Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

I let her be angry…

Good morning everyone. I’ve not been to bed yet. I couldn’t talk or sleep or stop crying. I couldn’t breathe. The letting go taking place took me completely to my knees yesterday. My life spun out of focus and I became dizzy and frazzled and wound up so tight that I couldn’t unwind. I came down here to come down, in hopes of returning to my life a bit calmer and more centered. I came down here so that I could go back up there when I released enough pain to not blow the roof off of our house. Pain like this…raw and uncensored…gut wrenching and life force robbing…pain like this releasing like a mother fucking power keg if I do not reign her in a bit. In these moments, in the aftermath of such heart wrenching awareness, I first felt like I had been hit by a truck. Followed quickly by nothing at all. And then more and more nothing at all. There is nothing that Edie Brickell and I hate more than nothing. “Nothing keeps me up at night. There is nothing I hate more than nothing.” All night down here felt like a whole fucking lot of nothing. Now, after the hangover…which is so fucking ridiculous, as I don’t drink anymore; I am settling into the okay of it all. Wrestling my demons literally all night long has made me tired. I was in battle all night long and I come to you this morning victorious. I finally slayed the demon that wouldn’t go down…I stand victorious over my rage at it all. We slammed and we thrashed and we hurled and we screamed all night inside ourselves. The rage boiled over and erupted into a volcanic molten lava that mother fucking drowned me last night. In the fire and the rubble and the discord, rage erupted again and again and again. I periodically peered out the blinds and up to our house, waiting quietly up the driveway for me. Seductive was the lure to her warm bed next to the love of my life. Teasing and taunting me as she spat in my face…rage erupted again and I settled back into the reality that it was going to be a long night for Sam and I. Longer if I ignored the rumbling inside myself that begged me keep my eyes and heart Coral. While rage tried to trick me again, into a slumber that would have insinuated my submission, I hurled myself again at her center and I raged on.

I raged inside and boiling over, at all of my expectations and my selfish fucking needs. I raged at my ideas of how things “should be” as rage tackled me at the gut and rolled me a few more times into oblivion; I refused to surrender. Of all of the things I’ve not wanted to be at any of this, is angry. I have dodged anger like a bullet headed straight into my heart. I have pushed her and stuffed her back so many fucking times, as anger does not serve me. Anger like this is dangerous, as it leaves me wondering why there isn’t a gun in my fucking mouth? Why do I keep coming back only to be pummeled again and again and again. The sharpness and quickness of one single bullet would surely be more tolerable than slowly killing myself the way I have been for my entire fucking life. That single thought kept me down here all night. One thought that the easy road would ever fucking meet the high road…or just one more hope. I stayed on the high road. I won’t lie, I am looking down at her depths and I see another bullet that I dodged. I peer over the edge as I gather myself to head up the driveway to have coffee with my girl this morning.

Yesterday had her way with me. Tossed and thrown across her razor sharp shards  and left for dead. Only the dark and stillness of the night could keep the rage at bay. Only the Black night sky and the chill all around me could have anchored me in that storm. Only unshakable faith and a knowing at the deepest level, of who I really am, could have kept me here with all of you last night, as my world caved in on top of me. Only the love of a girl, up in the bed all by herself, could have been enough to keep this heart beating and this girl going. Tamara never once gave up on me and I won’t give up on me either. Tamara never stopped loving me and I am going to start loving me too.

I came here last night to slay a demon. I vowed not to rest until she fell. Last night I slayed her in a battle of intention and resilience…I intend to use my resilience for the greater good of us all. I spent my life leaving my anger pent up and pretty locked down. I won’t lie…when she escapes, there is no way of knowing the destruction she will cause. Last night I came down here to let her out…to let her rage and to let her go. Anger served me well last night. Anger gave me permission to keep fighting and the vision to change my course. Anger raged in a warrior soul, untamed and unmatched…and I let her, until she is done. I let her be angry. And so it is. Have a beautiful day everyone! I’m off to see my girl for morning coffee! I love you.

The letting go has taken place…

Good morning everyone! Happy Sunday! I was up early this morning. I was anxious to wake and get through the morning hell of missing my mom. Walking down to the studio, she was shining down on  me in the moon and the stars. I know she knows my pain. I feel her feel me in this indescribable loneliness, as I stumble down the driveway this morning. I truly cannot find words to articulate the raging and ripping and tearing and splitting in my soul as things once sacred to me fall away from me.

Have you ever loved someone so much that you just wanted to be in their presence? Even making excuses to stop by, just to sit and stay a spell, in a place that feels familar to you? Coffee…water…nothing…just them. Just being there with them. After my Mom died, my Dad became that to me. I needed to occupy that space with him to soften the blow of her abrupt absence. His abrupt absence on top of that sent me into a place from which I’ve not returned. I went somewhere when he left. I go further there, the more distant he becomes. I feel my lifeforce falter as every step between us seems to tear at me, rip at me and own me for a few moments. No one can tell me not to feel this, although they do. In their well-meaning words, they try to bring me some comfort and some solace from this excruciating pain. I have come to accept that there is no reprieve. Hope crushing and soul shattering is the reality that I cannot make you love me. It’s me. You love me. I just cannot fucking feel it much anymore. You love me in your way. Your way is so different now than it has always been. I think you loved me through Mom and when she died, you stopped being able to reach me. I kept trying and you were already gone. Now, you tell me so I won’t find out through the grapevine, things that stop my fucking heart…,things that we once told each other. I don’t know why you don’t want me to know that something is wrong with your heart. A specialist…a trip to the ER for chest pain…and you toss it in at the end of the conversation, like it’s nothing. I do not understand. I called to say I love you yesterday, because I do love you so much. You didn’t call me to tell me that you had been in the ER the morning before, thinking you were having a heart attack. My brother doesn’t tell me he’s been in danger either and I don’t know why it hurts me. We used to be in touch and we used to see one another before we left town and let each other know when we were sick or leaving the country. We don’t do any of that anymore. My pelvic injections and my trauma and my pain…I shared mine with you, even though mom isn’t here to tell me how to do that anymore. I am here every single fucking day if you are wondering about me. I am an open book in a library full of books that you aren’t reading anymore. God damn it! Do you know how that fucking hurts me? It really doesn’t matter anyway, does it? I mean, we just learned that we don’t have to do anything we don’t want to anymore. When mom died, so did all of the rules that governed us into being a “family”. Three years and this year is no different…there is nothing fucking left. “Hey Dad, what are you doing for Thanksgiving? We are going to Carlsbad to be with her family.” Right on. I mean, I just didn’t know that we were done here, being a family ourselves. I cannot not know what I have come to know in these past three years…my family is gone. I have spoken of it and my soul cries in inconsolable pain knowing its truth…You don’t want to hang out with me anymore and mom isn’t here to make you. You have a new life and I am just too much, too little and too painful to fucking look at. I am akward and inappropriate and I say “fuck” too much. I’m offensive and overbearing and a fucking embarrassment to you, aren’t I? All of these years, your quest to keep me silent and appropriate and tucked away and now I am free too. I am not going to be silent. I am not going to edit myself. I am not going to do what I am supposed to do either anymore.

