I Hate Getting Flashbacks from Things I don't want to Remember.

I knew after entering the building, that on this winter windy night – I was never going to be the same. My anxiety had been heightened all week long as I stewed on the invite to spend time with friends at a bar just on the outskirts of Hillsmere, Maryland to enjoy a DJ’d karaoke night and a few games of pool. We arrived early to get the best seats in the house, right next to the dance floor. As I sat enjoying conversation with my husband, I’m horrified as I see myself walk through the door. She is a blonde with a big smile and is laughing with two other friends.  My darkened inner world tells me it’s Donna and Crystal – but the reality is that I’m in Annapolis, Maryland, but I see 25 years ago in Adak, Alaska at that very same moment. My instinct tells me to run, my heart smiles to see my husband making full eye contact with me when my gaze is not distracted by false images of a flashback that is trying to convince me that I have returned to the past.

 A smell that doesn’t belong there entombs me – mom’s house, the peach air fresheners, the smell of fresh cut grass, the sounds of the ocean as seagulls fly over - these things help me wear a faux smile - but doesn’t release the invisible grip of my rapidly growing paralyzing fear.  I don’t want to be there, I want to go home, but say nothing as I don’t want my friends to know that I’m scared, I’m vulnerable, and I want this pain to finally go away. A master of hiding what hurts me, is what I believe I am – I am so very wrong!!!!

 I briefly turn to alcohol, to try to cut the fear - a temporary fix as the events of the night begin to unfold. I’m asked to turn around and look at the lady in the booth behind us – The blonde, people are laughing, they are taking pictures – I see my attacker and a video camera. She is dazed, dizzy, confused – she has been drugged and I must save her before he gets her. But I’m told it’s not my business and to not pay any attention to it. It’s up to the bartenders to take care of her. Elizabeth is who I see when I look over to the worker behind the bar to find this woman help. But nobody listens and tells me to turn away. I’m confused as the smell of my mother’s home during the same year I was assaulted - once again entombs me. I’m agitated, angry, scared, and mad, that my mind is telling me that nobody is doing anything to help this woman as men keep coming over to touch her, offering false assistance. She falls to the floor unable to stand unassisted. Nobody helps her – My friends immediately take charge to get the woman out of the building and away from males who are taking interest.

I’m told that my friend will be back as she takes the blonde outside, I turn to be face to face with a false image of my assailant as my arm is touched. I’m angry, I’m mad and something kicks in after all these years I'm no longer afraid, I’m bold, assertive, and I'm confident that my suit of armor is one of steel not tin foil  – “DO NOT TOUCH ME!” I command without fear. When I return to my table, I am angry  as I see a drunk woman sitting next to my husband, I don’t shy away this time – I speak up for myself, this woman will not take over my night with my husband and my friends. I find courage; I find a voice that I can hear as I speak. “Get up this isn’t your seat and that’s not your husband!” She tries to meet me with resistance and attitude – she's unaware I am fueled by excessive flashbacks and are stronger and stronger as I am forced to see the past that I had blocked for so long. 25 years of being angry that a waitress - that resembles this unknown woman at our table - that helped my attacker by drugging my drink.  

I don't want this negative element near my family anymore. I'm following my instinct that is filtered with past and present gut instinct - she's fake, she's unwanted, she's trouble - I finally become a voice of confrontation - “Get the fuck up and move on.” My friends have never seen that in me – my husband has never seen that - and I've never done that publicly - clearly something is coming to a head, but I refocus as I’m asked to assist again two other women, who are the blonde's friends, and an unknown male that was also feeling the effects of something other than excessive alcohol. My friends and I take over the chaos to get these women out of the building and home safely. It is only after the women leave that my fears had been confirmed - In the purse of one of the women - were the drugs that took a negative form of control on what was a night of fun, dancing and singing with friends.

The one of the bartenders are apologetic, but I want no part of what feels like poor acting as if they care. I’m insulted when I’m brought a shot from the female bartender trying to express that she should have known better. I’m skeptical that something is in the drink and my attacker awaits me. She doesn’t see the flashback that is entertaining my thoughts and visions.  I only reply – when she finally acknowledges that it’s her fault when she saw these patrons in distress earlier and did nothing. It is then I am able to speak and say – “Yes, you are right.” She realized she should have done something about it. My friends and I saved these three women while another group of people helped the man who came with them, from the other side of the room, get home safely as well.

