Unspoken Words

The earliest recollection I have of his abuse was about the age of 3 1/2 – 4 years of age. It was late at night and I had been awakened by the sound of them struggling together. I turned into their room, which was on the lower level the same as me and my two sisters, to see my father strike my mother in the side of the head with her handbag. He was looking for the keys to drive and as he had been drinking my mother hid them from him to try and protect him. I’ve replayed this incident over in my head countless times growing up. I remember from that early age the fear of my father being instilled deep into my heart and soul. Never would I have imagined the brutal attacks that I would be a victim too before my mother decided to leave him at the age of 12.

Most of the attacks and abuse are vague, though a few occasions are still very fresh in my mind. I’ve wrote in a previous blog about how around the time I started school, the sound of my heart beat beating in my head, I thought were sounds of footprints outside my ground-level window, the footprints of my father coming to attack me. Can you imagine being that young and having that fear? Or having to fall asleep to what you think are footsteps of your alcoholic father coming to release his wrath on your young, frail, innocent body? I remember wondering from a young age if it was because I was the ‘sick’ kid out of me and my sisters. Why me?

Most of the attacks were either a hand or a belt taken across my bum or back. I remember lying in bed for hours after because the pain would leave me paralyzed. I would cry myself to sleep on most occasions, asking that God would please just let me die so I could escape this ‘hell’ that I was living in.

My father never understood the concept of proper discipline, or even communication for that matter. His was of communicating was with his limbs or screaming unholy words at people. I shouldn’t expect anything different from him I suppose. He was raised in an alcoholic home. I am not making excuses for him, believe me. But they say that you learn how to treat people through how you are raised. Sometimes I wonder why I turned out so good.

The footprints in my head continued…..

I was about eight years old when the worst attack happened. We were arguing over something. I can’t remember what it was, something stupid I would imagine. Before I knew it my father had grabbed me by my ear, my legs dangling, and then I was thrown onto my bed, hitting my head against the wall. A headache and an immediate bump I could feel. I still have the scar at the top of my ear where it tore a little from the weight of body being carried by my tiny little ear. In fear of him returning for a second blow, I jumped out of bed and propped my desk chair against the door so he would not be able to get in even if he tried. It didn’t take long though until he noticed the door had been closed. He tried a few times with little force to try and open the door, to no avail. But it didn’t take long until I witnessed the chair crumble into little tiny pieces as the weight behind my father crushed the chair to allow him to enter. The door was hanging off the hinges as I looked behind him getting closer towards me when I felt the next blow. First a smack across my rear end, then he lifted me the second time and flicked me against the wall. I then remember crying, hurdled in the fetal position hoping he would have mercy on my lifeless form just lying there, silently begging not to be beaten anymore. It must have worked because I remember falling asleep that night, pillow soaked with tears.

The footprints in my head continued….

I cannot remember any abuse towards my sisters, except for one incident with my older sister where my father flicked a garbage bag full of clothes at her in our living room. My little sister was his favorite. And my old sister wasn’t far in line for second place. My entire childhood, even sometimes now I would ask myself, “why me?” Little do they realize they have been abused by my father, just not in the same ways as I have been. His manipulations and emotional and mental abuse affected us all. And I still see it evident in my two siblings lives. Even though they never suffered any physical pain from our father, they do not recognize harmful traits in men they date and see the damaging effects as harshly as I do of alcohol and drug abuse.

It was summer of 1997 when I had reached my limit. We again were arguing and fighting over something stupid when I remember seeing that rage in his eyes and he proceeded to attack me. At that I started to run away from him, but he was too fast. My mother had a crystal ashtray laid on the sofa table that was in the hallway of our home. I turned just in time to see it heading straight for my face. I didn’t catch it, but hit it with my hand and it shattered all over the floor. I grabbed a chunk, cut myself with it, and then running towards the exit to go find help, I cut my father with it, hoping it would cause him to bleed out. Ending my suffering. Ending my pain. But sadly that didn’t happen. I ran to a nearby neighbor, Joanne who lived behind our house and made up a story of self-defense, hoping my father was dying in our house from the blood pouring out of his wrist. The police were not called and when everything settled I returned home. It wasn’t long though until the regret of what I had done was felt all over my body with another attack. It was after this day, that I had reached my breaking point.

I’m not sure if my mother still has the letter I wrote to her at that tender age of 9. But I basically wrote her and said it is time for you to make your choice. It’s either Dad, or me. I even gave her a deadline of when she had to make her decision or I was going to run away. The pain was too intense for me to have to suffer another blow, and my soul was almost dead.

It wasn’t long after that I remember waking up to a lot of hustle and bustle. We were at my aunt Linda’s friend’s house and we were up oddly early and packing our things like we were finally going to go on that trip to Disney I had dreamt of for so long. My Aunt Karen and my then Uncle Barry came and met us there, and then we pilled in the van, just me, my mom and little sister. We stopped in Mount Pearl where we left our burgundy van and hopped in the car with my aunt and Uncle. Before long we were on the highway and the only thing my Mom would tell me is that we were going someplace safe, and that was good enough for me. Before long we were on a big boat. Learning after that we were heading for Nova Scotia. It was starting to make sense in my head. “She chose me! Mom chose me! And I don’t have to be beaten anymore!” After I realized that the trip turned into something fun. Didn’t know where we were going, all I know is that I was safe in the arms of my mother.