I have sat here every day of my life loving you so much. I have wanted so badly to be someone that you approve of and who makes you proud. I have tried and failed enough times to disappoint any parent or sibling. I have gone astray. I have never left and yet I’ve never really been here. I am not your version of me. I am not your idea of me. I am not callous to your nothingness. I am not less than you. I am not more than you.

I decided to do Christmas early this year for my family. I have decided not to buy any gifts. Instead this year, to each and every one of you, I gift you a free pass. This pass grants you exit from this fucking circus. Upon your exit, your pass will be invalidated and your access to all of the shows and events will be denied. This pass sets you free of any expectation I have had of you, just because you’re my family. This is a onetime pass and once it is handed over, you will no longer have any obligation to me. This pass will be the only pass you get, so use it wisely, as this is the only pass you get. Your pass, the greatest gift I’ve left to offer you, let’s you let me go. No more illusions or facades. No more masks and tolerating the time and language…the offensiveness and the stupidity of me. You are free. With all of my love, I gift you the only thing I have left. I gift any hope and all of my expectations of you. Three years of being excluded by nearly every single one of you has given me plenty to think about. All of the weddings and family reunions and funerals I attended because that’s what family does…every single Thanksgiving and Christmas for my entire life with my family…until my Mom fucking died. Unbeknownst to me then was the fact that everything else in my family died and is gone from my sight also.

Today, as the sun prepares to rise, I raise my face from the pool of tears in my cupped hands and I pray.

Dear God,

Thank you for this life. Thank you for those who brought me here. Thank you for the years I got to spend with the family I loved and cherished so much.

God, I come to you today to ask you to help me to let it all go. All of my hopes, especially the ones disguised as expectations, I release them now. All of my delusions of grandeur about how my life was and who we have all been to each other…I release it all now. God, I grant anyone and everyone who does not want to be in my life, safe access out of my life, no questions asked and no strings. I accept that I am your child and I am here to do your work: I set the circus down to free my hands to do your work.

God, please forgive me my many sins and transgressions. Please make me new and whole…complete and real in your eyes. Please take from me that which no longer serves me and my highest good. Please tell my mom that I love her and ask her to help me through this letting go of the things she insisted I hold on to. Please God, enlighten my ignorance and open my heart to only love. Please remove my fear and any doubts. Please use me to your service and to the service of others.

Please God, as I turn to go, bless my family always in all ways. Keep my Daddy and my little brother close to you and please keep them safe. Please forgive our family for their illness and for the pain they have inflicted upon so, so many.

Please allow me to trust your will and to accept it as my own. With all of my love, I release all that no longer serves me. With all of my thanks I close my prayer this morning God and thank you for hearing me. And so it is.

Have a beautiful day everyone. I love you.

Coral on the hot plate to get us all cooled down…

Good morning everyone. I am sorry my posts have been short and scattered. The struggle is real for me as of late. This season just fucking dices as slices me randomly into bits in one moment and the next moment I’m okay and desperately trying to stay that way.

I want to say thank you to those of you who have reached out to me. Your reaches have not gone unnoticed. I am not sure how to reach back in most circumstances right now and I am praying for guidance in that. Also, as always , if there is anything you need, please ask me. I will do my best to help.

I want to remind everyone that I am just a girl (stealing this from my girl). I am writing a blog as a daily commitment that I made to myself in December of 2017, to write every day for 365 days. My blog is my commitment to myself and I share it with whomever wants to read it, without any restriction or prejudice. I love your messages. I fucking adore you. The more I learn more than I teach and the more I teach, the more I learn. I write completely from heart center. I write about me and my life. There is a really good chance that if you are reading this blog, you are in it somehow. My little brother…my dad…my mom and Tamara are the obvious ones whom you could deduct who they are whether I say their names or not for the most part. My Dad knows I write about him and I have his blessing. My little brother may or may not know that I write about him and I’m not attached either way. I speak my truth, possibly not yours or theirs, and I’m not attached to that either. Tamara is my first subscriber and a daily reader and more over..,she fucking lives the unedited and uncensored version of my blog with me. Tamara is my best friend, my soulmate, my confidant and my lover and I cherish her and love her with all that I am. Before Tamara I was not the Coral I am now. Tomorrow I won’t be the Coral I was today. If you are judging me by my past, please don’t; as I don’t live there anymore. I will extend you the same courtesy. Amongst my bad decisions, I have possibly slept with your wife. Maybe I kissed your boyfriend and then stole him from you. Maybe your best friend ended up liking me better. I probably look like a hypocrite to you when I write about all that I do, if you only see me in moments where I did not shine much at all. You may know a deep and dark secret about me that even I have forgotten. I can promise you that I still hold those secrets for you as well. I have no desire or interest in being better than you. I do commit to myself every single day though, to be better than I was yesterday. My inappropriate behavior of the past has consisted mostly of bad decisions with the very best of intentions. For those gentlemen and ladies out there worried about someone else taking your place, I am painfully writing this blog for you this morning. I have been where you are and I have been the reason you are insecure. I didn’t sleep with your wife just because I could, believe it or not. I did not end up where I did with her because I am a deviant and sex crazed lesbian out on a conquest. Your wife fell in love with me while you were not in love with her anymore. Your wife needed to be loved like a verb and to be heard, and I loved her instantly and loved hearing her talk. Your wife came to me wanting to work things out with you. I was available when you were constantly unavailable, and not because of your work. Truth is your wife wasn’t all that important to you at all until I came into the picture. Your wife was nothing more to you than a dishwasher, a meal prepper and a fuck buddy and you set it up that way to meet YOUR needs. Your wife had her needs too, you know? Needs and wants and conversations inside her, just dying to come out, and I was there to listen. Your wife wanted to be beautiful to you and when she wasn’t anymore, she was beautiful to me. I am not sure why I am writing this, as I very much regret anything I have ever done to come between people. It may sound crazy to you when I say I didn’t do it on purpose, and I say it just the same. I never hurt anyone on purpose. I guess I write to answer the questions that you have no one to ask. These are my past experiences and from many years ago. I pull them out from under the rug to help us all to love each other better. I begin with a solemn and heartfelt apology to anyone I ever harmed by being out of alignment with myself.  With the guidance of spirit and the willingness to call myself out, I write to heal us all this morning.

I don’t know what your wife said when you asked her why she slept with me. I can only answer you as to why I slept with your wife and to be very blunt and general here…I will write this in a way that I hope helps you to go home and love her better. This is no longer about me and your wife never spoke to me again. This is  question that only someone who was with your wife could answer and so I will do that for you now, the only way I know how.

