This Puzzled Life is a mental health and recovery blog exploring addiction, trauma healing, LGBTQ experiences, humor, and the strange moments that shape us.
She has two faces. One face that she shows the world, loved ones, and in public. The smiling one. The happy, friendly, and talkative one. The confident one full of laughter and positivity. The face that everyone is used to.
The second face is the real face. The one she tries not to show anyone. The face behind closed doors, when she’s alone away from the world, in the security of her own emotions that she doesn’t want to show anyone else or have to explain them. It’s exhausting trying to look happy and like nothing is bothering you. The face that stares off at nothing or patterns on the floor or drapes.
The face that cries in the shower, in bed, car rides alone, cries sitting on the couch, or doing things around for house. The sad face that stares back at her in the mirror and looks nothing like she used to be. Well to her anyway. Others say she looks the same. The face that looks strong to the people she knows, but is really just shards of broken glass inside. Yes, the girl that was there for everyone, and strong for others..is now split into two.
Two faces, one broken spirit. She can’t bear the losses. It feels like a chapter of a wonderful book closed never to be open again.
All she has are memories and visions in her head that she plays over and over. Nothing is the same to her. Everything is different. She can’t cope with daily life, her Doctor said. So she writes to help herself, and she has her two faces.
What’s funny is, the sad face is the face worth a thousand words underneath in the depths of complexity. While the happy face full of laughter, love, positiveness, and fun..is a straight shooter.”
“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’”
—Mary Anne Radmacher
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! I never thought that I would ever see the end to this set of blog posts. With it being such an incredibly difficult topic, I chose to take my time and release anything I needed no matter the pain.
Fast forward to 2012. I eventually underwent a total knee replacement in my thirties. It was the most excruciating pain imaginable. The care I received from my orthopedic surgeon’s nurse practitioner mentally transported me back to the days and specific events associated with my ex-husband. The flashbacks were unsettling. I would be ridiculed for crying again, this time by a medical professional. I vowed to avoid doctors for the rest of my life whenever possible. I wish I could say that I would not be treated that way in the medical community again. However, this has occurred repeatedly.
I was so upset at an urgent care facility that I accidentally wet myself. The practitioner made fun of me yet again. I believe that in various areas of education, when the topic of “transference” is discussed, the idea is often conveyed in a manner that causes students to negate the humanity of themselves and others. They often lose sight of the Hippocratic Oath, which states, “First, do no harm.”
In the United States, from 2003 to 2014, 8.8% of approximately 120,000 suicide victims have chronic pain. And has appeared to increase over time (Petrosky et al.,2018)
Within the last ten to fifteen years, I’ve also had neck surgery, two back surgeries, gall bladder surgery, trigeminal neuralgia known as the “Suicide Disease”, elbow surgery, a hysterectomy, spinal cord stimulator, left knee bone graft where I also had blood clots in both my leg and lungs. Additionally, I experienced COVID-19 several times while simultaneously being dealt another blood clot in my lungs. I now also have asthma as a result of contracting the virus.
Within the past year, the local orthopedic facility has seen me many times. Each time I consulted various practitioners, they consistently informed me that there was nothing wrong with me. But I was determined to be the squeaky wheel until I found help. I was compelled to seek practitioners in a different state. Through my tears, I have persistently sought answers for my pain with the guidance of my dear “coach.” The suicidal ideations have been continual while going through this long, arduous process. A portion of the PTSD I experience is related to these and other situations. And to think, it was entirely preventable. This is one of my favorite quotes that pertains to this very topic is..
“If you don’t heal what hurts, you’ll bleed on those that didn’t cut you.”
-Anonymous
I am also about to undergo my thirteenth knee surgery. It is a revision surgery for knee replacement in which the prosthetic is loosening from the bone. This means that It has to be removed and another one installed. I have received only thirteen of the thirty years that would provide me relief. . I am now absolutely terrified of going through this surgery again. The physical therapy will be challenging, and I will likely cry during every session as well.
