Thursday, September 15, 2011

Death cradles Me!

I was young when I had a plastic bag put over my head suffocating me to death.  I had been playing in the basement of my mother's home when from the dark a man came from behind me to slip a bag over my head.  He wrapped it tightly around my neck, I feel it like some kind of thin cord today.  I struggled. I tried so hard to get it off from around my neck, I couldn't do it.  I died.

As I tried to breath, it became wet inside of the bag, I was scared.  I began to gasp, the bag sealed itself against my face, terror overcame me. In what seemed as if it was a minus moment, I was standing outside of my body staring at myself on the cold floor.  I was laying there with a bag over my head, lifeless, no longer breathing, no longer struggling fighting for what was gone, me.  I was still, seemingly dead, nothing inhabited my listless body, I was gone yet still there, aware of what had just transpired between my father and I.  I stared for what seems like an eternity, I am still baffled by what I saw, what I experienced, what I did or what I didn't do to disappoint a person so much that they wanted to kill me and did.  No one else had remained in the room.  It was cold, the light was dim as I stood trying to understand what had just happened.  I was dead and at the same time trying to figure out what to do, where to turn, who do ask the question that kept haunting me; Why?  Even today I find that I stare at myself in that dimly lit and basement grave. I see my body at two or three years old laying four to five feet from where I am.  The site of my own death has been haunting me of late, I am alive and yet I am dead.  I cried for the first time last night over my passing as a child.  I mourned myself, my existence, my murder.

I died and had no funeral.  I was killed and there was not trial.  I was murdered and there was no conviction.  I left this place and argued upon my arrival on the other side that I had been killed. Stating that I was dead and I did not care if my body chose to live on without me.  This is who has returned me to face this tragedy for the first time.  After over forty years I walk this Earth once more, no soul, it was sold, no heart, I gave it away.

No one has ever mourned my death, not even myself until today.  I had passed into another realm, refusing to return. I lived in a different and much more compassionate place, I learned to love because they loved me.  Knowing that my body continued but in fear I would suffer my murder again, I fought the return to this horrid earth, screaming, "They will just try to kill me again and again until my body walks no more." How can it be that I am back here again? I could hardly breath last night as the pain began to roll over me about what it is that I still see with such clarity.  I feel as if I have been absent in life and now I have been shunned by death in some sort of appeal on their part for me to know myself in humanity.

Due to the freakish insistence of Nature I seem to have been returned in an attempt to reconnect myself with this shell of a body that was left for dead so many years ago.  As I am forced to acclimate into what you refer to as humanity, I scream for the depths of Hell to retrieve me and take me back home.  I have come back into my body only to find that I am still hated by my family, as they wish for death still today.  As I begin the process of catching up with myself, my life, or lack thereof, I find that the hurt is as devastating to me today as it was on the day I stared at my dead body on the cold cement floor of that basement home.  No time seems to have passed between these moments of fright, of horror, or of this reality.

How do you ever tell your truth if your truth cannot be heard and is shot down with hatred from strangers.  Malignant Narcissists/Sociopaths are everywhere today, forcing their opinions down the throats of unsuspecting listeners.  The few of us that find the courage to speak out on behalf of ourselves, testifying to the wretchedness of this World and what it has done to us are threatened and stalked.  Multiple attempts to destroy our lives by family, friends or strangers are made while we are making feverish efforts to recover all that we have lost.  This is done with zealous and reckless disregard by these self-gratifying monsters. They are wheeling such despair into our lives because the fear that they will be exposed for what they have done.  They are not creatures of the dark, they are human beings, your peers; they are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, strangers, sociopathic creatures walking along side you today.

Although my death went unnoticed, my return to this life will not go without address.  For in my death I found my life and now living is death to me.  I was striped of identity, referred to as an "it" or a "thing" by the ones that perpetrate their crimes against humanity.  I was voided of importance, left for what is not there; Care, Love, Compassion.  I declare to you a deathless life of a child never mourned, never laid to rest, never seen, not accounted for, just left to raise herself in a startled fright of what had been on that terrible night. 



My power lies in self-review,
my nights reflect this thought.
Do, you, can you, not surf through?
The Ocean of my Sees.

I am frightful of my Tot,
she lies from deep within.
No untruth does she speak,
just naps from deep, not Ten.

I often wonder why she sleeps,
it seems to be the place,
resting from all the creeps,
that come up in her place.

My mind is like a steel trap.
Existing only to do that.
The little one who hides inside,
speaks truths, in lies she rides.

Confusion, up and down,
what seems right is wrong for me.
What seems bad I write.
One day soon I hope to seek
a playmate not a lie inside.

Just wait, 'cause I won't die,
and then I won't live a lie.
I will no longer reside inside.
I might come out to see,
a brand new birth of me.

A fellow blogger explains further the danger of speaking out: