Time Stood Still



May 13, 2005
On a dingy bathroom floor in a house full of addicts, she waited. The test sat on the counter, scarce inches away, yet she couldn’t look. One… two… three minutes passed. It was now or never. Her hands shaking, she picked up her future, wrapped in a disguise of plastic and paper and urine. Positive. She closed her eyes, unsure if she was relieved or disappointed. Time stood still.

January 27, 2006
The hospital was crowded, as if everyone in a fifty mile radius had decided to give birth right then and there. A blur of lights and sleep and strange beeps and frantic calls and pain, oh the pain! She couldn’t quite remember how or why she had ended up in the operating room or why they wouldn’t let her hold her daughter right away or anything beyond the overwhelming agony that every second away from the child caused. A bundle was placed in her arms – The bluest eyes she’d ever seen, the blackest hair, the most perfect little mouth. The world melted away and she finally knew the meaning of her life.

July 15, 2006
She could smell the whiskey on his breath before he entered the room. Her heart beat faster as she clutched her baby closer. One foot out the window, easy does it, twist and turn and grab the ledge … – his hand wrapped around hers and in a single breath she was on the bedroom floor again. The baby bawled in his arms as he hurled accusation after accusation, stepping more firmly on her throat with every uttered syllable. Her life flashed before her eyes and in the moment before the stars became darkness, time stood still.

June 1, 2007
He stumbled in at 9am, drunk, though god knows he’d gone to work last night. She lay awake – eyes closed, breathing regular – hoping he’d think she was still asleep. Their daughter stirred; a heavenly coo from the cradle next to their bed. She jumped up to attend before his clumsy hands could reach the tiny being, but not before a slurred “Stunned cunt, let me sleep” escaped his lips as he collapsed into the pillows. When the darkness overcame him, she methodically packed her belongings and drove to the new apartment across town. Furniture would have to wait, but in that moment, her life started over.

December 17, 2011
The night was young, the music loud, the tequila flowing freely. Across the table, he winked and smiled and she had never felt so sexy. The bar closed, the after party started, and before she knew it, 3am had arrived and it was only the two of them awake. He kissed her, she kissed back, he reached up her skirt. She said no. He stopped. He tried again. The no became more urgent. He conceded and allowed her to drift into unconsciousness. She awoke long enough to kick him and roll over as he peeled her panties off, then returned to the nothingness she had been roused from. Seconds… minutes… ages later, her mind snapped out of the fog, feeling him inside her, momentum building, grunts of pleasure escaping his lips. Her body froze. Words caught in her throat. As he emptied himself into her, time stood still.

July 19, 2013
Eight hours of magic was coming to a close. She thought it was going well, but one could never quite tell with a first date. They placed a bet on the last bowling match – if he won, she had to say yes to a second date. She lost, albeit unintentionally, though she was far from disappointed at the prospect of more time in his company. He walked her to her car; she thanked him for a wonderful day. The sun was setting just behind him, a brilliant cascade of light gleaming over his left shoulder. He hugged her and she could feel the restless energy stirring within him. In a moment of impulsive desire, she pressed her lips to his and held on tightly as the rest of the world became irrelevant.

November 8, 2013
They lay in bed, her head on his chest, his arms protectively cocooning her. He kissed her goodnight, and just as he was dozing off, a timid whisper asked if he was still awake. Now alert, he asked her why. Seconds passed as she took a calming breath and responded with some off-pitch statement about needing to tell him something. With a hint of suspicion, he probed her intentions. Her heart beat faster as she attempted to gather her courage. “I love you,” she breathed, barely audible, as she buried her face in his neck. He gently lifted her chin, gazing into her eyes through the dark. “I love you,” he responded, kissing her tenderly as time stood still.



Some days, it’s just hard – hard to get up, hard to put a smile on, hard to do the day to day things that everyone takes for granted. Some days, I doubt everything that I am and everything that I do. Today is one of those days.

I feel unworthy. I feel like I’m not pretty enough, not funny enough, not smart enough… not anything enough. I feel needy and overly emotional and like I need a giant hug. Of course, for the next eleven hours, I’m sitting in an office full of people who really couldn’t care less how I feel, and then I have an hour and a half drive before I can even get a hug.

I don’t want to be that girl who always questions, and Jedi has given me no reason to doubt his sincerity. However, I just can’t shake this feeling that I’m not enough. I feel that everything in my life has more or less fallen into place and because I have done nothing to deserve it, it’s all going to blow up in my face.  Logically, I know I’m being irrational, and that – Que sera, sera – whatever will be, will be. But I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for the bad news, the pain, the heartache… because that’s what I know.

I don’t want this to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hate having so much negativity floating around me. But right now, I just want someone to tell me it’s all going to be okay.


It’s reached a point where I feel the need to share the deepest, darkest, most hated part of my soul. I need to confess my sin, bare my inadequacy, and eliminate the pretense.

I’m not perfect, no matter how much he tells me I am. He knows almost everything about me: my hopes, my dreams, my fears, my quirks, my loves and hates. But every time I go to tell him this one thing, I freeze. My lips stop working. My thoughts slow down and my heart speeds up. My mouth goes dry and I find myself changing the topic of conversation to avoid telling him.

I don’t know why I’m afraid.