Needless to say, pain is a significant trigger for me. It elicits a variety of reactions, both visible and invisible. I have also come to realize that Dissociative Identity Disorder may not respond well to anesthesia either. I have been trapped in a mental prison, and chained to each of my perpetrators. But I must honestly say that it was all an illusion. What I have come to realize through many years of abuse is, “YOU CANNOT, IN ANY WAY, OWN OR POSSESS A CHILD OF GOD!” That was his disillusionment.
“Anyone can hide. Facing up to things, working through them, that’s what makes you strong.” —Sarah Dessen
**And as always, don’t forget to watch the video below!**
“The more you trust your intuition, the more empowered you become, the stronger you become, and the happier you will become.”
-Gisele Bundchen
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! I hope this blog has brought insight and the knowledge that you are not alone. And that just because someone can’t see your emotional wounds doesn’t mean that it’s not there.
While he psychologically manipulated me, I hung on his every word as if it were scripture. I accept full responsibility for all my actions. But the situation seemed to be escalating exponentially. We married four years later. I do not distinctly remember feeling genuinely happy about it. I just thought that marrying was the next logical step. I remember thinking “no wonder people are miserable when they’re married.” Secretly, though, I was terrified that I was making the biggest mistake of my life. And that is exactly what I did. Nevertheless, we were soon legal. I saw flashing signs warning of potential danger ahead. But I was steadfast in my determination to make it all work.
My belief, at that time, was to just to try and love him. I eventually realized that I would never be able to get that close to him. Soon, though, everything was beginning to make sense. His ever-increasing controlling traits were only getting more aggressive. He would call me names. He would humiliate me away from others until it became overtly obvious. I thought, “Why was seeing it all so foreign? I wouldn’t understand for several years later. The reason that it was so foreign was because I had never seen my daddy treat my mom that way. My daddy is one of respectable men in the community. And I never once saw him disrespect my mom even one time. I was looking for a good man just as he had always been. Not one angry word or action had I ever seen.
He made me do things without my consent. Turn on for him, maybe? I was secretly so miserable. He would rape my mind just like he would my body. He belittled me, stalked me, had total control over what I ate. I felt like it was a prison.I was told that I was stupid so many times I no longer feel as sting when I’m degraded. I bought into all this “perfect” life he was selling. Hook, line and sinker. I soon realized that the safest thing to do was to just do whatever he asked to get through the moment. I had become his emotional punching bag. I was also systematically being pulled away from family and friends. He was going to slowly transform me into his image of “perfection.” And no matter what I did, I would never I couldn’t achieve that unattainable goal. When you’re in a relationship with a narcissist, they see theirselves as “The” God of universe. They never see any need for improvement in any way. Because the only one who needs improvement is you. There was absolutely “zero” concern for both my physical and mental wellbeing.
The initial injury compromised the blood supply to the lower portion of my femur. When I begin to regenerate new bone, it would flake off fragments that needed to be surgically removed to ensure proper functionality. Due to my delay in seeking medical attention, the bony structures continued to shred the cartilage, resulting in further damage to the entire joint. That made him very angry.
There were no words of encouragement or empathy. Just incessant berating for something that I couldn’t control. He wasn’t much of a cuddler either. And after 14 years of abuse, neither was I. If he did there were always ulterior motives. I can vividly recall crying when I was out of his sight, as the pain was so intense. The intensity of crying heightened every situation. Until I learned how not to cry. I was never allowed to take mood stabilizers or antidepressants because “what would people think if they found out that his wife was a head case?” To make matters worse, he would get so angry that he took my pains meds and threw them out into the rain. And I was not allowed to retrieve them. My mom was standing right there and witness it all.
I also experienced severe kidney and bladder infections. I had fevers, hematuria, nausea, and vomiting. It was extremely painful. When he finally took me to an urgent care facility, we were informed that I was at a high risk of developing sepsis. He stated in front of the nurse and doctors, “I told her that she needed to be seen sooner, but she did not want to get checked out.” He then said, “I suppose you won’t do that again next time will you?” I accepted responsibility once more while knowing that the real reason for the delay was because I wasn’t being allowed to get the help.