Wasn’t long and we were at my Aunt Bonny’s house in Quebec. There we said goodbye to Aunt Karen and Uncle Barry and caught a train heading to my Aunt Linda’s house. “A new life”, I thought!  This was just what I had been praying for!

We finally arrived, unpacked our things, and things felt strangely normal right from the start. Mom and Linda tried to find us a school to attend and our two cousins made us feel so at home introducing us to their friends. The dream didn’t last long though, until I saw a chocking story on the news.

The footprints in my head continued….

NTV news had my face and my sister’s face plastered on the news and my mother was up for abduction charges. I saw our home on Greg Place, and my bike still in the driveway and the subtitle, “Man missing his family” displayed on the bottom of the news screen. I later found out that my mother had gone to a lawyer and was given wrong information on her being allowed to take me and my sister out of the province, away from my abusive and sly alcoholic father. She was given a time limit on when she was to have both of us back in the province. Wasn’t long after that we were on a flight back home and what awaited us there was nothing short of a nightmare. We were barely off the plane when my mother was handcuffed, like a criminal and taken away from the airport within 5 minutes of being on the ground. Like she had murdered someone! We were then taken by my uncle Randy and Aunt Kitty to stay with them for a few days before we finally ended up at the Kirby house, a shelter for battered and abused women and children and we were reunited with our mom.

We stayed at the Kirby house for a while before moving into a town house. I felt liberated to start living a new life, abuse-less and free of an angry monster. My sister and I started attending Virginia Park Elementary School. We didn’t have a lot, but I felt like I had the world because I was free of living with constant abuse. I no longer had to live in fear of when the next attack would come or when my father would have his next drinking binge. The fairy tale didn’t last long though, when right out of the blue, the most unexpected thing happened.

I will never forget that day. I was sitting on the couch in the living room when I heard the knock on the door. My mom answered it, and in came my father! I was so angry that all I could do was storm off to my bedroom, which thank-god had a lock on it. “How could my mother do this? How could she end this peace we had been experiencing for so long? With everything he just put us through, how could she take him back now?” I remember hearing his footsteps come up the stairs, much like the ones that I had imagined before sleep…..creep….creep….creep…..until I heard him lay down outside my door, saying how uch he was sorry, and how much he had changed and how things were going to be different! BULLSHIT! I saw right through him, but sadly my mother fell for his manipulative ways and before I knew it we were packing back up, yes you are reading this correctly, and moving back into Greg Place. Back where the horrors of my childhood played out. Back to the one place where I hated to be, and was so grateful to be away from. This was definitely not HOME to me.

The footprints in my head continued….

It wasn’t long before my father returned to his abusive ways and this time my mother had gained a little strength while we were absent from my father to take matters into her own hands and kicked him out. I would say we were back there for a total of 6 months to a year. And this time, thankfully was the last time they split. I guess my mother needed to see one last time that a leopard cannot easily change his spots and that my father would forever remain the same. In 2002 they were legally divorced. It was only at that time since she left him the second time that I was at ease that she wouldn’t take him back yet again. Finally, it was just me and my mom and my baby sister. My older sister quit school to help care of my father for a year, seeing past his imperfections and wanting to make sure that he would be ok.

And here we are 11 years later. There are few days that go by when I don’t have PTS (Post-traumatic stress) related to my childhood and memories often come out of the blue to remind me of the realities that other kids like me face every day. It is extremely difficult for me to talk about this issue but it feels like the right time to talk about it.

A couple of days ago I posted a picture of me and Perry’s father from our wedding day. I posted on how I had longed for a father figure my whole life for someone who I could look up to and admire in a male-leading role in my life. Perry’s father is in my opinion the ‘ideal’ father who treats his entire family with love and respect. I cannot imagine him even raising his voice. He has become such a good influence in my life. After I posted this photo on MY Facebook page I received a post from my little sister saying that she took offence to me making reference to dad being an abusive alcoholic, and that it makes her sad that I view him this way. But the reality is, their father is NOT my father. I am terribly sorry that my reality and the life that I had live offends them. But it is MY truth and I am entitled to speak of my truth. In response, it makes ME terribly sad that my two sisters cannot acknowledge the abusive childhood that I had no choice to be subjected to and that they view our father as some kind of hero. They view him as doing no wrong and that ‘he didn’t know any better’. But does that excuse the terrible things he said and did? Absolutely not!  And NO ONE has the right to tell me that I cannot express my story, and what happened to me only because it hurts them or offends them. They just don’t want my father to be depicted as the monster that he was growing up.

I share my story because I have first-hand facts that it helps people. Someone reading this will be able to empathize with my pain and may help them heal in their life journey. No one besides my mother has to this day acknowledged what happened to me as a child. The day is coming when I plan to confront my father and get him to apologize for what he subjected me to as a child. As for my sisters, they will remain in the sidelines of my life until they accept that my reality is my reality and that they had it good growing up. They have no right to tell me that what happened to me didn’t happen, and that I need to love Dad and have a relationship with him despite what he did to me.

The footprints in my head have stopped.

