Monday, March 14, 2011

Dedicated to Sidnie Smart, R.I.P.




I dream of death.
For He desires Me.

I finally found depth of Soul,
I found the Well so deep.

The depth,
it pours.

A pool of Gold!

The blue,
the warmth,
the Home I miss so much.

Death dreams of me.

March 2009/Suicide/R.I.P.

For the children who were broken: by Elia Wise



For children who were broken
it is very hard to mend......
Our pain was rarely spoken
and we hid the truth from friends.

Our parents said they loved us,
but they didn't act that way.
They broke our hearts and stole our worth,
with the things that they would say.

We wanted them to love us.
We didn't know what we did
to make them yell at us and hit us,
and wish we weren't their kid.

They'd beat us up and scream at us
and blame us for their lives.
Then they'd hold us close inside their
arms and tell us confusing lies
of how they really loved us
-- even though we were BAD,
and how it was OUR fault they hit us,
OUR fault that they were mad.

When days were just beginning
we sometimes prayed for them to end,
and when the pain kept coming,
we learned to just pretend
that we were good and so were they
and this was just one of those days
...tomorrow we'd be friends.

We had to believe it so.
We had nowhere else to go.
Each day that we pretended,
we replaced reality
with lies, or dreams,
or angry schemes,
in search of dignity ....
until our lies got bigger
than the truth,
and we had no one real to be

Our bodies were forsaken.
With no safe place to hide,
we learned to stop
hearing and feeling
what they did to our outsides.

We tried to make them love us,
till we hated ourselves instead,
and couldn't see a way out,
and wished that they were dead.
We scared ourselves by thinking that
and scared ourselves to know,
that we were acting just like them
--and might ever more be so.

To be half the size of a grown-
up and trapped inside their pain....
To every day lose everything
with no savior or refrain...
To wonder how it is possible
that God could so forget
the worthy child you knew you were,
when you had not been damaged yet ...

To figure on your fingers
the years till you'd be grown
enough to leave the torment
and survive away from home,
were more than you could count to,
or more than you could bear,
was the reality we lived in
and we knew it wasn't fair.

We who grew up broken
are somewhat out of time,
struggling to mend our childhood,
when our peers are in their prime.
Where others find love and contentment,
we still often have to strive
to remember we are worthy,
and heroes just to be alive.

Some of us are healing.
some of us are stealing.
Most are passing the anger on.
Some give their lives away to drugs,
or the promise of like beyond.
Some still hide from society.
Some struggle to belong.
But all of us are wishing
the past would not hold on so long.

There's a lot of digging down to do
to find the child within,
to love away the ugly pain
and feel innocence again.
There is forgiveness worthy of angel's
wings for remembering those at all,
who abused our sacred childhood
and programmed us to fall.
To seek to understand them,
and how their pain became our own,
is to risk the ground we stand on
to climb the mountain home.

The journey is not so lonely
as in the past it has been ...
More of us are strong enough
to let the growth begin.
But while we're trekking up the mountain
we need everything we've got,
to face the adults we have become,
and all that we are not.

So when you see us weary
from the day's internal climb ...
When we find fault with your best efforts,
or treat imperfection as purposeful crime ...
When you see our quick defenses,
our efforts to control,
our readiness to form a
plan of unrealistic goals ...
When we run into a conflict
and fight to the bitter end,
remember ....
We think that winning means
we won't be hurt again.

When we abandon OUR thoughts and feelings,
to be what we believe YOU want us to,
or look at trouble we're having,
and want to blame it all on you...
When life calls for new beginnings,
and we fear they re doomed to end,
remember...
Wounded trust is like a wounded knee--
It is very hard to bend.

Please remember this
when we are out of sorts.
Tell us the truth, and be our friend.
For children who were broken...
it is very hard to mend.

by Elia Wise



Natural Repulsions


NATURAL REPULSION
 

“You enthroned a sanctified, privileged lie, a lie believed by everyone to be the truth.  That is the seed of the most dangerous delusion.  A lie to be known as a half-truth, a lie that an intellectual person accepts as fact, the lie that has been inculcated upon me by you, this lie, your lie, is the most dangerous to contend against.”

Karen Anastasia Placek

* So what if you are Genius or a Savant, they will bury you, not educate you, hide you from society, cripple you at every turn.  In the end it doesn't matter because your family will never accept you as you are anyway, or at least that has been my experience.

Questions Evolve At The Rate Of The Need To Know The Answer



Written on Saturday 5-13-06

Taken our innate ability to discover pleasure in an act, taking that act and coercing those around you to facilitate the act for your pleasure, under the pretense of enlightening their minds by introducing them to an act that will create pleasure.  Never during the introduction did you include the consequence, which must be paid for such an act. Your desire outweighed any consequences.

Your diversion to enjoy the act of pleasure will have the highest price, simply because of your selfishness.  The minds that you deceived still will pay the price for their deception.  Every price will be a different toll, choosing to pay the toll or not, will determine the vehicle used to exit the act.

This is not a question of enlightenment, right or wrong, true or false, good or evil. These are the mere vehicles that we choose to excuse or explain the act to ourselves and enables you to rationalize that choice you made under the influence of deception. The outcome remains in the scene.

The future contains the knowledge that enables the ability of choice to determine our continued growth and the rate at which we grow. Change is inevitable. Time has provided the knowledge to understand this fact. Accepting that every action has a reaction and that your ability to choose directly influences the reaction allows the understanding that will make your minds capable to take, accept and be responsible for that which you have acted on.

Those that have chosen the vehicle of deception as a reason to be involved in an act, now know that by choosing deception you have knowingly ended your ability to continue to grow.

Choice is a freedom that provides Time to determine the outcome.  To remove the freedom of choice and replace that with destiny or any other absolute will only in turn allow Time to deliver the outcome anyway.

The outcome will reveal that presumption to know or have knowledge of and understanding of, a specific act is only ignorance and the allowance of that to perpetuate it. The understanding and belief in the freedom of choice will be subjective to the same determination and outcome that Time will provide.

It is these provisions in Time and the acknowledgement that the unknown has become the known and the fact that dreams have become reality in the past, which makes our imaginations the key. This understanding will provide our minds with the ability and nourishment to grow required by any life form.  Our continued growth and ability to change has proven to be the key to our success. Domination has been the result and the presumption thus far.

Understanding that Drivers are innately part of our very structure as a human being, than you will accept that the answer to questions evolve at the rate of our ability to ask the question.  Just as in mathematics presenting a problem that will need to have a solution, allowing the understanding needed for our minds to realize that it is the actual problem that will deliver the answer.  Realizing that the equation is simply Time.

