The Dark Journey
Epilogue
Long after the moon has set
She soars aloft, wings beating
passes over the old familiar ground
full of heedless sleeping hordes.
All night she flies on
croaking out her tale of woe
that will fall upon the ears
of no one, just the cactus and mesquite.
It doesn't matter, she tells herself,
doesn't matter in the least.
After all, who would wish to pay heed
to a tainted, blemished, and desecrated being
such as this wandering creature of the night?
As the dawn approaches she finds her nest
hidden high among the cottonwood branches
and hides herself from the world
thinking that her tale has been poured out
upon a world full of deaf ears and closed hearts.
Only the wolf paid heed, listened all night
to the sad and bitter story of her plight.
Commisserated and gleaned a bit of understanding,
and even tried to pass a little on to others
and for this the Ravyn will be
forever in his debt ...
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Rachel wired me money and gave me the number and name of a friend of hers who owed a favor. I made my way over the mountains to Denver, bought myself some decent clothes, and met with Judy Barnes, Repair and Production Manager for her husband's small computer business. Rachel had told Judy about my situation, and Judy hired me on the spot, helped me to find an apartment, and assisted me in getting my name changed legally. With a new identity I felt more secure about taking a job and staying in one place. Even a thousand miles didn't seem far enough.
My pregnancy progressed normally and I was very careful to follow the doctor's regimen for diet and exercise. This child, my lifesaver and wake-up call, would have every chance in the world that I never got. I would see to that. Judy gave me support when I needed it and helped me a lot during the final weeks. She missed the birth by about 30 minutes though due to problems that had arisen at work that she needed to see to before leaving. I guess the important thing is that she came and she gave me support afterwards.
I have gone through a lot of therapy over the past four years or so. I have been a recluse, not daring to go outside my door unless accompanied by Judy or her daughter, Emily. I completely shut everyone else out. My therapist tried repeatedly to get me to take various medications, which I flat out refused. I am a very addictive person, and I know where that road leads. I am not willing to go there ever again. Perhaps I am just stubborn, but I know I can do this on my own now. I don't need artificial means to make me feel happy when I'm not, or to make me sleep when I'm not tired. She also tried to get me involved in a group therapy, but that didn't go over very well either.
Finally, she suggested that I get a computer and find a good, supportive group in a chat room online. I scoffed at the idea, but I built a computer out of spare parts. It was an old Pentium 166mmx and the parts it was made out of probably came from 8 or 9 different computers, so I named it 'Frankenputer'. I wandered from chat server to chat server for a while, and I didn't like much of what I saw on them. I had about decided to give this idea up when I stumbled into a room at Lycos called 'Abuse'. For a couple of weeks I didn't say anything to anyone, just sat and 'listened' to them. There were a lot of people in and out of the room, and most of them seemed safe enough.
There was this strange person there whose chat name was Sassy Squirrel. I assumed it was a guy because 'he' was always making suggestive comments to other women in the room. Most of it I could tell was in fun, but he made me very nervous and I avoided him a lot. One day I logged on and the only other person in the room was the squirrel. I didn't know what to do at first, but finally mustered up the courage to say a quick 'hi, how are you?' before, perhaps, changing rooms or logging off. What ensued was a very intense fight. I was accused of only addressing him if no one else was around and I must be a bigot and a jew hater and a homophobe. As things heated up, I defended myself by stating that I had taken enough abuse at the hands of men and if he thought I was going to sit here and take some more from another man he was insane as well as stupid. I went to another room. My pulse was racing and my head was pounding, but something kept trying to push its way through onto my consciousness.
What did he mean by calling me a homophobe? What on earth did that have to do with anything? I puzzled over it for the rest of the day, after getting over the anger. The next night, after getting my daughter to bed, I logged on and privately asked one of the other chatters about Sassy. He told me that Sassy was a Jewish lesbian who had been very badly abused, gang raped, and then abused by her father for several years. I felt so stupid and low down, that I logged off and lay in bed for hours telling myself how much of an ass I was. I found her the next night, and asked if we could go and talk privately. We talked for around 5 hours, she telling me about her past, me telling her about mine. We began talking everynight, sometimes keeping each other from doing things we hated, but needed, to do. I was a burner, she a cutter. Together we began to support each other to keep those urges down.
