Cycle of Abuse: 15 in 1982

I have read many, many, despondent writers, poets, etc.  Persons who, now in adulthood, have come through some depressing, harrowing, childhood situations.  On occasion, I have run across documentaries, news item, etc.  About pre-teen, teen, and young adult suicide.  All due to having lived at the violent hands and words of parents that outwardly appeared ‘normal.’  That inwardly, were the devil’s hand puppets.

Back in or around the early 80’s: Our house had burned down.  Down to the ground.  Standing stoic were the scant charred…2 by 4’s, abandoned ashen table ware and counters.  For all intensive purposes, my fifteen year old eyes witnessed nothing but a shell.

As I have said before, some memories blare at me such like the horn of an irritated driver.  Loud, clear, vibrant.  Other memories, due to my need to persevere, are faded and clouded.  Such like a watercolor painting you once adored but can, now, barely remember.

My siblings had long since been kicked out of the house.  It seemed to be a rite of passage.

You’re eighteen.  You did something to piss me off.  You are now no longer allowed on the land of misfits.”

Generally speaking, both, Bud and Sybil,  were conversatinally gone…Way before being physically excommunicated.  My sister enjoyed the company of questionable boyfriends.  A habit I firmly believe was thrown upon her by my father’s physical abuse.  And, my mother’s lack of emotional attachment.

My brother had his friends.  He partied.  He defied.  He had tired of protecting his mother.  And, at one point or another, during a physical altercation with my father.  There had been threats of guns and severe violence.  Best guess would be that was the point of no return.

After our house became a  photo source for neighbors.  After the smoke cleared, clothes of creosote were tossed and generations of knick knacks were tossed into the trash.  After the chaos of destruction became nothing more than local gossip…I was assigned the task of cleaning pennies, dimes, nickels and quarters.

In other words, our small but precious gallon jug of empty Riunite…that had been filled to the max with change; had succumbed to being spare change among broken glass.  And, it had been my assigned duty to clean each and every piece of  current currency…metal.  imageedit_8_8297636672

“Scrub it clean!  Here’s the toothbrush!  Now get at it.”

Had been the order barked out by both my father and my mother.

Sitting there between the lilac bushes and partially singed grass,  a stool, a toothbrush and pounds of  spare change… lay an endless fall.

With September sun beaming down.  I can still recall how sweat would douse the corners of my mouth and then, splash upon the tainted dime or penny.

My depression ran deep.  And, I had been fully aware of it.  Not knowing at the time about my father’s thirst for killing or psychosis.  Not being fully aware of the how and why of my mother’s terminal sadness.  Not being aware of much.  I knew that life in the Bowley household was not like the pretty white houses with laughter…that dotted the rest of the street.

My brother had since joined the Air Force.  And, my sister had married.  Still there had not been much connection between us.  It seems to me, that had been a scenario my parent had derived.  Either consciously or not.

Indeed, I had been my father’s favorite.  Which meant sports, sports and more sports.  Which meant teaching CCD, being active in youth group and singing in the church folk group.  Which meant I received far more than my share of…

“You can do better than that!  Are you stupid?  I don’t give a flying fuck what other parents do!”imageedit_4_3845432106

Either way, I was a lost budding young adult woman.  In a lost land.  With a bit of house insurance money left over.  My mother begged my father to take her to visit her favorite child, Bud!  Bud, my half-brother, had begun the pursuit of his second marriage in two years.  He had, also been affluent in the use of cocaine.  He had joined the Air-force!

Bud had been stationed in Florida.  And, my parents believed they deserved a break.  A break from the hustle and bustle of rebuilding life after a house fire.

Therefore, it was only reasonable that I should remain behind.  Only reasonable to think my best friend, Michael and, most importantly, his mother, would take me in.

This is where Black Beauties, booze, bad behavior and LSD come into play.  I had indulged at a very young age in Yukon Jack.  But my current course of plaid catholic school skirts, smoke and dope and sex…was in over drive.

