Well, it's still much harder to write this all out than I had thought that it would be. As I was saying yesterday, before I was forced to take a break......
I still have many blank spots (also known as missing time) from that night, things that don't make sense in my mind, so I know that I have to be missing time. I remember clearly when I came to realise that there were really things that happened in life, that were far worse than death, and this was one of them.
I know know that they held me for at least three hours. After the women orgasmed, she bent over and bit my left breast so hard that it bled, then smiled at me and told me she wanted to leave me with something to remember her by. Brian seemed to think that was funny. He reached into a bag and pulled out a round metal thing and put it around his penis, she began sucking his penis right next to me. Brain looked at me and told me to learn to be a decent whore, that I sucked at it and needed lessons. When it got hard, he put his fingers in me and started telling me to tell him that I loved him, when I did't, he started shoving himself inside of me so hard that he was grunting, he just kept telling me to say it, say it cunt, say it user, tell me that you love me. I couldn't have told him even if I had wanted to, it hurt so bad it was hard for me to even breathe. He eventually got mad and got up and grabbed his pants, I thought that maybe he was leaving. He didn't. He came back with his belt and started choking me, telling me he was sick of me, that I was going to die. I was just so relieved that it was going to end. It had reached a point that I didn't care how, I just needed it to stop. When he realized that I wasn't fighting him, he stopped, got up and kicked me repeatedly in my hipe and told me I didn't deserve to get away with my shallow behavior so easily, that I was going to suffer more than I could ever imagine until I begged him to kill me. For what seemed like an eternity, they just kept torturing me over and over. Brian started hitting me with his belt and telling me that I needed whipped like the dog that I was. That I didn't act any better than a stupid animal, that a dog was more loyal than I was. He got down on his knees, pushed me onto my stomach, then he pulled me up to him like i was a rag, I was so weak that I couldn't even hold myself up anymore. He shoved himself inside of my anus and started pushing me back and forth, my chest and face was sliding back and forth in the dirt and all I could do was close my eyes to try and keep the dirt out. The last thing I remember was what looked light thousands of little pinpoint sized lights, and then it was like blackness just swallowed me. I passed out. When I woke up I was shaking all over, mud was stuck all over me, and I was freezing cold. At first, I just laid there, thinking that I would die pretty soon and it would be all over, then I tried to turn on my side and a pain shot through my stomach that hurt so bad I started dry heaving my guts out. It occured to me that they might have just gone to the car and they might be coming back right then. I started pulling my hands away from the tree, trying to get them out of the rope. I didn;t think I was going to be able to get out because my hands were so numb that I couldn't feel them. When I finally got one out the other one came right with it. All that I could think was that I had to get away. I tried to find my clothes, but all I could find was my shirt that he had cut in half, I put it on and held it together and just started running as fast as I could. I ran and ran until I realized that I was at Brians brother's house. I started beating on the door as hard as I could. Chris opened the door and I felt into him. When I woke up Chris was laying me down on the couch into Beth's lap, his wife. He went over to the phone and I flipped out. I told him, and I meant it, that if he called anyone that I would kill myself.
See, my parents had been drug addicts for my entire life, and to say that I had a disfunctional family is putting it mildly. My dad always worked, so we had the material stuff that we needed, but the only real emotion that anyone showed in my house was anger. Tears were ignored. There were no hugs, no saying anything about love, no trust, no closeness. We didn;t discuss anything of any substance ever in my family. And there was no way in hell that I was going to listen to my dad tell me how I deserved all of this because I had snuck out of the house. No way in hell that I was going to give him the chance to rub this in my face forever, no way I was going to have him look at me like I was a whore, I would have rather died.
Chris started pacing the floor and asking me why? asking me if I knew how badly hurt that I was. He kept wanting to know who did this, over and over and over. The whole time Beth was sobbing and rubbing my face with the rag. Finally all I could do is scream that it was Brian, that his brother had done it. I had never seen a man cry before. And he just fell to his knees and started crying. I was so shocked that I couldn't think of anything to say. When my dad found out that his cousin had molested me when I was four, he didn't even shed a tear, it was never even talked about ever again. Then he started saying... oh my God, oh my God, i'm so so sorry, oh my God. He came over and gave me a hug and told me to please bealieve that if he'd had any idea that Brian could do anything like that, he'd have never let him near me. I will still in shock, I actually couldn't believe that he believed me. I'd expected him to get mad at me, to call me a liar, to kick me out even, but he didn't. He carried me to the bathroom and Beth helped me get into the tub, she had to wash me because I was covered in dirt and bloody mud. I had stuff all tangled in my hair, and I was in more pain than I though ewas possible.
