Posts Tagged ‘children’

A ring shatters the night calm

Shakes the sanity from deep inside

I know who it’s about

My heart rushes up into my throat

Rushed words

Despite our distance

We speed to the hospital

You never came to us, but we run to you

Heart over mind

Love devouring anger

No time for the past

Later or never

We run to you after you ran away from us

Reasons be damned

Tears will fall either way

When we say goodbye

The tether between us, snaps

Pain

Good or bad

We are who we are

Discord is nothing new to me

The place I grew up a toddler’s finger painting called chaos

Innocence dragged through the mud

Hosed off and kissed on the forehead

Pretend that didn’t happen

At intervals it didn’t

Until

Innocence was stripped to the bone at thirteen

Came out of the womb with my hand raised in the air

I’ve been on to you from day one

So, you think I don’t see the lie?

Even though I love you

I won’t let your false tears pass my guard

My tears are real, but you’ll never understand them

Just like I don’t know you

You don’t know me

Never will

Your decisions are forgiven

because

To see you there

Frightened 

The child in you peering out through your eyes

My mind surrenders to my broken heart

No one should be alone

Not even you

Not now

“I am your father.” His body language turned sinister as he stepped forward, gripping the back of an old wooden chair. “You’re in my house,” he said through clenched teeth. “You will respect me.”

She stepped back off the step and engaged him with a hostile sneer. “You have no idea what that word means,” she said. “Come down here,” she shouted up the stairwell to the child that hid. “I’ll help get you out.”

“Get out of my house … now.” His saw-like voice ripped through the small space of the living-room, shaking the frightened child inside her.

She swallowed. “I’m not leaving without her.”

“Oh. You’re leaving alright, if I hafta throw your crazy ass out a window.” He lurched forward, taking off after her.

Lu bounded up the steps, taking three at a time, and then turned right, skidding to a halt in a large room with yellow paneling, rust-red carpeting, and two canopy beds. She turned as her father ran for the door. She shut it within an inch of his face. The wood trembled and cracked as he attacked the door. She jerked backward. Terror struck and she dropped down, scrambling backward to hide under the bed.

“You think he’ll get in?” asked a little boy lying by her side.

Lu blinked again and again, her mind trying to figure out where he’d come from.

“Who are you?” she asked. “Is there anyone else here?”

“No. Just me. It’s always just me. My name’s Johnny,” he whispered his eyes fixated on the bedroom door.

Lu swallowed the lump in her throat. “What are you doing here, Johnny?”

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes punching confusion deep into her chest. “Same thing you’re doing.” He looked at her more closely. “You’re an adult,” he said making it a statement. “Adults don’t get scared. Adults don’t hide under beds.”

“No. Not under beds,” she said her voice trailing off. “But don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here.”

“You can’t,” Johnny broke down, his chest heaving with despair. “Only he can, but he’s forgotten why he chose this path.”

Lu, stunned by the sudden maturity strengthening his tone, waited until she realized he’d finished talking. Everyone had lectured her about her choices and about the paths she chose. Another coincidence. No. Coincidences didn’t exist. Mia had said so and she believed her. What did this mean? Who was this child? Possibly a psychotic break within a nervous breakdown? And then she noticed the thickness of his lips and two large front teeth, and a sickening heat clutched her stomach.

“I’m stuck here,” he said, sounding defeated.

“You can’t give up,” she mumbled toying with the notion that this was her father at a younger age. Tears pooled in the little boy’s eyes, releasing a new flood of guilt in Lu that washed away years of old anger, leaving her drained. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t. What did it mean if it was? Lu searched the little boy’s face, her examination spotting a mostly healed inch-long, red cut on his forehead. It was in the same place and the same size as the one on her father’s forehead.

“Did you answer the phone when I called before?” She didn’t want him to say yes. Saying yes would mean too much. Hearing yes would knock her off the high horse she’d proudly ridden hard for most of her life.

He nodded and poof, the last leg of her belief crumpled.

“I’ve got to get out of here.” She made it halfway out from under the bed when little boy-sized sneakers stopped her.

