moments in time

his palms were firmly pressed down on an ice chest, his knee’s were slightly bent as if he was so accustomed to that position he was stuck in it, he was fully clothed but his pants wrapped around hes ankles like a form of shackles were confining him to that moment in time, the blood dripping down the back of his thigh was still as red as when it first happened… and his eyes, completely expressionless as if the moment the penetration took place it punctured his soul and left him lifeless in that moment in time… he was locked in that moment, stuck in a position so vulnerable, and as i walk around him i wondered the ways to help free him… i soon realized that this person i was starring at…. was me.. i seemed to have forgot all about him…

i started seeing not just that piece of me locked in that moment, but other violent moments shut me down, then locked me up…

i wondered if the person who penetrated me or got physical with me turned me to stone, hoping those moments would forever stay still, silent and long forgotten… perhaps i locked myself in those moments hoping i would forget it all together as a form of self preservation….

how do i unlock those moments in time, and if i could, would i want to? Does anything good ever come from unlocking Pandora’s box? or do i have the power of the outcome…

Did he in those moments want to be unlocked? was he waiting for me to remember so i could comeback to him…

i knew in unlocking that moment that memory would have to play itself out, but doing so was essential to healing… i had no control over what took place, so i withdrew from those moments to protect me, my sanity, or maybe my soul.. no key unlocked it, only willingness to heal those moments unlocks it… healing that moment, would allow me to move forward…

While time never stands still, i became locked inside a moment in time… .

 

 

 

misconstrued weakness

Growing up i didn’t think i was tough, i didn’t know what tough even meant as kid.. if there was a chance i might have thought i was tough or strong it was shut down by always being told i was nothing but a little b**ch or a little girl or a p***y and that’s just to keep it mild, but anything you could say to make a little boy feel like a little girl was said…

i never thought i was tough or strong in all the fights i got into as a kid or an adult, maybe i won or maybe i didn’t, it didn’t matter, i just knew i could handle my own for the most part…

i looked for answers in all i was going through, i was told on a few occasions that ” i was incredibly strong for what i had been through ” or that all that i had been through would make me “tough”…. i couldn’t see that, in fact i thought that i was incredibly weak…

i thought that i was a weak person because i couldn’t let go of the past for the longest time…

i thought for sure i was a weak person if i let it show that what i was going through was bothering me or getting to me, that is perhaps why nobody knew me and everyone thought i was alright.. to me pretending to be okay was far easier than admitting to myself i wasn’t okay…

i held it together most of the time, but i saw that you can only maintain a full glass of water so long before it begins to overflow, crack or tip over… i hid it so no one would see, i covered myself with a blanket and the streaming began… i never knew you could cry that much, it wouldn’t stop i thought for sure i would run my tears dry or that my tear glands would stop producing… and in that moment it made me feel so weak and vulnerable…

in re-piecing myself together i look at the broken pieces of who i once was, the memories within each piece, the pain, tears and every emotion that consumes those pieces, were i foolishly thought it was all making me weak i see now that it was strengthening me… i couldn’t see it in the midst of going through and feeling it, but i can begin to understand it as i look back on it…

tough wasn’t the fact that i could handle my own in a fight, or not allow myself to feel or cry when i was upset, everything i went through in my past not only made me tough but it gave me strength..

Mister Misery

It wasn’t all bad all the time growing up with these men, there were moments with them that meant everything to me… the moments where certain things are said or certain things are done that had appeared to be genuine confused me because prior to that they couldn’t stop being violent or cutting us children down..

The moments were the talking is rational and their behavior is normal had me wondering if this is who they really are and if it was why would they try so hard to hide this person… but i also wondered if how they were acting was even real and how hard they had to pretend to be that nice… i couldn’t tell… because for so long prior to those moments they were mean, violent and couldn’t get enough of degrading our mother to us… maybe they thought that a rarely given moment like that we would overlook everything they had done just moments before… maybe they thought that their nice words or nice way of talking we would overlook all their cut downs.. i wondered how hard it was for them to be that nice and that if at some point they couldn’t handle the fact that there being so nice so they went back to their usual self…

Did it bother them seeing other people happy? happiness and chaos seemed to dictated by the men of the house… if things were running to smooth they didn’t hesitate to shake it up a bit… maybe they’re addicted to the chaos…

The thing is they were apart of my “childhood” all the bad and the moments of it being okay, I never wondered why they did certain things because what are the chances of getting an honest and genuine answer let alone them owning up to what they did… i did wonder if they wanted to be a better person but just couldn’t because being a better person was to difficult for them, maybe they were comfortable being completely miserable… perhaps the statement “misery loves company” couldn’t be more true… maybe the fact you hold on in hopes to see them change, be better or be nicer because they show you just that in those rarely given moments.. that might be their key to how “misery keeps its company”….

