Yelling At My Mom

It’s a reoccurring dream I have.  It’s always a quick flash but leave a brutal impact on my brain.  In my dream, I unleash verbally on my Mom for probably less than a minute.  But it is a full-on flash of rage.  I am screaming, yelling, swearing and often standing over her in a threatening manner.  This time, I was pointing at her face and moving towards her aggressively swearing and said “you want to know, you want to know fine I’ll tell you every disgusting detail” and this time she fell to the floor and crumbled into a ball crying as she replied “what do want me to say? I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!”

I know that I have anger at my Mom.  I have worked very hard to get rid of it.  I have tried to see things from her view and her life.  I still know deep inside that the child is enraged with her.  I know why.  I choose to walk a different path.  I choose to spare my Mother my rage.  She has not earned it.  Not all of it.  And if that can gets opened, I still do not trust myself not to unleash on her.  These dreams are a constant reminder of that.

This dream and the others are nightly reminders that I survived a fucked up childhood and upbringing.  And that PTSD remains alive and active in my broken brain.  I hate it.  I hate dreaming of being chased, trying to escape a burning building or being raped.  I would give almost anything to make the nightmares stop.

I buried it.

be strong be bad assI buried it.  And along with it the very last of him.  The last man I loved.  The last man I allowed to abuse me.  The last man I tried to save.  I will never forget how simple and yet how powerful the journey to finding the shovel in my hand slamming into the dirt has been.  I am changed.  Deep inside I know I am free.  I know that I will never allow another to abuse me.

Childhood abuse can create a pattern that a child accepts and does not realize is doing so.  A child’s mind is being formed.  We are not born understanding how the world works.  How we are brought up, the conditions, the way we are treated and so on have a direct effect on what becomes “normal” to a child.  Childhood sexual abuse often leads to promiscuity and the need to replace the abuser in one’s life.  This was one of the hardest  realizations I faced in therapy.  I refused to acknowledge that I sought out, chased down and fell madly in love with men who abused me in some manner.  When shit got real in 2013 and I reentered therapy no subject was off limits.

There it was right in front of me.  I was no longer able to deny that I had allowed males to abuse me since I had been raped at age 13yrs old.  Slowly I saw how my choices had grown progressively worse as I got older.  I saw how I valued myself less and took scarier risks with each man I loved.  I allowed myself to embrace the truth that I had been replacing the abuser in my life because I didn’t know how to live without the abuse and I didnt know how to live without a fucked up male I was afraid of and trying to fix.  That day I sobbed and sobbed in my therapist office.  Years of therapy were in front of me.

In 2015 my Partner and I moved into a beautiful home together.  As I packed my condo I found it.  The very last item he had tried to win me back with.  It was a silver engraved pocket watch in a black box lined in silk.  I tossed it into a box.  A few months later I spoke to a Shaman regarding the watch.  I told a brief history and asked how I should cleanse myself of it.  She advised that I should spend time sending him love and peace every time I thought of him and that I should then bury it.  I asked how long I should do so and where I should bury it.  Her reply was “you will know.”  The box sat in the back of a cabinet for three years.  I did as I was told.  Every time I went to the lake or hiking I wondered why I had not remembered to grab the box.

Last week my Partner and I attended a womens festival in the woods.  That is all you get to know about that 😉  While I was packing I saw the box.  It was near the front of the cabinet.  I was thrilled and tossed it into my bag without opening it.  We shared with our Sisters for four days.  We danced,  We laughed.  We sang.  We wept.  We made art.  It was glorious.  I never thought of the box.  I had a spiritual reading and she told me I had something to leave on the land and not to forget.  I still did not remember the box.  I searched my heart and came up empty.  On the last morning as I was packing things into my bag I put my hand on the box in the bottom of my bag.  I immediately knew what I had to do.  I explained it to my Partner and campmates and took off in search of the Matirach on the land.

