Grieving out loud…

For those of you that can’t handle my extreme and unbridled rage right now, let this serve as a TRIGGER WARNING.  And here is a picture of a bunny to give you the opportunity to get the heck out of here.

Hey, I'm a hot mess, time to scramble...

Hey, I’m a hot mess, time to scramble…










Let the rant begin.  This moment, right now, I’m furious.  I’ve snapped with grief and I’m tired and exhausted and insulted and unwilling to hold it in any longer. The music is on full blast with Janis Joplin screaming I’ll say come on, come on, come on, come on and take it!
Take it!
Take another little piece of my heart now, baby.
Oh, oh, break it!
Break another little bit of my heart now

I’ve cleaned and cried and smoked cigarettes as I look at my home that I’ve finally decided has to be divided.  How the hell did I get here?  Did I not try hard enough?  Did I not bleed enough for this relationship?  When did my beloved home turn into a cold gilded cage?  Where are my plants going to live now?  The wisteria planted in the early days of love that is deeply intertwined among the trellis and surrounding trees, how do I tell it to unwind, that there is no place for it here now?

I’m full of rage as I look at the items deciding what’s mine and what’s his.  I hate his socks right now.  They are everywhere, haunting me from the place where they were discarded at the foot of the couch for an intimate moment.  His socks are mocking me.  I still love, he doesn’t.

I’m seething at any person, at any time, for any reason has questioned my sanity.  My brain, while different and reacting unlike normal people (whoever the fuck they are) is not crazy.  It was changed.  It was changed as a child when my father and my uncles for numerous years raped the children in my family.  They forever and permanently changed the way that I see the world and severely limited my ability to trust.  But they never stole my ability to love because that I do fiercely, deeply and with loyalty to a fault. But back to crazy, I’m not.  And I’m fucking tired of folks too ignorant and lazy to become informed before slicing me and other survivors open with insane stupid comments and blatant arrogance that you know better.  You don’t.

And by the way, disassociation is a thing. A real fucking thing.  It happens because its the wondrous coping mechanism of the human under attack.  When the pain becomes too traumatic, too difficult, too much for tiny little children’s minds to process, it splits.  Bam, just like that.  You go somewhere else, someplace safer than the place you are in where your uncle is raping you at gunpoint. And guess what, when you’re gone, you’re gone.  And to the major asshole who said that my disassociative episodes were a ploy for attention, well simply put, go fuck yourself.  You speak with ignorance and venom.  Anyone who knows me at all, knows that I try and try and then I fucking try some more to be the best, intact, whole person I can be given my history.  To say anything less than that of me is cruel and unforgivable.

No, I’m not done yet, there’s more. I’m enraged at any person, for any reason who turns a blind eye to pain.  This happens in so many ways; through denial of wanting to acknowledge a person’s pain, therefore maybe having to deal with it OR being frustrated that said person struggles a lot so you offer a platitude in order to get the hell away from this person you’ve judged as insane.  Again, look at the above bunny and leave me the hell alone.  You don’t have to hurt me just to get a safe distance away.  I get it, of all people I understand that this is tough fucking shit and not everyone has the stomach for it.  BUT…there’s always the option of offering love and leaving anyway.  Bottom line, I’m left here to deal with this confusing mess of neurons on a daily basis and it’s no walk in the park. It takes hourly awareness and diligent practice to stay centered and even heal from these traumas.  Don’t add to them.  And especially don’t pretend it’s in the name of love.  I’m calling bullshit on that one.

While I’m ranting, I may as well cuss the pharmaceutical companies who manufacture drugs to make lots of money that are prescribed by asshole doctors.  My anti-depressants are giving me such incredible suicide ideation that the ideation is now taking form and making a plan.  And getting off this shit is a bitch.  Again, another mind-bending bitch to contend with.  And yes, suicide ideation and self harm is a real thing too.  It’s not just words that we in a secret meeting of the I’ve-been-molested club got together and invented.  These are real psychological phenomena.  Google it, you’ll see.  We don’t just get up in the morning, feed the dogs, have a cup of coffee and say “I think I’ll go slice on myself today and maybe for fun, I’ll go sit in the garage with the car running and see how fast I’ll puff up from carbon monoxide”.   But seriously, people talk to us as if we do this self-loathing, self-harming shit for attention.  Really?  Do you really believe that I’d prefer that method of coping to say…. working at the dog rescue shelter or taking some flowers to the old ladies at the nursing home?  If you believe that, you need a quick reality check and a good therapist.

The rant winds down here.  Be kind, everyone is struggling.  If you don’t know how to help and you want to, ask.  It’s that simple.  Is there anything I can do to help?  If you don’t care or are just socially awkward, flash a peace sign, say Kumbaya my Lord or offer a hug.  If you don’t have more, that’s fine but if you think you can fake concern, use condescension or just toss a crappy cliche’ toward me, you’re wrong.  Because here’s the other thing that develops in survivors as we are fending off our nasty fathers and uncles, we became ultra-sensitive.  I’m talking over-the-top, can practically read-your-feelings-without-you-knowing-it, living and floating in an emotional bizarre dimension that few know anything about.  We know when you’re lying and we know when you’re trying to be cruel.

End of rant.  For those who stuck around to the end, well, thanks.  You’re tougher than most.  For those who didn’t stay, block me on FB and have a good life. Kumbaya.








About Rescuing Little L

Documenting the pieces of my journey...recovery from childhood sexual abuse and cruel ignorance...the effects of those incidious acts through adulthood... until the grace of recovery transcended the trauma and shame of my past, making it possible to return to Rescue Little L.... View all posts by Rescuing Little L

22 responses to “Grieving out loud…

  • mrbindaas

    You are a survivor & resilient fighter. Hats off to you for your endurance & spirit. 👏

  • If I Were a Butterfly

    Wow, I’m having a major hot flash after reading this! But do you know why? Your spitting white-hot spewing rage, your years of dealing with the effects of abuse in one form or another, your abyss of grief touches me so deeply. I feel there is something inside of me, the same intense rage, but I’ve never been able to access it. The next time I’m alone I’m going to read this aloud, I’m going to scream it and use it to access some of my own rage.

    Another part of me wants to wrap my arms around you as you scream out your pain. To just hold that little girl who was treated so horribly, and the grown you who has just had it with the agony of it all.

    Thank you for this honesty Little L., as brutal as it is. It’s honest.


    • Rescuing Little L

      Thanks sweetie, I’ll take the hugs…but I want to send them back to you…Go slow with this stuff, make sure you have support, even if it’s just me here online…We have layers upon layers of this stored in our little girls…but screaming to Janis really, really helped 🙂 Take care and remember I got your back on FB! No trolls allowed in our safe space!

      • If I Were a Butterfly

        Thank you Little L. 🙂 I have Janis’ C.D. I’ll try her soon! I’m sort of scared to reach that rage, but I know I’ll have to. Thank you for being a part of my support. That means a lot to me.

        Haa! You have my back! You did, too! Great response! Thank you for that! 🙂 ❤

      • Rescuing Little L

        Be as respectful of that rage as you can, maybe little doses, like a little roar first 🙂 I’ll hold your hand!

  • Anna Bowen

    From the start I knew it was important to stay with this. I read, I witnessed, and I am sorry for your heartache. Sorry that you have to divide a home that has held you for what sounds like a long time. Every new episode of loss for survivors brings up so many old losses. We grieve for all of it over and over again.

  • Tony Spagnoli

    I’m sorry for your pain. I’ve been there.

  • Kim

    Seems like many of us are separating homes,passing over and loosing pets and or family members. This ascension “process” Is a bitch and so am I.I am sending you love light and hugs and prayers of healing. I hate those angry days of hating and spitting nails when enraged. The pain and suffering you have endured has given many of us validation. You are a blessing to many. Your horrific and dark days has shed light upon many a dark trail. Please know that you are in my thoughts and I feel that even though it sucks this will open many new doors for you. You love with everything you have and you deserve it back. A book? Yes indeed!

  • Sarah Potter Writes

    I’m still here, dear Little L. Carry on, rage away. It sounds justified, and is better than apathy. One thing I wanted to mention, your antidepressant prescription might need reviewing as some of these drugs can actually provoke suicide rather than prevent it in certain people. My husband is an ex-lawyer who handled a party action against a pharmaceutical company after an unacceptable number of suicides occurred with people taking a certain antidepressant of the anxiolytic variety. Promise me you’ll get this checked. Sending you a big hug xxxx

  • The Heretic

    I cannot say I understand what you are going/went through other than the experience of watching my dad having an episode at work (we both worked at the same company but different departments) where he looked like he was having a heart attack, sweating profusely, and clutching the chair a few of our co-workers helped him to for dear life until the ambulance arrived. Come to find out my dad was given the wrong medication when his doctor at the time was prescribing anti-depressants for him and gave him a medication for schizophrenia. The experience from my perspective was horrifying. So I understand either the wrong medication or the prescription of medication to further the money going into a company’s pockets.

    Outside of that I can only comprehend everything else because I am not in your shoes. So I would rather not bullshit you and say that I completely understand when I don’t.

    I am not the greatest with my words (as evident of my writing structure), but here are a few songs I would hope you like to suit any mood.




    I wish I had something better to say, but I don’t have a strong suit in this department. So I feel music helps represent the intention….I hope.

    • Rescuing Little L

      All of your words are soothing as are the intentions behind them…I appreciate the tools and am checking them out right away…Sorry this has been your experience, here’s a hug for you! ((( hug )))

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