Cussedness Corner

"My work may be garbage but it's good garbage." Mickey Spillane

Bashing the Virgin Mary

I hate it when I go through a fresh episode of flashbacks.  It knocks me flat for days.

I just spent a week playing warcraft obsessively trying to run from it.

Two weeks ago I moved my computer from the smaller desk to the larger one.  That was a nice change as I have more space now.  However, I did not get around to shifting a lot of stuff that was in the niches on it.

One of those was a tiny shrine to the mother goddess.  The centerpiece is a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the Christ Child and raising one hand in benediction.

I shifted the shrine to my third desk, and as I put my hand on the statue, I got hit by the intensity of my memories.

No one I have ever known was as capable of rage as H.  He would be literally frothing at the mouth.  I always felt as if I had been in the solar plexus whenever he went into one of these rages. My mind would go blank and stunned, unable to react.  The verbal abuse was always aimed with the precision of a SWAT team sniper.  He knew where to hit me and he did so.

One day, out of the blue, as I was cleaning house, H caught me in the hallway and forced me against the wall to inform me that I was evil and the goddess did not listen to evil people.  He said she had forsaken me.

Then he went in and smashed my shrine to the goddess, breaking the statue (which I have since replaced) of Mary.  He used a brick.

Sovay was eight.

She came in to see what was going on and was there when he smashed all the delicate statues on my altar.  The one that hurt her most was that statue. She burst into tears.

You see, she used to say to me while looking at the statue, “That’s like you and me, Mom.  That’s how much you love me.”

And I always hugged her and told her, “Yes, just like you and me.”

Clearly the statue had come to symbolize our deep bond to her.

I felt as if my heart had been raped by the destruction.  Sovay stopped talking to her father for several days, except for single syllable answers to questions.

The first thing I did when we escaped from him was to replace the statue.

The old adage that “sticks and stone may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is wrong

Broken hearts  hurt far longer than broken bones.


16 comments on “Bashing the Virgin Mary

  1. Johaha
    March 8, 2009

    But survival comes from a deep well of inner strength, and you have mountains of that, my dear. You are an inspiration.

  2. C
    March 9, 2009

    Oh yes…. words can be as deadly as any weapon, and I know, all too well, that tongues can slit throats with ease…

  3. Johaha
    March 9, 2009

    Your throat, Dagstine, was slit long ago. You’ve bled out, but your body hasn’t died yet.

    Don’t you have some bad fiction to write?

    I can’t wait to see the ass-ripping review my editor friend is going to do on your book.

    Good luck.

  4. Johaha
    March 9, 2009

    You can refuse to sign our name, Daggy, but your ISP is logged.
    You still don’t get how computers work, do you?


  5. Mike Brendan
    March 9, 2009

    Dagstine if that’s you you’re even more a lily-livered chicken shit than I thought. Weak as a baby fart, you’ll always attempt to prey on people who you perceive to be weak than you. Yet your ability to asses your opposition is as atrophied as your ability to do research, and so you’ll get beaten, slink away with your tail between your legs

  6. cussedness
    March 9, 2009

    that’s not dagstine.

  7. Mike Brendan
    March 9, 2009

    Well that’s something of a relief… I guess… still, what I said about Dagstine being weak was true…

  8. Johaha
    March 9, 2009

    Could it be him from a different location? I know he’s done that once or twice.

  9. cussedness
    March 10, 2009

    I know who it is. But I agreed to keep his/her identity secret as he/she is a Dagstine victim.

  10. Mike Brendan
    March 10, 2009

    Ah… A thousand apologies then.

  11. Johaha
    March 10, 2009


  12. cussedness
    March 11, 2009

    There is always a process of pain, depression, anger, and then mourning. The only one of the things I managed to retain in my life was my writing.

    Despite my unconventional attitude, I really wanted that house with the white picket fence and several children.

  13. C
    March 11, 2009

    You have retained so much more… you did not let the things you endured kill you, either physically or emotionally. You have a relationship with your child that many children would envy (myself included.) You are intelligent, articulate, creative, kind, generous and have an awesome sense of humor.
    Like so many of us who have traveled through Hell, you thoroughly underestimate yourself. For some reason, our “flaws” appear more shiny and vivid to us than our good qualities – but I promise, I can see your value. It is tremendous.

  14. sovay
    March 11, 2009

    love you mom. sorry i didn’t realize you were going through this. when it rains it storms.

  15. Rusty
    March 12, 2009

    Oh, shit. I feel like such a creep for being away while you posted this. {{{{Cuss}}}}. As always, I’m late to the party.

  16. Mike Brendan
    March 13, 2009

    You’re still a good person. Note I didn’t say nice. Can’t risk you losing your curmudgeon license…

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This entry was posted on March 8, 2009 by in Janrae Frank, memoir, PTSD and tagged .

Janrae Frank

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