 

Behavioral Improv’s

A couple years ago when my youngest brother was like 3 or 4, i remember watching him searching for this outfit and not giving up till he found it, when he found it there was serious focus in putting it on and once he put on his black spider man mask to complete the outfit, he went right into character without even trying.. I let my mind drift back to his age and the moments when i could convince myself i could be anyone i wanted….

my first time watching “Harriet the spy” i completely thought i was a little spy myself and once i had all those things that i believed to make me a spy, i was completely convinced, i even took notes from blues clues to become a better spy.. Being raised by women i was completely mesmerized by Their long dark hair and all the colored heels they wore, the different colored strings, the bra’s, the purses, nylons, jewelry, tight spandex, glitter and all the layers of make up they spent so much time putting on, as a little boy that was another character i convinced myself i could be and having a little sister who liked to play dress up was perfect, between the barbie dolls and the women in our lives it inspired the make up we wore down to the heels we picked out… i could go right from that into a full blown construction worker… maybe being a gemini made it even more so easier…

I realize that i didn’t lose that side to me right away and it would serve me as long as i needed it… when i was older and certain things took place i felt i needed to “pretend” like everything was all right around everyone… what took place when no one was around and behind closed doors that left me feeling broken and altered but as soon as i got in front of someone or walked back through that door i went right back into “pretending” like i was happy and fine.. I could fool most, but i realized it only added to the fact that i remained lost and untrue to myself. The things i pretended i had found comfort in…  i started thinking about the fact that as children we can go into being someone else and pretending certain things to be true even though they’re not…

I am sure everyone has there reason for pretending to be okay or alright, i remember when i was younger seeing my mother cry and when i asked her if she was alright she would say “everything was fine” as she wiped her eyes, her pretending to be okay so i wouldn’t worry… some people can pretend so well no one would ever guess there is something wrong, i noticed though there are people who can see right through the fact your pretending… but how long could you really pretend for, at some point even an actor gets burnt out… i became exhausted and tired in pretending certain things, i found myself looking back on my life and the process of becoming true to who i was began to take place..

Coming to terms with my past i didn’t find it necessary to continue pretending with certain things, and i found this Real me character far more fascinating than anything i pretended to be…

Imprinted Memories

When i was in middle school i was completely rebellious and rowdy, got in trouble Alot, frequent fights and poor choices probably was my form of release from the things that were taking place but in doing that it gave me a couple trips to behavior school and then a moment of standing before a judge… before i walked in my attorney tells me “the judge is pushing for you to do jail time so when you get in their do not smile do not frown and answer her yes ma’am no ma’am”, she was obviously in a pissed off mood and my hearing didn’t make her anymore happy… i walked in and shot down everything inside of me so i wouldn’t bring attention to myself exactly like my attorney had said to do, little did he know i was completely accustomed to acting like that, i did it all the time…

I had around 140 hrs of community service to do, all of which i did at the elementary school down the street, one of the nights there i had finished up and my beeper beeped with a message from my “step-dad” that read “i will pick you up after your done, be in front of the school”… after i was done around maybe 9’oclock i got out and looked for his jaguar, but the night was eerily quiet, it started to make me nervous and after waiting a few minutes i thought perhaps he didn’t see me so i decided to walk up a little ways to where their was more light so it would be easier for him to spot me, he eventually found me and after i got in and closed the door he freaked out because i wasn’t in front of the school like he said, he must have thought i couldn’t hear him screaming so he lowered the already low sounding music, he turned to look at me and once he saw his yelling wasn’t affecting me he took his right hand off the steering wheel and without hesitation swung the back of his hand into my chest in a fit of rage for the duration of the red light, the light turned green which was probably the go ahead for him to stop and he was completely winded it took him a minute to catch his breathe.. The silence in the car was more deafening than his yelling… I was already in shock by the whole thing but when he said “If you say Anything to your mother it will be 10 times worse” it made me even more freaked out… as i walked into the house completely unfazed by what had just taken place,  i saw my mother and i put my head down and walked up the stairs and she asked if everything is okay and my “step-father” answered for me and said yeah he is fine he’s just tired…

All these years later, i began speaking through my silence and in telling my mother about it, i felt as if i had completely re-opened that memory… that moment played so clear for me, i can still hear how quiet it got after it settled down, i can still feel the impact of the back of his hand against my chest or the thud it made as he hit my chest… i feel like those moments of shock are imprinted into your memory and reserved for a later time when your ready to come to terms with things….

