I watched an episode of GREY’S ANATOMY recently and as simple as it was it was powerful. As most of them are! This one starred only three people from the show, so it was kind of like their own mini Grey’s. Which just so happened to star two of my absolute faves from the show. The couple that no one saw coming many seasons ago. There is always drama between the two and right now in the series they are divorced and sharing custody of their little girl. They are that couple in any show you are drawn to because they are always fighting and never on the same page and yet, you can see the love they still have for one another if they could just get their shit together. The couple you are always rooting for in the end to have the happily ever after we all seek.

Sometimes, I hate this show because just when I think I am out and I will not watch it anymore, the storyline pulls me back in, Damned you, Shonda Rhimes (the writer of this show)! I can’t shake it no matter how many seasons I have to sit through. This episode was one of those that kept me on the edge of my seat. It struck a chord with me. The handsome successful doctor and rich, did I mention rich? The rich, handsome successful doctor who you would think has no issues whatsoever runs into his deadbeat dad that ran off when he was just a baby. The son is floored when the father doesn’t even recognize him. He just asks if he is good and clears the table he is sitting at. The son later says to his ex, “I just sat there and sat across the room I figured eventually he would see me and recognize… something. My face, my eyes, just anything and all I got was, you good? Literally, that was it no recognition or nothing. Like I was… anyone, no one.”

I got to thinking about this and I felt horrible for this guy. Grown men crying really get to me.  It was amazing that his dad couldn’t even recognize his own son, standing in front of him. It was a shock even to me,  I guess that is why this show is so, good. This was a real life situation taken to the screen and I am sure there were hundreds, if not thousands, that could relate. It was a heartbreaking moment when he finally confronted his dad and all his father wanted to do was chat like they were old friends. Not I love. Not I am sorry I left you.  There was nothing in his tone or even his eyes that said he regretted his choice to abandon his son. Meanwhile, the rich, handsome, doctor was clearly falling to pieces inside.

I used to feel as if  I would be better off if I hadn’t known one or both of my parents and yet, this show made me realize no matter how awful my parents are. At least they acknowledge I am their kid. There should be some kind of detector built into the parents that after many years apart willing or otherwise, they should be able to recognize their kid. Something in their DNA should speak to them, right?

With the woman he secretly still loved by his side, the rich, handsome, doctor, eventually overcame and instead of staying silent he finally told his father everything he had felt for so many years. Silence kills! I have had that moment when you are pushed to the limit and either has to speak out against those that have wronged you or let it rot you from the inside out. I have felt the dread that silence can weigh on you. I have felt the act of being silent while silently screaming on the inside.  Clawing your insides to shreds, while passively looking the other way. It will eventually kill you, or you implode!

I was proud of the rich, handsome, doctor because he told his father he had a daughter when the father asked and as the father said,”Oh, I am a grandfather”. The rich, handsome, doctor replied with,” No, you are not a grandfather, my mom’s a wonderful grandmother, and you seem like a decent guy, but your not a father. I figure when you have a kid you’re making a promise and I don’t break my promises. That’s the difference between you and me. Take care, Robert. I am really glad I met you. Goodbye.” Then he just walked out like a boss. It was in that moment I got choked up. I know the sheer relief you feel after having told someone. “Hey, you didn’t break me. You weren’t strong enough to make me just like you. You don’t deserve my silence”!

It takes a brave soul to face their tormentors., and get past the fear and pain. We all just want to be heard. We all just want to be seen and accepted for who and what we are.

If you have seen GREY’S ANATOMY you should know that in the beginning and the end of the show one of the doctors always narrates something pertaining to that particular episode. This one was no different only it was the rich, handsome, doctor that narrated this time and what he said will stay with me always. I would like to share it with all of you. It is the reason for this blog…

In the beginning,  he said,



and at the end,


Thank you, Shonda Rhimes, for inspiring this blog. Remember, Silence, Always, Kills, You!




Do you remember your first steps, your first words, your first day of school?

How about your first love, that first moment, that first kiss?