I now have a beautiful husband and a great father-in-law who makes me feel like I am a great young man that deserves fatherly attention. He has shown me how to care for a car, how to properly hang a new light fixture and even how to be a great supportive husband. I am so grateful for that. People give me a hard time for not letting the past be in the past and leave well enough alone. The funny thing is, is that I have 100% completely forgiven my father, though he has not asked for my forgiveness. I have learned through counseling that holding on to that anger takes a huge tole on my mental, emotional and physical health. And I have improved in all areas since I have let it go. But this week’s remarks by my little sister have made me have a huge set back. I have been in bed all day and I realized that I needed to write a blog because it is so healing for me. Instead of pushing everyone away, I need to express myself, to get people to get the real picture of why I reacted by deleting my Facebook and crawling into my shell.

From this day forward I am making a promise to myself that NO ONE is going to make me feel like things that happened to me in my life are insignificant. In fact I often wonder why I turned out so well, despite my dysfunctional and painful past. Maybe it is because I always wanted something better for myself and I truly didn’t want to live a life like that. Never let anyone make you feel bad for expressing your truth or the reality you have lived. Until they have walked in your shoes, they have no right to speak.

I feel so much better after writing this blog. Maybe no it will allow my sisters to see why I have acted the way I have with my father over the years. Maybe they will appreciate the fact that I simply talk to him and maybe they will second guess pushing me into having a relationship with him. He still drinks and his still abuses drugs, both things that I disagree with. And I often have disturbing flashbacks whenever I am in his presence.

Me and Perry's Dad

I dedicate this blog to anyone and everyone who has experienced abuse in any form. May you find the strength and courage to change your life, and seize the day by taking   control of your life and making the abuser know that it is NOT ok to hurt you!

“One’s dignity may be assaulted, vandalized and cruelly mocked, but it can never be taken away unless it is surrendered”
~ Michael J. Fox

Peace and Love,
Jamie Chaulk
xo

Our Wedding; Saying I do (The second time)

Our Wedding; Saying I do (The second time)

It’s hard to believe that almost 6 year to the day I said “I do” to a woman, I said “I do” to the man of my dreams. Though both were weddings, they each represent a very different chapter in the story line of my life. My first wedding was a death of everything I could and wanted to be. The second was a re-birth of hope of finding an even greater self.

I remember very few things of my first wedding. It was all such a blur, and I think I would have preferred it that way. One of the main things I remember is when everyone was walking down the aisle toward me I cried and everyone thought it was because I was so in love and so excited to start this new life with a woman. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I remember staring at myself in the mirror of the Jehovah’s Witness Kingdom Hall bathroom, and saying, “Ok, so you’re really doing this?.....you are really going to try and live this lie and bury deep the man you so desperately want to be?”

A little while later we were all celebrating with our friends and families. I wondered was anyone thinking that I was gay at the time, or found it odd that ‘Jamie’ was marrying a woman. Perhaps he would just live a life alone instead of marrying a woman. That way he could still serve the God of their choice and not hurt anyone. Turns out that trying to ‘pray the gay away’ doesn’t really work – and thank-God for that! I have never been more proud to be who I am now that I am re-married.

August 24^th proved to be the best day of my life thus far. Had anything gone more perfect I would have thought it was a dream. I woke up snuggled into my niece and my two sisters, one of which was home from Winnipeg. It was raining outside at the time, however it didn’t dampen my spirits in the least. As the hair stylists piled into the room to get started on the girls hair and make-up, I had to run out to get a few last minute things done. And no wedding would be good without a “Tim’s” run. I wasn’t nervous. Or scared. Only 100% excited to marry my best friend. Most people don’t get a guarantee that their partner would stick with them through the worst of things, in fact finding that they leave during trial and tribulation. But Perry met me and took me under his wing when I was knocking at death’s door remember? He has seen me at my worst and as I said in my vows, has ‘brought me to my best’.

The time started moving really fast and before I knew it, it was time for me to hop in the tub and put my suit and tie on. I was amazed at how the timing of the day went just so. 11:30am we were due to be on the bus, and I’d be damned if 11:29am we weren’t pulling out of the Ramada parking lot. We were off to Fort Amherst to meet our amazing photographer Courtney Dinney, from Courtney Dinney Photography. Not sure if all photographers are willing to go where she went to make sure Perry and I got the best shots possible. The rain held off thank god for the first few hours of shots. We got some great ones. It was great to just have Perry and I and a camera to capture the love we have for each other. I have only seen a couple of teasers but I think Courtney nailed exactly what we were looking for. A couple of the girls complained a lot about the mist and cool air, but Perry quickly told them to knock it off as this was not an everyday thing! We had full suits on, and they had skimpy dresses so I can imagine it was a little cool, but they were troopers and made the best of it.

We did have the party bus rented that we enjoyed riding around on, drinking on, and dancing on. The bus driver proved to be quite the hunk too! So both Perry and I and all the girls got to enjoy that extra bonus!! J The party bus was the probably the best decision we made. We didn’t have to wait on anyone for pictures, we all just got off and then when the pictures were done, just jumped right back on the bus.

We stopped on the boat dock to get some ‘newfie’ inspired shots before heading under the overpass to get some high fashion shots that are worthy, (in my opinion) to put in bridal magazines. We continued to take pictures until heading to Signal Hill for a little drive and ending back to the hotel for 4pm. Supper was at 5pm so it gave us and the girls a chance to freshen up and catch our breath.

