November 6, 2025   English only

2:11 AM US central standard time

I have a lot of emotional baggage that I’ve never bothered to unpack. I just kept shoving it to the back of closets, under the bed, far away from where I would be confronted by it daily. And yet, there it always is. At 49 I am finally facing all my own demons, determined to win. Two of my meanest demons are abandonment and betrayal. This is going to be a very long blog, so if you do read it, I’m sorry and I’m also grateful. It’s too difficult to translate into Japanese, my apologies.

I come from a long line of strong women. I am the first born daughter on my mother’s side. She is also the first born daughter. As is her mother. I don’t know how long in my past that pattern repeats, but there is power in being the first daughter of a generation.

On my father’s side, he was the youngest child of four. I was born his only daughter, but definitely not the favorite child. That position belongs to my older brother. My parents married young because they had to.

When I was a year old, my mother left. I don’t know if she chose to go, or if she was forced to. But my father got custody. He married my step-mom when I was almost 3 years old, I think. She was the one who raised me until I was 11 years old. And then they divorced. She got custody of their only child, my younger brother.

My father married his third wife when I was 14 years old. She used to wait until my father and brother were gone, then sit me down with her and her two kids to have “family meetings”. Where I was told how worthless, stupid, fat, unlovable etc I was. My father wasn’t the best parent, but when he found out he divorced her.

He only found out because I had told my brother. My brother, for all his faults, loved me and tried to protect me. But Jason had so many demons he tried to silence with drugs and alcohol. Eventually the demons won.

At 15, I was trying to stay away from home as much as possible. I spent a lot of time with a friend and her boyfriend. One night we were at the boyfriend’s house and I went to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. I had been sleeping on the couch. When I returned to the couch, there was a strange much older man sitting there. I asked him to move which he did. He got up and though he was drunk, he was faster than me. He grabbed me, tried kissing me and groping me. I shoved him away and escaped to the porch, where I sat against the door, blocking it for the rest of the night. Too scared to sleep. I never stayed over there again.

When I was 16 years old, I was dating a guy who was 22. I became pregnant. We were engaged, waiting until I was 18 to marry, but he ended up breaking up with me when I was 5 months along. Only then did I tell my father. I was terrified to… he took it as well as he could at first. The problems came when he was told by a lawyer that he couldn’t force me to give up my child, it had to be my own decision.

My father decided a meeting with the other side of family involved needed to happen. It was my ex, David, his father and David’s two sisters, my father and I. And it was a meeting where I was bullied, hounded, insulted… and David didn’t stick up for me. He wouldn’t even look at me or speak a word. They all wanted me to give the baby up for adoption to David’s older brother and sister in law.

The only one to tell me it was my decision was David’s mother, Mary. She told me there were welfare programs that could help me if I needed it. But she herself couldn’t help any more than that.

For the sake of peace in the house, I let my father think I was considering giving my child up for adoption. Until he read my diary while I was at school one day. When I came home I knew something was wrong because he was waiting in the living room for me. And handed down the ultimatum- give the baby up or get the fuck out of my house. I had just turned 17 a few weeks before and a fierceness welled up in me that I had never felt. I told him that I was leaving then because this was my child and I was going to take care of it. His last words to me was something about me being just like my mother. And it wasn’t a compliment, coming from him.

My daughter, Korensa Dawn, was born about a month after I left. My mother’s parents and sister tried to help. I lived there until after she was born. But I ended up leaving there with my infant daughter and moving around with friends. Not the smartest thing, I know. The young man I had met when I was still living at my father’s house, wanted to make things official and help me raise my daughter. He was only 19 but tried. He cheated on me when my daughter was 3 months old.

I moved in with one friend who had a son and daughter. Child protective services was called, and they took my daughter when they found out we were living there. I was told if I resisted I would be arrested. I had to stand there and watch while strangers and police took all three children… they took my daughter from me and I had to let them.

I had a breakdown. In the month that followed, I turned to drinking and weed, just to be numb. I ended up miscarrying the child I didn’t know I was pregnant with. By the 19 year old who had cheated on me.

I lost custody to my ex. He looked better because he married the second woman he had impregnated, and had the full support of his family behind him. And I was still underage and technically homeless and unemployed. I had dropped out of high school the first day of my senior year. I know I wasn’t fit to raise her. But neither was he. Still, I had to try and go on.

At 18 I hooked up with a guy. I was on the pill, so I thought I was safe. Instead, I ended up pregnant by him. We decided to try a relationship and were together over a year. Our daughter was born, Mykiela Lynne. He was disappointed she was not a son. We lost the trailer we were living in and ended up making an apartment out of the office space of a building his employer owned. We were good there for a few months but he kept “working late”. I got sick with the flu and was trying to take care of an infant. He was gone and it was the middle of the night. I had to crawl to get her a bottle because I couldn’t stand up. I had a fever of 104.2. He was off fucking his other girlfriend that I hadn’t known about.

A few weeks later, his mother and step father were offering to take temporary custody. Just until we could get on our feet and find a place that wasn’t about to be condemned. And I was dumb enough to sign the paper. The last time I saw her was for her first birthday. They always had excuses why it was never a good time to have visitation. Eventually I stopped trying.