This Water Is Going To Be Consumed By Fire, No Drink To Thirst Shall Be In Mired


Dear Mom,
Shame on you, from here on out I will call you out by any name of your own choosing.  You are full to the brim of hypocritical self-deceit.  Your conscience acknowledgement of your own self-proclaimed mastery of all that you have become is the epitome of an ignoramus.  Your oath to yourself and gifts bestowed upon yourself are the actual design in the manifestation of death by-proxy and the inevitable extinction of your very being. Your everyday statement of announcing to me that I came from “Bad Genes” is in itself, your own proclamation from your own body, mind and soul.  This is your cell structure, which you have spoken of all these years.  “Out of the mouth confession is made”.

Your very core has insured, by-proxy, that your spirit, mind, soul and body of your own self gratification, ugliness, lack of compassion, materialism, ambition to elevate yourself at the spiritual and financial cost of any being available or not available to your beckoning, this will cease and desist.  You are that which your have called others.  Your cosmic phone has been cut off.  You were billed and scoffed at the arrival of its price.   This action has been an announcement to all; your ignorance in this matter is to be pitied.  You have shown that pity is for the weak minded and those without moral conviction of spiritual law. 

Your youth has been erased, happiness has become an illusion, pain is the only way you know and you are still here.  The shell you are, is void of life, filled with emptiness, confused by imagination and not yet conscience that by your own design you created that which you abhor.

Your measurement of love, knowledge, understanding, wisdom and generosity has set the limits of that which is limitless, priceless and without measure.  That which you embraced in yourself fouls you.

Shame on you!
Shame on you!

The one’s you choose to “love” will deliver the greatest gift to you.  In return for your training, dedication and living example of glorifying, “the one and only”, the debt that they owe you, will be paid with delightful, guiltless abandoned joy and freedom of will.  This is all voluntary.  They will not even have to divorce themselves from hypocritical self-deceit.  The ones you have chosen to “measure” your “love”, and bestow that which you have accumulated through means of the unnamed.  They will do exactly as they have been trained and charged in life, they will execute that which you have done.

Your success is their guide, their patience has been your measure, your ambition is their alarm clock, and the bell has begun to toll.

The respect that death invokes, the respect that would hold at bay the greed that waits, has bared witness to your impatience.  Your robbery in this course of action has been noted; you have manipulated all, to receive inheritance’s that had rightful heirs.  You have reveled in the design of greed under the pretense of ambition.

Shame on you!
Shame on you!

Listen to these words, for the ones you have chosen to “love” will discount and dismiss my message.

There, in those voices, from the ones you found deserving to bestow yourself, that is the moment you will be smashed with undefiled wisdom.  For now their indulgence will manifest itself to you, as their ambition will not be abstinent.  You taught them well “Blessed are the powerful, they will be revered among the world, cursed are the feeble, old, sick, weak-minded, powerless, dying, for their time is measured and should be blotted out”.

You have paved the path; you will be at the very hand of those you indulged with life.  By the means you taught them well, and they know death is the great abstinence.  This in known to all as a “Dog eat dog”.  Recognize their actions, intentions and words to you, for they are yours.

I will honor your memory by going out into the world and I will bare witness to all.  “Love” has no measure, the more you willingly give, and the return for such a priceless gift shall be ten fold.

You have indulged and rejected abstinence with ingrates.  These are the teachings of your past. But, you did not listen; it was indulgence, not compulsion. You are engulfed in the stagnant morass of yourself.  The reverses that have beset you are no longer under your dominion and they will be unending from this time forth.  Those you have chosen to measure your “love” no longer cherish you.

The pleasures you indulged will flow into anguish, as the fire in your marrow is rendered powerless.  You are devoid of substance.  Your ambition to marry Spiritual Nature with the Carnal Nature left you in a loveless marriage of an Ambitious Nature.  Spiritual Law required you to divorce and to your horror, you were Carnal in the merge, always were, always will be.  Do not fool yourself; your last days on earth are upon you.  You have advertised and announced this message to the world.  Your pride blinded you and your intellect did not reason, because the obvious was invisible.  The gatherings I witnessed, as you blessed the Communion and Challis, filled with the Blood of the Lamb, this was your admission to your hidden agenda. This was an announcement of your half-truths.  The Challis will be of any metal, but may not be gold.  You praised that which you have become.  You spoke “in tongue’s” praising his name.  The pronunciation of your words sealed with your Hebrew lessons.  The translation of such “tongue’s” you exalted did not belong to you, for that is sorcery.  But you were not a Sorceress, only a mindless follower and you spoke in tongues that you memorized and full well new the translation, just as I do.

Shame on you!
Shame on you!

May your days be full of that which you delivered unto others and with the power in which you convicted them.  You have not abided by the Laws of the Land,

Spiritual Laws
Natural Laws

You are ruled and abide by the,

LAW OF THE JUNGLE.

Your lies and deceit built your throne.  It will be assailed without pity, without regret, for under domination of a falsehood, no one can prosper.  You enthroned a sanctified, privileged lie, a lie believed by everyone to be truth.  That is the seed on the most dangerous delusion.  A lie to be known as a half-truth, the lie that an intellectual person accepts as fact, the lie that has been inculcated upon me by you, this lie, your lie, is the most dangerous to contend against.  Pestilence shall be your compulsion.

I, being of sound mind and body, I am now of the age of consent, accept the knowledge and wisdom bestowed upon my heart and soul.  I release the anger, the anger that was an instinct for self-preservation against your relentless attacks.  I forgive.  I stand on the bedrock of this earth with true independence. Spiritual Law has risen in the midst of the web of entanglement that you spun as a disguise.  I now name the one that shall not be named.  He resides within you.

He silenced me as a child of joy and sweetness, a delightful daughter, full of natural and true abilities.  Together “the named” and yourself have been Outed, Outed by the one you silenced with terror.

Shame on you!
Shame on you!

I am free of hypocritical self-deceit.  I embrace that which has been done to me and with the command of my Eternal Right, take dominion over diabolical indignation.  With rationale, in the “eleventh hour”, sweeping aside pain, disappointment and resentment of the past.  I restore Law & Order, Law of Harmony, Ministration and Peace.  This is what shall reside here, from now until eternity.  The double-edged sword which you have wheeled, no longer is yours to use but will remain as a symbol to you.


