The Path

When I go through times of change that bring on feelings of doubt and fear, I tend to long for a sense of control.  Control creates a false sense of security and certitude which may temporarily lessen fear.  I seek out this control in many different ways; signing up for a program that guarantees my path for at least a year, making a commitment to a new lease, clinging to a relationship to keep me grounded, turning towards work to ensure that I have somewhere stable to go everyday.  All of these things can bring me an instant feeling of control.  Control over where I am living, control over what I am doing everyday, control over a routine that will be present for a duration of time.  The problem with immediately turning towards control in times of change is that it may close your eyes to the path you are meant to take.

I currently lost the apartment that I was renting due to a drastic raise in rent.  At first, I felt a sense of panic.  It was a reminder that I am not grounded in this world and don't have a secure home.  I was reminded once again that this home isn't mine and I don't belong.  As an immediate fix to this feeling of disconnect, I went on a desperate quest to buy a house.  I thought that the only way I was going to fix this feeling of not belonging was to secure myself a home.  Well, being alone and having only one part time employment worthy of putting on a loan application made it impossible for me to buy any more than a single wide trailer.  Shit, can't buy a home.

As I was frantically trying to rally up roommates and options for houses to rent, I started to realize that I had no control over the situation; rental owners wouldn't call me back, potential roommates would have leases for another two months, friends renting houses had all their rooms filled and I couldn't do a thing about it.  I don't do well when I don't have the ability to make things happen in my life.  I hate waiting for phone calls.  I hate waiting on other people to get a job done.  I hate needing something from someone else to do what I need to do.  There was no way I could make the rental owner call me back.  There was no way I could make my friend's lease end earlier, and there was no way I could kick one of my friend's tenants out of their house.  Control was utterly and completely out of my hands.

This is when I realized that forcing matters was not getting me anywhere fast.  Craving control was only making me crazy with worry.  So, I am currently letting go of the situation.  If someone doesn't call me back, I figure there is a very good reason for it and that something better will come along.  If there is not room in my friend's house, I figure there must be a good reason why we shouldn't live together.  If my friend can't get our of her lease early, then there must be a good reason why we shouldn't move into a house immediately.  When you can't change the situation you are in, stop pushing so hard, sit back, open your eyes and try to see which way your path was meant to go.

No amount of control is going to alter the destiny of your life.  If you are able to use brute force and determination to steal the reins from destinies hands to create your own path, then you will probably find yourself more lost than ever.  I only hope that in times like these I can have the patience and wisdom to know that my path will reveal itself to me.  Whether we fight for control or not, somehow we always end up right where we are supposed to be.

Life Plays On

I was just reminded that no matter how stable or controllable life may seem, it is not.  Such a strong part of me wants to hold on to everything that is good right now and make it absolutely permanent.  Tie it all down and force it to never change or move on.  The problem with this desire is that it is not realistic.  Life does not stand still.  Life does not stop moving and changing.  As fall approaches, we are all reminded that things must change.

Whenever I find myself perfectly content and blissful, a fear begins to build within me.  I start to fear losing the peace that I have found.  I start to fear change that may alter my perfectly balanced existence and once again throw me off course.  What I have failed to realize is that this fear is, in itself, the death of my peace and contentment.  The fear of change utterly ruins our capability to simply live in the moment and enjoy the good we are experiencing while it lasts.  Fall is a breathtaking season.  The colors warm the horizon, the smells provoke lost memories and the cooler temperatures rejuvenate the energy that was lost in summer's heat.  Although all of these things create a very blissful experience, they cannot last forever.  Eventually, the leaves will turn brown and fall to the ground.  Instead of fearing this change, it should be celebrated.  Because winter too brings its own beauty and hope.

Clinging desperately to what I love so much about today makes me lose site of the good that may come tomorrow.  Finding contentment in my work, friends, home, hobbies and health is a true gift, but believing that these are the only friends, work, home and hobbies that will ever make me happy is a lie.  Although the new season may bring a change in some aspects of my life, it does not have to equal a loss of stability or contentment.  Change is inevitable.  It should not be feared.  While facing the prospect of a great change, fear not the negative it may bring and the good that may be lost, instead, look forward with the understanding that your path is always evolving and bringing you to the exact spot you are meant to be.

Whether we cling to the present with all our might, clawing at it with desperation to avoid losing the joy it has brought us, life plays on.  Take full advantage of the joys that the present gives you but don't lose site of the prospective joys that wait around the next bend.

Anywhere

I had a professor at Fort Lewis college who, at one time, was my role model.  Her name was Josianne Peltier.  She was a spunky and wise 57 year old woman who arrived at the school around the same time I did.  My luck was incredible.  I couldn't have gotten a more appropriate language professor.  She was from France and had taught a wide range of subjects in universities around the world including Harvard.  Her resume must have been ten pages long with a list of subjects she had taught extending from level 1 French to Women's Literature taught to students in Japan.  In my eyes, she was the perfect example of who I aspired to be; independent, adventuresome, brilliant, courageous, worldly and an amazing leader.  How could you ask for anything more from a professor and role model?

It was because of Josianne that I ended up spending my year teaching in Luxeuil les Bains France.  She was the one who had handed me the application to the teacher's assistant program and written my recommendation.  I would spend hours in her office discussing my senior dissertation over a cup of coffee.  We spoke in French about all of her travels and my dreams of doing the same.  As she spoke of tiny villages in Japan and Finland, I pictured myself in her shoes; speaking 8 different languages, adapting to any culture that surrounded me and educating students with the knowledge I was slowly acquiring.  After I left Fort Lewis, I started out on my path to become Josianne Peltier.

After one year of teaching in France and five months teaching in Chile, I decided I wanted to get a master's in French.  For my application to CU Boulder's Masters program, I had to get teacher recommendations from my undergrad professors.  Josianne was literally the only professor I had taken French classes from and, as a French major, I had taken a lot of French classes.  I knew that she was going to have to be the one to write my recommendation.  Tracking her down was the hardest thing I have ever done.  I called Fort Lewis and they had no record of where she currently was.  The last place she had gone was Arizona.  I called the school in Arizona and they said she had left already and they weren't sure where she had gone.  I called one of my old class mates who had tried to stay in contact with her and she said the last she knew Josianne was in Arizona but that she had talked about moving back to Finland.  I finally found her at a private university in Finland and sent her an email asking for my recommendation.  She replied three weeks later asking for a photo, because she couldn't remember who I was.

I had called another professor for a recommendation, who I had only taken one course with, Bob Brooks.  He had moved on to a different school as well, but he immediately remembered who I was and specific details about how I had performed in his course.  Josianne, who I had spent two years with in at least two of her courses per semester, couldn't put a face to my name.   This is when it dawned on me.  Josianne was independent, courageous, adventuresome, worldly and brilliant, but she lacked something very crucial to personal growth; connection.  She had spent so long searching for her next destination that she forgot to embrace where she was.  Moving on became second nature, and although she could easily adapt to every location she moved to, she never actually connected anywhere.

Travelers who get the insatiable bug that pushes them to keep moving may discover some incredible places, but they may move too fast to make lasting connections with any of them.  I was guilty of being in one place while looking out the window towards anywhere else I could be next.  The drive to discover pulled me forward through my endless list of new destinations.  When we move too quickly, we miss out on the deeper connections in life;  the friendships that blossom with age, the trust that develops from security, the family that forms from community and the opportunities that appear with time.  Discovering new locations is incredible, but becoming acquainted with the deeper side of one location enriches life on a whole new level.