I feel I had finally been giving a chance to right the wrongs that haunted me - I couldn’t save my roommate in 1991 and that I didn’t know how to help the girls that reported to me what had happened to them, as I was dealing with my own shock of being sexually assaulted and my own command did nothing when I reported it to them. As the negative chaotic atmosphere of the evening dissolves -  I’m alone at the table, when it is at this moment, my icy heart of hate, is deteriorating- I don't want to let go of who I had become on the inside, bitter while at the same time - so loving but iced over. I have a small fire of feeling a glimpse of self-worth that is growing - I'm panicked by this new feeling as my emotions are overwhelmingly drenched by the beautiful sense of inner goodwill.

I comprehend at that moment I’m not terrified by the sense of touch from someone who is not my husband or family, and I finally allowing a supportive hug from a friend who offered comfort as I finally found the courage to share the darkness in my mind, with those around me. I’m over flowing with sobbing emotion – I was meeting for the first time -  the realization and full understanding that what happened to me in October of 1991 – WAS NOT MY FAULT!. I feel that this was the final act of destroying my inner hate, and was placed at a cross road - I'm giving one of only two choices - I could be the victor and claim my new shoes of life, or retreat to the darkened corner of my thoughts and place it there again, for another day to try to emerge as my heart and soul try to finally heal the years of pain, fear, and anguish.

I like the new shoes. They are a bit snug, but will mold to meet my needs as I move forward in a positive light. I will NEVER forget that I can’t change the past and can't go back, but I can learn from it and teach to others what it has now taught me. It is OK to be afraid of things – but never let it control your life, because all those days you waste hiding and worrying – are days of your life you can never get back and only added to the hate and resentment. I can't say that I'll ever be 100%, trauma really changes a person and their perspective on their lives and the people around them. I'd be lying if I said that I will never have to check a room before entering and I'll won't have to look over my shoulder all the time. There is just something things that change in a person and as for trusting, this is the clause embedded  among the walls of my mind.

"You're modern woman with strong morals and several surprising old fashion values. You will have to be very clear about who you are while also understanding that often times you will scare potential friendships away.  Your ability to trust is a process that is earned over time; nobody is entitled to it, no matter how privileged one may believe they are. If one gains your trust, always know the clause, guard it with your life, because once another loses your trust - it’s gone and it could take days, months, years, or maybe it will never be given back - Only you can make that choice of when or if ever."

Could the Truth be the Downfall of Happiness?

Could the Truth be the Downfall of Happiness?

Written by: Stacey L. Bolin

Music inspiration for this story:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Xyp63MaSBs

            At a very juvenile age, my mother taught me a very important lesson of life, and that the only person I had to blame at the time for the problems that arose, were three people - me, myself, and I.  I believe I was the age of 8 and my brother was 4. We had a friend who lived just one house up from us and across the street. He was one of the local neighborhood boys, maybe only 7 in age, that I don't know, but I will always remember his name was Jimmy. He would come down to our house and we would have a blast playing day long games of Cowboys and Indians that at the end of every day we would fantasize riding off on our imaginary horses named Starlight and Silver into a New Hampshire sunset across our ten acres of land.

            What does this have to do with the title of this blog "Could the truth be the downfall of happiness?"  Well, it was at this specific time in my life, that I made a premeditated choice to do something that I knew would not be met with rainbow colored ponies and glitter - but the outcome would impact me for eternity.

            My neighbor and I were having fun galloping around the house, to capture my brother who would always play the Indian with no pony of his own. My brother sprang out from behind a large cinderblock barbeque my dad, had for years, been trying to keep from crumbling. When my brother did this, he did not comprehend how close the neighborhood boy was to his location, causing them to collide that resulted in my little brother falling against the edge of the Barbeque. Now we all know at that young of an age, any type of fall, whether a good fall or an accident would result in an ample amount of tears and mom would come running to check on baby brother. (Ok here’s an honest statement that I’ve kept to myself for years - yes I will say that at my age then, I always felt she worried about him more than me and yes I would get jealous.)  My brother was fine, it was just a simple accident and resulted in a mere bump to the forehead. Jimmy had also fallen into the barbeque, without any bump or scratches appearing.