When I was 20, and my brother was 23 he committed murder while under the influence of alcohol and drugs. He is serving life in prison without parole. I went to his trial and sentencing. After he was sentenced, we got to spend just a few minutes with him before he was taken away. It was the only time he actually said that he loves me, in all our years of growing up together.

I tried keeping in touch for the first few years, but eventually that stopped. My aunt says he is doing much better, moved to a different prison and that his girlfriend has purchased some of my art and shown it to him. He thinks I’m talented. He was always the artist, not me, so to hear that tells me I must be decent at it. My aunt also says she has his address if I want to write him. I’m not sure if I can. We’ve been out of contact for over 20 years. What in the world would we talk about?

I was left to face hatred and judgment from people I had never even met. A close friendship ended because she told me my brother was somebody’s bitch in prison. It took a long time to forgive myself for wishing it had been him that died. I rationalized that grief would be easier to deal with than hatred and shame. It wasn’t my crime but I paid for it for years. It drove me to drinking, drugs and other harmful behaviors.

I was able to get a job at the local meat packing plant when I was 20. And it was enough to get me off the drugs and drinking for awhile. Until the night a coworker offered me a ride home. Instead of taking me home, he drove down to the river, and ignored me telling him no. When I tried to get out he grabbed me by the throat and used just enough pressure to make me feel like I was suffocating. I won’t go into the details, but he raped me that night. And two months later I found out it resulted in a child. I quit the job after the night I injured my back. I never went to the doctor but should have. As for the child… It was the only time I considered having an abortion, but ultimately chose not to.

Unfortunately I went into premature labor, drove myself to the hospital and was told the child was dying, after I gave birth. He weighed 1 pound 15 ounces and his death certificate was being filled out as I held him to say goodbye.  I saw him struggling to breathe and was at first told it sometimes looks that way but he would not survive. I insisted and a nurse came in, checked him and then took him, running from the room. Everything was a blur after that. Instead of being pronounced dead, he was life flighted to the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinic, where they had a state of the art neonatal unit. The child, a boy, I named Jayme Allen spent the first four months of his life in the neonatal ICU. He survived being born 3 months early, meningitis and a hernia surgery.

I tried to spend as much time with him as I could. A precious warrior with beautiful brown eyes, his skin pale like mine. Dark brown hair as soft as rabbit fur. No matter how he was conceived, he was my child. I tried to make a home for him, that would pass inspection. He was going to need a lot of specialized care in the first year of his life.

There were too many setbacks, so when he was released from the hospital he had to be put in foster care. I kept trying to make the house good enough but there was always something not right. When he was two years old, I signed away my rights and he was adopted by the foster family. I spiraled once more into the depths of depression.

The night I caught another boyfriend in the act of cheating on me, I lost control. I wanted out of our town… whether it was death at my own hand, jail for assault with a deadly weapon, or committed to a psych ward… I didn’t care. But instead of stabbing him like my dark thoughts wanted to, I used the steak knife to cut my arm. And it relieved the emotional pain… giving me physical pain to focus on instead.

After that, I met my youngest child’s father and got involved with him. He’s the first one I wrote about in my last blog, the one who hit me while I was pregnant. But he was also the only guy in town who, despite knowing the victim of my brother’s crime, didn’t hold it against me.

When my child was 2, I met up with the guy who I had almost stabbed. We talked, he said he had changed and could see that I had also. We tried a relationship again. I quit the job I’d had at the veterinary clinic to move to Ohio and help his mother take care of his grandmother who had stage 4 bone cancer. He was the second man I wrote about in my last blog.

Three years later, I added another wound to the same arm I had used the steak knife on, because of yet another boyfriend. He was controlling and abusive, and not to just me. He had five other women in his self proclaimed harem. I found that out the night we were high on cocaine. I threw a glass ashtray at him. It missed, shattering against the wall. He called me an awful name and I punched him, drawing blood. That was the end of our relationship and I used a piece of glass from the broken ashtray to add the fourth cut to my arm. It was the last time I ever did that because of a man.

From then on I stayed out of serious relationships. I dated a few guys but nothing lasting. I was done with that. In 2006 when I was 30 years old, I met Stacie. Our kids were in the same kindergarten class and we became instant friends. She was the one who introduced me to anime (InuYasha!) and from there we got into Japanese music.

X Japan, Dir en Grey, Luna Sea… those were my gateway bands. But the depression was never far away. Never buried deep enough. Especially with the beginning of my health issues and a doctor that despite testing to prove something was definitely wrong with my thyroid, decided my treatment was to wait and see. In July of 2007, the middle of the night, I was writing my goodbye letter and listening to Dir en Grey on youtube. I do not recommend watching the live performance video for MUSHI if you are feeling depressed.

In the sidebar was the video I have mentioned several times before. GARNET. A random click because the image for the video appeared to be someone in a straight jacket. One click changed everything for me.