The Winds of Change

There comes a time in every life when the winds begin to change.  They may become a bit warmer, change direction, carry an extra crisp bite, slow down, speed up or simply whisper a slightly different tune.  Just as the winds bring in the new seasons, they also bring in the new stages in one's life.  I have been touched by the winds of change many times.  A slight change of the breeze can alter the direction a life has taken.  At the closing end of each of my different stages, there has been one specific moment when I realized something drastic was about to happen.  Maybe it came with the breeze or maybe it had always been there waiting for me to become aware of it.  Either way, these winds of change carry you from the end of one season to a fresh new beginning.

Unlike my previous winds of change which brought the urge to move on and follow my path to new destinations, these most current winds whispered a soothing wish to stay.  Never before have my winds come in slightly warmer and calmer gusts lulling me into a serine state of contentment.  Before this moment, they would always begin to pick up speed and blow consistently harder and colder until I grew tired and let them carry me to my next location.  I began to dread these winds knowing that they meant I would once again have to start over and recreate my life.  Last year, right around the time my winds usually start to howl, I felt nothing but a warm spring breeze opening the warm promising arms of summer.

Although this past cyclic change did not bring a drastic change to my location, it represented the most drastic change in my life so far.  I have never been the one to stay.  It was always easier for me to leave than to be left.  Leaving was my way of taking back control, staying one step ahead of everyone else, making sure that I would leave before anyone could leave me.  This time, I watched the winds pick up some of my friends and carry them on to new destinations as I sat feeling my roots creep under the top layer of earth.  I was finally at peace with being the one left behind, in fact, I was elated to be staying behind.  I had found my piece of heaven, my sanctuary, my home.

My friends laugh because they never thought they'd see the day when they would leave me knowing exactly where to find me when they came home.  I find great pleasure in knowing that I am now the peaceful retreat for my friends.  I am the reliable place where they can all come to find peace and recenter themselves.  My dearest friend Caitlin said that she calls my apartment in Buena Vista her little mountain retreat and every time she is feeling distressed she tells herself it is time to visit Erin.  This warms my heart.  Playing this new role fulfills every wish I could ever have.  I can now feel the changing winds and let them flow through my grounded branches as I watch all the other leaves flow around me.

Love?

"You will love but you will not possess."

"You will love but you will not be jealous."

"You will love but your love will not be need."

"You will relate but you will not depend."

I read these words in a book by Osho called, "Love, Freedom, Aloneness"  Throughout our journey in life, we are all slowly learning how to love not only ourselves but others.  The word "love" is used to describe many different emotions and physical states, but it is hard to pin point what the word really means.  In the dictionary, there are several definitions; a profoundly tender passionate affection for another person, sexual passion or desire, to need or require, benefit greatly from, to take great pleasure in.  All of these are true for what we describe with the word love, but not all states of love are healthy for us to be in.  For example, to need or require another person puts us in a very vulnerable and dependent position.  Sexual passion and desire can blind us from reality and rob us of our self awareness.  To benefit greatly from someone means that we are using them to fulfill a personal need.  How do we love without depending, using, needing and possessing?

There is no doubt in my mind that my family loved me.  Healthy or not, there is a bond between family members that cannot be broken.  When the love that you have received from your family is unhealthy, it takes a lot of work to redevelop your understanding of the feelings that are associated with the word.  Love to me meant a need that can't be fulfilled, it meant a responsibility to people who just keep taking, it meant staying in a harmful situation because you are dependent, and it meant that the other people possess a part of you.  After being told that love meant self sacrificing because of an obligation to always be there for the people who love you, I never wanted to feel love again.

I took back my power by deciding that I would never love.  If I never felt attached to anyone, then I could never be hurt by them.  It was the only way that I could reclaim myself.  For so long, I was whoever my family needed me to be.  By loving me only when I did what they wanted, they took away my freedom.  I didn't know it at the time, but my stage of complete selfish living was the first step to transforming the way I am capable of loving.  First, one must be free of all relationships that have boxed them in.  To find oneself, you have to be given the freedom to be selfish and find out who you are while standing alone.  I stood alone for many years; dating but never loving.  I had so much power and control when I felt nothing.  It was a very safe place for me to be; untouchable, unaffected, closed off and alone.  

When I painted this painting, I was dating someone who had been hurt as badly by his family as I had.  It was the first time that I wanted to have feelings for someone.  I knew what he was feeling and I wanted to fix it by loving him.  The only problem was that he was where I was a year earlier.  He constantly said things like: "I never want to fall in love, I don't want to be in a serious relationship, I only want to be selfish."  Watching him be in his closed off state shut down to all emotion and connection made me realize that this was not a state I wanted to remain in.  So, I started to transform the way I related to others.  I began to look at what I wanted love to mean to me.  How did I want to feel in love?  These words are what resonated through me when defining love.

I want to love someone without feeling jealousy.  I want to always be happy in their happiness.  I want to love without needing.  Being around the other person will always be a choice never an obligation.  I want to relate to them and never be dependent on them.  I know that I can stand alone.  I no longer need anyone.  My love will simply be based on the pleasure I feel when I am around them never the feeling that I cannot make it without them.  I want to love them without possessing them.  They will never belong to me.  They will have complete freedom as will I.  We will give one another the freedom to be oneself and we will continue to learn about one another and relate to one another in each transformation we go through.  Until I feel all of these things, I will not love.  Now that I have the choice, this is the only love I want in my life.

The Reflection

It is said that in love, we see a reflection of ourselves.  Maybe that is why love is such a scary thing to enter into.  If we are honest in love, then we have to be honest with ourselves.  I go back and forth between wanting to be alone forever and wanting to find that special someone who completes me.  I do not think that I have come far enough in my self discovery to know who I want to see staring back at me in the reflection.  There have been many men in my life.  Each one has been a very accurate reflection of my current sense of self.  None have been a reflection of the person I ultimately want to be.
There was Jimmy who reflected my desire to have a home and a sense belonging.  I started dating him before I had discovered why I never felt grounded. Trying to steal his sense of belonging and make it my own only made me resent him.  His home would never be mine and his family would never be mine.  They took me in and treated me like one of their own, but I still did not feel as though it was my place.  He did not know who he was without his family and outside of his home, and I did not know who I was without mine.  It was too soon for me to start developing a new sense of family, because I had not yet processed and let go of my previous one.
 After Jimmy, there were various men that reflected every aspect of myself that I had woven into my identity.  One after the other, showed me sides of myself that I wanted to let go of.  Sides that belonged to who my family told me I was but not who I wanted to be.  There was the world traveler who lacked any stability, there was the doctor who thought his career would fill the other empty cracks in his life, there was the party animal who thought the solution to problems was to forget them, there was the adrenaline junky who self medicated by scaring the shit out of himself and there were many mountain men who found their sense of self by climbing the tallest mountain, kayaking the class 5 creek and skiing the wind blown couloir.  None of them reflected the sides of myself that I wanted to grow.
When I made this painting, I was dating a boy who had experienced a childhood very similar to my own.  It was while I was neck deep in the pain my family  had caused me and accepting that I was allowed to feel it.  With him, I felt comfortable being upset and not smiling.  I thought that because he had been through similar traumas, he could relate to what I was feeling and help me to express it.  I did feel my pain.  I did wallow in self pity.  I did self medicate.  I did allow myself to use my pain as an excuse to be angry at the world and close myself off.  There came a point when I wanted to move on and become someone different.  He never did.  This was a huge turning point for me; realizing that I could feel the pain and wallow in it but then let it go and no longer allow it to control who I am.  Letting go of him and the reflection of myself that he represented, really helped me to move on to the next stage of my recovery.  It also taught me how enlightening relationships are, whether they are positive or not, they can help you to discover the person you are at the current moment and tell you if that is the person you really want to be.    

