The stress of the last few events is wreaking havoc on my body. I’ve tried to push through and continue writing but, the continuous side effects have made it impossible to do anything but sleep. My body is just saying, “No more for a few days.” This is one thing that I’ve never really done before….listen to my body and physically heal.
#Thispuzzledlife
#mustlearnthehardway
#whenwillitstop
Winners
8.14.14
“It isn’t the mountains ahead to climb that wear you out; it’s the pebble in your shoe.”
-Muhammad Ali
Today is one of those days where I regret being able to open my eyes. I rolled out of bed this morning and felt like I had been at war all night. My body feels like I’m detoxing from a chemical that I haven’t taken. And it’s already begun happening at 6:00am. I feel the overwhelming sense of sadness mixed with anxiety. The nausea is hitting like a gulf coast wave from Hurricane Katrina. I feel that overwhelming sense of needing to vomit. Halleluer! I must not have eaten before I went to bed last night! I didn’t see any remnants of anything. So, I grab my cannabis wax pen and take a couple of hits off it to settle my entire system down. This has also helped to combat a horrible headache that was beginning to hit like a thousand hammers. Then the diarrhea hits like some kind of ‘shock and awe’ attack on Iraq. How soon until I have another acupuncture session?
I’m actually catching a break from these symptoms right now. The medical marijuana is just like any other medication, it too has its limits. However, the combination between both mmj and acupuncture and a drastic slow down in therapy seems to be slowing everything but my mind. What was started about a month ago and was exacerbated when we traveled home has continued to plague every inch of my mind. This blog, no doubt, is an exit for both frustration and education on certain topics. But, for now, certain things must be kept hidden to ensure safety on several different levels.
Am I just trying to have a “poor, pitful me” moment today? Hell no! You’re just getting a ‘firsthand’ look at what some people’s days are like. Like I’ve said before, “writing about these topics on my own abuse has had numerous effects on me both mentally and physically.” Yes, I realize that I had an awesome life up next to others who have had some horrific things happen in their own lives. I’m not going to compare stories because this blog is not about minimizing anyone’s personal traumas. Have I cried about feeling so guilty about being upset over seemingly insignificant things? Absolutely! But, the fact is that things did happen. I’ve held that shame and guilt so long that my mind and body feels like I’m melting. And I’ve stuffed and stuffed feelings for so long that I’m not only nervous….I’m terrified to work with them.
The “special” people helping to guide me through this process must either be angels from God or “gluttons for punishment.” LMAO!!! I feel like I’m really just beginning this treatment even though, I’ve been in therapy for a few years now. I just don’t have the ability to keep my defenses up like I use to.
As an athlete, “YOU NEVER GIVE UP!” You play until you hear the whistle blow. This drive is not one that can be taught. You must be born with a love for the game and the athletic ability to become the best ballplayer you can become. I got my softball playing nickname ‘Charlie Hustle’ from one of my earliest and dearest coaches assigned to me by Nick Kolinksy. He always told me that I played a lot like Pete Rose and never gave up. I smile every time I remember as a kid playing ball for him and always feeling a sense of ‘safety’ around him. He would tell me sometimes, “Dana, that was a $100 catch and a .10 throw.” He made his point very clear but didn’t crush my self esteem as a ballplayer or as a person in the process. He and other coaches are on my list of ‘special’ people that had a dramatic and positive impact on my life from a very early age. I never complained about going to practice or games. That was a way out for me. Playing ball was my life. Pete Rose said it the best way that I know how to describe the love that I had for the game.
“I’d walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball.”
—Pete Rose
Occasionally, that old, washed up athlete comes alive in me again with reminders about how “putting one foot in front of the other is still considered progress.” I get caught up a lot on what the definition of ‘progress’ or ‘winning’ is about in regards to therapy. Sometimes, the best I can do for that day is just get out of the bed. Even doing that means that I made progress because one foot had to be put in front of another foot for that to be accomplished.
Sometimes people ask me what it’s like to process trauma. To me it’s all about going to war, except this time, I know what I’ll be faced with. I have survived it once so, it can be done. Do I have the strength? That remains to be seen. I relive everything all day everyday anyway. What makes this situation different? I have actively made a choice to volunteer to go through it again. The fear can make me angry, frustrated and paralyze me at times. I must admit that it’s very unfair to be almost 40 years old and still paralyzed in many ways by what others have done. I can hear some of the old, southern biddies saying, “She made her bed, now, she can lie in it.” And that’s fine, if that’s your reality. My reality is this….”I don’t care what the circumstances were…No one deserves to be abused in any way….EVER! My ex-husband, teacher, baby sitters and birth mom didn’t deserve the abuse that they suffered at the hands of their family and people they trusted. When the effects of the abuse begin affecting them then, the new generation of abuse is born and is taken out on other people who become their victims just like I did.”