“You’re going to leave too?” he asked, bending down to look at her face. “What is wrong with me?” He sniffled, wiping his nose on the back of a hand.

“Nothing. Nothing is wrong with you.” And she meant it. At one point in her father’s life, he had been innocent—blissfully unaware of the cruelty that lurked beyond his awareness. Innocent like she’d once been. She scrambled the rest of the way out from under the bed and took his small hand.

She started when he jerked away from her. “Yes, there is!” he yelled, and then stamped to the door. “My mother hated me, my father couldn’t have cared less, and my brothers could do no wrong.”

“No————” Lu began, but the air thickened, choking the rest of what she wanted to say.

“Yes!” He screamed. “She let them hit me. Told them to.” He coughed. “Even after I was a man, my mother sent them to beat the crap out of me when she found out I visited an aunt she held a grudge against.”

“Wait … what?” Her thoughts warped and spun, spiraling down. “Who would do that?”

“You know who I am.” His voice deepened, smoothing out and becoming the voice she grew up hearing. “Don’t people react the same way to you when you tell our story? Your mother showed you love, gave you enough confidence to be independent, and that was not enough for you. Instead you followed in my footsteps.”

“Why do you hate me? Why did you cheat? What made you so angry all the time?” Her voice dipped and shrunk, no longer sounding like the strong woman she’d been just a few hours ago.

“You always asked me questions I didn’t want to answer. Or couldn’t.” He turned away, digging his tiny chin into his small chest. “A small portion of the truth would have made you hate me more. So, I lied. I couldn’t stop. What was the point of admitting I was too weak and damaged to change? Eventually, I believed the lies myself.”

No longer seeing the whimpering little boy, Lu forced the words building at the back of her throat though her lips. “You lied to keep doing it. You protected yourself. You blamed mom. You blamed me.”

“Lies veil the truths we strive to keep hidden,” he said. “Everyone protects the child that lives inside each of us. Some use violence to build walls, others logic, and so on and so on.” He paused, glaring at her. “I know you understand.” Hate distorted the boy’s innocent face.

Her nails pierced the flesh of her palms. “I don’t. I never lied to anyone.”

As he turned to face her, his limbs extended, his body thickened, his lush curly hair, thinned and whitened. His cheeks drooped and skin wrinkled. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. “See. You’re good at it. Helps get you through the day. Right?”

Lu struggled to get away. Away from the smell of oil and metal she’d always associated with him. Away from the tone that stripped her of maturity and strength. She shut her eyes tight. “Don’t touch me!” she yelled. “Never touch me.”

The fingers around her wrist shrank and weakened allowing her to pull away.

“Why does everyone hate me?” The little boy moaned in anguish.

“Because you make them,” she yelled, stamping around the room looking everywhere but at the whimpering boy.

“I can’t let people close. You understand?” He forced her to meet his soulful eyes. “You try to be good. Normal. Like everyone else, but you get beaten for it. Told you’re worthless until you hear it echoed every day in your head. You try harder to be good, but the abuse only gets worse.” He sat down and crisscrossed his legs. “You know what got my mother’s attention?”

Lu calmed as his agitation grew, circling him once before sitting down, crisscrossed, facing him. “Tell me.” She’d never wondered what made her father, what she considered cold and evil. She’d never cared. Until now. Maybe her life would make more sense if she knew his story.

“Hating people,” he continued. “Being better than our neighbors. If you didn’t agree, you were out. Blood didn’t matter. No one spoke against her. If you did, you became nothing. I fought for her attention for so long I became nothing before she made me nothing.”

I loved you,” Lu pleaded. She paused and said, “I love you.”

“No. You wanted things from me I couldn’t give you. Still can’t.”

She raked claws through the carpet. “I want you to love me. To accept who I am, despite what you don’t understand, love me anyway.”

He cocked his head, “I can’t give you what I don’t know.”

She jumped up to her feet. “You make me feel worthless. You blame me for your miserable life.” Her fist hit the center of the door, shattering the wood like tempered glass. The walls fell next and then the floor. Finally, the ceiling rained down on her, the small dull shards of glass turning into water that trailed down her cheeks. “What’s happening?”