To make a long long story shorter, and because I can't get into detail much more about this. Brian came back to the house when I was there, and Chris went out and started beating him all over the yard. He was beating his head into his car and yelling at him how he was a dead man. I can't deny that I was relieved, even happy that he was getting the fuck beat out of him, but Beth started crying, saying he was gonna kill him, and then he would go to prison for the rest of his life. I had to make him stop, as much as I wanted him to beat the life right out of Brian, I had to. They had a newborn baby together, and I couldn't let him do it. *Sighs* In the spirit of keeping this shorter, Chris made Brian leave the state, told him he would disappear off of the planet if he didn't, and I have never seen him since, not that I am sure of anyway. Despite my hopes of death, I bled for almost a week, but never got my wish. Now I have severe chronic PTSD. (post traumatic stress disorder) I have flashbacks every day/night as real as that night was. I feel everything, smell his cologne, feel the blood seeping out between my legs, etc., and it is like a living hell that I can't seem to escape from no matter how hard that I try. It sucks big time. Needless to say, after many years of self analysis, more flashbacks than I can count, weekly therapy for nearly three years, and many more traumatic events, I finally began to unravel how that even structured many of the fears that I hold, including many years of being terrorified of any women touching me that may in any way be sexually attracted to me. It seems like I will never get any better, so I just try to survive each day as I can and wait to see what will happen.
Just my memories.
I can smell the whiskey on his breath when it blows across my face, the edge of the knife against my throat as he tells me that if I scream, he will gut me and fuck my dead body anyway. He is so much bigger than me, dragging me down the gravel road next to the canal like i'm a sack of potatoes. I am 12 years old, he is 17. I am only 5 foot 2 inches tall, he is 6 foot 4 inches tall. I weigh only 113 pounds, he weighs over 210 pounds. He has been my best friend for almost a year, hearing my most intimate secrets, holding me as I sob, getting me home safe when I was too drunk and stoned to walk by myself, always there for me when I needed him, always so gentle with me, always so kind. I cannot seem to wrap my mind around the fact that this is the same man that I know so well, that he is so angry with me, so venomous. He walks me off of the road, far back into the almond orchard, I can see the shadow of what we call "the burn pile," where people come from other towns to party so that the cops don't give them a bunch of shit. He pushes me down on the ground and ties my hands over my head to the tree. I hear a car coming, try to scream, he soves his hand over it so hard it felt like he was shoving me head right into the ground. I thought that he was going to break my jaw. He hits me in the stomach and tells me to keep my mouth shut, or else. He has the knife, he slides it close to my neck, just looking it, then slices the collar of my shirt and rips it open, then he slices the waist in two places, then the legs and rips my pants off of me so hard that it burned my waist. I was crying, shaking all over. He cut my bra open and ran the knife under my breast, he smiled and reached down and bit my nipple, I began to scream and he covered my mouth and stuck his tongue so deep down my throat that I almost threw up. I could hear the sounds of the leaves blowing through the orchard, footsteps coming closer, but he never stopped. He cut my pantis off and stuck his finger inside of me, then he put it in his mouth and smiled. He called me a back stabber, told me that I had betrayed him, that I had abondoned him when he had needed me the most, and for that, I was going to get what I deserved. I was crying, begging him to please stop, but the more that I told him that I was sorry, that I would do anything that he wanted, that I never meant to hurt him, the madder that he seemed to get, and he got up and started kicking my legs, telling me to shut up, to just shut the fuck up, that I was such a lying whore, a typical using women, a fucking leech. All I could do is shake my head no, I was sobbing so hard that I couldn't speak. I just couldn't believe that this was happening, and of all people that it was him doing it. I trusted him with my life, with secrets that I had never told anyone. I was so very wrong, so naive. **Taking a break**