This time….”I WILL NOT ONLY SURVIVE, I WILL WIN!”
#thispuzzledlife
#Thispuzzledlife
No Rest for the Weary
September 7, 2014
I planned a special post for August 29th with it being the anniversary date of Hurricane Katrina. I never thought anything would “trump” the reverence of that day. This year something did trump that date. While I did notice it, my brother’s life was at stake. Just the shear remembrance of the emotions that flowed and continue to flow through me is enough to make me retch. I honestly, don’t know how I’m able to write right now.
Ok right now, I just want to send a little shout out to CANNABIS for making this last week a little more tolerable!
My heart and soul got pounded. I was snot crying like a child, when I’m normally everyone’s clown. Almost losing my brother and then coming home and losing a close friend has taken its toll on both my mind and my body.
#Thispuzzledlife
Family Day
9.8.14
“Some people’s lives seem to flow in a narrative; mine had many stops and starts. That’s what trauma does. It interrupts the plot. You can’t process it because it doesn’t fit with what came before or what comes afterwards.”
― Jessica Stern
And then you have a random day where everything seems wonderful. I’ve been in public without getting sick. I’ve stopped and talked to a friend and laughed. I’m only dealing with minimal physical ailments this morning. Maybe the weed, klonopin, Valium and ativan are working. I’m not asking questions. I’m just going to enjoy the ride. Reality will be back soon enough. At least I’m not sick despite all of the medication.
I wish I had had the break from some of the side effects from when we went and took pictures on Sunday. I was all dosed up and ready to face the people and overstimulation of my brain. The plan was to take Marshall to the botanical gardens and let him ride the choo-choo. Off our little family goes to find the choo-choo. Did I mention that I had been dosed with a good bit of meds before I left the house? I vaped on my wax pen all the way to our destination at the Botanical Gardens.
Everything was going fine. Marshall was enjoying running around being a kid. Mel was…well….being a mixture of a professional photographer and a mommy. Today was going to be the day that Marshall and I had “mommy/son pictures.” Other families were there having picnics and just enjoying a nice, cool Sunday late morning and taking in the scenery. The people were spread out so, at least, I wouldn’t have to worry about them touching me. I had my wax pen ready, my sunshades to hide my life full of shame and my IPod ready to face any type of external or internal stimulation.
Marshall was showing me things and asking, “Bite you?” So, our conversation was typically, “No, baby, flowers don’t bite.” Then he sees the koi pond. The koi have instantly become sharks. He starts shouting to get our attention, “Sharks, Sharks!” Yep, this momma was proud that our son knows the difference between a fish and a shark. I look behind me thinking because I thought I heard someone call my name. It was a seemingly peaceful pathway filled with small trees, bushes and ground covering. “Here we go,” I thought but not knowing why. I notice my stomach getting a little nauseated but took a couple of vapes off my pen and hoped that the feeling would go away. I soon noticed that my jaw began hurting. The muscles in my body began cramping. The nausea became stronger. I told Mel that I was going to sit down a few minutes to rest, but really hoping that I just didn’t throw up.
The longer I sat there, the worse I felt. As a tear, dropped from my eye underneath the sunshades and shaky voice, I told Mel we needed to go home. An unimaginable fear I must’ve been ‘triggered’ but I hadn’t realized it. Then, the headache hit. Not as bad as the one last week, when I had acupuncture where I never remembered the visit, but plenty bad enough to feel miserable.
Once again, my physical symptoms have messed up another family outing. And soon the shame and guilt hit me like a “tornado propelled bumble bee.” I had no warning but thought it was probably in the lineup somewhere. I felt like collapsing from just sheer embarrassment, even though, people around me didn’t seem to notice. I just sat down again and tried to wait for the feeling to pass. After several minutes, I decided no more waiting and listening to music. I suddenly had to GET THE HELL AWAY FROM WHERE I CURRENTLY WAS! Something still seemed to scare me, but I didn’t know what.
I tried to remember what we were doing, and what had just happened to cause such a scare. I couldn’t remember what I had said, done or thought. All I could do was hope that ‘it’ was over soon.
MY wife, being the very understanding person she is, told me everything was ok and we could come back another day. The disappointment laid somewhere deep within me, not her. She had no idea the level of disappointment I was experiencing. Everything was fine and now it wasn’t. Marshall didn’t seem to notice and neither did the people passing by. So, now I act like everything is fine, right? I stood up and the familiar feeling hit me but this time it scared me. My body didn’t feel like I could control itself but I was moving. It was as if I was watching this awkwardly walking human being that I didn’t recognize. ‘Things’ just weren’t ok for some reason.
