Catherine Mellen's Blog, page 5
August 6, 2024
A Childhood Tragedy Under A Mother’s Watch
A horrifying truth behind child rape, cruel family secrets and a mother who turned her jealousy into hate for her own daughter.
A heartbreaking true story of a young girl’s desperation to survive the hands of a monstrous predator.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/1953610161
August 5, 2024
Choose Your Abuse Wisely
Just the title of this article boils my blood.
I was once told that I chose my abuse because I couldn’t get over it. It was my fault that I still hurt, my fault that I still feel pain and my fault that I still think about it.
No one chooses their abuse, No One.
By the time you suffer from drug abuse, alcohol abuse or domestic abuse, you are already a teenager or adult with so many outlets to reach support. There are twelve-step programs, AA classes, advocates, sponsors and rehabilitation hospitals.
But when you’re an abused child, by the time you’re a teenager or adult, it’s your job to get over it, move on, forgive and forget.
When the memories, flashbacks, thoughts or triggers cross our mind, then it is our fault for remembering. We need counseling and medication to help us recover, forgive and forget.
They turn their eye on child abuse.
Then they train us to be ashamed to speak about it.
Our Acknowledgement and Accountability is drowned by Ridicule, Gaslighting, Mimics and Belittling Words.
They protect the reputation of the abuser and shame the dignity of the victim.
Child abuse is a family matter and family matters are kept secrets…. Well, not anymore.
Society joined in and pushed the forgive and forget shit in our faces. I spent over thirty years struggling with those words of advice.
The only ones who want us to remain silent are the ones embarrassed for failing to protect us.
It wasn’t until I forgave myself for spending most of my life searching for forgiveness in what is so unforgivable, that I finally felt good to be myself.
I am not who I am because I was abused. I am who I am because I survived.
So why silence us? The thing about abused children is we grow up. Some do grow up and use their wronged childhood as excuses for actions in their adulthood.
While others shatter their silence on childhood trauma and family secrets, so no more children have to grow up living their lives thinking they are the blame.
Isn’t it time we shame the abusers and praise the survivors?
Drug abuse, alcohol abuse, domestic abuse, there is help.
Childhood abuse does end and when it does, it is our job to grow up, forgive, forget, move on, stop dwelling, get over it or seek medical professional help behind a closed door. Because society does not want to hear it.
If I had to choose an abuse, I would choose one that offers the right to speak of it. Because living with a lifetime of childhood trauma in a society embarrassed by the words of a grown up abused child, is just plain cruel.
Shatter your silence and you will find you are never alone. Some days may seem like you are, but the more you speak, the more we all speak. And do me a favor, keep speaking.
Peace and blessings to all ♡
July 28, 2024
No One Seems To Stay
Her collection began quite young
Of her loves along the way
Never really knowing
Why no one seems to stay.
It started with her family
Though most she barely knew
She tucked them in her heart
Despite what she’d been through.
Sometimes she would question
What she did that was so wrong
It was hard understanding
Being part of a family you don’t belong.
Her questions went unanswered
And remain to this very day
Still, she often wonders
Why no one seems to stay.
She formed a lot of friendships
Many which she holds dear
Some lasting a lifetime
While some would just disappear.
She remembers those who cared
And those who made her smile
Happy scattered memories
She’s collected all the while.
Often they remind her
Of cards she’s dealt to play
Just another scenario
Why no one seems to stay.
A few went off to Heaven
And they play a big part
Of the huge pile of love
She has resting in her heart.
Though heartaches often came
She found the positive in each
Blessed for the experience
And the lessons they did teach.
She keeps her collection close
In the hopes that some day
One may love her just enough
To make them want to stay.
Written by Catherine Mellen
This poem can be found with over 70 others that are neatly placed together in one book… Only Beautiful Remains: Words of a Poet is available in ebook, paperback and Kindle Unlimited.
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D4RDTC74
July 25, 2024
Brand New Teardrop
Brand new little teardrop
Running down my cheek
Sorry you must visit
In my pains highest peak.
Although I feel a comfort
That you would feel my pain
A tiny little teardrop
Falling down like rain.
Back again my tiny teardrop
I’m sorry I’m not that strong
I’m glad you came to visit again
My strength it seems, is gone.
I don’t mean to be a bother
Or keep wasting your time
I’m glad you’re here to support me
When my pain is at its prime.
Tiny little teardrop
Why must you visit again
I’m trying to live without you
I don’t want to be your friend.
I want my face to smile
I want my heart to feel good
I wish you would stay away
If only you could.
Tiny little teardrop
Like an old withered routine
Slicing through my happiness
With your teardrops in between.
You’ve gotten kind of boring
An old habit to name a few
It’s time for me to start over
Making teardrops that are new.
Why must you return
To my eyes that cry?
I’ve told you many times
It’s time to say goodbye.
I wiped away your tears
Their flow I did stop
I just didn’t know
Each time, it was a brand new teardrop.
Written by Catherine Mellen. This poem can be found in my 2021 Survivor’s Mind
https://www.amazon.com/Survivors-Mind-Childhood-Trauma-Collide/dp/B08ZBMR2MR
and my 2024 Only Beautiful Remains: Words of a Poet
July 21, 2024
My Bookshelf Heart
Her heart is a bookcase
Filled with books to read
Some are written with love
While others still do bleed.
Pages filled with her poetry
Written in blood, sweat and tears
You can almost feel her words
And some of her darkest fears.
Some are inked in footprints
While some leave behind a stain
Telling about her struggles
And her excruciating pain.
One tells of a friendship
Through tears she often wept
Giving a reason to believe
In a promise that was kept.
There’s pages for the guy
Who broke her heart in two
And how she holds it together
With her paper and some glue.
Each person has a line
And some even a chapter
Her favorite books of all
Are the ones filled with laughter.
Some books she’ll never read
And leave them to collect dust
For they are written words
Of the names she can not trust.
She holds her books tightly
Like those she loves the most
For each book on this shelf
Was written by the host.
This poem can be found with over 70 others that are neatly placed together in one book… Only Beautiful Remains: Words of a Poet is available in ebook, paperback and Kindle Unlimited ⚘️
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D4RDTC7
July 19, 2024
American Dream
American Dream
Struggling to make ends meet
Happens on every street
Barely enough to get by
Unpaid bills and funds run dry.
American Dream, where did it go?
Was it a lie, for the world to know?
Stress piles high, demand is too much
The American Dream, I just can’t touch.
Rent is due, kids need clothes
Shopping for bargains is how it goes
American Dream, is what I was told
But rarely do I see it actually unfold.
Homeless and Mental Health
Security from the Commonwealth
Jobless rate and disability
A loss beyond our ability.
I look out the window of the American Dream
Thinking it was a lie or so it does seem
American Dream, where are you now?
Were you a lie, we all believed in some how?
I’ll close my eyes and dream of my home
An American myth, I ponder alone.
This poem can be found with over 70 others that are neatly placed together in one book… Only Beautiful Remains: Words of a Poet is available in ebook, paperback and Kindle Unlimited ⚘
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D4RDTC74
July 11, 2024
My Spontaneous Grandpa
I was asked to write a 500 word short about a spontaneous childhood memory for the beautiful Sunny Larue: The Professional Martini Drinking Blogger. Along with the link to her blog, here is my true story about a grandpa ♡ I hope you all enjoy….
My Spontaneous Grandpa:
I was sixteen years old in the summer of 1986. I had run away from my mother’s home a year earlier and was living with a friend. Though I had ran away, I was not a reported runaway. (That’s a long story.)
It was a hot day as I walked nearly two miles from where I was living in the highlands section of Lowell, Massachusetts to my job at Dunkin Donuts in the downtown area. As I walked, I heard my name being yelled by my friend Sam. I turned to the direction of the street and saw her boyfriend Chris drive up alongside me.
“What’s up girl?” he questioned me with a smile.
“Want to go to Florida?” Sam hollers from the passenger seat.
“What’s up guys?” I responded while laughing at their silliness. “I’m on my way to work,” I continued.
Sam then jumps out of the car and runs over to hug me.
“Please,” she says as she folds her hands together. “Come to Florida with us,” she continued.
“What?” I questioned with curiosity.
“We’ll be back in three days,” she began as she explained they were exchanging cars for Chris’s father.
I thought about it for maybe twenty seconds. I quickly smiled, giggled and then I said, “Let’s do this.”
Within five hours, we were in New York City. Boy, what an adventure I was on. I was mesmerized by the scenery of every state we drove through. About twenty hours later, we were in Miami, Florida. We stopped for some food at a roadside diner, switched vehicles and headed back north. As we got to the Florida border we saw an elderly man broken down on the side of the road.
Chris pulled over and offered his assistance to the man, but his car battery died and the man just wanted to get home to his wife in Maryland. He asked for a ride, took his license plate off the car and hoped in the backseat where I was sitting. Chris did stop at a payphone, so the man could call his wife and let her know where he was.
As we drove the next twelve hours, the man told me stories of when he was younger, how he met his wife and how simpler life was back in the day. I never had a grandpa and I really enjoyed his company. It was as if for twelve short hours, I was enjoying the company of a grandpa.
Once we got him home, his beautiful wife had greeted us with the biggest breakfast buffet I had ever seen. She was so grateful that we got her husband home safely, she thanked us by filling our bellies before we headed home. Her hospitality and outpouring of thankfulness made the trip even more rewarding than I imagined.
And now, nearly forty years later, I still think of that unexpected trip that landed me a grandpa, even if it was only for a spontaneous twelve hours.
Peace and Blessings to all ♡
Catherine Mellen
July 4, 2024
248 Birthday Wishes
Wishing everyone a super fun and safe 4th of July
Remember to check on the elderly, veterans, small children and pets.
Fireworks can remind a person of gunshots, can scare a child and traumatize a pet.
Please use caution and respect when using Fireworks.
New York USA
Florida USA
My hometown of Lowell, Massachusetts
Happy Birthday #248 America
June 27, 2024
No Apologies: My Bubble Bursted
No Apologies: My Bubble Bursted
The old ‘Burst Your Bubble’ statement.
The statement where you’re left with your hands in the air.
The statement where a ‘fact is a fact’ ‘It is what it is’ and ‘deal with it‘ all have one meaning… “Shut the f**k Up”
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but your rent is going up.”
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but your bills are due.”
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but he’s cheating on you.”
“I don’t mean to burst your bubble, but you need to get over it, forgive and forget.”
It seemed everyone had a bubble to burst while I stayed tucked away in my own bubble of shame, secrets and silence.
I had this voice in the back of my head that would scream ‘One Day My Bubble Will Burst.’ In a way it made me feel superior, knowing what I knew. Knowing I could blow the lid off and tell my family’s secrets.
But and a BIG BUT... it also meant, I had to tell truth about my childhood abuse. I didn’t want my kids, friends or coworkers to know what actually happened to me when I was a child. I didn’t want to remember it, never mind anyone else knowing about it. So in the bubble I stayed.
Every new life changing event; a new apartment, a new job, my children, a divorce and more… I stayed in my bubble.
Every ounce of advice, opinion and answers to questions I never asked… I stayed in my bubble.
I stayed in my bubble because as life went on, I knew no one wanted to know what was in my bubble.
No one wants to know the full extent of a bad childhood.
No one wants to know the sex acts performed on a child.
No one wants to know the horrible memories that flash through my head.
No one wants to know how cruel and nasty people can truly be.
So, in my bubble I stayed.
I stood my ground,
but didn’t move forward.
I spoke my truth,
but stayed in silence.
I kept my pride,
but hid behind my dignity.
I was a survivor,
but lived my life a victim.
I took the ridicule, the mimics, the humiliation, shame and embarrassment because as much as I wanted to defend myself.. it wasn’t worth it.
It wasn’t worth the arguments.
It wasn’t worth the disgusted looks.
It wasn’t worth bringing up the past.
It wasn’t worth defending myself.
It wasn’t worth bursting their bubble.
So… In my bubble I stayed.
As I got older and fell victim to Repressed Memories, I slowly felt the pin being pushed into my bubble. I heard the squeaking, long deflating helium ballon screeching sound. I felt it push into my body as the bubble squished against me begging myself to stay silent.
I finally got the courage and the chance to talk with a medical professional, but it was behind a closed door. And I quickly felt the patch being placed over the tiny hole I allowed my bubble to breath out of. I was stuck behind a closed door with a bubble nearly thirty-five years in the making.
The more I talked, the more I wanted to be heard.
The more I remembered, the more I talked.
The more I talked, the more I remembered.
My bubble jiggled and jangled for months.
It was bursting, it was slowly deflating and it was blowing itself back up again.
Until I finally grabbed my bubble with my hands and ripped it wide open, shredding every bit of that bubble until there were only shreds left behind.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble…. But I am a Survivor of childhood sexual, physical, cruel, inhumane treatment, abuse and I will continue to talk about it.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble… But it’s OK to cry about things from the past.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble… But it’s OK if it still hurts.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble… But I got to the Police without their support.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble… But I’m only human.
I don’t mean to burst your bubble… But my bubble and all inside has bursted.
I don’t mean to burst your Bbbble… But if you don’t like it, then shoo fly don’t bother me.
I no longer live in a bubble created by a society so filled with shame, silence and secrets. If you’re reading this, please know… You are not alone.
Stepping out of our own little bubble we create for ourselves is a huge and scary step to make.
We tell ourselves its a one time thing, but it isn’t. It’s the worst kind of addiction, a reality of recovery everyday of our lives. The emotions, self doubts, self pity and wanting to give up. We can either stay seated in that one place inside our bubble or we step out and share our stories in the hopes that someday, someone somewhere will use our scars as their sign of hope.
Thank You for reading me,
Never Ever Suffer Alone
Peace and Blessings to all
Your friend, Catherine Mellen
June 25, 2024
Once Upon A Staircase
From hand written journal to published book, I finally got there… Once Upon A Staircase ♡
Once upon a staircase
A giant step I made
Looking up to struggles
Down a waterfall cascade.
Another step is taken
A giant leap I take
All the different stages
With every step I make.
Once upon a staircase
Another step I took
Growing through the pages
Of a written journal book.
Inked in footprints
Left behind by stain
If I keep going
Only a few steps remain.
Once upon a staircase
I looked up the last time
A cascade of courage
In taking the last climb.
I took the final steps
A fear I had to face
I finally got there
Once upon a staircase.
Written by Catherine Mellen ♡
You can find this and over 70 more poems beautifully placed together in one book. Only Beautiful Remains: Words of a Poet is now available in paperback, ebook & Kindle Unlimited.