He’s never been anything but understanding. He’s never given me a reason to think that he wouldn’t sympathise, or would judge me, or would look at me any different. But yet, I hesitate. I’m scared to say the words. I’m terrified to feel their prescence looming in the space between us whenever we’re together. I’m ashamed to see the look in his eyes when he processes the truth, and I’m worried that he’ll start to read into the nuances of my personality and my preferences, finding causation that isn’t accurate in the slightest.

How do you tell someone you were raped without it colouring the way they view you? There’s no way to go back from that point. What has been said cannot be unsaid. And so I hesitate.

I had hoped that before we’d reached this point, I would have found a way to tell him. But I didn’t. Or maybe I didn’t take the chances that were given. Either way, the conversation is still pending and my stomach drops in fear every time I realise that I’m getting close to revealing the truth. It’s like I know that everything between us will change once the statement has been made, and I haven’t yet decided if it will be a positive experience.

I don’t doubt that he will support me. The very depths of my soul tell me that there is nothing I could say to change his feelings for me. But letting go and admitting my brokenness is a step I’m afraid to take. And so I resist, waiting for the perfect moment to drop the bomb, knowing that the longer I wait, the more I will fight the urge and keep the secret buried deep inside.

Dangling my toes over the edge has never felt so perilous.

In Other News, I’m Secretly Twelve Years Old

I’m bad at dating.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m good at relationships… but the whole getting-to-know-each-other and the vague what-is-going-on-here that follows? Not my forte. I like absolutes, I like definites, I like black and white and not a hint of grey, and that just doesn’t happen with dating.

I end up overthinking and questioning and generally just being a neurotic mess, because I don’t do things half-assed. Either I like you, or I don’t. And if I like you, I’m all in.

Of course, this generally makes me come across as overzealous or neurotic, or, when I don’t like people, a cold hearted bitch. Moderation is not my strong point. It’s very obvious how I feel about people. However, I’m also shy and terrified of rejection. The end result is me wearing my heart on my sleeve, but not doing a damn thing about it until the other person makes a move.

So there’s this guy. He made the first move. And the second move. And the third. And now I have it bad for him with no clue as to if he’s on the same page. Did I mention he’s out of the country for a week? And that I’m in the midst of moving? My brain feels like it’s about to explode with frustration.

I’m pretty sure, if all my old journals weren’t already packed, that with a few minor changes, I could dredge up a hundred other times I have said this same schtick since I first started the ritual of courtship. Is it going to change? Probably not. Do I want it to? Not really. I’m a passionate person, and that means I can’t hide what I think and feel. One day, somebody is going to get that, and I won’t live in the land of maybes and what-ifs and does-he-like-mes.

Until then, though, I’m going to hide in my blanket fort and watch PowerPuff Girls while I wait for him to text.

Clean Slate (Sort Of)

The last few months have been the beginning of a new journey for me. I’ve lived twenty-seven years trying to make people happy, make people like me, and make people value my opinion.

I’m done with that.

I’m not going to shout “FUCK THE WORLD” and dismiss all social conventions (let’s face it: that would be career suicide and I rather enjoy having a home, vehicle and fridge full of food…) but rather, I’m not going to make others happy at the expense of myself.

So that guy who thinks I’m “too rowdy” to hang out with after shows? Fuck him. Not worth my time.

That friend who is only ever interested in talking when she wants to talk about herself? Fuck her. Too much work.

That coworker who likes to pry into my personal life and spread rumours under the guise of being “interested in [my] life”? Fuck ’em. Asshole.

I’m not going to repress myself for the sole purpose of making myself more palatable to the masses. So, yes, that means I will drop my daughter off at her hoity-toity private school in ripped jeans and band t-shirts. Yes, I will colour my hair green if I feel like it. And no, I won’t apologise for offending you by wearing a “Meat is murder” tank top.

It only seems fitting to start over with a new name and new identity. L0vesaidno/”Some Kind of Wonderful” was pretty cutesy, and really fit in with where I was at that point in my life. Now, however, PunkyVeganMama sums me up a whole lot better. And “Chasing Rainbows”? Only one of the best 90’s punk songs ever.

All I want to do is make sure you stop chasing rainbows
Letting everybody crawl inside your heart and mine
Kicking you is easy when you’re down that’s where the weak go
To release their anger on someone who will not try
To stand up, and give them a fight

-No Use For A Name

There really is something to be said for expressing oneself authentically.

It's About Time

It’s been months since I actually took a few minutes to blog, so here’s a brief timeline of 2012, since my last post:

April :: gave up on giving up on Boy. We started texting. Found out a good friend’s brother was secretly in love with me.

May :: went on a date-type thing with Boy. Stayed up all night talking to him. Kissed him. Got epically blown off.

June :: met a new Boy. He let me drive his brand new truck less than an hour after meeting him. We became inseperable. Baby girl graduated kindergarten. New Boy and I went on a date. Spent two Fridays in a row talking till 5am. Had our first kiss. I got drunk and tried to seduce him. He insisted on sober consent. I confessed my rape to him. He held me and let me cry and never once blamed me. I started to fall for him.

July :: Boy met kiddo. Boy and i became official. I turned 27. Boy turned 34. Boy met my parents, brother and grandma.

August :: random summer fun with kiddo, BFF and BF. I don’t definitively remember any of August.

September :: BF and I survived the first fight. I ran my first 6k, as a fundraiser for the women’s shelter. Kiddo started grade one. I survived my rapist coming back to work. I realised I’m in love with boyfriend.

October :: life continued along well. Boyfriend and kiddo and boyfriend’s kiddo are all fantastic.

Life is so good right now.