We were still able to get some good pictures of me and Marshall. But, the disgrace of the signs and symptoms of disorders can be embarrassing even if other people don’t seem to see them. Some things can’t be hidden. Some things have been hidden for years and are now noticeable. I just wanted to get back to my ‘familiar’ surroundings….HOME!
#Thispuzzledlife
Who am I?
9.8.14
“Don’t underestimate me. I know more than I say,
Think more than I speak,
& notice more than you realize.”
–Anonymous
Behind the smiles you don’t see the frowns. Behind the laughs you don’t see the cries. Behind the eyes you don’t see the tears. And behind the contentment that you see in the pictures of me and our son, you don’t see the fears that I hide. You see what I allow you to see. I let you see what is socially acceptable. But, you DON’T see the real me. What if you did? Would you even recognize me? Could you even pronounce my name? Or would I be that same person, to you that you’ve grown-up with and known the majority of your life?
I resemble the same person you knew in middle school and high school. I have a wife instead of a husband. We have a 2.5 year old son. We live in the time zone known as “Marshall Standard Time.” I wear shorts and t-shirts instead of cleats and uniforms. I’m still the same ‘clown’ that you’ve always known me to be. I still laugh at inappropriate shit. My humor about things has never disappeared. I’m just not as “happy-go-lucky” as I use to be.
There wasn’t one event that caused a change in me over time. It was abuse that occurred over many years that has changed me. If I met you 20 years now since high school, you would see that same person that you were in the halls with but attached to my leg is a little boy. And attached to my heart is my wife, Melody Landrum-Arnold.
No one ever knows someone else’s true “secrets.” You saw a seemingly happy wife walking by her husband’s side and holding his hand. You saw parents supporting their child in every way possible. You saw an athlete very passionate and dedicated to the sports she loved. And you saw a fun loving and respectful person when our paths crossed. There were scars and open wounds that you never knew.
What you didn’t know or see were all of the “secrets” of a lifetime of abuse. What if you knew all of my thoughts? What if you knew the things I was made to do? Would you look at my scars and be disgusted? Could you look me in the eye because I couldn’t you? Would you stand there speechless because of the lies you were told and believed? Or would you say, “Gee, I’m sorry” and avoid all eye contact. Why? SHAME. Those of us who were once victims carried the shame of our abusers who were “shameless.”
I wish people who have and continue to judge me could spend one day in my brain with all the chaos as a result of the abuse. You wouldn’t survive one minute! No one taught me how to survive all of that. I figured it out on my own. Some behaviors are maladaptive, I’ll agree. I did what I had to do to SURVIVE in any way possible!
I’ve been very strong for many years but I’m tired. Mornings like now seem like the movie Groundhog Day. The abuse replays every moment I’m alive. Every morning, the abuse starts all over again. I feel like, I’m stuck in survival mode all the time. Sometimes I feel like a victim and sometimes I feel like a survivor. I try and live life “one minute at a time” because “one day at a time” seems entirely too long, right now.
I’m very much a realist. I see things for the way they are, instead of the way they can be. The whole analogy of the duck is how I view even the simplest of events, ideas, comments, etc. So, basically I get in my own way. Part of this process is going to be to retrain how the brain perceives things, I think.
I also repeat things sometimes at different times. So, if some of the abuse stories seem to overlap, just ignore and keep reading. I’ll explain why this happens later.
Please try and understand that this is just where I’m at in my healing journey.
#Thispuzzledlife
I’m Not Alone
8.23.14
“A bird doesn’t sing because it has the answers, it sings because it has a song.”
—Maya Angelou
I don’t normally blog on Saturday mornings at 5:30am. This morning I was awaken to what felt like my insides twisting. I felt nauseous but lay still to make sure it was real and not a dream. I decided very quickly, “Nope, that wasn’t a dream.” I also noticed that my whole body was hurting with what seemed like “growing pains” as my pediatrician use to call it.
I go through my morning routine of turning on my vaporizer and the coffee pot. But, this morning, I decided against coffee and would have a diet coke. Since, everyone else was asleep, now was the perfect time to read some of my library books. I started vaping but at a higher rate because the pain in my body was becoming ever more painful by the second. I once again felt like I was in full detox from some chemical. I also have these symptoms randomly attack me at different times of the day. I’m starting to get a headache but get busy trying to keep it at bay.
