Speranza

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when i was younger my mother sat my siblings and i down, gave each our own note book and said i want you to write half a page everyday of anything, things that bother you, what your feeling or thinking it could be anything she said… i don’t remember if someone asked but she told us that we could put anything we wanted in there and that nobody would know because nobody would be able to read it…

i wrote a lot from that point on, i felt safe there and found a form of comfort… it would ease my mind and i not only vented there i used my journals as an escape… i knew there i could get as dark and vulnerable as i wanted… it was exactly what i needed.. my mothers instincts must have told her the kids needed somewhere that would give them a momentary escape from the chaotic surroundings… i never talked to or opened up to anybody so it was perfect for me, i finally had someone who would just listen to me for hours and hours

… it would seem like at some point someone has to violate you, and this person went through me and my brothers journal.. i didn’t know how much was read, but i made it a point after that to keep it hidden… that little journal was all i had to comfort me…

One night in writing, i thought how lonely i felt with it because granted i was getting a release with it, i wasn’t getting a response to tell me everything would be okay… I brought my journal to life, i don’t know what made me think i could but i did.. i had issues with men so i knew it couldn’t be a man, but i was comfortable with women.. I knew my journal was a her, i named her *Speranza*.. Speranza means Hope in Italian… Speranza gave me hope, and every time i wrote she was right there….

I usually left my journal at home but I brought it with me to this house when i was younger, i should have known better because if violating me when i was younger was that easy for this person, then doing it when i was older would be no different.. I ended up leaving it there but i didn’t remember right away.. i had to go back over to this house real quick and when i walked in, this person was buried and lost in a notebook, i didn’t think anything of it and it didn’t register that it was my journal being read.. later on that evening someone called my mom and said i forgot my journal at the house and that it was being read by this person… When mom told me all i could think of was “hopefully this person read the entries about their actions done to me as a child and much i hated them for it”….

i never let no one know anything of me, no one would understand me anyways.. i completely gave up on Speranza after that… the one place i had always felt safe no longer protected me… When this person who read my journal told my mom that one of her kids were gonna commit suicide, i knew a lot of my journal had been read… what was writing my thoughts supposed to do for me when people kept peering into my mind, how do i trust in that when trusting in it i became violated…

it was awhile before i wrote again, and i found comfort and something else to ease my mind… it only provided so much comfort, granted the occasional line on a center console or mirror numbed me it didn’t release my thoughts like writing did… and granted the puzzle pieces brought me into a whole new world and helped me escape my present reality, but that escape was only a moment and when the puzzle piece wore off i was back in reality…

I needed more then what that offered, and when i started getting my life together i went back to the journal, i went back to a place where i found the most comfort…. at that point i figured if anyone went through them it wouldn’t matter..

i recently saw those journals i wrote in so many years ago and i realized that Speranza (hope) didn’t go anywhere, she waited for me to feel comfortable with her again… and that even though i gave up on Speranza……

she didn’t give up on me…

 

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Martha

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In 9th grade i was told to go to the supply room to grab what we needed for the class.. when i walked in i gave her the list and she said “hi teddy, do you remember me”, i shuffled through my memories but she wasn’t at all familiar and before i could tell her that she said “i watched you and your siblings when you were children”, i then remembered who she was…

i made it a point to stop by as often as i could to see how she was doing from that moment forward…when things were at there worst around the house and not having no one to turn to, the fact she asked how i was and if i was alright meant the world to me.. I never opened up and said what was going on but she seemed to tell when something was bothering me because she had random comments like “everything is going to be okay teddy”… without me telling her anything there was something about her that would calm all my emotions there was something beyond comforting about her..

She asked me if i could do this or that for her whenever i stopped by her class, i told her i would and that i didn’t mind and she would tell me things like thank you *i am just to tired, *that she couldn’t keep up with the things she had to do *that she wanted to lay down… and after i helped her she asked if i would walk her out, locking arms so i could help her walk.. one of the times i walked her out of her room she fell, luckily she was locked in my arm so i broke her fall, for the most part atleast, as i helped her up she said thankfully your here to help me i asked if she was okay and she told me she was gonna go home because *she was tired…

i can’t recall the time frame but after a while of my frequent stops to see how she was, the door was locked… after so many times of knocking on a locked door i stopped all together, while i thought it was odd, i didn’t think much of it i just assumed she was busy….

after what might have been a few months of not seeing her i was told she passed away…she said someone filled a missing person report and that they found her in where she was living.. she fell in her apartment right in front of her door face down… they said it was almost 2 weeks before anyone found her…

as with everything else in my life that bothered me i buried it, and refused to acknowledge it……….

so many years have passed without thinking of her up until i get a comment on a post and noticed how familiar her name was… she shared the same name of my friend who passed

feeling her presence lately my mother confirmed it in saying that she was here..

i realize that even though i didn’t think about her all that much, that she had been with me, and will continue to always be with me..

