Carroll Ohio - My Paradise, My Purgatory. Healing and Moving Forward

 Grew up in a small town

And when the rain would fall down

I'd just stare out my window

Dreaming of what could be

And if I'd end up happy

I would pray (I would pray) 

Trying hard to reach out

But when I tried to speak out

Felt like no one could hear me

Wanted to belong here

But something felt so wrong here

So I would pray (I would pray)

I could break away

I'll spread my wings and I'll learn how to fly

I'll do what it takes til I touch the sky

And I'll make a wish, take a chance, make a change

And break away

- Breakaway by Kelly Clarkson, released on her 2004 album Breakaway

What a great song. So much power and pain, heart and soul packed into those 4 minutes. The emotion that Kelly puts into every word is hauntingly beautiful, heart breaking, and way too relatable. The first time I heard this song, it went straight to my soul. I felt every single word in every fiber of my being. 

I have spent most of my life in this very small town. My relationship with this place has always been violently love/hate. The good and bad times that I had here have been equal in their pain and joy. 

Even when things were good, I felt like I didn't belong here. There has always been something inside of me that wondered what else was out there. As long as I can remember, I have heard the world calling my name. 

I still feel that. It has just been growing and getting stronger in the last few months. My heart, my soul - I don't know - something strong and powerful inside of me is becoming more and more restless. 

I know great things are coming. I know that this tiny little village cannot hold me, much longer. As that time gets closer, my spirit gets more and more impatient. Like it knows what is coming and is so eager to start that chapter of my life.

It's not even about what I went through a couple of years ago. When I look back on all of that now, it feels different - like it is all coming into perspective. I truly believe that I have healed and moved on from all of it. 

Now, when I think of this little village - my first thoughts are of happy times, fun times, mischievous times. And there are so very many of those. 

When I walk through town - the parks, the school campus, certain houses make me giggle and even blush with the memories that surface. And, maybe, that is what I needed more than anything. Maybe I need to heal and forgive this town, and its people. Now that I have, I can leave with a feeling of peace and love. 

There was so much to forgive this place for. 

The first eight years of my life were not too bad. I was raised by a single mom who worked 2 jobs to make ends meet. There is no denying that, in her way, she did the best she could. Also in the home were my aunt and my older sister - both were just enough older to be annoyed by the loud, crazy, weird little girl running around the house. And my grandma, who was the only one that ever had any luck getting me to shut up and sit for any length of time. 

The first 2 or 3 years of my life, we lived in a small trailer court at the front of town. The lot now contains some kind of metal treating business. But, from 1976 to 1978/9, it was home. When we lived there, my father was still around - when it suited him. We were also living here when he left for the last time, never looking back or giving a second thought to the baby girl he left behind. 

I don't have any memories of what life was like here. But I have heard stories and seen old, faded pictures. I can say that most of the pictures do show what looked like a very simple and fairly happy time. Then again, who takes pictures of the bad times? 

When I was about 3, I would guess, we moved to a house at the back of town. If I understand correctly, we moved there to take care of my Great Grandmother. I do have a few very distinct memories of living here. 

The first is of my Great Grandmother being in her bed in the back bedroom of the house and me being scared of her because I thought she was dead. She wasn't - she was just old and frail and sickly. She slept most of the time. 

The second memory is of my Aunt Collette and I sitting out front on the tiny porch petting a calico cat. I even remember that I was wearing a blue winter type coat and she was wearing a purple one. I am not sure if the cat was ours or a stray, but she and I sat there and played with that car for some time. I remember her laughing at me as I was enthralled by the animal. She probably does not remember any of this. For all I know, it could just be a dream I had. But it is a beautiful memory, so I hang onto it. 

The third memory is of the two boys that lived next door - Adam and Alan Cook. Alan was my age and we spent all of our playtime, together. In the house next to his, there was a guy who had a butcher shop in his basement. We would go there and watch him work, sometimes. Alan was also the first kid that I got in trouble with. 

