He got here red and wrinkled … scared and cryin’ … then she took him up and held him to her breast … and he sure was glad to get what mama offered. Then he went to sleep and put his fears to rest. It didn’t seem to matter what he needed, he could always count on mama to supply, and regardless of the sleep she might be losin’, he always found a twinkle in her eye. There ought to be a hall of fame for mamas … Creation’s most unique and precious pearls … and Heaven help us always to remember that the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.
What if on the day he got here, “red and wrinkled … scared and cryin'”, she took one look at him and said, “No thanks. I’ll pass.” Then, instead of holding him to her breast and putting his fears to rest, she either literally or metaphorically threw him away?
Lol! “There ought to be a hall of fame for mamas?” Yup! There sure as HEAVEN should be. Likewise, should there be a picture of every one of those “mother THINGS and MONSTERS” in the Hall Of SHAME as placeholders until they get to ACTUAL hell.
When they ask me who’s the luckiest, I will tell them it’s the mothers, for the mother has a capacity to love far greater than the others. If she has a son, it will be the last man she ever falls for with her soul, and if she has a daughter, she’ll give her everything she ever needed for her own console. They go through so much trying to raise us and they push us forward when we cry, and they cry more, but in secret, while they praise us once their face is dry. The love they have for us is unbreakable, even thought sometimes we break them. We claim they overstep the walls of our boundaries even though we overstretch the walls of their womb to give us life. And so she pretends to not be hurt, to be respectful of what we think we need, and gives us the room to grow, but the mother is the luckiest, and she says, “One day they will know”.
How little did I know that when I met you, you were already at war with yourself and the demons that were swimming in the waters beneath your soul. You’d hidden all your scars so well that at first I honestly didn’t see it. Eventually, there I stood with you … side by side on the front lines against a Molotov cocktail of monsters we never saw coming, but also very much did. While I suppose I could say that my kids and I became the collateral damage of your internalized emotional warfare, I cannot. We were casualties of something far worse: “Her“.
The number of bittersweet birthdays we’ve had to celebrate without him here.
Even still, although the death certificate says “FOUND AUGUST 23, 2019”, those of us who knew him best know that he started dying a slow and painful death on the very day that he was born. It was the moment of his birth and his “unbecoming”. Fortunately, I have it on good knowledge that both “the creature” that birthed then dumped my husbandand his “siblings” do, indeed, read my posts, in which regard I have yet another heartfelt message:
He lost himself into the night, and he flew higher than he had ever, but still felt small. You clipped his wings … he fell from flight to open water and floated farther away from himself. He swam in the wakes of imposters just to feel what it was like to pretend. There were no dreams in his waves … only monsters … and the monsters were his only friends. They’re all that he was in the end but NEVER really was or ever will be. Eyes in the dead still water. He tried, but it pushed back harder. Cauterized and atrophied … you were his unbecoming. He put knives in the backs of martyrs and left our lives in the burning fodder. Cauterized and atrophied … you were our unbecoming. I found him drifted out to sea. It was automatic, now it’s telepathic. I always knew him. They laughed as he searched for a harbor and pointed to where your halo was supposed to be, but any light in your eyes had been squandered. There was no angel in you … were his unbecoming. He waited for his metamorphosis, but all that’s left is the change that could never be. Selfish fate … YOU made him this. Now, under the water he’ll wait.
{Words To “Unbecoming” Adapted by The Real Cat Williamson}
With that, despite the tone of not just this, but the many other bitter “Real Cat” rants, know that every time I think about you crying all those crock-of-shit-o-dile tears over that Zack of SHIT “brother” of yours, I laugh and then smile knowing that the day he was born was amongst our greatest gifts and treasures … NOT YOURS … ’cause ya threw the gift of “him” the fuck away like actual living garbage and left him behind in the proverbial trash can of his life. So, here’s wishing all you rat bastard mother fuckers a very heartfelt birthday truth bomb that YOU were his “unbecoming”, starting on this day that he was born. May you twist and turn tonight as you are reminded, yet again, of all the October 5ths gone by that you FORGOT the fuck about him while he was still here for you to remember him.
If you are a mother THAT (not “who”) has abandoned and forsaken a child of her own body, know that the unfathomable wound you left them with will never truly heal. If, on the other hand, you are a child whose “mother THING” abandoned you? Please know that just like the battalion of mothers in this world who understood the magnitude of the job we were given, you are always in my heart and I pray for you daily.
I don’t who needs to hear this right now, but NOTHING will destroy a child’s future, if not HUMANITY in general, better than being birthed of the womb of an ACTUAL spawned of the devil “mother THING”.
… because if you you’re a women who’s given birth and sleeps well at night knowing that, NO, your heart does not live inside your own body anymore, and NO, it will never will again, I’m sorry that I’m not sorry to say you’re probably not doing it right. Dare I mention, most ashamedly, those countless times in my foolish youth when my own mother would say those words that are impossible for anyone to understand unless or until they’ve given birth:
I can’t sleep until I know that you’re home safe.
When I was a teenager, then off to college and on my own, I’d just roll my eyes and think she was being dramatical. Now that I’m a mother? Those words hit pretty hard! No momma worth her weight in love rests a single day in her life unless she knows her babies are “safe inside“, even when they have their own babies.
Regardless of how strong my faith in God has been, is now, or will ever be, there has yet to be a single day as a mom that I haven’t incessantly worried about my kids. This includes the waking and sleeping hours of all my pregnancies, and even worrying about “my other kids“. Motherhood changes you forever, and is, perhaps, the most beautiful of all double-edged swords. Studies have shown:
Mothers around the world say they feel like their children are still a part of them long after they’ve given birth. As it turns out, that is literally true. During pregnancy, cells from the fetus cross the placenta and enter the mother’s body, where they can become part of her tissues.
I am here to tell you that yes, it is true, that we mothers really do “feel” our children long after they leave our wombs, which is why I believe that when they say, “a mother is only as strong as her weakest child”, said weakness isn’t just psychological … it’s physiological, too.
“The Hood”.
It’s the single most important job in the world:
Still, the sobering truth is that it’s the woman’s hand that was meant to rock the cradle. We’re the Earth, the Sun, the Moon, the stars and the entire effing COSMOS to the babies we bear, and even wild animals know this to be true and often do much better jobs of raising their children than some of the “things” with wombs.
If you were blessed to have been hired for “the job” that simply ain’t for the faint of heart, be proud, HANG TOUGH, and cut yourself some slack when necessary, because walking around the face of this often wicked place with your own raw heart in shaking hands on a ground covered with broken glass isn’t easy.
To all my mom friends out there: I SEE YOU! Just because we don’t all speak out loud about how we all spend every waking and sleeping hour fending of the nightmares we have about the things that can hurt our kids – EVEN WHEN THEY’RE 30 – it doesn’t mean we don’t all understand this unspoken bond of “The Mother HOOD”. This beautiful little “Hood nugget” moment from late last December between my own mother and all of us posted below is but a prime example of exactly what I am saying. HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM! We all love you … “food-pushing” and all!
To My Babies On This,
My 30th Mother’s Day:
If for some reason I forget to tell you this today: THANK YOU FOR THE GIFT OF BEING YOUR MOM! It has been and will always be my utmost and highest calling, privilege, and honor. I love you both to The Moon and back!
ONE HEARTBEAT AT A TIME
You’re up all night with a screaming baby. You run all day at the speed of life. And every day you feel a little bit less like the beautiful woman you are. So, you fall into bed when you run out of hours, and you wonder if anything worth doing got done. Oh, maybe you just don’t know, or maybe you’ve forgotten … YOU … you are changing the world one little heartbeat at a time. Making history with every touch and every smile. Oh … YOU … you may not see it now, but I believe that time will tell how YOU … you are changing the world one little heartbeat at a time. With every, “I know you can do it”, and every tear that you kiss away. So many little things that seem to go unnoticed … they’re just like the drops of rain, over time they become a river. And YOU … you are changing the world one little heartbeat at a time. Making history with every touch and every smile. (Steven Curtis Chapman)
Today is the fourth bittersweet birthday that we don’t get to celebrate with you, and as of about twenty minutes ago, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write in tribute to you today. As I was sitting here staring blankly at my screen though, my eyes began wandering around at all the pictures on my desk, and I spotted this precious one of you. That’s when I closed my eyes and had this vision …
It was me looking at that the sweet, blonde-haired, blue-eyed little boy at around age 10. I was holding him in my arms like I did so many times in our journey together, and especially in the months before you left when I would hold you like an actual baby as you would cry. Your little head was resting on my chest so perfectly still and calm, and when I looked down at your face, you were smiling.
What is it, Zack? What on Earth are you smiling about?
Then, you looked up at me and whispered the most powerful words I could have imagined hearing on this bittersweet day without you:
Catherine, I’m okay. I’m finally resting.
I want you to know how deeply sorry I am that the people who were supposed to protect you from the demons that devoured your mind failed you so fucking miserably. It is my truest prayer that you did make it Home safely, that you’re very much alright, and that your soul is in the peaceful, loving care of the greatest Parent of them all.
