“Learn to light a candle in the darkest moments of someone’s life. Be the light that helps others see; it is what gives life its deepest significance.” – Roy T. Bennet

Posts tagged ‘mind’

What Hurts

IMG_1490Pain was necessary to make me who I am. Even though sometimes the thought of what I’ve gone through is crippling, I know for a fact that it was the turning point for my becoming. Without pain, I would never have held a relationship to the wild step of marriage. Without pain, I would never had given it my all to birth a child. I wouldn’t have the determination that I have now to experience life to its fullest. But, oh, how it hurt at the time.
When a fifteen-year-old finds herself at the mercy of two grown men, so many things can happen. I could have died. I could have been abducted, sold, lost. I was violated but so much worse could have occurred in that moment. I survived to have a family and a life of potential. It killed me then, but it drives me now to love beyond reason the harshest of humans.  Somehow I still see the light in this world.
In the year following that moment, I was dark in my soul. My mind shouted and my nails were used to scratch red, bloody words onto my skin. I wrote horrible notes to myself where no one would see them. To me, I was nothing. Ruined. A whore. I kept my dark secrets buried and let them simmer and shape me into a bitter cynic. I felt ugly, inside and out. And to me, every man, both young and old, wanted me as a toy to play with and then leave in the dirt.
What changed this horrible mindset? I had a mental disease that was eating away at my core. Whatever could possibly heal me of it?
There is a love that reaches deep into your heart and strengthens it and fills it where it once was empty. I may yet be cynical but I believe wholeheartedly that there is a God that mends the broken mind and drives us to live again. He let me realize that the darkness in me was my soul crying to be whole. I was not abandoned or ruined or the putrid heap I thought I was. I was loved. I was beautiful.
I hope that in my sharing of this there will be someone that will understand. Do not allow those that hurt you to win. You can still stand strong and tall and live life wonderfully. I hope you find the healing that I did. I hope you have better days. I hope you grow old with your family and can look back to see that pain only made you tougher and didn’t cripple you. You may still cry or flinch at little things but it will get better over time. Survive. Do not dwell on the past, as it cannot change, but it can change you for the better if you’ll allow it.

Something

Ghosts that I try to bury, but they disappear when I reach for them. They are tricky and fast, too fast for my clumsy hands. Every waking hour is spent in decline, in a bubble of voices only I can understand. Hear me now: I am not alone, but I wish I were.

As a child I was different. Not different as in I knew more than others, or less than others, or that I came from a cult, or was delivered by a stork. I was different as the wind is different from the sea, and yet they live in harmony. I lived in harmony. Other kids connected with me well. They would tease me and joke around with me and play with me on the swings. I wasn’t an outcast, by any means. I simply was there, biding my time, because…perhaps I did know more. Perhaps I knew something I shouldn’t.

As I drag myself up the stairs, my body nearly decayed as the dirt, I look three times my age. Knowledge ages you, I suppose, paired with apparitions and whispers than nobody else notices. Those age you more than cigarettes.

I grew up in a steady way. Born in a hospital; raised in a small house with a brother and a mother and a father.  I went to school  and I learned at a normal pace. But do you know what made me different? What made me different was the fact that my eyes and ears could hear and see more. I never said anything about the fingers that grabbed at the hair of my classmates, or the footsteps that echoed through the halls. At first I thought it was only at school, but the rattling in my kitchen changed that thought.  Sometimes the water would run unnoticed by my family. Sometimes I would run, unnoticed by my family. Running was my safe haven. While life was going past my sight fast, I couldn’t see the things that weren’t supposed to be there, and all I could hear was the whistling of wind in my ears. Running meant freedom.

I remember when I lost it. When my head  couldn’t take it anymore and I cried out to the first person I could reach. I grew angry, yelling at them, “Why can’t you see? Why can’t you see?” I was alone in the way that it matters to be alone.

When I blew I was in class. The things that I saw were going and going, around and around, all over the room. Dust was flying, dust that only I could see. I wanted to brush it away, off their sleeves and their desks, but it landed, layer by layer. Their lips moved in a fish-like motion. I couldn’t concentrate with the grit at their noses and mouths. The teacher was sucking it in like a vacuum, each word breathing in a cloud. I stood and I spoke and they looked at me as they should have: as though I was a freak, a mistake, a blip in the average human DNA. I ran.

The fear I remember. When I think of it, it consumes me. I see spots and I shake and I jump at the slightest noise. Are they coming? Have they found me after all this time? I am a stranger in the eyes of the beholder. Nobody knows me. Nobody cares to know me.

I was eighteen. I was energy, unstoppable in my descent to ruin. The city found me, with its lights and signs drawing me in like a moth.  That is where I stayed, moving only to keep from being detected as an abnormality.  Friendly spirits tried to guide me, but they ruined my mind, so how could I let them? Somebody knew.  As I resided in a park and I spoke to the trees, I was watched. She came out of nowhere. The bushes I consider to be nowhere.  Just a pale face, staring with uncertainty. I had frightened her, with my hand motions and my exasperation with the demons. She saw me look at her, and she bolted like a deer on a highway. I listened to her agitated ramblings for a while, leaning back on the bench. Eventually, though, two more forms appeared, unwittingly stumbling into an invisible web as they crashed through the foliage, demanding to know my problems, my secrets. They didn’t even notice the spider.

Why I didn’t run then, I do not know. I was tired, I guess. But I was examined, and by all accounts I was completely honest during the examination. I told them what I saw, what I heard. They looked at me with pity and a small amount of anger, for some odd reason. They entrapped me in a white jacket, even though I had never harmed myself or anyone else in my life. My parents were frantic when I was found, and even more frantic when they had to send me away to “a safer place.” I know the truth. I am not crazy.

It was my apparition that got me out of there. This particular apparition was a favorite of mine. We never raised our voices at each other, and he never appeared when I was busy.  In many ways he was me: calm, friendly, curious, self-reliant. He came to my rescue after several months of torture. The torture wasn’t meant to be torture, but that is what it was, nonetheless. He came with his hands and a key. The key. And so I took off in the night, with fresh scars and newly acquired static electricity as my friend.  Needless to say, the last torture session didn’t come with any miraculous breakthroughs.

Now I live in the middle of nowhere, a crippled body after my veins began to reject the poisons they had pumped into me. There was no cure; there is no cure. I see what I see and that is all I can see. There was a dark shadow looming over me in a field that night. It meant a place to rest my head and hide away from the world. I survive on nothing but rain and the animals that nest here with me. I will never be found, and they will never know. Do you want to?

My ghosts are the thing that I shouldn’t know. Nobody should know about life after death, the ultimate secret. My secret.

Shh…

Thinking

I absolutely hate it

When I have nothing left to say

Or when my voice is silenced

In the busyness of day

And when I take my pen up

To force some random thing

It comes out in a sonnet

Of how my world has been

All my thoughts on clouds and lava

And strange reflecting Coca-Cola

How ocean photos turn out funny

And people’s laughs forever change

And I wonder where I am

In relation to the leaders

Of the country I was born to

Of the state from whence I came

Have you garbage in your city?

Have you lights that blow to bits?

I have shirts that bear stains proudly

And bread I eat turns green too fast

Yet life is for much more than comfort

And poems I’ve composed myself

But since no one likes a know-it-all

I’ll let you figure out the rest

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Cloud That Beat The Sun

yes i figure that instead of looking cold

you could put a smile there

and the way i see it my my mind

it would be the best of all

*

or go ahead believing in the story

of the cloud that beat the sun

but you’ll get tired of saying “never”

and you’ll let a “maybe” fall

*

soon you’ll see as well as i

that the air is really warm

and you’ll be staring in the faces

that have come to cheer you on

*

or go ahead believing in the story

of the cloud that beat the sun

and just forget about the colors

of the one that should’ve won

*

like a snail do you wish it on your back

you were carrying your home?

only to abandon every thought

at the slightest hint of snow?

*

but go ahead believing in the story

of the cloud that beat the sun

you should know i’ll be behind you

when you find your time to run

© 2011 singinthebreeze.wordpress.com

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