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ruptured Secrets

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if i could have blacked it out and never remembered it again i would have, if i could have went in and pulled out those memories that altered the rest of my life i would have, if there was ever such thing as surgically removing haunting memories i would pay it… the memory so traumatizing i wonder if it haunts the people that did what they did… but I had buried it away and had no intentions in ever going there again, i thought i did a pretty good job because i managed to barely think of what had happened and felt like i mastered the art of pretending like i was completely alright… i kept the secret to myself…

i tried as hard as i could to keep it buried and tucked away, in some weird way i thought i could black it out so i couldn’t remember it at all… i thought i could trick my mind into completely forgetting what had happened, i completely fooled myself and i realize now how unbelievably powerful our minds are… in a completely unpredictable moment that memory surfaced and felt as if i had been taken back to the moment it was taking place.. the fact i had i put so much into erasing and hiding all that is probably why it came back to me so violently… maybe my out of control inner demons broke through or an inner angel thought it was best on my behalf to open my Pandora’s box, either way it brought me back to place i had completely tried to forget…

i held to that secret, and the fact i was completely lost and so unsure of who i was + finding comfort in a variety of drugs to distort my reality and all the liquor help put numerous seals to keep that secret locked and tucked away…. my mind would push through all that inner debris and bring forth a memory i tried so hard to forget..

as i read Sigmund Freud’s Psychodynamic theory…….

This shoe store

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vegas isn’t a city im fond of nor have i found it to offer anything other then a good night you can’t recall and cheap drugs within arms reach all within a sleepless city and a steady supply is something that i am assuming makes vegas worthwhile …. to find some one who’s not bitter and pissed at one thing or another let alone strung up or strung out on this or that is an odd thing to come across….. it’s not all pessimistic views for this city that raised me, vegas just suits some people more than others…  what keeps vegas interesting to me isn’t the tourist who occupy the strip get drunk and cause scenes , but to me it’s the moments that perhaps go unnoticed most… we drove through this shit hole shopping center looking for this shoe store we were told about .. walking into this store i noticed the extra security measures that were taken to at least attempt to prevent any robberies or vandalism from the surrounding neighborhood which isn’t an alright area … the bars on windows and the barbed wire on the roof to keep people out of the stores that their hopes revolves around… when i got into the store i noticed how it was only us in there despite the big sale that had been posted in the window, either were in a moment were we missed a lot of people or had been her only customers for the day… given the surroundings the store was in she had kept her store incredibly clean and neat as you could tell she loved it with how she took care of it… she was completely helpful with my mom in something that she needed.. she was running her store with her daughter who was probably only 9 or 10 and when my mother went to the counter ready to check out mom asked if she could check the zippers to her heels to make sure they worked, the lady grabbed a pair and went to zip it up…. in her daughter noticing her mom couldn’t get it to zip she grabbed the other heel and tried her self… you could tell with how her daughter jumped right into helping her mother without being asked that she was probably used to helping her mom…where the mom was struggling with it eventually the daughter spoke up and said she got it to work and showed my mom… the way her mom glanced over at her and smiled was beautiful.. you could see struggle, pain and maybe worry in the moms eyes but when her daughter got the zipper to work you could see this sense of relief and reliance that she had towards her daughter.. walking out of the store it reminded me of certain things in my life.. being relied on as a child showed me how important that comfort is in peoples life… some things are even clearer to see or feel when you have or have felt those same things in your life..

