redant333

My story could start anywhere but for the most part it started November 25th 2001. I was driving back home to california from new mexico with my 6 year old son in a newly purchased 98 chevy s10 pickup. My mother and sister and her baby were following in a car behind us. On highway I 40, at 6am we hit a patch of black ice crossing over a small bridge going 70 MPH. My truck started spinning out of control and as tapped the brakes, the rear flipped over the front while flipping sideways down an embankment. The truck rolled over on my side, knocking me unconcious. My son, who was sleeping at the time woke up to the doors being slammed open and shut. He was thrown from the vehicle, landed 30 feet away, and then slid across the freeway into a bush in the emergency lane. The truck landed upside down trapping me inside. My mother and sister arrived on the scene and after 10 to 15 minutes, finding no response from the truck, started searching around the wreck area and found my son sitting upright holding his right arm braced to his chest covered in blood. The truck was so compacted that no matter how low they got to the ground they could not see inside. My left fooot, now missing the shoe it was wearing, was sticking outside the drivers side window. I awoke to the sound of my mother crying and my sister calling out for a response. My pelvis was still connected to the seat, which was the ceiling now, from the lap belt. My right knee was pressed up against my chest, with my right ankle crushed between the steering wheel and the dash. I had snapped my tibia which was now sticking out my shin. My body twisted, I laid there half on my side and half on on my stomach unable to move anything from the waist down. My left leg had bent backwards anteriorly 100
islocating and tearing all connecting ligaments to my knee. It would take two to two and a half hours before an ambulance would arrive, during which 6 other cars would hit the patch of ice and crash, flip and land around my truck. Even the ambulance was hit by a car after it had arrived. when the fire truck arrived they cut the drivers side door off and realized the truck was toooo smashed to get me out. Seeing how I was able to move from the waist up they unwrapped my legs and pulled while I pushed myself out of the truck backwards. They called the hellicopters in and one took my son to kigman, AZ and the other flew me to Flagstaff, AZ. My son suffered from a broken wrist, bruised lung and had lacerations from waist to chin. While waiting the duration of the time for help to arrive I had lost 1/3 of my blood and was rushed into surgey in Flagstaff. Due to error, on part of the social worker, my charts were read extremely incorrectly and child protective services were called. After removing the social worker from the case and a correct rereading of my charts was done, they found the drugs found in my system had in fact been administered at the hospital, after all, I was infact hooked up to the morphine pump. My exhusband was called in and flew my son back to california where he sued and won temp full custody of my son. I was in critical condition and was unable to show for the hearing. My son was pulled from the school he was currently enrolled in without permission of the court and re-enrolled in the wrong grade in a different city. After a blood transfussion I started regaining color and was released from the hospital. It would take three weeks after the return home to regain custody of my son, during which time I was granted reasonable visitation and only permitted one visit for 3 to 4 hours from my ex-husband. After court and mediation I was again granted custody of my son who up until that moment had never lived without me. Since I was in a wheelchair I had to drastically modify my life. Nothing worked from the waist down other than bending at the pelvis and lifting my femurs. I had to relearn everything from going to the bathroom to putting on pants to putting on socks, to wiggling my toes, to bending my knees and finally learning to stand and walking, not as easy as I had remembered them to be. Due to the way that my ankle was pinned in the intial surgery, my right ankle heeled in such a way that foot was angled outward from the leg and so I had to undergo a second operation in order to straighten it out.
Along my journery in life I would say for me this is where my story began. I learned that in life you truely do understand and experience real love after you suffer in such a manner. Sometimes I have struggled over and over, but letting go of the pain and moving forward has helped me to learn and grow, releasing me from the choas trapped inside. Moving foward is difficult, the past is just what it is and clinging to it creates the choas, ensures the struggle. It was painful at first being so alone. No one wanted to visit when I arrived home. Everyone deals with such matters in their own way. Finding yourself completely alone and then realizing you had put yourself there is never an easy thing to face. I used the time to reflect and feel what needed to be felt and with love and support of my family and friends as well three very, one in particular, dear friends (creators of Bluehouse) I channeled my emotions in a more creative direction. I started combining my sewing with my crocheting and painting and setting fire to gowns I stated giving my emotions life. It was my way of dealing and opening up a whole other side of myself and alowing others in. I was able for once in my life to see myself and the woman I was stepping into and able to embrace her. Once I allowed myself to open up the love just poured in.
So who is Red Ant? Red Ant is all of you who were there and able to reach out and extend yourself to a lost little girl searching for herself and finding herself able to leave the choas and pain on the side of road that day. So where is Red Ant today? Well, I have currently regained full use of my legs as for my creations are concerned they are still manifesting themselves and continue to evolve as I evolve and as I change as a person. Each piece is one of a kind creation and when worn have a life of their own. It's an experience of the manifestation of your imagination. 