I think I finally begin to feel my medication beginning to work after a few minutes. My nausea begins to subside somewhat, my headache is doing ok for the moment but my muscles and tissues of the rest of my body seem very angry at me. I pick up my book and begin reading. Due to the types of abuse, I endured both as a child and adult, I’m constantly looking for answers for why things happened the way they did. The book I’m currently reading is Wife Rape. It’s an older book but I need answers. This was the same book that had me reliving a scene from my former marriage the other night. So, I kept that in mind and agreed with myself that I started feeling anything familiar in my mind or body; I would put the book down. Deal!
I’m instantly sucked into that book again. These women had stories like mine. Some were much different, but the “acts” were about control. This I already knew. But, seeing things in black and white can sometimes be the one thing that makes things “click.” I kept reading some of the sentences and paragraphs over and over. I thought, “How do they know how I felt in that moments or those surround those types of events?” I just had to read more. The book not only describes the actual accounts of abuse from the survivors. But attempts to explain why this “secretive, abuse happens and how the abuser also views this as both their “biblical and societal RIGHT as a man.”
I want to make perfectly clear that I am sensitive and also understand that this can and do happen in ALL kinds of relationships. Since this book is older, I’m not distracted by the fact that they use information from heterosexual relationships. But, since I’m discussing my previous heterosexual relationship, I won’t make a big deal about what types of samples they used regarding gender.
These women describe, in detail, how they felt, hurt and emotionally survived their abuse. It was like looking in the mirror again. My instant thought was, “How do they know this much? I’ve told only a couple of people some of what happened? Who betrayed my confidence?” I very quickly realized was how much I identified with all of these survivors. Not only what they did but what they thought. They also seemed to “lose time” with some of the attacks on their body. Their worth as a human being has been severely damaged. They also spoke about how much easier it was to just “go along” instead of fight. That fighting back always seemed to make everything worse in every way. I knew and felt that too.
I had ignored my body but soon realized that I now feel like someone is trying to tie my body in a knot. EVERYWHERE was and is still hurting like I’m being hit with a bat. The nausea is back. My stomach is cussing me repeatedly and my head is pounding. My upper back feels like I was just shot and just breathing almost brings me to tears because of the anxiety. I prefer to think that my body is ‘bleeding’ many years of emotions that I never felt ‘safe’ enough to release. I feel like every day I don’t write, that my body is filling up with toxins. But, I’m physically miserable too. My body feels very conflicted. Do I have that much “stuff” to process that I haven’t started getting better physically yet? From somewhere deep inside me, I hear…”Someone please stop this NIGHTMARE! I can’t handle reliving it again!
Most people would say, “Just put the book down and it will get better.” I really wish it was that easy. My body and mind are remembering every single vivid detail of everything that has happened. It’s not just the book. But, the book is really helping me understand what exactly happened to me the 14 years I was in a relationship with my ex-husband. I relate to so many of those women though which makes me feel like I’m in a group therapy session in my own little way. Sometimes you do stuff knowing that it’s going to hurt because you seem to understand and long for more understanding. Do the benefits outweigh the risk? I don’t know what the right answer is right now. Maybe I’ll take what I have read and read it more at a later date.
#Thispuzzledlife
Wake Me Up When September Ends…..
11.5.14
“The conflict between the will to deny horrible events and the will to proclaim them aloud is the central dialectic of psychological trauma.”
― Judith Lewis Herman, Trauma and Recovery
I’ve always been told the saying, ‘when it rains it pours.’ Right now, my life feels like a hundred year flood. And for those who read this blog, yes, I did manage to make it through Halloween. It wasn’t easy and I was medicated, but I wasn’t going to miss our son’s trick or treating for anything no matter how painful it was for me.
You may or may not view this as a “pity party” session and well that’s on you. I view this as being able to freely voice my agony which tends to be very cathartic. I’d like to think that this string of painful losses was just for the month of September. There are several events that seemed to congregate in that month. The psychological trauma began many years ago so, I’m not a ‘newbie’ to bad shit happening. Matter of fact, I can usually handle that much better than “normal” life. Why? For many years, that has been my normal.
This year has been one, thus far, that I’ll never forget. The spring brought two suicides. The summer brought the most intense internal and external psychological battle that I think has ever been waged against me. September…..well….it doesn’t have a season because what started then hasn’t stopped even now. There is nothing that could’ve prepared me for when my brother’s wreck that happened and yet he still survived and is doing very well. Less than a week later another suicide that I was directly associated with occurred. Another suicide only a couple of weeks ago happened yet again. And now some concerning news that I must just chew on for the moment.
