Mood Music For The Discerning Molester

grim reaperI absolutely love to write. I am a freelance writer for a magazine, work a steady job in human resources, keep this blog updated, and write little articles for Yahoo that no one will ever find. I love every minute of it.

Until I feel like I have to.

When I first started this blog, I would write a post every single day, and sometimes more than one. It was my escape from Meth Hell, where Chef was losing his mind, and the constant panic I felt about just how bad things had gotten.  I seriously am convinced that this blog, and you guys, really contributed to my ability to not get stuck indefinitely in that pain. It felt like an eternity getting to the point where I was able to make it through one entire day without weeping. I look back now, and I’m kind of blown away that this time last year, I was still a human wreck.  Now I have this whole experience with love, betrayal, blogging, journal therapy, trust, honor, motorcycle clubs, Christianity, ghetto living, laughter, forgiveness, codependence, and of course, drug addictions gone really, really wrong. I should write a book, right?

Great.Caesar’s.Ghost.

Why am I finding this so hard???

I’ve written this stupid book twice now. The first time was when my life was just freshly broken, still lying darkshattered around my homeless feet on the floor of a dive motel room, and I’m sure no one is going to be surprised by this, but the perspective was a bit morose for my liking…..I HATE IT. I hate the sad, whiney tone, the implied lack of any hope, and the obvious attempt to make excuses for some really shitty behaviors in a grown man who should have counted the costs before throwing his...and my...life in the toilet and flushing it. I feel a fear to blame anyone but myself coming through it too. It was a phase I needed to go through, but no way is that going in my book!! That isn’t my normal nature, and I can’t edit something I no longer like. Manuscript number one has been retired to the trash bin.

humorThe second one is better, but I’m going to be honest with you. It wasn’t all that hard to beat Manuscript #1 with its Life Sucks, Then We All Die format. That’s the only reason Manuscript #2 can be classified as the better one.  It goes the complete opposite way, making fun of some seriously dark crap I’ve lived through, and I have a suspicion I shouldn’t confirm in writing how warped I really am. Even I giggled nervously at some of my own writing…

I tried rewriting some of the really horrible stuff, trying to really convey the cracking of a little girl’s psyche, and my involuntary instinct to “lighten” the moment with humor kept getting the best of me. Then, of course, I say it aloud to my kids because let’s face it …..some of it is irreverently hilarious. My kids crack up, which in turn, cracks me up too. It’s a vicious cycle.

I don’t seriously know how much longer I’m going to try this. I have other books with less disturbing stuff that won’t dredge up things I don’t want to remember anymore I can start on. Still, somehow this story is the only one that I think will ever really matter, and I feel a need to finish it no matter how much it hurts, or how badly my image as a decent human is going to tarnished.

My compromise with myself is that Manuscript #2 with its Making Molestation Funny theme is to try to explain why I need to laugh at these things, because the alternative is so much worse, at least for me. Laughter has been essential for me to cope with knowing the real monsters don’t live under our beds at all. They can be parents, teachers, spouses, and friends. They blend in, set traps, and steal away chunks of their victim’s lives. I am blessed that I have somewhere in my mind to hide. I’ve seen some of the poor souls who never recover, and I believe that their fate is worse than death.

That’s my rant. I guess I’ll get back to it.

~ Bird

Excerpt: “ I’ve watched television reenactments of a kid getting molested, and the scenes always go a certain way, as if we victims all feel and act the same way…confused, scared, sad, frightened…. Maybe I did. I don’t remember those parts exactly. I do remember the stuff that was disturbingly trivial, though. Like what music was played to cover up the sounds.One time, I was inexplicably super focused on the damn Bee Gees tape he played every single time, for years and years, and wondering what the FUCK was wrong with this man? Who plays the Bee Gees when they are molesting a little girl? Worst taste in music ever.  I still can’t hear How Deep Is Your Love without thinking how I would have probably done the world a favor by killing him, if only for his crappy taste picking out the Molesting Mood Music.” …Bird, in Manuscript #2: Making Molestation Funny

Quotation-Margaret-Cho-life-humor-sense-Meetville-Quotes-107191

I know. I’m working through it….. I’ll understand if you never come back. :-)

Leave a comment

21 Comments

  1. Love you! Keep writing this story, Bird. It’s important. We’ll pray while you do.

    Like

    Reply
  2. I can’t even imagine how a child… handles molestation and how they then handle the healing process but you’re right everyone does it differently and no one should speak for all… Keep on keepin’ on… Diane

    Like

    Reply
    • It’s a weird reaction for people to understand if they haven’t experienced something that evil. I can see how people react, and yet, in every horrible moment I’ve experienced, my brain goes straight for taking the scary out, and I seem find a way not to be overwhelmed. It is hard to explain something I have been doing since I was little. Both my brother and my father do this too, except they are a million times funnier than I am. Some day, I’d love to have a group therapy session with them just for the entertainment!

      Like

      Reply
  3. I truly think that the best story you could tell is the honest one. With all the darkly funny, the confused, the hurt & “whining”, with all the good, the bad, and the ugly.

