Letting Go

Over the years I have held onto people who have no value in my life. I held onto my father because he sired me. I was raised to honor my father and my mother, Would Christians view it as a sin to know that I cannot honor a man with no honor or integrity? I don't think it matters what they believe. I have to do what's best for me and mine. I held onto the hope that my children's fathers would be the man that they deserve. He can't put their needs above his own and now the time comes that he's been in their lives longer than I should have allowed. I've dated a few men over the years that I remained friends with and some of their presences are a reflection of what I perceive to be my shortcomings. Recently I had to walk away from one, because he could only see his needs and didn't realize that my life was falling apart. I have a love for him and always will, but I know he has no purpose in my life. I have "friends" in my life who are only around when something is needed from me. Now is the time to sever ties. If it doesn't benefit me or mine then they serve no purpose in my life and are only holding me back from the life I have earned. To those who currently serve no purpose in my life: Thank you for the lessons in my life. To those who always stand beside me through the good and the bad: Thank you for the blessing of having you in my life. You are loved. To those who stood with me over the years that were taken from this world (Papa, Katie, Jeva, Alexis, Joe, Donna, and Elsie): Thank you for the part of my life you were a part of. I wouldn't be the person I am today without you.

Never Daddy's Little Girl

In the typical families we are given a mother and a father and they automatically love us more than ourselves. I was never blessed to be in a typical family. Today I would like to discuss the man who sired me. He was only given one daughter in this life, and he always had the ability to make me feel worthless because I was born a girl. Life is never fair I guess. Many fathers seek to ensure that their daughters know how to live with or without them. Mine never cared enough for that. I was the child that never should have been born. He always doted on his four boys and never made them feel optional. After three and a half decades I gave up on him ever loving me, or him making me a priority in this life. I have not spoken to him in almost a year now. As I sit here tonight I realize that I have lost nothing but the feeling of inferiority. I lost the man that was my true father almost 8 years ago: my Papa. He was my grandfather and he worshiped the ground I walked on. His loss has nearly cut me in half. I digress from the point that I am attempting to make here. With my parental figure of the male gender being removed from my life I don’t have that person telling me I’ll never succeed at anything I do. I will never be reminded of the failure I had become. The other day during a restless slumber I was awaken by the telephone ringing. I never answered the call, but had the feeling that the person on the other end was telling me that he had died. I have no clue why I felt that, but I did. I became aware that his living or his dying mattered not to me. In my mind he is the monster out of a fairy tale. I will find no joy in his eventual passing, but I will feel no sorrow either. What kind of person does that make me to feel nothing to the man that provided me life? I don’t have the answer to that question and probably never will, but I’m alright with that. As long as I wish him no harm then my conscience is clean and my soul will remain intact.

From Within It Devours

I hear this voice. It screams at me, "You'll never succeed. You'll never be good enough." These words remain with me and I can do nothing to silence the echoes that remain. How do I drive them out? I think, “You are responsible for me being as I am. You created this monster that cares not if she lives or dies.” I cover my ears and I can still hear that cruel voice. I scream and the words are still there. As long as the voices remain I'm in a prison. I can't escape and am imprisoned in my own house. You see, there are no bars keeping me here, but escape is not an option. If I am let free, how would I survive? I only know abuse in my life. First it was by my abuser and then it continued in my own head. I begin to glimpse images of my childhood. I remember times the belt came down. I revisit moments where I didn’t feel that my torment would ever end and part of me prayed for death in that moment. What crime was so awful of me to bear such treatment? Visions of letting my blood flow freely torment me for I fear that is my only means of escape: death. I realize that I would not wish for another to find me in such a condition. I acknowledge the doctor prescribed me a medication to drown out this voice. What harm could come from taking the entire bottle. This can’t be an option for I risk my children finding me in such a condition and I have already failed them greatly. As I drive along I think, “I could end the suffering by swerving into oncoming traffic.” Also this can’t be a way out, because I would stand in judgment in the afterlife for taking out others in my quest to end my pain. Who would miss me if I were not here? I am nothing. I am no one. I am utterly alone in this world. The more I consider it the more I realize death may be the only escape for me. I am trapped in my past. The voices I hear are my own and from within it is devouring me. If you are told constantly that you will fail, you most certainly will. I desire the freedom to embrace the world with open arms. I realize in the end I don’t need a knight in shining armor to save me. I have it within myself. I did not survive 15 years as a victim to continue for more than 15 more. I am a fighter and I am a survivor. When I feel my strength faltering, I look into the eyes of my daughter and I realize something great. I am now aware that she is looking up to me guidance and as a role model. She does not need to see me on my knees begging for release. She deserves a mom that holds her arms in the air and screams, “Life, is that the best you can do? You hit like a little girl.”