Betty Kilby lived around the corner from us. In her yard was this beautiful above ground pool. with a small deck around it. On that deck were chairs and inner tubes and various other things pool related. 

Y'all see where this is going, don't you... 

Yep, Alan and I, being the bored and mischievous little punks that we were, gave into temptation one day. Somehow, we managed to get onto the deck - I am guessing Betty did not keep a lock on the gate, at the time. I mean it was 1979/80 in a village in Ohio, so she should not have had too. Anyway, Alan and I decided that all the stuff on the deck looked hot and dry - so we threw it all in the pool. When I say all of it, I mean ALL. Chairs, inner tubes, bottles of lotion, a radio - if it was on the deck and movable, it ended up in the pool. 

I don't remember how we got caught. I just remember that we did. Boy, did we get into so much trouble. Betty was pissed - and rightfully so. I got the worst spanking of my very young life, that day. 

Telling this story now, I can smile and chuckle about it. But 3 year old me still remembers the sting of my little butt. 

A month after my 4th birthday, and on my sister's 9th birthday, we moved a street up and into the place that my mom is still living in today. By this time, Great Grandma had passed and we had to sell the house. There were 5 of us crammed into this little 2 bedroom apartment. Poor Grandma had to share a room with my aunt, sister, and myself - and a bed with my sister - but she was a champ and made it work. 

From ages 4-8, life here was... well, life. It wasn't perfect nor was it hell on earth. It was a house of 5 females, on the lower middle class spectrum, doing their best to live. 

I made friends with Gabe- the boy who lived next door, and Justin - the boy that lived across the alley behind us. For the next couple of years, the three of us were inseparable. We had our fun and we got in trouble, Nothing in particular that stands out like what Alan and I had gotten into. I had learned my lesson. But they were the best friends a young girl could ask for. 

Life marched on. I started Kindergarten when I was 4. Up until this point, I had only ever met or played with the other kids that lived inside the village and went to my church. I had no idea that there were so many that lived outside the village limits. Truly, going to school was a complete shock for me. I had led a very limited existence up to that point.

Justin and Gabe would be starting school for another 2 years, so I was going in alone. But, even back then, I was the social butterfly. I loved school and I loved making friends with all of those kids. 

From that first day in 1981 until the day I graduated in 1994, I was the girl that talked to everyone. Never in my 13 years of school did I ever belong to any of the cliques. And that was my first clue that I didn't really fit in here. It was also the first day that I realized that I thought girls were just as cute as boys. Yes, I realized this at 4 years old! 

I was 8 years old when I went through my first unfamiliar, traumatic event - beginning the spawning of the sarcastic, jaded gal that is writing this today. I won't bore anyone with the details - suffice it to say that a local guy and his nephew decided it was their right to teach 8 year old me about sex and games and keeping secrets. 

When it was discovered, the only fallout was my mental health. The two guys faced no consequences and I was encouraged to forget that it ever happened. So I did. Well, conscious me did. My subconscious is a whole other story. 

From that time until I was 12, I changed, drastically. At home, I became more and more angry. I was causing more trouble. I was mouthy. I interacted less with my mother, grandmother, and sister - my aunt had moved out, by this time. I was cutting and burning myself. I even attempted to take my own life, more than once. I became more and more about music and writing. 

At school, I was still social - but unwilling to accept any bullying of anyone - whether by other students or teachers. I was no longer the good student I was once, even deliberately failing testing for honors classes, just to prove I could do whatever I wanted - adults be damned. 

It was not until I was 12 and in middle school, that any adults paid enough attention to realize that there was more going on with me than the typical acting out of a preteen girl. A near-successful attempt on my life confirmed these suspicions and I was sent to counseling. 

Here I was diagnosed as a Manic Depressive with Anxiety Disorder. Michael, my counselor, also brought forth the buried memory of what happened to me when I was 8. It was his assessment that I was acting out towards adults because being forced - by adults - to bury that memory, had taught me that adults were my enemy. They were not concerned with protecting me - only their own reputations. This caused a distrust and hatred of adults. 

