October 2013

I abandoned my blog in the past few months, and writing all together.  After finding out I could not write my 30 Days in 30 Years because of the problems it caused others I got discouraged.  I have also come to realize I can no longer edit my novel without help, which means finding others who have the time to read it and give me feedback (coming in at over 90,000 words this has been hard to do!).  Right now things seem to be looking up after feeling lost for so long.  

The biggest thing I am struggling with right now is baby fever.  Maybe this is due to the fact that I am almost 31 and my son is now 3.  It may have more to due with the fact that around this time last year I found out I was pregnant, and after talking with friends, family, and my doctors among other reasons I had to end it.  October 30th will probably not be a good day for me but I will try to plan something fun to do with my son to distract me.  It would be a very big undertaking for me to ever try to have another child.  After my son was born I had postpartum psychosis (they gave me a shot of 3 months of birth control 2 days after I had him that is known to heighten anxiety and depression in women, this may have played a role in how bad I got), and this included thoughts of hurting my newborn son, myself, and eventually others.  The hallucinations and evil voices took over my whole being.  This started coming back two weeks after I found out I was pregnant last year.  Someday I may write exactly what happened to me because others should know it is very real and there should be no shame in getting help for it such as I did.  It is not an easy thing to admit by any means but getting help saved our lives.  Everything I have done and sacrificed has been for the son I already have, he is my life.

Ending my pregnancy also ended my relationship with the father for a while, we are now friends which helps a lot, though it did not affect him as it did me.  By December I hated myself so much that when I turned 30 I tried to OD on my medication thinking everyone, including my son was better off without me.  With the help of my friends, along with all the other struggles in my life, I made it through.  Soon after we found out my son’s father was on drugs and started committing felonies which included breaking and entering both of his parents homes to steal money and anything he could pawn.  It was a nightmare for two weeks until I woke up one night in March to see him in my bedroom.  He took my purse and my car, and come to find out he got in the crawl space in the rafters to kick in my spare room ceiling to get in.  They had him arrested within 12 hours as I drive a bright yellow car (not so many of those around!) and he happened to be in an area that a former co-worker of ours had moved to and he had no idea.  The universe gave us a break and by that one small miracle she called the cops knowing what was going on and they had him.  Then we went through months of court hearings, plea deal, and the sentence of 2 years in prison with 3 years of mandatory parole.  My son’s father has a wonderful family, no one saw it coming, and it just goes to show you it can hit anyone, any family, no one is exempt in life.  

I went to the Lindner Center of Hope for two weeks to help me deal with all of these things that had happened and I began to fall apart again.  After that I find out I needed major surgery on my neck for TOS from a fall down the stairs a year ago.  The muscles were causing pain and cutting off the use of my right arm/hand.  I am right handed so this was a major problem!  If you ever have a surgery where they have to deflate your lung (my surgeon was using the da Vinci machine and went in under my right arm) be prepared to learn how to breath again!  I am lucky to have a job with insurance and disability so these 6 months off work were made a little easier knowing I was able to pay my bills and I would not have an outrages hospital bill after it was all over.  

I have now been back to work for 3 weeks and have decided to move in with friends over the next two weeks.  We do not live a good neighborhood which is getting worse everyday.  So we are now moving to a nice area where I will have less to worry about mine and my son’s safety.  I have also decided I want to start doing new things.  My first three goals is to have someone read my novel and start working on it again, learn how to play chess, and learn how to play the violin!  My friends can teach me to play chess, I found a professional to pay after bills are caught up to read my novel, and all that is left is to buy a violin and start learning.  My short term goal right now is to figure out what my son will be for halloween this year! 🙂  

Between figuring out what to keep writing about on this blog I have decided to use something I know to continue to post at least one thing every week.  Since my novel (which will be a series of 4) is based in a way on the Tarot I have studied them over the years.  There are 12 major cards that represent the twelve signs of the zodiac.  So I am going to try my hand at writing a weekly horoscope with the Tarot for each sign and see if people like it.  I can’t promise anything, I am not psychic but I’ve had some luck reading them for friends and will be something fun to try out.  We all need some fun in our lives.  