In settling things within myself that memory opened up to me, and while i realize that the “why’s” are rarely met with an answer, and the i am sorry are rarely genuine if they are even given at all…. As i let the memory play for me, i gave it back to him because i am sure if it played that clear for me it would play that clear for him and in seeing, hearing and feeling what i felt maybe he then would realize what he put me through….

After all, that was his memory he left imprinted on me…..

a difference in influence

father figures came and left throughout my childhood but the one that i seem to have held closest to me was my grandfather.. not the one who got off on preying on children but my actual blood grandfather .. he showed me a lot of things about life some maybe not the best because unfortunate circumstances in his life instead letting go of he clung to and became bitter from it and rightfully so with the hand he was dealt would turn anyone miserable so in seeing the life’s tough hand he was dealt i could understand certain bitter aspects he spoke of to me …. but with him being born in Brooklyn in the 40’s to Italian immigrants would form this old school persona and tough attitude that you couldn’t break or beat down.. not that height is ever a factor in anything but you would never guess that this guy as tiny as 5’4ish give or take would have as much courage as he did it is almost as if he has no concept of what fear is.. as hard as life seemed to be on him he had no vice other then a thrill of stirring political chaos which he seemed to have a remarkable ability to do… when i was born being that my real dad wanted nothing to do with me i seen through a photograph that he was the first man in my life to hold me.. as i grew older and he seen my mother had no intention on telling me who my real dad was and that the person raising me was only “step”, he must have felt she was taking to long to tell me and that being maybe 5 i was already man enough to handle knowledge like that so he told me…. he didn’t have nothing in his life he trusted or could turn to, my grand mother his ex wife whom he had 6+ kids with wouldn’t acknowledge him and of all the kids\grand kids and people in his life he found some kind of comfort in talking to me and around 11 years old i became more a confidant and his best friend than a grand kid because he said he already had to many of those and that he just needed someone to talk to… it would have seemed like i was his favorite and that he showed favoritism and who knows if that was the case but i enjoyed being around him and all the endless stories he shared and insisted he taught me, and he’d be the most loyal father figure that life would show me i had…

the love he had for women was something that was beyond being a womanizer as he could never let a pretty girl walk past him without him winking or saying hello he always says that gods greatest gift to man was women and that women could feel how much he loves them that’s why they love him so much… he taught me chivalry at its finest and told me “even more so then wining and dining women to also protect & respect them no matter what” , and surrounded by men who abuse women i held that lesson close…

in a comment that was said to me about being so close to my mother it was like we were having sex, i turned to my grand father and asked if i was weird for being so close to my mother and told him the comment i was told from my “step father” and as calm as he could turned to me and said there was nothing weird about it that the most beautiful relationship we can have is with our mother… and when i began to see the relationship between his mother and him i knew only a demented & twisted mind could have a comment like that… he explained how hard his mother made his life and how she treated him for having been so close to his father, he said that as much as his mom had put him through he didn’t see her nor would he treat her any different because that was his mother… seeing how much love he showed his mother who had alzhiemer’s and barely even recognized him was a bond i saw needed to be embraced….

he taught me having passion for things from accomplishments to loving\embracing your Italian heritage down to a little cup of coffee and holding moments that are dearest to you very close..

3 failed marriages one of which hes left with 5+ kids by himself to raise, left by his parents and living in quite a few foster homes as a child and how hes mother treated and rejected him his whole life until the point were she had alzheimer’s and only then was she able to show she loved him and then she finally passed, probably the only moment he might have felt his mothers love… it would explain why he carried certain issues toward women… there is a sadness you could see in his eyes and the way he carries himself when he walks.. life couldn’t make him flinch nor would he show any one that it took its toll, even in moments that bother him most and the tears fill his eyes as if pain and heartbreak just might have hit him but instead he hid them and most of the time wouldn’t allow himself to let the tears fall… he credits “god” for being able to make it through his life and that the devil was the reason for all the pain and strain he had to deal with…
in my childhood where CHIVALRY was non existent and being a “MAN” wasn’t even heard of, love and compassion were barely even shown, life seem to balance itself out when he came around….