Mimi, Michael’s mother, had seen this.  She had known what was about to come.  My intention had been death by over indulgence.  Dropping blotter, smoking weed, playing both sides of addiction against each other.

Mimi in her own hippie way, felt the only need for a deep, profound, change in my behavior…Would be therapy!

It had worked.  I met a wonderful woman named, Eileen.  We met once a week on the second floor above S n W sports.  Her office was filled with Buddha, warm thoughts and reflective flowing waters from an over sized fish tank.

My renewal was instant.  The remorse, guilt and shame that was felt became something talked about in open conversation.  I had not started the house fire.  But my intention on that fateful weekend…was to stay home.

Could I have stopped it?imageedit_11_5911877311

A kind woman in pastel flowing skirt…told me…

“No!”

My relief and new-found comfort within my own skin…Quickly dissipated.  For as soon as my parents returned.  And, even with Mimi’s glowing recommendation.  It was apparent that I would not longer be allowed to see Eileen.

My father ranted and raved over and over again…

“No daughter of mine is going to see a shrink…”

And, my mother…

“You heard your father!”

Funny, I was conceived in the tunnels underneath the New Hampshire State Hospital.  Or, that my father was once deemed insane.  And, my mother a manic-depressive with suicidal tendencies.  Yet, snipping possible self harm in the buttocks, while I was still young.  Seemed out of the question.

Looking back on my vivid with gray strands of depression, as a child and teen.  I think how fortunate I am to have survived.  To be able to function.

Course, there is much more to my parent’s love story.  Much more to the dysfunction.  Starting a few years before my birth and flourishing years after…My disowning the ‘family.’imageedit_14_9427699938

 

 

Different Like Me?

When young, my house burned down.  It burned itself right to the ground.  No photographs.  No trophies.  Not fish names, Zeak and Zach.  No clothing.  No piece or scrap of a life…that I had come to know.

Being 15 years old.  Much of the usual had been going on, before the loss.  Puberty, confusion, work, confusion, education, confusion, church…and, much more confusion.

To top trauma off?  I began to believe that being gay…was a sin, pitiful and certainly, not something you brag about.  To voice my concern to an abusive father an emotional absent mother…would have been like calling an angry lion out of its den.

Though I do not remember much of that period of time.   I found comfort living at the home of my best friend, Red.  With an agreement between Red’s mother and my parents, the ‘stay’ would not be forever…And, so, a new and hippie improved home, was found on Maple Street.

Launched between Red and I?  The secret life of gay’s in the 80’s, in a semi rural New Hampshire city.  Without words, Red and I, knew we were different.

How fun was that time?  Piper, Red’s mother, was from New York city.  She was divorced with 5 children to raise.  She introduced me to True cigarettes, Amaretto, Joan Baez and watching television from the bed.

So different were those 6 or so months.  I hated to leave and head home to anger and violence that appeared  from nowhere.

What astounds me now?

Leaving New Hampshire, as a young adult, I encountered a vast array of people, places and things.  Most of which, I would never have had the courage to gather in my memories…had it not been for Maple street.

91 percent of New Hampshire is white.  Living in Madison County, North Carolina, at the ripe age of 23 and rainbow proud…there had been only one group akin to the suffering gays were encountering, with Jesse Helms and his prejudice cohorts!  With every pride march and every volunteer group I joined; African-American Pride had been right there to offer a hand in guidance.  After all, they had decades, centuries of experience.

Full circle, I have forged my way back home to the same abusive father and the same, emotionally distant mother.  I have also been able to re-acquaint myself with those I went to school with.

I am furnishing a post from my Facebook page.  It’s topic surrounds the handing of the torch from Obama to Trump.  I am liberal.  What else would I be?

I have few friends.  It is best that way.  I keep my circle close, and offer what love I can.  Those I went to school with, those I wandered the streets of Concord, New Hampshire…with, have not changed.