A path that has never made itself clear to me has determined my whole life.  As an adult I have been consumed by taking care of my children.  On this day, when all of my children are gone, I miss them.  It is confusing, lonely and my life is thrown off track.  My children are the best little people on earth.  Confident intelligent, attractive, well spoken.  I miss them so much.  My loneliness is painful, I can taste it.  As I gaze at the photographs, my heart is torn to pieces.  The ache of not having all of my offspring near me is a pain that I cannot describe.  I do believe they are always in my heart.  It does not matter how far they go, I carry each of them with me. 

I know that what I believe and trust in will watch over my children with a very special eye.  An eye that is specially reserved for those who are not so easily swayed by worldly beliefs and religions.  I believe my children hold inside of them the key to open any door that they wish to explore.  It is a key kept in a safe place, a key for peace and a key for satisfaction.  A nonjudgmental spot for me and for them.  They will take destiny and change it to what they desire.  If I would wish anything for my children, I would wish for them to know happiness and that they will never experience loneliness.

Reality of a Nightmarish Life


My mind races, 
all sorts of thoughts.

My heart beats,
a pounding sense,
increased panic.  

I try to reason,
rationalize my way through,
this onslaught of dangerous and destructive thoughts.  

Fear paralyzes me, 
I become lost in an irrational land,
filled with Flashbacks I rue.

Holes, ditches, rivers, mountains,
describes it best,
as if I have become a Mountaineer in Mind,
these flashes of my past come alive inside,
a life lived again.

Frustration ranks me as I seethe,
I do not want to experience today what happened so long ago,
time traveling in a moment,
so quickly these Scenes show.

Breathing is difficult though,
first I must recognize myself,
the difference in size,
I'm small, not an adult,
recognition, I give.

Patience 'cause it gets mean,
gang rapes, beatings, tortured,
I scream,
I am a Life, I am Alive, I am not an It.

Pacing in my bedroom,
I'm a kid,
I dread.

Next time they'll hit my head,
instead,
throwing boiling hot water from the stove right at my brother,
Scalding.

I hid.

Perverse,
I'm bothered,
where is my Father?

Do these memories fade?

Yes!!  Replaced!!

Just when you believe you have been able to find relief,
forget everything,
these horrors replay like a deed,
memories replaced by flashbacks
 dazed and disgraced I state;

I cannot stop my mind, 
it races in a marathon of a different time, 
a race for life itself,
not to just survive but to be Alive,
to tell, to speak, to be Well.

I am being submersed,
 in what has always been,
 so bizerk!!

I take my frustrations out on myself,
why has this life been dealt?

What is the purpose of these horrors?

Those closest to me,
the perpetrators of these crimes,
do they believe this was fine,
somehow Sublime?

Yes they do,
 as they rehearse upon you,
 they Preach at me;

"Get on your knees!"
"Plead to Our Lord for forgiveness, beg us to forgive You!!"

Screaming with such a boldness,
 I am told;

"We'll know when you mean it!"
"You're a Whore, a Sinner, a Liar, filled with a demonic require!!"
"The Demon of Silence possesses You!!"

The message never changed,
this is all so deranged.

Rearrange

Slow-down,
find the need,
somehow this replay, this repeat must be,
for Reason,
maybe just to remind me.

Am I healing by seeing once again,
that it is I that survived them?

I hate Christians,
I hate the message,
I hate the implication,
I hate the condemnation,
I hate the guilt placed upon a mind,
I hate the presumption,
I hate the double life lived by Religion,
I hate that killing in the name of G_d is an accepted path of redemption.
I hate their forked tongue,
I hate that this has all been done, to me, to you, to everyone.

I Hate and I don't want to,
it is so bad for you,
it's dues. 

Accountability

The Malignant Narcissist plays these games,
to create the energy they need to sustain,
it is simple profane.

I will not be that narcissistic energy,
I will not be your Scapegoat or Blame,
I do not accept your G_d or your Shame.

There will be a day in your life,
when seeing is believing,
where this absurdity is understood.

The Narcissist preys upon Humanity,
with a malignant nature.

Consciously they speak,
it's not just talk,
the words are meant to make you weak,

Your Life,
 "Becomes them" 
so they take it,
in Mind, in Body, and Soul.

This is their goal,
this is what makes them whole!!




BLOG from Me in 2001

Watch the walls fly up in a desperate attempt to establish a perimeter of safety.  I bury myself in a place no one can reach or will even dare go.  They will not go because the venom spewed from this place would corrode the armor carried by any good soldier.  No one! Nowhere! Will destroy or invade my very soul, Defense is the mortar and brick of my walls and the perimeter which I surround myself.  This keeps my enemies from entering or being able to conquer my soul.  I was right in my thought and wrong in my action, to trust any other soul.  At the heart of it, they are all mere mortals!!

The feeble men that walk today’s earth do not hold honor or justice in their grip; these are only terms or vague ideas once held in esteem by others.  Instead excuses have replaced morals. 

“I did not mean to?”
“It was not aimed at you!”

Just when I begin to believe, instinct slaps you and reality is not far behind to bite you!! 

Claim yourself, be strong, no mere mortal soul on earth can take such strength from your Will.  My mind will conquer; my soul will rule my own destiny.

Grace, Prayer, Faith, Belief, what possible comfort has this brought to the millions that believe?  I will tell you what it has brought to them, DEATH!! Death of mind, spirit, body and soul.  Why am I here? Nobody understands me!  Why am I always so polite and quite?  I know exactly why, because a response to an ignorant soul would be energy spent on a worthless cause.

My brain never stops, not when I am drunk, asleep, awake, at no time in my life does my mind just stop thinking.  Being mean to another, what does it express?  Unfinished thoughts or actions.  Why do we use this, as excuses to explain are very simple behavior? This is an excuse for our bitter hurt we feel deep inside of ourselves. Why is it that when we are hurting, we push away the people who seem to care about our well-being?  I do not know?

Will I die? Yes! When?  Sooner than I expect!  My body cannot handle holding the pain inside of myself.  Others are shut out and I do not share well.  My last will and testament would be,

Do not be haunted,
Live life while it is here,
Always be honorable to yourself,
And believe.
Believe in the impossible,
Never loose sight.

We are all human with human faults to live with everyday.  Compassion is a forgotten feeling.  Selfishness has taken its place.  You should be different, because it is as adventure in living our lives.  Be kind, to everyone you meet, they all have their own cross to carry, hold and bear.  Love is an emotion rarely found. When you find it, hold onto to it, for it is rare.  You are fortunate when you have found love; hold it as long as you can!  Short lived happiness, is better than happiness never lived at all.  You will never know what you are missing until it is gone. Silence, the most feared of all the fears, for silence equates with Death.  Death is the one reality, nobody can turn from, or hide from, once it is here, you can not go back.  You cannot go back and love, feel, give compassion or forgive. Death is final and felt with a force that the Dead themselves only know the reality of.

Hello Jim, hello Davy, hello to all you lost and dead souls.  Do you feel a brief connection through the manic strokes of my pen.  Are you desperately searching for redemption?  Look and receive!  The reality of your most morbid demise, you left those behind that you could have helped!!  Instead you made a callus move, the move of a coward, this drove you to take the one thing that you were given, LIFE.

Doesn’t it suck guys and gals; think about it, you could be enjoying the misery of life right now.  You could be feeling the aches and pains.  Instead, you have chosen the final destitute of foreverness without destiny.

But to my Papa, life is beautiful, full of faith, love, joy and happiness.  I have found comfort in your soul.  I love you and I really miss you.  Although your time on earth was done, I trust I will meet you again in the here after.  Confirm my belief; comfort my soul, in this I trust. I miss you so much; your soul on earth comforted my lonely spirit.  I draw comfort through the eyes of my son, inside of his eyes I see you.  The compassion passed on from you to me and in turn to him.  You live on inside of him.  You would be so proud of him; you would shine as you gazed upon him. 

One final thought, nobody would ever save you from your own nightmares.  You must confront your own fears, face them, turn from them and walk away from them.  For it is in the deepest corners of our minds that we will find the answers, our fears will become known to us, know them, overcome them, do not run from them. Sadly, I still do.

I know that I am not the "Golden Child"



For all the words never spoken,
A thought would go with each one.

Though love never ruled,
My love always was present.

Sometimes we cannot share,
Our deepest emotional strife.

 But inside each stare,
possessed so much more than you saw.

If you only could see.

Words are so simple,
Thoughts so complex.

Karen Anastasia, 1999

Just me blogging and Dream of Mine. Or is it a nightmare I cannot wake from?



Blog from me;

Blind-sided in a quiet field. A peace that was found was blown away by that moment of reality.  Recovery is something we do to survive but as we begin to stand I become leery of all of this around me.  How can history repeat itself so easily?  How can God piss a rainstorm down on you?  Is the end only a dam that will soon break too?  Will you be forced down a torrent wall of water smashing into rocks cutting you with the sharp edges?  The sting follows as the numbness where’s off.  You go in and out of comatose state wondering if you are dreaming or could this nightmare be true!!


Will the end ever arrive does life ever ease you into a calming lake or another large body of comfort? Or, just as its been, do you float aimlessly around in your comfort exploring your newly found home.  As you begin to warm in the comfort of your new home you feel that familiar yet terrifying pull.  At first, you do not strain but as it becomes stronger the temperature begins to drop and your terror becomes horror.  As you realize the inevitable is about to happen the knowing teeth, the smashing wall of water, the impending fear of drowning is all happening again!! FUCK!! FUCK!!

Why can’t life be kind! Why can’t God back off! How much must one bare before it becomes to much?  Where is the limit found where is the switch to turn “it” off or the gage to measure the pain.  A sort of calculator to monitor what you know you can take.  So much frustration built up inside of me.  So much anger and fear.  The love seems lost yet occasionally I tap into it.  Those moments are precious and few.  Will I ever find that fountain or just experience drops of joy.

Communication and sharing are my weaknesses. Trust is my enemy.  My heart is buried in a deep and dark grave.  Afraid to be born again, yet dreading an eternity of loneliness.  My mind is a pile of shit that cannot find the words to express.  My feeling, I am, what seems to be stuck in a mass of confusion.  Chances and gambles are what I like to choose, live and breath, those make me feel alive in this world.

Another Attempt to Accept the Reality of a Mother that is a Malignant Narcissist


All of this must seem so sensational and quite unbelievable; this is how my life has been with my mother since I can remember.  I was born on April 29, 1965 at Children’s Hospital in San Francisco, California.  My father and mother had two other children, by older sister Tammy and my brother Eddie.   We lived in an apartment on Hemway Terrace a couple of blocks away form the Pan Handle.  We moved to 815 Balboa Street an old two story shingled house.  They split up not to long after I was born, I remember my Dad when he used to leave for work.  The bus stop was right up the street, he used to get on and the bus would stop right in front of the house and he would yell out the window, see you later alligator and I called back in a while crocodile.  He was a funny man, who used to make me laugh.  Before they broke up I remember these parties, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.  My brother, sister and I would sit at the top of the stairs just before they made a turn to go up to the second floor and watch what was going on. They would talk back and forth and I got to watch.  People would come in the door and right by the door was a skinny table with a round large glass gold fish bowl.  They would drop their keys in the bowl and come into the house.  We had a pretty good view of the front room, people bustling around with Martini glasses in their hand.  I would ask the occasional question and my sister would hold her finger to her mouth and say SSHHHHH, she always kind of spit when she did this.  We would always be shewed off to bed so we did not really see much more of what would happen after that. 

The next thing you know they are fighting, yelling and screaming, banging, slamming.  My sister grabs me and sneaks me off to our hiding place, well one of them anyway.  I was in this enormous linen closet, at the other end of this closet were these huge drawers but instead of pulling them out they had a door that would swing out.  The hinges were across the bottom part of it, she would pull it open and push me in and then climb in herself, and she would then pull the door shut.  It was very cozy, she would make sure we had quilts to sit on and I always had a pillow.  She would say be quiet and I would say why, I must have been terrible at whispering, because again with the finger in front of her face, Sshh,  Why? I would say only to be followed with a louder Sshh and the second time always had more spit,  I remember the smell of the cabinet, thick with the smell of wood, I thought it was redwood, but that’s because the wood was red. The screaming and yelling continued but was more muffled except when the closet door opened, then it would slam again.  They never found us, I used to think my sister was the best at hiding; most times I would fall asleep.  I think that is when I first recall my sister shaking, like she was cold but I knew she wasn’t cold.  I never really knew what we were hiding from, I mean what would have happened had we not been hiding, she seemed too though.