Insecurities unconfessed are still insecurities. Your insecurities, which you denied both to your wife and more importantly to yourself, started you on a journey away from yourself. Away from yourself, you began to be someone else. Your unadmitted insecurities which causes you to doubt yourself, quickly turned into you controlling her. Out of control of your own emotions, you jumped in to rob her of her self confidence as well. You began texting constantly and shitty, degrading texts. You questioned her and badgered her and oppressed her. You called her names and told her when to be home. You hurled insults and said you’d be home late again. You said she was a piece of shit and no one would want her so she better get right with you. Night after night, I watched and I listened and I became her confidant. You struck her. You struck me. You raged and you spewed anger and words you still can’t take back. I got the tearful call after you left again and I lent an ear again. It went on and on and you asked for a divorce that you wanted way before I came along. She said yes like she had wanted to for so long. You moved out and moved on and she did too. Only no one really moved on at all. Lying to you about me and now to me about you, as you moved back in and began the cycle again. I think Johnny Depp said that if you ever find yourself in love with two people at the same time, always choose the second. If you were truly in love with the first, there would not be a second. I accept blame for my part in the things I’ve done. I came here this morning to to offer you some help because of the things I’ve done. I came here to say what no be else will say because in order to do so, they would have to admit what they had done…that they were wrong. I was wrong. I hope that my admitting that helps you to know that I’ve been on both sides. My wife didn’t come home one night and left me a couple of nights later. Leaving me and taking everything I owned, I watched her journey through his page on Facebook. The night she didn’t come home, he had impregnated her and publicly gave graphic details of it. Like a moth to a flame, I read the details.  I found out that the woman who asked me to marry her and who took my last name was pregnant, on Facebook. Rhis will come as a shock…that baby was not mine! This is not the first woman that I have been in a relationship with has ended up pregnant during our time together. Those babies were not mine either. Talk about fucking with someone’s head and completely leveling someone’s heart…So I truly do hope to shed some light for us all, through my own experiences.

Your wife…the one that chose you…go love that woman the way you did when you wanted her to say “yes” so fucking badly. You stopped courting her and you started tabling her. You started talking at her and stopped listening to her. You stopped making love to her and started meeting your fucking needs. Don’t believe me…go ask her. The woman does not love your dick as much as you do. I don’t care what she tells you. Detach the ego from it and she may enjoy spending time down there again. Stop talking about your fucking needs and ask her about hers. Don’t try to translate what she says into a good fucking for you. Seriously, when was the last time that you said to your wife, “I was thinking that maybe instead of sex tonight, we could just hold each other….Hey babe, I know our scheduled night to meet my needs is Friday but you look tired, could I take you out for dinner instead? I feel kind of ridiculous asking you because it’s been so long, but what was that little thing that I used to do that you really liked?” Obviously, use your own words. Be mindful when you do, that words have power and actions are what matter. Don’t not love the woman like a verb and then wonder why it feels like she is just doing her duties as your husband, and not passionately enrolled in your bullshit. Never one time did I seek out a married woman and I will leave you with that.

As always, take what you need and leave the rest. If you have reached out to me for help and are in danger, please consider the following resource immediately. Haven House 800-526-7157.

Every single one of us has a limit. None of us know what that limit is until we hit it. Hitting our limit can be very scary for us and for those around us. Children and animals are getting caught in this crossfire and I am calling for a truce: If you are in danger, next time you get in your car alone to go somewhere, take yourself Directly to Haven House in Rio Rancho. You cannot break the cycle by staying in it and you do have a choice. You do have the power. Your children do not me they are relying upon you to get you all to safety. We are all praying for those of you in this situation and we ask you to be strong. Be brave. We are loving you through it whether you feel it or not. We believe in you and we wrap our loving arms around you at this time to keep you safe until you get to safely. And so it is.

Have a beautiful day everyone. I love you.

What my CPTDS is to me…Why the doggie in the room?

Good morning everyone! Lucky day for us all to learn something, as I’m in a PTSD spin and can’t get out. For me…for Tamara..for you…for the unknowing passerby…I am going to attempt to blog from this space this morning to help you to understand me and those with this diagnosis.

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This is a hard fucking write and I imagine it will be a hard read also. Take what you need and leave the rest. I love you. Have a beautiful day!

The C is for complex. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Agent Orange. Vietnam. Desert Storm. 911. All PTSD. Multiple tours in Iraq…EMS and Fire responders…Sexual abuse and incest survivors. You. Me. We have been so egregiously harmed. We have so egregiously harmed. The complex in my PTSD diagnosis is because of the repetitive and unrelenting nature…the family dynamics…I am a triple diagnosed C-PTSD incest survivor.  Did not ever get a break from the abuse, like coming home from a war. I had to stay at war to survive. I still have not come out of fight or flight. I am still at mother fucking war. Every PTSD attack is like the same fucking war. Rest and digest…ya…never…not even now…because the war is in full on battle. Choosing to leave this battleground does not come without its costs. This war waged upon me at one time is now a fucking battle that is only in my mind and only with myself. You witness this in my attacks. The dog in the room and it’s over for me. Why? You don’t want to know. You ask and you won’t be able not to know. You ask again. And again. Why are you as you are with your dogs? Why do you want them near you and push them away when they come to you? Why don’t you love them the way I love my dogs? Why? Why would you surrender Nicholas? Why do you even have dogs? Why is your service dog, Taos, not with you? Why? Why do you put your dogs in crates? Why are you as you are with your dogs Coral?

I am as I am with my dogs, the dearest creatures to my very soul and existence, because as long as I can remember, I have been taught to treat animals as less than human beings. Dogs have no place inside our house. They are animals and we are people. People live inside and animals live outside. Dogs are a nuisance and they are nasty and they don’t belong. I was younger and I didn’t know then what I have come to know. I was one of them. I was in belief of the things I witnessed and was taught. Some of those beliefs hang on tighter than others as I struggle to shake them away. I was forced to intoxicate dogs. I was then forced to jump on the trampoline with them, intoxicated myself. I remember the vodka or gin I was made to pour in the water bowl. I remember my soul dying and tears welling up in my throat. Threatened with my own life if I cried or showed emotion, I began to laugh loudly, to cover and muffle the tears in my throat so that they not dare show through my eyes. “Make sure he drinks it all. You drink yours and I’ll get you another. Put that soccer ball away. You aren’t good enough to make the team anyway, and wouldn’t you rather be doing this than practicing all of the time anyway? If you were good enough, like the girl you love so fucking much, you wouldn’t have to practice all the fucking time, would you? Now get that dog and get your ass on that trampoline. Now. Coral. NOW, and I don’t want to see you crying like a baby. God damnit. Do I have to put him up there? Jump! Coral. Fucking jump. You start jumping or I’m coming up there. Do you hear me?” And the world went black and I jumped. And she yelled and I jumped. My soul died and surrendered and I jumped some more. I jumped and I jumped. I saw his face hit the springs. I saw him struggle and his eyes beg me to stop. I heard his cries as they echoed the cries of being my very soul, as I finally collapsed and fell to the springs myself. I don’t remember his name. He may have been a her. I don’t think he made it because I do not ever remember seeing him again. My soul shrieks now, recounting and sharing this with you. I could lose all of my clients over this. I can never tell.

