Trauma
Trauma can cause such a blockage toward healing and the recovery process., I have a photographic mind that can remember everything. I have been through things that only God could heal. Recovery is possible from Mental Health. Most people assume, and allow pre judgement to surface. We assume, when we just can ask.
Let’s talk about my stepsister and the man she lived with.
See, living with someone is not the same as marrying. I did that.
And then I remembered that old saying: “Why buy the milk when you can get the whole cow for free?”
I think that makes sense. Except… I’m the cow. And I’m not free. I’m priceless. 😂
So one day I simply drove to where my father used to live.
The house was sold. The lot we used to play in as kids? Sold.
But I walked up to that house and — y’all — the key still fit.
My father gave me that key. I walked in, closed the door, and a guy came out like “shhh” or something.
I said, “Lord, not today.” So I left and went to my step sister’s friend’s house. It was early morning. I saw the light on in the back, light off up front. So I sat in the car. All morning. Observing, like I do.
When it was time, I knocked on her neighbor’s door. That neighbor came out, went straight to the mailbox, took all the mail, and put it in her box.
Then my step sister and her man came out yelling.
Baby. I really wish people would just communicate. I hope the mail got solved.
My father always said, “Don’t go to their house.” But I kept going to Melissa’s house in Philomath. I learned that route by heart. One time she took me to the psych hospital. I messed around with the computer system in the room — so they closed it. 🤦🏽♀️
I was hungry, so they gave me a sandwich. During that time I did lose quite a bit of weight. Melissa gave me panties and a few items. Bless her.
Here’s the thing: The whole time, I was present. I was with myself.
People were assuming things. Even when I went to Eugene, went to churches, other places — I was treated like I was the problem.
But I was never once a threat to myself. I just needed my Trileptal.
I believe in medications. I ALWAYS do.
My story is probably like a movie.
Cocoon stages. Keys that still fit. Mailbox drama. Psych hospital sandwiches. Lace fronts. Imakos.
So if any person wants to know me?
I suggest asking.
Don’t assume. Don’t yell from the porch. Don’t take my mail.
Just ask.
Because behind the baggage, behind the chastity belt, behind the butterfly wings…
There’s a woman who walked through every county, kept her key, kept her faith, and kept her sense of humor.
And she’s still standing. 🦋