In 2009, Stacie, the kids and I went to the Dir en Grey concert in Chicago. My first concert ever, and we got to meet Shinya and Toshiya. In 2010, we had the opportunity to see them again, but then I saw that DespairsRay was going to do a concert in Chicago as well. Stacie wanted to see Diru. But I argued that we had already seen them and I wanted to see DR. I won that argument and we purchased our tickets, making plans for the motel and rental car.

By this time I had given up singing and writing lyrics. My vocal chords were damaged not only from my autoimmune disease, but also from several bouts of severe bronchitis. But when DesRay’s Monsters album was released, I bought the digital version and set about learning all the songs as well as listening to their other songs.

We left at dawn, the day before the concert and had to make an unplanned stop due to a rain storm that came out of nowhere. Our motel was in Crystal Lake because it was cheaper and only a short drive into Chicago. The day of the concert we arrived at the venue at 9 am. Enduring blazing heat, noisy trains overhead, fan ghouls gushing and fantasizing… it was excruciating. We waited 9 hours for the venue to open.

For most of the wait, I was lost in my own mind.  However, I was the first to notice the band’s tour bus.  They arrived at 2 pm.  I pointed and told Stacie- “There’s the bus”.  Stacie had a total fan ghoul moment and started shouting BUS over and over.  I smacked her arm.  Her daughter told her to shut up.

It was only the second concert I had ever been to in my life. I had no idea what to expect. Here is the majority of the blog I had written when we returned to Iowa days later. I had posted it on MySpace, and managed to save it before MySpace became defunct.

We entered the venue shortly after 6 pm.  Stacie and Trina were ahead of us, near the front of the stage.It was a good place to be, except then people crowded in behind us.  I hate feeling boxed in so before the concert began, my ten year old and I moved to a spot at the back.

I was not feeling well, caused by the heat.  This feeling became worse as the concert went on.  I drank three glasses of iced water and fanned myself with a postcard.  I didn’t want to pass out during the concert of one of my favorite bands.

I observed the band members as they came onto the stage.  The crowd was small and I saw the disappointment in Hizumi’s features for a moment. However, they are true professionals.  Though the crowd was small, the band performed as if they played for Tokyo Dome.

They played many of the songs from MONSTERS album.  Also they played several of the older songs.  I wished for my favorite one.  When Tsukasa began the drums…  I couldn’t stop smiling.  “Garnet” is the song that made me a D’espairs Ray fan for life.

Stacie purchased merchandise.  The band was doing an autograph session after the concert.  I was mistaken in my assumption that it would be only part of the band. I used my Japanese cherry blossom scented hand sanitizer.  (No need to spread germs to the band.)

I was nervous.  I am extremely shy around people I have never met before.

I had spent the majority of the concert staring at Hizumi, when I wasn’t taking photographs.

When it was time for the autograph session, it was difficult looking into the eyes of the band members.  I wanted to pass out when ZERO offered a handshake.  He was the first to sign my poster.

My child said to ZERO,  “D’espairs Ray is the best band.”  ZERO’s smile was huge.

Tsukasa spoke quietly though he too offered a handshake after signing the poster.

Hizumi was third in line.  My eyes met his when he shook my hand.  It became difficult to breathe; he is very good-looking. However, it was more than his features that caused me to feel that way.  Our eyes are the window to our souls.  Hizumi’s eyes spoke many words to me.  I worry about what my eyes told him. We never actually spoke to each other and it wasn’t really a handshake, he kind of just held my hand for a moment, staring. I gave him the message I had written in Japanese. My hand was trembling a lot.

Karyu was the last to sign the poster.  I think he winked at me, but I can’t be certain.  I was just happy to have remembered my manners!  I bowed to each band member and also thanked them in Japanese.

It was a wonderful night.  Driving to the motel we picked up some food.  I fell asleep wearing my glasses because I was exhausted.

We drove home the next day. It seemed to be a long trip.  Stacie didn’t kill us in a car accident.  I didn’t pass out meeting a band that I love.  We have memories and photographs. It’s all good. I’m still exhausted due to not sleeping well for over a month.  It is becoming normal for me to be this tired every day.  I am going to bed now.

Peace and love

In 2011, Stacie and her child moved to Texas. I followed in June of 2012. By October I had met both James and Brandon. James and I became the best of friends, he was also a Gemini like me. Brandon and I started dating in October of 2012. He was the man I wrote about that I stayed with for over seven years. The last one I wrote about in the previous blog.

I didn’t share the contents of this blog for sympathy. I am no longer the girl who endured all of that. I shoved down these bad feelings and thoughts for many years. Thinking that if I ignored them they would disappear. My intention was to get the poison out of my head and heart… to heal by saying it out loud once and for all. I have been through hell. (as I’m typing this, Poison Eater by NUL is playing. Yes, Universe, I hear you.) I have wanted to give up, end it all. But I come from a long line of strong women. We are survivors. We are warriors with gentle hearts and fierce loyalty to those we love. We protect our own with everything we have. And I am embracing my place among those women.

As this blog is already too long, I will end it here. I need sleep and have one more night of work as a second shift employee. Then three days off and Monday I start as the store opening shift at 4:45 am.

Finished at 5:11 am.