Why do I freak out at the dog in the room you ask? I go somewhere else. I see and hear and think and feel and know another time and another place. Distant and yet so close, and all at the same time. Out of body. Only my soul with that dog in the room…the dog that I do not even deserve to look at for one fucking minute. Why Coral would you put your dogs in crates? I can either put them in there or me in there to keep us all sane while I try to dodge the land mines of my past, to reach the other side, safely for us all. “Coral, why don’t you love Taos? Baby Taos is the best dog ever.” First of all…Baby Taos is the best dog ever and I love Baby Taos with my very soul. You see, Baby Taos is Sam. Sam got treated how Momma Coral sometimes treats Baby Taos…with contempt and erupting anger for seemingly no reason at all. Baby Taos is Baby Coral and so sometimes we can’t be together as much as we would like to. You may not get it and that is okay because Baby Taos does get it and she loves me just the Sam.

A long time ago and just moments ago, the doggie in the kennel in the corner of the room didn’t trigger me at all and I was so happy to go and bring her out to be with me. The kisses she bestows on me and the tears she licks away. With her or without her, she is with me every day. My soul screams for her and my spirit will not rest. Not until I try my hardest and can say that I have truly done my best. Because I’ve no idea what the corner brings and no idea how I may react, we sometimes keep our dogs in kennels, to keep us all intact. Tamara didn’t come from here and she’s the one who asks the most…when will you be better so we can all become close? You’ve no idea how I pray for it or to what lengths I will go. You see the little doggie on the trampoline, she took me with her soul. I cry for her and I miss him and I cannot even recall a name. A boy or a girl I cannot remember, my soul knows him the same. He was white with a black spot or two…maybe his name was Jack? I will never know for sure, but I cannot give him his life back. So the doggie in the kennel and Taos deprived of momma Coral kisses…prayers for every second and any love that she misses. For Taos is momma Coral in a different time and space. Sometimes when I get lost, I only see another doggies face. A doggie I sent to Heaven long before his time. I was forced to choose his life or me and I chose mine. I do not have regrets as it got me here to tell you this. But God damnit I would give my life if I could only give him one more kiss. The doggie in the kennel and Coral in a little heap upon the floor. I will fight this battle I am fighting until it’s not a battle anymore. For the love of baby Taos and any feelings I have hurt. For Aliah and Rocky and Momma Tamara…all I can say is I hope I am worth…all the trouble I have caused and the hell that I am in. With your love I’m coming out and I beg you not to push me back in. So the doggies in the kennels that you may not understand is the hope for my beginning and my means to an end. To end a war that I have been fighting for every moment of my life…please God if it’s your will, may I sometime have my life? A life not built on torture and trauma of the worst kind. A life abundant and content…a life that I can call mine. With baby Taos and baby Prajna in tow at all times, with Rocky and Aliah and the bears following behind. I see Ali aging and I’ve wanted so much time. You’ve no idea how that kills me and how hard that I try.

Anyway…I am headed to clients, if I still have any after this. Either they will call and book me for an extra appointment because I am only able to do my work so well because of all of this…or I am about to get fired Apprentice style. Either way, I speak my truth to heal us all, as we hold hands and walk each other home. I love you. Have a beautiful day as we take what we need from this and send the rest back to the universe for the greater good of us all. And so it is.

Done and fucking done and it feels so good!

Good morning everyone. I will be really honest with you this morning. I am not in a good space. My heart hurts. I am sick of fucking waking up like this. I am tired. My reality is what it is and my experience of it right now fucking sucks for me. That is who I write about…me. My experiences  and how I feel. I am not only hurting a lot, I am mending a lifetime of fucking abuse and delusion. Delusions of fucking grandeur and so it’s taking me a bit for it to all sink in.

I will begin by saying that I love my Dad and my little Brother more than you can possibly fucking imagine. I love my mom so much that I have spent three years in literal hell since her passing. My love for my family, the three of them, is unfucking matched. Probably fair to say that it’s been unhealthy, co-dependent and strained at times, with all three of them. My Mother is dead. My father is re-married and I am happy for him and for Cheryll. I won’t claim to know Cheryll, as we have only just met. Cheryll has been wonderful to me and kind to me during my body and my life falling apart. Cheryll is sorting through Sherry with my dad and she seems to make my Dad happy. Anyone who will sit with someone and help someone to sort through a lifetime of someone else’s things…anyone who will hold another through that is good in my book. I love Cheryll and I believe that Cheryll loves me. So, just to clear any misunderstanding up that may exist, I am not at war with my Dad. I do not dislike and never have disliked Cheryll. I love my little brother. I love my mom. I wasn’t not at my dads wedding because he was marrying someone other than my mom. I’m not sure where that load of horseshit came from…possibly and probably even, out of my fathers own mouth. Maybe that is how my dad heard it. Here is the truth, just to set things straight (and I never fucking do that);

My mom and dad and I journeyed very closely together for most of my adult life. The three of us just got along and enjoyed going to Vegas and happy hour and lunch and dinner. My mom made me choose between she and my Dad and my relationships with women, as they were not welcome (they, my lovers, partners, girlfriends) in our home. When they were, I had to promise that we were just friends. I choose my parents a lot more than I care to admit, over amazing women in my life simply because it didn’t feel like a choice at all. The choice had been made and unless I was willing to lie, they were not welcome. I honestly never did not choose my Mom, not until Tamara. I won’t lie, that was a bit strained too. My mom was often very unkind to me, and Tamara wasn’t silent about it like everyone before her. My mom respected Tamara for it and was only able to leave this world because Tamara had me. So, don’t hear me wrong…I love my mom. I always have and I always will. The woman was not kind to me. She was down right fucking mean to me and many of you know that because you witnessed it too. I do not love her any less but god damnit it hurts to love someone who hurt me so fucking deeply. It is hard to re-live Groundhog Day every fucking day. It fucking destroyed me and it still does, how that woman treated me and he contempt she often had for me. Do I love her just the same? You bet your sweet fucking ass that I do and I always will. My life though and my experience of my life…my life has always fucking hurt me.

So, with that being said, no one ever defended me. No one. Not my Dad. Not my little brother. Not my extended family. Not me, a lot of the time. When I did, it never ended well although it did end my mom talking to me at all, for days on end. I do not say this to dishonor my mom or my dad or my little brother or my family. I say this because it is my experience of my life, and my life has hurt me a lot. My blog is so fucking edited about my own life and I’m pretty done doing that. I still keep silent as to not say something bad or inappropriate about people. My truth may  hurt people and that is not my intent. In fact, let me just say now that I’ve no intent to hurt anyone or to dishonor my mom or my dad or my brother. I will however, not be silent. There could not be a person anywhere that has loved the three of them more than me. My mom knew that. My dad knows that. Shawn once knew that. I don’t know what Shawn knows about that anymore. As far as I know, They don’t read my blog, except my mom, who helps me to have the courage to write it, especially blogs like this where I speak MY truth even as my voice is fucking shaking. My dad and I and Cheryll and I and Shawn and I and JiSan and I are good, as far as I know. We are family by name and not in action, at least not the same action that “family” has always been in my life.