I’ve always loved this song, listen to often, and always think of you when I do. Only this time I’m tweaking the words “my way”, as if you were singing them to me:
I know you’re down at the river bend after fighting the fight ’til the fighting end. You’ve washed the poison from off your skin, and now you’re finally whole again. I always think of you flying up on silver wings, far past the black where the sirens ring, warming yourself in a nova’s glow and rising above your nightmare below. You’re no longer a crack in this castle of glass, and never forget that you were so much to see. I know that you’re Home in a binding dream through all of the secrets that we both have seen. I, too, have washed this sorrow from off of my skin, and yes, I, too, am finally whole again. So, until that day comes when I can see you again, I’ll keep looking for your light as it slips through the cracks in this castle of glass in which I still live. As for now, though, there is still so much more for me to see. Happy Birthday Zachariah. I love you. ~ Me
As soon as Gia gets home from school, we’ll be heading down to the pier to skip a few rocks over the water before we go have our annual Red Robin burgers in your honor. Though you’re not here to physically reciprocate the love I have always and will always feel for you, that love will never be wasted. In the meantime, please just keep watching us through your telescope.
In keeping with the metamorphosis of my journey, this day memorializes two profound occasions in it. You see, not only is this my 500THDIARY ENTRY, but it’s the three year anniversary of my husband’s suicide at “just before midnight” on August 22, 2019.
With that, it seems only fitting that I pay tribute to one of my very few muses, Franz Kafka, the anomalous writer from Prague whose inspired works left a tail on the fire of his words that still burns through me a century later. Much like Zack, he left this world tragically unaware of how powerful his legacy would be, much less that he’d eventually be regarded as one of the most prolific literary figures of the 20th-century. He only ever published a hand full of his work while he was alive because he didn’t believe it worthy. It was his dear friend, Max Brod, who as the executor of his estate blatantly disregarded the directive that his unfinished works be destroyed and published them. Be it not for the fact that Brod betrayed a dying man’s final wishes, the trajectory and longevity of Kafka’s legacy may not have been fully realized.
To say something is “Kafkaesque” is to infer that something is absurd and surreal, if not nightmarish and disorienting, all of which words in so many ways define my own seemingly absurd and surreal existence. Meanwhile, I could wax on poetically about everything “Kafka”, but perhaps the words that I believe sum him up the best are these:
Franz Kafka is regarded as one of the greatest literary figures in recent history. He is known for his uniquely dark, disorienting, and surreal writing style, a style and quality so particular to him, that anything that resembles it has come to be known and referred to as “Kafkaesque”.
No one will ever know what really happened in our home in the months before he swallowed that bullet. To say that demonic insanity besieged us wouldn’t give credence to the monster that overtook his mind and tried to devour my daughter during its reign of unholy terror. She ended up hitting a wall in the wake of her trauma two weeks before her sophomore year’s end, such that the school opted to early release and excuse her from final exams so we could tend to her fragile psyche. In lieu of finals, her literature teacher asked her to write a personal memoir without knowing fully why the school had negated her exams in the first place, but once she became aware that writing a memoir could be the worst possible thing for her under the circumstances, she had her write an essay about her favorite book instead.
~ Zack’s Last Audible Read ~
Unbeknownst to me, she had read “The Metamorphosis” after his suicide. Not only was she aware that Kafka was my favorite writer, she knew it was the last book he listened to nineteen days before he left. She was trying to make sense out both her parents, then also unbeknownst to me wrote her essay about “the invisible monster”:
How Do YouFight An Invisible Enemy?
YOU GIVE IT A FACE!
(Written By Gia Embach)
Since the beginning of time or existence itself, for living things big or small, life is marked with a common anguish: To live is to suffer. Over time, however, as humanity has specifically thrust itself into problems of its own device, it’s tried desperately to put incomprehensible ideas or situations into a box so as to minimize the pain and anxiety that fester in the face of the unknown or difficult.
Anguish was arguably never more prevalent than throughout the duration of World War I. The largest, bloodiest, most destructive war the world had yet seen, with such horrors as to reduce the social order and beliefs to rubble in a similar manner to the physical world around people all over the world. During the uneasy postwar years, this society of confused and angry people confided in Czech-born writer Franz Kafka.
His stories almost always depict characters who are in eerie situations they can neither comprehend nor escape from. While this idea of using the imagination to comprehend the uncomfortable and incomprehensible world of emotions and psychology was precious to those living during the postwar years, his message still rings true today, as people still find the comprehension of the human mind to be incredibly difficult and laborious. Through allegorical works of literature and art, artists and writers allow others, and themselves, to understand feelings and situations that would otherwise be terrifying or unfathomable to bring comfort that stems from a shared discomfort.
The Metamorphosis begins with Gregor Samsa awaking in his bed only to find himself transformed into a large cockroach or other bug-like vermin. Gregor becomes increasingly dreary after looking out the window to all the rain and darkness and decides to give in to the pull of sleep calling to him. His new body, however, won’t let him lay comfortably, so he tries desperately to fling himself on his side to rest, only to fall on his armored back, forced to look at his grotesque abdomen and thin, scrambling legs. His mind then drifts to the dread he feels for his stressful job, the importance of sleep, so he begins focusing on the mundane issues in his life that still take precedence over his terrifying condition. His family worriedly knock on his door attempting to converse with him and wondering what the matter is, as Gregor has always been a dutiful worker and had never missed a day of work in his life. Gregor comes to find that he is unable to communicate with human speech and struggles to converse with his worried family on the other side of the wooden door which he soon finds he is unable to open, only doing so after great difficulty.
Emerging from his room, his family and the Chief Clerc are shocked by his appearance and he is soundly scolded by the Chief Clerk. Gregor retreats to his room, injuring himself in the process, and remains isolated inside. He comes to find that his little sister, Grete, attentively looks after him, bringing him fresh food that is unappealing to Gregor despite his hunger. The next morning, he is brought rotting food which he devours ravenously. From his room, Gregor overhears his family’s troubles. His guilt and shame only grow as he listens to his family try to figure out how they will make enough money to support each other, as Gregor is unable to provide for them now. Overwhelmed with sadness and guilt, he returns to his isolation for a few weeks, and Grete slowly but surely becomes less caring for Gregor, and increasingly upset and impatient at her brother’s need for care. When he finally gets enough courage to leave his room, his sister finds him in the kitchen, disturbed. A month later, his mother offers to take the furniture out of his room, so he can crawl more comfortably in his room, however Gregor wishes to hold on to the furniture, keeping himself connected to his humanity, to the familiarity of the Gregor before he woke up that fateful morning as a giant bug. Gregor eventually puts himself upside down on his ceiling, above a painting in his room, the sight of which causes his mother to faint, and his father returns home to find Gregor outside his room once again, only to pelt him with apples, seriously injuring him as he flees back to his room. Gregor takes another month to heal. His family has become exhausted from working and decide to house some loggers for extra income. Later, as Gregor is drawn out by the beautiful sound of a violin, the sight of him disgusts the loggers, causing them to leave without paying rent, so his once gentle and compassionate sister now states that the bug is not really Gregor and has ruined their lives. Returning to his room, he thinks fondly of his family before he dies. His body is found, and his family carries on happily without him as they discuss their plans for the future.
Although there are many interpretations of this eerie tale, I believe it is an allegory for depression and the damage it causes to not only the one who suffers from it, but also those around them. The first time I read it, I was immediately fond of Gregor. In him, I found that sense of comfort that I had mentioned before. Comparing his experience with depression to mine allowed me to feel less alone. Like me, even simple tasks for him such as getting out of bed or talking became excruciatingly difficult and it exhausted him to venture from the safety of the safe, cold comfort and isolation of his room Thinking that someone who was alive over 100 years ago had the same exact feelings that I’ve had made me feel less ashamed of my illness.
In another mirror of my mind, Gregor’s mind drifts to his worries and anxieties about the future and all the little things that could go wrong. Been there! Done that! No matter how long you have depression or how “well” you handle it, there are always things on your mind. They’re like an invisible bag of rocks dragging behind your feet that make your legs tire quickly and your entire body feel incredibly heavy. Each time Gregor tried to reach out and become himself again, he was treated with disgust, disdain, and impatience, reminding him time and again why he had hidden himself away in the first place. To those living in a world outside of a disease festering inside one’s brain, there are no rocks and no issues, there’s just laziness and distraction. “They’re not trying enough” or “They’re being dramatic”.
Grete, who at first gave Gregor aid with love, soon drifted away. When you suffer from depression, it can be hard for others to love and care for you, so when you are living as a creature you yourself can hardly look at without disgust, how COULD you accept any help? Depression tells you that you aren’t worth it and you don’t deserve it. If your symptoms themselves don’t push people away, you will. Giving yourself excuses to be alone, hoping that if you sabotage the good things enough, you might begin to feel like your feelings are valid, but that is a rare thing to come to believe. Then, just like Gregor, you soon find that reaching out only gets you hurt again, and you fully realize all that you no longer have. At this point, a person with depression will respond in a variety of ways. Some seethe with a burning anger, others protect themselves with an icy numbness, and others drown themselves in tears. In other cases, like Gregor, he simply allows himself to fade away. He felt ashamed, guilty, impossible to deal with. The harsh words of others twisting the steel blade he had dug into his chest deeper. He thinks of those who shunned him with love, understanding that nobody could love a monster. He thinks of them and dies, utterly and completely alone.
