I sometimes find it difficult to speak on certain subjects in my life. I have these haunting moments that happen in my life when I see particular people. As I am now all alone, I understand that some people are meant to walk a path that is without the company of others. I never really fought this idea in myself because it all started on a sunny day long ago.
The house was relatively quiet on this Saturday morning, but while I laid in bed I knew that it was just a matter of time before things would erupt. I laid in my little bed, I had the smallest room in the house. My headboard was up against the far wall from the door and it faced my tiny, little closet. I had a small window off to the right of me that I liked to leave open at night. I loved the cool air as it rushed in with the wind moving through my room at night, it made me feel alive. As I was laying there I thought to myself about how alone I always was in my life. Not lonely, just by myself. I had an older brother who's room was adjacent to mine and my older sisters room was on the other side of the stairs. They always seemed to be partnered together in everything. Even to this day they are solid in there togetherness when in person. I never remember them fighting about anything, just rushing about with their friends. For the most part they seemed very happy.
The odd moments always came eventually, one of those strange times came when my mother would tell my father that they needed to be spanked. This would happen when he came home from work. Everyone was immediately sent to there rooms while my mother confessed the dirty deeds of the day. It all seemed so pointless though, because he would go into each of their rooms and tell them to yell or scream as he would hit the bed. This was all so my mother would think that they had received their licking. In preparation of all of this, while being sent to our rooms they did put on layers upon layers of underwear, I guess that was a "Just in case plan."
On this morning, being it was Saturday again, I moved my feet under the covers as I was wondering if I should retreat to my closet. As I stared at the closet door I thought how cute it was, the half door, about a foot or so off the floor. I loved climbing inside of it. It often took the top choice for my days hiding place. I wondered why nobody ever bothered to look for me in there. The temperature of the day in the emotional outburst yet to come this morning, would determine whether or not hiding was prudent or not. I had not yet heard the Master Bedroom door handle jiggle, so I was still safe in my bed. I thought, "I wonder if getting under my bed today would be better than my little homemade house in the closet."
I could not stand the yelling and screaming from the people down the hall, while in the closet it seemed to help shut the noise out. And it did look better if it happened to be a day where we were going to spend it as a family, as oppose to what seemed more regular fare, at odds with one another. Everyone, being my brother, my sister and I would be grounded to our rooms for a day like that one. I never minded it much, it saved me from having to protect myself from my siblings latest hooray. They of course, would sneak in and out of there rooms all day, or at least until there friends came over. It would come to light later that they had been sneaking downstairs to use the phone to get there friends to have their parents call and come visit for the afternoon. That was the only way we would be released from the house arrest of our prison rooms. I never did like that much and most times would remain hiding inside of my room and hopefully remain undetected by all it I was lucky.
It is so odd to look back and think that I layed in bed pondering which would be a better place to spend my day. In the closet hidden away in the comfort of the darkness or under my bed where I could stretch all the way out with my pillow and blanket for friends. I opted for under my bed if I had time to scramble that fast on that day. I would draw pictures on the hard wood floor with my finger. I loved the breeze as it would blow through the window and I tended to enjoy the natural sunlight. My closet was getting a little small for me these days, I had to hold my knees up to fit properly, especially if anyone had taken up residence with me.
The sun was filtering into my room and I heard the morning voices warming up at the end of the hall to begin the dreaded weekend with everyone at home and ready for the next big fight. If I can just make it through the next two days, then I will have five days off from my siblings and the wrath of these two people that refer to themselves as the parents. I laughed to myself on that morning because my father had installed a pay phone in a closet under the stair well. Just like the Harry Potter closet actually. My mother had made so many long distance calls that the bill came in and it was for hundreds of dollars, that was a fight to remember. Anyhow you had to have money in hand to make any calls out of the house these days which proved to be an inconvenience for my siblings but a blessing in disguise for me. So my brother and sister on that particular Saturday were in a pickle, they tried to borrow some money from me, at this point I could still scream and be heard which would be devastating to their plan. So they did not come into my room, a small pleasure that I was able to experience. With them halted at my doorway, I sat in my bed and nodded my head no and they stormed away. Eventually they scrounged around and found some coins to complete their mission anyway.