My Dad was in his room packing his bag, I asked him where he was going and could I go with him.  No FooFoo, you have to stay here but I am not going far, just around the corner.  Why?  Your Mommy and I need some time apart but I will be back, don’t worry.  He never did come back, he left and the yelling stopped and turned into preaching.  I was not allowed in my mothers room anymore, but I had learned how to hide, as I had an excellent teacher.  Mom had this huge closet, she hung her clothes on either side of the door and if you pushed through the clothes on the right hand side there was a pocket of space that I fit in.  You would never know I was there looking into the closet but I could see through into the room, the side of the door that had hinges allowed just enough of a crack to peer through.  I used to make sure I was tucked behind the shoes that were on the floor so I blended with them and the dirty clothes just in front of them hide any sign of me. 

This one time that I had hidden any Mom’s closet I saw a sight that I had never seen before.  I was waiting for it to be quiet enough for me to be able to take a peak and see if the coast was clear for me to leave my hiding spot.  Normally I would hear Mom talking to whom ever it was that day, she was normally in her bed propped up with her head against the headboard of the bed.  The man or woman she would be speaking to, would be sitting on the edge of the bed or knelt beside it.  Sometimes there would be more than one person but not often.  This one time that I am speaking of was the exception to the rule.  I immediately new that I had made a mistake to hide on this day, because I heard so many different voices in the room.  I was afraid because the voices were coming from right outside of the closet door, which meant their was someone very close to me, one wrong move I could be discovered.  The shuffle of footsteps and then I heard Mom talking and going into the sort of chant/prayer, I knew that I would be in there for a long time.  I am not sure how long I was in the closet before I decided to take a look, to see if the coast was clear, seemed like forever.  I leaned forward trying not to make noise and peered through the crack in the door

Frustration! Disagreement! Confrontation!


I was there and know exactly what you did to those around you. You do not do the things you do for your children out of the goodness of your heart, you do them out of guilt for what you have done to them. I was there when you made Davy eat his vomit and carry the rest of it around in a bucket.  I was there when you physically attacked Tammy during a church/cult service, where you had all of those people, Jim, Royce, Steven and the rest of them, jump on top of my sister and physically slam her to the ground and start casting demons from her.  I was there when you took a pot of boiling water off the stove and threw it onto my brother.  I was there when you lit matches under Eddie's pants at the dining room table while Hugh held him down in the chair. I was there when you performed an exorcism on my brother. I was there when car keys were dropped into the fish bowl at the door.  I know why Eddie calls Hugh a Faggot.  I know why you have no Christian symbols in your house, I can go on and on, I have read my pediatric records I could fill a book with the events of my childhood.  I was there.

For the first time in my life, I am starting to feel better.  My mother now knows that I remember, I remember it all.  What an exhilarating feeling has overcome me, almost making me giddy, how strange, or is it.  Life is so strange and the events that take place throughout our lives are the very experiences that mold us into who we end up being.  How is it I could be born and raised in an environment that was so destructive and actually manage to come out on the other side alive? 

 Two people that grew-up in the same situation committed suicide, so I am the lucky one at least I can see and have not been blinded by the Christian Bullshit. I have never felt safe from them but today, I do.  I have always been on guard, and worried somehow they would find a chink in my armor and pierce my heart.  I have lived a defensive life, never trusting or believing that I could be any different from that.  Today is such a breath of fresh air, now they know, I was there and I remember.

I spoke to my mother and stepfather, Hugh in March of 2005 I believe.  I knew that the deal on the building was closing soon and they would be coming into a tremendous amount of money, approximately  4.1 million dollars.  In the past whenever money showed up all hell would break loose, my older sister would show up magically from somewhere back east, claiming she was owed.  My older brother would be at her heels with the same type of claim.  My mother and Hugh would become these aloof people that I no longer knew and my little sister and brother would ride all the waves that all the craziness provided.  This type of behavior would usually happen over a couple of hundred thousand dollars or so, I could only imagine what would happen with a few million. 
I decided to sit down with Mom and Hugh, tell them how I felt, cross my fingers and hope that for the first time in my life it could be different. 

We all went into the Drawing Room and it turned out that my oldest two daughters were also with us.  I thought about asking them to leave, but then decided that this would be my final plea, it might not be a bad idea to have them present.  I also knew that with there presence Mom and Hugh would watch there P’s and Q’s.  For an hour and a half I spoke to them, confiding in them with the worries that I had and how destructive all this behavior had been in the past.  Of course, Mom was acting as if she had no idea what I was talking about, but Hugh was different, he was intently listening to me.  I had never seen this behavior before and held some hope that I was actually getting through.  He was asking questions like, which time are you speaking of?  He is British, hence the pretentious way that he speaks.  What exactly happened?  What do you think your sister wanted?  How do you know that they will both show up again?  What do you think they are owed?  What do you remember about that situation?  You remember when your father took you on visitation and bought himself sandals that Tammy had just picked out and wanted for herself?  As he would interrupt periodically with a different inquiry I began to figure out that these questions were not out of concern on how to keep it from happening again.  These were probing questions.  My mother of course babbling away with her banter of nonsense of how none of her children have ever loved her.  All she wanted was to worship Jesus and preach the word of God.  I watched both of there faces trying to see if my message was getting through,  I told them that I would not go through the family drama of how is owed what and why, I would not put myself through the phones calls of my mother screaming about how her children hate her and how the Placek’s have such bad genes.  Or about how much she has done for Tammy, Eddie and Karen, how Sarah and Philip have given up there inheritance for the older three,  I was not going to watch all the hurt faces as each kid was used to beat up the other one.  Mom I am not taking this roller coaster ride with you again.  At the first site that insanity on your part I will turn and walk away.  What are you taking about? Mom said, Hugh screamed, WOMAN, SHUT UP! AND LET HER SPEAK, the anger shook my core. 

This moment made me gasp, for I was witnessing an interaction that was all to familiar, an interaction between two of the most sick, demented, selfish people I knew, I became instantly ill.  My stomach twisted into knots and I froze, I was instantly thrown back in time, but now I had the experience of life following me there, this was not a simple interruption between two parents, one chastising the other for not allowing the child to speak.  This was Four Play, sensuality seeped from my mothers every pore, she dripped with anticipation as she turned to Hugh, it was only for a moment, but in that moment my life flashed through my head.  I gulped, looked at my two girls, who had not noticed what had just happened and said come on, that’s enough, lets go.  I walked out of the Drawing Room we all grabbed our jackets in the foray and headed to the front door.  As I turned to say goodbye I realized nothing would ever change with them, what I did not realize at the time was everything would be changing for me. 

The next time that I saw them would prove to be the last time that I would hold my tongue.  Until now I have not mentioned much about my childhood to them, I saw what they did to my older sister and brother. 