People wondered why Perry and I decided to change the line-up of your traditional wedding and go with something different. I HATE when people have their ceremony at like 1 or 2 in the afternoon and then if you are not invited to the supper, you are sitting around in your good dress clothes, just trying to pass the day away until around 7:30 when you are invited back for the reception. This way, we had people come to supper, and then stay for the ceremony at 7pm, where all 140 guests were invited to join us, and then hard the party right after. No one had to wait around, and instead of tying up everyone’s day; it was an evening event, not a whole day thing.

Supper was DELICIOUS!! We chose the menu. We had a creamy strawberry-mandarin spinach salad to start. Wine was served and supplied by my Auntie Heather and Uncle Len, which we were informed through a whisper as the waitress poured our glass – a very nice gift! The wine even tasted better! Then the main course! A herbed-nut and cheese stuffed chicken breast with dutches potato and grilled veggies! It was SOOOOO good!! And then carrot cake for dessert.

The speeches were what I will most likely treasure most from the day, second only to Perry’s vows to me which we exchanged a little later. One after another some of our girls brought tears to the entire group of family and friends, sharing their stories of love, laughter and joy. Deborah started the affair of telling of our school days and how we have been friends since the very beginning. I couldn’t imagined having a more perfect fit for maid of honor then this incredible woman! She looked so stunning that day and made me so happy to have her by my side. She even sang for us and played her guitar which was just the perfect gift for that day. ( I will never forget that D!) Next was Sam, Perry’s maid of honor who shared details about their life-long friendship. The most emotional speech was from my cousin Megz who basically gave a thank-you speech to Perry for saving my life on behalf of my family. It was the most heartfelt thing I had ever heard uttered from a human’s mouth and there was not a dry eye in the house. Thank-You Meghan!  

Once the speeches were finished from the rest of the girls, including Candice’s attempt at rapping, Perry and I thanked everyone who was involved with making our wedding the best day of our lives. There were so many incredible people who were involved with making our day such a success. I’m sure there were those we forgot, and I hope they know how appreciate they are.

There wasn’t a lot of time left before we all filled the ceremony room. It was beautifully lit with soft lighting and white linens covered all the chairs. There was such a crowd, some even standing outside! The music started and Perry’s brother Jamie was the first to enter the room. Then one after another, spaced by about 20 seconds, the remained of the girls walked down the aisle. I was the first to travel down with my beautiful mother on my arm and I kissed her cheek and sat her in her seat. And then as the music escalated into a climax of violin, Perry and his mom entered the room. He took my breath away, like it was the first time I had seen him that day. He truly was a vision in white! Looked just like the angel that walked into my hospital room in February of 2012. As he walked towards me, we held each other’s eyes. This time it was different. This time I wasn’t afraid at all. I was more than willing to give my heart to Perry knowing that not even death would separate the kind of love we have for each other.

As love was described in 1 Corinthians, I couldn’t help but reflect on how Jehovah’s Witnesses feel that if you are not one of them, you don’t have any respect for the bible or God for that matter. And here I was devoting myself to a man who loved me for who I am, and that the love that was described in those verses was more realized now then in my previous marriage because of truth…….no lies.

As we exchanged vows there were even more tears. Including Perry and I. I honestly felt that it was just the two of us in the room. Reflecting on that feeling send chills through my spine even now. “Before you I lived in a world where nothing made sense. The sky wasn’t blue and the grass wasn’t green’…..I said to him. And promised my heart to him until the end of days, and he did likewise. And then we shared the perfect kiss.

Shortly after we were introduced as Mr. and Mr. Perry Chaulk and walked, hand-in-hand, down the aisle to greet everyone with their warm wishes and congratulations.   

Then the party started! We danced our first song to Christina Perri’s “A Thousand Years”….the lyrics were just perfect for our story. It was magical dancing in Perry’s arms in front of our family and friends. Our bridal party song was “Raise your glass” by P!nk, and then “Mother like mine” by The Band Perry we waltzed with our moms to. Finally with our nieces and nephew, “I hope you dance” by Leanne Womack.

Then, the floor was free to everyone. We danced. Oh did we dance. And everyone had such beautiful smiles as we spent the first few hours as a married couple. It was so great to catch up with family and friends we hadn’t seen in so long!

It was an early night for everyone. We were all so tired but everyone had such a great time! The feedback we got from the wedding was that it was the ‘wedding of the year, if not the wedding of the decade’.

Thank-You to everyone who made our day so special and showed us so much love weather you were there or posted on Facebook! It made our day PERFECT! XO

It truly was……the perfect day!

I Love you Perry Chaulk!
xo

Peace and Love,
Jamie Chaulk
xo

Giving Light to the Darkness

Giving Light to the Darkness

I’m not going to lie; I’ve been having a really rough week. And it’s about time I come clean to everyone about a dark part of my life that has been affecting me for 5 years now.

I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me. I knew that my being gay yet living with a woman was causing me to feel down, but there was more than that. I was sad all the time and lost a lot of the love for things I enjoyed doing and became a hermit. I was not devoted to my bible studies nor was I doing anything for myself. I simply existed, but was not living.

After my nephew died, it seemed as though nothing would ever make sense to me anymore. I questioned every belief that I had, and wondered if I believed in anything. Being trapped in a world where you feel there is no escape is one of the scariest feelings I think someone could ever feel. It was very lonely.