I would say that was a fair assessment. Spot on, in fact. 

Michael was a great counselor. He helped me deal with so many things. Though I still had the sarcastic, jaded outlook on life, the anger was less and I channeled it into my sarcasm and dry wit. 

Just think of me as an early Chandler Bing or Pacey Witter or Stiles Stilinski. 

Something else that helped was the birth of my baby sister. Suddenly there was this new, tiny little person that I was responsible for protecting and keeping safe. Seeing that angelic little face, every day, made it very hard to be angry all the time. 

As I progressed through my teen years, I heard more and more often what a unique young lady I was. English teachers were impressed with my writing and my diction and maturity. History teachers were impressed with my love and knowledge of history and my intelligence. My closest friends loved having me around because I kept them laughing and safe. The rest of the student body was not sure what to make of me, but they thought I was funny and - as I recently learned - a bit scary. 

More and more, I became convinced that I did not belong here. I did not fit in. There as no one here that was like me. I had friends, and though they didn't quite understand me, they tried. And they gave me some of my best times. 

There were countless slumber parties and pizza parties and football games and basketball games and Girl Scout craziness. There was laughter and scheming and shenanigans. I will forever be grateful for all of it. 

Sophomore year I decided that I was moving to Los Angeles after graduation. I wanted to start a rock band. I kept that dream for the next 3 years. Until January of 1994, when I met Steve. I let him convince me that he was my knight in shining armour and that he was going to rescue me and give me the life I deserved. So I stayed. And I married him. 

I have covered how that went, as well as the next too many years, in a previous blog. Which bring us to present day. I have given the past a great deal of thought, lately. I will never forget what I have been through, nor would I want too. It all made me who I am, today. But I am working on forgiving. 

The local guy passed away years ago, but I hope he found peace. I don't know what happened to the nephew, but wherever he is, I hope he has grown and matured.

I also hope that Steve, Jeff, and Sonya will be able to find their true happiness. I pray that whatever demons or struggles they have, will work themselves out. 

I hope that Stephanie and Angie and Patty and Chris and Brooke have found peace and happiness.

 I don't think Chris meant to hurt me. He was dealing with his own pain. I think he and I got caught in the crossfire of a dynamic that we did not understand or belong too. 

As for Angie, Patty, and Brooke - well, they had all known each other for a long time. Angie was loyal to Patty and Patty was loyal to Brooke. And a weird, bohemian, Queer chick was not going to change that. I get it. Loyalty is commendable. 

As for Brooke, well I don't know who she is now - but a few years ago she was an angry and confused woman who was hurting. I was an easy target for her. It is what it is and I hope she has found healing. 

As for Stephanie, well we have talked some things through. She is working on her life and finding her happiness. I hope she succeeds. 

So here I am, finally making peace with everything. Finally starting to forgive and move on. And being grateful for it all. Honestly, I am even grateful for even the worst moments. It all taught me what I want out of life. And made me who I am, today. 

I will spend the next year preparing for that next big chapter. I will spend as much time as I can with this town and it's people, letting them know that I am grateful, that they will all hold a place in my heart. 

And, one day soon, the world will know of this beautiful little village in the middle of Ohio. 

Originally posted February 23, 2023

UPDATE - This last year has been all about healing from all the trauma and drama this town has brought me. It has been quite a journey, but a successful one. The healing and forgiveness that I began working on, when I originally posted this, has come such a very long way. I am down to my last few months here and I am making the most of that time. Not quite in the way I discussed in the blog, though. I do not go out much, anymore. The vicious climate of the state of America has only served to highlight the very major differences between myself and most residents of this very conservative, Trump-loving village. And it is not a climate that I can shrug at or do the whole 'we agree to disagree' thing. Not with the rights and freedoms of myself, my son, and our communities at stake. I am focused only on spending time with the few people that are truly supportive, loving allies of the LGBTQ+, African American, Jewish, and all other minority communities.