misconstrued weakness

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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..

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…

 

Fatherless children

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Working in the gym i noticed these mothers raising their child or children by themselves, maybe they had a boyfriend and maybe they didn’t, maybe the child’s dad was around and maybe he wasn’t, a lot of them opened up to me and would tell me that their child’s dad took off when she first found out she was pregnant or took off at some point down the line because he didn’t want the responsibilities of being a parent… maybe these mothers just needed someone to vent to… there was this one mom in particular whose child was making a fathers day gift and when she seen what her child was doing she said “oh how cute, to bad she doesn’t have a dad to give it to” and when she was done i saw a sense of sadness in her eyes, as she was probably debating on who she would have her daughter give the fathers day card to…

how does any mother explain something like that to their child, i don’t think there is any right way or right time to inform the child their dad isn’t around.. i was told at a young age by my grandfather that my real father wasn’t around, there was no explanation given right away when it was said, but eventually when i was older things were explained the best they could be.. i am sure that void is always felt, even before it’s told to the fatherless child, but i wonder if that void is so powerful it’s possible to be felt even in the womb… after all, there is a connection for so many months before the child is born…

There were children with both parents around, whether or not the parents were together made no difference because their dad was still in the picture… but seeing a number of kids without dad around it was an all to familiar feeling, i could relate to those kids.. it didn’t matter they were only a few years old and i was almost 20, that void i carried they to carried as well…

Maybe i was fortunate enough to be raised around my brothers dad, but he not only made it obvious i wasn’t his he reminded me i wasn’t when he would tell me things like he only helps raise me because my real dad wanted nothing to do with me…

My real dad was a contributing factor to me being born, and that was it.. i am not defined by him in any way at all, i am my own person… There isn’t anything i need to come to terms with him with.. he left and that was it… my mother was both my mom and dad… She taught me to be a man, showed me how men should and shouldn’t treat women and yet was mother at the same time…

And as those mothers at the gym would tell me how they are raising their child by themselves, i would tell them what life and my mother showed me, that maybe life not giving me a father did me a favor and was probably protecting me from having one… i realize that through my mothers instincts it is and was all i needed, and for that………

i am thankful

Creating Your Own Fate

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Karma… I was told growing up that what i did to other people, people would do to me or if i stole i would have my things stolen…

When i was barely a teenager i would See thick stacks of 100$ bills tucked away in cabinets or in the bathroom or what appeared to be a book but when i opened it up it had the middle taken out and was filled with 100$ bills and every time i saw piles of cash like that i thought to myself their not gonna notice 2 or 3 hundred dollars missing but every single time i took it within minutes they came looking for me… I couldn’t get away with it, i got caught every single time….

I was a few months away from turning 18 when i started working and I didn’t want to open a bank account i preferred just to keep cash and hid it in certain spots i thought no one would find.. every check i cashed i started noticing i was missing money, 20 here 40 there sometimes even more and i was pissed off every time because i didn’t make that much, and after awhile of getting my money stolen i thought, how mad could i possibly be at that… karma was collecting the debt’s i owed… but i began to wonder if karma showed favoritism and was more lenient on some and went into full force with others.. I knew i stole a lot and had a lot to account for but i stole from crooks and plus i was a kid… it took me being a little older to realize that whether i was stealing from a crook or an honest man that karma was karma….

i wondered why it took place so quick with me and yet with others who had done far worse things within the family it took so long for karma to make its presence known with them… maybe karma expected more out of me that’s why it came so quick…. for awhile it seemed the more evil you were the longer or less likely karma came around..

I thought that until one night while i was out i got a phone call from my mother who informed me that someone had died…From what i am told this person was hit by a vehicle and didn’t die right away, this person suffered for quite sometime….. In being hit, it crushed their chest and completely paralyzed this person.. This person was left in a wheel, on an oxygen tank to assist their breathing, bags that filled when going to the bathroom and could hear but couldn’t speak…

i saw this individual after the accident and noticed how completely different this person looked… i saw someone vulnerable, fragile, frail and completely helpless… i thought about the moments as a child in the locked garage when not just my clothes were stripped but my life was completely stripped and shattered… i struggled for so many years from the demented things i was put through, i remained silent and didn’t want to talk about those moments and i saw how life took their voice… Those moments haunted me all my life and at times when i saw this person their was a look of fear in their eyes like maybe the accident played as a haunting memory , or perhaps the things this person did to me as a child were haunting their memories… those moments this person hurt me i was completely helpless and for awhile this person sat very helpless… i saw how life made this person feel everything i felt… This person had their way with me as a child, but life now had it’s way with this person…

I realize now that at some point life catches up with everybody, it shows no favoritism like i thought and goes after some quicker than others.. i see karma leaves no debt uncollected.. it takes time to set up that moment for karma to go into full effect….

Mister Misery

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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”….

 

Imprinted Memories

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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…..

Dynamic Walls

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In understanding myself i went back as early as my mind would allow me, to my first taste of what it felt like to be hurt…

my inner child started piecing together this place that would provide a sense of security and keep everyone out, i could see it as a whole, and i could see it in it’s earliest stages of taking it’s form… i could see his confidence in the fact he knew what he was building and the purpose it would serve me, life didn’t seem to stop handing him bricks, which worked for him because he wanted it multiple bricks thick and high enough to reach the heavens, something so you couldn’t tell what was going on and no one could breakdown… This child stood back and excitedly acknowledged this wall he built… he realized that while it is invisible to the eye, it would be felt and serve a purpose only to be recognized and understood later on in life.. knowing he had shut everyone out he created worlds all his own, in his own way so he wouldn’t feel alone.. he included and excluded anything and everything he wanted…

Recently i started acknowledging these walls i built… i saw the magnitude of it, i saw how teddy protected himself from the things that happened and all the future things that would take place… he couldn’t do it psychically but he could emotionally… i see that when things take place as a child the walls go under immediate construction to provide some kind of shelter or safe place within… the walls had kept everyone out for so long that no one knew me, knew how i felt or knew what was going.. the walls seemed to intensify under certain situations i feel like they took on a life of their own or perhaps that’s how i designed them…

when i was a little older the youngest of my uncles gave me “The wall” by pink Floyd and i was completely fascinated by the movie and the album… Sometimes things are handed to you in life to help you make sense of certain things if not now then later on in life…

as I began to understand myself i saw and understood these these walls more clearly, i saw how my life revolved around building these walls and instead of tearing it apart i would leave it up but i created a door into it and instead of keeping everyone out, i let certain people in….

there’s something powerful about your walls, although you can build it willingly, life will put them up for you automatically…