Now all they had to do was successfully make it downstairs to the phone and back up to their room before they were reported missing in action by my mother. She would deflect the impending anger from my father onto them for not listening to their father and staying in there room when they had been told to do so. Of course this seems to take place before anyone has actually made downstairs for breakfast. All of this would happen while behind closed doors, first thing in the morning while they supposedly were planning our day. Half the time I thought my mother was in on it with my siblings. It seemed my father wanted no visitors for the day and she would argue that people were already planning to come by. It almost seemed like that was the part of the screaming argument that my brother and sister would use as the Que to call their friends. This is all because the success rate was always pretty high, at least it seemed that my mother got her way more than my father had his way in the matter.
I hated the weekends, it was always dangerous for me. I was the lone kid that seemed to end up in the wrong place at the wrong time, being tortured by my siblings. This morning I would come up with a better plan. I would wait through all of this running back and forth, leaving myself in plain site. Then right before everyone put on their happy faces for whomever was ringing the doorbell for a visit, I would roll over and out of my bed, grab my pillow and my blanket heading straight for the spot directly underneath where I was now laying. I would keep the window ajar for the day and I would make sure that I had the proper stuff (shoes, clothes, toys) that made adequate noise when moved about, it worked as an early alarm system for anyone searching under the bed to find me (I often fell asleep). As I had to plan, I had decide whether or not to climb over or move these objects out of the way for my hurried trip into hiding. Hhmm, maybe I should gain entry to my safety spot using the foot of the bed. Or should I pull all the stuff out and climb under pulling everything back as I shimmy over close to the wall. I sat up and leaned over to check my collection of things that I had put there the night before in preparation for my Saturday hide out. It all looked good, "That is what I'll do," I thought to myself. It looks less planned and more like I cleaned my room in a hurry, shoving everything under my bed to hide the mess. Then they will think that I am some where else, leaving me in peace. As I sat in my bed I looked at my closet one more time and thought, "I sure do miss sitting up during the day, but its getting scary and I don't want to be found today."
My timing had to be impeccable or my siblings would not think that I had taken off to hide someplace else in the house. So while I waited and watched as they ran back and forth, up and down the stairs periodically checking to see if I was still in my room, I thought to myself, "Somewhere out there, there is a boy that will be my knight in shining armor and someday I will meet him." The strength for caring on that day was had by me, all in that one stupid thought. I had seen Cinderella and I just knew that that was me in my little room. Someday I would go to the ball and there he'd be, to save me from this family that is not mine. I smiled, and laughed to myself. Just then I heard the door and I was gone. Out of sight, out of mind! I was safe to dream about a day that never came.
There are no soul mates, or twin souls in this world. I grew-up to find out that the Cinderella story that I had held so close, is a lie. I hate that I did to myself something that is so hard to undo today. I still cry because I thought that it was true, the pain of the hurt deep inside still festers. I thought that every person, had a person, that they would meet as an adult and then they could say, "I dreamed of you as a little girl, I stayed safe because I wanted to meet you someday, thanks for being here with me. You take the fear away of being killed today." I did grow-up to know not to say the second sentence to anyone should I have been lucky enough to meet him.
So on this Saturday, today, the 2nd of July, 2011, which is so far from then, I say to you that dreams of children are really just ways to get through the nightmare of the lives they are stuck in. I had someone tell me not to long ago that I must have been a terrible person in my before this life. That I am obviously paying a tremendous karmic debt. I said, "Yea, you're right, I am sure I deserved this life that I am living." It is what happens I guess or at least that is what the majority of the world believes to happen when you have been a monster in a life before this one. I believe that we are innocent when we are born and we come to learn lessons about past lives. I like this theory because it fits my life. It means that these people who claim to be my parents are not mine. For I belong to another time and I have been separated from that time so that I could come here to learn of evil. I like that about having a past life belief structure. The end all for me is I am not related to any of these people that call themselves family. So, I trade my Cinderella Story as a little girl in on today's wish, dream or belief, whichever you feel fits this story best.