Things were getting scarier by the day. I was stalked, raped, verbally and mentally abused. I knew how to do one thing that had helped me in the past. Mentally just go to some other place. And let someone else fill in to help with this monumental task. I was made fun of anytime I hurt. I was called a hypochondriac. And eventually I was told that my medical needs were too costly, and that I would just have to learn to deal with the pain. Specifically, I still needed more knee surgeries and procedures for simple wellness. And once again I endured pain in every kind of way you can imagine.
In the end, I lacked self-confidence in myself and was completely shattered mentally. It was fortunate that I left on my own. And I did it and came out alive. The abuse and manipulation I endured over the course of 14 years left me with nothing positive. I realized that I had lost “me” in the process. And I still struggle with my daily life. Let’s just say that relationships are not things that I excel in.
I developed an incredibly high tolerance for pain. However, when I reach my limit, I take a sharp left at a “normal” reaction. My traumatic response is instantaneous. I am very apprehensive about visiting doctors. And it terrifies me to think that I could be berated again.
Maybe life isn’t about avoiding the bruises. Maybe it’s about collecting the scars to prove that we showed up for it.”
-Hannah Brencher
**And as always, don’t forget to watch the video below!**
“Triggers are like little psychic explosions that crash through avoidance and bring the dissociated, avoided trauma suddenly, unexpectedly, back into consciousness.”
-Carolyn Spring
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy, go away! Ready. Set. Blog! Get comfortable because you need to finish reading this one. This took a few days to complete this blog. There is still a considerable amount of raw emotion associated with this topic. Okay, I will continue from where I left off.
When I encountered my next predator, I was 17 years old. He was 36 years old. He was nineteen years my senior. I acknowledge that the entire situation was chaotic at that time. Unfortunately, that chaos became the norm. I realized that I became terrified in the idea that when there was not chaos, I was terrified. I was suddenly thrust headfirst into a harsh adult world for which I was unprepared. It was received like a “turd in the punch bowl.”
Living in a small southern city in the “Bible Belt” region of Mississippi entails a unique set of rules. To put it bluntly, “Being gay should never be regarded as an accepted option.” You are expected to graduate from high school. Attend college. Consider marrying someone of the opposite sex. And to pursue careers while raising children.
I had no idea that my life would drastic 360 degree turn. I would endure a 14-year reign of severe and traumatic terror. What I did not realize as a teenager was that predators can take on various forms, each uniquely individualized. I believed he was my “Prince Charming.” However, every day I looked into the eyes the devil. I entered that relationship with a deep sense of commitment. I was also trying to engage in the “heterosexual game.” And I realized that I was different.
In the beginning, he had been a man with a silver tongue. He said all the right things, leading me to believe that he was a good man who genuinely wanted to love me and build a life together. That was undoubtedly the most misleading revelation of the truth. As he stated, “I was roaming the high schools looking for a wife.” Why did I not find that creepy? Since then, I have asked myself that same question every day thereafter. But what was done, was in fact done.
When I was an athlete, you recognize that pain is an essential component of your training regimen. It is an undeniable reality that managing pain is an inherent aspect of life. You consistently challenge your body in ways you never thought possible. Being in an abusive situation is fundamentally different.
In the four years that we dated, I remember thinking, “Something doesn’t seem right.” I couldn’t identify exactly what “it” was at the time. But I soon realized the harsh reality. I began to realize elements of his likewise traumatic past. Living with a very controlling and abusive father I heard his horror stories. And until his father died, I can tell you that there was some part of him that still feared his father. An interesting fact was that prior to going to visit his father I was directed about how to act. I was so uncomfortable each time. I would watch and listen to how they would interact. And the stories that they both told had a lot of similarities. This was just paranoia, right? No. There were reasons to be paranoid and scared. And I was.
“Your gut knows what’s up, even if your brain doesn’t want to admit it.”-
-Anonymous
**And also don’t forget to watch the video below!”
“Living with chronic pain is like trying to get comfortable on a cactus sofa.”
-Sean Mackey, Professor of Pain Medicine at Stanford
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Ready. Set. Blog! This is a blog that I’ve needed to write for a really long time. The topic of chronic pain affects every area of my life.