Since my mom died, so did Thanksgiving and Christmas. No one in our family called me up and invited me over for Thanksgiving dinner. No one. Nor Christmas. My Birthday was a big deal to my mom and without her, my Birthday has become void and painful. So, my family, dysfunctional as it may have been, that I have known and never really been a part of, for my entire fucking life is gone, with very few exceptions. Those exceptions are priceless and you know who you are and you are now my chosen family. Those of you who are family by blood or marriage, who have my same last name or don’t who have always loved me, I know who you are and you know who you are too, and I fucking love you. The rest of you, who call yourself family, who use that as some sort of fucking hold on me and do and have never done anything to love me like a verb or nurture me, here is a newsflash…you are not my family. Three years my mom has been gone and we’ve not celebrated a holiday since. You’ve not called me or reached out to me or loved me once…Sherry’s precious little daughter, since she fucking died. So, don’t bother. Truly, I am living with it and have been my whole life. Now you can live without it. I am done being “family” and not being family at all. I expect to see my “friends” list drop some more and I invite you to leave if you’ve never really been here at all anyway. I do not need the hurt of being where I am not wanted…where I do not belong and where I am not accepted. No hard feelings. No need to keep on keeping on at something that never was anyway.

I will write my story. You can read it or not. This is my blog, for me, for us all. I do not have any intention of harming anyone ever with what I write. I will not be silent anymore though. I will not pretend anymore. I will not attend funerals anymore of people who have been dead to me my whole life. I wish you all well. I really, really do. I also bid you farewell so that I may be Coral and not who all of you tried to shame me into being. Same thing with my “friends”…truly. If we aren’t, then we aren’t. If we are, then let’s be. This facade is killing my fucking soul and so I cut it loose and take this mask of.

My blog is my blog and my Facebook wall is my wall. I write and I post what I fucking want to post. If you don’t like it, don’t fucking look at it. Don’t come on my wall and fucking ridicule me for who and what I like. Fuck off man, truly…just fuck off. Have I ever come on to your page, ever, and spewed my shit?

Lady Gaga isn’t a fucking vegan! Distasteful and raw and uncouth. Meat suits and furs and no I’m not impressed. None of my fucking business to call the woman names because she isn’t me and doesn’t live as I do or see what I see. Lady Gaga is an amazing actress and an amazing song writer and musician and preformer. For all that she is not, there is much that she is. For all of you with your filthy words and judgement of her on my page, check yourself. Is your favorite musician vegan? Is your favorite actress vegan? Do you listen to the music of people who are not in alignment with your values? Do you drive a car? Do you have a laptop or a cell phone? If you answered  “yes” to any of these questions, then you’re not so vegan yourself. Live and let live. Go sweep your own side of the street and kind your own fucking business and stop trolling pages to start fucking controversy. Just shut the fuck up and go work in you. Lady Gaga doesn’t give a fuck what you think anyway. The woman is a human being, being human, just like you and me. Unlike many of us, she is doing something. Be the fucking change and stop trying to change others.

Am I upset? You bet your ass I’m upset. To live in a family, in a world with such potential, who refuses to embrace and love me for who I am…I am fucking devastated. I have been devastated for my whole fucking life by people who do not love me one fucking fraction of how much I love them. Love me like you fucking mean it, like a verb, or please step away from me and let me find my tribe. If you are not my tribe, please step aside, stand down…move over…get the fuck out of the way, because I’ve big work to do. Making me small did not make you big and it did not make me small either. You have no idea what greatness I am, what greatness I have always fucking been.

This is the last moment that I associate myself with anyone who does not treat me like someone. Your hatefulness and emptiness and bitterness…your blame and your unaccountability…your abusiveness and dismissiveness…your lies and your inadequacy in the face of your own mirror…you deal with yours and I’ll deal with mine. And so it is.

As always, I write to heal myself and I take what I need and leave the rest, as I encourage you to do the same.

My closing prayer;

Thank you for the lessons as they become obvious blessings. Thank you for my Dad and please help me to release my expectations of the past of him, that we may find our new path forward together in love and light…in honesty and truth…as Daddy’s girl for always. Please continue to guide my love and my path with Cheryll. Please always keep my little brother safe and content. Please bless JiSan and let her feel my love. Please help me to be discerning when assembling my tribe. Please let me be forgiving as all things not for my highest good fall away from me. Please allow me only the option of being kind as I release my need to be right. Please bless everyone in loving abundance for their place on my journey. Please show me the way and lead me out of the darkness and into the light. As those who no longer belong here fall away and leave my space, please protect my heart, and give me comfort in knowing that it is time. Please give them comfort and protect their hearts also. Please remind me that it is the quality and not the quantity of the people and the things in my life that matter. Please use me as an instrument to do your work and speak your word, even when and especially when my voice shakes. May I always, in always be in abundant and heartfelt gratitude. As abundance unfolds around me and the past falls away from me, I step forward for my assignment. I come forth and I thank you for bringing me to this place. Please always protect Tamara and our tribe, our animals and the land and beings we guardian for you. Please keep the Sanctuary in sanctity and peace at all times and protect those who enter and reside here, that it always, in all ways be protected as sacred land and treated as such. And so it is, in your name. Amen.

It’s not you. It’s me.

Good afternoon everyone. Sorry I missed you this morning. I missed me this morning too. I am having a rough fucking go of it, and so once again, I ask for your love and prayers.

I am in a transformation…a transition…an awakening…whatever you want to call it..I  haven’t been here before. I know I must stay here until I don’t belong here anymore. In this place, it is dark. This season…three years later…the realization that I and my life and all that I have known, are no more. I have the comprende to understand that and empathy to know exactly what this means. My heart though….fuck. My heart takes another fucking beating. Barely fucking beating through the tears and the anguish of needing and wanting and craving what one cannot have, what one only thought they had. To want and need a love that does not exist…that is a hell all it’s own. I exist in the spaces in between. I know things no one, including me sometimes, knows how I know. In my work, what an amazing and God realized gift. The knowing. In my personal life though….fuck. The knowing and not having any way to not know…what a heavy burden to carry. What you think of me is none of my business and that is true, right? You thinking nothing at all of me is none of my fucking business either. You know that I know that In my head. Intuitively though and by the simple and blatant disregard, I cannot not feel that I must step back from this. If you’ve a notion that you’ve got to check me off your list…please don’t. Truly. Do not put yourself through the trouble and do not put me through the pain of it. If you’ve no real time to make time then there’s no need. I don’t need a lot. I do need transparency. I do need honesty. I do need to be loved like a verb. If you cannot love me, Coral, I’m action, for all that I am not and for all that I am, you need not put either of us through the trying. Seriously, I hereby release you of your duty and relieve you of your post. Thank you for your service good and faithful servant. Next. We can go as long as we need to because I can stand post for fucking lifetimes. I will not however stand in space or time or relationship or attachment to those who do not make space for me, Coral. I’m not ever going to fucking be appropriate…not ever. I am not ever not going to say “fuck” a lot. I am not going to tone me down to make you comfortable. I am not going to choke on your mother fucking bread crumbs any longer. Feed me. Nourish and nurture and mother fucking love me, or don’t. Your love is not needed. Wanted, you have no fucking idea. Needed though…you have no fucking idea. Deprive a soul of its inherent right to be and to thrive on its own glory for long enough…kick the shit to the fucking curb so many times before is sticks there and never fucking comes back from it, and expect something different to come out of it than what you are willing to put into it…welcome to Corals end where she is not only D and D…this girl is D and FD.