PTSD - My Own Personal Human Bondage

I may not have gone to war to have the traumatic effects of PTSD, but I do have the emotional capacity to be a bit broken down by them. My life started out dramatically to two parents who never really gave a shit of whether I lived or died. I am uncertain if they truly didn’t care or if they were too selfish to see past their own needs. I was forced off on relatives to care for me. My grandfather was one of the gentlest souls I have ever encountered in my life. My grandmother was a polar opposite of him. She was cruel and harsh. I was raised in a god fearing home. I learned early on not to speak unless spoken to. I learned how to conceal all emotions for fear of what was to come if I was either happy or sad. If I was happy, there was something evil that I was doing to be that way. If I was sad, there was no reason to be, because I have everything that should make me happy. I hated when she would dress my hair. If I didn’t sit perfectly still, she would pull it until it would come out in her hands. On occasion she would drag me across a room by my hair. There were times when the belt would come out that I wondered if she would ever quit hitting me. I prayed for escape. I prayed that the people who gave me life would love me enough to come rescue me. My prayers went unanswered for over 15 years. In the end either God did not exist for me or else he didn’t care, because there was something evil inside of me. After 15 years of mental and physical abuse, my abuser died a horrible yet fitting death. I was horrified at her passing, not because she was gone, but because I was relieved that she was gone. What kind of person was I to be glad that she was dead? Did that truly make me into an evil monster that she thought of me? Over the next 15 years of my life, out of guilt I think, I picked up where she left off. I never harmed myself physically, but mentally I abused myself. I didn’t care if I lived or died, because no one would notice if I was gone. I would tell myself that I could never do anything right and I would fail at anything that I did. I have used the term underachiever, but I believe that is a lie I tell myself. I have self sabotaged every aspect of my life. I have run people off before they have the chance to love me and seriously hurt me. How could I allow anyone to get close to me, when those who were meant to love me more than life itself never gave a damn? At nearly 37 years old I still huddle in a corner when people act aggressively around me. There are still the moments when the self abuse comes to light and it is typically when things don’t go the way I wish them to. I wish there was a switch that I could turn off to get through everything negative that has happened in my life, but I am not foolish enough to believe that. I know it will take work and time. It is something that I need, but more importantly my children need. I need to be the example of a strong and thriving woman for my daughter so she can become one also. Will I ever get past the abuse both mental and physical? I don't know, but I will not quit until there is no breath left in my body.

Prolonging My Torment

“Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche 

When I think of hope I think of the myth of Pandora. She was sent to the Titan, Prometheus, as a punishment for man's theft of fire from the gods. How could a mere woman be a form of punishment? The gods blessed her with a box and told her to never open it. When she was created, an insatiable amount of curiosity was instilled in her. Her curiosity won out one day and she opened the box. She unleashed all the evils in the world. In a panic she closed the box, but left one item remaining inside. This object was hope.

Many days of late I feel the weight of the world on me and it seems every day there is a new roadblock preventing me from getting out of the rut I am in. Once a day I am tempted to throw my hands in the air and say, "I quit. I can't do this anymore." Then I remember that I am a cape wearing super mom and quitting is not an option. Every day I find a way to reopen my Pandora's box and see the hope that still resides inside. How easy it would be to quit and to say the hell with it all, but I then remember that I am not a quitter. I am a cape wearing special needs super mom. I did not survive years of mental and physical abuse to just roll over and die when things get hard. I am a fighter. I will continue to fight for me and mine until the last breath leaves my body.