Greyhound

 I have been on a bus for the last 22 hours. I have never experienced traveling this way except for school field trips. 22 hours is a long time. Stopping at stops along the way to drop off or pick up new people. What is happening, I have no idea. My mom and I are asking about the situation at hand. I have no direction because we are not moving forward. This is unsettling to me; I am 12 years old.

I must have looked tired because a man gave me his seat, the back seat of the bus. It is like a bench, and you can spread out instead of trying to rest on two separate seats. Why did this man give up his seat for me? He is young. Where is he going? Has he been on this long ride with me, and I did not see him? What did he see in my situation to give up his god damn seat? Why, I just do not understand.

I told the truth. I told the truth about the touching that did not stop when I spoke up the first time. I know I have been wronged. Why am I feeling bad? Why am I feeling such guilt? I do not remember much about the last 22 hours; it is a blur, but I know enough. Am I being punished? That's the real question.

Our first stop was with my Aunt Fran. Oh my God, oh my Lord, why did you put me with this awful woman? Oh my God, this situation sucks. I feel like I am being really punished. My mom nor anyone has told me what was going on. I am so glad my sister and brother will get to meet her. She is rude, loud, and nasty. I have never met a person this mean. We had to take a taxi because her son did not want to be around her. She yelled at the cab driver from the time he picked us up until he dropped us off. It was an awful thing to watch. The driver being belittled. I do not even know where we are going. I just wonder how my mom can be related to her.

Thank you, Jesus. Thank you. While I was there, I saw a file. Papers from when I was in kindergarten. I am twelve now. Oh, a favorite teacher said something nice about me. I remember making brownies.

Thankfully, my mom realized that a police officer lived nearby, so we had to keep moving to stay hidden.

Dreams: Hallucination or Reality?

 I awoke feeling frozen, grappling with the incredulity of my recent experience. There was only one other time I recall encountering something similar, two decades ago. The intensity of the encounter compelled me to rise and switch on the light. Although I recognized it as a dream, it was unlike any other dream I had ever observed. In my usual dreams, movement, and speech are beyond my reach, but this felt palpable as if I were awake throughout.

In my current home's hallway, I found myself. An unseen force gripped my hair, treating it like a rubber band, attempting to yank me toward the bathroom door. The sheer strength of this force was remarkable. I managed to break away slightly, attempting to roll in a circular motion near the living room couch. However, the pull towards the bathroom persisted, leaving me questioning its purpose. In a strange turn of events, I found myself face to face with my husband, desperately trying to awaken him by touching his face. Regrettably, he remained unresponsive, offering no assistance. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the force vanished.

To dispel my unease, I got up, turned on the television, and poured myself a glass of wine.

The other instance in which I experienced this phenomenon was distinct. I could sense the pressure of multiple hands on my back, pinning me down. I maneuvered my body onto the bedroom floor, attempting to climb up my dresser. Then, in an instant, I found myself back in bed. The authenticity of the encounter was unsettling; I genuinely felt immobilized by an external presence.

It took me considerable time to shake off the unsettling feeling of intrusion.

Jack of All Trades: A Tribute to My Father's Journey

Throughout my upbringing, I closely observed my father's unwavering work ethic. His ability to thrive in various fields while retaining the heart of a salesman fascinated me. My earliest recollection takes me back to a printing company, where the scent of freshly printed paper permeated his van. He seamlessly transitioned to a linen company, expertly repaired lawnmowers, and delved into selling carpets and flooring. He even ventured into the world of car sales. His journey culminated in owning a printing company, an experience that would later impact my own career path.

Witnessing his multifaceted talents left an indelible mark upon me. I found myself in awe of his determination and versatility. My mother, in contrast, didn't pursue a career, leaving my father to shoulder the responsibilities of providing for the family.

As an adult, I've come to comprehend the challenges we faced during my upbringing. We lacked air conditioning and luxuries, often having meager meals on the table. It dawned on me that health insurance was absent from our lives. My father bartered his printing skills for medical care, which unfortunately couldn't shield him from a diagnosis of heart disease. The absence of life insurance and a retirement plan left us vulnerable.

With my emergence into adulthood, I assumed the role of supporting both my parents through the remainder of their lives. Reflecting on my father's legacy, I began to recognize the sacrifices he made. Our modest lifestyle revealed the extent of what we went without. It was my father who jump-started my career at the age of 19, just as I became a parent myself. I remain profoundly grateful for his assistance, as it paved the way for my present circumstances.

My family was fortunate; we didn't have to endure the struggles of living hand to mouth. I attribute this stability to the kindness I've extended to others. Recognizing this, I'm grateful to have earned a stable life. While my retirement prospects in my 50s may be limited, I'm relieved to have moved beyond the cycle of paycheck-to-paycheck living.

 I've always taken pride in my father's remarkable aptitude and his ability to tackle an array of challenges. It's only in hindsight that I realized the underlying difficulties he faced. Questions arise about my mother's lack of employment and the potential trajectory our lives might have taken.

Ultimately, my father's journey was one of adaptability and resilience, and though he may have confronted unspoken worries about financial security, his legacy endures as a testament to his multifaceted skills and enduring determination.

My Decision

 When I was 19, I made the decision to have you and raise you, among many other choices that I had. In my late 20s, I found myself taking care of my parents financially without any help. I had to work around the clock and was rarely home. Then I met someone who ended up taking up more of my time, but looking back, it was a big mistake. The biggest of my life. It took me 15 years to realize this regret, and for the past 12 years, I've been trying to apologize for my blindness.

