The Black Hole

This not a diary.  I can't promise to write each night.  Whatever I said last night was bull shit brought on by too much wine.  This is my pipe, my hashish, my opium den.  This is my outlet.  If I have nothing to outlet, why would my post be anywhere near intriguing or insightful?  To write, I must be inspired. Writer's block is caused by lack of insight and inspiration.  Generally, I am inspired after a six pack of beer, and before a six pack and a bottle of wine.  Tonight, well, today, I have had more than that.  And I feel great and inspired.  Lucky YOU!  You are in for a good read. 
 
I have had questions about the psychic I saw before I moved to Napa.  I can't answer those questions.  Not today.  You see, the questions I posed to the man on the other end of the phone were more "long term" questions.  It hasn't been that long.  I can't say he was right or wrong, or make any kind of judgement call.  What I can say, however, is that I did not spend a lot of money, and that what he said has been to the point so far.  As I stated, that call to the psychic is another story, another day.  When I share it, it will make complete sense.  I want to make complete sense.  I did, however, say that I would open up during the middle to end of my twenties.  I did, and I will open up to you, and it will happen now.
 
I was in the Navy, for those of you who didn't know.  I was in the Navy, and was stationed in Meridian, Mississippi.  I went to boot camp in Great Lakes, Illinois.  At one point I recieved orders to Guantanamo Bay, and traded those orders with another Yeoman for orders to board the USS Nimitz.  Upon leaving Mississippi, I went to San Diego.  I was discharged for "drug abuse prior to enlistment."  It was an honorable discharge; however, I got an RE4, which meant I was not qualified for duty anymore.  That's the technical shit.  You want the real shit?  Keep reading.  Sometimes, technicality is merely scratching at the surface of truth. 
 
I want to keep this short and sweet.  To the point, if you will.  What is most important is that my truth is out there.  The fluidity and eloquence will be lost here, not because I don't know how to write, though.  It will be lost because when I speak this truth, my words and sanity tend to leave me rather quickly.  The Navy changed my life dramatically and quickly.  However, it took me three years to notice. 
 
Okay, so you have a seventeen year old girl in a whole new world.  A girl with a drug addicted mother, who then moved in with her father and step-mother during her adolescent years.  Sheltered in the later, and exposed to everthing evil and dangerous in the former.  You have a girl who is impressionable, naieve, and insecure; a girl who knows too much and in turn knows nothing at all.  And this girl is off to the military.
 
I was learning about myself, and I was highly impressionable.  At one moment, in Meridian, Mississippi (after bootcamp), I was asked to a party at the officer's barracks, and I went.  I had one drink, though I don't remember finishing it.  That night dissappeard into a black hole, and has remained there ever since.  The thing about dark holes, though, is that you know they exist, even if you don't know what lies within them.
 
I woke up the the morning after the party at ten am.  I was supposed to report for duty at six am.  When I awoke I looked around.  There were men there, and I know I asked questions about the previous night.  I was told I passed out and threw up on myself, and that they had given me a shower.  I made a comment about my hair.  You see, I have hair that, when I lay down and it's wet, is a fucking mess the next morning.  I remember saying they couldn't have given me a shower because my hair was not crazy.  I was in a fog.  I don't remember who was there, but I do remember walking back to the training area of base.  Knowing I was in a bad place, that I had broken orders, made me edgy, cloudy and afraid.  I was drinking underage.  I had never blacked out like that before.  I needed an excuse.  My mother.  Yes, my mother had taken me to Jackson and abandoned me there.  I had to take the bus back to base.  That was a great excuse.  I would use it.  It would save me from restriction and hard labor.  My mother was known for being a flake, she was addicted to drugs.  This was a logical excuse.  A great lie.
 
I went with that excuse for a month.  I was told to see a shrink to deal with my childhood problems.  Sure, no problem.  I went to the shrink, told him I had smoked pot a couple times before enlistment (duh!  Who the fuck hasn't?).  I had not clearly stated that on my enrollment papers, though.  This man, the shirink, he told me I would be a drug addict just like my mother, that it ran in my blood.  I told him to go fuck himself, and walked out.  Two days later, my discharge papers began to be processed.  I was being discharged for drug abuse prior to enlistment.
 
My world was in shambles, and I did not know what to do.  I didn't know how to tell my family the truth, or how to fight my own battle.  My fear caused me to take what I was given and make the best of it.  I moved back to Fresno, with my mother, out of pure fear and a feeling of unworthiness.
 
I got married very soon after that.  I thought he was the love of my life, that we would be together forever.  In reality I was just a sad and impressionable little girl who wanted to feel loved.  I married a man, and he left me, right away.  Fairy tale?  Fuck no.  In the mean time, I was pregnant.  I was pregnant and thinking about life, I was realizing and rationalizing the choices I had made.
 
My memory fails me.  It is a fault of mine.  MY MEMORY FAILS ME GREATLY.  The black hole, however, exists.  I started thinking about this black hole, and what it contained.  What happened that night?  (The black hole is still very real in my world, to this day, and is something I seek to diminish, just so you know.)
 
That night, when I blacked out, the man I married took me to a party.  It was a status thing, for both of us. We were excited to go.  I was so in love and happy.... We were going to hang out with the officers... and I blacked out.  I was raped.  I was date-raped.  For knowing so much about drugs and people, I was greatly taken advantage of.  I was naieve and stupid and afraid. It took me nearly two years to figure it out, two years to gain knowledge and put the pieces together.  Date rape was something that happened to other women.  It wouldn't happen to me.
 