We all make time for what is important to us, don’t we? Actually, I’m not going to lie to you…I am hiding in my studio because I am struggling and my friends are literally in my yard right now and I’m in here, not being the fucking change. Fuck. Please hold.

Okay…I did it because I couldn’t know and not know that I was not being the change…I got up in my hot fucking mess of an emotional wreck and I set this blog down and I made time for who is important to me. Guess what? They made time right back. I didn’t intend to go out there….not on this day.

We all say a hell of a lot more when we say absolutely nothing at all. Truly, tell me that you cannot feel things that are in complete polarity with what you feel. I notice your absence and I know you notice mine. Here is the difference, just to be fair…here the fuck I am. You can, if you so choose, to know where I am at every single fucking day, for over ten months now. You know, if you want to, how Coral is, don’t you? Ugly fucking crying…ass doctors and pelvic injections…hysterectomy and my abuse…the sudden and quick illness and death of my mom. Do you not feel that you know me? If not, have I not invited you to reach out? You have never gotten any less of or different than the truth from me, have you? Maybe you have. Less than all of my love? Never. No one whom I’ve ever loved ever gets less of my love. Never.

Today I am a wreck and I could not figure out what in the fuck? My mom? Yes. My Brother? Yes. You? Maybe. Me? Yes. My Dad? Yes? Oh…and today would have been my wedding anniversary with someone who loved me even less than some of you, if you can imagine. Today is also the birthday of someone whom I will never not love. I remembered neither one, until I just did, and wow. Truly…I am setting this shit down. Not mine. Tag. I am not it. Over and fucking out.

I am going to make this super easy. This is about me. This is not about you. I own it…all mine…my old shit…my pain. My blame. I stop here and I release you from any responsibility for my feelings. You go and you do what you need to do and I will be here doing the same.

What I need to do is to only spend time where I am wanted. What I need is to be treated like you want to be treated. What you need and want from me are likely very similar to what I need and want from you. The truth. Your attention. Your unconditional love. To feel wanted and important. To feel like a space was prepared for me to be in with you. To feel like your time and attention are mine when we take time out of our lives to share space together. Don’t put me on your list just to fucking check me off. Save us both and go do something you really want to do. Truly…it will be a favor to us both. If you have to try to be with me…don’t. Just don’t. Plenty of people enjoy sharing space and love and hugs and life and truth and good vibes with me. If you don’t, don’t.

Have a beautiful Saturday evening. All of my love to my ex-wife Angela today. All of my love and Happiest of Birthdays to Colleen today. I miss you Mom and yet I know you are here. I miss you Dad. I miss you Shawn. I miss not one more opportunity to feel loved and wanted. If you don’t want to, then just don’t. Like I said, it’s not you. It’s me. I am done and fucking done not saying exactly how I feel. I am even more done going into spaces that were not prepared for me. I matter. I may not matter to you. I know you’ve never heard this, so I will saw it nice and slowly…

I matter to me. You’ve always been as you are and I have always accepted that as the way it must be. This is the way it must no longer be because I cannot not know that I matter too. Simply because I matter too, the way you have always treated me will not be acceptable to me any longer. This gets us both off of the hook. Nothing ties us together. Truly, nothing ever did, as that also, was an illusion. We make time for what is important. We do. We all do. Somehow, no matter how it eventually happens, we make time for what feeds our soul and nourishes our existence. Real. Transparent. Honest and open. Unconditional. Loving. Kind. That’s all I’ve got room for. Truth. And so it is.

It is what it is.

Good morning everyone. Happy Thursday. I woke up struggling this morning and with a heavy heart. I go to bed preparing for the best and as I wake, I feel the dark cloud drop in over my heart. Therapy was tough yesterday. Talking about being hurt and feeling alone…talking about three years…feeling my moms absence. Feeling the absence of my mom forces me to feel the absence of others, the absence of myself…the absence of who I really fucking am. I refuse to allow this to depress me and rather invite it as turbo fuel that I need for the journey I am embarking on.

People…all people…believe it or not, make time or they make an excuse. I do it. You do it. Being conscious of it is cause for me to carefully evaluate when and why I do this. I’m not saying that shit never happens it that emergencies do not arise. I am simply suggesting that we make space and time for what nurtures our highest self. We make excuses to avoid time that does not nurture our highest selves. I experimented last night with not making an excuse and rather with sharing my truth, even though I was crying and my voice was shaking as I typed my truth. I was running late for a last minute engagement that I was very excited about when I was invited yesterday before therapy. I actually wasn’t late at all. I was right on time. Time got crunched and messages had no heart or feeling or love. I was driving and pulling over to text back, causing me to be anxious as I was now running late. Texting and driving…I almost forgot to remember Aria and I pulled over again, to text back. And then it happened…I chose to speak my truth…how I really feel. I wasn’t angry. I was anxious, and so I took some deep breaths. Why am I so upset? What is this really about? Projecting on to someone else, my shit, wasn’t what I was going for. Being reactive because I’m in the emotional throes of three years ago didn’t seem fair. I love these people with all of my heart and so I have not said a word. Now all of the fucking words want to come out and all of the words aren’t appropriate. I wish I had spoken them as they occurred and I will be more mindful moving forward. I just now started learning how to speak my truth and to say how I feel, so I am very novice at this. I almost just said fuck it and went and acted like nothing is wrong. I have most always done it that way and so I know how to pretend really good. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. How I do not love to eat my own words, so to speak…fuck. And I began to type how I felt, and it hurt, a lot. I hesitated to push the send button. I re-read it and I felt it and it was authentic and real and kind and true. I pushed send, and I began driving home. My phone went off a few times and I ignored it because I was driving. I sat with how I felt all the way home. What I felt was that I didn’t feel anything at all. The excitement of the initial phone call overrode everything else for me…my physical pain and my trauma being in the pain of this time of year…my solitude….fuck yes I wanted to go! Tamara did too and we were both so excited, which hasn’t happened a lot lately for us. Off we went to therapy, excited and troubled and sad all at the same time, as we talked about our feelings. Leaving therapy, I had made my decision not to go. I didn’t feel it. I didn’t  fucking feel anything at all but sadness. I started to text back that I was struggling and we couldn’t make it, insinuating that I was struggling about someone else. I remembered that I am getting out of my own way and I don’t need to carry shit that isn’t mine. I am a truth seeker and a truth speaker. And so, I spoke my truth. I don’t feel you. I don’t feel any love in this. I poured my heart out and I said “no”. I truthfully and with intention, took what I needed to honor the highest good of everyone involved…especially myself. My tongue can be a razor and so I read the texts and didn’t respond. Not common for me and yet so healthy, to not be controlled by what I have always done. In the past I would have made an excuse to make it more comfortable than my truth. Yesterday, I did for the first time what I will be doing henceforth…I will give you my truth and not an excuse, if I’ve not the time to make you important to me. I ask of you and encourage you to do the same. We are all just walking each other home. Don’t you think it’s time that we spoke openly and honestly about who we are and how we feel?