As I sit typing away on my computer I hold the faith that I am here to learn of evil and to become solidly independent of other human beings, learning to walk alone, always. I laugh to myself as I get up to get a cup of coffee and I think, "I still like climbing in the closet, I have my little single bed that fits perfectly all set-up for this afternoons retreat to safety." Some habits die hard and some evolve with our intelligence to know we can have our cake and eat it too. A closet in an apartment that fits my bed perfectly. So I have a double bed for appearances that I love to sleep in, but as I sat up this morning, I looked across my room and into my closet where my safety net lies, I laugh at myself when I should probably cry. A dream come true from when I was a kid. The comfort of my bed and the safety of my closet, hidden from view, hidden from all of you, hidden from the uncertainty of every day that I have lived.
Good morning, its Saturday, I cannot play, I am busy hiding myself away in the dark yet again. I am 46 years old and I still hide from them. I do what makes me feel safe inside. I am still alive and I have not committed suicide so I guess what I am doing works to keep you alive, yet another day in this nightmare life. Life does go on, with or without you.
To all the people that laugh at human beings with PTSD, shame on you. It never goes away, hopefully one day it gets better, it seems the further you get from the incident the better your chances for recovery seem to be. But some of us were the incident and we are never safe. I don't think that I am a coward for hiding, I think that I am afraid inside of myself and I cannot get well when I know that nobody will understand my fears. They are real and the proof is certain for all to know, they just need to take the time to meet the players. There is only one thing you can count on in this life, Death. It comes for us all eventually, but mine came for me when I was very young and I am still afraid because a human being brought it. You live with that fear today and tomorrow maybe you can understand why it is so difficult for me to move sometimes and why I stay hidden away. I don't do it all the time, but the fact that I keep a closet set-up for me to climb into should be testimony enough for you to know that I need no proof of the abuse I suffered, its all right out in front of you for you to judge my life yet again.
I go the game, Play?
My half-sister, the daughter of my step-father, the second golden child, to the first golden child Tamara who is my eldest sister. She, Sarah, said to me the following two and a half three years ago now.
"You should take a gun and blow your head-off. It would be the best thing for the family." These words directly out of her mouth, as she came at me from across the dining table, with rage and eyes that spoke a familiar language to me.
I have told a few people, counselors and laymen alike since then, what she said to me because it impacted me so strongly. The people, who, I will give you, were few, all said the same thing, "Oh, she didn't mean it." Maybe now they can know that she did, it runs in families you see, family's like mine. I saw her eyes as she tore across the room at me. She had to be stopped physically because she was going to attack me. I looked up at her and our eyes met as I was moving to get out of her way. Its in there eyes Ladies and Gentleman. You never forget it once you have seen it. When a person comes to extinguish your life, they look the part, they are in a psychosis or a state of mind that is so troubling to me that I can barely breath as I write. To add insult to injury, since then, believe it or not, I think of what she said while I am and have been in a personal battle not to commit what has been on my mind since I was eight years old. It has taken this long to even begin to get what she said and the scenario she rattled off in such rage off of my mind as a potential relief from this life. Monsters are real in my life, its a shame that nobody takes what I say seriously when I say it. But maybe now, today you can realize the fear that I wake in and the horror that I go to sleep with each night. These are not just memories as a child. It is my life and it is mired with tragedy that nobody can even begin to comprehend, let alone understand, so I hide because I can't forget, how are you meant to "GET OVER IT," if they still want me dead.
Maybe now you know that you should feel the heat of shame on your face for telling me, a person that has been through Hell here on Earth, that I don't know when somebody wants you dead. She meant it, and its wrong to say to anyone at anytime regardless. My best friend committed suicide, death is real in my life and my family is aware of the two suicides out of the church my mother ran, so my sister is very well-aware of how suggestive words or statements can be. For Christs sake, my mother told the man that jumped off the bridge two weeks before he did it, "Your family would be better off if you were dead." A quote from an ex-church member today.
Death come to everyone differently, but in my life it comes at the hands of real live people who call themselves my family.