The Metamorphosis was the last thing my father read before he lost his battle with his own invisible enemy … his “bug”. While literature like Kafka’s does indeed offer comfort, nothing can cover the harsh and bitter reality of mental illness. Only the luckiest ones, and these warriors are far and few between, survive the battle against the hidden enemy. Many, like Gregor and my father, slowly fade away, isolating themselves until death to keep those they love from the harm they know they cause.
The truth of the matter is this: human beings are far from being able to comprehend the human mind in its best form and are further still from understanding a mind that is damaged. However, through people like Kafka, who cut these incredible issues into tiny, more manageable pieces, we can all come to understand it a little better. Those who suffer, can come to understand their suffering. Those who don’t share that same, complex kind of pain, come to understand it. When people understand something so horrible and terrifying, it slowly falls apart as it’s being chipped away like a block of marble until something beautiful and heroic remains.
In closing, I feel it is imperative to appreciate the gift that art can give to humanity: the ability to comprehend the incomprehensible, the ability to look at ourselves as works in progress rather than vermin, and the ability to unite people of all walks of life together in an often-forgotten fact. Once we strip away our flesh and everything of this Earth, each of us has a soul that is broken, and each of our souls, whether we acknowledge it or not, has a burning desire to be loved. That fact can only be nurtured and accepted through people like Kafka who aren’t afraid to brave the nightmares of existing, people who shine lights in darkness so others can see light.
Of all the things she could have written, what are the chances that she’d have penned such a poignant and moving “personal memoir” after first having been excused from writing one at all? Can you feel the absurdity? Can you fathom the surrealism? Can you appreciate this cosmic kick in the face of that demon bug that’s infested the minds of too many Gregors to count? FUCK YOU “popular monster”! You may have obliterated, disintegrated, and annihilated my husband and tried to take my daughter, but you will NOT feast upon another soul in my divinely punctuated haloif takes my last breath to keep you underfoot. I’ve FOUND my way out of your web you fucking LIAR and miserable CHEATER.
I’ve fallen IN LOVE
with NOT falling apart!
HAPPY 500TH DIARY ENTRY TO ME! May you rest eternally Zachariah and Franz, two of the very few mortal men who were able to reach the depths of my soul. You may be gone, but you’ll never be forgotten, nor the countless ways you both inspired my metamorphosis. Last, but not least, thank you from my bursting heart to my Mona Lisaangel of a daughter for helping me finally find the words I’d been searching for to honor my favorite beetle.
If you or someone you love is battling an invisible monster, PLEASE reach out for help! The “SAMHSA National Helpline” is a FREE, confidential, 24/7, 365 day a year referral and information service (in English and Spanish) for individuals and families facing mental and/or substance use disorders.
They can shatter you into pieces or build you into a masterpiece, the likes of which no one’s seen. Take for instance this Facebook memory from August 11, 2014 that popped up at just after midnight this morning, wherein I made poignant post in response to having heard someone use the words “selfish” and “suicide” in the same sentence:
“… how selfish of someone who has everything in the world to commit suicide”. Just read that complete and total bullshit and it’s so beyond infuriating. It’s called depression people, and it knows no bounds! As if someone actually wakes up one morning and says “Okay, I’m feeling kind of selfish today so I think I’ll just asphyxiate myself”. Been there, done that. It means a human being is in SO much unbearably excruciating pain, sometimes both mentally AND physically, that the only escape they see or “feel” from the noose around their own heart is sleep. It’s the ultimate end to the many broken voices in their mind. Don’t judge. Instead, be on your knees thanking your God that you’ve never been in such a deafeningly silent place. Seriously? And by the way, someone please define “everything”. If someone has “everything” they must not become depressed?
It clearly didn’t sit well with me to hear such careless words tossed into the wind without abandon. If only I’d known what was coming for me and mine just five years and 11 days later. It’s as though the Universe was already preparing me for the scattered pieces of a life I never imagined I’d have to put back together … especially after having survived my OWN attempt at suicide in 2006, back when the only words I could ever really manage to SILENTLY scream out to God were these:
I’m here again, a thousand miles away from You. A broken mess … just scattered pieces of who I am. I tried so hard. Thought I could do this on my own.
That was then.
THIS IS NOW!
I’m beyond thankful that I’ve grown to this place where the memories and scattered pieces of my shattered life no longer haunt me from the dark chasms in my mind. You see, it was in those very chasms and in my darkest hours that I was able to find my way back Home to my truly blind faith and rightful place as God’s favorite daughter. These days, my heart SINGS in a much different kind of silence:
Then I saw Your face … I knew I was finally Yours. I found everything I thought I lost before. You called my name … I came to You in pieces so You could make me whole. I’d come undone … but You made sense of who I am … like puzzle pieces in Your eye.
I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I’d give anything if I could just “zap” this power and grace I wield in my divinely punctuated soul to every person who is now or ever has been shattered in the silence of their painful memories, not the least of which was my beautiful husband who left us be behind in his shards. All of this pain has been a gift, because without it I would never have realized how beautiful the brighter side can be.
Thank you again to one of my favorite bands, “Red“. This bittersweet song has made more than a few appearances in this Diary, and I’m thankful for the way the meaning of its powerful words have evolved within me over the years. Oh, don’t get me wrong … it’s still a major tearjerker. Only, these days those tears come from a place of hope, faith, and healing that I can barely put into my own words.
Meanwhile, I’m still standing strong amidst a lifetime of “shards and pieces” that I suppose should have leveled me by now, but instead, have only helped me find God’s face and voice within myself. I will never be broken and alone in silent darkness again.
While I’m sure there are a fair amount of people who feel this way but aren’t as willing to openly admit it, I believe there should be absolutely NO mercy, grace, or forgiveness for the “mother THINGS” that (not “who”) mindfully cause or allow grave harm to a child of their own womb.
Judge not others lest ye be judged!
(Matthew 7:1-3)
Yet, are the THINGS that are capable of inflicting harm upon their children even “human” at all and therefore subject to God’s disdain of judging or wishing them actual hell?
I really CAN forgive anyone for just about anything, and as God is my witness, I HAVE! But I’ll just keeping taking people on a case-by-case basis. The Devil’s Own really DO walk among us, but I’m not even sure they’re “people”. They’re a different kind of breed “thing” altogether. I’m not quite sure I’ll ever get to the point that I stop avidly praying that God really DOES sort us all out in the end. I’m just a mortal human, not a god or Jesus Christ, so I’ll just keeping asking for “forgiveness” for not being too excited about the idea of “mercy for the merciless”.
Just to be clear, I’m not talking about selfish, inattentive, unprepared, immature mothers who are truly oblivious to the damage they cause their children. Been there, done that, and trust me when I say that we are a collective wrecking ball crew to our own. I may be sanctimonious at times, but I’m not even gonna try and deny my own regrettable crimes against my children. I wear the hearts of two children on my sleeve who are still navigating the wreckage my former tragic mothering and weak mental health caused them, such that any shame or guilt I’ve suffered for not having done better sooner is well-deserved. Have they forgiven me? Yes. Have I forgiven myself? Yes. Have they forgotten? Absolutely NOPE, nor shall they ever, and nor shall I. If they have to remember everything, then why should I be afforded the luxury of “I FUCKED UP MY KIDS AMNESIA”?
That being said, if, like me, you have fucked up your kids but are able to acknowledge, account, and atone for it, indeed I believe there is mercy and grace to be found. Owning up to my parenting flubs and “remembering everything” with them is what keeps me growing forward as a stronger, wiser, and healthier mom who is determined to break the generations of cyclically egregious parenting on my tree. Let’s face it, people, you can’t fix something you don’t think is broken, and that includes ourselves. De-NILE was for little baby Moses, my friends, and in a basket I am not.
Meanwhile, I am talking about the seriously life-altering and mind-bending crimes against at the hands of “mothers” that NO CHILD deserves to suffer through. Here are just a few that come to mind:
🤮 Throwing them in the trash or just leaving them out in the freezing fucking cold on a curb or a doorstep!
🤮 Murdering them, drowning them, choking them, burning them, burying them alive, locking them in closets, caging or chaining them up like animals, starving them, or “sticking stuff” in places stuff isn’t supposed to be stuck in them!
🤮 Coat-hanger SLAUGHTERING them or letting a medically sanctioned hitman SHANK them in late term utero through their already formed tiny skulls, beating hearts, seeing eyes, hearing ears, and feeling spinal cords!
None of these horrors are forgivable to me, and even a crocodile mommy instinctually knows better than to intentionally torment a life she bears in such detestable ways. Look, there’s NO such thing as a perfect mom, because after all, most of us are only human. But sooner or later, even the worst of us wrecking ball mommies can grow up, take a sobering look at the body count on the battlefield of our children’s lives and the failed flights we caused, APOLOGIZE, move on, then just do fucking BETTER!
It is my avid prayer that these THINGS will eventually be dealt with accordingly and made to pay for their crimes against the humanity they made and BROKE! I can’t imagine that God will take such travesties lightly, as when He blessed women with a womb, it would seem that He did so with the intention of populating the world, NOT destroying it. I literally have no sympathy whatsoever for “things” posing as “people” that deliberately and intentionally violate, traumatize, or cause harm to actual human beings without remorse.