The Conflict

We all fight with conflicting sides of ourselves.  Everyday we make choices as to who we want to be.  Sometimes the good wins and sometimes the bad overcomes us.  We hope that the good is strong enough to persevere, and each time that it does, it gets a bit stronger.  There is nothing stopping us from one day stepping off the edge and choosing to be a side of ourselves that we have not yet acknowledged.  We can only hope that we continually have the strength to choose the more positive option.
 
After my mom moved to Africa, I was left in the deceivingly calm wake left by my family's chaos.  I was torn between feeling relieved that I was finally able to live my life free of their drama and feeling completely broken by the fact that I was truly alone.  This began my stage of redeveloping how I saw myself and how I related to myself and the world around me.  For so long, I was living just to survive the ups and downs created by my family.  My life was riding their roller coaster and I was simply reacting to each curve they threw at me.  At last, I was on my own left to figure out what path my own life would take.  Derailing from the ride they had me on filled me with a sense of freedom but also dread.  Who am I without them?  What lifestyle will I choose to live without them?  Can I even survive without them?

I go back and forth between the person they made me and the one that I am slowly developing into.  In no way do I regret all of the traveling I have done.  It taught me so much about the world and my place in it.  I have however, realized that my instability left me feeling disconnected and hollow.  There were no ties connecting me to any one place or any one community.  I had not stopped moving since I was 16 years old, and as I sat in Buena Vista trying to find myself, I realized that I didn't have a well defined self.  Erin could be a school teacher in Luxeuil Les Bains France, sitting in cafes for hours, taking dance classes and going to art clubs.  She could also be a mountaineer in Chile, camping above tree line in blizzards, climbing rock faces and trekking through the Andes.  I had so many identities that I had lost any sense of self.  Through my travels, I had proved that I could be anybody, that I could fit in anywhere and that I could survive anything.  Figuring out what I really wanted to be doing was a much more challenging task.

Whether I was running from my past, proving my ability to survive or trying to gain my family's approval, I had never been living for myself.  I was tired.  I was broken down.  I was lost, and I was very lonely.  As I slowly relaxed into my life in Buena Vista, I started to uncover the person I was before I jumped on the crazy ride around the world.  I was a small town girl who craved community and connection.  More than anything, I wanted to belong somewhere and be cared about.  Sometimes the flighty traveler in me still takes over and tries to convince me that I will never belong anywhere and that I will never grow roots anywhere.  She tries to pull me away from my grounded state and throw me back onto the roller coaster.  It is not easy to convince myself that I am capable of having a home.

The person that I am becoming wants more than anything to have a home.  I want to be a stable support to others and find a stable support system for myself.  There is nothing easy about trusting my ability to do this.  I know how to survive in foreign countries and how to live alone, but I don't know how to be a part of a stable community.  I am afraid of getting too close to people and losing them again or worse hurting them.  I don't believe myself when I say I want to be there for others.  Nothing in my past has proven that I make a stable or reliable friend.  One day I am there and the next I am on the other side of the world recreating my life somewhere else.  All that I can do is start every day by focusing on the person I want to be and believing that I am capable of being her.

To the Future

Moving forward is based on the assumption that you let go of the past.  Understanding what this means has been one of the most challenging tasks for me.  Does this mean that eventually I will be able to forget what happened to me?  Does it mean that in order to leave my past behind, I have to slowly dissolve the person that I was?  Through this process, I have realized that you can never forget where you have been.  Those memories will fade and slowly lose the weight that they once held, but they will never completely vanish.  They shouldn't vanish.  Good or bad they were the stepping stones that you took into the present.  Realizing this, I had to accept that I could never drop these heavy events in my life; I simply had to learn how to lighten my load and rob them of their power.

It is hard for me to believe that I can be someone different than my family.  How can i come from a past like that and become someone worthy of a loving and stable environment?  Nobody should ever have to go through what I did so, as a precaution, I told myself that I would never get married or have a family.  What if I became my father or mother and hurt my own family like they did me?  I would rather live alone forever than put my own family through that.  I am sure that everybody who has been hurt by their family thinks the same thing before they start their own life.  They tell themselves that they will never do what their parents did; they will never be that cruel.  Then, before they know what happened or how they got to where they are, they find themselves repeating the same destructive patterns that they had sworn they would never repeat.  Moving forward, to me, means accepting that what happened in your past does not have to control who you are in the present.  It means looking towards the future with the hope and belief that you will be in control of your actions.  Your past will no longer carry enough weight to alter the direction of your future.

My good friend Angela drove with me to Woodland Park on the day that I was saying goodbye to my mom.  I couldn't speak in the car.  I had no words that could fix or distract me from the situation I was in.  A deep sadness pressed down on my heart as I faced the possibility of never seeing my mom again.  She was simply moving to Uganda, but in my reality, I was making the decision to not only let go of her physical presence in my life but also her emotional presence.  This was going to be my goodbye to having a mother.  The mother that she had once represented had left years ago, but this was the first time I was going to look her in the face and admit to myself that I no longer had a mother to turn to for support.

When you see a family member, no matter how your relationship has been with them, you feel a tug on your heart that tells you that they are your tribe.  They are supposed to be your safe haven, your rock and your comfort.  Whether this is what they really represented for you or not, your heart tells you that this is what you should be receiving from them.  My mom was sitting at a little table with a manila folder laying in front of her.  I could see the tension run from her watery eyes down through her taught shoulders and rigid back.  Her discomfort was a reflection of my own.  We hadn't seen each other since our heated separation after Thanksgiving.  She was leaving for Uganda with the man that had broken our family apart.  She was leaving me and her life in the states to follow a man who had never loved her to Africa.  I was losing my mom.  There was nothing comforting about this meeting, and although my heart told me that seeing this woman should stimulate love and relief, all I felt was pain and anger.

We sat across from each other inches apart but with oceans of distance between us.  She handed me a folder that explained the organization she was going to work for.  As she spoke about her excitement to be helping the children of Africa and doing good in the world while finding her purpose in life, my throat closed in tighter and tighter while I wondered why her life here and her family here could never provide her with that fulfillment.  I felt no happiness for her; I didn't believe one word she was saying.  She wasn't running towards her life's dream; she was running away from the life she had let seep through her fingers here in the states; she was running away from the family she had failed to support.  There was nothing I could say to her to explain that I felt as though a jagged knife was slowly ripping my soul from my dying body; how all I wanted was a family that loved me enough to stick around and make a real effort to change.

 I tried to stay very stoic not wanting to show her the damage she was causing me.  There was part of me that didn't want to give her the satisfaction of watching me cry over her departure.  As the tears welled up in my eyes, I saw the relief and light begin to shine in hers.
"Does this make you sad?"  She asked looking at me with eyes that searched for proof of my love and my hurt by her leaving.  "What's making you sad?"  She asked prying out a confession that I needed her and couldn't live without her.  A confession that would have satisfied her every need but that never would have changed her decision to leave.
"Nothing, I can't explain it or talk about it right now."  I choked out the words trying not to suffocate on my slowly restricting throat.
"Will you come and visit?"
"No mom.  I don't think that I will."
She handed me the manila folder that contained the title and service records to my dad's old car that he had given to me after he missed my college graduation, because he had moved to the Congo.  We hugged without touching and I walked away from my mother holding a title to a car that represented everything I had received from my family but could never replace the connections we were never able to make.

Freedom

 Freedom

Touch the sky

soar free from doubt and fear

leave worry behind

reach towards the unknown

clutch not to old plans

for they are chained to the ground

dwell not on past events

for they suffocate bright futures

a better place awaits 

where dreams fill open minds

love runs like water

smiles shine bright as stars

let soar your hidden hopes

free your tangled spirit

play amongst the clouds

and touch the unknown sky.

My dad never tried to contact me after I moved up to Buena Vista.  I made excuses for why I could not return home for the holidays, and the only person who seemed to care was my mom.  She would tell me that my dad missed me and that he would be happy to have me home for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but I knew he was indifferent.  This wasn't the first time I spent the holidays without my family.  I had been living on my own off and on since I was 16.  This was however, the first time that it was possible for me to return home and yet, I made the decision not to.  Holidays are a crazy concept.  If you have a family that you love, then they are a time of love, joy and sharing.  If your family is too far away for you to spend time with, then you are reminded of how much their presence is missed and how important they are to you.  If you don't have a family or you have a family that you dislike, then the holidays simply remind you of what you are missing.  People constantly ask; "where is your family?  Why aren't you with them today?"  It becomes tedious to constantly make up reasons why you can't spend the holidays with your family when really it is because home is no longer a safe place for you to be.  For me, holidays are simply a nagging reminder that my family isn't a positive presence in my life.

A couple days after Thanksgiving, my mom came up to visit me.  She showed up smelling like alcohol.  Her incessant trips to the bathroom only reinforced my suspicion that she was not sober.  She told me how great things were at home and how good Rich was doing in Salida where he had recently moved.  By this point, I knew not to believe her skewed perspective of our families well being.  After she had gotten a bit braver from the alcohol, she began to question my motives for not wanting to come home.  What could I say to her?  I love my mom; I always will.  I never wanted to hurt her, but she could not accept that I had chosen to walk away from our family.

"You abandoned us.  You have been abandoning us since you were 16.  You had such a great life.  We have done so much for you.  We gave you the freedom to travel the world.  You  are so selfish.  Family sticks together.  You owe us more than this."  I could see that there was anger and pain behind her words.  I could also hear that my father was speaking through her.  Her words were no longer her own.  I tried to explain that I did what I had to to move forward with my personal healing.  I tried to explain that I loved her and was tired of hoping for change that wouldn't happen.  I tried to tell her that this wasn't an easy choice.  She only heard that I was giving up on the family and abandoning her.

"You are being a selfish bad daughter.  Your role is to be there for us whether times are good or bad.  That's what family does.  Your dad is changing, he's getting better.  Your brother did so much for you and this is how you repay him.  You had a good life.  We gave you a good life.  How can you do this to us?"  My mom couldn't see past her own hurt to realize that I was doing the only thing that would free me from the grasp of our dysfunctional family.  This was the only way I could save myself.  I tried to remember the mom that sang me to sleep at night and protected me from any harm that might come my way.  I tried to remember that the woman standing before me had been taken over by the abuse of my father.  I tried to separate myself from what she was saying to me, because it was not what a mom who wanted the best for her daughter would say.

"I love you mom, but I have to do this for myself.  I want to keep a relationship with you, but it would have to be separate from dad and Rich."  She looked at me like I had stabbed her in the stomach while looking her straight in the eye.  She looked at me like I was the one person responsible for all her pain.  It took all I had not to turn back on my decision and apologize for being selfish, take her in my arms and tell her that everything would be alright, that I would come back home and that we could all be a family again.  I loved her so much and wanted her to be o.k., but I knew that the price I would have to pay would be a sacrifice of my own healing and happiness.  I was no longer willing to sacrifice myself for my family.

I watched my mom drive away back to her abusive home.  My heart burned with regret, maybe I could have done more.  There was nothing more I could have done.  She had made her choice. She would sacrifice everything to be with my father; her freedom, her voice, her happiness and her children.      

Up in Smoke

Wanting to cut off all ties with my family, I began to think about what it would look like to be alone in the world.  Although the help that they gave me had been very conditional, it had still been some form of assistance.  This decision would mean that I would be cutting myself away from every safety line I had, dependable or not.  My solution to not receiving help when I needed it, was to never need it.  I had to shed all of my vulnerabilities and become entirely independent and self sustainable.  Being weak or needy was not an option.  For this, I thank my family.  They forced me into becoming the strong and independent woman I am today.

While I was traveling the world moving place to place running from my family, I was only making myself weaker.  I had no comfort, no support system and no financial security.  This may have been an immediate escape from my family, but it was not helping me to become permanently independent from them.  It was only wearing me down to the point that I would be forced to crawl back to them sick and broke taking whatever help they would give me to get back on my feat.  I was still at their mercy.  If I was going to make this a durable break, then I was going to have to start leading a life that I could maintain.  I needed to develop comfort, a support system and financial security for myself so that I would never have to ask my family for help again.  This is what I have spent the last two years developing here in Buena Vista.

Although Rich had provided me with a roof over my head and my first circle of friends in Buena Vista, it became very clear that he was still not capable of being the supportive brother that I so needed.  He had begun to drink again, which was never a good combination with his explosive personality.  As his mood and health began to decline, I made the distance between us larger and larger.  After 6 months, we hardly saw each other any more.  I heard reports from friends that his behavior was becoming worrisome and that he was beginning to pull away from his healthy relationships.  I had not returned home for Thanksgiving or Christmas making my decision to separate from my family indisputably evident.

On my birthday, I had a small party with friends after which we were all going to a local bar to see a band.  Two weeks earlier, I had started to see this guy Mark and he was coming as my date to the party.  My friends had put a lot of effort into making my party enjoyable and we were all in a state of bliss as we entered the bar to begin our night of dancing.  Mark and I were dancing together when I saw my brother, who I hadn't seen in a few months, approaching with a dazed look in his eyes.  He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me away from Mark, but I refused to go.  He stormed off into the back of the bar.  My fear began to escalate; I knew how much Rich hated to be disobeyed and the alcohol in his system would only increase the unpredictability of his reactions.  Panic was beginning to close in on me.  Breathing became a heavy burden and my head began to swim with the flight response.  I just wanted to leave.

"No Erin it's your birthday.  He won't do anything.  Lets stay and have a good time."  Mark calmly convinced me to continue dancing, and for a few moments I was able to relax back into the fun evening.  Fifteen minutes later I saw Rich barreling through the crowd back towards us.  His eyes were watery with alcohol and they burned with rage.  This was the look he got when he had found a target for his anger.  He grabbed my arm and pulled me aside before lunging at Mark and shoving him in the chest.
"Are you Fucking my sister!!? Who do you think you are?  You Dumb Fuck!!"  Rich was spitting in Mark's face burning him with his fire ridden eyes.
"I'll take you right now you mother Fucker, lets go.  Do you want to fight!!?"  Rich shoved Mark again as Mark stood there completely bewildered as to why this person he had never met was threatening to beat him up.  Knowing that Rich's rage had nothing to do with Mark, I stepped in between them as my friends tried to pull Rich away.  I looked right into Rich's face and asked, "What are you doing?  Rich, what are you doing?"  I tried to sound as calm and caring as I could to prove to him that he had no reason to act this way.  My heart completely stopped in my chest as he made one move towards me and then backed away.  My body could no longer stand up against my panic.  I began to hyperventilate and darkness was closing in around me.  There is no way to describe a panic attack other than complete loss of control.  You can't breath, you can't talk, the world goes bright and silent around you, you can't see or hear anything but fear.  People try to talk you out of it, but you can't hear them.  Your world is consumed by panic.

While I was outside leaned up against a car gasping for any tiny amount of air I could get, Rich was inside starting a fight with one of my friends.  I found out later that Rich had to be escorted out of the bar and asked to never come back.  This was my brothers last birthday present to me.  This was the last interaction I have had with him in over a year and a half.     