Realizing at an early age that silence was indeed golden.  Looking back I believe that they had begun to revel in the fact that they had gotten away with the evil deeds they had done.  Their cult members had either died, run away, never to be heard from, or committed suicide, gosh, that is tough to write down. I always want to cry when I think of that, could I have done something, I was a kid when I watched all these horrors being committed.  As an adult I have struggled to piece it all together and as my puzzle seems to outline what happened I realize that I am fortunate to have survived.  The story that I am about to share with you is true and an honest account of my life.  I can do something now, I can tell you what happened, by writing this down on paper I can make it real.  This will make their lives worth something.  They are not the horrible sinners my mother claims them to be, they did not have demons possess their souls, the devil did not make them turn away from her, they were only people that had been filled with horrible grief, depression and guilt. My mother killed their souls, destroyed their minds and crushed their hearts, they were only human and they’re in lies her monopoly on their lives.

Mom has called off and on since last Easter but I did not answer the phone or return her phone calls.  Her messages were as usually completely bonkers and it would be impossible for me to even tell you what she said.  Mom will leave you a very long message and after you listen to the entire thing you will have absolutely no idea of what she said or why she called.  The tone of her voice always gives away what mood she is in, mostly she is pissed off and looking for someone to be angry at.  Well in good form she continued with her phone calls and began to expand them to the girls cell phones.  As Christmas 2005 drew near she began to call more random people, of course I only know this because they called me to see if I was all right. To date she has called my x-husband of seven years, his mother and my girlfriend in the city.  I thought that as the new year approached she would stop her random calls and get on with other stuff.  The phone calls kept coming, now to my home phone, my cell phone, Katy’s cell phone and Becky’s cell phone.   I was about to drive Becky back to school and I decided that this would be a day to call Mom and tell her that the girls are starting back to school and they did not need the distraction of her phone calls.  I called and she spoke to me as if no time had passed and nothing out of the ordinary had happened, I always laugh to myself, wondering how long she can maintain such a fa├žade.  About two minutes into the conversation it began, I will tell the jest of it, I told her to stop calling and leaving random messages about what had happened this past summer, they needed to concentrate on school.  She said, I forgive them, there is nothing to forgive, you kicked them out of the house, threw there stuff in garbage sacks, changed the locks, she interrupts, I have a call can you hold on, No, if this is not important enough to stay on the line with me about then there is nothing further to say.  She clicked off.  Understand that while this conversation is taking place I can hear Hugh’s voice in the background yelling, Get off the phone Melba, phone Melba, get off.  I did not stay on the phone I hung up and that was it.

A couple of days later I decided that I needed to call and tell her once more not to call the girls, I did not feel she truly understood me the first time.  Especially since just that morning she had left a message on Katy’s cell phone about liberating her jaw and calling her, or something close to that.  I called her on her cell phone, Mom you have to stop calling the girls and leaving messages about liberating their jaws, what she says, are you monitoring their phone calls, only when you leave repeated insane messages and they call to tell me you called yet again.  Telling the girls that they have not told me the entire story and other such references to this past summer, this has to stop.  The point is Mom, Sarah and Philip took my 18-year-old daughter to bars and that is wrong.  She interrupts and says, they are weak minded and were influenced by Becky’s overwhelming desire to go.  They are grown adults that should have known better, they are my sister and brother, they know how I feel about that type of behavior, they did it anyway. She interrupts again, well; you took your babies to a bar the last time your sister was here.  I said, so that’s the way you want to play Mom; I can top that one Mom, when I was a little girl you took me to Swinger Parties!  She began to scream and pull the phone away from her and right before I heard the phone go click, she is screaming, I will never get rid of the Placek's.  This was the first time in my entire life I ever said anything about my childhood, ever.  For the first time also, she did call me back again and again, it was silent, not a normal response for her at all.  Normally she would call and call yelling and screaming each time about how persecuted she has been and then it would turn into a sarcastic apology generally on the twentieth phone call. Yes all in the same day.  But this was so different, she was silent for the first time all you could here was her screaming, what I don't know. But, how nice it was to have had the tables turned for the first time in my life. Her in audible madness and screaming insanities and I was just at peace with myself.

Just an odd time in my life I thought I would share for people who care about what happens to me and mine.


Email from my Mother and Step-father a Malignant Narcissist and a Sadist or is it a Masochist


Dearest Karen:

It was so good to hear your voice and your New Year
Greetings over the phone.
To follow up on our (first) phone communication, Becky
and Katy were referred back to their mother, because,
at that time, the “in loco parentis” strength from
their grandparents, and from their aunt and uncle, in
San Francisco was not sufficient for their needs
and/or requests.  Furthermore, Becky’s beau was
graciously invited to her grandparents’ home for
hospitality, which was apparently rejected out of
hand.
We are convinced that our conversation in the whole
matter was with wholesome compassion for our
grandchildren, with utmost respect for their
consciences, and in sacred honor of their own parents’
training.
In addendum to this morning’s phone call, I quote from
95 year old Kitty Carlisle Hart (Page E3, SF
Chronicle): “ (I have) no time to devote to being
irritable or unhappy.  Time is moving fast”.
It appears you have been obtaining incorrect
information from unreliable or “half-truth” sources; I
base this on certain things you have been saying
recently to me (and apparently to others as well).
Love,
Mom.

Narcissus: My Mother's Reflection


My Mother’s Reflection


“THE HORSE IS DEAD - DISMOUNT!”

"Indeed. Dismount. Time for a burial and a nice graveside ceremony. Shoot a few rounds of blanks into the sky; shout a couple of hallelujahs and 'blessed be's'; offer a burnt sacrifice by way of dried narcissus and dehydrated garlic, but grieve it - and leave it."

Author Unknown


I was born on April 29, 1965 in San Francisco, California.  My mother took me everywhere, can you imagine what I saw in the 60s! 70s! Early 80s! This is my life, my story and I believe with all certainty, my salvation and freedom from the visions in my mind, the nightmares in my sleep and the horrible grip I feel around my heart.

My mother always wanted what she does not have, no matter the price to her or anyone around her.  She has been obsessed with sex, money and power since I can remember.  She took me into the Gay Bathhouses in San Francisco, so she could get a massage.  I would hang out with all the men, watching various acts being performed. The guys were always so kind to me and never hurt me, I do wonder sometimes if any of them look back and hang their heads, just shaking them back and forth.  Its not as if I saw complete acts of sex, but I do know how multiple men can pile up extremely close and laugh, smile, make noises and then fall into a pile of naked bodies. I never knew that this was not completely normal and part of everyone’s life, until the day that I learned to speak and answer questions that I was being asked. 