They long for football days.  They post recipes and abhor politics or…upsetting the apple cart.

I will say first off:

Shame on me.  When the heat turned up over Obama and Trump…abortion, racism and gay rights came into play?  I will say, my first assumption had been, here we go, another cracker carrying a gun talking about my uterus and sexuality.  First and foremost,  I apologize for that generalization.  It is my perception of a group of persons who have aged…yet, live for the next party and next playoff game.

If I were honest, there had never been any comfort in my teens, unless I had been on Maple street with a select few others who were…different like me.

I have posted the conversation with persons I have known for about forty years.

I will say, when the statement,

…babykiller and by angery lesbian who couldn’t get a man.!

Came up…

I felt like the marches I had encountered down south.  When I had been advocating change not only for AIDS, LGBT and African Americans…reappeared again, almost 30 years later.  As though, with what few steps forward my minority, other minorities and many in between the cracks, took forward…we were taking several steps back…

So upsetting to me is the idea that persons I have known; as children, were stating things like…

So tired of the posts about politics.

Trump won.  Get the fuck over it!

or,

better yet,

they post pictures…

of football games and proms from years gone by!

In someone’s estimation.  Someone I cannot even remember growing up with, I was not always gay.  And, I was indeed, just another angry lesbian!

Dear Old Friend,

I have always been gay.  Yet, I feared coming out of the closet until I could get out on my own.  Am I angry?  Fuck yes!  Angry that my politics have upset you so!

John Boy: Nice try!!!! Conservatives didn’t riot or burn other people’s property.
Ruth M Bowley
Ruth M Bowley No! They are just wanting to take my right to marry away! They are just attempting to make sure millions of Americans remain ill. And, more importantly, they would like to go back to an era…before, Martin Luther King!
John Boy That’s not true . He’s only been in office for two days and you are already criticizing the job he has done.
Heath Hetero: He took away the fine for not having ins so he’s already took nobamas hands out of our pockets!
Heath Hetero: Two days in and the new president has done more for America than nobama ever did other countries now want to talk to our New President!
John Boy: The ACA is one of the most complicated bill ever past. Congress voted it in without even reading the whole thing. It has fingers in all sorts of crap that most of us don’t have a clue about. It will not be fixed overnight.
Ruth M Bowley
Ruth M Bowley That is why I am wondering how Heath got a hold of him. Usually, he is not ‘out of the closet’ with his ideas.
John Boy: How do you come up with he’s trying to take your right to marry or your medical and bring us back to the 60s???????? Where did you get this info Ruth Ruth M Bowley??????
Ruth M Bowley
Ruth M Bowley I didn’t answer you yesterday, John. Because there is no reasoning to a white male, who feels he isn’t being heard, who voted for Trump and wants his guns! In other words, John there is no reasoning to a group of America’s population who have not had the struggles that many have.
Heath Hetero: That’s funny because in DC pro life women weren’t welcome in their March! Some equality!!!
Ruth M Bowley

Ruth M Bowley Citizens with pre-existing medical conditions may be concerned about what will happen to them if Obamacare is repealed. And 20 million Americans who have healthcare insurance for the first time may wonder how they will fare under Trumpcare.

John Boy:  Jeeze Ruth didn’t know you knew me better than me . guess I will have to go buy a gun seeing I don’t own one. And I guess I will have to go out and get all the money I have. ( I’m far from rich) and as for being white well I’m sorry I didn’t have a choice about that. And I don’t have any pride in that because how can someone be proud of something that I had no choice in. But that’s fine just believe what you want.
Ruth M Bowley

Ruth M Bowley Odd because I could have sworn I saw a few people from your circle of friends…