Her father stood up as the man she knew him to be. “That is what love is to me,” he said, placing a large hand on her shoulder.

“But you’re normal now,” Lu’s voice squeaked as her body returned to the age of thirteen, the year she found out how cruel her world was. “We can be a family.”

“No. I’m still lost, and you will know that once you’re free from this dream.”

The rain stopped falling and Lu looked up to see her father’s face. It hadn’t softened; his unkind eyes looked down at her the same way as they had the day he’d told Lu he had chosen his disgusting mistress over them. And it all had gone to hell from there.

“If my own father can’t love me,” she sniffled, “how can anyone else?”

“Your mother loved you. Your sister loved you. Just because they’ve passed on doesn’t mean they stopped,” he said, taking a step backward. “I’m just one fucked up person who made one bad choice after another.” He took another step away. “One day I’m going to want what I could never allow myself to have … and worse still, I will die knowing you will never forgive me.” His image shimmered and began to fade against a wall of darkness. “No one will come to my wake. And I deserve that.”

“Don’t go, Daddy!” Seven-year-old Lu screamed and ran forward. “I forgive you.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, and as they passed through, she yelled, “I do!” And then she fell forward into nothing and became nothing.

Now is the time to forget standard political policy. To forget religious dogma. To forget that people are different.

They don’t benefit us— real people who want more than All three have provided. We need to stop being afraid of who we are. Stop hiding behind beliefs, you’ve been spoon fed since birth, that turn one against the other. Parents against children. Race against race. Neighbor against neighbor. Stop depending on government and divisive religious tones to help you. Their extortion rhetoric and requirements are turning our societies into hateful distance mobs. We have lost the ability to think for ourselves. To be individuals. Our higher most tolerant and accepting senses are quivering beneath a blanket of hate.

 

Religion, political policy and race are creations erected by man to herd people into different groups to control us. This needs to stop. Walls need to crumble. Lines need to be erased. We are all here on borrowed time. We all eventually die. What kind of legacy do you want to leave behind? Quick story: My mom showed this strong woman in front of outsiders. I say outsiders because, like most of us, she had a different perspective inside her personal life. She was well liked and respected by many for good reason. At her wake, I realized just how many people cared about her. The room wasn’t big enough. People had to take turns inside to pay their respects. It wasn’t until I faced the prospect of death that I became more aware of who I’d become because of outside influences. And questioned if that person was the real me.

And thus, my journey to me began.

I was once a devoted catholic. I hated Sinead O’Conner for ripping a picture of the pope on national television. That’s how bad I was. Looking back…I have no idea why it bothered me so much. Could be my Swiss cheese memory, but I don’t think so. I hated her because Catholics hated her. I wasn’t acquainted with the First Amendment or higher thought, yet. The murmur of hatred buzzed around the religious world tainting all of us followers. If you hear something repeated, it becomes truth without logical or rational thought. Critical thinking gets chipped away and brainwashing takes over. That’s a fact.

I am challenging everyone who reads this to pass on the sentiment in their own words. This is a movement to get rid of intolerance and hatred propagated by the self-proclaimed elitists and entitled who only care about themselves. If they cared about anyone else, they wouldn’t incite hate and violence. They would remember that children get hurt. That their words destroy families. And cause innocent people to die.

Spread the word. Your word. Your love. Your tolerance. Your acceptance. Show the world we all have stories to tell. Share that part of you you’re afraid to divulge to the world for fear you will be rejected. I won’t reject you. Fear dies when people become intimate, acquainted. People don’t always do bad things because they are bad people. Most of the time they do bad things in the name of their perceived good.

Thank you for reading,

Genuinely Yours,

Mel Evers

 

 

I have a lot of personal experience dealing with a narcissist, racist, paranoid, money hungry man who objectifies women. He is a great liar. If you were to meet him, you would think me and my siblings were crazy for arguing against him being a good guy. Jokes are a way to be himself without committing to his beliefs.  My mother didn’t leave him even though he made is job infidelity and self-indulgence. Despite his attempts at bringing down our self-esteem and following his circle of hate, we his children, broke free.