I have been having a lot of dreams lately where I meet someone and I am as giddy as a school girl. The anticipation, the exhilaration you feel not being able to breathe until you see them again. Then comes the sheer heart-stopping breath-catching moment of that first kiss. Maybe I miss it.

I have been with my husband for almost two decades and he is the love of my life, and yet it saddens me that we will never have any firsts again! He asked me just the other day if I remember our first kiss and I lied and said no. I don’t know why I just did.

You know I was watching HITCH a few days ago and WILL SMITH’S character said a woman knows everything she needs to know about you in that first kiss. I believe it to be true. I have had many first kisses in my day but that last one, it took the cake! I knew from the moment our lips touched it was meant to be. The way our mouths fit perfectly together like two puzzle pieces that found each other after years of separation. A lifetime of kisses never prepared me for the heat that radiated through my body. The electrical current that zipped up my spine. The pure ecstasy in our first kiss. How the hell could I forget that kiss?

We ravaged each other following that first kiss like wild animals and I have never looked back. We have been together for a very long time and yet lately the sadness has set in that I may never feel the excitement of that first kiss again. Don’t get me wrong every kiss with him is special and I am always comforted by the fact that we still fit as if we were meant to be. Yet, the burning heat that used to course through me no longer exist. I have been so comfortable for so long in the security of my relationship that it took me this long to realize all the firsts I would miss. I guess that’s a good thing since I have been with my husband almost twenty years.

Honestly, I am glad of where I am in my relationship considering that my parents are serial divorces. Yet, I wonder if we will ever have any firsts again. I guess I will always have the memory of the way I felt, my blood pressure rising at the anticipation, the sweaty palms, and then the electricity of that first lighting bolt of that first kiss.

Do you remember your first kiss?



The words dripped like acid from her tongue. She had had enough of his drunken violence. Her left eye still swollen shut from his last drunken stupor, she only saw red out of her one good eye. She had been beaten and raped for most of her young life and yesterday when he had come home from a week-long bender leaving her to fend for herself almost starving to death in the process she snapped. It wasn’t good as he too snapped and almost beat her to death, for back talking. This man, this monster wasn’t her real dad. He was just the guy her mom happened to be dating when she mysteriously disappeared and left Savannah two years ago in the hands of this man.

He was so violent Savannah knew he must have killed her and disposed of the body somehow. Her mother loved her. She would never abandon Savannah unless something was wrong. She had tried to escape many times to find out what had happened to her mother and yet Rick had made that impossible as he had barred all the windows and doors years ago. The only way in or out of this house was with a key that he used to lock her in when he went out. The key now gleaming like a beacon around his neck.

Today she was 16, alone and scared she knew her escape was now or never. She didn’t want to kill him, she didn’t want his vile blood on her hands. She didn’t want to add to the memories already tarnishing her soul, and yet, she would if she had to. Even after all he had done to her over the years she still did not wish him dead, No matter how many times she had dreamed about just that. This was it she would get that key and leave one way or another today. She could almost taste her freedom a few feet away just on the other side of the front door.

“You stupid little bitch! Do you think I would make it that easy for you?  You wouldn’t dare use that gun on me!” Rick exclaimed. Savannah almost giggled at the dark red shade his face was turning. She had never seen him this angry before and if it weren’t for the fact that he was having trouble even standing as he was still drunk from the night before, she would be afraid of him. But not today, today she would escape his filthy clutches and finally have her freedom. Today she was not afraid of the poor excuse of a man standing in front of permeating the stench of stale liquor. Today she would be free of this monster even of it killed her to do so. One way or another today, she would finally win.

The gun in her hand was steady and the look she gave him was one of pure focus. He must of, sensed her determination because he began to stumble toward her with a look of pure hate on his face. Savannah didn’t budge as he loomed in front of her. The hammer being cocked on the gun broke the silence of the room. Causing Rick to pause in his pursuit of her. He stopped so suddenly that he actually tripped over his own feet and before Savannah could shout out a warning he went flying backward into the glass coffee table shattering it in the process.

As if in slow motion she watched in awe unable to turn away at the hideous sight. She cringed at the sound of his bones breaking as he went through the table and the audible pop of his neck as it snapped and broke. She knew he was dead before he hit the floor. Savannah waited for a heartbeat in the silence of the room before she raced over to snatch the key from around Rick’s neck. He was face up and she just knew that his cold lifeless eyes would haunt her forever. “Huh!” she thought. “Karma’s a bitch and so am I!” She tucked away the gun in the back of her jeans. Snatched the key and ran like the wind.

The bolt unlocking the front door as she turned the key was music to her ears. Tears welled up as she opened it wide and stepped out into the sunlight. She stood there for what felt like ages with the sun shining down on her and the gentle summer breeze wafting through her hair. She opened her eyes and stepped off the porch and onto the sidewalk. It took her two seconds to decide left or right down the street and out of the neighborhood. Choosing left she began running and the tears that had previously threatened to fall poured out of her. The faster she ran the more she cried. The tears were happy tears, she was finally free of her past and now ran toward her future carrying his pistol in her back pocket and clutching her favorite teddy bear as she went.


Some of my worst nightmares took place in a house. A house I have never seen before and yet it was familiar to me.

The house was huge and spacious. Nothing like I could ever have lived in, in my entire life. I have had many a dream inside this house. I can honestly say I have never been there and yet, this house is the star of many a dream. Most of which are horrible, terrifying dreams. Now, I am assuming the experts would say something like this house represents a childhood home or that I see this house as myself. Even google say it can be a representation of a childhood home or it can be something I have never seen before. One thing I have found in my research of “house” dreams was from the HUFFINGTON POST says “It could show you that you could be bigger. If you find more and more rooms in a big house, you may need to be more conscious of pieces of yourself not yet discovered.” I actually like this last interpretation as a writer I struggle to know if I have uncovered the last of myself or is there still more layers to come.

However, these dreams are always filled with a sort of terror that I would never even see in a movie. There is always so much going on that until recently I didn’t realize that I was in the exact same house over the course of several years. The dream always starts out great I am in my new home that I had just purchased and am elated that it is all mine. From the outside, the dream is never anything special but on the inside it is immaculate. With more rooms than I can count it feels as if it is fit for a Queen with hidden corridors and endless space. The plush carpeting that covers certain rooms all a different color to match the walls the antique wooden sconces on the walls. The marble flooring in the kitchen and entryways. The staircase that leads up to forever it seems and it is all dark cherry wood appearing as if from a time forgotten. The very first time I dreamed of this house the dream didn’t last very long it was a beautiful bright warm sunny day as it usually is when I dream of this home and as I was exploring my new dream home I discovered a secret room under the stairs.Since there were no doors to this room I was curious as to how someone would get into the room. I was on the ground floor and the steps were in need of repairs

The very first time I dreamed of this house the dream was very short lived.  It was a beautiful bright warm sunny day as it usually is when I dream of this home and as I was exploring my new dream house I discovered a secret room under the stairs.Since there were no doors to this room I was curious as to how someone would get into the room. I was on the ground floor and the steps were in need of repairs. There were huge gaps in between them big enough that you could peer into and see what lay beyond the stairs,  a scene straight out of any good horror movie. Cobwebs, covered the spaces and as I went to clean them I began to hear a low growling. Now these stairs were diferent  as there were walls built around them and there was a small landing on each floor signalling the next level of the home. Very small space, there were stairs and walls and nothing more.

So when the growling started I ran up the landing onto the next level into a tiny space. Once there I could here scratching in the walls as if whatever was growling under the stairs had actually followed me through the walls. It was trying to get out and I as usual was home alone and there was no one to help me. I climb back down and head for the door just as a skeltal hand reaches in between the rickety steps and tries to grab me. I trip and fall and twist my ankle so I can’t get away when a face appears in between the crooked steps. A sliver of terror races up my spine as it reaches out once more to try and snatch me.. I scream but nothing comes out I see the red demonic eyes of what can only be some sort of other worldly creature watching me, getting more pissed by the second that I am just out of his reach. He reaches through the steps with a swiftness I have never seen before and he smells of sulfer and death the bile rises to my throat as his stench singes my senses and I can even taste his fowlness on my tongue. He reaches out with a clawed green leathery hand and swipes at my face just as the tip of his middle claw grazes my nose I awaken on a peiercing scream that rouses my husband ou of his deep sleep.