Image may contain: 1 person, standing and outdoor
John Boy:  What are you talking about????
Heath Hetero: John I’ve got guns for both of us.Lol oh yeah our founding fathers made sure that I could if you have a problem with that tough shit! As far as preexisting conditions the republicans have said over and over that’s not what they want to get rid of, and 
John Boy:  What did you think you would get with Clinton in office????
John Boy: In my eyes abortion takes the right to live from the child.
JessicaFascinating. This whole conversation is fascinating. Let me make this perfectly clear to all the men on this chat. My uterus is my business. What I choose to do or not to do with it is certainly not your business. No one has a right to tell me what to 
John Boy:  You always had a choice. Don’t get pregnant with your uterus!!!!! Murder is not a right.
John Boy: Your argument does not hold water.
Jessica:  Really? Don’t tell me what to do with my uterus. And by the way. Tell all your kind raping man friends to keep their dicks in their pants. Majority of abortions are to undo a rape.
John Boy: That’s a whole different subject and you know it. A little responsibility can save a life!
Ruth M Bowley
Ruth M Bowley God fearing white man…speaks!
John Boy:  Selfish baby killer speaks.
John Boy:  Bigot
Heath Hetero:  They marched for abortion and for free contraceptives ! Well if they used contraceptives they wouldn’t be pregnant, I have go buy condoms, buy your own pills, and grow up.
Ruth M Bowley
John Boy: Don’t put up the whole post you coward ???
Ruth M Bowley
Ruth M Bowley Yup. I already got your okay.
John Boy: Is your father white any family members white males???? Bigot
Ruth M Bowley In actuality, since this is a public arena, I do not need your permission.
John Boy: She doesn’t even realize that Trump has done alot for gays and supports them . But when your ignorant your ignorant.

John Boy: Your the one who just popped in but that fine I’ve had enough of asshats and pussycaps.

By babykiller and by angery lesbian who couldn’t get a man.
I don’t have a problem with Gay’s never had. But you are what you are angry and you weren’t always a lesbian. I tried to have a civilized conversation but your to much of a bigot. Repost that! Bet you won’t
 
In 1973, when homosexuality was removed from DSM-II, there was a great deal of controversy about that decision in the psychiatric community. Many psychiatrists and psychologists still believed that homosexuality was a psychopathology which must invariably cause impairment and distress. Others recognized that the impairment and distress often seen by clinicians were a byproduct of stigma and social repression of homosexuals. This group argued that the pathologization of homosexuality in the DSM was a form of social control that itself contributed to the social stigma and to the harm it did. See DSM-II_Homosexuality_Revision.pdf
Black Like Me…John Howard Griffin

“Nothing can describe the withering horror of this. You feel lost, sick at heart before such unmasked hatred, not so much because it threatens you as because it shows humans in such an inhuman light. You see a kind of insanity, something so obscene the very obscenity of it (rather than its threat) terrifies you. It was so new I could not take my eyes from the man’s face. I felt like saying: “What in God’s name are you doing to yourself?”

What is ‘Black Like Me’?

Black Like Me, first published in 1961, is a nonfiction book by white journalist John Howard Griffin recounting his journey in the Deep South of the United States, at a time when African-Americans lived under apartheid-like conditions. Griffin was a native of Dallas, Texas, who had his skin temporarily darkened to pass as a black man. He traveled for six weeks throughout the racially segregated states of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, and Georgia to explore life from the other side of the color line. Sepia Magazine financed the project in exchange for the right to print the account first as a series of articles.

 

Til the Lilac’s Cease

til the lilacs cease 4

I am not a lone wolf,

though, I profess to be.

Broken and barren?

Only when the warmth will not lay down next to me.

til the lilacs cease 5

With the morning’s drawn out,

as if to say,

‘your winter has overcome the Lilac’s of May.’

This, this, is my… daunting midday,

covering splendor like  smoldering sentences of words we did not say..

And, though it has been only a minuscule twilight,

that has separated us,

darkness has absconded with trust.

I have tried to go home for the pretension.

Looking to relieve the tension.

And,

between my heart, my soul and you, lay the secrets I dare not mention.

Among the granite living,

feelings of resentment.

A side of myself that is not meant for public consumption.

