Who? What? Why?

Grace Unravelled

Even Grace needs a safe place to dangle over the edge.  Grace unravelled, unedited, unapologetic, and without an freakin’ ounce of shame for any of it.

I’m Grace.  Not your usual Grace.  No, that’s my other face.  This is the place for Grace to free-fall through space.  It’s a race of madness.  The place for Grace.

Free falling: .  Not giving a single fuck and letting it all hang out without cleaning up the little ugly snarled and frayed edges. Thus, this place is likely to be chock full of cry-baby tantrums, philosophical pity party reflections, and excessive use of swearing for none other than the laziness to exercise her  brain enough to find more appropriate descriptive words.

Grace is a single mom of two teenaged  daughters.  Twice divorced, much abused…possibly deranged and decidedly broken. ..but she doesn’t admit this.  She’s Grace.  She puts on the happy face of optimism.  The happy face of Grace

Grace is a survivor of sorts, but she’s not too happy about that and definitely not proud.  There’s no ribbon or gold star for what she’s survived.  No charitable causes in her honor.  She has “survived” physical, mental, and sexual abuse for the majority of her life.  Like a never-ending story: abuse begets abuse per se, until the survivor doesn’t know how to be anything else and has no substance to prevent further abuse.  So she’s currently  in the middle of her life, trying to figure why she’s survived…and even if this is survival at all.

Grace desperately needed a place to let all the pathetic ugly hang out naked and vulnerable; a safe place to put down her brave, happy, accepting  face.   I suspect she’s merely using this as a last-ditch effort to hold onto some semblance of her grace, when in fact, I happen to know she just wants to let go.

Grace is an ignored little girl with hopes and dreams like most children, a hopelessly romantic teenager suffering, a college student experimenting, a single mother stressing, and most likely at any given moment here, Grace is suffering a bout of acute hypergraphia, desperately needing an outlet.  Her legs are most likely unshaven and her breath might be putrid from chain-smoking and skipping the floss.  She doesn’t care. She’s not trying to be pretty for you or brave for her children or strong for the masses who’ve endured more… or less ..or anything.

Here, Grace does not wear make-up or smile unless she really feels like it. She refuses to buck up, put on her big girl pants, wipe the snot from her nose and bravely move forward.  No.  here, she cries whines, rants, swears. Here, she wipes her cry-baby nose on the sleeve of her pink cashmere Banana Republic sweater;  she doesn’t twist nervously at the strand of pearls around her neck, hoping you’ll not notice her discomfort, confusion, anger, or hate; NO, she yanks them and laughs while they scatter and roll everywhere.  She does not take a deep breath, say a prayer, and tell herself, this too shall pass.  She screams, WHAT THE FUCK?

Yeah, here is a glimpse of Grace unraveled like the tiny pick in her grey knit sweater.  She’s not tucking that string back in and hiding it away here, she’s grabbing hold and yanking it til the sweater is a pile of used, worthless, nasty, filthy, smelly yarn…and then swinging from her string of self-pity, laughing at the cruel and crazy irony of it all.

Warning:  this may be scattered, ridiculous thoughts from all over the board.  It’s definitely not for the weak of spirit.  It’s the place Grace goes to blow it all up and then piece, paste, and Scotch tape the tiny fragments of her spirit back together. In any way she can. …and only IF she feels like it.pearls breaking

7 thoughts on “Who? What? Why?”

  1. wow, you are being really open…i find my writing is very theraputic….cheaper than bars and safer than popping pills. keep it up and hope to read some more….People that are heroes aren’t fearless, they are afraid, but they do it anyway.

    • Thank you. I’m loving your “cheaper than bars and safer than popping pills”!!
      Also, I’m delighted to know my crude openness hasn’t offended or turned you away in disgust. Like you, it is my sincere attempt at self therapy..and holding back, however more “graceful” it would be, would certainly defeat the therapeutic purpose.
      Thank you for reading and not running away in disgusted horror at my frankly blunt writings. Blessings to you!

  2. Keep on, friend

  3. This WordPress deal is a strange one. I think that is really well written, witty, full of great metaphors, original, I could go on!
    And you get NO LIKES!>!>>!?!? Its nuts. Meanwhile some mook posts a photo of a cat in a sock with some pithy feel good phrase undeneath it(nicked from elsewhere let’s face it) and he gets 1027 likes(I coundte ’em).
    The sonofabitch!
    Well screw that cat in a sock I say. I dig yours way better.
    It’s been lovely meeting you Grace. (I see now that the Chloe part is just a decoy to catch idiots out – nice work there. I may add one before mine – DamienDoubtpuppet?)

    • Well DamienDoubtpuppet.. I’m on to you now.. you’re pulling out all the stops here to make me go far beyond odiferous intrigue, dessert, and trollops straight to insane mad Shakespearean love, huh?!? Aren’t ya??!??
      Thank you so much for reading and for the beautiful compliments.. you’re just making my day/night/week for real!! ❌⭕️❌⭕️

  4. Ooooh where does she get those marvellous toys? A red xoxo indeed?! I dont have toys like that, Not fair!
    But I’ll let you off just this one time, because I LIKE you.
    Odiferous – there it is again. Im googling the eyebrows off that after this.
    Well you made my night too so it was a good deal I reckon. Thank you Groece 😉

    p.s. I combined the names to be on the safe side

  5. J. Joye Sedota said:

    Thank you SO MUCH for your candid words and sharing your thoughts and feelings here. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know that I’m not alone (even though I wholeheartedly wish you and I were not in this club..)

    I, too, was a single mother. I have a daughter, whom, oddly enough, was ALSO manipulated away from me by those two harpies I have to call “mother” and “sister.” Because of their sadistic con-game, my daughter also doesn’t speak to me at all – it’s been almost 5 years. She’s 22 now, and, I’m not allowed to know ANYTHING about her.

    I am SO sorry you’ve had to go through this depth of betrayal..

    ..just know that there’s another being on this earth who can relate.

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