You claimed to forgive me, but your treatment towards me remains hurtful. Whenever you have the chance to hurt me, you take it, as demonstrated on Mother's Day when you chose someone else over me. I can't compete with her. Even when I went to see my granddaughter, it became evident where I stand in your life and how you feel about me. It's apparent that you haven't truly forgiven me, and I don't know what else I can do. I feel like I'm fighting a battle I can never win.

Actual Headlines today:
Father buries 6-year-old daughter alive overnight
Mom tried to hire hitman to kill 3-year-old son
Latest: police searching for missing toddler in a landfill. Mother prime suspect
Child found locked in dog kennel said he lived outside for months

The headlines in the news today about parental neglect and abuse make me wonder if you compare me to those terrible parents. I urge you to take a deep look within yourself or speak to your therapist to understand the anger you harbor. I can no longer be your punching bag. The nasty texts you sent me your words hurt me deeply. That is what you wanted to achieve, and you did. I stopped reading them and I heard that it disappointed you.

It's crucial to remember that being nasty to anyone, regardless of the circumstances, is unacceptable.
I realize there's nothing I can do to change your negative thoughts about me. You made up your mind when you took the cheater back. Maybe one day something will change your perspective. I'm trying to be patient because I've worked hard on myself to find contentment in life. I know what I have at hand, and I am happy. Happiest that I have ever been. I tried and I tried, but you are so stubborn in your way of thinking. You claim to be religious; your behavior isn't reflective of a Christian.

Ultimately, you are only hurting yourself and your child, I have seen you do the same thing to her that I did to you. I apologize again and again for the time lost with you. It feels like a never-ending cycle., I can’t keep subjecting myself to this emotional roller coaster that you've created in my life. I do not think my worst enemy deserves to be treated this way.

Sometimes I wished I had put you up for adoption, wondering how different things might have been for both of us. Every time I confide in another parent they gasp. As your mother, this message is heavy-hearted and difficult for me to write, but I can no longer endure this abuse and negativity. However, I've come to accept the situation. I have finally stopped crying when I hear the song "You are the Reason". I think I need to take steps back or just walk away.

I Talked to my Mom tonight

 I talked to my mom tonight, we were discussing the attack on France (Bastille Day truck attack that killed eighty on July 14th, 2016). I have not been able to hear any news on it myself only a little, my mom does not believe Isis was involved. My niece had told her that Isis does not believe in killing children and there were children among the dead. My heart breaks, even though I posted my feelings on a media site, I hope my state shows support for them, many countries have shown us support.

Then we got talking about 9/11. I told her my fears are worse now because my nephews and nieces are still growing up and most of all, my granddaughter and great niece. She said you cannot be afraid, when it is your time, it's your time.

I do feel in a huge way that I am here for a reason. I had been born three months early and only weighed two pounds, with very little technology back then, but I survived despite the odds against me. There is a purpose for my survival. I am now at a standstill in my life, in terms of overwhelming responsibility. I know this situation very well; I have been here many times and hated it but right now I love it because I get to focus on myself. I remember it used to drive me so crazy!

Well, now that my dad is in a nursing home, I am trying to find the right moment to talk to her about what my dad had done to me and when we hid from the authorities for 9 months. Does she believe me? Does she ever think about it? I am not sure.

In the mail today, I received a bill for two thousand dollars for my dad's care. So, we talked about when Dad first got sick, I was paying $1000.00 a month out of my pocket alone for those 2 years. She said she did not remember and felt horrible. I said “Well how much did it cost when I was born and had to stay in the hospital for 6 months. We are even!

I still need to have that talk I really need to know if she believed me because it really did happen.

Trains

 Trains have played a significant role in my life, evoking a multitude of memories.

Years ago, I had to deal with trains at least twice a day during the week, and unfortunately, they would often break down. I distinctly remember a particular instance when I had to pull off the road and wait for the train to pass. I even had to call my job to explain the delay, only to find out they had also encountered issues reaching work an hour before me.

During cool weather, the office would open its doors to let fresh air in. Since my job is located close to the tracks, the passing trains can be quite loud. I recall one time when a train's noise bothered my boss, but I must respectfully disagree, as it didn't bother me as much.

Let me take you back to a flashback from my fourth-grade field trip to Virginia in "Fife of Drum." Early in the morning at 4 am, I found myself locked in the bathroom, and it took them a whole 45 minutes to free me. By the time they succeeded, all my classmates were already up, and I couldn't help but feel embarrassed.

Another memory takes me back to when I was twelve years old. It was a time when my mom and I embarked on a bus journey to West Virginia, seeking refuge from the authorities who were urging me to testify against my dad for the things he had inflicted upon me. The kind gesture of a male passenger offering me the back seat, which resembled a bed, made the arduous 22-hour journey a bit more bearable.

Despite reaching West Virginia, our journey didn't end there. We ended up in Indiana, where an old family friend took us in. However, tensions arose when one of the household's children had to give up their bed for us, and their displeasure was evident. My room was on the second floor, and the bed was on the top bunk next to a window. I remember lying there with my earphones on, listening to Starship’s “We Built This City” when the window began to vibrate. It turned out to be a passing train, and surprisingly, I felt calm and safe, a feeling I hadn't experienced until that point, having felt so alone before.

On my last birthday, I had the opportunity to ride the Sunrail, the commuter train near my location, and it was a cool and enjoyable experience.

I also recall an Easter spent at a bar on a Harley, right beside the train tracks. Every time a train passed by, they would ring a bell and offer shots, creating a unique and memorable celebration.

Currently, I commute to work by car and must cross three sets of train tracks. There was one occasion when I got stopped at all three crossings, resulting in a lengthy journey home. But, typically, in the mornings, I manage to miss encountering any trains.

Throughout my life, trains have left an indelible mark, each memory carrying its own story, making them an integral part of my personal history.