As the bedroom light is switched on I am out of breath, my heart is racing, and I can’t stop shaking. The terror of my dream still riding me as if it had really happened. I was actaully able to speak of this happy dream turned nightmare the next day. I was still scared and somehow it took me a while to sleep well after this dream. It wasn’t the house or even the demon that tried to snatch me that terrified me. It was the pure terror and paralizing evilness I felt. It was like the longer the dream lasted the longer the more of my soul was getting pulverized by an unknown evil I have yet to face. That is what made this dream so terrifying, and it would not be the last dream where I felt the soul sucking devil in my dreams.

Always in this house too. Maybe there is something to the dreams or maybe I am the house and the terror I feel is just me being scared I will one day wind up as evil as my mother. Stay tuned to the other dreams I have in this home. Cause we are jsut getting started.


The first thing I did of the many, many idiotic things I did over the course of the next several months to try to forget about the fact that I had just given my child up for adoption. Was joining the Air force.

I only partially blame the recruiter as I never should have joined being so jacked up after the stuff I had recently been through. It was only of those instances that I thought if I ran far enough and fast enough I could possibly outrun my past. I ran so far and so fast I wound up running straight into the Air force and joined up. It was amazingly awful. The recruiter made it sound like it was the answer to my prayers, like a vacation in paradise. Now I knew even then I wasn’t that gullible to think there wouldn’t be some work involved. After all, it is the military for crying out loud. However, I was not mentally prepared for the psychological warfare.

The irony of it all is, that I was told early on that they break you down and then build you up into a fighting machine, and yet, I was already broken down. What then? There is nowhere to go but down even further!  I joined the Air Force to fight the good fight and win the war and yet I was not ready for the war they would play with your psyche! As my mind was already on the cusp of shattering there was no way it could handle everything boot camp threw at me.

It was dark and raining the night I landed at the Airport (first airplane ride ever) There was a group of us that were met by personnel that would shove as many of us as they could into a bus and get us to the base. Once there I stepped off the bus and into the driving rain. It was as if we were in some kind of movie and they were sneaking us onto the base in the dead of night. (I know I’ve seen this movie before it does not end well for the peons.) I stepped off the bus and a chill washed over me as we were immediately yelled at to get in line. I instantly regretted my choice to join. We were told that this was no camp. This was the US Air Force and between the darkness and the screaming the second I stepped off that bus I knew the next six weeks were going to be very scary.

Here we were a bus full of hopefuls all trying to better our situations. All being told the same lies about how great it was, how we would have so much opportunities. I’m sure if you make it out of basic there are great opportunities. If you make it out of the land mine that is basic training, alive! Or at least not be traumatized, however the moment I stepped off that bus in the rain around midnight the bitter cold seeping into my bones I knew that shipped had sailed. It was terrifying for someone that hadn’t really dealt with their issues. It will bring all that trauma to the surface and you will be nothing but a puddle of weeping sadness, and the military is no place to show weakness.They will play on it and break you.



It was tradition for children in the village to be born at dawn. That is why everyone found it surprising when I was born under the cover of darkness,  the witching hour they had called it. The stars were out and the moon was full when my delicate cries broke the silence of the night. Magical, my mother had called it and yet, with my eagerness to enter the world I became a target for ridicule and scorn. By my seventh birthday, my mother and I were banned from our tiny village with nothing to defend ourselves but the clothes on our backs and each other to lean on. My father having been killed five whole months before I was born fighting with bravery for land and food was not there when the thieves, and rapists, and witches and finally the demons came to steal away the lonely widow and her cursed daughter. Yet we were a fortress in our cabin in the woods we were impenetrable and had killed every last one of them. Maybe, I am cursed as everyone wants to corrupt me in their own sick way.