Have I learned some difficult lessons this summer? You bet I have! September just seems to keep feeding me and my family all kinds of stuff that just makes you shake your head. And it’s not over yet. In the meantime, I start deep work on my molestation as a child very soon. Sometimes you wonder what your limits are and then voices from the past namely Nick Kolinsky and Randy King among other coaches remind me that “A Winner Never Gives Up!” We were never allowed as players to give a half ass effort. So, even now, with tears streaming down my face, what was instilled in me as a ballplayer keeps me going. You just enjoy the good times and prepare for the bad. Things have happened so quickly that life hasn’t afforded me time to catch my breath.
And now I get ready to embark on a deeper more painful part of the journey of trauma recovery that I have yet to experience. I have asked many questions about why I have to pay both mentally and physically for the evil that was done by others. The only solace I can find, at this juncture, is so that I can finally have my voice heard. Oh, there have been people that have said along the years that they were listening to me. Actually hearing what I have to say from a humanistic standpoint, I’ve been stranded. I must admit that some of that is my fault because I kept so many secrets and protected my abusers both out of fear and intimidation.
Dear Perpetrators
Those days of fear and intimidation are gone. I survived without your help. People are now going to hear what you did to me. I was once your victim. Now, I’m the warrior about to face you again and again for as long as it takes for me to have freedom.
Sincerely,
YOUR worst nightmare
Our Thanksgiving plans consist of going to Arkansas to spend with my brother and sister-in-law and our new ‘chosen’ family. He is then riding back with us to Albuquerque to spend a month with us. Does the universe know that I’m going to need some extra support in the coming months? I would have to say undeniably YES! Big things are going to happen in the next couple of months that are going to be both good and bad. I see nothing wrong with two people wanting to promote healing together. Sometimes all I need is my big brother as comfort. And sometimes all he needs is his equally crazy sister to tell him that things will get better. Nothing but good can come from this. I will not only have my dear son and wife here as comfort. But, my big brother is going to be here to push me in a way that no other person on this earth can do. We also have over 20 years of jokes and laughter to catch up on. So, my dear brother, thank you in advance for the comfort and support that only you can give in the next couple of months.
What people don’t understand about mine and Levi’s relationship is that just being around each other for less than an hour, we already begin healing. So, having a man that I’ve always trusted when I was always told that he was “bad news” is something that I can still laugh about today. He saved my life many years ago and I can only hope to repay the debt one day. The boys/men that I was told I could trust raped and molested me physically and emotionally.
Since, my only sibling has been AWOL since I ‘came out’ as being gay, she made a choice and I made mine. I have two brothers named Levi Pierce and Chris Pierce that I can depend on no matter what. My sibling’s name, unfortunately, has slowly been forgotten. I have a beautiful family and extended family with absolutely no blood relations, no matter what her choices are.
Levi and Chris Pierce and all of our ‘chosen’ family in Arkansas, thank you for loving me and my family unconditionally. Charlene Pierce, thank you for loving my brother and being patient enough to be his wife. LOL. Levi, thank you for staying off the damn motorcycles for this long! I love you and can’t wait to see you soon!
#Thispuzzledlife
The Day Time Stopped
9.17.2014
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.”
—-Ian Maclaren
I usually try to start of my posts lighthearted or a good toddler moment. This post I cannot seem to find anything to joke about. I have searched deep within me and all I find is tears. I have questions but no answers. My life has been changed yet again forever. The quote above couldn’t be more fitting for this life event.
There are many dates that are in my little book of life that I keep tucked away in the deep recesses of my mind. The day September 3, 2014 is another day that will never be forgotten. That day was the Wednesday of the same week that we got back from being with Levi and his family in Arkansas. I was slowly beginning to decompress from that situation. Adjusting back to daily life in Albuquerque was underway. I missed him more than I ever imagined. It was back to being a long distant relative.
I was trying to get the house back in some type of order from us leaving in such a hurry. I was washing and folding clothes with nothing specifically planned for the day. I recognize the sound of facebook messenger alerting me to a message. A mutual friend told me that she needed to talk to me ASAP. So, I half way drop what I was doing and said, “What’s up?” Not knowing or worrying about the answer that would come back. “Hey, I have a friend that said that he wants to ‘end it all,’ she said. I said, “What’s going on?” I didn’t ask for a name because I didn’t see the relevance at the time. Instantly, the therapist side of me is at attention. She asked, “Do you know a guy on facebook by the name of Kyle Brewer?” I told her very quickly, “Of course I do. We went to school together some in elementary and middle school, why?” Apparently, I couldn’t seem to do math because I didn’t see the correlation as to why the question was asked. She said, “It’s him that’s saying that.” I still didn’t worry because we had just spent some time with him as a family on our recent nightmarish visit to Petal, MS. We had gone out to his house and spent time talking and laughing. I told her not to worry that he would respond to either me or Mel.
