2009

unconditional. and flawless.

her love was exquisite.  she treated me like a queen. our meeting was somewhat of a blind date.  but not a date really.  her friend, who was my friends new love interest thought we would hit it off.  they did a drive by.  i should say i was still living with the father of my children.  we were not together at the time and trying to go our separate ways.  what us not being together meant was that he could do what he wanted to do and i had better not think about doing shit.  i remember when i first told him that i was into women.  i had only just discovered it myself.  he was very excited.  that was until he noticed what type of women i was into.  i still get a good laugh out of that one.  anyway they came by and i was completely smitten with her. her…not so much.  i understood.  i was still living with the asshole.  but we continued to speak.  and shortly there after, drive by number two.  she smelled so good.  like fresh laundry and some other scent that made me horny. she was leaning back on the hood of her car.  after some heavy flirting, she pulled me to her. one of her legs between mine.  i pressed into her.  thinking back on it now.  it was such a great first kiss.  not that it was incredibly romantic.  but her lips felt so good. her kiss quite literally made my body feel weak.  i closed my eyes and let her kiss me.  let myself feel her.

over the next few months, i fell so madly in love with her.  and her love was exquisite.  she was generous with her soul. with her love.  her smile touched me deeply.  she took good care of me.  she cooked for me.  she made love to me.  she showered me with compliments.  she left me love notes in packed lunches.  she made my birthdays memorable.  she humored me. she did the things i liked to do because she loved to see me happy.  she let me be free.  she encouraged my dreams.  she let me cry when i needed to.  she took me in her arms and offered me a rare kind of silent support not many know.  she massaged me when my body ached.  and when it didnt.  her arms felt like love.  it was beautiful.  we had wonderful times.  getting kicked out of @lovergirlnyc for fucking in the bathroom. sex in my car. in her car. on top of my car. by the chain link fence in front of my car. in hotel rooms. waiting for the hotel rooms.  her sex felt like…fuck damn shit. sex that makes you want to curse and say foul nasty whorish things. sex that made me look at her like she was in trouble. like what the fuck.

her soul was so pure. she never spoke lies.  her expression was always sincere.  her love was true and real. at times it was overwhelming. she would fall back when she saw i needed “me time.”  it was as if she was taught. the right way to love.  i was older than her by 3 yrs.  but i learned from her.  it was the first time i had ever known love.  her love felt like greatness. like being in the presence of a higher power.

she had flaws.  but in hindsight. they were nothing really.  nothing that wouldnt have changed with time.  she was immature.  she was not intellectual. though she wanted to learn because she knew i needed mental stimulation.

she was my shadow. i started to feel more like her mommy than her girl.  she let me be.  she let me breathe.  too much. my mind wandered.

we’d break up. but never really. until finally we did.

i was horrible to her. mean. a cunt. the cuntiest of cunts.  my eyes tear as i recall the sadness in hers.  the pleas.  the pain i caused. my heart still hurts.  it was so wrong. the way i disposed of her.

i think of her often. she is happy now. and her girlfriend is a lucky woman. im happy for her. i only wish i had ended things differently. she didnt derserve what i did. and i didnt deserve her. in hindsight. i was the immature one. the one with flaws. but she didnt see that. because her love was unconditional. and flawless.

July 31, 2009

in the absence of love

this post will be mostly rambling.  i wont pay much attention to punctuation.

i read a blog post this morning about feeling ugly.  about using your body and sexuality to satisfy the longing to feel love.  to feel pretty. to feel wanted.  i post a lot of poetry, some of which allows the reader a glimpse of me.  i hadnt intended to write anything too deep and revealing about myself.  but you know when you feel that tug, that urge to purge.  more for your sake than for the entertainment of the eyes that will take the time to read the delicate details of your life.  well anyway, it got me to thinking about my childhood.  or should i say the lack of my childhood.  i remember as a little girl wanting attention from my father so badly. and never getting it.  my mother was more present in my life than he was.  but even her presence was a distant one.  like she wasnt nurturing really. nor was my grandmother.  but they were there nonetheless.  my grandmother “cared” for me.  She lived with us until i was about 9yrs old.  she walked me to school.  and she picked me up most afternoons.  on the days when she didnt i would come home and there would be devil dogs (or some chocolaty equivalent) and milk waiting for me.  i would inhale them while watching duck tales.  the intro to that cartoon still makes me sad.  i would do my homework and eventually fall asleep.  i would wake to the jingle of Three’s Company and a piping hot plate of mashed potatoes, puerto rican style pork chops (the best) and some kind of vegetable being placed on a tray in front of me.  i can almost smell the pork chops when i hear the intro to Three’s Company even today.  we didnt eat dinner as a family.  my father was usually working, or pretending to work.  my mom wasnt home from work yet.  and honestly i dont recall her.  she suffered from depression and my memories of her at that time are vague.  she didnt play with me.  she didnt tickle me or read me stories.   i didnt realize those were the things i was longing for.  but i felt the void.  and even though my grandmother wasnt emotional with me, i felt her love in the things that she did with me and for me.  my relationship with father was weird.  he was a drug addict and alcoholic and abused my mother viciously. but i loved him so much.  i saw his heart during his sober moments. and i knew that he was hurting.  he never came to my performances. he didnt come to my elementary school graduation. i was salutatorian and had to make a speech.  and received a personalized trophy.  it was my first ever since i was never enrolled in any kind of sport or dance class.  i remember looking for him in the audience. wishing the ceremony would stall a bit to give him time to come rushing through the doors.  i imagined him making eye contact with me and smiling a proud smile.  i remember going home after the ceremony and finding him passed out drunk on the sofa.  when he did finally wake up.  he beat my mother for making him miss my graduation.  while other kids were at diners with their families celebrating, i was watching my mother being dragged from one room to another.  my grandmother pleading with him to stop. her hands motioning to her chest.  when the chaos was over.  the quietness was deafening.  each party retreating to a corner. i never felt so alone.  i remember going outside that day and sitting on a bench in my graduation dress wishing someone would come after me to console me.  but they never did.  console me.  have you ever run away from someone hoping they would run after you?  i was an only child. and my desire for attention and love was so intense.  more than anything i wanted to be daddy’s girl.