Always under the guise of deliberate outward attention.

til the lilacs cease 3

These past few hours,

have led me to believe,

I cannot forget all my cares without, the fix of your stare…

Without,

seeing you again…

here and there.

Ignorance: find relevance in today.

 

 

Tilton, New Hampshire
Tilton, New Hampshire

I am in awe of my own conformity.  My own complacency.  My avoidance of charity and awareness.  I had heard/read this story about two months ago.  I chose to not write about it.  I consciously understood that by not bringing to the attention of greater minds…my readers, I would be deceiving my own true beliefs.

True belief in the idea that…I should not wait until an accident happens…before I put my own personal stop sign up.

 I frequent this particular area, of Concord,  from time to time, with my dogs.  Usually it is to let the dogs out, off leash, and, allow them and the Soup Kitchen attendees, to meet.

Many of the homeless once owned animals…and, as is typically the case, have had to surrender them or give them up, due to lack of funds.

What bothered me about my lack of forthcoming…my need to please?

I knew down deep in my heart that whether my writing about this absurd tragedy…would increase knowledge and perhaps, change…I also toyed with the idea that perhaps, the article would not be readable or pleasing to the eye.

Shame on me.

Everyday, for several days, this story has entered my morning meditation.  Yet, I sat and let it go.  Why is it, as humans, do we sit and let…wrong, immoral, acts go?

I’ve researched, current day, if a deal has been struck in relation to this man.

This man who whether good or bad; has he received any posthumous acknowledgement.  I’ve yet to come up with anything permanent.  Vague small articles have been written.  Nothing much physical done!

I did not know this man who passed.  Whatever his history, it should not matter.  At the time of the incident, he had been an innocent man.

find relevance in today
find relevance in today

‘After all, there are two aspects of ignorance, one of peace as well as, one of torment.  I have always sought the first; but the tantalizing Goddess persists in showing me the second.’

-Gamaliel Bradford

Homeless Man Struck on I-393 Passes Away

Gene Parker, 62, was hit on Jan. 28, while trying to navigate his wheelchair on the Interstate due to snow blocking the sidewalks.
Homeless Man Struck on I-393 Passes Away

CONCORD, NH – The homeless man who was struck on I-393 in his wheelchair while trying to roll from South Commercial Street to North Main Street has passed away due to his injuries.

Gene Parker, 62, died on Jan. 31, 2016, with family and friends at Concord Hospital.

Parker was hit at around 7 p.m. on Jan. 28, on the eastbound side of the Interstate. Friends had rolled him up South Commercial Street and were behind him when he was hit. Parker was taken to Concord Hospital with serious injuries, according to comments made by family and friends on Facebook. The highway was closed for a number of hours as the incident was investigated. Neither alcohol nor drugs were factors and no charges have been filed against the driver, according to Concord Police.

Parker, according to online records, was a registered sex offender, having been convicted of two felonious sexual assault charges in 2001. He was previously convicted of theft, trespass, violation of a protective order, and duty to inform. He was trying to turn his life around after years of alcohol abuse, according to press reports, and had repaired relations with at least one of the victims, a family member, according to an advocate. In 2010, before he was paroled, Parker requested to be kept in prison in order to be better prepared for release, according to an Associated Press report. He lost his limbs due to frostbite and during surgery last week, lost more of his legs and had two collapsed lungs, due to the accident.

During the past few days, many in the homeless community and their advocates have been angered that the sidewalk– the shortest route between The Friendly Kitchen and North Main Street – has not been cleared. The night after the accident, numerous people grabbed shovels and began clearing the sidewalk themselves, according to a post on Facebook. The city, however, maintains that it is an Interstate highway system and should not be used by pedestrians even though there is a sidewalk there. The agreement with the city, as part of the site plan review, also states that the soup kitchen would work with the state to make sure the sidewalks were cleared.

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Who’s your Daddy?