The land I was standing on is sacred land.  I knew better than to commit an offense by burying it alone.  I found our beloved M and gave her a brief description of my journey to this point.  She smiled and said “Yes you are ready, let’s go and do this now.”  We walked together to the shed and retrieved a shovel and a pair of large garden clippers.  She led me to a spot and she cut away the thorny bushes, creating a small cave at the bottom.  “You dig and it has to be deep.  Very deep.”  I immediately began to slam the end of the shovel into the ground.  I picked up shovels of dirt and tossed them into pile.  Behind me I could hear M praying and shielding the land and the women from any harm.  When she finished she set the box down and said “you finish, this is for you just make sure it is deep and no one can tell we were here.  I’ll come back and check on you.”  I replied “yes ma’am” and kept digging.  The women I had shared the past four days with were gathering around the fire pit to sing and say goodbye.  I could hear their laughter but they could not see me.  I kept digging.  Make it deeper I kept thinking.  I realized I was filling with joy.  I was unimaginably free and happy standing alone in a thorny bush shoveling dirt in my sandals and shorts.  Soon I had to begin to cut through roots with the end of the shovel.  I slammed the metal into the ground hard, slicing through roots and thorny branches reaching out to cut me.  I caught one on the arm and slapped it back with the shovel as if to say “don’t fuck with me.”  I wasn’t angry.  I wasn’t sad.  I was fired up.  I was digging my way to the last bit of freedom.  The women’s voices grew louder as the crowd gathered.  I wanted to be with them but I wanted to be free more.  I kept digging.  I found evidence of humans before me.  I unearthed trash and put it in a pile.  When I reached what I  guessed to be three feet or more down I stopped.  I picked up the box.  I held in flat in my left palm and held high to the sky.  With the sun shining on my face I said out loud “I wish you love and peace.  I forgive you.  I forgive me.  I grant myself love and peace.”  The very moment the words left my mouth the women gathered around the fire sang out.  Their voices echoed through the forest as if they knew.  But they didn’t.  Only I knew.  They stopped, I lowered my arm and I tossed the box into the hole I had dug.  It landed upside down and I tried to flip it over but it threatened to fall open and reveal its contents.  Having still not looked inside for so many years I didn’t want to risk it.  I buried it.  Alone.  I suffered the abuse alone.  I went to therapy alone.  I buried that son of a bitch alone.  In my way.  I was free and I knew it.

I set the shovel down and walked to the circle around the fire with silent tears running down my face.  I made eye contact with M and she smiled.  I sat down and listened to the closing remarks.  I walked back to the spot and picked up the shovel.  I used it to grab and pull the thorny bushes back down over the place I had just covered in dirt.  The thorns never bit me again.  Only the once.   I threw away the trash I had unearthed, put away the tools and walked back to my camp.  It was so pure and so simple but ultimately freeing.

I will never be abused again.

The most disgusting nightmare yet




This one is going to get ugly.  I am triggering hard.  Last night’s nightmares have shaken me.  They started the night before.  Me running from him.  Last night the theme and feeling of the dream changed.  I need to vomit and then try to get this out.  I’m also making an apmnt to see my therapist.

If you have read my story you know that there are two men I have regular nightmares around.  My older brother who molested, hit, mentally & emotionally tortured and raped me and my Xman whom I did drugs with and would have surely lost my life to when the PTSD had control.  They look very similar physically and they have the same narcissistic sociopathic tendencies.  Last night, it was both of them.

It is one of the most insane and disturbing dreams I have had post therapy.  Are we really ever truly “post” therapy.  I don’t think so.  I think I will always be going back when I need help with PTSD.  Why be miserable?  I digress….

Back to the dream.  I was an adult.  I flashed between two scenes like a TV shows does to keep you up on both stories.  Sometimes I was at my Parents home in Oregon (the one they had when I was young) and other times I was renting a house with other Burners.  In both instances, I was not safe.  The feeling of needing to escape is my reoccurring nightmare theme.  It’s dark.  I know “the bad man” is coming and I need to escape.  Sometimes I start frantically packing things because I know I am never coming back.  Other times I begin to run and open secret doors that lead to more rooms and more secret doors.  Sometimes I make it outside but am then somehow too afraid to run into the dark.  I often take a car and then suddenly I am in the back seat and no one is driving or there are no brakes.  It’s sheer emotional terror.