Kyle and I were also alike in the sense that we both love to find the funny in just about anything. We were always finding rude, inappropriate but yet hysterically funny things on Facebook and sharing them with each other. He had a some
what perverted style of humor that most would find distasteful. He and I were able to enjoy some good laughs over a snow cone or two. He also adored Marshall.
He wasn’t responding to me or Mel in any way. I instantly knew that my friend was in trouble. I’m usually not very ‘jumpy’ about suicide threats. But, in my gut, something told me this situation was different. This mutual friend of ours had also been trying to get in touch with him all morning. She was in another state and so was I. Why did he pick her to tell? Because he knew she was too far away to do anything about it. That’s just my hypothesis. And he also didn’t specifically mention wanting to ‘end it all’ because he knew what profession and obligations I would have if he did say something.
We began discussing what we needed to do. In the meantime, the only thing I could think to do was to grasp at straws by putting a message out on Facebook for him to call me. I think the message actually read something like, “Kyle Brewer, pick up your damn phone and call me right now!” The minute I hit send and it was posted he contacted me through messenger.
I told our mutual friend that I was currently talking to him and to go ahead and call 911. I told her, “If he gets mad at you, then he’ll be mad at me because he knows you don’t know where he lives. And if he gets mad, as long as, he’s alive he can get over it. But, if he was dead he would no longer have that option.” I tell her that she has to tell the dispatch verbatim the way I tell her to tell them how to get to his house because it was located way out. She calls and soon tells me that dispatch is heading out there to do a welfare check just to make sure he’s ok. They also tell her that when they know something they will let her know.
While all of that was going on, I was desperately trying to talk to Kyle. What was said between us is something that I will only discuss with my therapists. The point is that as long as he’s talking, he’s not dead. I share some very personal stuff with him and ask him questions. He finally tells me, “I’m tired. Thanks for the talk!!!!” It was at this point, that I knew that Kyle was no longer able to keep the mask that many of us use everything we have to keep it in place anymore. We were both talking from our hearts without humor. That was the last time I ever had contact with him.
It was a couple of hours later when our mutual friend messaged me and said, “Dana, we need to talk.” My blood ran cold; my heart began to shatter and my stomach was turning like I was on a ride at a theme park. I already knew. She said, “Dana, he’s dead.” At that moment, time seemed to stop.
Fortunately, Mel was here with me and Marshall was still at daycare. I began sobbing like a small child. I couldn’t make sense of anything. My greatest fear was that the emergency services wouldn’t make it there in time. This seemed to be the reality for the moment. All of my senses seemed to disappear. My tears felt like they were coming from every pore in my body. Mel just sat, held me and let me cry. At that moment, there was nothing else that could be done.
We did find out later that the emergency services did make it to his house in time. He greeted them in the yard like nothing was wrong. There probably didn’t seem like a reason to stop him from going back into his house. He told them he had to run back inside and would be right back out. He went back in his house, locked the door and shot himself. He was one of them. He was a volunteer firefighter that probably knew many of the people that arrived to check on him. He used the mask to both his favor and detriment. I lost my friend to a term called PRIDE.
Kyle Brewer was like many of us ‘clowns.’ We all seem to have it together because we can make people laugh. Take a moment and try to imagine what my friend Kyle would’ve looked like if we had been able to turn him inside out. I bet you wouldn’t see anything but a heart full of love for those he loved mixed with the tears of what he knew was about to happen. EVERYONE has demons and secrets. He just didn’t see the other side where there could be light instead of darkness.
Even now, I selfishly shed tears because I’ve lost yet another friend by violent means. I also cry for his family of EMS workers and biological family. He will never be able to carry out his duty as an uncle, son, brother or husband because of one decision. I don’t hate nor am I mad at him. He was my friend and I will continue to grieve his loss.
I have now been involved in just about every angle of suicide as both a teenager and as an adult. Has this one event changed me? You bet it has! I question everything I said to him. I’m constantly re-reading our last conversation. And, I question my ability as a professional. What my head understands, my heart can’t comprehend.
I’ve had people contact me through various ways thanking me for what we did to help. I can’t help but to very angrily think, “I did nothing! He’s still dead! We all lost!” I wish I could see things differently right now, but I can’t. I take their nice comments and say thank you like I was taught many years ago. But, I will probably be forever haunted by “The Day Time Stopped.”
