Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Bones From My Closet
    Bones From My Closet
    Bones From My Closet
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    Bones From My Closet

    By Patricia Pigeau

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    Bones From My Closet is an in-depth look at child and adult abuse, a true-life account of one woman’s life, as she travels through the murky waters of despair, anxiety and anguish. Her story is moving, and highlights the horrendous damage done to the psyche of anyone who is a victim of sexual abuse and rape. It is an eye-opener for women who have led a ‘normal’ life and a possible relief for victims of abuse to know that they are not alone in their daily struggle for survival and for a life of wellness.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPatricia Pigeau
    Release dateJun 10, 2016
    ISBN9781773021393
    Bones From My Closet

    Related to Bones From My Closet

    Related ebooks

    Relationships For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      'Chasing Cosby' Author Says Covering The Cosby Case Was A Journey Of Disillusionment

      Jun 22, 2019

      Nicole Weisensee Egan has followed the sexual assault accusations against Bill Cosby since 2005. At first a skeptic herself, Egan discusses how "America's Dad" managed to escape justice for decades.

      3 min read

    • Article

      Dealing With Grief

      Jun 21, 2022

      Dealing With Grief
      4 min read

    • Article

      Dirty Secret

      Sep 22, 2022

      Dirty Secret
      4 min read

    • Article

      Inside A Sex Cult

      Nov 6, 2020

      Inside A Sex Cult
      4 min read

    • Article

      Guardian of the Girl-Child

      Apr 1, 2017

      In a Kenyan town, one woman seeks justice for victims of sexual violence neglected by an inept government and overburdened police force. To those in her community she is a meddler, avenger, and last resort. For the women she helps, she is nothing les

      11 min read

    • Article

      Child’s Play

      Mar 10, 2023

      The blackmail began in the boys’ locker room. It started with Travis Downing’s least favorite person, Rory Paxton, cackling like a hyena behind his iPhone camera. Rory loved taking photos of boys while they were changing, making sure to capture just

      9 min read

    • Article

      Justice for Thomas

      May 21, 2020

      Justice for Thomas
      5 min read

    • Article

      Incels: As If Hating Women Could Get You A Girlfriend

      May 6, 2018

      What are we to make of "incels," the oddball community of frustrated guys who go online to complain about how they can't find women who want to have sex with them? Gee, I wonder why? There's room for all sorts of opinions on the web, I like to think.

      2 min read

    • Article

      Daddy’s Girl

      Feb 17, 2022

      Daddy’s Girl
      2 min read

    • Article

      DON’T GO INTO The Cellar!

      Jan 21, 2020

      DON’T GO INTO The Cellar!
      4 min read

    • Article

      Girl Found Courage To Tell Of Sexual Abuse

      Oct 14, 2020

      AN 11-year-old girl, who was repeatedly raped, cried in pain outside her home on the morning of June 10, 2018, after she had been beaten with a sjambok. A neighbour said he saw the child crying and took her to his home, where his wife took care of he

      3 min read

    • Article

      When Is A Rape Not A Rape?

      Jun 24, 2021

      STONEWALL HAS LONG CAMPAIGNED for gender identity to trump biological sex in law, policy and wider society. This is well-known by the increasing numbers of us in the trenches of the gender war. Taking the “trans women are women” mantra to its logical

      6 min read

    • Article

      On The Case

      Jan 24, 2021

      On The Case
      5 min read

    • Article

      Never Made It Home

      Oct 31, 2019

      Never Made It Home
      4 min read

    • Article

      Don’t Hurt The Baby!

      Apr 29, 2021

      Don’t Hurt The Baby!
      4 min read

    • Article

      The Space Between Us

      Oct 9, 2019

      The Space Between Us
      8 min read

    • Article

      Blackberries

      Apr 5, 2023

      Blackberries
      24 min read

    • Article

      Diary of My Leg Hair

      Dec 8, 2022

      Diary of My Leg Hair
      21 min read

    • Article

      Search and Destroy

      Oct 24, 2017

      My daughter has bugs living in her hair. It is my job to kill them. The post Search and Destroy appeared first on Guernica.