So I decided to see a doctor about my mental health. I had never properly dealt with the abuse my father exposed me to as a child, and I certainly never even told anyone about my uncle raping me. And now this feeling inside that was about to explode of wanting to break out of this cultivated world I was living in a be true to myself and those around me was causing me a lot of anxiety that I just simply did not know how to deal with.

My sessions were really hard at first. I spent most of the time crying over my stumbled words as I tried to express how troubled my life was.

Shortly after I tried to take my own life.

It became evident to my doctor that there was something more medical going on than just dealing with a lot of shit. It wasn’t long after that, that I was diagnosed with Depression.

It has been such a hard battle to get to where I am to today. And sometimes I question how I managed to get where I am. And often times, like this past week, my depression creeps up out of nowhere and again makes me have doubts and question things that I thought were certain.

You most likely will never understand the brainwashing that occurs in the Jehovah’s Witness faith, but it is deep rooted. I’ve said before in my blog that they believe that homosexuality is a sin, and that anyone who practices such a lifestyle will suffer everlasting destruction at the hand of God. I remember sitting in a meeting where the elders would discuss this topic and I would tense up feeling ashamed of who I was. Have you ever been ashamed of who you are? It is not a nice feeling. Needless to say my self-worth was non-existent and I tried my hardest to ‘pray the gay away’, to no avail of course.

Yesterday I seen a ‘friend’ of mine had posted a picture on Facebook that said “Click ‘like’ if you think that marriage should be between ONE man and ONE woman”.  Immediately the bullied and depressed insecure child in me took this as a personal attack and I had to defend myself. I wrote her a message on Facebook saying that I had to delete her because I found her take on something she knows nothing about very offensive. I told her that I would pray for her that God would help her learn the true meaning of what being a child of God is really about. She then attacked back and this went on for about an hour or so. I’m getting to a point here, bear with me. By the end of the conversation I had gotten nowhere with her because her ignorance prevented her from seeing that I was trying to open her mind and make her understand why her attitude contributes to so much hate in the world. She basically said that Satan had a good hold on me and that I should pray to God – yet again – for deliverance from my evil.

It was this conversation that made me realize something that I hate about myself. Why is it that my self-worth and self-esteem is dependent on what OTHER people think of me, and little on how I think of myself? Have you ever been in that situation? We somehow manage to adapt someone else’s opinion of us as the opinion of our own. And this type of thinking usually worsens when I’m having a ‘down’ time in my life.

It reminds me when two of Perry’s friends, April and Stacey whom he was really close with, one being his ‘best’ friend, decided that they didn’t like me. They felt that I was a liar and that I wasn’t good enough for Perry. They voiced their opinion to Perry and of course he told me, and for some stupid reason, I almost tried to believe them. I looked for the worst attributes in myself and reasoned that maybe I wasn’t good enough for Perry. Maybe he is better off with someone else. And I sincerely thank him for reassuring me that their opinion was their opinion and that he knew who I was and there view of me was not about to change that.
Perry no longer speaks to them, and it saddens me because again I don’t understand why people have to act that way. And I am learning that though I may never understand or accept the actions of other people, it doesn’t mean that I need to attach myself to them or accept them on my own. It’s all about my new project my councilor is helping me work on in setting limits for myself and for others. I need to be readily conscience of when I feel the voices of others get in my head and try and make me believe that I am not a decent person or that I am somehow unacceptable as a human being. She even suggested going as far as putting little sticky post it notes around the house reminding me with quotes and sayings of praise and self-worth.

Depression is something I am still medically treated for today. It is something that I also have to deal with every day, because everyday changes and presents itself with new challenges. But bringing my thoughts and feelings to this Jamie’s Journey blog sure gives me an avenue where I can express myself freely and openly because it is my  journey. And to know that there are people out there rooting for me and do feel like I am a good person gives me the courage to leave the house with my head held high, knowing that I am a good person.

“Life is too short to waste any amount of time on wondering what other people think about you. In the first place, if they had better things going on in their lives, they wouldn't have the time to sit around and talk about you. What's important to me is not others' opinions of me, but what's important to me is my opinion of myself.” ~ C. Joyes

Peace and Love,
Jamie Leigh Francis

xo           

I'm am not SUPERMAN

I am not SUPERMAN

I’m struggling. In fact I’m struggling a lot lately with finding boundaries for myself. We often think of setting boundaries for other people, but often times we never set them for ourselves. I had a very insightful session with my shrink today and I certainly had some ah ha moments in that room. But the biggest lesson I learned is that; I am not superman.

Growing up in a home where I was beaten and also raped at such a young age, I always felt let down by so many people. And I learned today that I’m still carrying the scars from those horrific events of my past with me today. How so? Well, I know the hurt associated with being let down and I project those feelings onto anyone I meet or deal with whom I know is hurting. And my inner voice tells me to help those people, because after all, I wouldn’t want them to be let down and neglected as I was. But the problem with that you see is if I give a little bit of myself to everyone else, what’s going to be left of me?