 

Davina

The Gravedigger (First short story)

I have been working on a novel for years, and it is very different from the short stories and poems I have given a try in the past year.  I have gotten great feedback from these, and I think it is because I write more serious subject matters, fiction or not, better somehow than the fantasy genre my novel is trying to be.  Even though this is a long post, I believe it gives well with showing more about who I am and my perspective on life through what I have written.

THE GRAVEDIGGER

She lit a cigarette as she sat on the black metal swing suspended from the front porch; the back and forth motion and occasional creaking helped calm her nerves.  This moment was quickly shattered by the sound of the old broken screen door slamming open.  Her older brother stumbled out onto the porch closely followed by their mother.   They both sat down in nearby chairs and ignored her and her bad habit, as usual.  They didn’t care, as they both lit up as well, but at 14 years old Ann Marie Enery was too young to be smoking, and someone should have cared.  Noticing the fresh track marks on her mother’s arm, she knew they had scored their drug of choice and would be of no help to her tonight.

She grabbed her cassette tape, headphones, notebook, and cigarettes; slipped on her sandals and made her way into town.  When she finally reached the small white washed church, she climbed over the low chain link fence.  The cemetery was always quiet and the only place she could find solace.  Ann Marie visited so often she knew the names on every headstone.  She quickly made her way to her favorite willow tree that shaded a large crypt, and settled in to write stories of the people in those graves and how she imagined they died.

As she listened to her cassette tape, she did not hear the old man approach her until she paused in her writing to have another smoke.  She had seen the old gravedigger many times when she would walk by the cemetery, waiting for him to leave.  He had once been a tall man who was now stooped over from all the years of digging graves.  His body was still rather solid from all the hard labor, but his face was gaunt with narrow eyes, crooked nose, and only a few wisps of gray hair left on his head.  It was the first time she had been caught and now she feared she was in trouble. Taking her headphones off shyly, she waited for the lecture that didn’t come.

“You’ve been trespassing for some time now.  Your parents know you’re hanging around in graveyards this late at night?” the old man asked.

Her heart sank, “No sir.  They wouldn’t much care if they did,” she said softly.

“You got a name?”

“Ann Marie Enery,” she answered truthfully.  She had thought about lying so he wouldn’t know where to find her parents, but it was a small town, and he’d probably figure it out soon enough.

His narrow eyes squinted at her with a hard look, “You Enery’s girl?”

“Yes, sir.  Do you know my father?” she asked as her heart began to beat faster.

“Hmph.  Been at the bar having a drink now and then, and he’s usually around.  Well, I don’t see a reason you can’t hang around just as long as you don’t start bringing any friends and causing trouble.”

Ann Marie closed her eyes with a sigh of relief.  He must have known what her father was like when he was drunk and taken pity on her.  It was the first true kindness she could remember.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he nodded his head and walked away.

There was no reason to worry about her bringing friends here because she didn’t have any.  Being short and thin with brown eyes, wiry brown hair, and old hand-me-down clothes from church donations, she easily went through school being invisible.

As the afternoon drew later and the summer sun began to set, Ann Marie started to feel tired.  It was time to go home.  When she reached the house, she gently opened the door, careful not to make any noise.  Her mother was passed out on the sofa, and her brother looked higher than a kite listening to some techno music.  With her father nowhere in sight, she thanked God he had probably passed out in the bedroom.  As she tiptoed toward her own room, she heard the toilet flush and the bathroom door swing open.  She had been wrong.

♦ ♦ ♦

The next day Ann Marie was sitting back out on the porch, and though it was rather humid in July, she wore a long sleeved shirt and jeans to cover up the fresh bruises and cuts on her body.  No longer able to stand being at the house, she grabbed her usual things and headed for the cemetery.  This time the old gravedigger was out working, but allowed her to pass by without a single word.

By mid-afternoon the sun was blazing and Ann Marie was dripping with sweat, even as she sat sheltered in the shade beneath her tree.  The gravedigger came by and unexpectedly offered her a glass of iced tea, which she gladly accepted.

“Kinda hot out here for those clothes you’re wearing,” he hinted, as if knowing something was wrong.