My mother used to frequent these places in China Town in San Francisco.  They were always in the basements, if you have ever been to Chinatown, they have numerous homes that have stairs that go up and another set of stairs going straight down.  So steep that is seems you will slide straight down.  Mom would hold my hand very tightly and down we would go, even when we reached the bottom she did not loose her grip.  She would knock and the door would open, once you entered there was a rather large curtain made of heavy red velvet.  A woman would greet you and pull the curtain back to allow you into the next room.  This room had booths all around the perimeter of the room.  You could not see who was there because the booths went all the way up to the ceiling and they also had heavy curtains that could be pulled to close you off from the rest of the room.  I was set down inside one of the booths; Mom let go of my squished hand. This is probably the moment I like to least think about, as she would let go of my hand, at that moment I felt the most alone.  Oddly, even today, as I write my stomach sinks and I feel left, left alone, a kind of desperate feeling, just like the one I felt then.  On my way to the booth that I was to stay in I would always look into each of the booths we passed.  Some of them would have the curtain drawn all of the way, some would be open just a crack and others had not really bothered to try to pull the curtain at all. In each booth, that I was able to see into, the scene was the same, one or two men, speaking very quietly, just waiting.  My mother proceeded on to another room that was also separated by a heavy red curtain.  I would be served a soda and some kind of snack.  There was only one time that I saw behind that curtain, I was very quickly escorted away but I will never forget what I saw and what I was told Mom was doing.  She was playing, the woman walking me back to the booth told me; she picked me up and sat me back up on the wooden bench.  Would you like some Ice Cream, she asked me, of course I said yes, please.  I was told, your mother would be done playing soon, just wait here.  A few different times I was sitting across from a man.  They were always kind and made me laugh.  Sometimes they would pull money from behind my ear and give it to me.  When Mom showed her face through the curtain she always looked the same, never happy, I would say the look was panic, but that is not quite it either, maybe it will come to me as I continue through the pages of my mind.

Often times when my mother and I would return into the world of light and busy streets she would immediately take me to the Cellar at Macy’s.  This was the most delightful time; I always looked forward to my prize.    Sitting on top of the counter were these jars aligned along the sides, filled with jelly beans, gum drops, assorted chocolate malt balls, taffy, you name any sweet and I bet it was somewhere in front of me.  A head would peer between the jars and in the middle of the counter and ask me what I would like today.  I loved this; even today it makes me giggle at the thought.  On the days we were unable to go to the Cellar, my mother would take me to a sweet shop on the way back home.  She would stop and we would go into this little tiny sweet shop, sweets just the same, the counter was not nearly as impressive, but the chocolates always tasted wonderful.  This tiny shop was located on the left hand side of Geary Blvd, between Van Ness Ave and Polk Street. My mother and I used to take the bus back and forth; she would always get off the bus for this stop and then get back on.  I remember when we started to drive and this coincides with everything changing for the first time, when Hugh first showed up in the picture.  I remember because she told him to pull the car over, it is a one way street and being on the left hand side meant that I had to scoot to get out of the drivers side door.  I jumped out and began to run for the door, I turned and Mom was not behind me, instead a hand reach out the window with money in it.  We did not stop to many times after that, which was fine, it lost the magic that it had once had.

My older sister Tammy and my older brother Eddie attended an elementary school in Chinatown, very near where my mother and I would go.  I do not remember why I was not able to go with my mother any more to these dungeon retreats, but I remember a few different men having very stern conversations about my presence.  They would have this look and pointing in my direction shake their finger at my mother.  This is around the time that I was left in the charge of a French au pair.  She was an older woman not to far away from Tammy and Eddie’s school but definitely not in Chinatown.  It was just on the other side of a tunnel that separated Chinatown from North Beach and Van Ness Avenue.  I was on the Van Ness side of the tunnel.  The old woman only spoke French and this made communicating rather difficult.  She lived on the second floor of two flats; I used to have to climb this enormous flight of stairs to arrive at the feet of a rather plump, always red-faced woman, whom I did not understand.  She had a daughter that was around my mothers’ age, the old woman and the daughter were always fighting when they were together, thank god, and the daughter had to work and was not always there.  To no surprise, they were fighting about me, the daughter was just like the men, red faced like her mother, pointing at me, shaking her finger at her mother.  I know that the daughter did not like my mother at all, I do not know why, but the passing looks would have made a healthy man fall over dead.  As time passed, I learned how to understand French and even speak enough to translate for my mother, times and dates.  The old woman was generally kind to me, she would take me to a park on the other side of the boulevard (entrance and exit for the tunnel going back to Chinatown and North Beach), and she would let me play outside with other children.  She would sit on the bench nearby and talk to the other old woman as they knit or sewed.  My only terrible experience at her house was when I went into her closet and filled all of her shoes with baby powder.  The look on her face as she opened the closet door is burned into my memory.  The red faced old woman became purple, the words that followed were loud, fast and not anything I understood, with the exception of one that I heard repeatedly, Merde!!  Of course, now I know what it means, SHIT!!  At the age of four I did not need the translation to know that I was in big trouble.  Sadly her daughter was home when my mother came to pick me up and she spoke English.  She told my mother what had happened in a rather snippy, obnoxious, snobby way.  To this day I do not know why the daughter was so pressed to tell the entire story, other than my mother kept apologizing and the daughter seemed gratified that she had made my mother embarrassed and apologetic.

I remember that we had just returned from downtown San Francisco and we arrived at a destination, I believe someone’s house.  The person asked where we had been, I began to answer and “wham” my mother’s hand out of nowhere met soundly with my head.  I grimaced and looked up at her, only to watch her look directly at the person and tell them we were someplace completely different. I desperately looked at the person thinking they could not possibly believe what my mother had just said, because we had never been or done anything like what she was being told, plus, how could she ignore the smack I just received and pass that off without regard?  They did.  This was my first lesson in “family business is family business”. I don’t remember the lecture that followed, but I memorized the look that came along with it because along with all of the words my mother was spewing out came all of these horrible pinches on the under side of my arm and inside of my thigh.  This was not pleasant and the first time in my life she had every acted so out of character.  What I did not realize at the time, what I had witnessed and all that surrounded her words and actions would now become one of many “Character’s of my mother” that I would witness throughout my life.  Life as I had known it up to now would be changing dramatically, again and again and again and again, in fact she still changes today, based on the circumstances and people that she is surrounded by.