Because of what we endured growing up, we see life in a grander spectrum. We know truth and we know lies. They are easy to differentiate. Twenty-five years of being lied too straight in my eyes gives me that skill.

When I watch Trump’s body language and listen to his speeches I see nothing but a bully who has used his name to abuse and take from others all his life. The man is 70 years old. He is the basic dirty old man who refuses to progress into the modern world where women are not objects for men to ogle and use against their will. Of course we had to make a law against it — obviously not everyone got the memo.

I find it hilarious that people believe that he heard something said as truth when in reality he was the one who said it earlier in the day. People are giving the voices in his head credibility and that alone is scary. How does his nonsense get passed people? Why do people let his atrocities slide? I wonder what happened to them to skew their perception of truth. He is the “poster boy for what not to be” and people want him running our country.

It’s really sad that some people will vote for him because he is the republican party leader. And if Charles Manson were to become a republican candidate some people would vote for him too.

Hillary may not be pristine, but she owns a moral compass and will fight for us as a whole and not divide us as a people as Trump has already begun to do. The fact that he says he has more respect for women and to say the things he says about them, the way he treats them, and how he has disrespected his wives, makes me cringe. If his declaration were in anyway true, we as fifty percent of USA population, are fucked.

Wake up!!!! He doesn’t want to make America Great again. He wants to make America his latest conquest and profit off of us. He talks about righting the wrongs of past presidents and yet he wants to go back to policies that had the middle class struggling and the poor destitute.

He talks about giving the wealthy tax breaks so they offer more jobs, trickle down their profits to help the rest of us? The wealthy have so much money they have rooms for their cars, change their toilet bowls as often as they change toilet paper, wipe their asses on gold quilted hankies, have lunch in Paris and Dinner in Italy and yet I have yet to see them make any difference in the rest of the population’s lives. So don’t tell me his policy is to help the rest of us. That’s plain bullshit. (There are a couple of those wealthy people who do share the wealth, but those are the ones who Trump is not talking about. If he did, he’d have to admit shame.)

I can’t really speak about his other policies since he has yet to say what they are. Does he think if he becomes president Isis will turn tail? Hah. They want him to become president. He will be the perfect poster boy for recruitment!

Did you hear what he said about that city in Syria? A question about being a humanitarian? “What do you think is going to happen if Aleppo falls?” she asked.

Trump responded: “I think Aleppo is a disaster, humanitarian-wise. … I think that it, basically, has fallen.”  So basically he said screw them. He doesn’t believe in trying to help all those children being turned into red mist by Russia’s bombing. What a true humanitarian.

All the while trying to divert the question to his own agenda about Clinton as secretary of state making decisions with Obama when she wasn’t even Secretary of state at the time. And people ate up is false diversion geez!

Going to end this for now. Getting a headache just thinking about how easily people are willingly misguided.

Human nature dictates questioning everything and then finding or making up a reason to ease our vulnerable minds. We do this in order to stop the repeat of a bad event or have a great experience happen again.  Twelve years after being diagnosed with breast cancer, the fear has yet to be completely silenced. When I hear of someone dying from the same illness, my first response is to find out what they did wrong. They had to have missed appointments or refused treatments… right? I mean, why did I survive? Worse is when I hear stories of it returning ten years later. Again, I go through a process of questioning everything, recalling everything I had done, asking my oncologist questions about percentages and statistics just to soothe the fright that will never go away. Fortunately, I have a lot of distractions to keep from obsessing which keeps my sanity walking the line at all times.

During my fight with my body to live, my mental health went into overdrive. I did what I normally do when faced with a challenge, that if bested, I felt would destroy me. I insured my emotional armor had no holes and my shield of logic was shining before I stepped forward into the fray. The walls I’d put up between me and the world came crashing down. I couldn’t survive if they remained in place. I hated it. I’d always kept a distance between everyone and my heart, except my kids. Now I’d be revealed and exposed for all to swoop in and take control of what I’d spent years, protecting all on my own.