            Now back in 1970’s parents on our road were notorious for contacting the other parents of the community to notify them if their children were in trouble, had gotten into trouble - or worse - had gotten hurt or were missing. Being 8, I never gave that notion any consideration when I had gone to Jimmy's house for lunch the next day. Still stewing over the situation and under the delusion that mom loved my brother more than me fueled my mouth. When I arrived at Jimmy's home, I was met with a kind hello from his mother who was in the kitchen making a glorious lunch of PB & J, apple juice and chips. What 8 year old would pass up lunch made with these three kid style food groups? NOT ME! As we sat at the table, Jimmy's mom kindly asked how my brother was doing. It was this inquiry that I walked right through the gates of Hell knowing perfectly well what I was about to do. I responded with the lie of lies - and not a slap on the hand don't do it again type of lie - this one was the mother of mothers and life would change for me the instant his mother got off the phone after confirming what I had said was true or not and that maybe my mother had not given all the information about the accident in the backyard.

            When Jimmy's mom hung up the phone, she remarked that I had to go home at that very moment.

            "Why would I have to go home? I just got here and haven't even finished my sandwich?" I thought to myself, "But I knew the truth I was about to face the music and mom's anguish about the one thing she hated the most - LIARS!"

            My house wasn't even an 8^th of a mile from where I was and most days I could be home in 45 seconds if I put myself into my galloping horse mode. In my whole life as a kid on White Oaks Road, this was the only day that I did my best to make this brief walk, drag out - only to be met in the front yard by my mother and her rage screaming for all to hear - "GO TO YOUR ROOM AND STAY THERE! YOU’RE GROUNDED!"  My mother always stood by what she said and meant every word of it.

            Ok, I'm hearing you now - "What did I say that pissed my mom off into a medusa mode?" Mind you, before I divulge what I said, I was 8, but I knew perfectly well what I was saying and why. So when somebody says to you, "I don't know why I lied," when you ask them a question about something they have said and/or have done especially when you have the facts - THAT IS NO EXCUSE - They know perfectly well why they said or did what they did  and lied! (Ok, quick vent, breathing….better now.)

            I had told Jimmy's mother that he had knocked out my brothers two front teeth when he ran into him. I could feel the lightning bolts of death crackling above my head as soon as the word absconded from my mouth. I knew it was only a matter of time before I would obtain the ass warming of a life time, but never in my wildest imagination did I ever think that my mother had it in her to punish me for the length of time she did.  And the statement – “I can take your birthday away from you - just watch me!” Yes my friends she had that power do such a thing and even as I continued to walk this great earth, I had never felt so alone and that to some, running away would have been the solution to escape being lonely.

            It was the month of August, my birthday month. There had been plans made for a big birthday party with all my friends, daily trips to the Weirs Beach to go swimming and play on the swings and the biggest event - the circus was coming to town for the very first time. I'll give you one guess who didn't get to take part in any of these big plans and that my birthday party had been reduced to just family members.

            Mom had held me accountable for my recurrent little white lies that garnished my stories before the big "Tooth" lie. This time my punishment consisted of more than the typical norm that was usually no TV, no bike riding for a day and once we tried the great taste of Irish Spring soap. However with my friends and their parents labeling me with the reputation of being a chronic liar, Mom took matters into her own hands, which started with a classic case of major red ass – And I certainly was not used to the newest form of punishment implemented that summer. I learned at a young age that I'd never survive in prison after being confined to my room for a month, only to come out to eat, use the bathroom, and answer the phone. In addition to my child style Folsom Prison blues, no friends could call or come over and As for TV - when school started in September, I was clueless to the new television scheduled line up of my favorite shows like the Brady Bunch, The Flintstone’s, Looney Toon's, and Gilligan’s Island.

(The oddity about my punishment being referenced as my child style Folsom Prison Blues is because while I was serving my time, and my mother was in the kitchen listening to her AM radio - It was the first time I had ever heard Johnny Cash sing Folsom Prison Blues. Ironic hua?  I'm not kidding when I say I have a life soundtrack and can be teleported back to that very time when I hear the songs that musically appeared during significant times in my life.)  

            To an adult getting this type of punishment, the attitude would be like - so what if you miss a few TV shows and don’t get to go out with friends when you’d like, but being an 8 year old and it’s summer vacation – it was a death sentence. I wrote many letters of my intent to run away, and how much I hated my mother and that she didn’t love me. However, after each closing of my runaway letters, I would sign it – Love Stacey, and I would realize what I had to lose.