“I get cold easily,” came her weak reply, though she knew he could see her hair was matted to her forehead and her shirt was damp with sweat.

Lucky for her, he let it drop and went back to work.  Over the next few weeks she spent more time at the graveyard and struck up an odd sort of friendship with the old man.  He would bring her drinks and snacks, as he noticed she never went home to eat.  Ann Marie began to ask him about the people he’d buried there and would compare her own stories with the real ones he would tell her.  The more time she stayed away, the worse the beatings would get when her father would catch her sneaking in late at night.  As the summer dragged on, her father seemed to stop caring if she was seen by others with more visible signs of his anger.

♦ ♦ ♦

As August ended, Ann Marie knew there was no longer denying what was really happening at home.  With a black eye and busted lip, she wore a faded yellow sundress to the graveyard, as there was no reason to hide any of the abuse she suffered at her father’s hand.

The old man came by and sat down beside her.  He didn’t say anything for a long time.  The

rustling leaves in the cool summer breeze were all that could be heard, and it was eerily calming.

“Sara Jones,” was all he finally said.

Anne Marie looked over at him in confusion, “Who?” she asked.

“Sara Jones,” he repeated and pointed to a grave in the distance, “1963-1997.  Husband beat on her for years, and she never said a thing.  One blow too many put her in a coma and she silently died.  You don’t have to live like this,” he said as Ann Marie had expected he would.

The old man looked at her with sadness in his eyes, “Don’t give up.  There’s always a way out.  You take some time to think about it.  When you’re ready, I’m here to help you in any way I can.  Don’t let him take your life,” and with that the gravedigger left her to her own hopeless thoughts.

♦ ♦ ♦

When she got home that night she was surprised to find the house empty.  Her brother must have scored a last minute deal, and their mother tagged along, like she always did.  After taking a shower, she went straight to bed.  Minutes later she was awakened by a slamming door and familiar slurring shouts.  She held her breath as her body tensed up, and then her bedroom door suddenly swung open.

He dragged her out of bed by her ankles, ignoring her pleas.  With the others gone, he was more aggressive than usual; ranting about the house not being clean to not being able to find a job.  With every new complaint he kicked her, as if it was all her fault.  She curled up in a ball and covered her face as the pain shot through her with each new blow.

Finally tiring of this, he pulled her up by the hair onto her feet and threw her against the wall.  He grabbed her arm and twisted it as she tripped over the leg of the kitchen table, and they both heard the bone crack as she fell.  The unexpected sound shocked her father out of his drunken rage, and he became very still in the uneasy silence that followed.  He finally sent her to her room, as she needed to come up with a good excuse for breaking her arm before he would take her to the hospital.  The shame

she felt was overwhelming as she laid in bed crying through the pain.  Ann Marie knew the gravedigger was right; it was only going to get worse.  She felt numb as she grabbed the last few things she would need to sneak out of the house for the last time.

♦ ♦ ♦

In the morning light, the old man went to see if Ann Marie was in her usual spot. He wanted to find out if she had given any thought to his offer to help.  He found her notebook lying open on the ground next to a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a chair.  There was Ann Marie hanging from her favorite tree by a rope she had stolen out of the back of her father’s pick-up truck.  Being as tiny as she was, the thin branches of her willow tree still supported her weight.  He could hear soft music playing from her cassette tape, even with her headphones still on.

Standing on the chair she had brought with her, he gently removed the headphones.  He put them on to hear what she had been listening to in her final moments as he sat down to read the last thing she had written.

It read: This is who I am…Anne Marie Enery

This is what I’ve become…Nothing

This is where I stop dreaming…because they are always nightmares

This is why I’ve stopped…the nightmares are real

This is when I die…because I choose to not live this kind of life

That is how I keep him from taking it from me…

The old man had buried so many people in his lifetime that he had stopped crying long ago.  But now he cried.  He wished he had helped her find a better way out sooner, knowing these last messages had been for him, and let the lyrics of the song drown out the world:

Gravedigger…

When you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain

Gravedigger…

When you dig my grave

Could you make it shallow

So that I can feel the rain

Gravedigger…

1 Dave Matthews. “Gravedigger.” Some Devil. RCA, 2003. CD.