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Topics - RiverRabbit

#1
Poetry & Creative Writing / The Call of the Forest
February 19, 2021, 11:17:34 PM
Moving through the forest, immersed in its emerald embrace, I can feel its sinews reaching for me... its breath moving over me, whispering an ancient language... calling me to melt into its shadows.

This longing to stay... this craving to remain in this place where I feel valid... real... accepted... a place where I can release my grip on the facade... it is a longing, born of pain and shadows, which calls me to disappear into the green fold... to turn away from the hurt beyond these trees.

And it is almost possible... to turn my back on all...  to allow the overwhelming waves to crash into the edge of the wood, as these roots hold strong against charge after charge.  Nestled in its boughs, an inner sigh tells me there is no reason to leave.
#2
Music / Isabella Fortuna - "My Love Song"
January 28, 2021, 11:04:58 PM
Isabella Fortuna - "My Love Song"

https://youtu.be/ZqdWqFEnqOY
#3
Poetry & Creative Writing / Freefall Arrested
September 24, 2020, 05:10:42 PM
Released from freefall

As her voice caresses my soul

Whispering...

"You can rest now... you are where you belong"

And the beast can sleep now... as a boy.
#5
Newly discovered memory from when I was 7, after I processed some very bad trauma I refused to think about.

Using fake names…

Randy and Ronny were kids that lived next door to my good grandparents (dad’s side).  These were the ones I got to visit rarely, since my mother’s side of the family hated them and invited them to none of their tribal get-togethers (she was from a large family).

I was at my grandparents (father’s side) house and, at some point, went out to play with the neighbor kids.  While we were playing something fairly rough, Randy got angry.  He was the older of the two, and significantly bigger than both me and his younger brother Ronny, so we were laughing… trying to play it off.  That is when Randy  went in the house and got his pellet rifle.

Ronny and I ran around the back side of the house.  We saw Randy round the corner and was taking aim, so we ran in the opposite direction rounding the corner to the front of the house.  We could hear him chasing us.

I passed the woodpile, went back, grabbed a sizable piece of wood, and hid behind the woodpile.  As I heard Randy running up, I threw the log out at about his head height.  He ran right into it, falling down, dropping the rifle.

I ran back to my grandparents’ house.  As I came in the door, my grandmother saw a look on my face that immediately concerned her.  I was feeling like I had done something wrong, and did not want to tell her what had just happened, but when my grandfather came in, I knew I had to tell the truth.  He had a way… later in life I learned he had been an interrogator during part of his 38 years in the army… he was also special forces.  But as a kid, I just had a sense that he could get the truth out of you, whether you liked it or not.

I told him what happened.  My grandfather asked very few, but very to-the-point questions.  And, just as we finished talking about it, there was a forceful knock at the door.

My grandfather answered the door.  It was Randy and Ronny’s father.  Not sure what was said, but my grandfather moved him back away from the door, went outside with their father, shutting the door behind him.

They talked… it got a bit heated and loud, but I don’t recall, exactly what was said.  Their father was significantly bigger than my grandfather (who was in his mid-to-late 60’s at the time), but peeking out the window, I could see my grandfather standing his ground, and their father seemed to have an epiphany that my grandfather was more than willing to get physical with him, if it came to that.

My grandfather defended me.

He defended me at a time in my life when I was sure no one would.

(**TW** highlight below to see text)
The memory of this event was being blocked by my unwillingness to recall age 7, the year I was raped.  I refused to think about the trauma of that year, and it had effectively blocked lots of other memories… maybe because it was so big and overwhelming.

While processing my age 7 trauma, I was at a loss as to how I could at least function.

I think my grandfather defending me showed me that there were, at least, some people who were good and would stand up for me.

This is probably how I got through it.

(**TW** highlight below to see text)
I never told him, or anyone, about the rape.  My FOO was just too toxic.  I see now, looking back, that I could have told my grandparents on my father’s side.  But I think I felt like, if anyone knew, they would see me differently...see me as rotten on the inside.  And, with these two being the only ones who seemed to take joy in me, I did not dare risk their knowing.

But, recalling this event has been like finding a gem in a pile of crap.  It was not pleasant getting to it, but the memory is beautiful.
#6
Memory/Cognitive Issues / DID?? (TW)
July 20, 2020, 08:34:19 PM
I have been going through some very tough therapy.

I finally verbalized my being raped at the age of 7 by a 14 year old boy.  I told no one at the time that it happened... and it was something I refused to think about afterward.

When it happened, I recall the first part (him cutting my arm with his hunting knife... being penetrated) , but the next thing I recall was walking in the woods, where I always played, very confused...  very upset...  feeling very isolated.

I think now I have processed this and am moving past it.  I am through the doorway, and I am not going back.

But, this has changed me.  It has changed how I react to things... how I react to my children... how I react to my wife.  It has changed me for the better.

My wife, I think, is now confused as to how we fit together, and what her new role is.  Twenty-five years of being married to me has taught her that I am a minefield... no telling what will trigger me.  And, I think there is some resentment (I have not been easy to live with).

We were talking to our marriage therapist and my wife described one of our fights and how I get during.  She brought up an incident when we were hiking up on a mountain and having a pretty serious argument with threats of her leaving me.  She said, at a particularly intense part, I walked over to the edge of the cliff we were on top of and just stared out.  She said she approached me and I turned around, and was acting like I expected her to try to push me off of the cliff... she said it was like I was a different person.

The problem I have with this is that I do not recall it at all.  I remember the hike.  I do not remember the cliff.

I am skeptical of DID in most cases.  My psychology teachers all seemed to agree that DID is extremely rare, and often faked in order to avoid responsibility for one's actions.  Of course, this was 20 years ago, and I do not know what the current view on DID is.

I do not know if this is DID (see skeptical), but I am now remembering other times when my wife has brought up incidents that I just have no memory of.
#7
Poetry & Creative Writing / Seven
June 23, 2020, 10:42:46 PM
Seven is a year... a year that has remained shut.

The door is dark and foreboding... a door that does not want to open... a door that will resist prying hands.

Whispers drift from cracks around its edges.  And if I listen too carefully, I can be drawn in... trapped in hopelessness and despair.  And that despair can become rage.

Some day I will have to open this door...
#8
She's had it... this is too much.

Too many times I have failed her.  Too many times she needed support, and from my pit of self-hatred, I came up short.

And she said she is thinking of leaving, and the kids are coming with her.

And if she does, I will be completely alone.  And this thought looms over me.

There is no family to fall back on... there are no friends to confide in... there is only the void, saying, "Welcome home!"

I am, again, that seven-year-old, playing in the woods, feeling abandoned... knowing there is no hope.  Unable to tell anyone what just happened... unable to form a concept of it.

I am small... insignificant... unworthy of love.

If she leaves, I hope she will find someone better.

If she leaves me... as I fade... I hope she never looks back.
#9
Poetry & Creative Writing / The Search
January 26, 2020, 08:57:55 AM
This voice seeking an audience...

This thought seeking a meaning…

This vision seeking grounding…

A Connection… through all of these, she seeks.

This voice seeking an audience… to become heard.

This thought seeking a meaning… to become valid.

This vision seeking grounding… to become real.

And this search is measured in lifetimes.

This voice seeking an audience… to become heard… understood.

This thought seeking a meaning… to become valid… engaged.

This vision seeking grounding… to become real… adopted.

And this search makes her fascinating... compelling.

- River Rabbit
#10
I would suggest just listening... the video can distract from the original meaning.

This poem speaks to us "Rising from the Ashes", and becoming something greater.

https://youtu.be/qb07yIAKyuQ

#12
Music / Staind - It's Been A While
October 15, 2019, 11:06:04 PM
#13
Poetry & Creative Writing / ... And Yet, She Stays
September 30, 2019, 08:16:49 AM
She could leave, and I would not blame her... I would not stop her.