This time when my brother appeared naked, erect and wanting to fuck me, I was wanting to do it as well.  I knew we had to hide.  We were moving around the basement silently trying to find a place where no one would see us.  I was intensely aroused and close to orgasm.  I would flash over to the other dream and it would be my Xman.  He would also be erect and wanting to have sex.  I was also trying to hide him and to fuck him.  Back and forth ~ back and forth.  Me as a grown adult.  Knowing it was wrong and yet so filled with lust and that all I wanted to do was have sex.  At one point in the dream, I am laying in a bed in my Mothers home.  I am waking up from the dream I just described.  I reached for a vibrator and was going to attempt to masturbate because I was so aroused.  I still knew it was disgusting but was so sexually aroused I did it anyway.

I awoke this morning in full trigger mode.  The room was spinning.  I had to fight to come fully awake.  I was screaming for help in my own head.  I felt someone sit down on the bed next to me and I was frozen stiff.  I could not get my eye’s all the way open and my vision was completely blurred when I did.  I felt myself start to panic.  My heart was pounding.  I had to first convince myself I was alone and safe.  I felt (feel) terrified, disgusted and relieved (that it was a dream and not real).  I stood up quick and had to balance myself.  I had a desire to be out of the bedroom and into the light.  As soon as I opened the curtain that separates our bedroom from the living room I began to come down.  I started talking to myself out loud and reached inside for my PTSD battle tools.  “It was a dream.  I am safe.  It was just a dream of a PTSD ridden mind.  It does not mean that’s what you want.  It does not have to have meaning at all.  It was just a dream.  It’s just the PTSD.  It’s just the PTSD.  It’s just the…..”

So yeah, there’s a new fucking shitty ass trigger in there.  Wow.  I mean I know I have been replacing the abuser.  I know that Xman looked eerily like my brother.  I know why I was with him and why I let him abuse me.  I know why I abused him back.  I understand and have released shame for the choices I made when the PTSD controlled me.  But fucking shit I did not need that fucking dream.  I am so deeply grossed out.  I went straight to the toilet.  Handled that.  Reached for my weed and went outside.  I knew standing there on our deck knowing that the most important thing for me to do right now would be to come in here and tell you here on this blog ~ my truth.

I have a lump in my throat.  I have images of my brothers erect cock coming at me.  I have images of myself wanting it…..  WTF  AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THAT???  I don’t want to think about that.  I don’t want to see it.  I am so deeply and horribly disgusted by that dream.

PTSD feeds on shame and fear.  It holds you down and tells you that you are disgusting and you should never ever tell anyone your ugly truth.  It kicks you and beats when you are down and it can reach up and bitch slap you when you are up too.  I did nothing to deserve my childhood.  I did nothing to deserve PTSD.  I have no shame over a dream that is the result of PTSD.  It doesn’t mean shit.  It was just a dream.  I wanted to share that with you.  I wanted to take away it’s power by showing it to you.  And I hope that if you have the same sick dreams you will know that it is just the PTSD and you are not disgusting.

I want to go for a walk in the rising sun with my dog.  I want to scream and cry and vomit.

Standing Up For ME

Every time I stood up for myself as a girl I was chastised and punished.  I am 48yrs old and just learning to stand up for myself every time.  Sometimes, I still allow people to walk over me.  I would say I am somewhere around 60 /40.  That number needs to change.

Standing up for me does not feel natural.   I have had to learn how to do so with the proper amount of tone and inflection.  I can’t let that shit build up inside me.  For my sake and for those I love.  Learning to stand my ground and speak my boundaries in a sane and appropriate manner has been difficult.  I find myself checking myself, choosing my words and tone wisely and then moving on.  I owe no one an explanation for my boundaries.  Not even myself.

I was spoken down to and belittled for so long that I have zero patience for it now.  I can be told that I wrong, need to be redirected and whatever other super hippy way you want to say it.  I can take direction.  I can not take being spoken down to.  Being spoken to with a tone that says you are stupid for not knowing this.  My StepFather chastised my Mother and me by asking us rhetorical questions in a shitty “you are so fucking stupid” tone of voice.   I would usually stand there blinking searching my mind for what to say to this giant man whom I feared every day.  You didn’t ever want to set him off.  I’ve spoken of it before.  His and Mother’s claim to fame is that he never touched me.  He didn’t need to.  She was just as afraid of him.  I have tapes of her fear in my head.