I had this kind of weird habit of sitting in empty chat rooms at times and just writing whatever my thoughts were at that moment. I had been doing journaling for my therapist, so it was kind of an extension of that process. Lexie (Sassy) came into one of these rooms one day and read what I was writing. She told me that I could probably publish stuff like that. I scoffed at the idea, but she suggested I write them down and send them to a friend of hers who was a poet of sorts. I did, and the response I got was completely overwhelming. I had sent 'White Owl' and 'I Am Here' and this woman thought they were phenomenal. She asked for more samples and suggested I do poetry readings. Lexie also made the suggestion of doing poetry readings, but there was no way I could ever get up in front of people and read these things. She said I had a talent that she would never be able to match. She didn't have a way with words, she said.
One night Lexie and I were talking about love and I expressed my complete doubt that I would ever be able to love anyone other than my daughter. Or that anyone would, or could, ever love me. I was too scarred, too damaged, too flipped out by the past to have a future. She began to write the most lovely words I have ever read directed at myself, and I copied them all down, edited my parts of the conversation out, and sent it back to her. She was pretty amazed by it, and together we formed the 'Starving Poetess Society' and she made a web page where we could post our writings. We invited a few other poetesses to join and posted their writings too. Not only did this give us a creative outlet, but it kept us too busy to give in to the self-injury impulses as much as we would otherwise have done.
Eventually we both moved our writings to our own separate web pages. She taught me to edit and work with HTML. My pages soon exploded, going from the ten original poems that Lexie had put up for me to well over a hundred, plus short stories and proses and just jumbled thoughts that I wrote and posted. We still held long private conversations about our lives and hopes. She was living with another woman, who sounded to me like the most wonderful person and perfect for Lexie, who had fast become my best friend. We cried together, laughed together, told our darkest secrets to each other, supported each other through triggers and flashes, battled on-line cyber-perps, and even got to doing a little fantasy web page design.
She is the first person in my life who I felt emotionally, physically, and sexually attracted to. The love I feel for her is deeper than anything I have ever felt in my life. I began to examine my feelings towards her, and I always came up with the same answer: I was in love. This, however, was a love that could never be realized. We both knew that. She confessed to me that she also felt a deep growing love for me, but she would never do anything to jeopardize her current relationship.
I met a wonderful woman at the apartment complex that I moved into last March (actually Serena, my daughter, introduced us one day in early June while swimming at the pool). We began seeing each other on a regular basis and, eventually, moved in together. It is kind of odd, but poetry and writing was also what brought Lisa and I together. I have found the one thing that I thought I would never have in my life: pure, honest, gentle love.
It has been almost five years now since I ran from Oregon, almost eight years since I ran from home, and almost fifteen years since my father died. My daughter Serena is now four years old and is the light and joy of my life. She thinks Lisa is the greatest thing in the world. I do too. It doesn't matter what anyone thinks or says. I am happy with my life now. I feel that I am now once again, for the first time since I was nine years old, fully alive.
There are four people who I owe a great deal of thanks to for assisting in my recovery from my mental, physical, and emotional traumas. Rachel, without whom I probably wouldn't have made it as far as I did. Judy, who is always willing to help in anyway she can. Alexsya, who has been my constant support and companion on-line through thick and thin (I love you Lexie). And finally Lisa, my new found soul mate and life partner, the one who brings my dreams of peace and love to life and makes anything seem possible.
To all of you who know first hand about abuse of any kind, my heart goes out to you. Remember that you are not alone, and that no matter what you may have been told, had beaten into you, you are NOT at fault. The fault lies with the abuser, always.
To those of you who are or feel you may possibly be abusers, please seek assistance. The damage you do can ruin a person's life forever, perhaps even end it. The after effects of abuse last a lifetime. I am still young so, in theory at least, I will be dealing with my past for 50 or 60 years. Think about that before you act. More and more people are coming forward with their stories of abuse and survival. That doesn't, however, mean that more and more abusers are being either sent to prison or made to get psychological help. Most abusers get away with their crimes. It is up to all of us to end this self perpetuating sickness. I plan on doing my part, what about you?
Jennifer Anne Sloan
August 2001
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