I am not sure when the first time I was kidnapped, I believe that it was around this time.  My mother had to leave me with other people.

~

In 1969 my Mother started a church called “Christa Fuenta”, which is Greek and she later would change the name to “Christ Bearers Choral Congregation”.  This was a non-profit church, which would present itself as inter-denominational. 

Although the beginning of my life may have seemed shocking to most people, for me it was normal.  I enjoyed the company and direction of many different people from many different walks of life.  These walks may not have been traditional, but for me they were all I knew and all I would ever know.  I never experienced a parent tucking me into bed, dressing me for school, making me breakfast, or reading nursery rhymes.  At this time I implore you as a reader to not spend one moment being sad or feeling sorry for me.  The reason being, I do not feel sorry for myself, therefore you may not feel sorry or sad also.  As an adult I know that my early childhood should have been filled with anything other than what I was a part of, I do not however have any real feelings that I missed anything.  For you see, had I not walked my path in life I would not be the person I am today.  I like the person I am, I enjoy knowing that I will survive and not fall prey to all that which is a temptation to our mortal selves.

My mother used to spend a lot of time in the Haight Ashbury.  This is where most to her new flock would be gathered.  In the late 60s San Francisco was the bustling, rebellious capital for all who thought society as it was known was repressive and stifled.  My mother and I spent time in head shops, I would wait in the front and she would proceed behind the curtain, I never saw what she was doing.  When she returned she would always have a serene smile and a kind of glossy eyed look about her, she was always gay at that time.  We would walk out onto the street and as we passed people she would educate me as to the why you should never take or touch the stickers that people were holding.  The people would be standing up against the buildings with a sheet full of “Happy Face Stickers”.  To me they always looked very tempting, Mom would tell not to touch them or even accept one if I was offered.  She said that if I ever did, I would die.  That was good enough for me, no curiosity to this day has made me do anything but keep on walking when I see any sticker being sold on the streets in San Francisco.

The Head Shops, I came to know the name later, were always fascinating to me.  They too had candy counters but not filled with the same goodies, at least for me.  They were filled with the most interesting tubes, with the strangest shapes, turns and bulbs on them.  On the wall behind the counter hung bracelets, headbands, incense and other paraphernalia that I did not recognize. There was always a cushioned seat in these shops and they were painted with happy colors, which included rainbows, and every color in one.  The curtain in these shops was not made of the same heavy red velvet, rather a white cotton sheet, sometimes painted or beads dangled from it or came down from the top and filled the entire entrance.

These people were not as kind as the people I had spent time with in the other places we frequented.  These people were airy. There was no substance to them and I used to wonder if they even had a mind to own a thought.  They spoke about nothing, not to me or to each other.  I remember that they were floaty people, not good, not bad, just empty and lost, searching, but at the same time could not move.  This is how I would explain away their smell.  Oh my God, the smell, I think if I smelled it right now I would throw up all over these words.  It was gagging.  This went along with their hair, their nails and their feet.  THE FEET!!  None of them wore shoes, yes I know we were in a shop, but their feet had not seen shoes in what I thought was NEVER!! The dirt in their toes and on the sides of their feet, had creeped up from the bottoms of their feet.  These feet did not have brown dirt either; it was black, just like tar.  The thick yellowish skin was ingrained with pieces of dirt that I believed to be at least as old as they were, this had to be reason for the smell.  I used to try to hold my breath, to no avail, but it was always definitely worth the effort.  As I sat waiting for Mom I would stare at their clothes.  It seems as if the clothes started at the top of their head and hung all the way down to their feet. On their head was dangling beads wrapped like a head band, which was covered by the greasy long hair, which was short, long, ratted, torn and full of flowery stuff, weeds, I thought.

~

I used to be terrified that I would catch what my mother had, and then one day my little sister did.  That day was the beginning of what have become so many things for me, mostly the memories that once haunted me that I had so thoughtfully buried.  They have not only returned to my everyday thoughts, but they have returned with a vengeance.

My oldest daughter was on her way to New Orleans to visit her High School friend at Tulane.  Oh course, they would be going to Mardi Gras, I always had wanted to go.  I told my daughter Becky to be careful and be wise in her decisions.  There was of course a giggle and a Oh Mom, we both laughed.  What I did not realize was that Becky would be calling me back telling me what my little sister had said about her trip.  I could not believe what I was hearing, my sister told her there is no way she should be going because she would be going to a murder, drug and sex fest, this was said completely seriously.  I was stunned; those were the words of my mother, not my sister.  This caused a flood in my mind; it has been a confusing mudslide of the unbelievable.


Davy, then his name was Eden, yeap, Eden Sunshine, can I tell you I used to tease him all the time.  Every time he saw my mother he would vomit, projectile vomit.  It used to shoot way out there and it was totally gross.  Can I tell you it smelled, yuck!  So this is what I would do, if I saw my mother before him I would jump in front of him to block his view, this saved us a few times.  Or if it was to late, then I would grab his hand and hold on as long as I could, they usually would come after him and then all the yelling and screaming about him are full of demons.  After all of that we would go off and do our thing and I would tell Davy, look, my mom is just a person and you don’t need to puck, plus it smells and we can’t play.  I used to tell him, O.K. now when you see my mom, think of something happy, like baseball, Cinderella we would start to laugh and return to playing.  The most disgusting time was when Davy had to carry a bucket, this is so he could put his head into it and vomit instead of the customary see my mother open his mouth and out it would shoot, what a stinky mess.  Well he had vomited in the bucket, they were yelling and screaming and then they made him eat it, I had to turn away, I couldn’t stay with him for that because I was getting sick.  He was probably around 4 years old and I must have been 6 or 7.

Davy commited suicide we never talked about any of it.

My older sister Tammy is whimpering in the next room, I have to stay in my room, why is she crying.  I used to get scared so I would climb under my bed and stack up the stuffed animals in front of me.  I would wiggle as far back in the corner as I could so that when they swung there arm under the bed they could not feel me.  These shoes used to come in, big, black men’s dress shoes, just like the man’s on A.M. San Francisco.  They sat on the edge of the bed and began to pat the covers, the feet would shuffle a bit, and then the shoes would walk out of the room.  I would strain to keep my eyes open in case they came back, because I was afraid to go to sleep, I don’t remember why. The floor was hard and I was cold, I would tell myself I should remember a blanket and pillow next time.