He took his clothes off and stood there in front of me, not smiling, not talking, just watching me while I cried. There was someone behind me that I couldn't see. He got down on his knees and in one movement he flipped me around to where I was facing the ground, he shoved it into me so hard that I vomitted. It felt like someone was shoving a burning hot knife inside of my vagina, it hurt more than anything I had ever experienced in my life. He was shoving his penis so hard into me that I had to put my hands over my head to keep it from banging into the tree, all I could do is cry. The whole time he kept telling me how I deserved it, how much he had just wanted to show me what it was like to be loved, but that I had hurt him, abondoned him, how this was all my fault. The more that he said, the harder that he pushed inside of me. I could feel something hot coming out of me, it was so cold that it make me shiver all over, I assumed this it was blood. He pulled at my breast as he kept punding harder and pinched me, he started hitting me on my back and butt, punching my butt until it cramped. Finally he made groaning sounds and dropped me onto the ground. All I could keep thinking is that I wanted to die, anything to make it stop. It hurt so bad that I just needed it to stop. He said to someone to do what they had talked about. A naked women walked around and stood above me, I got to my knees and begged her to help me, to please make him stop, she bent over and ran her hand through my hair, whispering for me to shhh, that it would all be ok. I layed down on my side and pulled my legs to my chest, I hurt so badly all over my body that I can't describe what it felt like. *Breathes deeply* She sat down next to me pushing me over on my back, she started sucking my breast, licking them. I puked all over myself, I couldn't stop it. She reached over into a bag and pulled out a bottle of water, she opened it up, held my nose, and poured it into my mouth until I choked, then she poured the rest all over my neck and hair and told me to be a good girl and not to be so nasty anymore or she would have to punish me. I couldn't believe it, this had to be a nightmare, it wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening, I was just dreaming, but it was happening and I couldn't make them stop. I just wanted them to stop. Brian started rubbing her back and she put her finger inside of me, rubbing around, up and down, rubbing her breast over my stomach.
To what is now my greatest shame, within a few minutes, I had what I now know to be an orgasm. Despite all that I have been told since that night, I can't help but feel so ashamed and feel like I might have deserved it, that it was my fault just like they had said that it was. That I was dirty, nasty, a whore, just like they said I was.
After I orgasmed, she straddled my pelvis and began rubbing her pelvis against mine, then she stopped. Brian shoved me over onto my stomach, I was so damn scared, and in so much pain, that I couldn't even move anymore. I layed my head on my hands and kept praying that I would just die. Then something happened that I could have never imagined. She shoved something inside of my anus and I screamed. Brian began kicking me in my side and my arm telling me to keep my fucking God damn mouth shut, because no matter what I thought, he could gut me, have me dead, and still do what he wanted to with me before anyone found me. At that point, the idea of him killing me sounded much better than this, I just didn't have the energy to want to live anymore, to keep going through this. * feel sick* She put her fingers in my vagina again and started moving them around, then she put the thing she had back inside of me, inside of my anus. I threw up again, dry heaving because I didn't have anything left in my stomach. I had already puked out all of the beer I had drank, so there was nothing left to get out of me. Then it started to get harder. I realized that Brian was behind her, he was having sex with her while she shoved this thing into my butt.
I have allot of missing time, things that I can't remember, I guess it was maybe times that I passed out, I just don't know. *i'm sorry, can't go on right now. i just cant*
I will try to explain the rest when I can. I'm sorry.
FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! I hate life! I hate life! I HATE life!!!!!!!!!! I wanna die! I wanna die! I wanna die!! I wanna die!!!!! I wanna die!!! I wanna die!!!! I wanna die!!! I wanna die!!!! I wanna die!!! I WANT to die!! I WANT to die!!! I WANT TO DIE!!! I WANNA DIE!!!! I WANNA DIE!!! I WANNA DIE!!!!! FUCK LIFE!! TO HELL WITH IT!! FUCK IT ALL!! I HATE IT!!! I WANNA DIE!! I WANNA DIE!!! TAKE ME! MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP, MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!! I HATE IT!! MAKE ME DIE MAKE ME DIE, MAKE ME DIE, FUCKKKK YOUUUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HATE LIFE!!!!!!! I DONT WANT IT!!!! TAKE IT!! TAKE IT!!! TAKE IT!!!! TAKE IT!!!! TAKE IT!!! I HATE LIFEEEEE!! 
Just my thoughts.