Friendship

The easiest thing to do after being hurt is to build really high safe walls around yourself.  To tell yourself that you don't need or want anyone around you.  This mind set makes you feel better about being let down by the ones you love.  There is no safer place than locked away in your own little world where no one can touch you.    

In reality, we are all alone.  There is no guarantee with any relationship.  The only person who you can always count on is yourself.  You are the only person who will be with you from the beginning until the end.  You better know yourself well, like yourself, get along with yourself, respect yourself and depend on yourself, because nobody else will ever walk in your shoes for you.  As soon as you start loving yourself, being alone doesn't scare you as much.  In fact, being alone can become the only thing that you do well.

To a certain degree, I have forgotten what it feels like to be in close relationships.  I feel more comfortable being by myself.  People scare me.  They are so unpredictable and inconsistent.  When I finally got my dog Jack, I began to realize what makes humans so much harder to have relationships with.  Jack is very consistent.  If I am good to him, he is good to him.  Our interactions are based on current situations.  Humans are not like this.  You can love someone with all your heart and treat them as good as you know how, and they can still turn around and bight your hand off.  They hold on to past events and allow them to control their interactions with people in their present.  Even though you are good to someone, they may be incapable of being good to you because of some unrelated event in their past. There is no magic formula to human interactions.

After deciding to step away from my relationship with my family, I stopped wanting to develop lasting relationships with anyone.  They were too much work.  Why would I ever put that much effort into something that would just end anyways?  I had wasted so much energy and love trying to change my family and develop healthy relationships with them that I had nothing left to give anyone else.  I assumed that relationship meant loss of self and I was tired of losing myself in other people.

My friendships that have developed here in Buena Vista are beginning to change my opinion of close relationships.  Friendships are the best way to begin to trust people again.  The saying, "you can choose your friends but you can't choose your family" is over played but very true.  You can choose your friends, and your choice of friends reflects on what kind of friend you are capable of being.  If you choose your friends wisely, you will be receiving and giving equal amounts of support and caring.  If you are incapable of being a good friend, then you will also be incapable of finding good friends.  I have found amazing friends here and they are helping me to take down my giant walls one brick at a time. 

Quiet Solitude

It's a weird feeling not knowing where to turn for support and comfort, because the people who are supposed to give it to you are actually the ones causing your distress.  Coming back from Chile, I had no money, no job, no home and no family.  This is why it is so easy to go back to the ones who have hurt you, because without them, you are entirely alone.  Is it better to turn to people who cause you harm for the support that you need or to face the world on your own?  Two years later I am still wondering if I made the right choice.  There are many days that I cry myself to sleep wondering if I was better off in an abusive family than spending Christmas alone and receiving no phone calls on my birthday.  Even though I was the one who walked away from my family, there wasn't much of a family left for me to walk away from.  Support was only an illusion.  Although the lack of its presence was now more apparent, I really hadn't had much of it to begin with.

I couldn't stay in Monument knowing that my parents were living their lives around me without being a part of mine.  At this point, I had been moving so frequently that I didn't have a very stable friend base in Colorado to turn to.  Most people had no idea what had been happening in my life, because I had been so secretive and did a spectacular job of putting up mile high walls around myself.  The only option that I could think of was to go and stay with my brother in Buena Vista until I had enough money to pay rent somewhere.  Even though my subconscious knew that this would not be anymore successful than all my other attempts to reconcile with him, I had to believe it would be.  I had no where else to turn.

There was a slight hope in me that the saying, "sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you start climbing back up" would apply to my brother.  Maybe this whole situation with him losing his wife and everything he had then getting a restraining order placed against him would wake him up to the person he had become and push him into changing.  I just want to scream when I think about how many times I went back to my family thinking things would change.  Anyone who has loved someone who gave promises of change but never kept them knows how hard it is to give up hope that someday the change will actually be made.  Just the tiniest sliver of hope can keep you hanging on.

I moved to Buena Vista and moved into a closet sized room in brother's house.  I have to thank him for giving me this opportunity to get back on my feet.  Without his generosity, I don't know where I would have gone or what I would have done.  He helped me to get my first job in town as a dishwasher at a Thai restaurant and introduced me to many people in town.  But, like every other time that I began to rebuild my relationship with him, the honeymoon period only lasted a few months.   

Lifeless, Loveless, Hopeless

 Life is passing by

birds are flying

pages are turning

populations are growing

bridges are burning

people are

living, loving, hating

floating through life on a pointless path

all spinning together in a muddy mess

getting dirtier with every thought

progress evolves into destruction

destruction crushes hope

hope carries life

life is smothered out

all continues

lifeless, loveless, hopeless.

 

Anybody who has been left by someone they love knows the piercing burn of rejection.  Thoughts go through your mind like; what more could I have done, was it my fault, is there something wrong with me, am I unlovable.  To this day, I have moments where I cannot fend off my poisonous self doubt.  Maybe it was my fault that they treated me this way, maybe I deserved to be abandoned, maybe I am unlovable.  My most daunting task is trying to remind myself everyday that I did not deserve to be turned away by my family. 

When I arrived back home, my mom sat by and watched as my dad told me that I was not allowed back into their house until I apologized for betraying him.  I was going to have to sit across from the man who had driven away with all of my mom's money, claiming to have never wanted the life he had with us, stating that he had never loved her and was grateful to be rid of her and the life she had trapped him in and apologize for not making an effort to contact him while I had been trying to soothe my alcoholic mother out of the depression he had put her in.  There are absolutely no words for what I felt as my mom, who I had loved and supported through all the times my dad had left, sat there and watched me walk away from the house not saying one word to defend me.  She would always choose him.  No matter how many times he hurt us and left us, she would always choose him over us.  I lost part of my soul that day and I guarantee it will never be replaced.  My own mom turned me away when I was broke and sick and homeless because my dad had told her to.  She had put the illusive love of an abusive husband over the love of her daughter.       

At first, I could not stomach apologizing to my dad.  I went to an old friends house and stayed there while I went to the doctor and regained my strength.  I sat in my grief trying to contemplate my next step out of this predicament.  There was only one possibility.  I was going to have to go into that house, apologize to my heartless father, get all of my life possessions and walk away for good. 

As I walked up to the house, my whole body was quivering, my heart was pounding and my mind was pulsing with doubt.  As I walked through the door, I turned off my conscious mind realizing that I was about to do something that would betray all of my values and self respect.  Sitting across from my dad looking into his disapproving cold eyes, I told him the last self sacrificing lie that I would ever tell in self preservation.
"I am sorry that I betrayed you. I never meant to take mom's side.  I was here with her, seeing what she was going through and I tried to do what I could to help.  I didn't do it to hurt you."  He gave me a slight nod and a distant hug telling me that I was welcome to stay in the house as long as I needed.  I left a week later with all my belongings and would not return to that house until they had both moved away.  This was the day I lost my mom to the unrelenting grasp of abuse, she would never be her own person again.

Help....

Asking for help is a privilege not a right. Many people would have nowhere to turn if they needed assistance making asking for it in the first place pretty pointless.  It is a life rattling experience when you realize that asking for help won't do you any good.  Ask all you want, but help won't come.  When this realization hit me for the first time, it hit hard.  I began to see the consequences of finally saying no to a family that had always heard yes.  All the support you thought you had in life disappears and you are left with the realization that nobody loves you unconditionally; nobody will be there to pick you up when you fall down.

