Another Day

 I look back at a lifetime and I don't even recognize the woman who was or the woman I became.  Everyone is gone that the post would apply to, and I think did it matter? One life changed, is that possible? There is no doubt it's all about choice and hopefully teaching people whether men or women or children, that they indeed have a choice. There was a time that I would hide in the attic as that was my only escape. But now I am not sure if I am stronger or just a little more bitter.  The past is gone and yet the scars do remain because if you erase them all you erase a life. I am not sure if the choices were mistakes or a pattern that we fall into. I have said my goodbyes and still a cloud of darkness and anxiety blanket over me. Taking a deep breath and trying to let it all go.  I went out and fed the chickens, walked the dogs and I thought wow! humans think they are all that, but we are really no different than any other animal. Though I do tend to think there is more evil instilled in humans or maybe we just don't have all the answers yet. Education is key to changing how we think, act and react and deal with the consequence of choice and actions. When we can't have peace in those we claim to love, how can we expect the world to find peace? War, evil, hatred, greed surface on a daily basis.  People like to compare, but everyone has their own cross to bear. Prayers for all mankind that somehow, they will see through their faults to make the world a better place. I hear young people say I lost all faith in people. Evil has won many a battle, but the war is not over yet. 

sleeping with the devil

I recognized the signals many years ago, when kindness stepped aside and the devil made a show. You could see it in the eyes, the fear had taken hold, I was sleeping with the devil and he wasn't let go. Paralyzed by shock, the tears rolled down my cheek, tied in darkness bound feet to feet. Trapped by ignorance, loneliness and despair, the devil lay beside me and I couldn't avoid his stare. The words thrown like daggers filled with ugliness and hate, with no signs of love, only a lock upon the gate. He played the game of evil, he knew the rules so well, a tease to pull you into the fire like blaze of hell. The tools he used were many and strategically placed, he started off with fear and ended each day with hate. The master of manipulation, building you up to tear you down, isolation, intimidation, was all that could be found. The windows were darkened the door was tightly closed,I'm sleeping with the devil and he is isn't letting go.

Flashbacks

It has been over forty years and there are still triggers to the time when I was a young child. My mother has outlived all but one child and though at 91 years of age I gave her credit at times for her survival beyond the normal. I have come to look at suicide a little differently over the years. I don't think it Is normally a cry for help but a manipulative and selfish move. My mother asked recently why am I still here. I wanted to shout " because you are being punished for what you did to six children." She has been using threats of suicide as means of manipulation . If I don't take her in she will kill herself etc. Her behavior has brought to surface the many bad memories but one in particular.
I was ten years old. My age of awakening. Though I have seen my mother extremely violent situations from breaking objects, throwing things to threatening with a gun and knife, this one moment haunts me. Mother wasn't your typical loving parent even when we were ill it was my father who paced the floor holding us and trying to calm us down. He has this hum sound ahhh haa ahhh haa in a slow way to try to calm. One night my mother and father were arguing and my mother came into my bedroom she laid a butcher knife and she slid it under my bed pillow and than got up without removing the knife. I got up for school the next morning and as I began to make my bed I peaked under the pillow to find the butcher knife still there. I was afraid to touch it or move It in anyway. I put the pillow back over it and went off to school. Wondering as I had many times whether my mother would succeed in killing my father or herself.  I couldn't help but look under the pillow when I got home to find out that the knife had been removed.
With my mothers current threats of suicide I find myself caught fresh in the  memory of the butcher knife under my pillow and standing behind her as she shot through the doorway of the bedroom at my father. There were so many bad memories but these two haunt me more than even some of the worst ones. I want them to go away but they are with me day and night. I want to be free of them but they repeat themselves over and over in my head.

Skeletons

The irony my mother who has attempted suicide and been suicidal throughout life has lived far beyond 5 of her 6 children. My nephew said the Lord don't want her and the devil is afraid she will take over. Brings to light what is fair or is justice of fairness even a part of life. 91 years old she attempted to murder my father more times than I care to count and now she sits in the seat of manipulation. If you don't do this or you don't do that , If I can't live with you I will kill myself. I have called the police a few times to do good will check ups . But when is it "crying wolf" and when will she attempt it once more. I find it completely frustrating.
It is difficult to be responsible for a woman who is not only violent at times, manipulative at others but in need of some kind help obviously. I felt like I put the past to rest but somehow she has managed to stir up the worst of memories and my distrust for her.
I stood behind when she pulled a shot gun out on my father aimed and fired. Have been there when she threatened with a axe. I am sure he must have a gene connection to Lizzi Borden.
I have come to the realization that nothing is more valuable than peace of mind. I think am I wrong this time to calling her bluff? Should I allow her to continue to spew hatred ? Manipulation?, threats? anger ?
I was completely upset this morning. It is nothing a person wants to hear at 7 am as they are opening their eyes. I have no idea what her mental health issue is, partially manic depressive , narcist surely some kind of personality disorder. I still mourn the loss of my eldest sister. The only person left who understood, who experienced and who knew the complete background of the skeletons in the closet.
Those who think I should do more, have truly no understanding of what we endured and what I still endure.

