and them i wish to tell

A thought out of nowhere took me back.
OCO. The OC Supertones. Laurel Higbee. God was that even their name? It was so long ago. 8th grade. Googled it, OC Super…tones. Yest it was! I can’t believe I remembered that. Ska. 3-piece-suit. Essence of Nard. LOL. what memories. What a traumatic time in my life. Molestation. Echos of rape. Abuse. Hate. Hope. Clutching at straws… I didn’t know how traumatized I was then. Resiliency research seeks to explain… but now the thought of then shakes me up… and amidst the swirling fears moments of religious exploration and loves sought and loves lost. And making do and scraping by and making a statement. I think that’s why I wanted to re-know Nick so much. A good connection to a bad but desperate time that I’ve left but can’t lose. That and I was in love with him. But what did I know about love?... he was right. And I was right. And now I’m nothing to resemble then, but have the stories still. And them I wish to tell.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_O.C._Supertones

seeing it on tv

the world should stop every time someone get's raped. there is nothing you can do to make it better, to make it go away. you are forever alone again. hold me. the darkness is cold.
you know i always thought i just had strong reactions, but i think it's the ptsd (past) getting triggered. there is no privacy from the inside of me. and the vulnerability is overwhelming. needing me to hide what i don't even know
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.
and it always comes back up.

i don't want to hold my son when i feel this way. i don't want to expose him. i carry a dangerous disease of lust and power and evil and stripping someone of the safety in who they are. lest you reach through me and touch my baby with this vile curse of your insanity

his heart beats...and i breath

I’m wound up with wishes.
And hopes.
And dreams.
And fears.
What am I going to do with my baby. I wear him thin. But he holds me up.
I relax in his embrace… I hold it in my mind.
his heart beats...and i breath

Incidentally (What will the future hold?)

I’m at work, and I need to get back to work. It’s just that work makes me think a little too much sometimes… and seems to be the only time I have time to write.

Incidentally.

What an oxymoron! Do you ever do things just because it’s what you think the person you would want to be would do? Yes. Answering for myself of course. It’s why I asked the question. And here I am realizing that I’m homophobic, in discomfort at least. I need to learn more and not from books, from people. Put up a pink triangle in my office today. Wonder what I’ll think of that in a year. Hopefully I grow between now and then… a lot. Well, baby steps right? Maybe I can start volunteering at Rainbow Alley a couple of hours a week when I go part time. Have so many plans for then… I shame and hope in the same breath. Catch my breath. Catch myself. What will I teach my son in life, about life. I’m never everything I want to be, sigh, even as I take breaks, I take strides, hopefully in the right direction. And vise versa. It goes so slow. And so fast. Last time I wrote Kristoffer was a six months from conception, now six from birth. Who would have thought. Who could have known. All that goes between a thought and an action, when a life is formed and reformed and transformed. What will the future hold?

at 6 months pregnant

Assuming my son is born on his due date, there are 107 days left. One hundred seven. As terrified as I am of labor and birth. I’m ready. I’m really, really ready. Ready for my body back. Ready for the nausea to pass. Ready to meet my son. Ready to see his face and hold him in my arms. Engorged breasts, exhaustion and newborn cries, I’m ready for the change. I feel like I’ve been pregnant forever.

Kristoffer's Year

My son.
I hold you in my belly.
My belly between my hands.
You’re coming this year and I want you to know
We elected a black president.
In the start of your life,
in your year
2009.
We elected a black president.

It doesn’t mean more than it does,
but it shouldn’t mean less.
In your lifetime,
don’t let it mean less.

For
Justice
The freedom to have rights
And claim rights
And rise above
Injustice
Inch by monumental inch

I’m not sure I have the courage
To bless you with the mandate to make justice mean what it should.
But when you falter, and wonder and fear
Remember the year you were born into
And all the trembling history,
The tears, blood and sweat
That spilled into making way for the events of today.

And be reminded that your place, and your stance, however small
Will shape the way of the next inch we take.

And know that on January 20, 2009,
I held you unborn in my belly as I watched the inauguration ceremony of the first black president of the United States of America
And I called it your year.