I am sure I have given her enough reasons.  I'm sure I am reason enough.

And I fear to my very core that, one day, she will.

... and yet she stays...

I fight through a forest of self loathing to try to see some good in me... but I can only see what she shows me... and even then, I swim in doubt, thinking it is some wool I have pulled over her eyes... some mask she is seeing.

"Rejected by the mother... how can I be accepted by any other?", an inner whisper, as loud as thunder, lands home.

... and yet, she stays...

There is some light in her that allows her to peer into my darkness...

I forget, sometimes, that she sees me struggling... I forget she is not repulsed by me when I become angry... afraid...  primitive... only to reign it back in, and bath in shame... unable to look her in the eye.

I forget that she hurts, too, as she watches me fight this secret war.

... and she stays.
#14
Poetry & Creative Writing / A Mirror's Gaze
August 28, 2019, 07:52:06 AM
I have said this before…

But not fully.

A mirror’s gaze is a difficult thing to hold.

The pain that stares back.

The emptiness that pulls at my very being.  I have to look away… or I may become it.

A mirror’s gaze is a difficult thing to hold.

The accusing critic, who sees all that I wish to hide.

”You are too weak… you do not have it in you… you will fail… you will be exposed… and they will all know”, the blistering tirade intensifies, until I look away.

A mirror’s gaze is a difficult thing to hold.

All that I have seen… all that I have done… I want to shatter this image in front of me.

I want to become something else… I want to become nothing.

I want to see nothing staring back at me.

A mirror’s gaze is a difficult thing to hold.

We are forced into a life… a life where decisions are made… actions are taken… before we have full reasoning to choose.

These are the things that haunt us.

These are the things that we are chained to.

A mirror’s gaze is a difficult thing to hold.

Looking into her eyes… seeing some shadow of what she might see as she stares back into mine… does she see me lingering in these depths?

Does she see… does she see my horror?

This thought eats at my core… and find it hard to hold her gaze...

A mirror’s gaze is a difficult thing to hold.

Yet I hold her… this mirror in my arms… and it terrifies me.

But the stranger in the mirror tells me to keep her close.  We will become better for it.
#16
Music / Can't Find My Way Home
July 31, 2019, 05:24:22 PM
#17
Poetry & Creative Writing / Ghost Image
July 26, 2019, 06:30:20 AM
He is the weary journeyer, leaving bits of pain with those encountered along the way… the ones who will hear, at least…

… and the journey has been too long to get here… where the mind and heart have broken from those bonds.  Has too much been passed by in the haste of a panicked life? 

The years ahead are now shorter… so much shorter, than the years left behind.  Those years, where struggling under the weight of those bonds decayed hope… the pillars have held, but they are so much weaker… so much more brittle and porous… hollow...

… and yet, a core pillar has held fast… and he has stepped into the light… that stranger in the mirror.

… and there is strength in knowing that his journey forward, though truncated, will be less hollow... and significantly less shallow.

And I will become his ghostly image...

- RiverRabbit
#18
Music / Blue October - Hate Me (Video)
July 01, 2019, 06:07:43 PM
For those of us who have gone no-contact...

https://youtu.be/dDxgSvJINlU
#19
The Ocean Blue - Ballerina Out Of Control (Video)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FJF4Swq_PU
#20
Poetry & Creative Writing / A Mountain's Worth
April 24, 2019, 05:22:57 AM
Putting these words in order… is the first order…

It is a first step in conquering this mountain that looms over me… in this cavern, where the weight of it groans with tension… with apprehension.

It all wants to fall…

And, knowing this certain doom… this inevitable failure is poised above me, like the sword of a cursed king… I take the step anyway.

I take the step to move this mountain… to push it back… to rescue the child trapped in its dark grasp.  This struggle, through prose, may shine in some light as I fight... or it may lead me deeper into this cavernous labyrinth.

I am still a long way off, and my feeble fists seem to make no progress against the cold, jagged stone… but I hope he feels some faint echo… some vibration… and knows that he is worth it.