rewinding a bit.

when i was 6yrs old, my mother cut off all my hair.  she didnt know how to manage my kinky curls.  in hindsight i dont think it was so much that she didnt know how or couldnt, i think she just couldnt be bothered.  this may not seem like such a big thing, but it was to me.  i had this mini afro thing going on until the age 11.  those 5yrs were painful.  i was skinny and awkward looking with an afro.  this was the 80’s.  my best friend had long hair, she would braid it and do all kinds of cute things to her hair.  i felt so ugly and was often mistaken for a boy.  did i mention i had HORRIBLE acne?  putting an image together in your head?  yes i was fugly.  i hated to walk by groups of people.  i could feel them staring at my face, even when they werent.  i would choose a seat on the bus based on what side of my face was less pimply.  there was this grocery store around the corner from my building. it was a major hang out.  almost like a community center.  men holding drinks in brown paper bags.  my dad was always one of them.  little kids running in and out with ten cent ices and quarter waters.  women chatting about this and that.  i walked in one day and the woman who owned it was standing there with the woman who would cut my hair.  i am not sure how my pimples became a topic.  but they did.  i hated that.  at least you have a pretty face.  thats what they said to me.  you’re not an ugly girl, imagine if you were ugly and had acne.  i felt the tears forming, gave them a fake but kind smile, and ran out of the store.  i learned the art of fake smiling very early on in life.  i had to do it every time someone would ask me, how are you doing?  i would smile and say fine.  when really everything was a mess.

ok so i am 12yrs old and my hair is growing out.  another awkward stage but i tried to work it as best i could.  my breast began to grow. my hips widened.  and my flat ass became a plump bulge in the back.  and just like that.  ATTENTION.

mmmm damn mami.

i like that ass.

hey chula.

can i have some of that.

hey sexy.

psst psst.

hey mami, lemme get cha number.

dame chocha.

mira mami, venir aquí.

it felt so good.  i was aware of my sexuality and the effect it had on men.  i loved the attention.  it made me feel good to be noticed. to be wanted. to feel desired.  i would dress to accentuate my lady lumps.  my breast were perky. my skin was smooth.  my legs were long.   my friends were already having sex.  i was still a virgin.  i had learned how to masturbate.  it was actually an accident that happened while taking a bath.  but i knew that i liked it and did it often.  i remember the things i would fantasize about while masturbating.  they were odd for a child of my age.  being restrained. gagged even.  but i didnt have the urge to have sex.

i eventually did have sex that year.  I didnt like it.  it didnt feel good to me. but i loved the power in my pussy.  i remember standing in front of a mirror.  my youthful body tanned from a day at the beach.  the neon colors of my bathing suit popping in contrast to my bronzed skin. i loved what i saw.  after years of hating the way i looked.  the feeling of being able to look in the mirror and be in love with my reflection was intoxicating.

the male attention. a poor substitute for the love i craved from my father.  it filled the void only for a moment.  the space he left in my heart is unfillable.

June 8, 2009

I will never forget

your hands tight around my neck

my eyes wide with fear

looking into yours

and seeing evil

your grip getting stronger

my head swelling

the blood vessels around my eyes

POPPING

me clawing at your hands

wanting so badly to scream

and beg

my mouth open

tiny squeaks escaping

everything is going dim

as i stare into your eyes

trying to speak to you

with my helplessness

your face stern

unaffected

by my silent pleas

for mercy

i cant breathe

i’m panicking

i’m choking

you’re killing me

everything that seemed so big

seems so small now

i’m so weak now

cant see you clearly anymore

cant fight anymore

i’m mouthing “please”

in one last effort

thinking these are the hands

of my protector

we created life together

you’re taking mine

so sad

i had to be rescued

by my  baby girl

sad

that i couldnt swallow

for one week

the bruises were visible

for two

the scars are forever though

i can forgive

i have forgiven

but i will never forget.