I’ll never forget the day in 2016 when my secretly crumbling husband, whose own mother THING discarded him, heard it for the first time while we were driving. The stoic tears that fell from his eyes in that moment still haunt me. After that, he would play it often and always said it made him think about the “IT” that birthed him. Now, I’m not saying that every child of a mother THING grows up to be a monster, but the truth is many do. I’m also not saying that my husband was a monster, but in the end there was a monster living inside his head that he felt he had to stop from hurting us any further, and thus the bullet to his head.
Dear Mothers:
Remember … WE CREATED THEM! All they are is pieces of what we are. We’re their Sun, their Moon, their Earth, their stars, and the actual air they breathe. We make them. We can break them. Be mindful of the power that you wield!
Are YOU are a mother THING? If so, here’s hoping that the fate you meet is far greater than anything you ever did to one of your own. Also? YOU’RE FUCKING GROSS! Are you the child of a mother THING? YOU DIDN’T DESERVE THAT! Just because everyone isn’t as openly angry at the THING that was supposed to love you more than her own life itself, it doesn’t mean that you aren’t thought of, cared for, prayed over, and deeply loved by more mothers than you will ever know. Don’t you DARE let yourself be defined by the monster that brought into this world or think for one minute that God didn’t see that.
MONSTER
Under the knife I surrendered. The innocence yours to consume. You cut it away and you filled me up with hate. Into the silence you sent me. Into the fire consumed. You thought I’d forget, but it’s always in my head. You’re the pulse in my veins. You’re the war that I wage. Can you change me? Can you change me? You’re the love that I hate. You’re the drug that I take. Will you cage me? Will you cage me? You’re the pulse in my veins. You’re the war that I wage. Can you change me? Can you change me from the monster you made me? The monster you made me? This is the world you’ve created. The product of what I’ve become. My soul and my youth? Seems it’s all for you to use. If I could take back the moment I’d let you get under my skin. Relent or resist? Seems the monster always wins. You’re the pulse in my veins. You’re the war that I wage. Can you change me? Can you change me? You’re the love that I hate. You’re the drug that I take. Will you cage me? Will you cage me? You’re the pulse in my veins. You’re the war that I wage. Can you change me? Can you change me from the monster you made me? From the monster you made me? My heart’s an artifice, a decoy soul. I lift you up and then I let you go. I’ve made an art of digging shallow holes. I’ll drop the darkness in and watch it grow. Who knew the emptiness could be so cold? I’ve lost the parts of me that make me whole. I am the darkness. I’m a monster. {Starset}
Someday when I get the chance to properly put it down in words, I’m going to explain how much your music meant to my late husband. The first time I ever saw the man (who was our “rock”) cry was when he played me Angel’s Son, then explained why. His “mother” threw him away when he was born, then the only woman who ever loved or cared for him in his lifetime before me was his Grandma. When she died literally right in front of him at age 13, I’m certain that’s when he stopped living and growing and was only “dead alive” until we lost him to suicide 910 days ago this moment actually.A few years ago, we were in downtown Ft Worth on a surprise weekend getaway for ME – eating at this FINE restaurant near a window that looked down to a square where he had NO idea you were playing. It was one of THE happiest moments of his twisted existence, and the pure joy on his face that night is in still seared into my memories. Thank GOD for that, too, because those truly JOY moments for him were fleeting.Anyway, I just thought I’d share. I’m blogging “Angel’s Son” in honor of his Grandma on Mother’s Day – I’ll send it to you then. Hope this very long message wasn’t too annoying. Your music means a lot to me because it meant so much to him. You’re a king, my friend.
~ Real Cat
🌺🌼🌺
MAY 8, 2022:
Zachariah,
Life is changing … but I am going on without you. Rearranging, yeah. I’m being strong standing on my own. You were fighting every day. So hard to hide the pain. I know you never said goodbye. I had so much left to say. One last song given to an angel’s son. As soon as you were gone. As soon as you were gone.
We love you.
~ Us
🌺🌼🌺
And so, with that, I suppose I’ve conveyed what finally needed to be conveyed about “the angel” and her otherwise motherless son. I cannot tell you how many times he told me over the years, “Catherine, I wish you could have known her”. Ah, but what that silly boy never realized is that I very much did know her. Every tear that fell from his eyes during the many times he would talk about her told me everything his many words and many silences could never say, as well did the tears he cried whenever he would listen to this song.
As with every Mother’s Day I’ve since had to or will ever spend without him, today is so twisted and bittersweet. On one hand, I am privileged to celebrate not just the gift of my motherhood, but the gifts of my mother beautiful Mother and angel Grandmother as well, it was on this day in May 2019 when he started coming apart at the seams. For that reason, this day will always be a rollercoaster of both deep joy and intense sadness for me.
He had just gone up to say goodbye to Gia before heading off to work that morning. As he made it to that last step on the way back down, he just stopped there dead in his tracks and started sobbing, much like the day at the kitchen window a few months before. When I asked him what was wrong, the words he spoke were all but paralyzing:
That whore that gave birth to me just threw me the fuck away. My own mother didn’t want me. She never did. She never will. I really AM a Zack Of Shit!
It’s a moment that haunts me still as though I were seeing him standing there and hearing the abysmal, scathing truth in those words as they fell from his mouth for the first time every time I’m sitting in the chair in my office where I was that Godforsaken Mother’s Day morning.
“The Staircase”
There he stood at the end of that beautiful staircase I love to hate so much, the “rock” of our world and the king of our hearts, just slipping down the cold, black hole that “mother THING” that buried him alive in on the day she left him behind like a piece of garbage on the street. Virtually every day and night for the months that followed until he left, he suffered, cried, ached, and sobbed, sometimes in the fetal position, for not just her, but the entire lot of them. All Gia and I could do was helplessly watch him dying out loud right before our eyes as he battled the actual demon that moved into his mind and destroyed not just him, but my daughter and me as well. The unforgiving and abysmally deep childhood wound he’d been harboring since the moment he drew his first breath finally began to swallow him alive. “Having what he’d never had” murdered him.
That angel on Earth beautiful Grandmother of his truly was the first and only other woman who ever really loved him other than me and my daughter. For that we will forever be thankful that not only did she exist, but that she was one of the few bright stars in his sky.
Today, in both their honors, we will not only take flowers to her grave for the first but certainly not last time, but we will also take some of the ashes the rest of his “family” couldn’t be bothered to come get and take home to bury in the ground at her grave where they truly belong.
My son started singing “Hold My Hand” at around age three, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to literally take and “hold my hand” as we walked through any public space we traversed together as he belted it out loud for the world to hear. Not long after, another one cued up while I was driving him to school one morning. “A Song For Mama”. Ugh! He reached across the console and “held my hand” yet again and I sobbed like a baby girl. Years later, it was our bittersweet “Mother/Son” dance at The Frog & The Butterfly. That being said, have any of you ever really listened to the words?
You taught me everything and everything you’ve given me – I’ll always keep it inside. You’re the driving force in my life. There isn’t anything or anyone that I could be, and it just wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t have you by my side. You were there for me to love and care for me when skies were gray. Whenever I was down, you were always there to comfort me, and no one else can be what you have been to me. You will always be the girl in my life for all times. Mama you know I love you. Mama you’re the queen of my heart. Your love is like tears from the stars, yes it is. Mama I just want you to know lovin’ you is like food to my soul. You’re always there for me, have always been around for me even when I was bad. You showed me right from my wrong. Yes you did. And you took up for me when everyone was downin’ me. You always did understand. You gave me strength to go on. There were so many times looking back when I was so afraid, and then you’d come to me and say to me I can face anything. And no one else can do what you have done for me. You’ll always be the girl in my life. Mama you know I love you. Mama you’re the queen of my heart. Your love is like tears from the stars. Mama I just want you to know – Lovin’ you is like food to my soul. Never gonna go a day without you. {Boyz 2 Men}
So, imagine you’re an impressionable young boy, or even a grown man who’s never had a mama to sing these words to? Worse yet, imagine you’re a boy who’s “mama” just got up and bolted because she was a self-consumed, vile excuse of a woman who took the utmost honor of motherhood and spat both it and her children upon the ground? Meanwhile, it seems that lately “all men are the devil” is the flavor of the day, but I gotta tell ya, those words will bring the actual DEVIL out of me! Unless you can prove that you have, indeed, known every man who is now or ever was, then man bashing “all men” makes you a moron and bigot. More so than that, however …
Anything men can do, WE can do better!
Well, then SUCK IT UP Rosie The Riveter, come down from your sanctimony, and shove that fuckin’ hammer that destroyed “the heart of the home” as the world once knew it right up your “I AM WOMAN! HEAR ME HAMMER!” ass, ’cause with that train of thought …
Anything MEN can fuck up, WE can fuck up BETTER!
Hey, ladies? Sometimes when you’re dealing with a “devil of a man”, the best thing to do is take a good hard look in the mirror. Have any of you ever stopped to consider that maybe you’re the one manifesting the devil out of him? Ya get what ya give, know what I’m sayin’? And by the way, don’t forget where we came from:
THEIR RIB!
I’m an ecumenical abuser, my friends. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose, so let’s stop pointing the finger at the other gender and just do a better job managing our own “roles” and business.
