On July 19th Owen had an accident coming up a ramp about 1 mile from our home.  We took our truck to an insurance approved repair shop, and as of today it’s still not ready.  We cannot afford to keep renting a car and they are unable to keep their promises to customers.  So, wish us the best with this situation.

I just talked to our insurance adjuster and he said that they have no control over the finishing of a car because they contract them out to have some of the work done. If that’s indeed the case, they shouldn’t give customers a specific date the vehicle will be ready.  Then they act like I’m unreasonable because I’m asking for what said they would give me.  Sometimes I just get so sick of dealing with people.

I didn’t get the job I interviewed for.  I seriously flunked the Excel test, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when I got the letter, yet I’m still disappointed.  The only thing I can think to do is send them a card to not forget me when future positions open and practice working with Excel.  Oh yeah, and keep looking for a job.  Whine, whine.

Yesterday I had to get a Pap Smear.  I have a really good doctor and she finished the job, including the breast exam, in about 3 minutes.  I always tell her how afraid I am and she says she knows and gets me out of there with as little discomfort as possible.  That’s why I wait 2 months for an appt. with her.  The woman is very popular.  Awesome doctor!

While in the waiting room I saw three little girls with their father and pregnant mother, and wondered what I was like at their age.  They were so small, cute and curious.  There was no way they would be able to comprehend abuse.  All they wanted to do was play, be loved, giggle, and eat good food.  I know I was like them.  My kid parts reacted to seeing them and this morning I got the feeling part of a memory.  In my dissociative system (everyone’s different)  I have parts that hold visual, auditory memories and another that keeps the physical, emotional memories of the same incident of abuse.  This morning I remembered very violent and painful abuse from my father and his cronies.  I never made a sound when it happened.  It was too much.  I think I was just trying to stay alive and hold onto my sanity, thus the splitting off of my consciousness.  This morning I screamed for a long time.  I felt some pain.  Now I have a fuller memory of what happened.  It lived in a real-life  nightmare.  I’m glad my mother and father are dead because I hate them.

Nine years ago I changed my name.  I didn’t think sick, evil, torturing, people should have the privilege of naming me.  In some cultures naming is an important ceremonious  family event.  The name I had seemed like some kind of afterthought.  No doubt it was.   I also gave myself a middle name.  When I was substituting I met an Nigerian woman who told me in Yoruba my name means set apart or wall.  I don’t know how I came up with something like that, but it was in my brain.

Michael has a new woman in his life who loves him.  I like her but it still feels kind of strange to me, like I lost something.  For 25 years I was the main woman in his life.  Not anymore.  This is as it should be, but it’s still a little hard to take.  Some days I want my baby back.  I try not to look at the pictures.  Time has gone by very fast.

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