I find standing up to men to still be a more difficult challenge.  They use that tone I begin to crumble.  It usually takes everything I have got for me to retain my dignity and stand my ground.  The happier I become the easier it gets.  A bright shining happy person is easier to hear “no thank you” from then a raging freaking out angry bitch.  Just say’n.

be someone



I have been triggering lately.  Anger bubbling up and I struggle to come down.  It’s uncomfortable and scary.  I worry about losing control.  I worry about being in darkness and the insanity of a full-blown PTSD snap.  I want to believe that the tools I have now will always help me.  I want to believe.



Fuck this PTSD

The nightmares are getting strong again.  He was back last night.  The worst part about the last couple of vivid nightmares is that I have turned violent in them.  In the dreams I am angry and tired of being abused.  I become violent on people or animals.  I have had dreams of fighting as a child before.  But these dreams are me aware that I am becoming violent, that the behavior is “bad” and yet I choose to keep going.  When I wake I struggle to process why I would dream that I punched someone, literally beat the shit out of a woman or that I hit my dog.  I cringe at some of the images that are now stuck in my mind.

Doctor increased my meds effective last night.  I am not impressed thus far.  It’s one night and I would prefer an instant fix please……. Damn still no instant cure for PTSD from a pill.  Bummer.  I think I just needed to say that.

Fuck you PTSD.  You may be capable of giving me horrid nightmares (for now) but you will not rule my day.  Today is my birthday and I am driving to Rockaway Beach to see my parents.  So fuck you.  PTSD sucks ass but my life does not! Cover image is proof.  Yep, I saw Van Halen this Summer!!!

My life rocks because I make damn sure of it.  Have a great day! 

I have peace 

Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what ya’ gonna get.

This is how it has felt to be for the last…… awhile now.  Years maybe.  I’ve spent the last two plus years in consistent therapy.   I have laughed hard, cried and I have experienced a snap.  I’ve been triggered and I have fought my way back to sanity and calm.  And for the last over 30+ days I have experienced withdrawal from Opiate pain medication.  Which is something I have feared, avoided and always knew I would one day face.  I still carry a couple days supply on me at all times.  The fear that the pain that makes me weep in a corner, will one day without warning reach up and grab me by the hair pulling me to the ground kicking and screaming.   Thr fear that it will come back with a vengeance still holds on within me.  If you have never known chronic pain I can not explain it to you and I hope you never find out what I am talking about.  But if you are here reading you probably already understand.

How do I possibly explain the last couple of months?  It wasn’t planned.  I mean I didn’t pick a day and say I quit Vicodin.  I have been seeing a Chiropractor and receiving decompression therapy twice to three times a week consistently for eight months.  As soon as I could begin to stretch I started doing Yoga via my iPad at home alone.  I hated it.  Yoga alone made me feel like a piece of fat shit and often made me self hate for awhile afterwards.  Yet I knew I needed to be doing it so I forced myself.  I quickly found that I would rather do some basic yoga stretches outside before and after my walks then I would alone in my living room.  SO I started stretching.  A lot.  Fuck what anyone thinks, I told myself.  I’m in horrid pain and they don’t have to live with it.

Then two things happened that signaled I was on the right path.  A woman walked into my life with grace and ease like I’ve never really experienced before.  There was and remains zero effort to having in her in my life and heart.  She is among many things, a yoga instructor who has healed her back and now manages her Fibromyalgia and MS with yoga and nutrition.  I listened and asked for the space to do it alone before with her.  Then number two was a gift I will always be grateful for.  I went to our regional camp out.  I went to Yoga every morning in the sun with some of the most beautiful people I have ever met.  Super hippies I lovingly call them.  B (my now partner) joined me for the weekend and I walked easily into yoga right next to her.  The instructor was like a gift from the gods.  His voice calm and soothing all the while reassuring everyone that yoga is about health and taking care of yourself.  Let me be blunt.  As a fat woman in chronic pain with a life changing injury in my back the difference between the philosophy of yoga and pounding yourself with weights and exercise until you puke is overwhelmingly refreshing.  In Yoga class I am consistently reminded that if my jaw is clenched I am not getting it, if there is pain I should back off and that I should always be able to take a controlled inhale and exhale at a slow count to five.  As soon as I got home I joined a local yoga studio and found the same teaching.  There are countless styles and poses but the philosophy remains and it has clicked with my soul.