provoking insanity part 3

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after i got rid of that imaginary place and gave up on prayer , i tried not thinking to much about what i was going through… those words and phrases of being told i had a warped mind and was slow would sit as dormant bubbles ready to pop at any given notice….. how do i relax or calm down my mind , it seemed to me that fear wasn’t going anywhere but eventually i could novicate it… drinking since 7th or 8th grade proved helpful and easy to get my hands on especially when certain family members insisted i drink with them despite barely being a teen, it didn’t matter what type of liquor as long as it did its job.. shots, mixed or straight out of the bottle was no difference to me.. but liquor eased a certain amount of pain because the nearer i got to the end of the bottle those troubled memories seemed to open its self up even more so… the first hit from the pipe was exactly what i had been needing , there’s something in the way it smelt right when you open the baggy, or the way it feels as you inhale and the burn you feel right after you exhale.. it was something to fog\cloud and make me feel some kind of sanity for awhile … every party i was at always had the pipe ready and a steady flow of liquor… the weed was constant i smoked it every chance i could apples and soda cans where my favorite cause they where the easiest to dispose of.. at that time drinking and pot was all i was into everything else served me no purpose….but eventually i stopped smoking pot and the next couple years i just stuck to drinking… but a friend who must have felt my pain offered comfort that could only come from a line … in offering his hand he had a straw and then i took it down…the sensation through my body and the taste from the drip set my racing thoughts\bad memories calm it set those moments and feelings of insanity suddenly sane… something that small no bigger than the nail on your pinky crushed into a line anywhere you desire, something so small does something nothing\no one and not even i could have done for myself.. to me god not only came in the form of a piece of bread on sunday but in any shape or form even of that which is bad for you.. being almost 20 and finally coming across this, finally some sort of delusional sanity i convinced myself of.. i wish i would have found that sooner being i was told i was on drugs all my life… the random states of hallucinating where incredible it was something to switch it all up where my imagination came to life and the reality i was living in all of a sudden became bent… and coke, if i was looking for a high that consisted of something more than a delusional reality and drifting in and out of sleep and wanted to stay up and drink all night there is nothing more enjoying than not only numbing your nose but numbing memories as well… all the comfort that it offered wasn’t enough but some how i convinced myself that it was because as high as i was allowed no room for bad memories and the more i thought i did the more normal i thought i felt.. all my life i searched for this “normal” or “sane” way of being and even though id be lying if i said i didn’t enjoy the drugs or the way i felt on them they only served as a momentary escape from myself.. seeing how the men in my life acted on meth and the monsters they became on it was the only drug i wouldn’t allow myself to do but it’s not my place to judge anyone’s choice\preference in whatever soothes\pacifies them…   i see that this person who tried convincing me as a kid i was slow, insane and brain dead was coming from someone who is strung out on meth , paranoid and going mad.. all of what he was telling me i was he was feeling going on with him… do you forgive that when it’s not their fault knowing meth altered who they where or accepting of the fact they “claim” sobriety in all they said and did to you as a child… the words of the course of years is what convinced me as a kid i had a warped mind.. in an asylum like atmosphere where you already lay vulnerable to losing your mind combined with the repetition of convincing statements like having a “warped mind” is what was provoking my insanity..

provoking insanity part 1

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you swear your memory serves you right, how could it be wrong when its something that plays so clear in your mind you can actually feel the pain\emotions that was felt in it…. why would someone convince themselves certain things happen when it never even took place, especially if its traumatizing.. correcting a memory that’s a little off is necessary because you don’t want to add to it let alone forget anything important… but telling you that something is wrong with you, or that your mind is gone or warped because the person who put you through all that hell doesn’t want to admit all hes done, so they try and convince you your going insane.. maybe subconsciously out of hope you’ll question everything you thought you went through with them.. after being told that for so often you begin questioning your own sanity. eventually i was told i was to fucking to slow to amount to anything or that i didn’t graduate because i was to slow.. for whatever reason he felt that he should be instilling comments like that in a kids mind he adds to that already convincing statement he said the reason i was slow was because my mother was on drugs during her pregnancy with me… which later on i found out that my “step father” was lying about that… the chaotic atmosphere was already unreal to me anyways but for someone to try and convince me it didn’t happen that i was delusional and my mind was warped was even more frightening.. i began to believe i had a broken mind and that all i had been through was making me insane… the most haunting of memories played so clear and seemed to be repeating itself in my mind as the statements are being said i am losing it… i began fearing insanity as if it were it’s own person, i refused to even speak of or acknowledge anything of it’s nature… but in an atmosphere where things are so chaotic so often its insanity… an insane atmosphere.. how do you maintain any kind of sanity in that? how do i calm down my mind or even get it to stop… prayer? prayer served no purpose for me then…. i relied on that till i saw prayer for some reason only worsened things and if god of all people didn’t get it or make it stop then nobody would get it or understand it… being alone and feeling that loneliness as a kid bothered me occasionally but where i seem to feel insanity at it’s closest with me were the moments where i am by myself at home and there isn’t any sort of noise going on, things are so silent it’s deafening and the memories seem to be getting louder the more silent the house became… i could fool the best with making it seem like i was calm and alright, but within i was screaming for some kind of change, to maybe feel some kind of normal within because my “stepfather” convinced me as a child something was wrong with me… my imagination was something my mother had us kids carry and hold on to as long as we could… when things would get bad or completely insane i started calming all that down with a whole nother world i began to create with my imagination… creating something within where i began to feel safe, something normal and where i wouldn’t feel so alone…