A book feels daunting, so maybe this can be my sketchbook in a way. I always think I need to tell my story but also maybe I don’t because it’s heartbreaking and that’s not just my “lens.” Still, maybe there is something there, so I’m gonna riff for a bit. Thanks for humoring me. 😉

part one

I want to be wanted
Not needed
Not desired
Not some idea that fits
A preconceived
Fetishized by projection
Maybe it’s the way
I came into being
An accident
Grown up games
Covered in shame
Of my mother’s mistake
Poisoned by betrayal
Of my father’s refusal
To acknowledge my existence
Maybe it’s universal
To be known
Every fiber
And turn of the wheel
By another human being
I exist

I remember telling this story over and over as I grew up. My mother was 15, my father 16 and I was an accident from high schoolers messing around. The story was repeated over and over to me as well. As if my mother was stuck in her own trauma. I see it now as I do the same, tell the same story over and over. She is probably also neurodivergent. We do that. He was her first love, her first sexual experience, aside from something that happened that shouldn’t have earlier in her life and when she got pregnant, he and his family accused her of lying that it was his. They sold their house in that small town and moved their family of 6 somewhere else so I wouldn’t be in the way of his future. Out of sight, out of mind. My mother’s parents, who were kind to everyone, had a real issue with this betrayal and there were phone calls apparently. The year was 1976 and there was some talk of abortion but my mother opted to keep me. There have been many, many times I wish she hadn’t. I would like to be a person who could say here is all this pain that happened and now I’m so great thanks to blah blah blah, but the truth is, I’ve spent most of my life wishing I didn’t exist because of how hard it is to exist as me. I do have some hope that maybe the last half of my life might be different but hope is a slippery slope, and my own kids have been my anchor to stick around. That, and some unseen thing that won’t let me actually do the deed. I’ve always felt heavily protected in this life, even from my own hand.

So I was born, a few days before Halloween and under a crescent moon, in the window of a solar eclipse portal. My mother said she had gone unconscious during labor and so I slipped into this world with a shock wave. Years later, I did EMDR therapy and had a vision of my birth. In the vision, I was born with a black sac or pocket around my head and was told it was a caul. (this is all just the vision as no one ever told me such a thing.) In the corner of the hospital room, Grandmother Spider, one of my constant spirit companions, clicking her feet and sending vibrations into my body. I saw other beings there as well, unseen to the hospital staff, looking very excited that I had made my way through.

to be continued, i hope…

This Post Has One Comment

  1. juliemontinieri

    Carrie, I’m grateful you made it through. Your existence has been a gift to me.

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