    Because the only way people will truly know what you went through, and how you made it through to today, is if you simply – tell it like it was.

    People will read, and the truth will set you free. :)

    Like

    Reply
  4. I am speechless.

    Like

    Reply
    • That concerns me..Speechless as in good, or speechless as in you’re looking for an agency to report me to?

      Like

      Reply
      • I think I meant that the memory of the music is so strong and you are reacting to the music. I am pretty sure you are going to have to write about exactly what happened, and, in the book, relate your feelings at the time, the context and your ultimate reactions. I think tempering it with your wit is good since that is what is keeping you functioning now. (It seems).
        Why didn’t you just kill this asshole?

        Don’t throw away your old work.

        This tablet is being a little bitch today. sorry.

        Like

        Reply
  5. Perhaps/probably you’re right to have dumped option 1 if it was told in a voice that wasn’t yours. Option 2 is much more likely to be your real voice since you’ve been used to using humor as a defense mechanism your whole life.
    Just 12 months ago I lost my wife and was devastated. I had been blogging since before she became ill and had a small but regular following. I’d even managed to keep them when I was blogging as a cat.
    When she became ill with pancreatic cancer I started to blog about the illness and what was happening treatment wise though we were told the tumour was inoperable. I’m sure there was a lot of ‘Why me’ blogging at that time. Dark humor became a way for me to cope. People did not move away and if anything the following increased. To survive, I blogged when she died and even used some humor at that stage. I apologised in case people thought I was some uncaring monster and still the following grew. People understood and offered me support.
    Over this last year, and leading up to the anniversary I must have whined again, Woe is me, how will I cope? But everyone has been brilliant and though I may write the most boring blog on earth still they follow and support me.
    What I want to say is that people will probably support you too. They understand the defence mechanisms we use because that’s how many get through life too. Tell your story the way you do best. When you write about the problems that surround you with the house, and the one before I doubt you lost followers. But why not send your Option 2 to some beta readers and see what they have to say. Maybe they’ll validate your style for you.
    Sorry this has been so long,
    xxx Massive Hugs xxx

    Like

    Reply
    • I love long comments. They’re proof that someone cared to take the time. Thank you!

      I’m really sorry about your wife. There aren’t any magic words, I’m finding out, but I’m also not going to insert a crappy joke here either. Losing someone you love sucks all the way around.

      I agree with everything you said. I can’t control where my mind goes when I’m freaking out. If I’m going to tell my story, it’s going to have to be my way of telling it. I’ll write a disclaimer to warn away the people that might be offended.
      I’m giving you a huge hug back. I haven’t been around to your blog in too long. Write something twisted for me and invite me over, will ya? We’ll see just how low we can go!!

      Love you.
      Bird

      Like

      Reply
      • I’ll confess I’ve been tempted to write a few twisted things in the past after gritting my teeth at the inane (and to me hateful) comments people make. God’s called her home, God must have wanted her more than you did etc. Some years ago we lost a baby from an ectopic pregnancy and I heard the same things then. How I restrained myself from flattening the vicar’s nose I don’t know but through gritted teeth I did suggest that somewhere, anywhere else might be better for him at that moment.
        Ju didn’t want a religious service as like me she wasn’t a believer and so we played her favorite music which included some silly ones and celebrated her life instead.
        Nowadays I don’t write much that’s twisted though little bits of humour still crop up in the Saturday night blogs.You’re welcome to drop in any time and make things funnier.
        xxx Mega Hugs xxx

        Like

        Reply
        • I know that frustration when well-intentions don’t translate into words that are any comfort to you. Believers and non-believers alike tend to desperately want to help, but in some situations, the words simply don’t exist.
          I’m the absolute worst about death. I guess because I know that I’m not going to say or do anything that is going to make a dent in someone’s grief, I don’t tend to say much at all. I freeze up.
          As for twisted stuff, I have tons of posts that I never published because they were written during a freak out moment, and they can be unsettling. I keep them because that is how I expel the nightmares and the fear, but I don’t feel they would benefit anyone but me.
          I’m making more of an effort to visit the sites of people that have been so generous about supporting mine. I’m sorry I’ve fallen so far behind! I certainly will come by and catch up!

          xoxoxoxo
          Bird

          Like

          Reply
  6. grammatteus

     /  April 7, 2014

    I totally get your comment about loving writing until you feel that you HAVE to! Any enjoyable activity that becomes a chore, or meeting a deadline, or brings up things you’re just not sure you want to go into… then it’s far less enjoyable. I have drafts of blogs both in my head and in my drafts folder that I don’t really wish to do, but feel that they NEED to be said. How do you balance want with need? One of the dilemmas of a writer! If I feel it needs to be said, then really I want to say it, but I’d rather say something else, but is that needed as much as… oh the headaches I get! I call it the lot of the prophet lol.

    I’m now applying self-discipline on myself (with cajoling from my wife) to write between 5000 to 7000 words each week so I can get my book done. I decided this last week but am only getting down to it now. There’s a great article I came across about how all writers are procrastinators. I’ll look it out for you. She’s making me go out with her again for a picnic lunch with my laptop so I can write with NO internet distractions like emails or other’s blogs. She’s good that way; I got 1000 words done in one lunchtime last week.