A few months into my stay in Chile, my dad returned home.  His job in St. Louis hadn't worked out as he had planned and when he was denied every credit card that he had applied for, he had no other option than to return home.  Of course, my mom took him back forgiving everything he had done hoping that this time he had changed.  This left me as the only one who had betrayed him.  According to him, I had turned my back on him when he walked out on us.  Even though he had only written me once that year, it was my fault for not reaching out and trying to communicate with him while he was in Missouri.  My dad can take back any small token of love he had given so fast that you are left wondering if you had imagined receiving it in the first place.  I worked so hard to earn his approval and as it vanished behind his stoic discontent, it left nothing but a cold hollow wake on my heart.

Four months into my stay in Chile, my health began to diminish.  I believe that one's physical well being is directly related to one's mental well being, and my mental unrest was beginning to catch up to me.  As I became more settled in Chile, the thoughts of my past started to creep up to haunt me, and my health took a turn for the worse.  It began as a slight cold that slowly progressed into pneumonia.  Fatigue consumed me and prevented me from partaking in any of my daily activities.  I had to abandon my mountaineering club, my private lessons and teaching.  I was in and out of Chilean clinics getting inhalers, antibiotics and cough syrups, but nothing was helping.  The intense pollution and unheated buildings worsened my condition, but I believe my aching heart was the true culprit.

This went on for a month before I could not take another day.  I had to get help.  By this point, I had been unable to work for over two weeks which stopped my income, and most of my savings had been spent on doctor's visits and medications.  My ticket home was not for another six months and it was a nonrefundable unchangeable ticket.  My only option was to buy a new one which would cost $900.  At this point, I only had about $100 to my name.  When I called my mom for help, she told me that my dad had come home and that he would not allow her to help me get home.  He refused to help me because I had betrayed him; I had taken my mom's side when he left.  My mom made no argument and hung up on me not wanting to disobey her husband.

I got a credit card and put my whole ticket on it.  As I was flying home $1,000 in debt, fighting off my progressing pneumonia, I realized that I was completely alone.  Nobody was looking out for my best interest.  My mom, who I had supported as she rebuilt her life three different times after my dad had shattered it, refused to help me because my dad had asked her not to.        

From the Past

Every time that I moved somewhere new, I traveled with the hope of finding a place that would heal me.  Without admitting it to myself, I was hoping that moving would be the solution to the empty hole left in my heart.   Maybe my love for this amazing place would overtake my longing for the love of my family and leave me feeling whole.  I traveled through endless towns looking for this perfect place, found some pretty breath taking locations, but never mended the broken pieces of my heart. 

Moving was the greatest distraction to my unsolvable dilemmas.  I would find myself in a foreign land by myself trying to navigate my new home, finding a place to live, making connections, developing friendships, joining clubs, delving into new and exciting hobbies, and trying to learn a new language.  There was not a lot of time to remember the life I had left behind.  I became an expert at reestablishing myself.  There was no culture I could not mold myself to fit into, but while I was trying to mold into each of these new cultures, I was ignoring the one person that needed me the most.  Erin as the child who had lost her family.  I was forgetting the real reason I had fled to these far off locations burying myself under all the new identities I was taking on.

As I became more proficient at adjusting to each new location, it became harder to forget the past I was running from.  I would become established too quickly leaving me the time to start thinking again.  Thinking about the problems I had left behind, my mom who I had abandoned in that empty house with alcohol as her only comfort, my brother who was now going through a painful divorce and my dad who I had not heard from in over three months.  These truths began to catch up to me faster than I could run and the running was beginning to drain away my life.  I never found that amazing place that would magically heal my broken heart.  Healing had nothing to do with my physical location.

In a few months, I had become settled in Santiago, living with a girl from Colombia, teaching English at a community college, spending every weekend in the mountains with a local mountaineering club and learning Spanish simply by spending all of my time immersed in the language.  I told myself that this could be the place, I could stay here forever and permanently leave my past behind.  But three months into my life in Santiago, the signs of my unsettled soul began to emerge.        

The Power of Flight

Defense mechanisms save us from a detrimental situation before we are capable of dealing with it in a more permanent manner.  There is nothing wrong with using a defense mechanism to immediately remove yourself from a harmful situation as long as you realize that it will not be a permanent fix.  My defense mechanism has always been to run away.  Whether I was running away to a different life that I invented within myself, or running to the other side of the world, I was running from a reality that I was incapable of dealing with.  Fleeing from my reality was not the solution to the problem, but it did remove me from the whirlwind of confusion before I sunk too far in to crawl back out.

Two months after my mom and I returned home from Montana, I moved to Santiago Chile.  This was the first time that I was capable of recognizing why I was moving thousands of miles away.  The previous times that I had embarked on an extravagant adventure, I had masked my true motivation with a drive to discover the world when my one true desire was to have a home where I felt safe and loved.  When I left home this time, I knew that I was running away from my family and would no longer have a home to return to.  This made going out into the world that much more daunting, because I was beginning to face it alone.

In the last two months that I was with my mom, her drinking never improved.  There was nothing I could say or do to discourage her from using alcohol as a quick release from her deteriorating life.  My concern only forced her deeper into hiding.  Watching her destroy herself one drink at a time stole my soul and replaced it with an empty pit.  My love wasn't good enough.  The only person she wanted was the one person who had brought her to this point in the first place.  Her only fix was her only ruin.  She defended Rich with her life, saying that Betty just wasn't good enough for him; he needed someone who was capable of living up to his standards.  These faulty standards could be adjusted to make anyone look unworthy of love.  My family was killing me from the inside out, stealing the good in me and turning it sour.  The only way that I was going to survive was to run away.

As my mom watched me walk through the security gate at D.I.A., tears streamed down her sorrowful face.  I knew that this was the end of my life with a family.  I would remain in contact with my mom for one more year, but this was the moment that I realized my family did more harm to me than good.  Fleeing was the only way I could protect myself from their endless cycle of self destruction.

A Lonesome Path

A Lonesome Path

 

a Passion to Live

a Mind to Lead

a Heart to Give

a Path to Guide

a Hand to Lift 

and a Dream to Believe

what more is there?

a Dream as clear and vast as the sky

a Mind as set as earth's first stone

a Heart as pure as mountain lakes

a Hand that supports steady and strong

a chosen Path through life's unknown

must it be followed alone?

 

  

 The statement "people never change" is more realistic than one would hope.  As much as you pray, wish and believe that a person can change, it rarely happens.  Change takes an incredible amount of unrelenting effort.  It requires taking a deep hard look inside, seeing a side of yourself that you can identify and confront, then taking on the tenuous challenge of changing it.  It takes acknowledging this side daily and challenging it face to face.  Some days the old habit will win, some days you will not even be able to step outside of yourself long enough to see it, but on the good days, when you consciously fight the old habit into submission, you make a gradual step towards lasting change.  Most people find it easier to continue with a harmful habit than go through the arduous steps of change.  Most people never change.

I was a believer in change.  I thought that if I loved hard enough and fought hard enough, eventually, my mom would let go of her dysfunctional marriage and return to the life of the living.  I also believed that my brother would finally reach a point so low that he would have no option but return to the surface and breath the air of hope.  My beliefs only left me alone and disappointed.  Every time the realization struck that nothing had changed, another piece of my heart would turn to ash and blow away.  It took far too many times for me to finally give in and admit defeat.  I am incapable of changing my family.  I am incapable of making them love me the way I need to be loved.

During our trip to Montana, my mom's drinking hit an all time high. She was drinking box wine from a pint glass and could polish off an entire box in a night.  I could answer a question she had already asked three times only to have her ask it again two minutes later.  By seven o-clock, she was an incoherent bumbling heap of booze.  There was no conversing with her in a decent fashion.  Looking into her glassy eyes, I saw nothing but the sullen traces of a her perfect life floating away with each sip of alcohol.  She continually excused Rich's behavior, coming up with reasons why Betty had deserved everything he had done to her.  Betty just needed to be stronger and more reliable then Rich wouldn't be forced to treat her this way.  Nothing was ever the man's fault.   Betty, Rich and I sat down with my mom the night before Christmas and asked her about her drinking.  Her happy flighty attitude immediately turned black.
"My drinking is no concern of yours.  I am doing just fine, don't tell me how to live my life."  Her words stung and made us all feel guilty for even breaching the subject.

As we were leaving Montana, Rich took me aside and told me that it was my responsibility to look after my mom.
"Make sure she doesn't drink too much.  Look after her.  Keep her on track."  He ordered.
"I can't.  When I question her drinking, she gets angry with me and tells me to mind my own business."
"How hard can it be?  You have had it so easy in life, all you have to do now is look after her for a little while and control her drinking.  She's done so much for you, can't you do this one thing for her?"  The guilt I felt was unbearable.  This woman gave me life, and I couldn't even drag her off the dark path of alcoholism. I must be a terrible daughter.

Melting the Mask

By the time we got to Montana, Betty as the beautiful, confident, talented girl I had known was gone.  There was no longer an individual person behind her sorrowful eyes.  She had become a bi-product of Rich's abuse.  She was engulfed by who he told her she was; worthless, pitiful, lying, lazy, lost, hopeless, betraying, sad wife.  Being told all of these things over and over you start to believe them.  You disappear behind them.  Rich had gotten to the point where he would lock Betty in the house.  He would search through the garbage and call her a lying cheating whore if she had used a shaver.  He would stop by her work several times a day to make sure she was still there.  He would take her paychecks immediately after she had received them and give her a small allowance for "spending money."  Everything that went wrong was her fault.  If he forgot cigarettes, she became a useless horrible person for not remembering them herself.  He told her over and over that if she got pregnant he would use a skewer to poke it out of her.  He was "only joking."  They owned a Pit-bull Rottweiler mix and by now it had killed two dogs and put several into the animal hospital.  Betty said that Rich was horribly cruel to the dog.  I never got details.  How could this person be my brother?

I remember one day in particular.  We were driving up to a trail-head to go snowmobiling.  Rich had rigged up an old trailer to his Saab.  It was rickety, rusty and lacked all integrity.  We wove our way over the snow coated roads skidding slightly with the each slip of the trailer.  I was trying to make light conversation and mentioned that my ex-boyfriend, who Rich had only met once, had gone heli-skiing.
"Why do you always have to bring him up."  Rich growled.  I never talked about him.
"I don't, but he was a big part of my life, so naturally he comes up in some of my conversations.""
"He was a worthless, bad excuse for a man and you have no right to talk about him in front of me.  Why do you always have to entice me.  You know I don't like him."  Rich's face was turning red with rage as he went on and on about how Jim had been an awful person and that I was weak and useless for liking him.  It was as though me bringing him up had ruined Rich's whole life.
"Jim was a good person and you have no right to react this way because I mentioned him in a conversation."
"NO,NO, NO. Stop. Stop right now.  You are an idiot.  You have no idea what you are talking about.  Don't mention him around me.  How hard can that be?"  Rich exploded, screaming through the car and ramming his fist into the dash board.  My mom turned around and looked me straight in the eyes ordering,
"Erin stop making your brother angry, just stop."
This is how I had grown up thinking that it was my fault when my dad and brother would scream at me until I had no dignity left for stating an opinion different from their own.  If I spilled a glass of milk, my dad would slam his fist on the table and holler at me until I felt like I was the worst person in the world.  I got slapped and sat in the corner for an hour for asking the furniture man why he had so many buggers. When I was trying to get Rich to stop messing up my doll house, he turned around and punched me so hard that I couldn't stand up for ten minutes.  Somehow it was always my fault for provoking them.
"Erin don't make your dad mad."
"Erin stop provoking your brother."
"Erin why did that bother you so much?"  I grew up thinking that it was my fault that my brother hit me and my dad battered me with his words until I was afraid to say anything but what he wanted to hear.  I got really good at figuring out exactly what they wanted to hear and saying it at all times.
     
At the trail-head, while we were unloading the snowmobiles from the lopsided trailer, Rich realized that he had forgotten the cigarettes.  He screamed out in rage and slammed his foot into the car door turning his hateful glare on Betty.
 "Where are the cigarettes!"
"I don't know I thought they were in the top of the backpack."
"I give you one simple thing to do, remember the cigarettes and you forget them.  You are completely incapable.  why can't you remember one thing that I tell you?"  He had never mentioned cigarettes at the house.  He  stared down at her with a disdainful glare, as her eyes filled with tears and her voice diminished into a whisper.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
"Ya well I'm starting to not believe you."

After riding in the forest for a couple hours, we made it back to the car where we would load the snowmobiles onto the decrepit trailer.  In order to get the snowmobiles onto the trailer, we had to lift the back end up so that it was at a 45 degree angle.  There was no device for holding the trailer bed in place once it was tilted upward, so Rich placed a block of wood under it.  We made a little ramp of snow in front of the trailer to help the runners jump over the rim of the bed.  Rich made his first attempt at pulling one of the heavy machines onto the trailer.  He had to get a bit of speed to make it up the 45 degree trailer bed.  As he pulled towards the trailer, the front runners nicked the rim of the bed.  The abrupt shock knocked out the block of wood and sent the trailer banging back into its horizontal position.  Rich got very silent as he sat on the snowmobile.  He never liked it when things didn't work out as planned.  The cloud of anger started to build around him and seep out towards us.
"You are going to have to hold the trailer in place." Rich snarled.
Betty and I took our positions behind the trailer holding it up trying hard not to remember the violent jolt that had previously knocked it down.  Rich revved towards the trailer and the front runners rammed into the bed sending a bone rattling impact up Betty's and my arms.  Betty and I dropped the back of the trailer tipping the snowmobile off the end as it rose back to its horizontal position.
"What the hell are you doing!  I told you to hold it in place damn it.  You are so useless.  Get back over there and don't let go this time."
Betty and I slunk back to our positions too afraid to disobey.  The snowmobile came roaring at us again and the same thing happened this time slamming Betty's hand into the metal railing and drawing blood.
"God Damn It!!!" Rich hollers.
"I'm not doing that again.  It hurt me."  Betty peeps.
"Well somebody has to.  It's the only way.  Stop being such a wimp and just do it."
"I'll do it."  My mom chimes in.  She stands in Betty's place while my brother slams into the trailer two more times before actually getting the snowmobiles up.  I walked away with a baseball sized bruise on my hip from the trailer slamming into me.  Rich wouldn't look at Betty the rest of the evening for disobeying him.  My mom never complained.

Betty only stayed with Rich a few more months after we left.  She said her turning point is when she had a snowmobile accident and ran the snowmobile into a tree.  As she was laying on the ground in shock, Rich ran right past her to the snowmobile grumbling about how she better not have damaged the machine.  At this moment, she realized that he valued an old piece of machinery over her well being.  When she got out of the hospital with a sprained wrist and severe bone bruising, Rich scolded her telling her she was never allowed to touch a snowmobile again due to her incompetence.  A month later she went to a friend's house after work and never went home. 
"

The Clearing

I have spent a lot time sharing the negative side of my story.  I would like to take a moment to share where I am now, and how this journey has molded me through soul searching into someone who is determined to build a life filled with meaning and love.  Like I said before, nobody is exempt from pain and loss.  It is how we either work with that pain or let it work against us that determines the outcome.  I have put a lot of effort into working with my pain to uncover its hidden blessings and turn my experiences into tools for self discovery.

My journey has currently brought me to Buena Vista, Colorado where I have been blessed with the peace and tranquility necessary to sit down with my pain and work through it.  My deck looks out on the snow capped Collegiate Peaks that loom over the tiny mountain town reminding us all just how small we are.  Everyday, I spend at least one hour alone with nature.  Mother nature is reassuring, guiding and inspiring.  In her, is a system that has worked in harmony for millenniums.  Life comes and goes always changing but never ceasing.  Everything works together as smaller pieces of a well balanced whole.  She reminds me that my role in life is not as an isolated individual but as a minor character in a play that will embrace my presence in the now, but that existed before me and will continue after me.  This thought reassures me with the perspective that my troubles, though seeming large in my reality, are but small droplets of water in the ocean that is life.

This town has also blessed me with loving friendships.  My friends here have reminded me what it's like to care.  They are beautiful people who support me through every bump that appears in my road small or large.  We share our dreams, fears and loves giving advise when needed, but mostly just providing an attentive ear.  Our differences are embraced and our individual strengths are cherished.  These girls are the reason I survive my day to day life.  Seeing them is like taking a breath of fresh mountain air.

My work as a teacher at the Link School brings me endless joy everyday.  When I don't get to see the kids, my mood noticeably deteriorates.  Each student has something wonderful to offer not only to my class but to the world.  Their curiosity and innocence are rejuvenating.  They make me laugh at least twenty times a day.  Sharing my love of language with them is a gift that brightens my life.  The school itself provides a safe haven for me, encouraging me to explore my creativity and use the knowledge that I have gained through travel.  At school, I feel the closest to being part of a family that I ever have.

Everyday I become one step closer to shedding the darkness of my past.  This blog is the first time I have released my story from the closet it has been looming in.  Before this moment, I have not known who to share it with.  I didn't believe that anyone cared enough to listen.  My family's drama outweighed my own needs and my voice went unheard.  Writing about my past is releasing the things that haunt me to the ears of anyone who cares enough to listen.  In following my story, you are helping me along my path of healing.  Thanks for listening.             

A Different Perspective

You could never argue with my dad or Rich without ending up feeling like you were a terrible person and had gotten everything wrong.  They have a way of spinning, twirling and reinventing words until you begin doubting yourself about something you had been undeniably certain.  Living with them made me doubt every thought or belief that I had.  Even my emotions became fabrications that were contrived to fit into their twisted realities.  It was difficult to get out of this cycle of doubt, because I had been taught not to believe myself.  How could I fight for myself when I didn't even believe my own side of the argument.  I had completely lost my voice, and that's exactly how they wanted me, voiceless.

It is still hard for me to accept the person that my brother has become.  When I look at him, I see the child that he was when I used to crawl into his bed on nights that my parents' fighting could be heard on all three levels of our house.  He has a face that screams innocence.  I know that he had taken the brunt of my dad's anger when we were children.  Rich took out his frustrations on me, because I had been able to maintain a semblance of happiness throughout our childhood.  He would hit me and my dad would come down and hit him.  Getting beat up by an older brother was not nearly as scarring as getting hit by your father.  I could stomach Rich's treatment because on some level I felt that I should suffer a little for him taking on my dad.  Rich always said that he had protected me from truths so ugly that they would have darkened my soul.  I believe him.  My heart aches thinking about the things he has endured.

I am still unaware of Rich's true life story.  There are so many pieces missing between him and I.  The worst things were always left unsaid, safely guarded secrets that kept all of us from seeing a terrifying truth.  As I kept myself busy and out of harms way doing an exchange year in Switzerland at 16, my brother was in and out of rehab, hospitals, jail and prison.  He couldn't face life sober.  I still don't know why he was sent to the Canyon City prison.  By the time I got home, he had made a plea bargain to do 6 months of rehab instead of completing his full term in prison.  I imagine it was drug related.  A few hand written letters arrived at my host families house in Switzerland.  They carried the voice of a scared and confused boy lost in a world that had beaten him down until there was only a scant trace of the innocent child he had been.  Sometimes his anger would seep off the pages as he described how he would murder the people that had hurt him or me and sometimes his words were sweet and loving promising me the chance of a healthy relationship with the healed person he was becoming.  None of those promises were ever realized.

Just like my dad Rich would give the false hope of recovery.  I would open my heart excited to rebuild a relationship and finally make up for lost time.  It would only last a couple of months before his inner demons got the best of him.  It would start slowly with a few temper tantrums or skewed perspectives and then it would diminish into him drinking and using.  His personality declined as his drug use increased until there was finally nothing left of the brother I had been getting to know.  I lost my family over and over throughout my life and somehow never gave up hope when they would make their promises of change.  My heart lost a little piece of itself each time.  I don't know if I will ever be able to glue the pieces back together.

Despite everything, I still love Rich.  I love him for who he once was before life handed him an abusive father and mother that couldn't stick up for herself much less her children.  He loves me too in the rare moments that he is able to step back into his reality without mind altering substances or haunting memories.  I could no longer cling to these sparse moments of sanity, I had to realize that the person he had become was no longer the loving brother that I saw on the rare occasion.  He had become somebody else, he had let his demons win.  Saying goodbye to his evil side was a relief, but letting go of that brother that got sweet bliss from taking apart appliances and rebuilding them and jumping off the deck into piles of snow and sledding down our favorite sled hill in our favorite forest canceled out any relief and broke my heart.

The Distance

Escape.  A lasting escape from an entangling web takes planning, diligent work and great conviction.  You can not escape with a wavering heart and expect it to last.  There may be times that you are able to flee a situation and avoid its immediate consequences, but eventually, you will find yourself returning to its grasp.  In order to make a lasting change, the escape must be done with deliberate care.  I was a master at fleeing, but to make my great escape, I would need much more strength than I currently possessed.  

Despite her evening indulgence in alcohol, my mom was able to maintain a solid face around the community.  She played the part of dedicated wife, tying up the loose ends left by a husband who was starting a new life somewhere else.  On the surface, she appeared to be doing well for herself.  She started a tutoring business that helped her pay the bills and feel needed guiding lost teens through their struggles in high school.  Meanwhile, her internal life was falling apart.  She was on the verge of claiming bankruptcy, unable to pay the mortgage, business loans and car loans with a bank account that had been drained by a delusional husband.  She was selling off whatever pieces of her life she could sacrifice; furniture, cars, televisions, computers, old office supplies.  She had to turn to her friends to loan her money so that she didn't get her life repossessed by the banks.  Her sobs could be heard all through the house as she wept for the image of her life that was slowly pealing off the walls.

I began tutoring with her.  We were building the business together, slowly adding clients in every high school subject.  It made her happy to have me as a partner.  She loved the idea of building something with her daughter.  While we were at work, we seemed like the ideal mother daughter duo complimenting each others skills perfectly.  At home, I was struggling to keep my head above water.  I was getting tired of comforting her.  I was tired of watching her drink.  I was tired of carrying her happiness on my shoulders.  I was looking for a way out. 

For Christmas, we went to Montana where Rich and Betty had been living.  They had recently moved from a little cabin up a deserted mountain valley to a house in the town of Whitefish. Betty was still with Rich and despite my previous encounter with them, I actually thought that maybe things were starting to improve in their marriage.  Maybe, Montana had been just what they needed.  It still shocks me how easily I can forget the harsh truth and put back up my optimistic blinders.  It didn't take long for the truth to reveal itself.