EAST ST. LOUIS, Ill. (AP) A judge on Monday ordered a psychological examination for a woman accused of killing a pregnant acquaintance and cutting her fetus from her womb.Prosecutors say she killed Jimella Tunstall, 23, who was about seven months pregnant, and her fetus.
According to authorities, Hall told police she also drowned Tunstall's three children ages 7, 2 and 1, and stuffed them into a washer and dryer at the apartment they shared with their mother. Hall has not been charged in the children's deaths.
What can one say about such a horrendous, sickening, terrible crime? This isn't the only case of suatrocitiesies, far from it in fact! The good die young, that's what they say. People tell me I shouldn't be so depressed all of the time, make comments like, "get over it," when the problem is, I cannot help but feel immersed in these terrors that happen daily all around us. I know I should try arealizeise that since I cannot personally change most, or any of it, that I should try to live my life the best that I can, and seek peace, but how can I when chaos is all around me 24 hours a day? How can I pretend that humanity is evolving for the better, when obviously, we are NOT?! I brought children into this world, and each day, I feel more and more guilt over the horrors that they will have to face in their lives. I feel ashamed that I look around, and know, that if I had known then, what I know now, I would have NEVER had children, would have NEVER forced a child to grow up in this hell! Yes folks, do NOT bury your head in the sand and ignore the obvious, thtrulyely IS hell!! Thetrulyely IS EVIL beings all around us every single day, all of the time, seeking to break, tear, and destroy all that is good, and I cannot becodelusionalnal enough to pretend otherwise. I cry, I cry often, but despite my best wishes, despite my havifoughtght to seek answers to make changes, I have lost hope for humanity as a whole. I feel shattered inside, broken forever more, and wondering around lost in a vicious world where there is no refuge! I don't understand why.
*sigh*
Just my thoughts.
*Crying*
Why would anyone think that others care if they live to see another day? I don't know. Why would anyone feel the empathy of another person's suffering? A willingness to share strength that you have with one who may not, for many different reasons, have as much as you do. Or is it that people with a lack of strength to over come what feels like a hopeless situation, or emotions of hopelessness, are merely weak individuals who have nothing to offer society any longer, so their lives aren't of any further value? Maybe so. If you hold that belief, are you willing to be present, personally, to watch them die? Are you willing to help them end their suffering for the "betterment of humanity?" Yes, I am talking about societal cleansing, the purging of the less deserving, the less fortunate, the needy. The list somehow seems to be growing now. If someone who is mentally ill deserves to be "put to sleep," for the betterment of humanity, soon the list will include the elderly, the physically handicapped, including those with physical weaknesses, like heart problems, cancer, and so on. Now it somehow doesn't seem to be such a great idea after all, or maybe it is, if you are suicidal, but somehow I believe that those who lack empathy are beginning to see the flaws in this plan. So will anyone care more, want to change things for those I speak of, chose to care more, put forth more of an effort? I doubt it. *Sigh*
Just my thoughts.
Just........ Me
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Facetious Muses
Sometimes it feels as if the hearts, minds, and souls of two people have joined,and feel the exact same things. *sigh*
Life seems to be slipping away. There is no hope left to hold me through the dark hours. There is no light to guide my way through the blackness. I have no strength left to fend off the demons. Blood is oozing from my body. I am constantly weakening. Exhaustion seems to be consuming me. When will time stop?
Just...... me
I have been what is known as a "Cutter," or a "Self Injurer" since I was about 13 years old. I have had PTSD, (post traumatic stress disorder) since I was 12 years old. SI (self injury) comes and goes throughout life, some times are better than others, but when it is bad, it is really bad. The flashbacks that I have are as real to me as the present is for me, and most others. I feel when the two people raped me, I can literally feel them shoving themselves inside of me. I can feel the burning, the sensation of ripping inside. I can feel him sinking his teeth into me. I feel the pain when the woman shoved the bottle inside of my anus so hard that I vomited. It all hurts just as bad when I flashback, (if not more so, because I had a sort of... Out-of-body experience, they say happens as a sort of survival mechanism) as it did the night that it happened, even when he choked me, I still come out of it with a sore throat, gasping for air sometimes. It is THAT real! Thoughts of death and suicide are in my mind constantly, and so far, everything that I and others have tried, has failed to make things much better. I went through three years of weekly therapy, and have ended up on medication as a means of trying to survive. I DO NOT, despite some people views, or misinformation, like... nor do I WANT to be like this, I simply am. I try to take each day one at a time, sometimes minute by minute, laugh as much as I can, and cope as well as I can, that is the way life is for most people, it just isn't quite as simple for some as it seems to be for others.