Faith, thou art no friend of mine. I believed in what I could control. Delusional? Quite. This sickness threatened to rip me away from the people I vowed to keep safe from the rest of the world. And it might win. When people told me to have faith in God, I laughed. Never the one to accept putting my life into anyone else’s hands. Even the divine. That’s when I learned the acts of control did not exist. Nature cannot be controlled, though a lot of ignorant people think it can be and somehow convince others of the same. You’re wrong.

Hope? Well, with the unknown there is always hope. Eventually your wishes will be answered and not in the way you wanted or expected. Nature definitely has a great sense of humor and a nasty back handed bitch slap. In my case, she forced me up and out into the world. Forced me to let people in and trust others, but also insured that I knew not everyone could be trusted. Her use of smoke and mirrors dazzled my brain pushing me to tears and laughter in an even ratio. I went a little overboard in the wanting to get out and let people in. Ms. Nature showed me people who acted like friends but were really antagonists and those who acted like the villain could be trusted. Crazy? I know. Hope is just a delay tactic to the inevitable. Eventually, everyone shows their truth. Just like I had to.

Here’s my logic to my cancer experience:

I was already dead. I never went out. I kept my kids close at all times. My heart could not be reached by anyone but my husband and even then, he had to work for the opportunity. I truly appreciate his love and patience. My life’s foundation had been built on fear. The fear my husband would find someone better. That if I didn’t watch over my children 24/7 they would get hurt and I would have to kill whoever allowed that. I saw predators lurking in every corner of this world waiting for me to drop my guard.

My children were seven, five and three when the cancer bomb dropped right on my head. The first diagnosis did not come from a doctor. The bad news came from a medium. Yes. That’s right. My deceased mother, who I watched die from cancer, told me to go to the doctor. I listened like I always, mostly, did growing up under her guidance. My base-line mammography changed my world.

I must have done something wrong to be punished like that. To be forced to allow others to watch over my children while I recovered from a double mastectomy, sat in a chair for hours every other week while poison slowly dripped into my vein making me weak and feeling barely alive and then weeks of radiation that tore open parts of my skin. What the hell did I do? I think I asked my husband, at least, ten times a day if I would survive. When you’re stuck in bed, unable to move and barely able to think you do wonder why you’re still alive. And then my children would curl up next to me and I knew.

Cancer didn’t change me, but everything I had to do to win the battle did. I made the hard decisions. I gave up parts of myself in order to free my heart, my mind and my soul from the cage I kept them all locked in. It’s somewhat true that “what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” But it can also make you weaker if you let it.

I barely survived my childhood with a sense of self. I wasn’t abused, but both loved and hated in equal measures. Love was twisted by betrayal and abandonment and I remember the hurt more than the affection. Stories I learned later on were worse than what had been going on right in front of my eyes. I started putting together my armor at the age of thirteen with the complete loss of safety and comfort. So you can imagine how impenetrable it was when I got married at the age of twenty-five. My husband definitely saw more of me than I did for him to actually say “I do.” And mean it.

And he was right.

I’m still crazy protective but instead of suffocating my family inside armor too small for me alone, I taught them how to protect themselves in every which way possible. This includes showing them I’m human and confess that I make mistakes like everyone else.

So Hope and Faith are beautiful sentiments, but if life doesn’t go the way you want it to, think of it as an adventure and try the find the treasures in the junk.

Losing their faith (part 2)

 

I didn’t start questioning God’s morals and until years after my grandma’s death. When you’re a child all matters are explained with a thick coating of sugar. When you learn the alphabet, teachers and parents slowly spoon feed you each letter by using entertaining books and fun songs. Later you learn the meat of the lessons, expected to fully understand grammar, punctuation and a myriad of confusing rules in order to communicate clearly. Thus the religious lessons that began as loving fun church homilies and bible stories were just the bait on the hook. When they finally added the meat to the lessons, a red flag went up, but I was young and trusting of the adults who followed the teachings without question. I, on the other hand, heard a lot of hypocrisy and therefore started compiling questions, storing them in the shadows of my mind. At one point, the red flag turned into a blaring alarm which I could not ignore and the love I believed God was, turned out to be conditional.

…to be continued