Skip to main content

Epic Fails of my Life

This is the most difficult blogpost I believe I'll ever write because it will "out" me like never before. This is a public blog; I have no illusions of secrecy or privacy. Only under the perceived protection of confidentiality, granted by various 12-step program sponsors, did I detail, share, face, and overcome the shame of my past.
  1. I was molested, repeatedly, by a male babysitter at 5 years old. I realize that I was not at fault for this, and I have gone on to use my tragedy to connect with and help to heal others.
  2. I engaged in risky behaviors from the age of 15 to 19, in the forms of underage drinking, promiscuity, marijuana, barbituates, cocaine, and LSD. 
  3. I was raped by a student doctor the night I ran away from home, at 15-years old. 
  4. I was raped by a sailor at an underage drinking party. 
  5. I cheated on my first husband, imploding my first marriage, affecting my daughter, husband, and myself, as well as our respective families, adversely.
  6. I believed, and entered into a sexual relationship, with a man who told me he was technically married but was ending the marriage. 
  7. I terminated a pregnancy by a married man. 
  8.  In a fit of jealous rage, I attacked my preteen daughter, lifting her off the ground, by the throat. 
  9.  I participated in 13-stepping, and said, "it's okay", after being informed by my partner that he had herpes, in early sobriety, ultimately, contracting the disease.
  10. I experimented with bisexuality and the swinger's lifestyle, in early sobriety.
This list should dispel any rumors of me being a paragon of virtue, or thwart any misguided efforts of pursuing sainthood.

And I am proof to the myth "once a cheater, always a cheater" is not true.I got sober, clean, and free of sex baggage; I have gone on to find a good man and never strayed. I have a great relationship with my daughter. I have managed to live a good socially-sensitive life.

Judge me as you will; your opinion is none of my business.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Fall

Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart.  Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.

Lashing Out

Fed up. Sick of hearing, "I'm sorry."  Apologies don't erase the pain you inflict on me. You pull my pubic hair. Your nitrile gloves pull the hair from my head. Not once in a while but day in and day out. You turn me in a manner that suits you rather than in a manner that doesn't stress my body. Why won't you use the pad and sheet to turn me as one unit? Instead, you allow my body to twist as you hold me one-handed. How good you are at your job. What part of "my muscles are dying" don't you understand?

On-the-job Sass

I continue getting sass from one particular caregiver. He says, "You need to communicate with us." he continues to completely miss or dismiss the concept of I would if I could . It is part and parcel to having ALS, I am losing my ability to communicate and it is his job to assist me. Part of helping me, like it or not, is to learn my routine and anticipate needs, when possible. He misses the fact that I'm failing more every day and night time is when I'm weakest. It is extremely insensitive and arrogant to expect me to cater to his needs and expectations. Pushing me to repeat words or expound on a simple one word suggestion is physically taxing on my system, adding stress which further depletes me. Cuing is supposed to be caregiver's domain, not the patient's. Here is the situation, I am being changed. In the midst of the action, as seems to be his practice, he is sidelined asking me trivial, meaningless, but energy-sapping questions. Do I want my legs raise...