Just my thoughts.
--Just.... me
!!!!!!!!!!!Beware!!!!!!!!!!!
What you are about to see is NOT for the faint of heart!!! May Trigger flashbacks for some people, so please be careful!
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HAHAHA!!! Too cute..........
Try hard to laugh, it's the cheapest form of life's fewest pleasures.
--Just_April1974
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Life is too hard, too much pain, too many tears,
too many nightmares, too many smothered
screams, too many heartaches, and far too
little happiness. It's a vicious, never ending
circle. I wear a fake smile, throw out fake
humor, laugh fake laughter, when inside
my hear screams out, flooded with a river
of tears that never stops flowing, when does
it end? Is there really something better?
Do other people really experience true
happiness? I do not know. I have never
experienced it. Only all too brief moments
of joy, quickly drowned by disappointment
and more pain. My soul is weary, exhausted.
I am tired of the war for survival in a world
that never seems to change, in a mind
that never feels better. *Sigh*
Just...... me.
_____________________
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Humor is the best way to cope with life when
all else feels hopeless.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hRH6tap49qw
--Just_April1974
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I was only 12 years old, they left me broken & bleeding on the outside, and destroyed on the inside. They punched, slapped, bit, kicked, pinched, and toyed with my body. They slashed at my soul slowly, with surgical precision and then they cut away the vital parts of it, so that it may die away a little more each night. They worked together, with eyes as black and soulless as coal, shoving fingers, a bottle, even his penis inside of me. It didn't go in willingly, my body fighting against the unwanted invasion, he forced it inside, tearing, stretching, holding my legs apart as it felt like my insides were on fire. Feeling the blood begin to drip from inside of me, losing my breath to the vomit as it rose into my throat, frantic and alone, pain gripping me like knives shredding through to my bones. I felt him ram it inside of my small body, breaking it forever..... taking away girlish fantasies of "knights in shining armor." His teeth sank into the tender flesh of my breast, while she forced her fingers into my other forbidden place. I felt the tears flooding down my face, could hear whimpers escaping my throat, but I was their prisoner, their toy, I had no chance of escaping.... his body nearly crushing me into the dirt beneath, I longed for death to envelope me and take me from this hell. Wet lips, tongues creeping over my body like snakes hidden in the fall grass, slithering along, ready to strike at it's prey, it made me shiver inside. My mind seemed to go numb as he wrapped his belt around my throat, telling me I was a whore, a betrayer of his trust, how my abandonment deserved the worst sort of punishment, but I did not struggle... instead I waited for the calm to overcome me and take me away from this nightmare, I felt it coming, it was so close I could barely hold my eyes open, I saw it coming to heal me, to free me from their torture... but then it vanished. I was coughing, gasping for air, and he was laughing at me, telling me that I didn't deserve to get away from my punishment that easily, but I heard anger in his voice because I had wanted to die, and I had been right, because he grabbed my hips, pulled me to his pelvis, and shoved himself inside of me so hard that everything around me seemed to light up from white pain, and then went all black again, and darkness took me away. Hours had felt like months, each second had seemed to be dragging, heavy, towing a heavy weight upon it, nothing seemed real, as if I had been stolen into a twisted world where everything had been slowed to such a pace that you could hear every single beat of your heart, and the wind seemed to flow by you in slow motion. I don't know how many hours it lasted, how long that they kept me prisoner in this suspended world, but I know that when I returned, nothing... including my mind and my body, were ever the same again. He had imprinted himself into my soul, is able to take me at will, to make me beg for mercy, he brings terror to me from every shadow, there is no escaping his wrath, no rest from his punishment, only waiting for the ending of it all, to be taken to the place where even he cannot reach me.... it will come... someday.
Just.......... me.
All I can ever do is cry anymore. I cannot picture myself in the future. I can't see myself as 40, 50, 60 years old or more. The evolution of humanity feels so extremely negative to me that everything seems so very hopeless, people do not seem to be evolving for the good as a whole, and it is so depressing! I find it hard to comprehend why people rarely ever try to imagine what it must be like to be someone else, another race, gender, religion, or how it must feel to have a different sexual attraction that those who share the sexual "norms" that most other people share. People tend to ignore what it must be like to be apart of the many different kinds of "minorities" in this world, including the mentally ill, even though mentally ill people make up a very large percentage of people throughout the world. It makes me hate living more and more everyday. I think about what a relief it will be to end all of the pain, to make it stop, to never have to suffer the cruelty of it all ever again. To go through life every single day and night, having flashbacks, literally feeling the beating.... being choked with his belt, slapped, kicked in my side and stomach, being bitten all over my body, his teeth sinking into my breast, his "manly-hood" forcing inside of me, feeling as though my insides are being ripped apart, soul shredding agony, as if I'm a slave to being tortured repeatedly, and it's horrific! How can anyone not comprehend how the feeling of death feels so much more preferable? *Crying* Could you endure what feels like being put through that between 3 and 14 times a day/night, with NO relief, no time in between to heal a little, never ending? I live it, and I don't want to, I'm exhausted. *Crying*
Just........ Me
Yesterday {previously posted, Samantha's B-day is Feb. 7th.} my daughter would have turned 14 years old, if she had lived. On June 21st. 1998, early in the morning, I was startled when my mother came to my bedroom door, as usual, I was awake already, behind her my son was jumping straight up and down with a look of complete terror on his little face, and as she leanded against the door jam trying to breath, as if to scream, I barely heard her whisper out that Samantha wasn't breathing. Everything happened within several heartbeats, yet it all seemed to be in slow motion. The words had barely left her lips and I was rolling off of my bed onto the floor, my bed was high off the ground and I am short. I hit the floor at a run. Past my mother and my son, I ran into the living room, fell over the coffee table, and never stopped, I kept running at a crawling position until I was standing again. I ran into the bedroom where she had been sleeping and my father was doing CPR. I knelt at her side and grabbed her hand, I will never forget how cold it was. I knew deep in my mind that it was too late, but as a parent, your heart and consciousness cannot grasp the reality of it, the finality of losing your child. I couldn't look my father in his face, I couldn't look at anything except my child lying there, one of her eyelids slightly open. Some how I ended up at her feet, it is strange what they mind does when you are faced with something so horrific. I can't remember if I yelled at him or not, but I told him he wasn't doing CPR right on her, I remember grabbing both of her ankles and pulling her flat onto the floor, I went to her side and raised her chin and began breathing into her. Her lips were like ice, and just like ice it seemed to spread through my whole body. *Sobbing here* I could hear a wheezing noise as I tried breathing for her, and I began chest compressions, not even for a second did I wonder if I was doing it right, I just knew she needed air, and her blood needed to be pumped through her body. In what spanned a lifetime and an instant all at the same time, suddenly there was a policeman there, he asked me if I knew CPR when I stopped and moved back, and I said no and just watched him as he began chest compressions. within a couple of seconds I yelled at him and asked him why he wasn't breathing for her, she HAD to have air, and he responded that there were people coming in right now who could do better than him. At that point I turned and looked as the EMS people walked through the door, and I moved sideways to the end of her bed. They began hooking her up to an EKG machine and putting in IV's, and at that point, right there in front of everyone, I began openly, what I had been doing silently the whole time, begging God to give me my child back. There was never a single doubt in my mind that he could do it, that he was real, that he could change it all and send my daughters soul back into her body. But my mind knew it wasn't going to happen, that it wasn't meant to happen, that what was lying on that floor was merely a shell, and my little girl had been gone for quite awhile. *Tears and keyboards don't go well together* I remember someone touching my shoulder at about the same time reality was consuming me, whoever it was said that maybe I should come out of the room so that I wasn't in the way, and with a voice that spewed forth my intension to murder anyone or anything that tried to force me, I remember saying, "DO NOT TOUCH ME!" So many small moments from that morning are missing from my memory, just gone forever. I remember walking just outside the bedroom door as they brought in the stretcher, and hearing the sounds of the EKG machine as they shocked her heart, still praying to God to take me, to let me die on that spot, just to bring her back. Within a couple of minutes they came out with her, all I could see was that her hand was hanging outside the stretcher and I kept