If I ask you to do something and you don’t want to…isn’t that your best answer? If you did want to and then you changed your mind…why not just say so? If you are too hurt to talk to me and you are scared to tell me that…don’t be. Seriously, how many years has it been? How bad was it? Whose fault was it? Who fucking cares! If you want to talk to me, you call me. If you don’t really want to talk to me and be with me and spend time and love with me…please don’t call me. It really is that simple.

I invite each of you to always speak your truth to me, to be open and honest and transparent and real with me. I’ve absolutely no time for anything else right now. My solitude and my time spent in prayer and mediation suits me just fine and  I can stay there timelessly and not need to emerge, except for clients. I don’t need you in my life…any of you. I want you in my life. I finally realize and accept the difference. You must want me in your life, like a verb also, or all of the need in the world won’t bring me to you. I deserve better than I have always settled for in my relationships and my friendships. I am not settling anymore. I reserve space in my life, right next to my heart for those who place me next to their heart also, always, in all ways and unconditionally.

This blog…this morning…three years later…with physical pain tipping my scale today…I lift us all up and I let it all go. I accept what is and I don’t weigh myself down with assumptions or expectations. It is what it is. Have a beautiful day everyone! I love you!

Three years ago today, my life was forever changed…

On this day three years ago, short of a few hours, my Mom was admitted to the ER for stroke symptoms. My mom didn’t have a stroke. My mom had cancer. My mom died two months later, on December 3, 2015. Dates stick with me. This day, three years ago, Tamara and I were picking piñon in our yard to pay for repairs to little red. It was a big fucking deal, as I just didn’t have the money. I was in Home Depot and I called my mom. I always called my mom. My truck dying left me fucked and so I was desperate to get her fixed. My truck is still ticking and my mom died instead. Who fucking knew? Truly…we just don’t know, until we do know and then we are so forever fucking changed that knowing isn’t even the fucking point anymore. We sweat the small stuff while the big stuff that engulfs us only serves as a reminder that it all is small stuff. We are the details. We are the reason for it all.

My Mom never retired..,she died. My mom never had to go into assisted living or lose her mind to altzeimers like her mom did. My mom didn’t suffer. My mom has been pain free and worry free…free…for almost three years. My mom, gone from her body, is still very much my mom and very close at hand. I felt cursed when she was dying and for almost three years, I felt that I must be dying too. My mom left here and yet she never left me. Today fucking hurts. I cannot not feel the crushing pain of that phone call from my dad. I cannot not begin to remember those last moments. To say that I am not hurting terribly today would be a lie. I am aching to breathe today. My chiropractor put me back together and taped my jaw back in again today. The physical pain racks my body a bit these last two days, as we cannot not remember that phone call.

I am committed to being in gratitude rather than grief. Our last two months together, as I literally walked my mother home, We journeyed and healed like we hadn’t in our lifetime of traveling together. We finally both understood and accepted each other for all that we were and for all that we had not been to one another. We loved each other like a fucking verb and we were so kind and compassionate to one another. Those two months, unparalleled in my lifetime, were so synchronized and so rare and so precious. My mom and I hit the same stride and kept the same rhythm. I knew I was walking the one woman that I had always known and never begun to know to her final resting spot on this earth. What do you say to your mom when you know your time together is closing in on you? What does your heart plead with you to speak out loud? For me…words were not much needed. I spent the last two months trying to keep my mom smiling and laughing and walking toward the light. I knew if I broke down and if I collapsed in my anguish that she would try to find a way to stay with me. I had to be bigger, this one time, than the largest woman in my life, and I had to suck it the fuck up, so that she could let go. I did and she did.

Why didn’t I tell? I didn’t tell because my abuser said she would kill my mom and my dad and my brother if I did. To me, there was no choice in that. I didn’t fucking utter a word, until I did. Now, for my mom, for you and I and my abuser and her abuser and your abusers…I speak. My mom asked me to find the positive in her passing and here is what three years answers:

My first answer was that there could be nothing positive come from the death of my mom.

My second and third and three hundredth and my thirteen thousandth and twenty second answers revealed the same answer, that nothing good comes from losing ones mom, certainly not me.

Today, I celebrate the two months that I traveled with my mom at the end of our journey together. I celebrate that my mother saved her last breath and her last look before she dashed out of her body, for me. I celebrate my strength and my willingness to tell our story, even when my voice shakes and my family disowns me. I could not have told this story while my mom was standing guard over our family secrets. I am thankful she left the key for me and the knowing that I would speak for us all. I am thankful that I love her just the same. I’ve no grudges. I have no regrets. I am thankful for the woman who took me on, as raising me was not a picnic for her. My mom always did her best and that is all any of us can ever do.

Three years ago my life began to fall apart so that it could finally begin coming together.

Mom, I hope you know how deeply I love you. Thank you for being my mom and for giving me your final moments. I miss you. I am grateful that because you left your body, I can speak our truth. And so it is.

If you are reading this and you have a mom, you might want to call her. Maybe go and take her to lunch. I know she is a pain in the ass. Here is something you may not know though…so are you. You really are. Don’t not call and not visit and bitch about the woman incessantly and then lose your fucking mind when she dies, because she will die. Whether or not you think you will…whether or not you think you can, you will miss her. I’m not sayin….I’m just sayin…love your mom and heal what’s broken with her before she walks right out of her body and leaves you to figure it all out for yourself. I wouldn’t say it if it were not so. You will not ever get this time back. This is it. Call your mom for fucks sake. You’re welcome.

This blog is to honor the woman who carried me in and who trusted me enough to carry her out. I love you mom. I miss you and I am grateful that we loved each other so much that it hurts so fucking bad to be apart.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

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Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

What happens when we freely speak unspeakable truths?

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

If I may say so…something fucking happens. You breathe for the first time. You hear your awful truth out of the mouths of people you had no fucking idea were being hurt like you were being hurt.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

You say names that  you could barely fucking utter for decades, without feeling ashamed of yourself, didn’t you? You realized that the sick feeling in the pit of your stomach and the scheming to schedule your life playing possum was for a reason.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

Your kind of crazy is my kind of fucking crazy and your pain is my own. After over four decades, you now know indisputably, that you are not the sick little fuck who they told you that you were.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

You know now that you were robbed of your entire fucking childhood, your virginity and your sense of self, right next to me and countless others, raped by their blood relatives.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

Yep, keeping it in the family was  a catchy little slogan for incest. I guess it still is, because that is fucking hilarious, isn’t it? I mean, unless you are the one who spent your entire childhood satisfying someone sexually that you look up to and admire and trust, because they are family. Unless you still have to detach yourself from the little child that you couldn’t protect from the fucking pedophile that you called Daddy, Uncle, Brother or Grandfather…

