Listen – I can still hear the arguing,
The breaking shot glasses against the wall.
Neatly tucked away in the dark, I huddled; weeping in silence so the beast would not hear.
Tightened breathing, darkened room, cold doorframe where shadows grew.
When there was silence, it was overwhelming.

He was convinced they were listening, prying at our family, peeking behind our doors.
I crowded into bathtubs, hid from bullets that were seeking.
Covered the baby with my body, cried to Jesus to stop the fighting.
Diesel engines left running, in the haunting nightmare I couldn’t be woken from.

In my mind, they will always be there. The noises will stay.
Alcohol being poured, drunk men chattering on the porch.
The sound of the locking door, parents fucking
Not thinking about their poor daughter’s ears a wall away.

 

Advertisements
Journal, Memories, Personal, Poetry, Poetry Wednesday

Happy Father’s Day: Whores and Addiction

dads, Domestic Violence, Family, fathers, fuck you, Journal, Memories, no trust, Personal, sexual harassment

This Father’s Day I will quietly, but unashamedly, denounce Father’s Day because my father was no father to me.

For years, I would listen to the sound of his voice echo throughout our house as my family would try to sleep. His drunken, loud, angry voice yelling at my mom about things she could not control. The same man who threw my sweet, innocent puppy into our concrete patio,breaking some of her ribs…

ronpup

(This could be her as a puppy, the resemblance is uncanny)

The man who slept with prostitutes when working out of town – and didn’t tell my mom before sleeping with her again. Who drank profusely and stared at his twelve year-old daughters breasts that puberty had spit upon her chest. He wasn’t a graceful man, he wasn’t a nice man, he wasn’t even kind. As the naive and uneducated kid that I was, I loved him. He made my life. I was Daddy’s Girl.

As much as I wish I could still accept him, I know things that tore apart any love or sentiment I had for him. He did things that can’t be reversed with an apology, or with a fatherly kiss on the forehead. Even those kisses he planted on my forehead when he left for work have been tarnished because of reckless actions he didn’t have to take. He let his addiction come before his family, he let his love for whores come before his daughters, he let his lust for breasts taint the way I will see him for the rest of my life.

We lived in fear of what he would do next and we sure made hell seem happy – in our nicely furnished home, with our name brand clothing and smiles plastered to our faces. Mom gently reminding us “Don’t air your dirty laundry“, because she knew exactly what would happen if people found out what happened behind our closed doors.  We did such a good job hiding it, when we finally came out and proclaimed the truth, no one believed us.

So, no. I am not celebrating father’s day. I understand that some people have nice fathers, however foreign that may seem to me right now. Some people love their dads, they might even have good relationships with them.. But to me, father’s day may as well be what Hanukkah is to an Atheist: absolutely meaningless.

Dirty Dishes and Climaxing

Family, Future, Journal, Love, Memories, no trust, Personal, sex, Sexuality, Uncategorized

To say that I am confused or that I don’t understand the things that have happened to me would be an understatement. I believe that under all the stress and mental illnesses that have crept in and hijacked my mind, I am still happy somewhere in there. To find that happiness again will be a major task, and I’m willing to take it on.

If I could have one wish granted, it would be for clarity and understanding of the problems I have at hand.

I have felt overweight and cumbersome this last week. When I imagine myself walking down the stairs, I feel like an overweight walrus and I can feel the fat on my thighs jiggling. I can’t wear anything but loose clothing because my stomach looks enormous and this all started when my mom mentioned that she saw me binge eating.. I hadn’t done that in a long time, but I did that once and ever since I have felt like my entire body is made out of lard.

My sister stormed out of the house today and drove two hours to stay with her boyfriend, and none of us are sure if she’s moving out or if this is temporary. My mom was in tears all night, she cried on my shoulder… Someone else’s wet tears on my bare skin is an uncomfortable feeling.

I’ve been through so much, what I’ve learned is that I do not like being alone. I cry when I’m alone. I hate myself when I am alone. I get angry about the mistakes I’ve made and scream when I’m alone. I yearn for companionship and to be loved when I am alone. If I had an instruction manual, it would say that I require partnership 24/7 and to be intensely cared for without me realizing it – once I am aware that someone loves me, I stop loving them. I detached myself and become emotionless toward them.

When I love someone and find out they love me too, it’s like maintaining masturbation when people are awake. You know you’ll have a hard time climaxing just because your little sister is screaming and your mom is yelling about how no one does the dishes – and any chance you had of continuing with pleasure goes down the drain because dirty dishes and climaxing are not compatible.

That’s what happens when someone loves me. I can’t maintain my feelings. They go away without any chance of revival, unless scenarios change.

I left

Babies, beautiful, bisexual, Family, forgotten, Future, Hope, Journal, Love, Memories, Peace, Personal, school, Uncategorized

I write, I move, I lose people I love, and the world goes on.

I finally made the decision to move to my mom’s, and it took me two years to finally come to terms with that. I knew it was what I needed to do, that all roads led here. It took that time to realize it would be the best, that it would make me happy.

I’ve had to juggle houses for so long, it doesn’t feel right staying in one place. I had to say goodbye to places and people. I’ve said goodbye to a lot of stuff, but the valley has been the hardest on me.

My last meeting, the last time I saw my Education Coordinator. He gave me a book, he told me about how he watched my growth in school. He handed me a folder of some of my most notable high school work. I cried.

I went to the parking lot, wishing I could pause time and say goodbye to every last thing there. Every place I had a special moment. Wishing I could give eternal hugs to every person I had come to know there. I cried.

My mom drove me out to my hometown, a little country town that’s mostly orange trees and cow pastures. We drove past my first house, and my second, third, and fourth. We passed people we once knew, but don’t anymore. Passed my first love’s house, he was out on his porch. Didn’t recognize us. We cried.

We kept driving, stopping in the town where I had been living these last three years. We stopped by my grandparent’s. Then to this mexican food establishment, I got some of my favorite tacos in all of the valley. Walked by the place Cadence works, by the place Megan’s mom works. By the old residence of a woman I knew who had to give it up because her cancer got too bad. I walked the streets of a town I had always known, to get in a car and drive to a city where I only knew my mom’s condo and a single barista at starbucks. I got in that car and I cried.

During that long car ride,I didn’t think about ex boyfriends or how I am plagued with PTSD. I didn’t think about how much I hated how my grandparents treated me, or that I hadn’t come out to my mom yet.

I thought about how I was leaving behind the only place I had ever lived or grown to love.

I was leaving behind my small town, one that I was so sure would be where I lived for years to come when I had been young. I imagined having a family and working there, I imagined where I would get married there, who I would invite..

But just like how I left Elderwood, and those people forgot me, I left Visalia. Pretty soon everyone I was close to, they will move on. We will remember things fondly, but they won’t be important anymore.

Now my friends are all hours away from me. Most of my family, too. I sleep on a sofa in a tiny condo and I sit alone and watch tv. I’m really lonely, I’m really frustrated, and I don’t feel loved like I had expected.

In a year and a half I’ll be an adult. In two years I’ll be off to college. In six to eight I’ll probably be graduating. From there, I’ll live my life. I’ll get a job, make friends, maybe even have a family. There will be holidays and deaths, births and marriages.. But I will never forget the day I left my childhood behind.