      7 min read

    • Article

      Metaphors

      Mar 10, 2023

      I’m knitting on my front porch when a car roars to a stop in front of my house. It’s a red Mustang convertible, top down on this warm Thursday afternoon in June. Two girls sit in the front, two in the back. They smile and wave at me. I smile back tho

      8 min read

    • Article

      The Pain Jar

      Dec 3, 2020

      The Pain Jar
      7 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Bones From My Closet

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Bones From My Closet - Patricia Pigeau

      Cover_Front.jpg

      Bones From My Closet

      a memoir

      a life’s

      journey

      into

      wellness

      Patricia Pigeau

      Contents

      Dedication

      The Closet Writer

      Chapter 1: Flying With the Angels

      Chapter 2: Blending To Disappear

      Chapter 3: Great Illusions

      Chapter 4: Yearning to be

      Chapter 5: New beginnings

      Chapter 6: This Heavy Emptiness

      Chapter 7: Hanging in there

      Chapter 8: Striving to Fly… Again

      Chapter 9: Hiding in Plain Sight

      Chapter 10: Flying On My Own

      Home on Island Lake

      Epilogue

      Copyright

      Dedication

      This book is dedicated to my daughters and

      granddaughters, the precious Souls in my Life.

      The Closet Writer

      She senses the rush

      Stacks down her bones

      In the penumbra of her closet

      Words cascading in a gush

      In fluxes and defluxions

      On scraps of paper

      The tip of her pencil

      Honed

      Scratching and scratching.

      Hush… Hush…

      In the tepid darkness

      She writes

      She needs to listen

      To this eager yearning

      Unconventional

      Nothing will stop her, nothing,

      From spilling entrails on paper

      As if barfing…

      Nothing… Nothing…

      She quivers at the thrust

      Of the winds of November

      Thinks of the dead leaves

      Scattered under the snow

      In the spring their bones will show

      She forfeits the yearning for the emerald season

      Then new ones will grow.

      In her life’s tapestry

      Woven with empty spaces

      In her woes, futile places

      In a frenzy

      She scrolls from her bones

      Shaking, rattling

      The rest of her wasted, trashed

      Fear iced her blood in a flash

      Fires of anger thawed her heart

      To total evaporation

      Atrocities caged her mind

      Fanged guilt gnawed at her flesh

      Nothing is left except the bones

      Sadness kicked out her soul

      Ambulating amongst the dead

      She is silenced

      Her bleached relics

      Piled deep in the closet

      Keep unraveling in written form

      Her silent screams

      Gust after gust

      Screams quashed,

      Muffled, choked.

      It happens again and again

      She is nothing

      Against ears not listening

      Misunderstanding

      Their aggravation rising

      Against her naivety

      Screwing guilt into her

      She feels stupid, stupid, stupid

      She has lost her voice

      Again

      Or really, has she?

      Hush… Hush…

      She still holds her pencil

      Hears the deceptive silence

      But her head is the catapult

      Unconformity

      Hush… Hush…

      Will she be deafened by the insults?

      Her inner rebellion will not subside

      Compelled again

      She proses the secrets she cannot tell

      The lesson is learned

      She cannot yell

      Silence

      For to one person told

      The secret is no more

      Confidential

      Bullshit!

      A false purveyor of secrecy

      A slip…

      And the hidden

      Jags its way from ear to ear

      Judges shredding the bits

      Of life

      Sanctioning her ways of knowing

      Out of the way

      How odd!

      Dumb perception!

      ‘’So what else is new?"

      She clams up

      The lesson is learned

      Runs from learned people as well

      Never with a secret be bold

      Aberrations better left untold

      Tell no one is a must

      Chimeras? they say

      For real she feels

      The secrets are sealed

      Under the protection of

      Silence

      Hush… Hush…

      Her bones keep on writing, they must

      Of parasites’ power and lust

      How is one to conceal the secret?

      Ashes!

      Mutate them into ashes.

      Transformation, absolutely!

      Drawing nearer and nearer the inferno

      In her closet she steadily vacillates

      Staring in delight at the flames

      As they consume the leftovers of her carcass

      Her pencil now dulled

      Ashes to ashes

      Dust to dust

      Her destiny etched in the holes of her tapestry

      Burning

      As her skeleton powders

      Yet she must

      Voiding noises and time

      Go on

      Writing

      From her ashes

      A powdery mound

      Now.

      Patricia Pigeau, 2006

      Chapter 1: Flying With the Angels

      I look at him, at his squinty eyes peering at me. I am lying down, my nappy undone. Exposed I am. I see this man hovering over me. He touches me down there between my spread out chubby thighs. He’s smiling through his thick wired glasses.

      This bubble that opened in my brain lasted only a second but it remains etched forever.

      I am lying face down on my mother’s lap as my siblings stand there, watching. She repeatedly hits my bare bottom with a hair brush. I cry out trying to wiggle out from under her arm and hand holding me down. She hits and hits again. I feel the pain. I cry out but she hits even harder.

      Being a toddler, I have no perception of why she is doing this. This, as well, is a bubble that bursts in my brain.

      Another bubble erupts:

      The beating doesn’t stop. Crouching under her anger, fearing my mother I have learned to cover my head with my tiny arms and hands as if to protect myself from the blows. I don’t know why she is so angry. I don’t know why she hits me and screams. Not daring to move, I cry silently, feeling every blow.

      Those are the first memories I have of my mother and my uncle.

      He’s coming to get me … that big man with the scary glasses! I crouch under the kitchen table. He’s getting closer! Afraid, I cry but no one else is around.

      Suddenly, silence. ‘Hush… Hush…’ he says, his finger on his tightly closed lips.

      On this sunny afternoon I stand in awe of my oldest brother Daniel as he stands by the railing of the veranda. I think about how beautiful he is wearing his blue shirt and matching shorts. The dark bangs of hair feather his black eyes. As I stare at him, I feel proud that he is my brother. Silently, I stand there, loving him while he smiles at me.

      We share a birthday: He is 7 and I am 2½ years old.

      On this afternoon I sit on the kitchen counter as my grandmother whispers soothingly by my side. She is helping me slip on a white dress with red polka dots. For one moment I look towards the living room where people are whispering and crying. I see the white box covered with white ribbons. Daniel is lying in that box holding a rosary in his hands. I look at his head and think how beautiful he is. He is so still.

      I’m still 2 ½ years old and don’t understand that he has died.

      Later on I ask my mother what happened to Daniel. She doesn’t want to talk about it and it becomes a taboo issue. However with some indications from what the family is saying, at first I come to the conclusion that he had died from polio, and later on I thought it was leukemia. My thinking is of course, erratic and I remain with this untruth for many years.

      I have often wondered how Daniel really died, that is, what was the cause of his death. When I was 48, my doctor asked for his hospital records. There on paper, was every indication that he died from meningitis partly caused by infection from decayed teeth. I am saddened by the knowledge that he could have been saved had he been given enough antibiotics.

      I thought of my parents who were still grieving the loss of their first born son. On the other hand I do not understand why my mother let Daniel’s teeth go so bad. I’m certain that she realized her mistake because after Daniel’s death she had the doctor come in and anaesthetise us, one at a time, on the kitchen table, in order to pull out all of our rotted teeth. Even after that, we didn’t have the use of a toothbrush. Granted, we were very underprivileged and maybe my parents couldn’t afford that expense.

      It is spring and I have just turned 5. In the bush, across from our street, the branches full of wild berries shade me from the sun. I stare at the ground covered in tiny mauve colored flowers! These are so beautiful! I think they are May Flowers and I slowly pick some for a bouquet. Freedom! Twirling on my tiptoes, I smile with glee. A gentle breeze caresses my body through the flowers printed onto my little cotton dress. I am happy and would stay there forever.

      ‘Why is she unravelling the wide roll of scotch tape?’

      The sound of the rip smarts my ears. Pieces are cut and my mother tapes my mouth shut.

      ‘Why?’ I don’t know but perhaps it’s because I talk so much. I smell the glue on the tape. I want to cry out but I must still myself so not to irritate her more. Sitting here in the corner of the kitchen, oblivious to her, I stare at the white sheets pinned on the clotheslines that she had hung from the ceiling. She brought them in from the winter freeze. I suddenly think of Daniel in his white casket up there amongst the sheets.

      A sunny, happy day! My cousin Betty is coming to live with us. Suddenly, I have a sister! As she climbs up the exterior steps leading to the main floor, I clap my hands in glee. She breaks out this most beautiful smile. She is seven years old…

      I think … ‘I have a big sister now! How lucky I am!’

      Holding her hand, I take her up to my room that now has twin beds and show her my doll, my tea set and some of my treasures. Of course we babble with each other and have fun.

      I’m afraid! Yelling, my mother comes at me with the strap. I pee and feel it trickle down my legs, soaking my socks and shoes. I know the drill and I try to protect my legs and arms but with very little success. With each blow, a welt rises and burns.

      I want to cry out, ‘Please don’t! Please!’ I do sob profusely. ‘I won’t do it again, I promise.’

      Now, I must clean up the puddle on the floor. I mop in silence but

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1