I’m dealing with this situation lots in recent days, mostly because many of my relatives and some of my CF friends have become gravely ill. And it’s not just illness that’s the issue, a lot of people confide in me for many different things. I guess this blog has you all fooled at thinking that I have my shit together. Well, you’re wrong. This blog is mostly used for my self-help and I’m just sharing what I have learned through my struggles in hopes that it may reach someone else and touch the lives of someone who can benefit from my struggles. Either way, I’m grateful to have people who feel comfortable enough to confide in me about their problems, but sometimes it all becomes too much. My councilor illustrated it for me this way;

Life is a garden. And everyone has their own separate piece. Sometimes a friend may need us to visit their land to help them with weeding and watering and so on and so forth. But what happens when a lot of people need us to visit and help with their gardens……what then would happen to ours? Well naturally it would get neglected and would eventually fade away to nothing but dead, dry, withered garbage. Even if there was hope in restoring it to its original condition, it would take an extensive amount of work. Likewise, when we give of ourselves to help out a friend, it’s one thing. But when we devote a major portion of each day’s energy store to help other people, there is nothing left for us and the ones who need it most. Please understand that I am not saying that we shouldn’t help other people when they are in need. That’s not what I am saying at all. It’s just we each have to set boundaries for ourselves to ensure our own sanity.

Another area I am struggling in is knowing when to stay away. I told my councilor today that it’s almost as if I’m drawn to danger. Like I’m a firefighter. Whenever I see fire and smoke, I run right for it. I guess that’s because again of my childhood. No one showed up to put out the fire that almost chocked my mother and I so I feel the need to show up to everyone else’s ‘fires’. It’s almost gotten to the point where my own self-worth is dependent on how much I do for others. But the reality struck hard today when I came to the realization that I cannot fix everything. I will not find a cure for cancer. I will not be able to stop death from knocking at the doors of those whom I love and I certainly cannot change for the better the circumstances of everyone who I know is in a bad way. I’m not sure if my councilor is right in saying my heart is too big, or what it is. But I do feel good when I help others – we all do. But it’s knowing where to draw the line without leaving me feeling like I’m in need of a life line…..that’s the key.

I take on too much. It’s either feast or famine with me. There is no happy medium. As if dealing with having Cystic Fibrosis wasn’t enough, I have to figure out how Joe Blow is going to take care of himself after his mother dies. And how John Smith is going to afford to take time off to care for his ailing daughter. Oh and how Mary Margaret is going to find a new apartment by the time she has to be out of her current living space. WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!?!?!?! I cannot take ownership for everyone’s issues!!!! Firefighters don’t work 24/7, so why am I on duty all the time? Of what good is a firefighter if they are too tired to life a ladder, or drive the truck because they are just so exhausted? So I’ve learned today that when there is a fire, I need to start asking myself some questions. Is the situation going to harm me in any way? And can I actually help the situation?

It’s not just emotionally I am wearing myself out either. Physically I’m exhausted. When we are tired mentally and emotionally, it affects us physically. But work and just regular life duties have me feeling wore out like I need to go on a 6 week vacation from reality.

I’m really tired right now. So I’m leaving it at this. But no, I am not Superman. And now I am going to tend to my own garden.

“Once we accept our limits, we go beyond them.” ~ Albert Einstein

Peace and Love,
Jamie Leigh Francis
xo

Making a new plan

Making a new plan

October 1^st, 2011 is the day that my life flipped upside down. By choice of course. It was the day I had planned literally overnight. After a discussion with my big sister and advice from a dear friend, I got the nerve to leave the life that had caused me the worst pain of my entire life. It’s funny because there are not many details I remember that day, but one stands out. I remember driving next to my Dad, who was surprisingly the one who drove from St. John’s to Gander in his truck to get my personal belongings and what was left of the human shell that was Jamie Chafe. I remember immediately deriving a plan in my head over how my future was going to pan out. It looked a little like this;

- Dwell on the teachings of Jehovah’s Witnesses that I had been taught to believe in

  that God now hated me for leaving the cult, and would now cause my world and my

  life to end, which would cause severe depression and therefore cause me to;

- Get involved with people who abused drugs and have random sex with strangers to

  help numb the pain and end up getting sick which would then cause my CF to

  deteriorate and eventually die

  The end.

At first, the outrageous thoughts of the JW religion did haunt my every thought and dream for the first few weeks. It took a lot of tears and self-help books to force those voices in my head to disappear. But they eventually did. Then, to my surprise, I became very conscience of the need to re-build myself. A self that I could be proud to be. I’m not going to lie, there were a few casual one-night stands that felt so right at the time but ended up leaving me feeling more empty than whole. I thought these ‘flings’ were necessary to finding myself. And because I felt so trapped for so long, it was like releasing a starving lion that hadn’t eaten for weeks out on a bunch of helpless sheep, dying for the taste of their skin. When I was with a man in that way, it felt like I was complete. But then after the number of different men got close to the double digits after only being ‘out’ for a few months, I re-evaluated the need to be promiscuous and began focusing more attention on finding out who I was rather than getting laid.

And that’s when it began. The process, (which by the way will never end), of finding out just what I am made of. Building myself on a foundation of honesty and purity where I no longer have to be ashamed of whom I am. Where I no longer needed to cry myself asleep at night thinking that I had a demon trapped inside of me. And man did it ever feel good! Weeks passed, then months and the old, sad and confused Jamie started to disappear from sight. A new, more confident man emerged. Someone who could look in the mirror and be proud of the reflection.

Then sadly, something happened that wasn’t on the agenda.