It was on my 16th birthday that the demons came and as I became enraged at the audacity of these nightmarish creatures a faint glow began to shine around the edges of my being. For the first time, I felt as if I were invincible, I was suddenly stronger, swifter, and my strength was overwhelming. I was able to rip that first demon’s head right off his acid producing body. The next one I just looked at and he exploded into a million pieces flinging his black oil like blood into the treetops. The third one died such a horrible death even I was scared of my own power. I just stepped right up to him and before I knew it I was a ghostly form passing through him shredding him from the inside out. I was in his body one moment, and the next I was pulling the remaining intestines off of me that hadn’t come off when he literally split down the middle and I stepped out of him. The rest of the hoard of demons were so scared they took off like lightening. I smiled a big smile as I stared up at the full moon on that dark night. Again, I thought of what the villagers had thought of on the night of my birth. “Ah! The witching hour.”

For the next few years my mother the one person that never abandoned me, the one person that loved me unconditionally, the one person that sacrificed her entire world for me helped train me to control the power now coursing through my veins. She never treated me as any different, a freak, or strange. Even though at this point we both knew I was so, not normal. She was my heart, my soul, my everything. Her heart gave out when I was twenty-five and no amount of power I had would bring her back. Believe me, I tried. Upon her deathbed, she revealed that she and I were not of this world. This world of humans, and that my father was not killed in a combat for land, he had been killed trying to protect me and my mother from her kind. The kind that killed without remorse, they rape without conscious, they cut you just to watch you bleed out on the ground like a dog. I come from a world, where there is no compassion only wars and hellish creatures. My mother, having been the product of said creatures stealing and raping a human, vowed she would never go back once she had escaped, met my father (the kindest human she had ever known) and found out she was having me.

She had somehow survived long enough to bring me into the world and raise me as a human. When I clearly wasn’t. I was angry with my mother at first at the betrayal I felt for waiting until she died to tell me. I became so angry I lashed out at the village that had made us leave so long ago, the disgraced duo. I terrorized them relentlessly. I seeped into their dreams at night and laughed a hair-raising laugh when they woke up screaming from the nightmare I had turned it into. I loved the fear, I craved it, I would breathe it in and roll around in it. Then, again, during the “witching hour” perched on the rooftop of a young girl pale and blonde, watching as the nightmare began to take hold of her. Savoring in the beads of sweat that popped up on her head and the sheets she began to twist and pull.   My mother appeared to me, a ghost in the midst of my torture. She scolded me for treating the girl in such a way and the tone of her voice had me bowing my head in shame. I released the girl and scurried down the roof heading for the woods and my home. I leapt from rooftop to rooftop looking back terrified that my ghostly mother was still following me. The hollowness of her eyes and her long dark hair waving slightly in the breeze was enough to give me a heart attack.

She came to me and told me a war is coming. The gates from our world would be broken and there would actually be a hell on earth. These humans would need protecting and it was my job to do it. I grieve for her every day but after that night, the grief lessened and I began to prepare for the war that would end all worlds. The rest of my childish ways fell away as I fully embraced adulthood and found my purpose in this world.

Now, here I stand overlooking that very same village ten years later watching as the very same humans that banned me so long ago now seemed to be comforted by the fact that I stand on my hill and watch them. I stand there long after the sun has set and the lights come in each and every house. I can feel the full moon on my back, the stars gathered above my head, and I can even smell the ‘witching hour” is upon me.

I stand there with my raven hair cascading down in waves as the warm breeze tries to carry it off. My strips of black leather, that cover just enough, yet, not enough. My black spiked boots (they gotta be spiked, better to stab someone with) and my red ruby lips, waiting, watching. My alabaster skin begins to glow that familiar fairy blue along with my eyes that glow the very same color when I can feel someone from my world, close by. I look down into the valley as the clock tower begins to signal that it is indeed midnight. The flood of creatures only hell can imagine race across the valley like gravel toward the village. I unsheathe both machetes from my back and smile my evil grin. “Time to play!” I think to myself. As I realize everything good that happens, happens at the “WITCHING HOUR”.