For fuck’s sake, the last time I checked, most people don’t even know what they want or need from the opposite sex, and God forbid a man tries to tell a woman what he needs, lest he be dubbed “weak”, shamed for showing his emotions, and emasculated for having (… drum roll, please …) “feelings”! I literally just puked in my own mouth!
We’re ALL human!
We’re ALL a hot mess!
We ALL make mistakes!
We can ALL be the devil from time to time!
The sobering truth is that the woman’s hand that was meant to rock the cradle, not destroy it! We’re the Earth, the Sun, the Moon, the stars and the entire COSMOS to the babies we carry. Even wild animals know this to be true and often do much better jobs raising their young than some of those “things” running around this bitch with wombs. I mean, HELLO? Do you KNOW where the black hole my husband finally succumbed to the night he swallowed that hollow point began? His “mother THING” threw him away the day he was born. Yet, even CROCODILE “mamas” instinctually know better than to either CAUSE or BRING harm to their nest.
But I’ve digressed …
Now, does a good, strong, emotionally wealthy and present father bear any value in raising a child? OF COURSE HE DOES! Do ya think I’m effing stupid? But you see, “mother love” is the fuel that supplies this world with the most valuable energy of all, and as that supply is steadily dwindling, huMANity is fucking FLAILING!
“Mama” is the only one who can make a human being, so “mama” is the one who wields the most power to SHATTER a human being irreparably. For every toxic “devil of a man” roaming this planet and giving “some men” a really bad wrap, chances are that you can trace his fucked up ways back to the hands of a worthless “mama” who didn’t rock his cradle. Sorry. NOT sorry! It’s the Jean-Claude Van DAMN cold hard truth, and I don’tcare what anyone has to say about it.
I thank GOD for the truly good men in this world. I respect them, value them, worry for them, and PRAY FOR THEM! I cherish and HONOR men as the strong towers they were intended to be. You see, I am a woman who’s been lucky enough to have been loved by not one, but TWO of the most beautiful KINGS who ever walked this Earth (make that three if you count my son) and often thank God that I wasn’t actually BORN a man. From the moment they draw their first breath, they’re expected to bear the literal weight of the world on their shoulders, and “stay at home trophy husband” usually ain’t an option for ’em. It’s a brutal reality that so many women take for granted.
If you are a man-hating biotch, you are NOT my people. Actually? You’re gross and the majority of what’s wrong with this world we’re ALL fucking up. So, take your “toxic masculinity” double standards of BULLSHIT back home to your family, cook some fuckin’ chicken for the man in your life if you’re lucky enough to have one, and get the HELL out of my Diary PRONTO!
Oh, and one last thing …
If you’re a man who’s reading this right now and thinking that every woman in this world wants your head on a stake and for you to burn in an actual place called Hell, here’s at least one woman that “sees you”. I’m especially sorry if you’re a motherless son due to the unnatural cause of “her choice”. That sucks, it’s not fair, and there’s a silent tear eternally running through my soul for you every day.
Would you do ANYTHING to protect the sanctity of your children’s environment, “mental wealth”, and well-being? Or are you one of those SELFISH MOMS who merely drags the children you were blessed with along through your carnival of “me, me, ME” bullshit and drama?
Happy Mother’s Day to all the GOOD moms out there! You’re the hands that rock the cradle! To all the rest of you girls who are lucky enough to call themselves “mom”, yet treat your children as an accessory if and when it’s convenient:
You’re the hands that DESTROY the cradle and the babies that were in them. You’ll be keeping the mental health system alive until the end of time. At least you’re doing your part to boost the economy, right? CONGRATS little girls! Not only are you GROSS and DISGUSTING – but YOU are primarily what’s wrong with this fucked up world we all live in! Yah, I said that! Sorry. NOT sorry! … “Sancti-MOM-Ius”
The time really has come to break the silence. Although, by this point one can clearly see that I have long been relentlessly breaking silences all the while.
Indeed, there are so many truths behind the rage, insanity, and broken-hearted despair that devoured not only my beautiful husband, but so many countless others that have walked this Earth “abandoned”.
The time has come to break the silence. To tell truth behind the rage. The years of living in denial. The time has come to turn the page. But it’s hard to forgive. Even harder to forget. I am a son without a father. He gave his name and walked away. I am a man, now a father. And I swear my son … oh … will never know that pain. I was a child, I was abandoned. Too young to fight to have a say. Oh God, what seemed so heavy handed made me the man I am today. It’s so hard to forgive. Even harder to forget. I am a son without a father. He gave me his name then walked away. I am a man, now a father. And I swear my son … oh … will never know that pain. I will … I will… be the space between the shadows. I will … I will … be the light inside the sorrow. {Scott Stapp}
While I am more than thankful to claim the highest honor of “mother” of two living children, a son and a daughter, and one angel baby in Heaven, I am ever so mindful as I end this bittersweet day with the heart-breaking awareness that not every child got to celebrate with their mother today. As you’ve already read in the admonishment to his “mother THING” one year ago this day, the abandoned and motherless man who I was honored to call my king began his painful descent into the darkness she left him in that literally devoured him alive and indeed ended the most beautiful chapter of my life.
It wasn’t your fault!
You didn’t deserve that!
So, with that, if you are a mother THAT (not “who”) has abandoned and forsaken a child of her own body, know that the unfathomable wound you left them with will never truly heal. If, on the other hand, you are a child whose “mother THING” abandoned you? Please know that just like the battalion of mothers in this world who understood the magnitude of the job we were given, you are always in my heart and I pray for you daily.
YOU are a gift to this world!
From the depths of my soul, I’m am so sorry that happened to you, but remember this one thing always: Our Father in Heaven DOES NOT make trash!So, “Chin Up! Knuckles Out!”, and never wonder “WHY”. You are loved, needed, and valued here on this Earth.
The fate of a mother is waiting for children. You wait for them while pregnant, you wait for them when they return from nursery. Wait for them when they leave school. You wait for them when they start their life when they come home after a party. You wait for them when they come back from work so they can always find a hot meal. You wait for them with love, with anxiety sometimes with anger that immediately passes when you see them and you can hug them. So make sure your elderly mom doesn’t have to wait any longer. Visit her, love her, hug the one who loved you like no one else ever will. Don’t ever make her wait. Because they age limbs but a mom’s heart never grows old. Love her as you can. No woman will love you like a mother.
I recently stumbled upon the most beautiful passage about “the fate of a mother”, and I couldn’t have said it better myself. Stumble as I may have countless times in my motherhood journey thus far, the gift of all my children has been my highest calling and honor. But what do these words mean to you? You never waited for you son – he only ever waited for you – because you left him, like trash, to die in his own remains.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, your “son” stopped living the day he was born, but it was one year ago today that the hands of Fate threw the very last spin of the wheel that ultimately led to not only his demise, but the end of the most beautiful chapter of my life. Looking back, I can say that the very first hint of change in him was June 5, 2014, as that was truly the day the “rock” that was OUR Zack began crumbling. Slowly, subtly, yet ever so steadily, he began slipping down the hole that devoured him on January 11th this year, but it wasn’t really until May 12th last year that he started coming apart at the seams. I remember that morning as if it were right now, down to exactly where he was standing, what he was wearing, the look of angst on his face, what he was saying, and the tears falling from his eyes. Sufficed to say though, it was “Mother’s Day 2019” that earmarked the beginning of his end.
Still, on the surface, he seemed to have made peace with it all, so he moved on down the road. We made our own little family and he left you all behind in his dust. “Their loss, not mine”, he would say, and he couldn’t have been more right, as none of you were worthy of his presence! Trust me when I tell you that because of our professions, we knew plenty of people who “know them”. The general consensus about all your other Williamsons? You know, the ones you actually managed to want? “They’re selfish, shallow, greedy, social climbing wanna-bes in one of the greatest shows on Earth.” Everything about Zack’s character was so far removed from theirs that no one who realized the familial connection could fathom it. Watching random strangers literally scratch their heads and hearing the things people would say about them were amongst the highest compliments he ever received. He absolutely reveled in knowing that no one could begin to correlate him to “all of them”. But I’ve digressed. Sufficed to say, indeed it was “every Mother’s Day” that hurt him the most, even more so than all the birthdays you forgot as he waited year after year, phone in hand, for you to fucking remember him.
So, with that, today is bittersweet, as not a Mother’s Day had passed since he walked into my life that I wasn’t cherished, celebrated, and placed so high upon the pedestal he built for me that there literally are no words. It was no secret to anyone that your “son” was hell bent on making sure that I was abundantly aware of how revered my role was in not just his life, but my children’s as well, and especially on Mother’s Day. When we first met, he told me about his past and how not just you, but his entire “blood family”, abandoned him for what reason only God knows. He was so ambivalent about the things you people had done to him, but it still outraged me to the core of my being to not only hear the stories of his maternal abandonment and fucked up beyond reason childhood, but to have watch, live and experience the abysmal things his “family” did to him, all of which were completely unacceptable. As for those other “Williamsons” you spat upon this Earth who still get to live and breathe in the very same city where their “brother” slipped through the void? If a stranger were to meet a single one of them and not know who they really are, they’d be so impressed with the personas they present. But his truth is the truth, he spoke it, I witnessed it, and God watched every single bit of it! So, congratulations “mother”! You made self-consumed, dressed up narcissists with the plastic smiles and shallow hearts that only a “THING” like you could possibly be proud of!