April 23

What am I feeling? Vulnerable !!!!

Vulnerability

"Vulnerability is a universal aspect of the human condition, arising from our embodiment and our location within society and its institutions. On the individual level, vulnerability refers to the ever-present possibility of harm, injury or biological impairment or limitation. "

Time , we only have so much time, with that comes a certain amount of fear. What am I afraid of ? That the story needs to be told , completed. I am not looking to create a Utopia but hopefully allow more people to be free of the chains that domestic violence places on the soul. For more people to find that peace within and hold on to it, like a blanket of comfort.  Rid the world of mental health! "some say i'm a dreamer"

Responsibility

My eldest sister has passed and the irony is all of my siblings are gone and my mother at 91 survives. My mother asked why am I still here? I wanted to say that " it is your punishment" and I bit my lip. Though I do think it is karma, though I am not sure how she feels as I think of her as a selfish person. Losing my eldest sister has to be the hardest. She is the one who encouraged me to write our story. How did we survive as long as we did? The more I explored domestic violence, the more I realized it touched all walks of life and to various degrees. It is true that you can't compare and apple to an orange, that one person's pain is no more or less than another. We put it under the title or chapter "different" we are all different with our own stories, but our emotions are he same.
My loss of my eldest feels greater in pain. Many reasons for that , when I was a child she was more mother than my own mother, caretaker, responsible for our well being. She left the house as a teenager 'minor emancipation" though we were not allowed to have contact with her. I remember finding ways to see her . You hold on to a good moment because there are so many bad ones.
One memory, I was all of ten years old and she took me shopping. It was my first real outfit. I remember the moment even though it is now 51 years ago. She took me to sears and I can clearly see the day and remember in detail the outfit. It was my first grown up outfit and not a hand me down. The skirt was a purple pink and green plaid pleated skirt, the kind that was popular with the large brass pin. I had a soft pink silk blouse and a purple vest with brass button to match. ahh but more important was the grown up under clothing. I remember thinking for sure I was at the age where you are part adult and part child. I know we grew up in some ways faster than most children. I think children of abusive households do grow up faster.
 My mother gets all the sympathy cards but she hadn't spoken to my sister in the last twelve  years. Not like I blamed lex , sometimes it is just "enough is enough" I think God left me last to continue to tell the story , if only to help one person than my time on earth will have made some sense. My sister Lex had a heavy responsibility to over look and make sure we were safe. I know my pain is not greater than anyone else's or that my story is somehow worse than anyone else. I keep asking myself how can I make a difference? I have held fundraisers , tried to raise awareness and still so much is not done yet. We need to chip away at the negativity in the world, drugs, alcohol and violence even sickness. Where do we start? How do we start? There are charity organizations and people out there to help. Maybe it is just not enough. We are living in a different world , the world of technology. Does this help or hurt the cause ? If we take down walls and share in our stories than we removed fear and maybe even chiseled away at the stigma attached. In a room of strangers everyone has a story. How do we fix it? I keep asking myself the same question over and over.

" The Last Mohican"

I am not one to place blame but I do think my siblings really didn't have a chance at a life without turmoil. You read about breaking the cycle of abuse and in many ways though not impossible it is quite difficult. It has a lot to do with survival skills and how to handle the down side of life. When you are not taught how to handle stress , you find yourself falling into patterns of familiarity.
I myself have never been a winter person . It is the dark with gray skies, the down time and to much to time to think that triggers the negativity that weighs the soul down.
I find myself saying goodbye over and over in my mind. By the time I put one death to rest I find myself dealing with another. I have always looked at my brother and sisters through the eyes of a ten year old. The age where you have one foot in childhood and one in adulthood and where hope still stands a chance.

How many tears must fall
to erase the pain and ache?
Where memories flourish
and sorrow deep remains.

Can't rewrite history,
nor alter the script called life,
moving forward with the day
in hopes of making it right.

I wiped the tear of sorrow.
moved it from my cheek
and in my heart it still remains
in the time that looks so bleak.