RE-PURPOSE ~ Part 1 of 2

 

Sitting in my shelter, I looked out of my dampened window of my car to the illuminated sign that promised: “Welcome to Victoria.” I felt trapped in between the pane of glass that sheltered me from the dampness, but not the cold. In my mind I counted the steps to the stretch of busy nighttime highway and a way out of my icy misery.

The reality was I had managed to survive over 7 months of living in my mini car. Given there was blessings on and off the reprieves of kind strangers, some Air bnb’s, and two stays between friends I know how much more fortunate I was than others. Yet after my body had just been released from the shock and settled into the vast expansions of a comfortable bed, that same frame would being to seize upon knowing more isolated, cold night would be spent in confinement. In fact, I knew someone who had been in jail and once released for a crime of repeated stealing, they confided in me that back in the box was where they felt home at most. IN the tiny space of concrete surrounding them, it was like be tucked away safely into the womb from where they emerged. Another confession of feeling suicidal and overwhelmed with depression, hit them like the pounding surf. They would awaken on their bed in a halfway house, covered in sweat matching with nightmares of the sea consuming them. Psychologically, the damage of their experiences separated us as he candidly remarked: “I am an Atheist, but hey... you...you have faith.”

That memory was now replaying over in my Bipolar mind, again interrupted by the obsessive slow counting of steps to the Highway sign.

“This is not living…” my words hung into the dead of a frigid night.

My memories were playing heavily on my thoughts as I remembered only 7 years ago, I had packed up what was left of my deceased daughter’s belongings, tossed into boxes marked: “To go through.”

I was saying farewell to my fairy-tale long-term relationship that had been tainted with anger, lies and betrayal, on his part …mostly. Now I would restate that I too offered up my heaping’s of grief, delusions, mental health issues- but still staunch about no betrayal on my part. I was always loyal, to a man that now has found his way out of my heart and onto the pages of my never finished editing novel.

Once I was on Island terrain, I drove out to the ocean and let the salt settle in my lungs as I breathed in.

I bent down and smiled when I found a heart shaped pebble.

Actual Rose Quartz release (from Janay) in Hawaii

This Island was finally home…. Or so I thought.

Only 3 days later would I find myself the victim of a horrid crime that still has its stains upon me in my thoughts.

Many advised me it was a warning…a cautionary alert to advise me of danger, treachery, followed by this years sudden loss of a nephew I hardly knew, on top of family dysfunction...adding to more betrayal to come.

Back in my vehicle, displaced for months and suffering from malnutrition, the effects of strokes, the excruciating pain of fibroids and a hole in my heart, I also had the one component that many who incur it, will say is a beast. That of which is known as Isolation.

The earth now cradles that word within a invisible cloak of lonliness in hospitals, those needing elderly care, classrooms where students faces along with emotions are covered and empty churches (the ones choosing to remain closed), to name just a few. For me, months of isolation took me back to a place that was reminiscent of my unsettling childhood. In one of my previous posts, I shared about the implications of poverty in my life and the ripples of destitute to follow. This particular night, I spent hours thinking, mulling over, unearthing my fear of silence. In addition to the physical, mental, and sexual abuse I endured by my stepfather, my mother chose the tortuous means of ‘the silent treatment’, that when I went to school in my long turtlenecks, no one could see what the raw effects of her silence had done to me.

In a brutally honest article by Kellie Scott – ABC Life, she shared her own vivid memory of being traumatized by silence, and shared other quotes by those who had been wounded.

"It was the worst feeling. It's the pain inside that nobody can see." — Anonymous, 56 (email)

"Withdrawing love, I've learnt, is an excellent way to damage someone's psyche." — Carolyn (Facebook)

 LINK: The effects of the silent treatment in families and relationships - ABC Life

 Their quotes and the well-written, genuinely shared life experiences of being punished with silence, snaps back at me like a thick, rubber band.

My mother withheld her love in bouts of silence that could last for days. Already being groomed from by my Stepfather to remain silent about his abuse against me, I was a ping-pong thrust against an invisible player. Truth is…I never was inside my shell of a body enough, to know which opponent I was up against.

This thrust me forward into a world where I could not even stand a second of silence…with my daughter, in relationships with my partners, or even on the phone. It is as if I must fill every minute with some noise- in order to not feel rejected!

Now sitting in my car, alone, displaced, battling my health and my own self…I was unsure I would make it out of this horrible experience alive.

Only later, would I realize the major breakthrough that occurred inside my confined space...much as I did with the roots of my poverty!

That night, in need of a bathroom, I drove into Elk Park. I knew the bathrooms so well, I mindlessly walked down the darkened path leading to the woman’s washrooms. As I casually walked past the men’s bathroom, the hairs on my neck stood up. My eyes darted right to the open door, where a man was hiding in the shadows. My body started to shake, and I realized I could be in danger. With no one around, I felt my best option was to go into the ladies room and lock the door. I was closer to the washrooms than I was my car. My mind racing, I didn’t know who to call ( I had my phone as I had used the flashlight). I knew seeking the Police would not be the best choice. I left soon after and could see the man was still hiding. My feet carried me faster than I though possible and I drove away bursting into tears and a major anxiety attack. As a Survivor of assault, I knew I had been triggered and could not sleep as I usually did at the entrance of the park. Therefore, I drove into the city to the local Tim Horton’s. I saw many of the homeless I had come to know and suddenly, I felt at ease.

One of the other unsettling encounters occurred when I was parked on the side of the road. I awoke one September morning- my car covered with dust from the road. Most of the time, I tried to get some rest on the passenger side, with my sleeping bag wrapped around me. Upon waking, I felt uneasy. As I wiped the sleep from my tired eyes, I squinted at my windshield and my heart was beating faster. For there on the passenger side of the glass separating me from the outside world, was a pair of large handprints. They were ominous enough to let me know that someone had stopped long enough to have a look in. Many thoughts raced through my mind…who had been so brazen to watch me sleep? Or maybe…just maybe…it was someone concerned enough to wonder if I was dead or alive?

Either way, I was left visibly shaken. So much so... that only a very few in the medical field know my exact location and a handful of entrusted friends know my true location, in case of emergency. 

This stress of what I encountered does not make for the ideal conditions to recover from strokes- besides the fact I was living in my miniature car. I would later be told the side effects of my strokes were playing havoc on me as well. I found myself crying at inappropriate times or verbalizing insensitive thoughts. I was frustrated when my words were in a jumble and I struggled with my memory loss. This may be the result of what is known as PBA (Pseudobulbar effect); a common medical condition following stroke.

Often, in my parked car, I would suddenly burst into tears and pound my fists on the steering wheel.

The one night I stared at the highway blurred lines, a windstorm mixed with thrashing rain, had picked up significantly. My emotions matched the ever-growing deluge- separating me from it was the metal shelter, I was blessed to be protected by.

I knew I had a choice…as every variable in my life had come down to good vs. evil.

Reaching into the back of my vehicle, I pulled something out…knowing this would be a turning point for me.

By TL Alton