Here’s all you really need to know now …
It’s Mother’s Day 2020, and 264 days ago your “son” shot himself in the head with a Springfield handgun and a hollow point bullet at just before midnight. You were nothing to him but a stranger, and what a shame you never knew what an amazing human being you threw away and the gift he was to this world.
Only God knows what was going through his mind in the very last moments of his life, and “what that may have been” will break my heart forever. Alas, he’s at rest now, finally at peace after the legacy of abandonment you chose to burden him with. But here’s what I do know was about the things that were in his mind during the years I was lucky enough to give him the only real home he ever had and the only real love from a woman, other than his Grandma, he had ever known:
Your “son” hurt us all with a broken mind and heart that were jaded beyond comprehension. “He must have had mommy issues” is what some will surely say, and sadly? IT WAS TRUE! He wasn’t quite two when you left him behind – him, and only him – but not your other kids, because for what good reason he could never understand you just didn’t want him like the others! You never turned back to see the tears that burned through his heart every day for the rest of his life.
When your “son” was just a boy, he had to sit in classrooms making Mother’s Day cards that he never really knew what to do with, so, he would tear them up and put them in the garbage as he was leaving the school grounds watching all the other kids being greeted by their mommies as he walked home to nothing all alone!
When your “son” was just a boy, he would go to his friends’ birthdays while his heart physically ached because you apparently couldn’t remember the day he was born. (It was October 5, 1982, just in case you forgot, which by the way, I know you did, since you never once called him on his birthday.)
When your “son” was just a boy, Mother’s Day broke his heart into little, tiny pieces that none of us who really loved him could ever put back together. He cried for you. He ached for you. He longed for you. He dreamt of you. He disappeared inside of himself waiting for you to want him!
Despite all these words and my more than apparent hostility, I have forgiven you and yours to the best of my ability for all the ways you destroyed my beautiful husband, especially given that I wholeheartedly believe that the entire lot of you are truly evil:
I really can forgive anyone for just about anything, and as God is my witness, I HAVE! But I’ll just keeping taking people on a case-by-case basis. The Devil’s Own really do walk among us, but I’m not even sure they’re “people”. They’re a different kind of breed “thing” altogether. I’m not quite sure I’ll ever get to the point that I stop avidly praying that God really DOES sort us all out in the end. I’m just a mortal human, not a god or Jesus Christ, so I’ll just keeping asking for “forgiveness” for not being too excited about the idea of “mercy for the merciless”.
But never will I forget the last ten years watching him try so hard not to break because none of you gave a FUCK about “the Zack of shit”, your “son”, their “brother”. You know, now that I think of it, there were so many things I was prepared to do for your son over the course of our lifetime but having to pick out his urn was never one of them. It’s all good though, because his remains will forever be mine, and not yours, because as he famously and repeatedly said to me:
Catherine, if they couldn’t be bothered with me when I was alive, then they don’t get to have me when I’m dead!
So, with that, Happy Mother’s Day to you, “mother THING” of my fallen king. May you sleep well this night and at the end of every Mother’s Day going forward that you’re able to enjoy with the other kids you did somehow manage to “mother”. Hold your hand over your chest now and breathe in all that you feel.It’s the still beating heart of the one woman in this world that was supposed to love my husband forever! Also? It is my most avid and fervent prayer that one day you will burn in ACTUAL hell!
IN HIS REMAINS
Separate. He sifted through the wreckage. He couldn’t concentrate – searching for a message in the fear and pain. Broken down and waiting for the chance to feel alive. Now in his remains are promises that never came. Set the silence free to wash away the worst of him. Come apart. Falling in the cracks of every broken heart. Digging through the wreckage of your disregard. Sinking down and waiting for the chance, to feel alive. Now in his remains are promises that never came. Set the silence free to wash away the worst of him. Like an army, falling one by one by one. {Linkin’ Park}
The worst mental illness someone can have is any mental illness they are afraid to be honest about for fear of what will people think. So many broken people choose to live behind a mask, perhaps thinking it’s the only way they can protect the people they love, and perhaps even themselves, from the monster that is lurking within them.
Case in point: I just lost my husband to suicide on August 22, 2019. He had been diagnosed with childhood abandonment related depression a year prior. However, no one that thought they knew him had any idea what we had been dealing with at home, such that on August 23rd, when the news “hit the wall” on my Facebook page that he had taken his own life, everyone was shocked beyond belief. No one saw it coming, because he wore a mask. My husband was always the brightest light and happiest face in every room with a larger than life presence. His smile was infectious. But behind every one of his smiles, jokes, and laughter, he was secretly dying inside. He believed for the longest time he could manifest his depression away by “faking it until he made it”, but sadly, that was not to be. He literally drowned inside himself, and the demons that had been circling his living carcass for his entire lifetime finally won.
I personally believe that mental illness is still such a stigmatic issue that people who are suffering in silence are less likely to be forthright about their situations and seek the help they need for fear that in doing so they will be seen as weak, crazy, ungrateful, or just plain lazy.
“Mentally” and “ill” are not two words people want to be associated with in conversation. I myself struggled with a debilitating mental illness of my own for many years, so I do have that very personal point of reference as well. I was ashamed of myself and so afraid to let people see what was really going on inside of me for fear of “what would people think”. So, I, too, hid it behind a mask with the biggest smile I could fake. Thankfully I survived to tell about it.
I’ve been writing incessantly about both my, my husband’s, and even my beautiful daughter’s mental health journeys in “The Diary Of My Perfection” and specifically wrote a piece that I believe correlates to this topic in an entry entitled “SOLITARY: Life Behind A Mask” if anyone cares to read further on my perspective with this. It’s a commentary on The Joker movie, which I believe was a sobering eye-opener on this subject and really delves right into what I am saying.
This is a great question, by the way, and an extremely important one at that. Chances are that someone you know, and perhaps even someone very close to you, could be hiding behind a mask of their own and fighting an invisible monster alone in solitary. It’s imperative that as a society we find a way to enable those who are living in such darkness to take off their masks and start walking towards a light. The more awareness we bring to this? The more lives will be saved!
My own husband, Zachariah, who I lost to suicide on August 22, 2019. He was the Godsend game changer for me and my two kids, larger than life with a heart of gold, but had been abandoned by the “mother THING” that (not “who”) left him for good at 18 months. While I suppose his father did the best he could with the lack of parenting skills he had, he was then and is still but a child himself, and even managed to leave his son behind in death. Growing up, my husband was left alone frequently from a very young age, and his basic needs were never properly tended to. Eventually, even his siblings discarded him.
The abandonment issues that led to his mental illness were further complicated by the fact that for some unknown reason the “mother” managed to have a maternal relationship with the older siblings she’d had with the same father, just not him. Again, his entire family left him on the proverbial curb of life. Not just the mother, but neither his father or siblings could be bothered with him. His two older brothers would often refer to him as the “Zack of shit”, and although he would laugh about in their presence, those words haunted him incessantly. This heartless, selfish, and shallow brood of people shattered his heart into pieces that could never be fully put back together.
There were demons living in the hole they burned in his soul we fought desperately to keep him from drowning in, but in the end, the demons won. In the last months of his life, it appeared that he was in the early stages of some type of psychosis or schizophrenia. He’d been hearing voices, seeing things that weren’t there, missing blocks of time, and ultimately just vanished completely within himself. He said “he couldn’t feel anything anymore“, and honestly, we lost him MONTHS before he put that gun to his head. It was a living nightmare to witness and the worst kind of heartbreak to suffer. He literally died of a broken heart that led to his mental illness and suicide, but not before he hurt not only me, but even more so our daughter VERY badly. The trauma he visited upon her in his final “separated from self” state of mind is beyond comprehension, and one that may take her a lifetime to heal from.
I’ve been writing tirelessly about not only his, but my mental health journey as well, in “The Diary Of My Perfection“. I’d be honored if any of you would care to read, follow, or share it, as it is now my mission to try and be a Light in other people’s darkness. In the meantime, thank you for the many kind words and support of this post. It means everything to me. I cannot let either his lost battle with mental illness (or anyone else’s for that matter) have been in vain.
Although I do believe it’s “possible” for childhood trauma to be “repaired”, I do not believe that the resulting residual or collateral damage can ever be “reversed”. Under optimal circumstances and with a healthy support system, if a person can first revisit, acknowledge, and accept the trauma itself, it is possible that they can then attain the coping skills and mechanisms necessary to carry them through their adulthood “if and when” the trauma rears it’s head. You can forgive, accept, acknowledge and even make peace with it … BUT … you can never forget or erase it. As an adult survivor of childhood trauma of my own, I speak from experience in this regard. Thankfully, however, I did.
Unfortunately, I also have first hand experience on the flip side of this coin; that is, “irreversible childhood trauma”. My husband, who I recently lost to suicide this past August 22, 2019, suffered from extreme childhood trauma that sadly proved to be the death of him. He was larger than life with a heart the size of an ocean, but had been thrown away like garbage by his “mother THING” at birth. She abandoned him permanently at 18 months, and although his father did the best he could, he was and still is nothing but a child himself. He was left alone frequently from a very young age and his basic needs were never properly attended to.