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

unless you lived under this shroud for decades, maybe you think the little jingle is funny, about keeping it in the family. Those of us who lived it…we just can’t believe that we aren’t alone anymore. Laugh all you want.  Taunt and tease away…we have each other now. We do not need you or your approval. We never fucking did and we know that now.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

I have said it before and I wasn’t sure why…that I am gathering the nations. Clarity is here and I will say it again, I am gathering the nations. We will rise up. We will not be silenced and we will never stand down. We take our power back and we strip you of any false sense of power over us that you convinced us that you had. Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

In high school, I called many of you Brother and Sister and again, I didn’t know why. I return to this place now, my Brothers and Sisters. Take my hands and walk with me now. Be not afraid. We have nothing at all to fear but fear itself. We’ve only two choices. I walk out of any fear that remained and I chose love. Uttering your horrible truths has set us free to live in our own truth, in our own light and hand in hand with those who love us like a verb.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

I revist this topic of incest to remind you that you are not alone. There are no statistics for us. No one wants to talk about us being fucked by our family. We were sworn to secrecy for a fucking lifetime. We have nothing keeping us quiet now. We have each other to walk us home now. I won’t go down this road again, as I already did my time.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

I accept my life experiences and all that they have been. I own my place and my part in them. I am only here now because of every single thing that happened and I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one thing. I am here to tell you that you are okay. You are not alone in this. I am right here and you can tell me your story. You can post your story publicly on my page and I will share it. We speak their names to clear our own. We release our pain, our blame and our attachment to the past and we are here to let it go together. You have me.  I have you.  And guess what? We have fucking got this. Thank you for sharing your pain with me. We are all just walking each other home. Take my hand and let’s do this! Sister Coral is back in the house!!!!!

I love you.

Thank you for sharing your pain with me.

#whyididntreport #metoo

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Good morning everyone, from the healing room. I hope you have your coffee in hand this morning because we are going to get right to it.

With that being said, This is a hard read. Take what you need and leave the rest. Never read or take in more of me than you can handle. My story is a hard fucking read. If you must go here, have a beautiful day. I love you. If you keep reading, feel my arms tight around you first and all of my love embracing you, as we walk each other home through a pretty dark alley this morning. I’ve got you. You know that right? I mean you feel that, right? Good.

My name is Coral and I am an incest survivor. I was sexually abused, over the span of 18 years by my aunt. I was made to sit on the laps of uncles, when I did don’t feel comfortable. I have been groped and touched inappropriately my whole fucking life. I am 45 years old, and I truly am just beginning my life.

Incest. The first known use of incest was in the thirteenth century. Even Miriam Webster has trouble choking out this definition: “sexual intercourse between persons so closely related that they are forbidden by law to marry.” My spellcheck vomits incest out into anything but incest. Me fucking too. You too? “Having sex with members of ones own family. Incest, the game the whole family can play.” Did you like that? That definition is courtesy of the urban dictionary. I could keep going. For the benefit of us all, I’ll suffice to say those are some of the more eloquent ways I have heard incest defined.

“Corals definition of incest:

Non-consensual sexual relations and relationships with family members. Inclusive of and not limited to inappropriate touch and innuendos, suggestions, requests and offers of and for sexual favors. Rape of a family member by a family member. Incest is often initiated under duress, threat, intoxication or some other means of dulling the senses. Incest is a violation of ones physical body and an emotional hijacking of ones very soul. Incest often results in diagnoses of C-PTSD, severe and extreme emotional and physical disorders, which are not recognized for the horror they actually are in many cases, leaving them untreated and mismanaged. Incest is so infrequently spoken of that we cannot possibly have actual statistics to illustrate how far and wide it reaches and how deeply it cuts us. Incest survivors are often and repeatedly asked why they didn’t tell anyone, and the answer is simple. We didn’t tell because we were threatened, drugged and drunken to keep silent and to fog or erase the event from our conscience. We didn’t tell because we were told, with dire consequences, that if we didn’t comply, we or those closest to us, would be harmed or killed. We didn’t tell because our lives and the lives of the people who meant the most to us, those who could and would actually help us, if they knew, would be terminated if we told. We didn’t tell because we bargained our lives so that the lives of our helpless siblings and animals would be spared. We didn’t tell, because who would we tell, if the very people we were born to be dependent upon trusting, for our own survival, were the ones raping and abusing us? Incest is the deepest betrayal of trust and sexual abuse, that those who don’t know cannot imagine, and those of us who do know, will never fucking forget, inflicted upon us by a family member. Incest has inflicted a level of shame and discourse in our lives, unmatched, unhealed and virtually untouched, simply because it is so taboo, that we haven’t really talked about it.”

#metoo

#whyididntreport

I wouldn’t want to leave out all of the wonderful folks who were not in my blood family, who forced themselves upon me. The OBGYN who lived with his wife and son, right behind our house, who fingerfucked me in his Porsche with his drunken breath and rough hands, after driving me home from babysitting his son, when I was 12 or 13 years old. I narrowly avoided being raped by throwing all 96 of my pounds against the car door and landing in a juniper bush in front of our house. Dr. Trinsosky…and I did tell, in a breakdown in the middle of our kitchen floor, with my Mom and Dad, because I had been hired for three nights and this was my first night of three. He had done it before and it was progressively getting worse and scarier. My Dad called his office and I have never heard that man…my Dad would have killed the son of a bitch…My Mom called his wife and she unrailed on my Mom and called me a little liar. I remember nothing else, only that I never babysat there again and I lived in a fear of that red Porsche and of doctors. Looking over my shoulder was already second nature to me, and there he was, voyeur around the corner, until he finally fucking died, many years later.

Let’s not forget about Javier, my neighbor at my old house,from across the street, who stumbled over drunk one night while my friend and I were enjoying some music and drinks on the patio. I offered him a beer, as we had shared beers together a few times, in the street between our houses in the 12 years or so that I lived there. My friend went in and Javier decided to unzip his pants and teach me what Dick was all about. I almost couldn’t keep him off and he almost got it in. I broke free enough to grab him by his dick and drag him across the street screaming at him, all the while he was begging and crying for me to let go and to stop yelling so I wouldn’t wake his wife and three kids.

And oh the laps I have sat on and the hugs bestowed upon me, with such force that I could not stand up or break free. On the day of my Moms viewing at the mortuary, my Moms little brother, whom despises me, hugged me just like this, right in the front lobby, and wouldn’t let go, even as I cried and struggled to break free. My mom, unseen yet by me, lying dead in the next room, unable to protect me in death, just as she was in life from her siblings. 42 years old and at the mother fucking mortuary, literally hours after my mothers passing, and why didn’t I tell until now? I talked to my Dad and Tamara about it and I will suffice to say that Tamara handled it. Uncle Rick…yep…he has always been a upstanding guy…calling me a loser and hating me for being gay…pitting my Mom, and my entire family against me and groping me whenever he got the chance…all the way up to the very fucking day we laid his big sister in the ground.

So, why didn’t I report? Here are but a couple of reasons. I’ve no doubt that you’ve a few reasons of your own. Why didn’t we report? Why the fuck didn’t you, the adults….protect the children?

#whythefuckdidntyouprotectthechildren