thinking that they would hurt it when they tried to go out the front door, so I held it, still thinking how extremely cold it was, how strange that a body could get so cold, and I put it next to her and covered it up. They left with my child as I tried to get my shoes on, and told someone to get me a drink because my throat felt as dry as leather. As we walked out to our truck, I vomited, and just kept walking to get into the truck so we could get to the hospital as fast as we could. We went in and told them why we were there, and they told us to please sit down and wait, that was impossible, so I went out in front of the hospital and began chain smoking and pacing back and forth. A woman came out and as she was leaving, she told me she would keep us in her prayers, it never entered my mind at the time that she must have heard the doctors and nurses talking about my child being dead, because in my mind, I still had hopes for a miracle, dwindling hope, but hope none the less. Finally they called us back, and took us to a room and told us that the doctor would be right in, the doctors never come right in. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity until finally in came the doctor, and out of her mouth came that old, tired line that was so generic I wanted to puke, "I am so sorry to inform you, that despite our best efforts, your daughter has died." She couldn't even get it out and I was shaking my head "yes" like she was stupid and just asked her where my daughter was, that I wanted to see her. They made us wait again, which is torture as far as I am concerned. When they came back to get us, I was trying not to puke everywhere, and I wanted to scream so bad that I could barely stand it. They took us in, and there was my little girl, pale, her hair oily from being sick, swollen, and lifeless. I couldn't even cope with my husband, who was never there for me, it had always been about him, so I was left to cope with the emotions alone. I ran my finger through her hair, she was so cold I could feel it emanating from her body, and I just could not bear to touch her skin again. I looked at her, and in my mind, I told her how much I loved her, how much I would miss her, how so very sorry I was that I had let her down, how sorry I was that I hadn't been with her, and that I was glad that she had gone somewhere that she could be healthy and happy forever, and I said goodbye. I walked into the hallway, and suddenly it crashed upon me, how would I bury my child? No one expects to lose their baby, they can't, the thought is unbearable. Of course, they offered to call a pastor for us, and I was so mad at God by that time I said no, because I was afraid that I would kill the poor man just to piss God off. I finally had to drag my husband out of the room, telling him we had to let her go, when in reality I just had to escape, I had to get back to my other kids so that I could hold on to a reason to live, or I was afraid I would kill myself right there in that hospital. When we got home, all I could do was hold my kids, and smoke cigarettes. I briefly went into my room and tried to sleep because I felt exhausted, like I had aged 50 years in just that hour, but I couldn't sleep, all I could do was begin sobbing my heart out, so I forced myself to stop and just went back outside and sat down with my kids and began chain smoking again. The police came. I soon found out that when a child dies they have to gather evidence to take to the coroners, like the blankets and any other stuff they decide is necessary to investigate the child's death. I told them I didn't give a shit, just to get what they needed and leave. (I didn't find out until several years later that the police had already came back to my house and informed my parents that my daughter was dead) The next few days was a blur, most of which I don't even remember. I couldn't cope with raising the money for the funeral, or making the arrangements, so my parents did it all. My maternal grandmother came down {to California} from Washington state to help, she was always there when something bad happened to help all that she could, it was a blessing, I doubt that my mom could have managed without her and my father, she was basically having a nervous breakdown anyway. The funeral came, with the pastor being the father of some kids I went to school with from first grade all throughout high school. I had known him most of my life, and it was such a comfort to have him be the one to say what I couldn't. I sat there, with everyone else crying, and I was unable to shed a tear. I watched them all, knowing they they all expected me to go completely insane and flip out at any second, but I didn't, I just sat there feeling totally empty until it was all over, and then I took my other children home. It took my almost six months to find out why she had died. A few days before our first Christmas without her, I finally got the call, after having called the coroners office a hundred times trying to get some answers. My daughter had gotten parasites from eating the dirt. Over a year's time, they caused her to get a system-wide blood infection that attacked her heart, it weakened her outer heart muscle until it just couldn't do the work anymore, and it gave out. My daughter died from heart failure when she was six years, four months, and two weeks old. She passed six days after my twenty-fourth birthday. As agonizing as it is, as much as I hate it, life goes on. Nothing will ever be the same, I will never stop missing her, but that is life.
The following is a poem that I wrote about that morning.........
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