I was diagnosed with a rear NTM (non-tuberculin mycobacteria) that would leave me almost dead in the hospital. I remember lying in the bed praying and telling God that he won. He now had his revenge on me for being a gay man. I surrendered. I was done.

And then came Perry. I am not going to get into how he brought me back from the dead because that was already in another one of my blogs (see, “Can you imagine that kind of love?”) But let’s just say that God sent me a big FAT message and response to my surrendering prayer that no, he was not done with me, and that this was not a direct result of my being a gay man.

And now he we are…..over a year later. Life honest to God could NOT get any better, this I know for sure. My health condition is still fragile, yes. But I’m doing more living these days then dying. I’m focusing more on the being present and happy in the moment rather than planning my funeral. My lungs have risen to a point where doctor’s never expected them to reach again. FEV1 measures basically the amount of your lungs that are still operational. When I was sick last year, they went down to a record low for me, of 31%. The doctor’s told me early on that I wouldn’t likely see above 40% ever again. Just this past week, they were tested and my lungs have risen to a staggering 46%!!! A percentage to doctor’s feel is nothing short of a miracle. I am reminded every day that my condition is fragile and that any day my NTM could decide to act up and cause me problems once again as there is no cure. People ask me all the time, “Well, aren’t you scared?” and to be honest, I am not. Why be in fear of the unknown? Why do we place so many burdens on ourselves with “what if’s” and worry about things that may never come true. It’s a proven statistic that human beings spend 95% of their time worrying about things that will NEVER happen.

So what am I getting at? What was the point I wanted to get across in this blog?

Don’t make a plan.

I’ve learned the hard way of the importance of just living for today, and not worrying about what will happen tomorrow. No one knows what tomorrow will bring, and guess what? There’s not a damn thing we can do about it anyways. No one can stop time, so there will always be stresses and anxieties of tomorrow, but why worry?!

Honestly, if someone had to have told me that I would leave my ex-wife, fall in love with a man who loves me for who I am, takes the good-bad and the ugly. That I would be getting married, and have a home and we both would have started our own businesses I would have laughed in your face, because it wasn’t in MY plan. It may not have been in mine but it was in God’s.

When we set plans for ourselves, we also get upset when the outcome that we had fixated in our mind, is not what actually happens. So would it not make sense then to just live for today and not focus so much on making sure that every day happens and ends with a certain outcome? My God, I’m exhausted just thinking about it!

My new plan is to just be happy! I’m enjoying life more now than I ever did. I may be sicker than I ever was, but somehow I’m ok with that. Being happy is a choice that I make every day. I have to. We are not guaranteed tomorrow. And I hope that maybe somehow, if you are reading this, you will stop and think about your own life. And maybe analyze what you think you want to happen in your life and maybe decide to just hold on for the ride and not worry so much about having everything happen so perfectly in our little plan.

Life is beautiful…..just the way it is.

“With the past, I have nothing to do; nor with   

  the future. I live now.”

~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Peace and Love,
Jamie Leigh Francis
xo

Dear Al and Val/ Letting Go

Me and Al and Val on my Wedding Day

Dear Al and Val/ Letting Go

I’m broken. Oh so broken. I feel like when I feel I’m getting ahead and finally starting to feel abnormally happy, that ol’ friend comes around and brings me right back down, below dirt.

I’m tired of it and I need to let it go.

I was taking a religion course in grade 10 when I first came in contact with Jehovah’s Witnesses. I had to choose a religion and then prove whether or not they were a cult. My mother had a dear friend named Olga who used to come to the house with the ‘Watchtower’ and ‘Awake’ magazines. Before I continue, let me give you a little background history of my situation.

All while growing up my mother enforced a strong fear of displeasing God and a longing to make him proud of my life choices. Mom taught all three of us kids not to steal, not to have premarital relations and to respect thy neighbor. Growing up with an illness, starting at a very young age, I had anger towards God because he gave me CF, you see. “Why me?”, I would always ask. So when it comes to spiritually speaking I was very vulnerable and an easy target for the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

So I thought of Olga and immediately thought that I would reach out to her for some information on her religion and do my report on Jehovah’s Witnesses. I was a rebel child and thought that she would pretty much do the assignment for me. But that was not the case. I spent days reading their literature and finished my paper, getting 100% mark from Ms. Peirce. In the days that followed, Olga was persistent on getting me to study the bible with her, and learning about what God had in store for this sick kid. I longed for answers. I longed for what the meaning of this life was and what kind of sick joke God is playing on me for giving me this terrible, terrible illness. So, I began to study the bible.

For the most part, I loved what I was learning. I quickly became passionate about the new findings from the bible I was gaining and what it meant for my future. I devoted hours to my bible study and spent many evenings abandoning homework to learn more about God and his purpose. But then, a couple of months later, something terrible happened.

I remember when I first learned, again from their literature that God did not approve of a homosexual lifestyle. The scriptures they gave to support such a theory never did make any sense to me, nor do they now. I was heart-broken. I knew deep down in my heart that I was gay, but quickly assumed that God hated this part of me, and worked hard at burying this part of my soul deep within me so that no one would notice the screaming voice inside.

My studies continued for months, and then years…..the friends I gained were the most important thing to me. I finally felt a sense of belonging even though it was indeed false. I was baptized as a Jehovah’s Witness on April 30^th, 2005.