I feel that having both mental and physical pain is too much to ask of a person. I’m not talking about the aches and pains of aging. If that were the type of pain that I experience, I would have no reason to complain. My pain started as a young child with horrific leg pain that would have me in tears. I vividly remember my parents rubbing my legs complimented with a heating pad in order for the tears to stop falling just long enough to fall asleep. And there were no guarantee that I wouldn’t wake up during the night in the same miserable condition. The pediatrician said that the pain was simply “growing pains.” Could this physical pain have been a result of the trauma that I was experiencing? Maybe. Eventually, I would seem to outgrow the leg pains. In the late 1970’s and early 1980’s maybe there were no other answers. And I can accept that. Subconsciously, no one believed me because the depth of my pain couldn’t be seen. However, the mark that was left on the psyche of a small child is one that has left a permanent mental disfigurement.
The next time I remember pain being an issue was as a 13-year-old. The traumatic situations that were occurring left me with horrible headaches. It was at the time that I began having suicidal ideations. The one consistent message coming from my “loud thoughts” was that I wasn’t worthy was unworthy of life. The trauma of that year continues to pound the same messages in my daily life. I just couldn’t see a way out in any direction. It was one agonizing day after another for an entire year. And again, no one believed me. I would also suffer a kneeinjury that I’ve never been about to truly recover from. I’m still dealing with it now in my late forties. When you abuse a child mentally, it’s so easy for them to believe it. To deal with it all, I began “grasping at straws” trying to find 5 minutes of relief. And I did! I found drugs, alcohol, eating disorders and self-harm.
Then I moved into high school. But the previous year continued to torment me. Not only was I caught up in the cycle of addiction, but I was also starting to die from them all. Anyone who says that addiction isn’t painful are lying. It doesn’t matter what type of addiction. It might not seem to hurt in the moment. However, if you are a human being with a conscience, it will hurt at some point. And when it did, I kept using “it” out of guilt and shame. My hopes and dreams were going down the drain. And I had no idea how to make it all stop. I wasn’t my own boss anymore. It was my boss. I would also have another knee surgery, maybe two. And then, I met him…
“Almost everything will work again if you unplug it for a few minutes, including you.”
***This is just a little nugget of gold during the pandemic that I never posted.***
Until very recently I’ve thought that my days of writing were days of long ago. I was writing one day and the next day I fell into a big dark hole of nothingness. My last blog entry on September 25, 2020, entitled Beyond the Mask is about how my life was beyond typical Halloween themes and rewritten into a language that I still wouldn’t understand. Today I sit, one year later, with the latest ideas and revelations about my ongoing therapy. And realizing how sometimes the simple reasons for a smile would once been seen as insignificant.
A pandemic has a way of wiping the smiles off the faces in society. And sometimes society tries to force the pandemic out only for the pandemic to re-emerge with the upper hand. I fell victim to Covid-19 twice with the most recent adventure only a couple of weeks ago. This time, however, I had to cuddle with a blood clot in one of my lungs. How I contracted Covid-19 was sort of perplexing since I hate being in public to a point of phobias at times. And the seclusion for safety by the virus had me fearing everything that much more. So, these days I’m having to force myself to go in public even if it’s just riding in my vehicle or walking down the street.
What I have enjoyed are the relationships with my cat Coco, my new cat Tinkerbell and my children. Copeland and Marshall have a healthy fear of the virus with comical threats “that they might not breathe again if they take their masks off.” The boys tell me things like, “Momma I love you so much that I’m going to fart on you next time I see you.” What boy mom doesn’t melt when her babies say things like that? “And when I see Coco, I’m going to fart on her too!” Yep, we keep it real like that. I will take that any day over losing one of my children to the virus.
Coco has gone from my sweet kitten to a very voluptuous and very entitled cat. Oh, how I love my Coco! Me and the boys have renamed her as “Coco Momma Lita.” These days we just refer to her as “big and beautiful.” Nothing could’ve prepared me for the next little beauty in our lives……Tinkerbell. Or “Tink” for short. Early on I thought the scene might play out like it did for Marley the little kitten that I will never forget. Again, I adopted her from a vet clinic and again this kitten was sick with a big, bad dose of intestinal worms.