A dreamer's mind is not thread bare...It is filled with charm, chaos, mayhem. It is stamped, Handle with Care!
A dreamer’s mind is not thread bare…It is filled with charm, chaos, mayhem. It is stamped, Handle with Care!

There is nothing a daughter wants more than to be able to give back…to her parents!  It has been my pleasure to do so for approximately, 6 years, 114 days, 22 hours and 7 minutes.  But who is counting?

And, though, it has been a learning experience; the in’s and out’s of aging, frivolity among the elderly and loving the bratty senior..I would on some occasions be willing to exchange those spurts of growth with say…being housed in a small confined space with an angry, in heat, feral cat.

For example, the other day, whilst picking up assorted, snort rags, mouth rags and handi-wipes…because my father’s OCD, has gone un-medicated; I discovered a Parenting magazine.  This piece of literature may have its place in a newborn’s home.  What it was doing in stacked against National Geographic and AARP’s special Oscar issue, is anybody guess.

Matter of fact, I am still curious and after addressing the issue with my mother.

“What’s up with the Parenting magazine?  Are you pregnant?”

Mom’s quick reply?

“Oh, that?  I don’t know where it comes from.  We get it every month.  Not sure why!”

stupid_quotes_05

I have noticed the more direct the question with my parents…the increased possibility of evasiveness occurs.  Almost the same kind of behavior portrayed by myself…as a rebel without a cause…teenager.

The above mentioned situation lead me to think of various other things…I should understand but, simply, do not.

  •  People who drive their motorcycles in the winter time.  Now, I get it, in New Hampshire there just is not enough sunlight and warmth.  And, after you’ve just put 5,000 down on the new Harley…riding is all you want to do.  However, it is often been said,

“The most deadly combination known to man is low IQ and high testosterone.”
Jarod Kintz

  •   Daylight savings?!  What does that even mean?  No one really knows what time it is anyway.  And, those of us over forty, are not particular fond of how quickly time flies.  I say, leave it alone.  Every time it happens I have to go out and buy a new cheap digital watch from Wal-Mart.
  •    Went missing?  The other day, unfortunately, a small child went missing…channel 9 reported!  What does that even mean?  If you go somewhere, you went there.  If you miss placed your bong…it is gone…M.I.A.  There is no in between!  The child did not specifically to the beater car, to be missing…A car that was running with the windows up.   If the sentence were to make sense.  It would need to go like this:Lucinda Lou went to the 89′ Chevy Cavalier without exhaust.  She went there to be missing.  Lucinda Lou’s mother concurs,  when the child went there to the car, something was missing.

Go figure!stupid 1

  •   Felonious sexual assault!  Cut it out!  Rape is rape is rape.  Why must we be so politically correct?  Are we attempting not to insult the sensibilities of a…rapist?
  •  The River dance, Celtic woman, Blue Man group and Trans Siberian orchestra?  If any of these groups are one of your favorites…Most likely, you are reading the wrong blog!  Can you say, ‘pass me an Ambien and let’s call it a day?’
  •  Who’s your daddy?  I know where my daddy is.  He’s sleeping at stop light somewhere.  Yet, another perk of senior sitting!  Who is he?  He’s the asshole arguing with Concord P.D., stating, ‘laws are always up to interpretation!’

 

Just the other day, my father, who is one of the most intelligent people I know.  Claimed…

‘Have Ruth open the skylight.  She should be able to reach it!’

My father also has some issues with lucidity and stubbornness!

I stated,

‘Yeah, I’m about three inches taller than dad!’

Father follows with…

‘What’d you mean?  I go to the gym once a week.  Been doing up to ten sit-ups!  I’ve lost five pounds…I’m taller!  Almost your height!’

What does that even mean? My father wasn’t even the same height before senior shrinkage happened.   Does this mean that weight is not actually lost?  It just puts on an inch or two?  Perhaps, he meant to say,

My height, my weight and my sanity…went missing.  For further information consult your latest subscription to Parenting magazine!

 

stupid 2

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