Then I met Al and Val.

You know about my past and my twisted relationships I had with both my Mom and my Dad. I never had what you call, normal parents. Al and Val never had any kids of their own. They resisted my friendship in fear of my Cystic Fibrosis. But I pushed because I knew the type of people they were. They had the biggest hearts and I was severely attracted to the both of them because they were REAL….not fake hypocritical Christians. We quickly bonded and they took me under their wing and soon enough I loved them so much that I viewed them as parents. I had never met two people who made me feel the way they did. I falsely believed that even if they knew I was gay, they would love me anyways. I thought that our love could withstand anything. They flipped my world upside down and taught me what it was like to have two parent figures who loved eachother. Loved me.

Then I met Alicia.

I was taught that I as a man should find myself a mate. A man and a woman would live together in perfect bliss and happiness. I already wrote a previous blog about how I fell in love with Alicia, so I’ll just say that we were married 8 months after we met on August 18^th, 2007.

That voice, that thing inside that cried out every now and then for freedom crept up on my wedding day. It asked, “So, you’re really doing this? You are really going to marry a woman. The bible tells you this is right but yet I, your inner voice is telling you this is oh so wrong?” And I did.

Our marriage was actually more beautiful than you would think. I have some of my fondest life memories with Alicia, though they were never in the Kingdom Hall where I was brainwashed and taught “their” version of the truth.  She had a way of making me laugh and seemed to enjoy all of my imperfections. We often spent time with Al and Val, and they even stood for us at our wedding. From the outside life seemed to be perfect. But in reality….. I was dying.

My nephew from my marriage to Alicia was killed tragically in a car accident on August 25^th, 2008, one year after we were married. After he died, I began to question everything. I look back on that time as the pivotal time in my life where the real me started to emerge from underneath the bibles, and pamphlets. As each day passed my yearning to break free into the life I truly wanted to live grew harder and harder to settle, until one day on May 31^st 2011 I had had enough. I was driving our van full of friends and family who joined me in St.John’s for the annual walk for Cystic Fibrosis. As I was driving my mind was going all over the road. I was thinking about my nephew, Rorry. I was thinking about what my life had become. I was thinking about how I gave up on my own happiness. And then all of a sudden, I heard my sister in law screaming from the back seat. Without even knowing it, I swerved out onto the shoulder of the highway to pass a transport truck who was travelling too slow for my liking. Before I had a chance to realize what I had done, I was demanded to pull over so that she could drive. I don’t know why I didn’t kill everyone that day, and I try not to think about it because I can only say that angels were there.
That night is when I derived a plan to take my own life. This was it. I was done.

After this incident, it still took me 4 months to find the courage and will to leave. With visits with the elders telling me to ‘pray the gay away’ and that Jehovah (God) would disown me if I chose this life course it  made it extremely hard to finally leave.

When I left, I was instantly, I mean instantly looked down upon from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. People who once viewed me as a great friend, now viewed me as the scum of the earth. People with whom I would share my life with, soon would not even share a smile. I haven’t spoken to Al and Val ever since and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of them and wonder how they are doing. I see my old friends at work or in the city and they look upon me with disgust and disapproval. If there is one thing I learned while I was a Jehovah’s Witness is that I never, nor will you, meet anyone group of people as self-righteous as they. They can do no wrong, you see.  They have ‘the truth’ and if you are a part of another religion, unless you conform to their ways, then you too are scum of the earth. They claim to teach love, yet their teachings are full of hate. They claim to be holier than the pope, yet they are some of the biggest hypocrites out there. Don’t get me wrong, there were a lot of amazing people in there, and a lot of people I miss, but most of them had ulterior motives.

It’s hard pill to swallow when people say “Well how can you be mad at them, when you lied to them about who you really were?” But you see, had I been honest, I wouldn’t have been accepted by them. I had already been disowned and abused by my father and could never understand why, so to put myself through that voluntarily was ludacris. And remember the fragile state I was in in the first place. My longing for answers outweighed the pain of hiding my true self until the pain simply became too unbearable.

People tell me all the time to ‘get over it’, ‘let it go’ and ‘move on’. Stop letting yourself be hurt by this and victimizing yourself. To those people I say; You have no idea what it was like, what it is like to be one of these people. You are brainwashed to the point where hate becomes love and though you preach ‘Do Not Judge’, you judge everyone. I spent 8 years as a Jehovah’s Witness. That’s 1/3 of my life. It’s not something you can let go of that easy. Every time I see one of the them I am reminded of the hatred in the world and how there never will be peace as long as religious organizations such as this are still around. It’s so easy for people to say, get over it, but you just simply do not understand.

A part of the reason why I am writing this blog is because I want to start working harder at letting this go and forgiving MYSELF for this mistake I made. I cannot express in words how free I feel and happy that I am living an authentic life full of joy and honesty that I have never experienced before. Sometimes I have to pinch myself because I cannot believe I am here. But there are days, like today, when I miss my old friends and miss talking to my ex-wife that really upset me. And I think it’s normal. But it’s robbing me of joy and that’s why I want to work on it.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses teach that you will never be happy or experience a false sense of happiness if you ever leave their cult…..

I guess they were wrong about something.

     “I just want to be myself and I want you to love me for who I am.” ~ Lady GaGa

Peace and Love,
Jamie Leigh Francis
xo