            I didn’t hate my mother, I hated that I wasn’t getting my way or getting away with a behavior that if I continued – would hurt me throughout my life. It was then – my lesson was learn and I promised myself that I never wanted to feel so isolated again that people lose trust in a  person who lies or tell tall tales. I lost several friends and several opportunities to have fun that summer. That is why I speak the honest truth or keep my mouth shut, I do not lie, as I have nothing to gain except a life of stress, and what I like about traveling the road of honesty – the freedom of not having to remember which lie I’ve told and then having to cover up one after another. There is numerous ways to be honest without being harsh and hurtful.

            Now my mother had always said, one day you will have yours coming, and you’ll know just precisely when someone is lying to you like you have done to me and Jimmy’s mom. She was right and I see it as her legacy, a permanent lifelong lesson, and curse all at the same time.  Note to self – Lesson learned – The Truth Will Set You FREE!

            Flashing forward to this day: I have another problem to solve:  Getting my family to understand there is a liar among us – and it isn’t me. My younger son fell victim to this over the summer, but soon the truth about statements I had been making about a person’s behavior were actually ones of truth and the person they were about – finally confessed. I felt vindicated, but at the same time I could see the disappointment in my sons face, as he honestly believed I was the liar, but the lies were the defense of another to protect themselves from wrong doings being exposed. I’d like to think that my younger son sees the real person I am in a whole different light. But as for my oldest – he will only see the truth when he is ready and not a moment sooner. Until then I can only smile and do my best to stay happy, and believe one day these truths I tell will be discovered to be honest and will finally set his anger free.

POWERS OF A MOTHERS LOVE

Powers of a Mothers Love

Written by: Stacey Bolin

Music that motivated me to find my words:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9Dg-g7t2l4

I'm on the edge of emotions here in front of my computer, hands are cautiously atop the key board, my vision muddled as each click of the keys, form the words though the tears that have trolled down my face like incalculable times before - since the moment I gave birth to my beautiful boys and coping with the haunting reality that one day they will be out on their own. My dreams for them filled with a want for, a life that is rich with the power of compassion, empathy, friendships, passion, tenderness, affection, mystery, discovery, beauty and to feel the energy of life. I wish for them that the world will one day become the canvas of opportunity to reach out and touch any dream they could imagine… while at the same moment - I feel so helpless and my heart is broken.

As a mother, my heart pains with each time I am strained as they walk past the front door, knowing  they will occasionally fall to a lesson learned, with hope they get back up, while dusting themselves off, and start again. I want to grasp onto them and never let go of their hands. I must keep them safe, but their lives as young men on their own won’t allow me. I will never learn that part of the lesson is letting go. The pain to see them struggle, with things I to struggled with at the very same age. IT DESTORYS ME INSIDE! MY HEART BLEEDS! I stand screaming with only the sound of silence. I relive my own emotions being on my own for the first time, wondering that there was nothing left for me to do, how I was going to survive quaked inside my mind.  Pondering that life appeared easy as a child....what happened?  

As a mother I have to observe my babies learning to fly, even if the flight is met with disappointment to get off the ground. I try to allocate insight on untruths and negative propaganda of quick riches that dangles before them. I had no appreciation of the pain and fear that emanates from watching my young adult boys step out into this world and how insensitive it is outside the front door.  I'm compelled to say things in tones that I can never take back - now permanently embedded in my life soundtrack, but all in a lesson of love. Now feeling emotionally chastened for simply caring.

As a mother, I am reprimanded with a hollow hard-hearted sound of a voice of a young man that was once a child who looked at me with a soulful look - that there was no safer place to be that with his mom. Now that voice blames me for trying to teach him, to show him the way to be out on his own. I'm tired, I'm venerable, I have been verbally and emotional bruised, and I just want to walk away - But as a mother I can't, and I don't let myself give up. My children are god’s gift and I find the strength to get back up, dust myself off, and start again. One step at a time falling along the way myself, I’m their mother and nothing will ever change that.

The powers of a mothers love goes deeper than the deepest ocean and as wide as the mighty of light years of the universe that a child will never truly understand.  ~ Stacey Bolin.