It’s not just a Name

Today I spoke to my sister, for the second time in my life. I am so angry about that. Not angry I spoke to her, I am angry that in thirty years  I have spoken to her twice. There is something very deeply disturbingly wrong about that.

So many things about this crazy weird situation confound me. For starters my mother who should be angry, isn’t. It was her idea to communicate with Keith. I have no interest in doing so, but I know that at some point I need to speak with him – I wish I could look him in the eyes, I also wish I could smack him. So perhaps it just isn’t time yet.

I am angry that I was not gifted with the privaledge of being raised with my siblings, I am angry that I do not share anything more than a nose with them, that I can see anyways.

It isn’t just a name – our names identify us, they give us something to be recognized by. They unite us and in some cases they divide us. None of my siblings share a name with me. We all have different names, different skin tones, even different bone structure.

We share blood and that matters, so much more than I can express, but I feel …detached. Sad and angry but I do not feel connected to them, not as much as I know they want me to. I know they understand, they have all been where I have been, in that I do not feel so alone.

That is the other thing; my whole life I grew up wondering who I was, why I was so different from my brother, I had so many questions about why I don’t fit in with my family. Why when I am around my mothers family my first inclination is to drink so that I have to force myself to keep my mouth shut.

My aunt, a woman I have never met, asked if I had kids and whether or not I was married. The answer is to both.

All this time I thought it was because of the number of times that I had been raped, I thought I had this never ending fear of men that just will not ever go away, and while that is part of it. I realize now there is more to it than that.

I realize looking back now I just never thought I was worthy of being loved. I don’t know if he understands what he has done, the damage he has caused. It isn’t just about the damn name, it is about this deep seeded fear that I held inside so long, that told me I was unworthy of being loved.

He walked away from all of us and never looked back. He didn’t care if we were hungry, sad or scared. He didn’t care if we were happy or healthy. He just did not care.

The others have gotten over their anger, their excited, happy and in some cases thrilled we can finally at some point be reunited. I am and I am not. I am happy they found me. Though as I write this I admit, part of me wonders why they want me in their lives. I know the answer of course. They want me in their lives because I am their sister.

At the same time  I have nothing to offer them, I have nothing of value or worth to give to these people. I am so damned broken. No matter how many times I write it or pretend to be okay I am shattered in side because of all I have seen and been through.

I know how strong I am – don’t get me wrong. I know that everything I have been through has prepared me for anything that life will bring my way, but still inside I am broken.

The others feel – I don’t, I avoid feeling at all cost. I bury it damn deep and ignore it. I lock it away in the secret box within myself and I smile so that I can inspire others, but as I sit here I realize damn near every time I tell someone it gets better I am telling a half truth.

Yes life gets better, but it doesn’t get easier. Life sucks, sometimes it is good and sometimes it is bad – it’s a roller coaster and thats it. You live, you experience you die. In between there are good times and there are bad times, but it isn’t really any different, it is all in how you deal with what life brings you that matters.

You can give in, quit and walk away, kill yourself and be done or you can keep fighting. There is a third less discussed option, you can ignore it.

I don’t “live” I do not “thrive” I ignore life. I see friends, I do events for SNBG, but I would not express myself as a happy person. I would say I am just a person.

I don’t know who I am…..mind you that is why I started this blog, to figure that out isn’t it?! Yet nearly a year later and I still have no real answers as to who I am as a person. How sad is that?

Not all of that is his fault, nor am I saying that I am a victim.

I am thirty years old, the long lost sibling of five other people who live in various parts of the world – I believe in living as if the world where what it should be to show it what it can be, yet I still do not know who I am.

Some days I think I want to be married, to have kids, other days I feel like I just want me and my animals on a ranch somewhere quiet where I can peacefully wait to die.

I do know I do not like this world. It is harsh and it is cruel. It is a work in progress that is for certain but I am not sure how much good that progress has been over the last ten thousand years.

I think humans have failed massively, not only whatever fucked up deity created us, but also each other.

I know that my father, for all intents and purposes has failed me, failed all of us.

Yesterday I told my mom I hope that I am nothing like him, I do not want to be the kind of person who can create six (or any number of ) children and walk away from them all without ever looking back.

I have been told he spends days after days asking the others to speak to me. They all respecting my privacy and being very protective of me, which in of itself is weird but very much appreciated.

I don’t think I have spent this much time thinking about him in my entire life – my emotions are bankrupt because of this man. My whole life I got myself into trouble looking for love in the wrong places trying to replace what he took when he walked away.

I find it strange I haven’t cried much, but I think that in truth some time long ago I just stopped crying because I don’t see the point.

It happens every now and then mind you, but not often.

I remind myself every now and than that “this too shall pass” but..then what?!

What am I supposed to do with these people? how am I supposed to react to all of this? I don’t know.

I hear the phrase “he’s only human” in this particular case, it doesn’t say much for human kind does it?!

I don’t know what is coming next – I am planning to go and visit them, and I fully intend to do that, at least the ones in Canada. I do not know about the others yet.

Just another peice of finding ohna hey?

If there is one thing I can tell you….that I can promise you, its becareful what you wish for, because I promise you – you have no idea what that may bring.

S

 

 

The sisterhood that never was, but could be

The last few days I have been pretty sick – which by the way has nothing to do with why I have not written in months, I haven’t written because I have not had anything to say.

However I do today, armed with a bottle of Proprietor’s Reserve and my music I am ready to put some thoughts out into the universe for examination.