So when I realized that I was approaching three days without reaching for a Vicodin I made a choice to try Ibuprofen and ice.  I have experienced shooting pain and spasms that would usually result in my reaching for the Vicodin.  I have chosen otherwise and thus far it is manageable.  Am I in pain?  Yes I am.  Is it still interrupting my life?  Yes daily.  Sometimes after Yoga I still have to pack my hips in ice and my back needs it daily.  But I have to confess I didn’t know how fogged in my brain had become from the opiates until I began to come out of it.

I spend a lot of time sitting in clarity and marveling at where I have come.  I am in pain and the nightmares are slowly returning.  Yet I have peace.  I have worries of life and daily tasks.  Yet I have peace.  I am tired all the time.  Yet I have peace.  I’m in love.  I’m not afraid of her.  I don’t worry that it will end or she will betray me.  I trust her.  I have peace. 

Pic is at camp.


I’m on my path and moving forward.

Well hello there.  Sorry I have been away.  I have been making changes and getting better.  Slowly.  There is no fast road to heal this injury.  But I rounded a corner and am fighting hard.  I am about to take the next step which is warm and hot yoga at a studio.  I have pain.  I have back spasms.  My neck and my knees and blah blah blah.  But I also have a beautiful life which I am not ready to quit living.  I am inspired to do more.  So no matter how much I hate it I am going to yoga class and I am getting off these fucking meds.

I’m in vicodin aka opiate withdrawal.  Right at this moment the symptoms are strong.  My heart is palpitating, I’ve had random muscle cramps and spasms all day, diarrhea for a couple of days and I cried multiple times today.  I’ve started weaning myself slowly at least five times in the last few years.  Then I get injured and the number of pills goes up again.  This time I am determined to use meditation and yoga to heal and strengthen myself.  So I’m 48hrs without any opiates and my body is pissed.  Trust me if it gets to where I can’t take it I’ll swallow one.  I’m not an idiot.  It’s hot hot hot in Seattle.  That helps.  But I am expecting pain and stomach issues and whatever.  I should look up the symptoms.

A few posts back I talked about making the decision to be Lesbian and the kind of woman I wanted.  I set it into my meditation and made very specific promises to myself, all revolving around being true to myself.  I thought about what it had taken for me to reach this place.  How hard I worked to find me and get honest about what I wanted.  I meditated on the women I have loved -vs- the women I desired.  I thought about my own brain washing by society vs what I truly found sexy in a woman.  I finally got really honest with myself and as I did so I was able to admit a few things….

1) It’s not the women in porn who turn me on.  It’s the women I see in the Lesbian world who are real about who they are at all times.  Righteous unapologetic women.  I finally found the courage to say not only do I agree with these women but I am one.  And somehow that realization has killed porn for me.  Well the kind I have watched since discovering it in my twenties.  ((((gasp))) Yes I watch porn.  Yes I like it.  I have a hub site I have gone to for years.  Now I can’t find what I want on there.  I’m terrified of what will come up if I enter the terms in google.  LMFAO

2) I want to ride on the back of a bike with a Butch in control.  Not just ride the bike but live the life.  I have since about age 15 which was the first time I saw a gorgeous bad ass Lesbian on a bike.  I have watched from a distance and never dared to seek them out until now.  I have ridden with men and never felt safe.  First ride with a woman and I was relaxed.  Guess what?  They are as badass and awesome as I have imagined and then some.