#Thispuzzledlife
Tears of a Clown 3
9.8.14
“Anyone who has a continuous smile on his face conceals a toughness that is almost frightening.”
― Greta Garbo
When Levi got back to his room, I was so relieved! Now, I could see for myself that he had made it through surgery safely. Not without battle wounds, but he was alive. I told him, “Bro, I’m still here.” I could tell that between the anesthesia and pain meds that he didn’t know whether to ‘scratch his watch or wind his butt.” I left him in the caring hands of his wife, brother and mother. I could now breathe another sigh of relief. Mel and Marshall came by and picked me up from the hospital to go something to eat. To me, it had been a long day that was well worth the stress.
The next couple of days were spent making small talk and getting to know his family. Marshall continued to play with Boudreaux, Levi’s new grandson. Chris, Charlene and his mom all seemed to be competing for the “Caregiver of the Year Award.” They were amazing at how they were attending to him. I’m not sure what the exact situation was, but I was introduced by his family as his “sister.” Now, between him and me we’ve always called each other brother and sister. His own family seeing, accepting and seemingly understanding our relationship also was the ray of sunshine that my heart seemed to need to feel.
I had just recently been wrapped up in some of my own darkness. This whole trip was beginning to feel like the ray of light that I had been searching for. I’ve looked back and have been able to recall this exact feeling. I’ve wondered why this has made such a big difference mentally for me. What I’ve deduced from this situation is this:
I must admit that it was pretty eerie at first. Everything for me has always come with conditions except for a few very close friends, close family and my parents. Even my ex-husband told me that he didn’t understand how my dad accepted my mother for who she is without conditions. He told me that loving someone like that wasn’t even possible. So, this situation with Levi’s friends and family and their acceptance and total disregard for the fact that I was gay, legally married and have a 2.5 year old kid didn’t even seem to phase them. They knew that I loved their friend and family member and that was all that counted.
I’ve listened to stories from almost everyone there about what a big part he has played in their lives. I can honestly say that I wasn’t surprised by what I was hearing. Another thing that he and I have in common is the fact that if someone’s in need of help, we will always be there for them. You can say that it has something to do with the way we were raised; the expectations of being from the south; or our own childhood trauma that’s had influence. What I can say is this…”Fighting the battles of abuse and life on your own is not easy nor is it fair.” Therefore, and I can only speak for myself, when I say that after my 8th grade school year that I have always vowed that no one that I knew and/or loved would EVER have to fight a battle on their own again. I will admit that he and I both don’t know when to keep our mouths shut at times. I would take that flaw rather than having any of my friends and family fight a senseless battle on their own.
When he was finally discharged and sent home, he wanted to ride in our vehicle because it was higher. We got back to his and Charlene’s house and the cooking began. He was in excruciating pain. So, I helped to make sure he was comfortable. I knew these last few hours would be my last for a little while. We were heading back to Albuquerque early in the morning. We sat, laughed and told stories with as many people that would sit and listen. As the time passed, we began to try and play, “Let’s Make a Deal” with our wives just so we could have those last remaining moments together. We honestly sounded like two kids who wanted candy at the store.
Finally, it was time and I must say goodbye to one of my closest friends. He and I didn’t shed tears in front of everyone. I hugged him and told him I loved him. I reminded him that I was just a text, phone call or instant message away. He told me, “I still can’t believe you and your family came all this way to see me.” I simply told him, “You were not the one that was on the other end of that phone line when I was talking to Charlene. Don’t ever doubt what I will do for you no matter what you may consider as insignificant. You are my BROTHER.”
I was fine going back to the motel because for the past few days that was our routine. When we got the car loaded in the morning and pulled out of the parking lot of the motel, I began to see and feel the tears begin to fall. All I felt was the pull and the hurt of the separation between us on my heart. He was in great hands and I knew that. Emotionally, I just left my brother. That was a feeling that no word could magically soothe. I cried most of the 13 hours it took to drive back home. And yes, the night I left him, he did the same thing. He is a man with feelings and I have never shamed him for that.
I look back on this trip and can do nothing but shed tears. They are tears of what could have happened. They are tears of what happened. And they are tears of joy for my family being completely embraced by some people who had only heard my name until we met. I now have the peace of knowing that I have several more “chosen” family members living in Arkansas.
I have heard their stories about our beloved “Spunky.” I’ve laughed a lot and cried with them. They have also laughed at the beautiful memories that we have of us as rebellious children. Also, things that were shared with me by individuals, is how very big his heart is even now. How he has taken people in and helped “clean” them up. We both seem to lean towards the people that need help. I guess maybe that’s why I enjoy working with populations that make a lot of people cringe. We both have a very strong line of STUPID/HARDHEADEDNESS that comes out in us at times. But, the one thing Levi and I still have that never changed is our love and respect for each other as human beings.
