The Places You've Been. The People You've Met.

[backtoblue]

Last edited Fri Jun 15, 2018, 04:59 AM - Edit history (1)

DU has been an open page on my browser for the last ten years. I've posted, I've lurked, and I've at times joined in the conversations. I've been annoyed at you all, and proud of you, sometimes simultaneously.

This has been a journey and a learning process for me. I'd like you to know some things that you've been through with me (even if you didn't know or didnt want to be a part of it)

Here are some of the places you've been.

You were there when I mysteriously contracted Small Pox while writing on the virus in my college Microbiology class. Turned out to be a false alarm but my Professor insisted I was a hyperchontriac. I respectfully disagree and I am convinced that I cured myself with wine, weed, and mushrooms.

My Pathology professor was not so understanding when I got a sudden and debilitating case of Mad Cow Disease. I had prions eating my brain for weeks, which gradually subsided after being treated for anxiety disorder.

Especially since I nicknamed Professor Scofield "Scrotum" in my school email (he was an immaculately dressed, yet pompous fellow who seemed to enjoy giving out C's and listening to himself talk ) Two semesters later (and two brain scans) I was cured of MCD. Alas, the stupidity virus was alive and kicking though when a classmate told me that Mr. Scofield and my entire class could see his (well deserved) nickname. "Scrotum". No wonder he disliked me! DUers, we just barely got through college lol.

My son was just two when I started college.


Let me back up a little.

I was working doing land scaping at age 23 when I got pregnant with my son. I had never had any responsibilities before. I was selfish, messed up with drugs and alcohol, and completely content with the way things were. I was the stereotypical party girl.

I stopped taking drugs almost immediately (addiction is powerful). I had never been so happy in my life. His father moved in with me and promised to help out and be there for me and our baby.

When my son was a year and a half old, my outlook on life, purpose, and human beings as a whole species turned upside down. I found out that my boyfriend was molesting my 13 year old sister. (I know this is heavy, but it gets better, I promise).

I was in shock. How could he do that? I couldn't think, couldn't concentrate, and couldn't accept it.

I wanted to die. To just disappear and not have to reside in such a cruel, conniving, and heartless world. But a little boy with the biggest blue eyes and a laugh that sounded like a thousand bells reminded me that I had to live- to keep going.

I packed my stuff and took my son to Georgia to stay with an aunt for a few weeks. Angels hang around when you're not expecting them. My aunt and I scoured the internet to see what I could do to be financially stable and be able to raise my child alone. The answer was so obvious and, quite frankly, perfectly disturbing given my state of mind.

I decided that if I wanted so badly to die, then what better career to study than becoming a mortician?

Between my kiddo, college, and part-time apprenticeship, I didn't have time to dwell on my own pitiful sorrows. After a short time, I found that I could connect with and ease people when they needed someone the most. I felt useful again. I was proud of my little associates degree and state license. I truly felt like I helped my community in a deep and meaningful way. When I started embalming after graduation I had a unique way of dealing with death itself. I had secretly wanted to be a doctor when I was in high school, but finances and grades prevented me from pursuing that career.

But, as an embalmer, I was given the opportunity to surgically and artfully restore a lifeless body for the sole purpose of easing the survivor's pain. I was actually honored to take care of the dead.
So, for the next decade I worked as a contractor for various local funeral homes. I was proud of my work. I was happy with my career, and so perfectly amazed at being a mother.

Three years ago I became the first female general manager of a funeral home in my hometown county. The funeral industry still embraced misogyny and racism (segregated businesses).
I felt like I was truly making a positive and progressive living in my little red, rural area.

Then, in a matter of seconds, my life changed again. The owner "Asshole' of the funeral home I managed came into my office and lost his marbles one day. I was sitting at my desk filing paperwork for an 18 month old baby that I had to get ready for that afternoon. "Asshole" put a handgun (very loudly) on top on my filing cabinet.
I was sitting in my chair, when he pushed it against the wall and pulled his penis out.

Now, I consider myself a strong woman and a fighter. But in a matter of seconds, I was pinned against the wall, hiding my face and recoiling away from this man. I was frozen. I kept my eyes closed and screamed for him to just leave me alone.

He didn't. Though he never physically touched me, I felt so violated, dehumanized, and betrayed by this person.

Long story short, I went to the police, lost my career, and spent two years in therapy. He spent three months in the county jail and lost his funeral director license.

Sorry to tell you guys that you were there during these rough times. But you were. I couldn't talk about it to you, but I knew you would have my back.

Life has many roads and they're not all paved.

I was diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, severe anxiety disorder, and premature degenerate disc disease due to extreme lifting. After a decade of problem-solving, postmortem surgery, servitude to my neighbors and friends, I'm slowly learning to adjust.

This might be the longest OP I've ever posted lol.

There's so much I want to share, but I've been closed off for a while now.

I hope to follow up on this post soon. Somehow I believe the DU Loners Group will either understand my word salad, or be so confused that you'll be my pity friend . (I'll take a friend either way)