 It is easier to hate and be cruel than it
is to admit you are hurting as well it is easier to be
angry than it is to simply ask or admit you just dont
know. ........

One might think I shouldnt say anythihng at all. Perhaps I said enough or nothing at all. I am not sure what to say. Life is a funny place filled with funny people and places and times. With each experience one feels herself grow and turn in different directions on her road as she journeys forth towards what she is still not sure. So much to say with saying so little and saying everything all at once to quickly to forceful. Must a girl have something to say after she says her goodbyes and walks away. Tears couldnt find themselves as she boiled time and time again and drifted side by side pissed and frustrated that her answer was nothing more than what was expected but somehow expected more. A reflection of herself was who she was speaking to and angered by who she stood before. My own reflection tanted by my nonemotions that emotionally took me away. Even now I speak and speak of nothing in hopes to find something which she is not sure is there. A kind of friendship that was special because it was nothing more than it needed to be and yet forced to be more than it could. it is hard to forget where she has come and visited and stayed. The ones who taught her about love and friendship. Teachers who knew not they taught a girl who was listening even when she shouldnt of been and speaking when one should remain silent. And the child she has become and the woman she has emerged listens on so many frequencys as she speaks out of turn and all over the place. One might feel that if she takes tooo many turns she would become dizzy and fall down but instead she winds herself into a ball of yarn and unwinds each thread to manifest and create another creation. She is simply unfolding her story as she turns a page and simply taking notes of her surroundings that are so loudly speaking to her face to face 

 In a city stands an unwanted child lost
The pavement mutters the sound of a heart bleeding and the skin tears back to reveal what was once a breast of flesh and now a rotting corpse of broken dreams

I sit somewhere in the sky above the clouds with so many others all squished together. The can has peeled itself back and as you watch all the wondering faces you can see they all tell their own story. So many voices slowly and softly filter through the aisle way. As I gaze out the window I can't stop thinking about all that has been said, questions asked, answers revealed and one must ask herself does the understanding need to be there. Eyes once filled with such light and life now seem weary and tired. Unable to answer your questions and not entirely sure if they needed to be. Can one truely understand all that was in such a brief encounter. I'm not sure I could've summed up any kind of understanding to be known for your ears in one brief moment. "Accountability" still rings through my ears.

The girl sits in silence like a game she plays with herself. As she sits on her throne in silence watching bellow as they fumble and fall. Her eyes turn torn and weary as she sits alone. The voices have quieted inside her and souls begin to cry out. She swallows her pain, her secret longing to be revealed. As she hesitates to rise, the throne worn and beaten somehow clutches her dress as if not to allow her to leave. Yet arms not held out to embrace her. Her heart saddened by the mess before her. In a world lost and tattered making no sense and her family gone to chase their own glory. Where are they who watched over her. Tears fall as the blood runs from her arms. she is bleeding with sorrow from her past that will not let go. A prison in a tower inside herself is where she is kept. running from what once was and will never be. The beast stirs hungry awaiting it strike to kill. Restless and weary her heart breaks peice by piece. Will they see the girl standing before them. The one trying to speak out or will they only hear the words needed to soothe their egos to maintain their way of life. Tortured and tormented her soul is dying. Her world is crumbling and silence grows. no longer a game but her reality. Death for the living is where she lyes and beside her a son should be to pick her up and give her strength and yet is gone. Sent away. A child was taken and the child was me.  

I cant sleep
my head stirs with anticipation of what is going to happen next. The wheel in motion and the arrows point in so many directions. my thoughts can't seem to escape my lips as they fall from my head and spill all over the floor. Scattered with too many, I can not seem to grasp any of them
feeling random 
 

 for some unknown reason, I had to see something or someone through and await my departure back to that place I just came from to close the chapter after a long bumpy ride with familar and unfamilar faces and unknown destinations all along the way.
you can almost feel the storm rising high above the clouds as it creeps in behind the
curtain of the night, slowly slithering up from behind so one might not notice as it clutches its claws into your heart and bites down hard at your flesh where your memories no longer in your chest but in a book that once was a story of a girl who once was and no longer is.

I am just trying to make sense of it all.

Sometimes in life you choose your family and sometimes they choose you and sometimes you choose each other. As long as the roots are deep and the foundation strong then you dont walk away, perhaps step aside for a moment and then realize that you are just going through shit as they are and it will pass because in the end your family. At the end of the dayyou realize it hurts because you care and you wont always be on the same page. Everyone is here for a reason, it just dosen't always make sense or seem clear. The dream is still there, lost sight for a moment causing choas. Every ending of any kind has a new beginning. The beginning is whatever you choose it to be. choose your door. Be your pain, your anger, your rage, your peace, your love, your confussion, your talents. Be what you need to be in the moment. Love is not a selfish act. 
 

 i dont really know what to say. what do you say when you have nothing to say. or at tleast that is what you feel and yet silence defens ears that are wanting to listen. mirrors begin to surround myself. every time I lift my head there am staring right back at myself through others all around myself. at times it feels dizzying to look up at the road ahead. one foot in front of the other and yet I still feel like I walk in circles unsure I am really moving forward. every situatiion begins to feel the same and evryone feels so familar as if they are living out pieces of a story I have visited once before. is history repeating itself or life simply revealing my patterns as it shows me my past and present at the same time. the picture all ready painted and the colors finally begin to merge and for the first time able to see with clear vision through a set of eyes that have finally opened themselves able and willing to fianlly listen to what the world around is been saying. do the voices finally exist outside my head as well in a world where I was, lived and now revisited. is this simply lifes way of allowing me to undestand and giving the chance to clear up the past to open the door to my future. am I simply in the hallway and watching the scenery of the chapters that once were . from outside the room the view is not so foggy. will the venture back no longer be an arrival to soon but perhaps finally on time and with the knowledge of doing it right

The color of skin can be so many colors especially when red pours itself all over blinding the eyes from seeing the color in the room. The time has come to break the silence which I had tried to do moments before but ears desperately awaitng words forgot to pause and listen to the words drifting across the room.

 Sleepy slumber
Silent night
Noisy room
Scuddle down the hall
Voices all around
Discoveries untold
Twisted times unspirled
Beauty shines and hearts wide open
Flowers bloom and laughter spreads
Sweet sounds of giggles fill the air

Silent thoughts are passed through the room softly speaking your words
I sit and wonder, can you hear mine

The sweet smell of stupidity fills the room as one finds herself listening and reflecting on places that she has found herself at certain points of her childhood. Silly creatures we find ourselves being as well encountering and finding ourselves allowing such stupidity in our lives as if we actually want to embrace that kind of shit though the front door. The weak feeding on what is not theirs and for some unknown reason they actually believe that the strength in which attracted them in the first place is there for the taking as if it is that easy. They reach in and snap down on what it seems to be your hand and finds that it only is their own now torn and tattered bleeding dog flesh. Spirals caused in ones own head can at times cause our weakness to wrap itself around us momentarily as if some kind of blanket to shelter whats inside from those who need not see what they do. Strength reflects their own weakness and like savage animals the lurk and linger. And yet you cant help but love and thank them for not knowing in better. due to their stupidity the balance is created and easily decisipons are made as well the beauty shines just that much brighter leadign the ay for strength to find its way home. Stupid fucks............In reflection blesstheirs hearts for causing the collision of paths that were needed to cross and may not have otherwise.  

It seems as if there is this endless space with nothing all around and in the middle of it all there is a window with two girls standing side by side. They are speaking to one another. Though they seem different they are in fact one nothing more than oneself having a converstaion about the window pane. "you can't see whats on the other side of the window pain" one is telling the other and she seems to get more and more forceful as she explains that you can only see through the window and what view the window shows but, "what is on the other side of the window pain is what you can not see" what was on the other side of the window where the window pain resides on the window frame? What hides behind the pain, is there truely something hididng one cannot see? Should they trust that what they see is really there or is there more that is hidden for it does not wish to be seen. Calmly one girl begins to open the window to see what does in fact reside behind the window pain. She sees nothing in which she could not see before. The girl awakens to find it has all been a dream and yet her head hurts as she never was asleep but somewhere far inside herself in deep contimplation of some inner question . She opens her eyes and there you are sleeping sound or you seem to be. She reaches to touch the soft skin of the man lying next to her and distance fills the room. Awkward silence fallen between the two and as hands touch and as fingers brush, she wonders, "what is on the other side of a window pain?" Better yet what the fuck is a window pain. why does ones head hurt in such a mannor. They say a window is deep soul searching of some sort of question and yet what question one seeks is unknown other than it causes ones head to hurt.