    Above all, I’d say be true to yourself, and do it as YOU want, not others, BUT… finding a group of like-minded writers locally or online who can give honest crits of what you’re writing might be good for genuine feedback on how good or bad certain passages are. I belong to a group online that I joined many years ago, after finding ones that just flamed you if you asked a simple question – I was invited there by another who was tired of such people. They’re called trolls now! That group was much friendlier, but became just so chatty, that writing became a secondary thing and we ended up migrating to Facebook where we chat and share and I count them as friends who share their griefs, illnesses and joys (like photos of grandchildren) and the group page is fairly inactive. I’d invite you to join it but there’s been no activity since February!

    My last solo book project was a biography for a friend who is wheelchair bound and affected in speech and writing ability by cerebral palsy. His story included an absent father and an awful time of abuse and he wanted it out there for the world to see. It took me AGES to interview him, transcribe the tapes, write, rewrite, etc. until I found MY voice, writing it from the POV of his friend and how I met him, and how he impressed me; it was still all about him, but included things we had in common, like primarily our faith, though we came from different backgrounds – he was raised catholic (nominal), I protestant (atheist – yes!), in a society divided as such. Finally self-published with the help of his church that I had left in an acrimonious split and had to return to for the book launch, I was trying to get him to agree to put it on kindle and see where it went. We argued over the copyright, since the person publishing it for him was NOT to be trusted. Then, once launched, his family, who I had to really play down in the book to save them embarrassment, complained to him that they didn’t like it. I told him to tell them to get lost but he recalled the book and wanted a rewrite. Then we parted company. I gave him the copyright and let somebody else take on the task. I’ve only seen him once since then, by chance meeting in a shop. Feels like our friendship is over, though that was not how I wanted to leave him. Maybe I’ll go see him.

    Again, apology for being longwinded, but I say this to point out that I’m focussing now on what I WANT to write, BUT since I’m writing about contentment (using some of my blogs as material) I feel I am on a journey of discovering that through discontent and I wish now I had chosen a different book, but my path is my path. Have faith and keep on keeping on YOUR path.

    Like

    Reply
    • Thank you for sharing that story with me, One of the projects I have on hold is a biography of someone close to me as well. I never really thought much about his family or their opinions. I’ll keep that in mind before I start.
      After calming my emotions down, I realized that I’m not writing a book full of disgusting molestation behaviors…it’s only one part. I hate how things can be so skewed in my mind sometimes by feelings. Making Molestation Funny is not the name of the book, and I’ve had way more good happen to me than bad.
      When I finish it, I hope to never speak of that again.

      You should look up your friend. Time has a way of easing the sharp edges of our fights. Maybe he won’t want to know you again, but maybe he will. Some friendships deserve the opportunity.

      Thanks again for sharing your wisdom with me! Have a good day!
      ~ Bird

      Like

      Reply
  7. Cygnus III

     /  April 7, 2014

    Like you I have a total love of writing and a thought process that scares me to death sometimes.
    From a lifetime as a Police officer you develop a very dark sense of humour which is a coping mechanism.
    Most of my career I spent investigating rapes and child abuse. What people don’t see is the part of my life and love for humanity it took away each time that little voice described what happened.
    People say time is a big healer but unless someone who has been abused can talk about it time can also destroy them.
    In the end dealing with it day in and out also nearly destroyed me.
    Luckily it was time for me to escape and retire from that world.
    We did something relaxing.. sold everything, boat a boat to live on and began sailing around the world (which we are still doing).
    There are some wonderful people out here and my faith is quickly being restored.
    Thank you for your post and if you need some help looking at it from another point of view.. just ask..

    Like

    Reply
    • I can’t imagine living a life that had to process so much proof of just how awful people can be. I can see how it can change a man. My brother was a fireman for awhile, and after only a few years he quit. He just couldn’t stand dealing with so much tragedy on a daily basis. I’m fortunate in that I found a way to balance out the evil I had experienced with laughter. For me, it worked. Enjoy your trip around the world! And thank you for sharing your perspective. :-)

      Like

      Reply
  8. Keep at it! We’re all in this together … except when we’re just trying to find where to put the best sentence ever and don’t give a damn about the other fellow writers out there because “it’s all about MEEEEEEE.” But I digress.
    Your article (and from the sounds of it, your book) reminds me of a great read called “Laughter out of place: Race, Class, Violence, and Sexuality in a Rio Shanty Town” by Donna Goldstein. It explains how laughter is like a sedative, a coping tool, and a currency in the hearts of those treading in the worst situations. I can’t wait to read your book.

    Like

    Reply
    • Lol…. Wait! Are you implying life isn’t all about me?! My book isn’t going to mean as much to anyone as it will for me. And really. Don’t you think it’s just poetic justice that the man who crafted my twisted existence should worry daily how many people knew exactly who I was writing about? Don’t do the crime if you can’t handle the book I’m eventually going to write about it!

      Like

      Reply

Don't be shy! Leave a Reply!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 2,911 other followers

%d bloggers like this: