you

Make me

Smile

With

your Ire;

you Won’t

Make me

Change

my Stance

Not a

Chance.

I am

Solid

In

the Power

Of

my Pen,

Another Win.

Try To

Hide It

In

a Pile

Or

Mire;

Liar,

It Is

Fire.

Jump Up

&

Down,

Dance Around,

you

Can Not

Escape

the Pyre.

Savage Tunes

From

a Burning

Lyre

my One

Desire;

Sired

#B27321

To the doctor, sorry STUDENT, who took so much

Right side paralysis, double vision- all with one touch

Left my right arm bent up, fingers clenched tight

Curled in a fist, like I was ready and willing to fight

It was my fourth surgery, the first three failing to regulate

The CSF building up in my brain just wasn't quite right

While in pain, I could still speak, ambulate freely and see

Now, because of you, I've forever lost all that was me

It's been years, decades, since your damage was done

And, my life, my acceptance of the "new" me, just begun

I hope, through the surgical procedure, you've learned a lot

Because of you, I will never be who I was-try as I may, I cannot

Here we go. The letter I want to write but never can. The ultimate fuck you to be kept for the record as long as we both shall live and then some. We'll skip the formalities and the "How have you been?"s if that's alright with you. I'm sure it is. Lord knows, you wouldn't want to hurt me or anything. I hope you can understand that, despite it being about five months, I'm still hurt. But don't think you're news. Don't mistake this letter as we still talk about you. Don't think you are anything more than a sledgehammer that shattered seven years of good memories.

Shall we start at the beginning or the end? Let's be spontaneous. Let's start at the end. That accurately portrays it, don't you think? Now, let's imagine you're in a slumber. Not quite a deep slumber, but the REM is just coming into the picture, you're melded to your bed, drool is trickling. Good right? Nice, wonderful picture. And your phone rings. Now, you don't answer your phone often but it's your grandfather which is odd. You pick up the phone, expecting to hear some old person eccentricities like that he's outside with seven pounds of fruit and you need to unlock the door or something like that. But, in your almost asleep stupor, you make out the words "Call the police" and "So-and-so is choking your aunt." So, let's let that simmer. How would you feel? What is your first thought? What would you do? Probably what I did, which was jump up and tell someone.

With the 'rents dispatched, what you you do now? Would  you go about your day? I sure as hell didn't. I paced and shook and murmured like a crazy person until I decided I couldn't take it, took something, and went to sleep. Fast forward 2-4 hours. Your kids are at our house. Besides the little one, they're shaken. Now I know they aren't all yours but after seven years, you kinda get used to saying it. Where was I? Ah yes, the part where my room was monopolized. My aunt, who you jut tried to kill, had to lay down. My brother's bed is too small, my parents like their space, and my room is fresh for the taken. You can call me selfish and I can call you an attempted murderer, so let's not call

names. Especially since I know more about you than you realize.

In case you were wondering, things are fine with them. They live far far away and do school and have moved on. Five months. Isn't that a record? Five months and they forget seven years. I'm sure they still think you you. Not in the loving memorial way but in the nightmare. The way that gives you goosebumps and visible chills when you think of it. That spontaneous way that makes you ache and look over your shoulder. And the worst part (for you anyway) is that this is your fault. Do you think of that wherever you live? Do you cringe at the thought of it? Do you cry about it? I bet you do.

how dare you come into my thoughts again, you insignificant jerk? You ruined them. Even though the facade is fine, the reality is that you cracked deep down below. That will never be fixed. I hope you think of it every day. I hope it eats you up inside. And in conclusion, eat a bag of shit. Bye! :)

Not a monster, no,

A decent man, but flawed,

Like all of them before.

Not an idol or an icon,

Or a paragon in all things,

As a boy expected, believed.

Your words thrashed, harder,

Often, than your hands,

Or your distance.

You made for a shit husband,

And I fought you for it,

For how you talked to her.

You made for a shit father,

Petty and angry,

Often as you loved.

You made shit decisions,

And we grew up poor and wanting,

So the money you had but hoarded could be lost

In the banker’s game.

I wanted to cut out your guts,

And string them around your neck,

And pull until your face matched

The blue of your eyes, my eyes.

I tried to cut out mine,

With a knife I learned to use,

Doing the only thing you ever seemed proud of,

Fighting and winning.

But I watched the doctors

Pull out your guts,

And your face blue on its own.

And I watched your back break

Under the weight of your traumas

And your long hours and years

And the love you bore us

That you never knew how to show.

I know they beat you and broke you,

Your own parents,

And cast you aside.

You didn’t know how,

And you did your best,

And you did fine.

Your daughters are brave and strong

And smart like bee stings.

One saves lives, the other history.

Your wife is brave and strong

And always saw the good in you,

As I have come to see it,

And cares for your once mighty form

So feeble now.

And you have learned to show the love

You never knew how to give to me,

And how you smile and play

Like squirrels running round and round oaks

With your granddaughter,

I can see how you’ve softened,

And emerged from an opiate fog

The kind of grandfather

Who seems as though

He was the finest father, too.

And as for me,

I learned all my handiness from Uncles,

Big John, and Brian, and that green bastard Sam,

Not from you.

I learned all my love from others,

Too many to name,

Not from you.

I learned how to stand,

Through the necessity of neglect,

Not from you.

But I learned how to take a hit,

From you, Dad,

And that rage you gave me,

Burning like the coalbed of Hell,

Keeps me always rising,

Never on my knees for long.

Nothing in life will ever strike me harder,

And you have made me indomitable.

And I learned honor,

From you, Dad,

What to stand for, and why,

And how I have stood for it

Again, and again, and again,

Because I learned not to fear you,

The first time I hit you back,

And sprawled you into the bathtub,

Pouncing like a puma,

Before you rose back up

And strangled me,

And so I fear nothing.

And I learned how to be a better man,

Because I know what parts of you

I should be,

And burying my pain and hiding my bruises

Taught me how to bury

The parts of you

I will never be.

And I learned from you

The value of service,

To community,

The value of sacrifice,

For family,

And the value of courage,

Against all odds.

You’ve become such a good man

Now that you’re a weak one,

And I am proud of you

The way you should have been proud of me.

The resentment is gone, now,

You’re not the reason I drink,

I’m the only one to blame for that.

There is only love now,

You’re not the reason I drink,

I’m the only one to blame for that.

I take care of you now,

So you can get more years of that love

Than you had of your hate.

More years of tenderness

Than you had hardness.

I love you, Dad,

And I’m glad I never killed you.

[This is not a letter, but i appreciate the chance to rant!]

In my first apartment, my lease did not allow pets.

I had gotten the place with a friend I'll call S.W.I.M [which stands for "Someone Who Isnt Me" like on the ex-addict forums Ive been reading for information on the little man seen while huffing butane. (Shared global hallucinatory phenomena intrigues me, i do not do inhalants) Anywho..]

When I was 18 my female friend, Swim, was kicked out of her parents house for the least reasonable, most-detestable-reason ever: She was dating a Black man.

I have never been a fan of injustice, bigotry, or hate, so I immediately gave her my bed at my dad's house, where I stayed at the time, and slept on the couch. I also got her a job at my second job at the time, a telemarketing gig for a privately owned painting company. 

After about 3 weeks at my dad's, I had concocted the plan to get my own apartment with Swim and be roommates! I even went a step further and worked out a business loan with my very awesome boss Geraldo, for a 1500 dollars to be paid 50/50 out of my, and swim's pay checks. Nothing could be better.. I thought... but I was naive...

FLASH FORWARD to 14 months later, and I'm paying fines for swim breaking the lease she had begged me to re-sign with her just a month earlier. Having begged me because she would have "nowhere else"...

 This WAS a consideration, but my real reason for staying in that damn contract, was that it was the only way I could ensure I'd be around her to get the $400 i had paid in her rent the previous month. It was a pretty optimistic pipe-dream to say the least and i regret it only slightly less as time heals it's wound. 

THE KICKER, that did it, that ended that monstrosity of a situation, was something far cuter than it's consequences; A kitten.

One evening I came home to find a cute little ball of fluff crapping behind the terrible "80's beach condo" couch swim had insisted on keeping in our shared space. I was displaced with rage, but I am weak willed against adorable things, and the kitten conversation we held ended on a "Just talk to me before making these kinds of decisions, please." Note.

I could have chocked on the load of crap I came home to day after that night. The kitten she had gotten had magically mulitipied and the one thing I thought she couldn't possibly do again she had, in the exact same way. AGAIN IT WAS THE VERY NEXT DAY!!! She went and got another kitten without talking to me! Her lack of respect, at that moment, pulsed through me so deeply that it is permanent. "She is no friend!" was my impression and she won't be changing it, but ill lament that she tried. She tried in the worst possible way last year. I remember it clearly; At my brother's funeral. Swim showed up like the worst kind of asshole(I hadn't seen her since she got us kicked out for those kitties and she had never paid me) and through my sobs asked me, "We are cool right? I'm so sorry for your loss."

Now, I'm just sorry for my loss of words at the time because I would have cussed her ass to the other side of the Mississippi if i had had the mind about me.

SOMETIMES PEOPLE AMAZE ME and I'm left saying the title to this coldly...

We have never actually met, yet you have had a profound impact on nearly every aspect of my life in ways that neither of us could have imagined when our vehicles collided on that cold, February afternoon. I don't know where you were going that day but I often think about it and wonder how you were affected. I don't know if you ever think about me or even care if I am OK, but I need you to know my story and how your actions have affected me so I can move on with my life and come to terms with my new limitations.

I am a music teacher which means that I am fortunate enough to earn a living sharing my lifelong passion with my favorite people on the planet! I was on my way to work that Wednesday afternoon and I was looking forward to arriving a few minutes early to prepare my lessons. I enjoyed the drive to work and looked forward to seeing the kids each day, but work was not always so pleasant for me. There was a time in my life when I was a software developer and I made great money, but I was always stressed out and overworked; always under pressure to do miracles in record time for people who never seemed to appreciate what I did. Fourteen long years of corporate slavery convinced me that no salary was worth spending five days in hell each week, but it took a corporate"restructuring" to give me the push that I needed to return to my true calling--music.

Although teaching piano only paid a fifth as much as programming computers, it allowed me to spend my days sharing music with kids, watching them discover joy in learning to play an instrument and helping them develop skills that ultimately make them better people. Kids are great fun to work with and most of them appreciate the time and energy I pour into being an awesome teacher. Parents are grateful when I help their little ones develop talents and abilities they never knew they had. Maybe I'm weird, but my favorite students have always been the "problems"--the ones who have been dismissed by other teachers; the ones with "bad attitudes" who think they hate piano; the ones who have never been good at anything and the ones who face special challenges! Other teacher's rejects often become my star students and there is nothing more thrilling to me than seeing these kids fall in love with the piano and begin to blossom when they finally excel in something that the "smart" kids often can't do. For me, teaching music is paradise!

I also used to love going to work because I got to drive my little car. I've always had a thing for little roadsters. I owned a beautiful little white MG convertible with a black top when I was in my twenties.  I loved that car but I had to sell it when I started my family because baby seats and MG convertibles are not really compatible! After years of driving boring "mom-mobiles", I finally got another little sports car when my kids were grown. Max was a gorgeous little Mazda Miata MX-5 convertible and he reminded me of my little MG that I loved so much! I spent more on him than I should have, but he was in perfect condition and he fit as if he had been made just for me! He was white with a black top and made me feel like I was 23 again every time I sat in him and started the engine! Even after four years, I still felt a little thrill each day when I walked out to my driveway and saw him sitting there, just waiting for me to get in and go for a ride. I really loved that little car!

February 10th, 2016 was the last time I ever felt that thrill, the last time I would ever climb inside him to enjoy my daily commute. That day, I was heading East on Roswell Road. I was going the speed limit and had a green light. All was well until you decided to make a U-turn in front of me and didn't look to see what was coming. I saw you stopped at the light in the oncoming lane, then without warning, you darted directly into my path. I slammed on my brakes and cut the wheel to the right as hard as I possibly could, but it was impossible to avoid you and I slammed into you at 45mph. The sound was horrific! The air bag exploded in my face and I couldn't see where I was going. I felt a huge jolt when I went over the curb and then I felt the big drop! I thought, "This is it! I am going to die!" When Max came to a stop, I remember screaming, "My car! My poor little car!" When the airbag deflated and the smoke cleared, I saw I was sitting at the bottom of a tall embankment. I saw Max's crumpled front end and smelled a burning smell. I hurt like hell and I wasn't sure how badly I was injured, but I was afraid that Max was on fire and I had to get out! My knees were jammed into the area behind the steering wheel, but I managed to get the seat-belt undone then began struggling to open the door. Max's frame was twisted from the force of the impact, the door was stuck and I began to panic. I wondered if I survived the crash only to be burned alive? I pounded on the door as I struggled to open it but it would not budge and I was filled with terror. When I looked up, I saw a fireman bending over to look inside my window. I heard a reassuring voice saying, "Don't worry ma'am! We are going to get you out!" After what seemed to be hours, but was probably only a minute or two, the door opened and my new hero reached in to help me out of the wreckage. He explained that the burning smell was from the airbag deployment and assured me that I was not in imminent danger so I grabbed my purse and he lifted me out of my poor, crumpled little car. He did insist on moving away from the car "just in case" but I couldn't help but look back at Max's mangled body and feel that I had just lost a dear friend.

The pain I felt all over was beginning to demand all of my attention and I began sobbing uncontrollably from a mixture of physical pain and emotional grief. Another fireman had joined us and began trying to convince me to wait for a stretcher before climbing the embankment. What followed is blurry, but somehow, I ended up being carried to the top of the embankment between the two firemen who began taking my vital signs once we reached the top. The ambulance had arrived but all I wanted at that point was my husband! He was the only one who could make things better so I would not get in the ambulance until he got there, even though I was freezing cold and shaking like jelly. A policeman began asking questions, but I guess he could see the terrible distress I was in and began to comfort me instead. He was very kind and asked if I would at least sit in a police cruiser to warm up and rest until my husband arrived so I agreed. As he went over to speak to another officer, I looked around to see what happened to the person who turned in front of me. I was worried that you were injured since you never came over to check on me and I was hoping you were OK. I saw you standing near your vehicle talking to the police and you seemed calm and unruffled from a distance. I'm sure you were also upset, but at least you were able to keep your cool and I was glad that you didn't seem to be hurt.

Another officer came over and helped me to his car, but he seemed very cold and unsympathetic, unlike the first officer who had been so kind. A man and his two sons approached the officer saying they had seen the whole thing if they needed witnesses. The officer started yelling at him to get off the street and said they already had a witness. I wanted to get the man's name and number, but the cop would not stop yelling at him until he turned and walked away. When we got to his police car, the officer told me I could not have my purse so I let him take it and put it in his trunk. Next, he grabbed both of my hands and pulled them behind my back, then held them there with one hand as he patted me down all over with his other hand. It was only a pat down, but I felt as if I were being publicly groped and humiliated. He was hurting me and I cried out in pain, but he refused to let go of my hands saying it was necessary to search me before I could sit in his car. I guess middle-aged piano teachers must be way more gangsta now than they used to be! By this time, traffic was slowly being routed around the sea of flashing lights and emergency vehicles that had arrived at the scene. I remember feeling terribly embarrassed as onlookers and motorists gawked and stared at me like they were trying to figure out what notorious crime I had committed! The humiliation was making a traumatic situation even worse and I kept wondering if any of my students and their parents were in the long parade of cars that were slowly creeping by. What would they think if they saw me like that! Once I was seated in the back of the patrol car, all I could do is cry, hide my face in my hands and wonder how all of this could have happened so quickly.

After being made to feel like a criminal, I decided I was not going to subject myself to any further public humiliation so I refused the ambulance ride and waited for my husband to come rescue me from this terrible nightmare. When my husband finally arrived, he spoke briefly to the officers then loaded me into his car and headed for the nearest emergency room. The new Wellstar Urgent Care facility was across the street so we went there first, but they said I needed to go to the hospital right away so we left and went to Wellstar Kennestone Hospital. On the way, I began to notice some numbness and tingling in the fingers of both hands and it scared me more than the pain did! What if I had nerve damage and could no longer play music? Would I be able to teach if I could not play? Those thoughts were unbearable and made me cry even more. When we arrived at the ER, I was wheeled in, immediately put in a neckbrace, moved to a stretcher and taken to an exam room. The pain was getting worse and I could not stop the tears that were now mostly due to the pain. The ER doc ordered IV morphine to give me some relief before I was taken for imaging. X-rays and a CT Scan did not reveal any fractures so I was given another dose of IV morphine and released to go home on bed rest.

When I got home, I went straight to bed. My husband had to help me undress and put on a nightgown because I could not lift my arms and everything I did really hurt! I was pretty banged up and had a lot of bruising. My legs were turning various shades of purple and blue and there were bruises on my chest and shoulder where the seat-belt had been. My sunglasses had been broken off of my face by the force of the airbag and they left a scrape across the bridge of my nose. A real shiner was forming around my left eye and my back felt like it was being stabbed with burning knives. My hips and legs were painfully sore and I could not get comfortable in any position I tried. I looked and felt as if I had gone several rounds with Mike Tyson! Fortunately, the ER doc had prescribed some muscle relaxers and Percocets to get me through until I could see my doctor so my husband went to Walgreen’s to get them filled before the morphine wore off. All I could do was lay in bed and pray that I would wake up and realize that all of this was just a terrible nightmare, but sadly, that was not to be.

I spent the next five days on bed-rest, but it seemed like an eternity. I missed three days of work but it was not until I was up and moving around again that I began to realize just how different my life was going to be! So many things I normally took for granted were now impossible to do or too painful to attempt. Carrying laundry up and down the stairs was sheer agony and even folding a load of clothes would leave me hurting so badly I would have to climb into bed and rest because I couldn't handle the pain any other way. The worst thing was I could no longer lift or carry my little granddaughters. Before the accident, they saw their Nanny as a giant playmate. Whenever I went to visit them, I would toss them around like rag dolls and play "flying baby", "horsey ride" and other rough and tumble games. We would romp around the yard and climb in and out of boxes. We made "houses" out of chairs and blankets and they could not get enough. I loved playing like a kid and I honestly had as much fun as they did! All I could do after the wreck was sit on the couch and read stories to them. They did not understand why Nanny would not play with them anymore and it crushed me to see their disappointed little faces when I could not lift them up and swing them around like I used to do.

My students noticed a difference too. I am a classically trained pianist and my favorite performance repertoire is Chopin, yet I could not play a C Major scale, slowly, hands-separately without fumbling because my normally nimble fingers now felt thick and numb. I was struggling to demonstrate even simple pieces and could not properly do the phrasing, the dynamics nor the articulation I required of even my Book 1 students. I could give verbal critiques of my students'performances, but I could not demonstrate how to do things properly. My only real recourse was to spend lesson time working on theory because I could not play as well as most of my students anymore.

This would be a bad situation for any piano teacher, but it was even worse for me because I am not just a regular piano teacher, I am a Suzuki piano teacher. Suzuki is all about teaching students to play with beautiful tone and precise articulation. It requires the teacher to play for students to demonstrate skills then have the students mimic the teacher's tone & technique to get a feel for how to do it. If my students played as badly as I was playing, it would never be acceptable so I realized that if the numbness did not resolve itself quickly, I would have to start looking for another way to make a living! I am a musician at heart and began studying piano at the age of three. It is what I do, who I am! If this was taken away from me, I don't know if I could ever be happy again! The physical pain was bad, but the real possibility of not being able to play the piano was the hardest thing I had to cope with.

I have always been known for my patience and good humor as a teacher. Parents were always amazed by my ability to keep smiling and encouraging a child who keeps making the same mistake over and over again when most people would become irritated and annoyed. I also have a gift for being able to connect with a child at his or her level and talk about Ninja Turtles, Pokemon, Minecraft, or whatever the current kid culture is into. I study these things because it gives me credibility with a kid when I also tell him that Beethoven is cool. In my experience, children take you much more seriously when you treat them with respect and don't let the small things become issues. If a teacher accidentally "cuts the cheese", what 4th grade boy can possibly keep a straight face? I understood this, laughed at it too and made a friend for life! If something was funny, I laughed! Kids liked that about me! Also, it isn't fun to irritate a teacher who won't get annoyed with you! Constant, unrelenting pain made it very difficult to not get annoyed and kids can spot annoyance no matter how hard you try to disguise it. After the accident, I rarely laughed and when I did, it hurt so bad I had to stop. I went from being laid back and happy to anxious and tense. It got so bad that one little girl quit after her first lesson because I made her nervous! I couldn't believe how different I had become! I felt like I had gone from being a kid in an adult body to being a grumpy old woman.

My students always knew I loved them and accepted them for who they were and because of that, they grew to love me too! I got invited to birthday parties, school programs and sporting events and I always went if I could. When a child is willing to take you by the hand and proudly introduce you to their friends, that is an honor that is so special that few adult awards can rival it! These things are so important to kids that I made a real effort to acknowledge them and be there whenever I possibly could! I think that is why I had the best student retention rate of any teacher at the music school and I was also the most requested teacher on staff; however, I doubt if that is still the case after the accident. My students were able to count on me to be positive, encouraging and supportive, no matter what, but it became a challenge just to endure a full work day because I was in so much pain. I tried so hard to smile and sound happy, but kids know when you are faking it. The slightest twist could send a wall of intense pain through my back and I couldn't always stifle the yelp of distress that followed. Sometimes, tears would roll down my cheeks because I was in pain and it upset the kids because they thought I was sad or unhappy with them. More than once, a child would start saying "I'm sorry Mrs. Helen!" and I would realize I had tears on my face and the child thought it was because of something they did. I began to snap at my students for the first time in 17 years of teaching and I hated myself every time it happened. I actually made a few of them cry and it made me feel like a monster! How do you explain to a child that you are grumpy because you hurt so bad? The older kids can understand when you don't feel well, but a five year old thinks you are mad at her. I have some autistic students and one little boy who barely speaks at all started looking at me one day and saying "Hurt?" It broke my heart! Some days, the pain was too bad to get out of bed so I missed a lot of lessons. I missed more than I could make up so I started having to give credits. The school really hates it when teachers give credits so I started getting called in to talk to the manager. I also had a number of students quit or transfer to other teachers and my income dropped to about half of what it had been.

The effects on my work were devastating, but it didn't stop there. It also damaged my marriage. My husband is a wonderful, loving person and he really adores me, but the pain started taking a huge toll on our relationship. We went from being intimate almost every night to going for weeks at a time without sex. My husband thought I was no longer attracted to him which was not the case at all! I just could not be passionate in that degree of pain. Lovemaking became a painful duty I performed because I knew he needed it. He felt like he couldn't satisfy me, but I just hurt so bad that I wanted to get it over with so I didn't have to move anymore. He kept asking, "What did I do to lose your love?" and he could not be convinced that I was still very much in love with him. Even he did not realize the full degree to which I was suffering! We began to drift apart and it was killing me inside. Myron is my soul mate and I can't imagine being with anyone else. The thought of losing him is unimaginable, but that was starting to look like a real possibility. Things got to the point where he was getting very angry and I felt that he should understand, but he didn't. I started feeling angry towards him because I felt that he should know I'm in pain and be more supportiveand understanding. A vicious circle of anger and resentment was taking root and it nearly ended our marriage!

When I was home, all I wanted to do was sit in the one comfortable chair that I owned and play phone games. My favorite chair was old and ratty and had been relegated to the garage years ago, but it was the only one that was comfortable on my back so I spent most of my time in the garage. In summer, it was broiling hot and it was freezing in winter so I made do with fans and blankets. I did not want to move or interact with my family. I just wanted to sit in my chair in the garage and be left alone! Things were going from bad to worse and I was not convinced I wanted to live in that kind of pain for the rest of my life. An eternal dirt nap was starting to sound pretty good! The only reasons I did not take my own life were the fear of Hell and that I just could not hurt my family so badly.

Fortunately, my pain management doctor suggested a procedure that may give me four to eighteen months of relief and could be repeated when necessary. It required that two diagnostic procedures be done first. It was very expensive and I am not insured, but he was willing to put a lien on any future settlement I may receive from my accident claim. The tests involved injecting local anesthetic into the medial nerve branches to see which nerves were involved and how much, if any, relief it gave me for a few hours until the anesthetic wore off. The first test helped some, but only for the upper thoracic pain. The second test also included nerves lower on the spine and I experienced the first real relief I had since the wreck! This was a very good sign so they scheduled the procedure to be done as soon as they could. I felt real hope for the first time since February! The wait seemed like forever, but they were able to move up the date when someone else made a cancellation. The day finally arrived and I could hardly wait to get there and get it done! The tests had hurt like hell, but the actual procedure hurt even worse! I didn't care as long as it would help me get better! They gave me a sedative to make it easier on me, but I had to be awake to turn over and I had to be able to react (scream) when the needles were placed into the nerves so they would know they were in the right place. When the needles were in place, they ran RF frequency into the nerves to basically burn them to death. It was something akin to medieval torture and I had to have a number of nerves destroyed, but it was worth it! For the next ten days, the pain was very intense from the burning, but once the nerves were dead, I got a lot of relief! Iwasn't completely pain-free, but compared to what it was like before, I was in Heaven! I began to get my life back! I could play with my granddaughters a lot more--I still could not do as much as I could before the accident, but I could have some fun again! I could smile and laugh with my students and I no longer felt grumpy all the time. My schedule began to fill up again so now I have a new crop of beginners to teach. I don't miss nearly as much work due to pain as I did before the procedure so my manager seems much happier with me, thank goodness! I can carry laundry up and down stairs like a boss and I don't sit in the garage all day anymore. My marriage took more time to improve and we had to see a marriage counselor which 

was expensive, but we are very much in love again and have resumed our nightly trysts.

I was hoping that the procedure would last for eighteen months, but it looks like my nerves are quite vigorous and regenerate quickly. Recently, the pain has started to return so I will need to have the procedure done again very soon. I don't think I can go back to living in agony again. Each time they repeat the procedure, it should last a little bit longer, but they told me I will probably need to have it done periodically for the rest of my life. That is why I am suing your insurance company for the full amount of coverage. I have already had more than $35,000 worth of treatment that has not been paid for yet. I don't believe in frivolous lawsuits, but it will take every penny and then some to pay for these procedures if I live out my normal life expectancy.

I do forgive you and I don't hold anything against you personally. I know you did not set out to intentionally cause me any harm, but you did, nonetheless. I don't want to punish you or make a profit at your insurance company's expense. What I want is for you to always be very careful when you drive. Always look before you turn across oncoming traffic. Please do everything you can to make sure no one else suffers this way because you were careless or distracted when driving. What I want is to have my life back the way it was before the accident, but that cannot be. My little car, Max, is a total loss--dead and gone! I finally found another little Miata that is similar and in good condition for the amount that your insurance company was willing to pay, but it took a very long time to find it! I spent over a thousand dollars out of my own pocket in the meantime on rental cars to go to doctor appointments and run errands, Uber rides to work and putting gas in friends' cars when they gave me rides. I lost students that I was very fond of and that still really hurts. I missed so many events and special occasions and was unable to participate in so many things because of the pain. I could not even attend the family gathering after my own son's funeral because I was in too much pain and had to go home and go to bed instead of spending time with family members who came from out of town to be with me when I needed them most. The numbness in my fingers has slowly resolved and I'm back at around 90 to 95%. I don't know if Iwill ever be able the play Chopin's "Minute Waltz" or Beethoven's "Pathetique" again the way I once did, but I can play well enough to teach all but very advanced students now. I feel like I have aged at least ten years since the accident.  Before the wreck, I could easily pass for being much younger.  People were always shocked when I told my age and I usually had to show my driver's license to prove it. Now, I have the lines and wrinkles you expect on a woman my age and no one seems surprised when I tell them how old I am. I will never be able to afford cosmetic surgery to undo the rapid aging so I guess I am stuck looking old. I still have occasional panic attacks while driving or even riding in a car if someone in the opposite lane looks like they may turn in front of me. I had a major panic attack one day when I passed the accident scene and saw emergency vehicles there because of another accident in that same place. I had to pull over and could not drive for about thirty minutes that time, but most of the time, I'm OK after five or ten minutes. I still have nightmares about the accident and wake up screaming, but at least it doesn't happen every night like it did for awhile. I don't know if I will ever be able to enjoy driving like I once did because I realize that no matter how careful I am, someone else can make a mistake and change my life forever!

To The Man Who Almost Raped Me, 

I don't even know your name. I remember you asking me for mine, but I'm sure you don't remember it. I want you to know how grateful I am to you. Because you made me choose. I had a choice, a moment where I decided the course of my life, and I chose to live.

I remember that night excessively well. I hear that happens with traumatic instances. I was feeling depressed, more so than usual, and decided to take one of my late night walks. Before I started my medication, this was one of the ways I would cope. Anywhere from two to four in the morning, I would strike off, put on some classical music, and just walk. Just walk until my problems felt a little further away. Just walk until I eventually felt better, enough to face another day.

I have a terrible sense of direction, and so to avoid this becoming a problem, I would choose one direction after leaving my residence and walk until I couldn't anymore. I left my dorm, and on a whim, I went left instead of right. I had gone down the right recently, and wanted to see some new things.

I walked, letting Vivaldi and Mozart guide me. The music helped me just be, and I enjoyed the cold air, the way the street lights carved out oases amongst the darkness. I walked down residential streets, and then left campus. I kept walking, finding myself in the Square, a collection of stores and restaurants arranged in a square. I saw a couple walking arm and arm, and wished that someone would talk to me. Would reach out. It wouldn't have to be anything major. Even just a "Hello" would've made my night.

But they didn't. They walked on, and so did I. No one spoke me, not once. No one, that is, except you. I kept walking, and the Square gave way to something else. This was further than I had been before, and I was aware of a sort of economic curtain that I had passed. I saw smaller houses, I saw shops and buildings with chain link fences crowned with barbed wire, and I saw the street lights grow fewer and fewer in number. I was fascinated, in my own morbid sort of way. Here, there was suffering. Here, there was hardship. Here, there was hopelessness. Just like me.

This is where I belonged; not amongst the hopeful, future-looking college students or the smiling consumers of the Square, but amongst the downtrodden, the forgotten, and the dispossessed. Or so I thought.

I kept walking. I passed the police station, an imposing building with a staircase leading up to the glass door. I stopped by the door, and looked inside. There was one man at the desk, working on the computer. I considered going in, but decided against it. He was busy, and I didn't want to bother him. He had a purpose, a reason. I didn't. I felt awful.

I kept walking, and went through a tangle of small houses. The road continued, one straight line, and I remembered from whence I had come. I checked my phone, and discovered how late it was. I don't remember what time it was, but I know that I needed to return soon or else I wouldn't make it to class tomorrow.

I kept walking. Finally, I reached a large business building, and the street curled into a parking lot. I nodded decisively. Now, it was time to turn back. My reprieve was over, and the mundane horrors of daily life awaited me. Grades, money, my family, and a thousand other things lurked on my periphery. I thought they were horrific, but I know now that I hadn't tasted real horror. Not yet.

I walked back, and returned to the maze of houses. As I walked, I could hear a woman talking angrily. It was the first interpersonal experience I had undergone since leaving the Sqaure, and I slowed down, craning my ears. It was an argument about money or something. How human; if nothing mattered, what use did paper currency possibly have? Merely to extend our wretched existence, and to buy distractions to make life livable.

I heard something then, something that wasn't part of the woman's conversation. I wasn't sure what it was though. It was just a sound. A phoneme given life by someone's lungs. I kept walking, but kept listening. I was sure it was addressed to someone else, but I was curious.

I heard it again, and again, and then one more time. Finally, I turned. After four tries and no response, I figured the only recipient could be someone wrapped up in their own thoughts. Someone like me. I turned, and saw a man walking after me. I saw you. You were large, a mix of muscle and fat, and looked shabby. As you got closer, more about you became apparent. Your facial hair had grown out into a small beard, and was mostly black with a wiry texture. I remember you gestured a lot.

I said hello, nervously. I didn't know what you wanted, but I was delighted that someone was noticing my existence. It gave my life a little meaning. You apologized for being so upfront, but asked for money. You needed $10 to pay someone for something. I can't remember the details. I decided to give you $20. I remember saying with a smile that it was enough to pay the other person, and get a meal. You smiled, and thanked me profusely. I felt good. Whatever else, I had made this man's life a little better.

You asked if I wanted to wait for you; you were going to go pay the person or whatever, and then come back. I said sure without even really thinking about it. I didn't have anywhere I needed to be, not really, and the promise of human interaction was too good to pass up. I stood there, waiting patiently, and then sat down on the curb and pulled out my phone. I wasted a few minutes, and then I heard you return.

I hopped up, and we started talking. You asked about me, and I answered. I only asked a couple of questions about you, and I remember you avoiding each question. I didn't think anything of it at the time; I completely understood not wanting to talk about yourself. I told you I was in college, I told you I lived in a dorm.  I had enough wherewithal to keep things vague, and I still wonder what would've happened if I had told him more. I told you why I was wearing girl's clothes, that I was a Transwoman, and what that meant.

Suddenly, you grabbed my by the back of the head, and pulled me into a kiss. Your tongue crawled, worm-like, into mine. I was in shock, and all I could think to do was reciprocate. I kissed you back, my tongue working over your cracked lips and tasting the foul air within your mouth.

I wanted to buy myself time. I knew that if I pushed him back or resisted, he might grow violent. I had been living a sedentary lifestyle since I started college, and I was sure he would win if it came down to a struggle. What could I do? Part of me gave up, and let it happen.

I could feel his body start to heat up. I could taste his breathing change, becoming more rapid and shallow. I remember you roughly fondling my chest, and chuckling between kisses that I didn't have breasts yet. I remember you digging your fingers into my crotch, feeling for a woman's genitals.

Suddenly, you pulled away. You asked if I smoked. I was stunned, but had enough sense to shake my head. You smiled, and told me to stay here. You would go, smoke a little, and then come back. I remember perfectly how you said it, how you put that little bit of threat on the command. You walked away, around one of the nearby houses.

I sat there, shaking, and tried to organize my thoughts. Really, I thought, I have two choices: Do I wait for you to return, or do I leave? Do I let life do this to me, or do I seize control? Do I fight, or do I give up? Free Will, or Fate?

I chose. I stood up, and ran. I ran and ran and ran. I ran until the air curling in and out of my lungs felt like glass shards along my throat. I ran until a vice started to close around my chest, crushing me. I ran until I couldn't run anymore. And then I walked. I walked past the police station.

I glanced back, and wondered if I should talk to them. I decided against it. I can't really give a reason for it. If I were to hazard a guess, it would be that my higher functions had been replaced by the animal instinct to flee. I didn't want help, not if it meant facing you again. 

I walked across the square, I walked across campus, and I walked until I reached my dorm room. I turned on the light in my room, and then I just stopped. I collapsed onto the bed, and tried to get my breathing under control. I couldn't. I stepped quietly into the kitchen, and filled a glass with water. I drank it all, refilled it, and returned to my room with the glass. I put it on my desk, and tried again to get my breathing under control. I couldn't.

I looked at my hands. They were shaking. I realized I was in shock. I had no idea what to do. I didn't know what time it was, but I was still worried about getting to class tomorrow. I dug through the recess of my mind, and finally stumbled upon something that might calm me down.

Whenever I was sick, too sick to go school, I would ask my mom to put on the 1960's Dr. Doolittle. That always made me feel better. I opened my laptop, and put on the soundtrack. I listened, and slowly, my breathing calmed. My hands stopped shaking. And fatigue hit me like a train. I dragged myself to my bed, and went to sleep. I wouldn't realize that I'd forgotten to turn off the lights until I woke up.

I will never know why you chose to go after me. Was it because you thought I was girl, and decided to go with it once you realized my body's sex? Was it because I was vulnerable? Was it because I gave you money, and you wanted to see what else you could get? Was it even a choice? Were you a slave to desires you couldn't control? I'll never know. What I will know, until I die, is that this is My life. My choices. And that's a wonderful thing.

I don't think you'll ever understand. I was only in third grade, so were you. When we were both in first grade you had to move away, the first of many. We made a promise to send letters to each other, and I did so did you. It was terrible, but it was better than not communicating at all. It was going fine you know, I knew about your new dog, and you even gave me every phone number you knew. The problem was, that was the last letter I received from you. For almost two years I sent you letters randomly, you never responded. One day I look under my bed and grabbed that box of letters from you, it's still there to this day. I had remembered you had given me your parents phone number. I texted your mom, and she replied, she even gave me your number. I texted you and you responded. I'm pretty sure you gave some lame excuse why you didn't ever write me back. You also promised to write me back, when I received that letter I was scared. Your handwriting was the same as the girls I couldn't stand, and you sounded like them too. I didn't write you back, I didn't want to be friends with you, because you had become the person you would have become in first if it wasn't for me. You had become the kind of person who I just couldn't stand. So I don't really know who's fault it was that we don't talk anymore. I could just as easily blame you, while you can blame me. I think nevertheless I regret not trying harder. I shouldn't blame you, you didn't cause this, it was all me.

How dare you

Crawl back into her life

Like a feral cat

On a stoop

Broken and dirty

Yet irresistible.

The thought has turned to ash in my mouth

I spit these words

Tears and ash make ink

Upon which I write words

you will never see.

How dare you

Have more of a hold on her heart

Than my hands did around her body

I'm grasping at air now

Fighting to breathe.

How dare you

Make me worry about her

When thoughts meet fears

The semblance of understanding

Stifles the desire

The feeling more fleeting

Than our short affair

I dare you

To treat her with respect

To love her like I would have

If given the chance.

And when you break her

I will accept her

Crawling back into my life

Like a feral cat

Broken and dirty

Yet irresistible.

Ok so I was always told as a child "Treat others as you wish to be treated" so I have always done that.  I was always led to believe that if you are a good person then good things will happen, so I have strived to be a good person and to help others. 

So what the hell happened?

Why has my life been so crap?

And no do not give me the whole "Well you make your own bed" or "We are masters of our own destiny".  NONE of the bad in my life was of my own doing, I could not control any of it.

First you or whatever it is ruined my childhood, the father I´d always known turned out to be a sicko, a paedophile.  13 times we moved when I was a child, when the sicko was caught we lost everything for his sins! My mother, two sisters and I ended up homeless, in debt, confused and alone.  Our world ripped into shreds.

Then when I did find love and peace you it away from me.  You took my baby son away and the man I loved, you stamped on everything I built up. And you made sure I was awake through it all, you did not even have the decency to make sure I was unconscious when it all happened!  So you left me with vivid memories of my son laying dead, my husband ripped and broken, my mother and sister injured.  You did kindly allow my husband to survive though, how thoughtful...but as a stranger, someone who did not know me, someone changed and cruel.  In doing so you made me at times hate the only man I have ever loved!

While that was happening and we were in hospital our home was burgled and burnt down, everything treasured from a lost life gone forever.

6 years after at 28 you made me barren, menopause at 28 so no chance of more children.

Just for good measure you fucked with my mind, my health and now I am some kind of freak who has to be on pain meds, sleep meds and what ever else just to get through the day! 

After fucking with me you started on my daughter who survived the crash in the safety of my womb.  When she met and fell in love you decided it should be with a liar, an abusive man who whittled her sanity down to the bone! 

She went from being a confident beautiful girl to a ghost who chose to cut her wrists to stop the pain she felt daily, even after leaving her abusive ex, he still messed with her head.

Again you hurt an innocent girl, one nurtured with the same values I was given as a child,

be a good person and you cannot go wrong.  It has taken years to heal her wounds mentally and physically.

Well it is all bullshit!!!!!

I have never hurt anyone, I have shared when I had barely nothing of my own, cared when I had no obligation to do so, fed the poor, healed the sick, loved the unloved, fed the homeless, even saved a mans life...a strangers life!

I do not eat meat, cheese, drink milk or harm animals in any way, I help them as much as I can, I am as good as anyone could possibly be so where have I gone wrong?

What did I do for you to choose me?

I know others have had a worse life than me, I know others have suffered more, so on behalf of those good people who also did not/do not deserve it...why us?

I was told it is a test, well when does it end, when can I start reaping the rewards of being kind, caring, understanding, supportive and selfless?

When will you start punishing the wicked and the greedy instead, I see many who live their lives cruelly, badly and yet they are given everything, good luck, good health etc

When will the good, the meek, the needy be allowed the same gifts as the cruel, greedy and the abusive?

You suck!

I could tell you to stick all the "Be a good person" up your ass but I have my own code of ethics, see I did not do everything for rewards, I did it because I AM a good person.

I just wonder why I have been punished for it, why others have too.

My reward the one I ask for is simple:  Just leave what I have alone, stop with all the drama, the pain, the health issues, the constant bad luck.  Just let my family and I be.