CHAPTER 1: “ EAT IT !!! ”
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Mara (meaning “bitter”) bellowed in little Jonathan’s face as he sat at the round faux marble table in the kitchen. The sound of gagging; and, vomiting spilt the silence as Mara angrily screamed at him to eat the bowl of Chex that had become soggy. The consistency was disgusting to little Jonathan; and, he defiled the bowl with his vomit; again; and, again as she forced him to eat the polluted mixture causing him to cry as he vomited; clearly in distress.
He couldn’t understand why she was so angry. What did I do wrong?
He shook with fear; afraid of what might come next. Mara’s hands had become instruments of pain; and, fear for him. The scariest place for him was anywhere alone with Mara. Especially the front seat of the car on the way home from school. On the outside to those who didn’t know her like Jonathan did; thought "Mara" (his adoptive mother) was a really nice lady librarian at a prestigious Private School.
Jonathan sobbed as tears streamed down his face as she shoved his face into the fouled mixture.
He swallowed hard as he gazed around the room; his eyes filled with tears as they made contact with his youngest daughter Dassa’s.
“Dad? Are you ok?”
Her eyes; and, face showing deep concern for Jonathan; whose name was even taken from him through the adoption.
“I’m sorry” Jonathan said as he stood up pushing in his chair to excuse himself. A lump formed in his throat; and, he struggled against the urge to cry that was overwhelming him. “ I need some fresh air” Jonathan struggled to form the words; his voice shaking; and, cracking.
The glass door closed behind him as the raw emotions from that moment some forty-six years years before; came flooding back assaulting him like an armed man robbing him violently in broad daylight.
As he walked slowly this overwhelming sense of deep sadness draped itself across his shoulders hanging to the ground heavy as if he had a wet blanket wrapped tightly around himself The invisible weight made his body feel heavy; and, weak. Jonathan wept grievously as he walked slowly; his body convulsing as sobs burst forth from his very core.
“They took even my name” he screamed; his body shaking; and, soul vibrating like a tuning fork.
He used to run; and, ride his bike as a child through the winding neighborhood streets as he listened to Tears for Fears on a used Walkman. As long as he was apart from Mara (“Bitter”) he felt somewhat safe; and, the feelings of fear would subside as he would inhale deeply of fresh air; and, pump his legs peddling as fast; and, as far as they would carry him.
Today as Jonathan walked he was distinctly aware of the growing ache in his lower back; and hips. He sucked hard on the cartridge inhaling the sweet sticky medicine that many in his family disapproved of. Cannabis had become his “go to” for just about everything he struggled with.
“You disgust me” his birth father would say to him. Expressing his own deep disapproval while he himself was nothing but a judgmental alcoholic who was never there to even help him heal.
Nobody understood that of all the remedies he had sought; this one actually helped him manage his pain; and, would aid him to boost his frequently depressed mood with plant medicine that was used in the priestly anointing oil in the temple itself.
Physical pain had continuously sidelined Jonathan from a prior aggressive activity schedule as an active duty Marine stationed at Camp Pendleton from 1993-1997. Yet, now he could barely stand from more than fifteen to twenty minutes. Where he once hit the gym with regularity; he now found himself severely restricted. His now limited mobility made managing his anger; and, deep frustration even more difficult.
He missed the ability to train hard; and, heavy. Something happens when you do. It becomes like a “mind dump.” Though they no longer spoke; a friend named Victor Thomason had taught Jonathan a great deal about how to train his body, and it had become almost second nature until injuries; of both muscle; tendon; and bones would leave him with a deeper depression that he was fleeing to begin with.
Degenerative disk disease; compression fractures in two (2) vertebrae; and, a narrowing of the canals in his hips caused burning; and, stabbing nerve pain making each day a challenge just to function. Jonathan’s physical discomfort increased as he walked. He sucked hard again on the cartridge. This time the familiar wave of relief would wash over him from head to toe. He could feel a smile creeping just slightly; and, soon it was ear to ear.
A little Indica; but then even more Sativa.
The Sativa itself was part of a mood enhancement ritual that had become daily when the anxiety; and depression became simply too much for him to handle. Though it would help, he would discover that what he NEEDED was so much more than just Cannabis.
This was just a band-aid. A useful band-aid mind you; but, his own family; specifically his birth mother Thea; and, her husband Derson (a former Reserve Sheriff's Officer) looked down upon his use of this with great disgust. Their perspective on this plant as medicine was tainted by Derson's experience in law enforcement where he had seen the worst side of the drug trade in Oklahoma. Meanwhile, neither of them truly recognized the legitimate benefits; nor, understood fully what Jonathan was carrying around deep inside that gave him reason to see escape from the pain of living.
He may have looked like a grown up; but, somewhere deep inside that shell was a child begging to be seen; heard; believed; protected; cared for; and, aided to heal. He would scream; and, cry; and, beg for help; to no avail. He would receive no mercy. The hardness of his birth mother’s heart was on full display oblivious to the damage her own abandonment itself caused.
She hated that term. It bothered her; made her angry “That isn’t what I did she snapped.”
This was the first time Jonathan had ever experienced a “flash-back” from abuse he suffered in that house as a child. He hadn’t lived in the house for over twenty five (25) years; and had been blindly naive about his own condition which would cause even more problems in just a few months.
Moving into the house he grew up in; was abused in; screamed at in; belittled in; mocked in; struck; and, physically assaulted in; and, ultimately raped in his own bedroom by an older adolescent would cascade into a problem he couldn’t contain; and, would eventually rob him of his wife; and, destroy their relationship in a devastating turn of events that would forever change the course of his life.
“Dad, are you ok?”
His blue eyed daughter Dassa had stolen his heart from the moment of birth; and tonight she saw something in his face she hadn't seen before. His chin quivered as he frowned; and, shook his head. “No” He quietly whispered; tears welling up in his eyes. He didn’t know it; but. His life was about to change forever.
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