For thirty years – not the better part of – for thirty full years it has been myself, my mother (momma love) and my brother.  I had a nap yesterday because I was really just damn exhausted and sick and I wanted to sleep it away. I woke up to the news that I now have an older brother and two older sisters, as well as two younger sisters. I am a middle child.

Lets go back sya thirty years and I can explain.

Thirty years ago my mother had a relationship with a married man (She at this time did not know he was married) they got pregnant with me before she found out he was married and already had two kids.

Over the last ten years a man we’ll call BB has been searching for me. BB didn’t know my full name nor did he know where I live. Not until his aunt told him my mothers maiden name.

After finding one of my younger sisters, he found me, weirdly enough, via a post I made on Bullyville.com.  From there he found my mother, and then he decided to call my mom at work and ask to get a hold of me. She told him she would talk to me about it.

She did.

-Edit, five hours later-

Now I sit here on my balcony, trying to wrap my head around all this information, and I am not sure how I feel about it. It would make a damn good documentary.

Knowing me, I will in fact try to document it all. Just for …I dunno, so maybe one day I can look back and try to understand. So far I have spoken with the one brother, BB, and his sister, erm my sister, and sent a message to one of the youngest sisters via facebook…there are still two more to communicate with. It feels scary.

For most of my life it has been my brother and myself and mom, now its my brother mom and oh yeah brother and sister(s). They want to know me, to be a part of my life to know who I am and they want me to know who they are, to be a part of their lives.

I have never had a close knit family – I’ve always wanted one but I haven’t ever had one. For a lot of years I felt like Mogli from the jungle book – a human baby raised by wolves – only in my case I was the black baby raised by white people. I don’t know how to be black, and yeah I get many people won’t understand what that means.

I don’t know anything about these family members, other than we share blood, and an absentee father I have no interest in meeting or speaking with. I know that the one sister, just a few years older than I, both hurt our middle fingers on our left hand, I know that we all shared at one point a penchant for fighting and anger, but have cooled our temperaments over the years.

I know that a relationship with these people will come in time – we are all too much alike not to want to get to know each other, to meet each other and try to repair some of the damage that he caused.

I do not call him dad – which is weird, only because over the years I used to refer to him as “my dad” when I spoke about him. Now he is just, Keith, or you know a variation of other rude disturbingly cruel things I won’t post here.

I should be sleeping, SNBG is getting ready for pride tomorrow I should be resting but its one thirteen am and all I can think is, we don’t even share a name.

When he walked away from us – and walk away he did, six fucking times – he stole our right to know each other, to share memories and even share a name. He took that from us. I am so damn angry at him for that, and in a way I suppose, at the universe. In my heart I know that this is another part of the Ohna I have spent so much time looking for. Not the last piece by any stretch of the imagination, but a huge one none the less.

I just don’t even know. I am who I am, but who am I?

I was hoping that I would start to figure that out, now that I am growing up, not old but up, I am figuring out who I am as a person and what my role in the world is. Now though I wonder, “Who am I?”

I know that he doesn’t have any right to know me, but I wonder, do I have a right to know him? To ask questions I know he won’t be able to or care enough to answer? He’s a cab driver, and apparently an amazing carpenter. What else? Do I look like him? I guess if we decide to take a trip to Jamaica I’ll find out.

God damn, its times like these I really wish I had a partner to lean on – someone to hold me close and keep the darkness away because I don’t know if I can handle this all alone – and while many people who read this will say “but hey you aren’t alone, you have all these new siblings’ I still feel so damn alone.

Most everything anyone could ever want to know about me could be found in this blog, I’m not sure if they found it in their search, or how I feel about the fact that they may have – that they know more about me than I do about them. I am just so damn unsure.

But then again, thats what this site is all about…me trying to discover who I am and what makes me me…so here is to finding my ohna.

 

Syn D.

 

The Sacrafice

They hunt in packs of two or more, sometimes three or four.

They seek the darkness, it’s protective shade wrapping around them like a glove. Keeping the light at bay.

They offer trinkets and treats, for a few moments of your time. They promise a good time, a party and an escape.

You will not say no, you have no choice. There is no time for fight or flight. There is only the sick realization that you have been chosen. You are the latest in a string of sacrifices. You are the lamb, and they are the guardians of the darkness.

Like wild dogs they maul, bite chew spit rape and humiliate. They use all methods of evil and destruction as their tools to break you, they will devour, they will ruin you. They are demons from the gates of hell freshly unleashed.

They are unaccounted for, unnamed and unstoppable.

Your screams will go unnoticed, your cries of terror and fear will go ignored, or worse not heard at all.

No one cares, for you are the forgotten, the left behind – you are that which does not matter, not to them, not to us, not to anyone. You are nothing. You do not exist. You are merely the sacrifice.

The police will not fight for you, the neighbors will not call fire to bring you aid, you are nothing. A toy, to be beaten, fed to the demon dogs until something better comes along, or until they are spent. Which ever comes first.

You will be chained to a tree, a warning to all others who seek solace in the dark, we are next. The women of this city are in danger, and no one is listening, no one is aware. No one hears the cries for help, the screams of surrender.

We are the Sacrifice.

Just another day in Surrey.

S

Hospitals, they suck

Yesterday I was in so much pain I did something I never (and I do mean never ever ever) do. I went into the hospital. I am fine let me get that across first and foremost and secondly it had nothing to do with drugs, alcohol or the abuse of either. It had to do with my period. That yucky topic no one wants to ever discuss because let’s face it ladies, it’s painful gross and it just plain ruins every damned thing in you’re life. Am I right? I am right.

Never trust anything that bleeds for five days a week every month for twelve months a year, that just ain’t right

Some guy from some place at some time