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Posts tagged ‘pain’

My Wings are Clipped


I had a conversation tonight that I never expected. It really shook me and hurts beyond mere words. Sometimes I let things get to me that I shouldn’t, but I honestly don’t know if this is one of them. I suppose it could go either direction.

I was asked to be godfather for Madison, daughter of Devin and Meagan. It wasn’t something I really expected. As Meagan’s pregnancy progressed, she asked me to be there for the birth of Madison. She wanted me to be among the first people to hold her after she was born. I was honored, if a bit ill-at-ease with first hand, up-close and personal participation in the delivery room. It was worth it. Holding a tiny bit of a thing within minutes of her first breath. Feeling the warmth of her lil’ body pressed to mine.

Meagan’s reasoning at the time was that if anything happened to her and Devin, Madison would have someone that knew her from that earliest possible moment. They went so far as to make me guardian of Madison and later Allysa should the worst happen. I drew a line at two children, since I would not be able to care for more than that due to my health and physical limitations. I agreed though.

She is now pregnant with her third child. As we discussed, they need to find a new guardian. This is reasonable and I have no issue with it. It makes sense. The children should not be separated.

What floored me was the decision that I was also to be replaced as Madison’s godfather. I won’t go into the reason given, but I simply don’t understand it. It didn’t compute. I’ll respect the decision as it is her parents’ to make, but I am deeply hurt. I called Madison my Lil’ Pixie from the moment I saw her and took great delight in referring to myself as her Fairy Godfather.

I worked hard before she was born to put together a special gift for her, to be given after she was old enough to read. Each of her family members, all that could be reached, were asked to write Madison a letter. Each letter was to tell her the wishes, hopes and prayers for her life from that person. I got a special box and put those letters in it. I also wrote several letters myself, sealing them and putting directions on the outside for when to open them. I got a chest and began gathering other presents for it, all fairy related. On her fifth birthday, she would get this chest.

Meagan asked for the letters. Just the letters, nothing else. I was stunned. She felt that if I wasn’t her godfather any more, I should not have custody of those letters. So be it. I told her she gets the whole thing, all of it, not just the letters. She was puzzled. She assumed I would just destroy the rest, get rid of it or something. I almost dropped the phone, I was so startled. I told her that NO! I would NOT just destroy it all. I got those things for Madison. Each thing was chosen with love and care, they were Madison’s, not mine to just get rid of.

I am stunned. I will be dropping off the chest, with the letters and toys, today. Also the Christmas present for the girls I have been trying to get to them for months. Somehow, I think those things will never get to her. My heart aches and I am just numb.

Remember, there is two sides to this and you are only hearing my end of it. Still, a better explanation is needed for me to understand this. The one given was lame.

Of Barstools and Drunken Boyfriends…


During round 2 with my first love, Chris, we were basically meeting mostly at the Menagerie. One of two gay watering holes in Riverside. I was friendly with the bar tender (Adrian, I believe at that time) and also the bar-back Derek. We’d joke all the time and it was fairly fun. Chris was being especially touchy-feely that night.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a good public groping by a hot guy (especially when he is my boyfriend!) as the next, but there is a line a guy just can’t cross. I am sitting on the end barstool on the side next to the pool table. My usual place, since I was waiting for that lone sad table to finally clear up for our turn at ball smacking with a pole. This also means we are in direct line of sight for the front doors. No big deal. Until I hear… Ziiiiiip!

I glance down and Chris has undone my zipper. He is 3 sheets to the wind and lookin’ to add on another sail. I blink and try desperately to think of what on earth he has planned. The place was moderately full too. Holy FUCK! He cannot be thinking he gonna… I panic as his head descends toward my lap. And he’s got a firm grip on my thighs trying to get me to spread my legs. I am doomed if he makes it to my crotch, ’cause I just know he’s gonna do what he is threatening, right there in front of everyone. Exhibitionist I ain’t! So I scoot backwards on the seat trying to escape that fate. Did I mention these are really bar stools? With no backs?

I slid off the backside of the stool and went straight down to the floor in one swoop. THUD!!! I am now sitting on the nice hardwood floor with a barstool between my legs and a drunken boyfriend with huge, startled eyes draped over it staring down at me dumbfounded at how I ended up down there in the first place. Then the pain comes. Intense pain. I think I broke my ass! No, I know I broke my ass. This fuckin’ sucks people!

I couldn’t really even be mad at him. He honestly wasn’t trying to hurt and humiliate me in one go. No really, he wasn’t. He was just randy and wanting somethin’ somethin’ and forgot we were in a public area with a gazillion interested eyes watching every single move he was making. He really was a sloppy drunk when he got toasted. *sigh* Well, he helps me up. The startled silence is immediately filled with the gaggle of geese and turkey babble gossip at my undignified adventure. I took Pickled Boy home and shoved him into his own bed and then went home to mine. Damn that hurts still.

Turns out, he broke my tailbone. I didn’t really figure that out until about a couple of weeks after it finally healed. Lying in bed, he ran his finger down my spine and was feelin’ sparky so went all the way down, right to the tailbone. Which was now bent inward permanently. *sigh* So, I have that loving souvenir from my first love until the day my bones finally disintegrate into dust. Joy!

Another Boy Scout Fiasco


I hated the Boy Scouts. Utterly. Sure, I said it already before. It bears repeating. I was 15 and stuck being Senior Patrol Leader. Didn’t want it, didn’t ask for it and got told, “Tough, you’re it.” by my step-father and the Scoutmaster. No one else had the required rank or age at that point in time and it was time to shift to someone else. I balked, naturally. For all the good it did me.

We were meeting at some elementary school or another. Don’t remember the name of the place. I do remember that Melissa was with us on one particular night. She was probably 7 or 8. My memory is getting fuzzy with age. But not about what happened.

She had gone to the girl’s bathroom, as is only natural, her being a girl and all. Next thing I knew, a couple of the younger boys were screwing around in there. I was livid! Someone told me what was up and I roared down the hallway to rescue my little sister from the idiots. Someone held open the bathroom door and I grabbed the first one by the collar and hauled him out. I had wrapped my left hand around the doorjamb to get better leverage for pulling a struggling buffoon out of the girl’s restroom. Tossed him to the side and snagged the second baboon. Melissa came out, a bit shaken but ok.

The guy holding the door let go. Didn’t think anything of it until I tried to walk away. Didn’t go far. My hand was caught. I noticed when I suddenly couldn’t go any further and momentum swung me around to face the very disturbing sight of my fingers disappearing into the space between door and wall. Check that. The non-existent space. I cursed under my breath and opened to the door to release my fingers. It took the skin off the back of my middle, ring and littlest fingers. That is when actual pain happened.

My temper went off like a nuclear detonation at that point. I was in full red-out rage. The pain was intense. Bones are not meant to be compressed like that and having your skin come off isn’t a barrel of monkeys either. I stomped into the cafeteria, swearing fit to blister paint. I took a run at the wall and kicked. The hole I made was impressive.

My stepfather finally got a hold of me and then he saw my hand. I told him what had happened. He took me to Urgent Care immediately. That was another delightful period of time once I got in to a doctor. He looked my hand over carefully and sighed. Blood was coming up under the nails of two fingers and had to be released. Which meant burning a hole down to the nail bed. Fun!

Four shots of Novocain later and he started. Guess what? I could still feel it. And it f-ing HURT. My fingers ended up in those silly metal braces to try to protect them from getting banged around when I moved. The nails turned a deep purple then black over the next couple of days, preparing for peeling off.

Needless to say, the ‘boys’ were extremely careful around my sister from that point and with me. Don’t argue with bathroom doors… they’ll always win, one way or another.