3) I’m gay.  I swear to you on everything that is holy I have never even considered the possibility until recently.  How can that be?  Let me try to explain.  Yes I have been with women and yes I have loved women.  The first woman I said I loved was lust and greed really.  She was a mentor of sorts in a world where status is earned publicly or not at all.  The second woman to hear me say those precious words was the first I truly loved and will love for always.  The love has changed but it won’t die.  So how could I just now be realizing I am a big’o gay Lesbian?  Because I have held onto the notion that my sexual desires are the only thing that determine my sexuality.  I no longer agree with that belief.  I hold fast to the belief that your sexuality – what turns you on – has nothing to do with your character and who you are as a person.  I know some pretty evil miserable rotten straight people and I know some equally in the gay and kink communities.  I have seen some mind-blowing amaze balls make you cry honorable straight people work magic in my lifetime.  Again I have seen the same in the gay and kink communities.  To believe that what a person does behind closed doors consensually with another human being somehow makes his/her mind or heart less than is simple ignorance.  So riddle me this.  Why have I believed that my sexual desires determine what my relationships should look like?  I heard the words come out of my mouth “I have no desire for an emotional connection with a man.  I can’t connect with their energy and feel good anymore.”  I don’t hate men.  I love my Son.  I love my Father and Brothers and many male friends.  I simply have reached a place where I am no longer desire to give what it takes to engage with a man sexually or connect on a heart level.  That is my definition of Lesbian.

I’m taking my meds.  I’m going to my appointments.  I’m walking and doing what I am supposed to for my health.  I’m eating healthy.  I’m on my path and moving forward.  The PTSD is getting quieter.  I am facing fears and saying no to them.  Therapy for the mother fucking win!

When you are blinded by abuse

As I release control over areas of my life which have caused me so much turmoil over I find myself more in control of others.  Areas of my life I mean.  I’ve always known I was abused.  But I didn’t know how the PTSD was ruling my life.  I felt cursed not to be blessed with the ability to block it all out like others I have met.  I spent my entire life fighting the images, the feelings and the hell that came from childhood sexual abuse and rape.   Now once again my opinion on the subject is changing.   Because I’m healing.

I’m not grateful for my abuse.  Fuck no.  But I am seeing that everything I walked through as a result of the abuse was my path to today clarity.  Every path I willingly choose to walk down which resulted in me allowing someone to use me, take advantage of my vulnerability & ignorance and was me straight up going back for more abuse was the way I had to go.

When you are blinded by abuse you simply don’t know you are blind.  You think you can see clearly but really everything is covered in thick chaotic darkness.  When clarity comes you stand back and marvel and accept what you see knowing you will never be going back.


This is not an anniversary to remember

No matter how I feel inside and out, today is not about me.  Today is about my Son and whatever he needs and wants.  He has asked for an upbeat celebration and good day downtown Seattle.  That is what I will endeavor to give him.  My pain, emotional and physical, can fuck off.

One year ago today I drove stunned and clearly in shock in response to the third phone call of an inner circle death in the dark shaking my head in disbelief that it was happening again.  But this time it was my Son that I would have to hold myself up for and listen to as he screamed and cried behind a closed hospital room door.  I sucked it the fuck up and shoved my shit way down deep.  My whole body clenched and jerked as he screamed Dad Dad No Dad……  I will never forget that sound nor the immediate change in my Son just an hour later.

My Xhusband had a heart attack and put his car into a wall on Father’s Day 2014.  Tell me how I can ever do anything less than everything my Son asks of me on this day for the rest of my life?  So right now I am going to shower, put on makeup and dress beautifully.  I am going to smile and laugh and joke with my Son and his pregnant girlfriend.  I will raise a glass and tell grand stories of our time together as a family and B’s childhood.  I will honor the man I am so blessed to have co-parented with.  I have to let myself cry a little now.  I cry because I realize how hard the next few years will be without Mike to co-grandparent with.  I cry because I can still hear my Son screaming and no Mother should ever have to hear that.  I cry because I know how bad my son is hurting today.  I cry because grief is a part of love and I have chosen to love deeply.  I understand that now.

Oz B hand on back This is me walking my son into the funeral last June.  Yes I have chaps on.  We gave him a biker funeral.

The cover image is my Xhusband, my Son and I at OzzFest at the Gorge Ampitheater.  It is 2004.  A year after our divorce.  Which we did amicably for $300.00.   He wasn’t perfect.  I am not perfect.  We did not fuck each other over.  It made being friends and co-parenting a dream.  I was lucky.  I had no legal right to my Son when I left.  I was very lucky and I guess maybe just realizing today that maybe I didnt choose “that” badly when I married….????