About Writing To Heal

I Ain't Lying
Vivian Dixon Sober

Abandonment In A Storm

I lay in bed in a deep sleep well into the night, or early morning after midnight. Suddenly awakened by a moving force starting inches below my belly button but creeping toward my esophagus slamming my air canal shut tightly like steel doors that couldn’t be opened. My legs ached and I knew death had come for me. “Let me take you to the hospital,” daughter asked softly.” She had come to spend the night with me, slept in the same bed with me; awoke simultaneously with me. Knowing I’d never make it to the hospital, I said call 911. I will save her from the realization of my death. I ran outside to die as I did not want to die in the house. Looking up, I thought, I can’t believe I died this way.

I awoke confused. It seemed like I was looking through a screen. Drugged heavily I didn’t know it was me. I breathe by machine. With tubes down my throat and hands tied down–a mental hospital it had to be. I spoke in complete sentences, though—I do believe. Intensive care they call it. I see people staring at me. I recognize one of them; why is my husband forcing me to watch science fiction it is not my scene. I’d rather read my obituary as painful as it will be.

Off the machine. Peering in the mirror, I see the whites of my eyes; blood-red–no white at all. I have no conception of time. Where is my mind?

Husband said, “He was there as a friend,” after, which, he abandoned me—emotionally–off with his kids and the child I, myself, bore but not before his kids knew their worth—they had drained the breath out of me. I was hurt and lonely, but I could see the backstabbing users ’didn’t give a hoot about me. They left me for dead and wouldn’t help me, instead, they including their father persecuted me. All I wanted was a sparkling house, which I was too sick to achieve—those 3 kids lied on me, rejected me and 2 gave my mother-child dance to someone else at their graduation who did not help, did not support, or even take them there.

I was good enough to raise his neglected kids; he destroyed the relationship I had built with them. Now he has to protect them from me–the woman who raised them, and they stood as four against me and watched as their father ranted and raved and called me names. He put his kids before me. The end I should have seen

I hope you can see why I was in need. With lack of oxygen to my brain, I wasn’t the same, but I prayed and I prayed and soon an angel came; two years or more he listened to me. I needed him so desperately. He rescued me and taught me many lessons I shall never forget. I was down on my back looking up. He talked me sensibly though this storm and helped me put fear behind, made me realize that I am alive and so is my mind, “Don’t believe what they say it’s not true. It will hinder you.”

My mind in no shape for work, I went back to school, first angel is patient with wisdom backstabbing users will never receive as they are too busy trying to get rid of me–a negative experience, indeed, with positive results. People need people and sad to say, angel helped me up, and I don’t feel the same.

Husband abandoned me in my time of need—with his thankless kids I, myself, raised—good time wasted. A pack of ingrates; I feel raped. No one stopped to help those kids. Their family was too busy helping others and avoiding them as it was for too painful for them to grip–so you abandon your sister’s kids, and what happened to all of their friends? Why did they run as though the kids had a gun? I stepped up to the plate and accepted them with grace. No one can raise them better than me. My heart began to bleed, and now they can’t accept me.

I hate my heart. I want one of steel, and then I can be cold and calculating just like them. Husband says he doesn’t feel the same—what am I suppose to say? I’ve seen his play–close your eyes and you can’t see how you have humiliated me with your vicious scheme; watching TV and ignoring me emotionally.

He left me when I was afraid to live. Yelled and screamed about everything I did and challenged my confidence in front of his three kids—which will end!

I was there for him in his time of need. I raised three kids and could have left him in the street. He would be dead, if I did to him, what he did to me.

Thank you God for blessing me. I’m up now and it’s a brand new day. I am up and well on my way. I don’t care if they stare at me. I didn’t die. I am Victorious in God’s eyes. So when they stare at me, they see an eye full. I’m what you call getting an eyeful. Their stares become glares, and who cares?

I don’t need them to understand me. They are not of my sort. They abandoned me, and I found love in a special place. Now! I must identify I am a prisoner of my own deceits, and I will not obey because prison is not for me. I will only be me. That’s all I can be.

Peering through the rearview, I see I was carried through my deluge.

I have come a long way, and must say, angels come in many ways. Sometimes I wonder am I living life or is life living me for I am guided you see. But angels can be people too. I know this to be true. Human angels never kick you when you are down; they help you to get up when you want to drown, and they absolutely will not let you sit down

Abandonment in a Storm something I thought was the worst thing that ever happened to me turned out to be a blessing in disguise–’cause through it all–I want you to know; I saw you, I felt you; I know you; and I thank you. I didn’t die. I am Victorious in God’s eyes.

I see the light and choose to be an angel whom the truth sets free

Another Beginning

Vivian Dixon Sober
All Rights Reserved

4/24/02
Protected by Copyscape Online Plagiarism Checker

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5 thoughts on “About Writing To Heal

  1. I over the years in learning from past experiences which aint always easy to get over, but I know I cant let it get me down or cause me to feel sorry for myself and I dont look to obligue anyone to pity me. Nothing means a thing if its not heartfelt anyhow so I dont dwell on my so called past sad events although it hurted me very deeply. but I have to live my life for today the present, and apply what I ve learned from the pain and stay wise.

    1. Selena, I’m glad you live for today. I think it is wise not to forget our haunts. We must use our memories to assist us when we need it to rescue us. We must remember what happened to us, why it happened, and how we handled it.

      I find people have a hard time facing themselves—period. They can’t accept reality as it reveals itself. They prefer to listen to untruths rather than accepting and feeling their true emotions.

      If we can’t face our painful past, we are denying ourselves the opportunity of understanding why we act as we do.

      Writing to heal is not a joke. It works. Through writing, we see the sun rather than the rain. We laugh when we used to cry. The future is bright because we became wise only after we faced the truth about ourselves. It is personal.

      I choose to grow from my mistakes. I have cried many tears but I laugh out loud until I cry. There is big difference between facing the past and living in the past. Post traumatic trauma, if embraced, is the only way I can see moving forward wisely.

      Thanks for sharing. I know we are not alone. I’m moving forward with a smile on my face. Are you smiling? If not, stick with me. Pain, once crossed, is funny!

  2. Very interesting I must say, and I got some sad stories too like i said you’re not alone. I got some sad stories, my life aint been easy either to a point that its hard for me to trust anybody these days because i been through stuff too, and i also agree that, and this doesnt have to be for everybosy because everybody have theyre own way of coping. But my escape is to write a novel, hopefully many.

    1. Put it on paper and let it roll. I support writing. Everyone has a story or, if you’re like me, many stories. Writers write.

      Thank you for taking the time to read my writings and respond to them.

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