Unfortunately, he never even realized that his “Abandoned Child Syndrome” existed until five years into our marriage, but once he was faced with the sobering truths of his childhood, every bit of strength and fortitude he’d managed to muster and thus survive with in his life of solitude before us, the first and only real home and family he’d ever had, began to slip right out from under him. The abandonment issues that led to his mental illness were further complicated by the fact that not just his mother, but his entire family abandoned him.They literally shattered his heart into pieces that could never fully be put back together.
There were demons living inside of the hole the “mother” left inside his soul that he tried desperately to swim out of it. We tried desperately to keep him from drowning in it. In the end, the demons won. The last few months of his life it appeared as though he was in the early stages of some type of dissociative psychosis, if not schizophrenia. He’d been hearing voices, seeing things, missing “blocks of time”, and ultimately just disappeared inside himself. He said “he couldn’t feel anything anymore”, and honestly, we lost him months before he put that gun to his head. It was a living nightmare to watch and the worst kind of heartbreak to witness. I appreciate any of you who are reading this by the way. It’s tough to digest, much less conceive, but the truth nonetheless. His “traumatic childhood” LITERALLY “broke his heart”.
I understand that you are upset right now and maybe a little with me too. All I am asking you at this point for HIS sake and for the sake of all that he went through while he was here on this Earth is that you please try to come to terms with his truths. His realities. His last wishes and decisions. That note he left us was a gift. IT WAS FOR US, NOT FOR THEM! You, me, Gia and Rick? We were “his family”! No one else! Those words he wrote in his suicide note were not intended for either the general public, the world at large and most ESPECIALLY the “family” that threw him away like garbage! I will always consider you my family D. And in my journey to speak his truths I will never fail to credit you for being the only brother he had because that is how he saw it! That’s how he spoke of you and that’s what he made painfully clear to anyone that paid attention. He always felt that you were “caught in a void” between “all of them and the truth” because maybe copping to the sobering facts was going to be as painful for you to bear as it was for him. When Zack made the decision to excise them and the “thought of them” from his heart it was a bittersweet and painful gift to unto himself.
So, that’s all there is to it. Rick and I are here for you when you’re ready to talk true facts. I truly hope you can be well someday. He worried about you incessantly and I cannot say it enough! It always bothered the fuck out of him how you let them treat you like a revolving door, only using you as they needed you, in and out, in and out, and there was nothing he could do or say to convince you to stand up for yourself and say ENOUGH and walk away like he did! He kept praying you’d find a family of your own one day, a nice, safe, loving woman to finally give you a real home and some joy and healing and peace so that you’d finally “not need to accept their bullshit scraps and leftovers”. Your brother’s legacy “before he got sick” will carry on somehow – I’LL MAKE SURE OF IT! You need to do everything you can to honor him and all that has happened here and start finding a way to, in fact, say the words: NO MORE SCRAPS AND LEFTOVERS!
And for the record, regardless of how it appears on the surface there is no “hatred” in my heart for anyone involved here. I feel nothing for the people that destroyed my beautiful husband from the cradle to the grave! Nothing! Absolutely NOTHING! They aren’t worth my energy! If anything, I feel sorry for them all because they missed out on REALLY knowing one THE BEST human souls that ever walked this planet. They missed out on his “best 10 years” and getting to see him flourish. Smile. Succeed. Grow. Be fearless. Courageous. Change. Become self-aware and strong (much stronger than he even knew). Experience joy. Laughter. Happiness. They missed out on getting to know what an amazing human being, husband, brother, friend and DAD he was to Gia! We got the BEST of him. Everything good he ever did, was or could have possibly been, WE GOT TO HAVE AND WITNESS IT. He was a fucking miracle and you can’t not know it’s true. With all the odds stacked against him, statistically the last 10 years should probably have never happened. He was the frog who turned into a prince and then eventually into a king – he just needed love, and a home and a family to get there. And? HE FINALLY HAD IT! It’s just that the holes your mother left inside his broken heart were deeper than any of us know and he couldn’t find his way out of them anymore. He got too tired and fell. THEY ALL FAILED HIM MISERABLY AND YOU KNOW IT! I’m sorry if this upsets you. I just want you to help me honor, validate and hold ALL his many painful truths and realities up to the light. It’s the right thing to do and I WILL NOT HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY!
{Text To “Brother” dated September 12, 2019}
As of this night, December 28, 2019, neither of the only two “blood family” he’d ever believed he could rely on to be there when all of his cards were down bothered to “come and get him”. These are the keepsake urns that Rick and I had made for each of them on the day he and I went alone to make the arrangements for my husband because neither of them could be bothered. Somehow, we both foolishly believed that for once in his life or his death at least one of them would finally just show up for him! “Taking him home” is no longer an option for either of them at this point, however, as I would rather spread these ashes amongst the footsteps of his ancestors in all the places he dreamed of going than let anyone treat him like “scrap” ever again!
FAR FROM HOME
Another day in this carnival of souls. Another night’s end ends as quickly as it goes. The memories are shadows, ink on the page. And I can’t seem to find my way home. And it’s almost like your Heaven’s trying everything. Your Heaven’s trying everything to keep me out. All the places I’ve been and things I’ve seen. A million stories that made up a million shattered dreams. The faces of people I’ll never see again, and I can’t seem to find my way home. ‘Cause it’s almost like your heaven’s trying everything to break me down. ‘Cause it’s almost like your heaven’s trying everything to keep me out. To break me down. {Five Finger Death Punch}
… to this very day and minute, October 5, 1982, 9:51am, not only I and my children, but this world as a whole received one of the most beautiful gifts I never knew I would have until that moment our eyes locked so many years later in October of 2008.
It was written in the stars, on the pages of my heart, oh that someday I would find the love I feel for you … On the ocean of our dreams, like a prayer you came to me. And the longing that had been found its ending in your eyes …
There are no words to describe the bittersweet emotions I am raw with at this moment. “One man’s trash really IS another man’s treasure“, and God Himself knows this is true. She may have thrown you away, but you were indeed my greatest treasure, other than those I have given birth to myself. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZACHARIAH. Your battle is finally over.
… when it’s been 21 days since the king of your heart fell off his throne after a lifetime of battling the darkness that became him after his “mother THING” all but threw him away the day that he was born and you’re finally able to open his phone for the first time looking for any answers you can find. Then, there it is, right in front of your sobbing eyes … his “daily affirmation”. He really was “doing the best that he could”. I know it in my heart. God please let him finally be resting in peace.
I have nothing left to give. I have found the perfect end. You were made to make it hurt. Disappear into the dirt. Carry me to heaven’s arms. Light the way and let me go. Take the time to take my breath. I will end where I began. And I will find the enemy within ’cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin. Dear Agony: Just let go of me. Suffer slowly. Is this the way it’s got to be? Dear Agony. Suddenly the lights go out. Let forever drag me down. I will fight for one last breath. I will fight until the end. And I will find the enemy within ’cause I can feel it crawl beneath my skin. Dear Agony: Just let go of me. Suffer slowly. Is this the way it’s got to be? Don’t bury me faceless enemy. I’m so sorry. Is this the way it’s gotta be? Dear Agony: Leave me alone. God let me go. I’m blue and cold. Black sky will burn. Love pull me down. Hate lift me up. Just turn around. There’s nothing left. Somewhere far beyond this world. I feel nothing anymore.
~ Zachariah Lucas Williamson
***
Although his death certificate says “FOUND AUGUST 23, 2019”:
It was AUGUST 22, 2019, the night that changed everything for me and mine. It was the night my husband took his own life, and yes, I physically “felt it happen”. Sufficed to say that there are still so many parts of that night and what led up to it that are very unclear in my mind, as this trauma has obviously affected both me and our daughter in unimaginable and irreversible ways.
That being said, what I do vividly remember was sitting in a room alone trying to get a hold of myself and wrap my head around what was happening to my family. Then, at just before midnight, I felt it! I had an adrenalin dump and it felt like someone had punched me in the gut and knocked the wind out of me. I literally couldn’t breathe. The next morning, August 23rd, the police chief of our town came to find me in the hospital where our daughter was being treated for her own resulting trauma and suicidal thoughts as a result of what he’d done. As he headed toward me with “that look” on his face, I already knew what he was going to say.
“Mrs. Williamson, we did, unfortunately, locate your husband in his car this morning with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. I am so sorry to inform you that he is, in fact, deceased.”
At which point I fell to the ground with a guttural wail that I’m told could be heard throughout the hospital. He went on to say that although they had found his body at 8:30 that morning, the coroner had estimated that he’d already been dead somewhere between 10 to 12 hours, which was confirmation that my physical manifestation of his death the prior night was correct.
Cut my life into pieces. I’ve reached my last resort. Suffocation. No breathing. Don’t give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding. Do you even care if I die bleeding? Would it be wrong? Would it be right? If I took my life tonight? Chances are that I might. Mutilation out of sight, and I’m contemplating suicide. ‘Cause I’m losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. I never realized I was spread too thin ’til it was too late, and I was empty within. Hungry, feeding on chaos and living in sin. Downward spiral, where do I begin? IT ALL STARTED WHEN I LOST MY MOTHER! No love for myself, and no love from another. Searching to find a lover on a higher level. Finding nothing but questions and devils. ‘Cause I’m losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I’m fine. Nothing is alright. Nothing is fine. I’m running and I’m cryin’.
Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof? You’re scaring us, and all of us (some of us) love you. Achilles, it’s not much but there’s proof. You crazy ass cosmonaut, remember your virtue. Redemption lies plainly in truth. Just humor us Achilles. Achilles come down! Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?
Achilles!
Achilles!
Achilles, come down!
Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof? The self is not so weightless, nor whole and unbroken. Remember the pact of our youth? Where you go I’m going, so jump and I’m jumping since there is no me without you. Soldier on Achilles. Achilles come down! Won’t you get up off, get up off the roof?
Loathe the way they light candles in Rome, but love the sweet air of the votives. Hurt and grieve but don’t suffer alone. Engage with the pain as a motive. Today of all days see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you’ll rise above.
Achilles!
Achilles!
Achilles, jump now!
You are absent of cause or excuse. So self-indulgent and self-referential. No audience could ever want you. You crave the applause yet hate the attention, then miss it. Your act is a ruse. It is empty Achilles, so end it all now. It’s a pointless resistance for you.
Achilles!
Achilles, just put down the bottle!
Don’t listen to what you’ve consumed. It’s chaos, confusion, and wholly unworthy of feeding, and it’s wholly untrue. You may feel no purpose, nor a point for existing. It’s all just conjecture and gloom. And there may not be meaning, so find one and seize it. Do not waste yourself on this roof.
Hear those bells ring deep in the soul chiming away for a moment. Feel your breath course frankly below. See life as a worthy opponent! Today of all days, see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you’ll rise above. Crowned by an overture bold and beyond. Ah, it’s more courageous to overcome!
You want the acclaim, the mother of mothers. (It’s not worth it Achilles.)
More poignant than fame or the taste of another. (Don’t listen Achilles.)
But be real and just jump you dense motherfucker. (You’re worth more Achilles.)
You will not be more than a rat in the gutter. (So much more than a rat.)
You want my opinion, my opinion you’ve got. (No one asked your opinion.)
You asked for my counsel, I gave you my thoughts. (No one asked for your thoughts.)
Be done with this now and get off the roof! Can you hear me Achilles? I’m talking to you. I’m talking to you. I’m talking to you. Achilles come down! Achilles come down! Throw yourself into the unknown with pace and a fury defiant. Clothe yourself in beauty untold and see life as a means to a triumph. Today of all days, see how the most dangerous thing is to love. How you will heal and you’ll rise above. Crowned by an overture bold and beyond. Ah, it’s more courageous to overcome!
I don’t wanna die alone. I don’t wanna live forsaken. I refuse to let this go. Because my soul is breaking. I don’t wanna let you know that my heart is just so jaded. I refuse to let it show. I refuse to let it go. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between I refuse. I’ve always walked alone. I chose the path less taken. I refuse to let you win. Life’s a bitch and I’ve been shaken. It’s not a joke at all. Inside my spirits fading. I refuse to take the fall ’cause no one cares at all. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between. I refuse. ‘Cause at the end of the day I’m not you. I refuse. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between. Wake me up when this is over. I’m tired of living life like it’s a dream. Please wake me up when it’s all over. I’m tired of living right here in between. {Five Finger Death Punch}
As you can see, I’m desperately trying to be as transparent as possible as I journey through this nightmare I’m living out loud, as I refuse to just sit back and let the broken roads each member of this family has traveled thus far have been in vain. My story? HIS story? My daughter’s? My son’s? They will have made a difference in the life of at least one other broken soul that’s lingering hopelessly out there in this world somewhere if it takes my last breath to do it.
Zack reminded us all so much of Robin Williams’, one of my favorite icons. He was larger than life. Always smiling. Always positive. Always the biggest presence in the room! He couldn’t stand to see anyone sad, so, he would make us all laugh until our sides hurt. Yes, he was the biggest clown I’ve ever met! At the same time though, he was intensely serious about everything he tackled in life, and as witty as he could be, his timing was always perfect. With him? There was a time to laugh, a time to cry, a time to play, a time to dig in deep and get to work, but always a time to just “Good Morning Vietnam” it!
On Thursday, August 8th, 2019, things seemed to be looking up. It was his day off, but we’d decided to split up for the day so I could take Gia for school shopping and lunch while he ran some errands of his own. When he walked out the door, he seemed to be in genuinely good spirits, and as you can see from our credit card statement, we’d all had a productive day. Me? Shopping. Having lunch with our daughter. Living life in the moment and excited for the double date later that night with our sweethearts. We were happy. We had a family. We had a home. We had a KING waiting for us at that home who loved us both more than words could say. He was our everything. HE WAS OUR ROCK!
But what abouthim that day? What don’t we see in this picture of him smiling at Pinstack? “Our rock” was literally crumbling before our eyes and had already made the decision to end his life. This charge you see at “CAB STORE ALLEN”? While Gia and I were eating lunch, he was at Cabella’s buying the Springfield he put to his head 14 days later:
So, there you have it. What you see hiding behind another one’s smile isn’t always joy, peace, and happiness, and these pictures are a sobering example of this tragic truth. Although we knew he was struggling, no one knew how close to the end of the story he really was. He was dying a slow, painful, agonizing death within his own mind … we just couldn’t see it. I’m sorry that I’m not sorry if this post upsets anyone because perhaps it’s too transparent, but there’s a poignant statement made in these pictures that I felt was important to share. Maybe the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy because they know what it’s like to feel worthless and they don’t want anyone else to feel that way.
UNTIL THE DAY I DIE
The waters rise. The light declines. But I’m not turning back from here. Voices are crying. Corpses remind that most don’t make it to the end. Look to the sky. Take back what’s mine. This life can be a cemetery. This life can be a shallow grave. I’ll never be a casualty. I’ll never bow before I break. I’ll stand and fight. Until the day I die. I left the known to walk alone ’cause to remain was suicide. The “could’ve been”. Stood up again ’cause not to try was just to die. Maybe I’m wrong. But it’s my right. I’ll face the night. I’ll find the light. Look to the sky. Take back what’s mine. I’ll stand and fight. Until the day I die.” {Like A Storm}
My husband wrote this for Gia in June because he believed, and it’s true, that they shared similarly broken hearts. Now, in reading it a second time, I realize he was actually writing about himself. Ten years ago my husband saved my life, and hers. In the end, it was him that needed to be saved … but I couldn’t do it.
“SHARDS”
I finally broke and my mind came undone. My body gave way as I hit the floor. My heart shattered. I lacked the strength to even pick up these pieces as they spilled across the floor while they looked at me in disapproval for the “mess” and inconvenience I made for them, but I gathered them up none the less as the whip cracked and scarred my back pushing me begrudgingly forward. I didn’t know what to do with what was left of me. I had never come this far apart. I was just a little [boy]. I just wanted to give up. Lay down. You know the rest. There is a crack deep in my soul that is still healing, but some days I feel as though it is only getting bigger. I thought I would never be strong enough to stand on my own and finally get my “shit” together. Could I find enough love for myself to make these jagged pieces worth putting together? I have looked to find strength in so many ”things” because I feel it is not within me, but deep down inside I know it is there. One day soon I will gather up these pieces again. Fit them together the way they are supposed to go. These shards will become my strength. My protection. My weapons against further abuses of my worth and love. The strength is gathering within me – I’m not little anymore! They shoved me on to the path of adulthood and I will show those who have wronged me my wrath, which will only be overshadowed by the ferocity of my love that is and was the best thing they will never have known. I spent so much time seeking their approval, when it was MY approval and favor, they should have been looking for all along.
Hey [big brother] can you give me a call. I have a favor to ask. We need a copy of your birth certificate to help me get a passport because of my jacked up birth certificate. I’ll explain.
Catherine, he STILL can’t be bothered to help me. It’s as if I don’t matter or even exist. I guess some things will never change.
We now have three of what appear to be the only school pictures that exist of him. Meanwhile, a local congressman had become aware of his abandonment and complete lack of identity and has intervened so he may finally have official recognition as a citizen and hopefully even a U.S. Passport! My husband is our hero and there are no words to describe how lucky we are that “they” have all forsaken him, because HE BELONGS TO US! Their loss is our EVERYTHING! He’s a man on a pedestal as long as he roams this Earth (and surely after he leaves it), and thank you GOD that he chose me and mine to finally call “his home”. And so, with that, HAPPY BIRTHDAY WILLIAMSON!This world is a much better place with you in it!
MIRACLE
Say it once. Tell me twice. Are you certain I’m alright? Just a sign to remind me tomorrow’s worth the fight. Ever changing – the story line that keeps me alive. So make a wish and say: Give me life. Give me love. Star lit angel from above. Not so low. Not so high. Keep it perfectly disguised. Ever changing – the story line that keeps me alive. My Mona Lisa’s making me smile right before my eyes. Take another look. Take a look around. Its you and me, it’s here and now. As you sparkle in the sky I’ll catch you while I can ’cause all we are is all I am. I just want you to see what I’ve always believed … You are the miracle in me. Show me faith like you do. I’m amazed at how you move. Side to side, front to back – you know how to make it last. Ever changing – the story line that keeps us alive. My Mona Lisa’s making me smile. {Shinedown}
The Diary Of My Perfection 
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