We’ve made mistakes and lots of them. We have had little victories that maybe he and I will only understand. But, my dear and very precious brother, I must say that through all the mistakes, to me you are not only a success as a human. YOU ARE A SUCCESS AS A MAN!
And once again…..the “Tears of a Clown” are falling.
#Thispuzzledlife
Fight, Flight or Freeze
August 6, 2014
“People who fly into a rage always make a bad landing.”
—Will Rogers
After a good “wake n’ bake” morning, and a nice phone call from my brother Levi Pierce, I think he and I realize that we’re more alike than different in a lot of ways. That’s actually more of a scary thing than funny. He and I have discussed since we reunited about whether or not the “karma bus” is plowing us over for being such smartasses when we were younger. I haven’t stopped being a smartass and neither has he. So, I’m guessing that the “karma bus” is following ever so closely behind us waiting to stomp the gas pedal…LMAO!
I have to admit that we are very “hot-headed” individuals that would give you the shirts off our backs. We are both very loyal people which would explain the closeness of our relationship even after not being in contact for 20+ years. However, I will warn you of two things……(1) Don’t ask either of us a question unless you know and accept that you will receive our honest “opinion” and, more than likely, a smartass answer to go with it. (2)And don’t expect either one of us to sit by and watch injustices being done especially to our closest friends and family.
When a perceived threat or an actual threat for one’s safety occurs there will be one of three responses: fight, flight or freeze. I will speak for myself on this one, when I say that when my trauma was occurring, I was a fighter. Anger seemed to be the only emotion that people would respond in a way that felt “safe.” For me, the safety was that people would back away from me and leave me alone. This soon became a very useful tool for me for a means of survival. Tears have always been considered a weakness for me. My tears were always used as a way to belittle me or lead to further abuse. Anger became my greatest motivator. But then anger progressed into rage….
I would go into blind rages where I would have no recollection of the events. Actually, the level at which my anger and rage can get, scares me. I have no idea where this rage comes from. I do know where it began….age 13. I was forced to hold all emotions because I couldn’t win no matter what I did. Columbine had not happened yet and I’m glad the seed wasn’t planted. Because, you had two teen age kids who were mad at the world and were tired of being bullied by adults. Instead of Klebold and Harris, it would’ve been Kendrick and Pierce. We had also realized that other teachers and staff knew how we were being treated and did nothing about it. We had no ‘ill will’ towards any other students, just the adults. I felt as though I had no voice. I would complain about how mean she was and no one ever heard what I was saying. I already had the first of many “labels” I would have throughout my life. I was labeled as a ‘troublemaker’ and ‘behavior problem.’ Once the label was in place, there was no wiping it off even when they were the ones in the wrong. I vowed from that day forward that “no one that I knew would ever have to fight on their own as long as I was around.”
At the point in my life when this was occurring, I remember having my first thoughts of both suicide and homicide. I became very intrigued with death. Like I said before, horror movies always provided relief from all of the rage that was building inside me. The movies provided for me what I wasn’t able to do…”a release for the rage on my perpetrators.” Finally, in my own fantasy world, they were getting what they deserved. The drugs, cutting and alcohol were all just to make living tolerable. Was it maladaptive? Well, of course. All I knew, was that adults were unsafe to me then. Because, all I saw was the abuse of power that was coming from them. So, being raised that “adults were always right” was very confusing .
These thoughts have continued since then. I’m constantly trying to keep the “rage” maintained. My approach doesn’t work all the time. Therapy has helped me to feel that rage on a different level. Now, I’m at least at times able to feel the anguish, fear and sadness behind all of the rage. However, I can still have a hard time crying even with people I trust. Where parents aren’t given a guidebook on “How to Raise a Child,” neither are children given a book on “The Healthiest Ways to Survive Trauma.” So, on both sides of the scenarios, individuals are often given only split seconds to make a decision. Sometimes the decisions turn out to be good and some bad. But, whatever decision you make about the situation, if it works for someone then that person will continue to use those same behaviors as a viable option. If it doesn’t work for you, then you look for solutions until something does work.
There are definite commonalities among children and adults in responses to trauma. However, each reaction will be individual to the person. Up to the point at which the trauma occurs, no one has the same experiences. So, trauma affects people differently. Some experiences even could and can appear to have almost no impact on one person. But, then causes major life disrupting behaviors for others.
#Thispuzzledlife
This Puzzled Life 