Me and this little calico beauty were just meant to be together. I had never seen so much diarrhea in all my life. The stress was unimaginably high for us both. I was headed straight towards psychosis and all she knew was play, play, play and poop. I was lucky in that she was able to hold her own until the medicine began working. But this little girl was determined to make it, and I was determined to somehow make it through a bout of psychosis. All you must know is that it’s scary and you can’t hear what I hear.
While I took a break from writing my therapy didn’t end. I’ve continued to meet with coach, and I’ve found a new love for scrapbooking. And my “head mates” like that activity too. So, during this pandemic I’ve still found a way to give “my guys” a voice even on telemedicine. So, what has this pandemic taught me? Persistence.
“With COVID-19, we’ve made it to the life raft. Dry land is far away.”
“If you can’t laugh at yourself, life is going to seem a whole lot longer than you’d like.”
~ Natalie Portman
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Instantly, I feel better. I need to make a confession. A few weeks ago, I had elbow surgery. No big deal. I’ve had many surgeries throughout my life. Most have been knee surgeries. This time, though, it was going to be “baptism by fire” on how to bathe with one arm. I do my best by keeping the cast dry. This should’ve not been an issue because I’ve done the same thing after knee surgeries. But this time, would prove itself different.
I get my game plan to hold my arm up while attempting to sit down in my bath water. Uh oh! Ok this little snafu I had not factored into my plan. How would I get down in the water? Just in case I had misjudged my actions, I tried it again. Oh my gosh! My older body was letting me down. I begin thinking about the situation that I’m now faced deal with. I couldn’t call my close friends because if they saw me now, they would be in therapy the rest of their lives. Plus, one of them already has issues with gravity. She would laugh hysterically while shouting, “KARMA!” “I couldn’t call coach. Because who would? And I’m also one of those kids that always said, “I do it!”
I develop a new game plan while thinking, “If survivors from the Titanic disaster made it then a measly bathtub situation should be no problem, right?” I began squatting but still I could do nothing but hover over the water. Finally, I realize that the only solution is to just let go and fall in the water the rest of the way. I begin counting “One, two, three. Wait! Wait! Do I let go on three or two?” When you have parts, the agreeing on things internally is seldom accomplished. Some were already laughing. Mainly the teenagers. The kids were saying over and over, “One, two, three Go! One, two, three go!” Others say, “OMG this is going to be a disaster! Call coach! Yes, ask for what you need!” I shout, “Shut up! I’m to keep us alive!” To which the rebuttal comment is “Oh wow! That was not said in a loving kind of way.” My only other statement at this point was, “Well, I don’t feel “Loving” right now!”
Seeing no other way around this situation, I let go and fell back into the bathtub. I remember thinking, “Am I still alive? I accused the bathtub and karma for attempting to drown me.” One little insider was screaming, “I’m drowning! I’m drowning!” I say, “No you’re not! You just have water in your eyes!” Neither me, the tub nor the bathroom would ever be the same. I felt like I had just done a cannon ball off the diving board. And what had come of it was a tidal wave of water in every inch of that room.
“If you allow others to laugh with you, you will be great.”
“Ha! Ha! Ha! I told you I could do it!” I said. So, I took my bath with one arm out with no further incident. I was just going to keep the situation secret and in my back pocket for some time later down the road. I start attempting to get out of the tub like I do with my knee. And I soon realized that I had not thought about how to get back out of the bathtub. So, now I’m trapped in a bathtub and have no idea how I’m going to get out.” Hellfire and damnation! What do I do now?” I shouted. A few minutes go by, and I eventually make it back onto my feet and out of the bathtub. Karma got me good!
“The face of a child can say it all, especially the mouth part of the face.”
-Unknown
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away! Whew! That’s my favorite part. I feel better now. I know that it’s been several days since I wrote my last blog. Sorry, but elbow surgery makes typing almost impossible. One of the coolest things about being around kids are the innocent and endless questions and rationale. Since finding out more information about my own childhood, my parents, friends and family have told me about various behaviors and questions that I said and done. Now that I have more children around me, I now understand just how it all looks and sounds. Check out these comedic statements.