Yesturday I went outside to get the mail and my foot
slipped and I missed the step and as I began to fall I
felt this push from behind and I fell forward missing
my knees and slamming into my hands. As I landed in
the gravel I heard a voice say, "watch your step
Rachel your about to fall on your face" I opened my
eyes and realized it was my own voice. I feel like I
am stumbling all over the place with my life at the
moment. Everything is at my fingertips and yet if I
reach out to touch it, it disappears. Do you ever
have those days. You wake up and the thought of getting
out of bed is uninviting. You find yourself curled up
in a ball hugging your pillow, your eyes swell with
tears you can not stop no matter how hard you try. In
your mind he is holding you, arms wrapped tight around
your body as you curl yourself into him. You invision
his hand softly petting the side of your face as he
tells you,"it will be ok". The thought in itself is
somehow comforting enough that you fall asleep
somewhere dreaming of the here and there and all the
inbetween. "Today is just a bad day", they tell you
and yet you wish you could believe them. Knowing its
true is not excatly that comforting for how you feel
is less then alone for the moment. Even the sky
outside seems to be weeping as rain finally finds
itself here in the desert. Perhaps same as the sky I
am just letting it all just wash away. Today is just a
bad day.  

I dont't want to react to anything . Why do people
always want reactions and always at the strangest
moments. They come searching and waiting and then
they stand and hover as if you are supppose to have a
certain response and yet the only response you can
give is the response you don't have and so you find
yourself not reacting and just pausing for a moment
staring and listening to the over reaction they feel
they need to give and watching them stress seems to
fill the room enough that why is it exactly that my
response is needed. Nothing you say will help them to
calm seeing how they seem to need to stress and panic
in the nature they do and yet they still stand over
you and wait for this response they feel you shoud
have and nothing seems to find itself coming out of
you. Should I be surprised from what they speak
seeing how I have heard this speach before, a place I
have seen so many other times before. The panic and
circles as they spin themselves silly over what can
not be controlled and the more they force and thrash
the more silence falls from my lips. They stare at
you and size you up and watch and wait as if words
will find themselves escaping from my lips. And even
if emotions were what I felt why would I express,
what good would they do other than an arguement that
awaits itself staring down at you. Over nothing and
yet everything that is nothingness. Its sillyness
filled with fear of what can not be seen. Why cant we
wait and follow through and just allow the course to have
the stride in which its due. Arriving at the door and
somehow already know that nothing is ever that easy,
a challenge always awaits in the distance and calmness
to the situation is all I can really feel. Trust that
things will find a way when needed and bumps are sure
to find. Why always the need for the possiblity of
some sort of shit simply to find a way to change their
mind simply instead of saying their afraid. I am just
sick of it. Listening to her panic and stress as if
bumps have not found their way before. She does seek
and arguement and I have none to give. I wish not
fight at this point in my life, is that so wrong to
simply just allow what will be will be. You ask and
you shall recieve it just never arrives in the way we
would like but it does in fact arrive. Can we not
just be grateful for that. When I was younger I use
to take the bait and intensity was fooled by drama and
emotions would rise and fall and fly all over the room
and you find yourself drained and exhausted at the end
of the day and more confused then when you started.
So many emotions would scatter and eventually you tire
and find that the silence in oneself is so much more
comforting. Its boring after a point smashing your
face into the wall over and over again. you never
really moved forward just side to side finding the
place you were standing never truely changed for more
than a moment. Years go by and you find how did I end
up back were I began. A new set of eyes and the
foolish pride is gone. Ego died somewhere along the
way and drama left intensity and intensity found
herself much more passionate about other things then
clinging to the past and fears and thrashing so
desperately over nothing simply afraid of the unknown.
There are certain things I can not control and that
is alot of everything that is all around me nor do I
wish to control any of it. Trust however is something
that fills my heart and I do in fact trust that life
will find a way as will I to figure out my life. I
just don't wish to react to peoples bullshit anymore,
is that so terrible. Its their shit and wish not to
take it from them, have enough of my own garbage but
thank you. A reaction is to give their shit power in
which it is not needed but silence seems to defuse it
enough that it filters past past not able to cling
onto me. I can not take it from them and I ceratinly
can not carry it for them and freaking out fixes
nothing. So I sit here saying nothing while she
freights in the other room and tommorrow we will start
again. Sometimes it just feels as if she manifests
the choas that finds itself with her. Its frustrating
becasue if there was no choas to the plan as we go
through all of this it would never happen but why the
choas is needed is beyond me because it really isnt
needed for the process of achieveing what is need to
get it done. But it is her way and she goes through
it. I just hate when she hovers and says shit simply
for a reaction. Whatever it is that is needed to get
out doesnt need the thrash of an arguement to find its
way through in order to let go.

 Familar voices, A womans rant as he wraps one arm around her and the other placed up and around her cheeck. Her ass seems to find you a resting spot as you preech your truth of nothing more than an ego shaped as a large cock needing to be stroked

Pull back her legs, Between her thighs her pussy folds back to reveal a flower often sweet and can go sour if the garden is untended 

What is it, I listen, I watch, I wonder
Feels the room with silly exhales of nonsense
It's nothing more than loose brackets looking for shelves