It took me ten years to speak out.  Here I am, ten years later.  I am smarter now.  I was raped.  I can't even tell you by how many men.  I was raped, and it was set up by the man I married; the father of my oldest son.  This is why I was discharged from the Navy.  The mystery in your mind may have been solved, but the black hole does exist for me.  It exists, and it is very real.
 

 

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It May Be Time To Write

I could try to write this a million times, and there is no way  to make it appropriate for all viewers.  Most people, during one sentence or another, are bound to become upset, especially if they are directly involved.  However, I have set out to tell the truth, and I have no apologies for my truth.  So, be prepared to read on.
 
Olivia was here two nights ago, at my home in Napa.  It was nice to have her.  She called it a "mel-lo" night.  Can you believe that?  I am mellow.  I am twenty seven years old, and for the first time in my life, I am mellow.  I don't know what brought it on, whether it is maturity or knowledge or just plain understanding.  However, what it is is Beautiful, and real.
 
Last year, I was un-invited from the Sheep Ranch Party.  Fuck Sheep Ranch, and Fuck My Family, I thought.  Technically, I was not un-invited, I just wasn't welcome.  My family was afraid of my angry behaviour.  Today, I understand.  I have been known to lash out because of my past and my perceptions.  For example, if you were to ask me about my kids' fathers, and then leave me feeling worthless, what am I left to do besides become angry?  Afterall, their dads left me feeling worthless, and I rose to the occasion.  If you loved me, why should you judge me and re-affirm that feeling?  You shoud be soooo proud of what I am doing for these kids, despite my adversity.  These were my thoughts. 
 
You get a single mom working two jobs short on sleep without a cigarette and a night off in three months going out of her way to even make an appearance at a family function when she may just about be completely out of patience and time and and has four appointments she had to reschedule to see you and all you want to do is question why she does what she does alone and where is the father and what do you expect?! 
 
Now I understand.  I understand why there were so many assumptions.  I understand why I was angry.  Default in communication and in understanding.  I have hurt, and I have loved, and loving has led me to hurt.
 
Garrett and I go to a psychologist once a week.  Nate doesn't join us... maybe he is too young.  It is good though.  It is really good.  I took Garrett to see this man on his own, and after one time seeing me the doctor said family therapy was in order.  I am privelaged to have a good doctor.  A person to make sense of my chaos, or at least lead me in the right direction......
 
There is so much more to write.  SO FUCKING MUCH MORE!  The more I write, the futher distracted I become.  I should be studying.  Morimoto is big in my world right now.
 
Maybe this is the best way, to write a little bit each night before bed?  For those of you who read, let me know.... would you read each night or each morning?  Would my life on a page interest you?  Could you handle the truth?
 
I saw a psychic once, and she said very little.  She said:  You will be married twice.  Your son has artistic hands, don't hold him back.  You will speak out near the middle of your twenties, generally becoming whole near your thirtieth year.
 
I can hold that.... I can trust that.
I spoke to a psychic before we moved to Napa, also..... but that's another day.

SHEEP RANCH, PIONEER HOTEL, AND WRITING. Just a quick note:

As I was leaving Sheep Ranch, Dave says to me, "Melissa, I've read some of your stuff online.  Well, I've read a lot of it.  And I just have to say you need to write.  That is what you need to do.  You are really good.  So, write damn it.  Write." 
 
It was a phenomenal trip.  One of the best "family trips" I have ever had, if not the absolute best.  I will write more, Dave.  I will.  I am sure of it.

A letter to...

Hi,

I read a quote today which, unfortunately (or fortunately) I can't be rid of, so I have to write to you. My last cigarette on the patio made me feel even more compelled. I realize I have been drinking and smoking a lot lately. The tomatoes are growing beautifully, by the way.

"All depression has its roots in self-pity, and all self-pity is rooted in people taking themselves too seriously." Tom Robbins, of course.

Duh. I have been depressed. I am depressed. It took me a while to figure it out this time. Maybe weeks of crying myself to sleep finally made me begin to realize the true nature of my crisis. What a selfish thing for me to feel. The worst part is that I can't control it and my family is sufferering because of it. The best part is that I can make an effort to stop it.

"I'll see you when I get home and you'll be crying in bed. I'll be home as soon as I can. I love you." Those words shouldn't have to be spoken (with the exception of the love part). How horrible to come home to a love who is always crying....

Fuck depression. I am living in a beautiful town. I have a beautiful family. I have a love which is amazing, and kids who are smart and healthy. My children go to good schools and I have a friend here in my complex. My son graduated from his special reading class and got student of the week. I have good food and a nice apartment, and the job I dreamt of for months. We are living where we want and doing what we want to do. What the fuck!? Crying myself to sleep, seriously? Many people would be blissed out beyond belief to be in my shoes.

I am not going to cry tonight. There are so many good things... I just needed a SNAP! Thank you for helping me. Tomorrow I am going to the river outside our apartment, and I am going to pick wild flowers. Then I am going to throw rocks into the river with my sons. I am going to make lunch and sit on the porch and read books (maybe even the stop smoking book I got from the library?), and then work on Garrett's student of the week project with him.

There are just two more things:
1) FUCK YOU DEPRESSION
2) I'm sorry for being a cry-baby.

I love you,
Me.

To Dance

Dancing. Primal. Emotion through movement; no penetration.

We have never danced. He says he doesn't. I know he has.

I want to dance. I want to dance with him.

I watched a movie tonight. They danced. He looked at her and she at him. No words were needed.

It was love in movement.

Then he asked him to marry her. Will they dance at their wedding?

He does not want a wife. He does not want a wife with children.

Maybe he does not want a wife at all.

I am hurt. I want to dance.

I believe in nothing, everything is sacred. I believe in everything, nothing is sacred.

What is this dance? Is it nothing? Is it everything? Is it sacred?

I want to dance.