Marshall (much younger): “Momma Mel, do you know what G-netic sand is?”
Momma Mel: “I think you mean K-Netic sand.”
Marshall: “No watch me. G-G-Genetic sand.”
Marshall (much younger}: “Momma Mel, have you ever been on Tweeter?”
Momma Mel: “Do you mean Twitter?”
Marshall: “No Tweeter!”
Me: “Wow son. We’ve had it wrong all this time.”
Me: “Son, I didn’t see it at Walmart.”
Copeland: “Well did you check the app?”
Me: “Did you realize that there was no Walmart when I was a kid?”
Copeland: “I know. That was back in the day.”
(I had no comeback)
Me: “Boys, we can’t go out for fast food tonight. It’s too expensive.”
Copeland: “Awe. Did you check the dollar menu?”
Me: “Did you check the pantry?”
Copeland: “Momma D, now that you are old can you tell me about your childhood?”
Me: “Dude let’s get one thing straight. I’m not old because I grew up in the 80s. And 80s kids don’t age.”
Copeland “No you’re old because you didn’t have YouTube and Dollar Tree.” (Silence)
Me “Boys I’m not going to raise y’all on McDonald’s.”
Copeland: “Well you can just raise us on Chick-Fil-A.”(Again silence)
Me: “Ok. I found the item you wanted.”
Male child: “Please order from our country!”
A lot of my little visitors love to see me so that they can play with my cats Coco and Tinkerbell. Ava Grace, my niece, was overheard asking these questions.
Ava Grace: “Coco you want some cookies? What’s the passcode?
She also proceeded to tell me a little bit of unknown history about my parents black and white stray cat named Oreo
AG: “Oreo’s mother was killed in a car wreck. Did you know that?”
Me: “Like his “cat momma?”
AG: “Yea, it was very sad.”
Copeland and I love to shoot fireworks. Check out these below.
Copeland: “Momma, when I get older, I want to do arson.”
Me: “Wait what?!”
Copeland: “Yea, I love playing with fireworks.”
Me: “Son, that is a pyro! Arson is a felony.”
Copeland: “Just don’t call the cops.”
Copeland lit a firework that was a strobe light.
Copeland: “Momma that light is giving me amnesia.”
Me: “What?! Son that light can cause seizures not amnesia.”
Copeland called me over to the fireworks that he shot.
Copeland: “Hey, mom you know you don’t have to pick up the leftover paper.”
Me: “Yes we do, son.”
Copeland: “Well the paper will evaporate.”
Me: “Do you mean disintegrate?”
Copeland: “Yea, whatever.”
Copeland: “mom this bread stuff is so good. Maybe we should tell poppa thank you right now, so he’ll go get some more.”
One day when the boys were staying with me, I told them in the evening that we all had to take showers or baths. Copeland for whatever reason wants me to sit and talk to him when he’s bathing.
Me: “Son you’re big enough to take baths by yourself.”
Trying his best to create a reason for me to go sit with him he shouts, “Mom! I need you!”
Me: “No you don’t. Take your bath.”
Copeland: “But I need you to help me! I have problems!”
Me: “What is the problem?”
Copeland: “The soap is decaying in the bathtub!”
Marshall (much younger)” Next time grandmother says she wants to do something. Tell her No! No! No! Marshall, my kid, thinks that is boring. And he just wants to stay home and play with his precious titanic.”
Copeland: “My bath water is so good. And it doesn’t even have pee in it.”
Copeland: “Adults have difficult lives. They have to worry about tax evasion, fraud and defamation.”
Mason age 9: “I tried Nutella. It’s the closest thing to poop!”
Copeland: I’m single and ready to mingle!”
Mason: “I like my teacher, Ms. Lee. Because she can moonwalk.”
Copeland: “I got a mani petty last night.”
Mason: “My uncle is a black cheerleader.”
Copeland: “If someone has abs does their belly button cut them off? Or do they cut off your belly button?”
“If you fart twice, you’ll see some mice!” Copeland age 9
“When your child tries to make you laugh, laugh. They love to hear your laughter as much as you love to hear theirs.”
This Puzzled Life 