With every tear came a shadow of doubt; with every doubt came a moment of realization.
Paused with anticipation my heart beating slowly I begin this journey into an untamed mind. Although well aware of my surroundings in the dimly lit library I am eagerly pacing the pages to my life. I know it is a story some may find dismal and dreary but others may look to for hope. I know it is a story that I need to share.
Now do not get me wrong my life is no better or worse than someone else’s venture into this thing we call existence but it is mine and it is worth knowing. Normally from here I would say there is a beginning, middle and end but somewhere in there I lost the proper titles and it is just the whole. It is a circle that I feel built my title as human. This in itself is a story-humanity. Where did it begin? For me it started on a summer-ish day of 89′, new baby to the Brown family I was born to be unique-rightfully named so too with every label placed on me as an infant had to be spelt differently. I was no longer going to follow the ‘J’ pattern in the household. Now I’m sure most people could see this as a tale that every human being has taken part in, being yanked from their comfort zone to scream bloody hell to a world most full already but to me it is where my personal enemy began as well. It is here that my tiny brain began to work against me in ways I was not prepared for yet. Sure on the outside I was great blue eyed, redhead who was slightly temperamental I am told, but on the inside I was preparing to fight. Many will now question whether this is true, how could a new infant know they needed to fight already? Well if I wanted to sound all scientific I could simply say it is basic human instinct to fight or flight right? so with that who could argue whether or not it was true, whether or not I knew from day one that my ordinary brain would do to me extraordinary things. Again I do not claim to be better than anyone or any more crazy then some, hell I give props to those that can manage darker and more complex minds than mine; but I do claim to know that this beginning for me has created a whole lot of “ah fuck” moments for my life. Anyways back to it, I was now the youngest child in the home yet to be built by my father in the small town of Marmora and my eldest sibling-miss cabbage patch doll herself- was pleased I will assume; after all it is me. Now I cannot say I remember much of my childhood from infant-hood and up but those rare memories do creep in. Like the moment I moved from the sweet little baby to the middle of the pack middle child. The child that is less likely to be paid any mind. I am sure at one point I enjoyed the idea of being a big sister of having a chubby little boy doll to play with all the time but I am also sure there are times I hated it. So again my mind took flight. I remember even from an early age the decent of jealousy. My older sister was well the boss and my younger brother was or is the boy who does no wrong. I remember feeling even as a young child that I was alone, I begged for constant attention through tears a weapon most people see as foolish and child like; but I was a child. I cried because I could not express what I was thinking properly. I think my best example of this came the night I cannot delete from memory; the night my dad became my less than favoured parent. It was a school night and I had gotten comfortable in my brothers room, ready for a mid week sleep over, however, we could not settle for the life of us. Upset with our actions my parents removed me from the situation and removed my favourite item- my blanket (still a cherished fabric). Angered I began to do what I thought made sense, I cried and screamed and begged for my item. This natural human reaction then caused a chain reaction that I was not prepared for. Wishing and spitting out that he wished he could kill me my father seethed with anger as I would not give up the water works. Pushing me further into a dark corner of my mind this anger caused a retaliated reaction of more upset that even mother could not comfort. Despite this now knowing that my father is never to be in my life again I would give anything even just for that moment back but at the same time I know a brief word exchange has stained my memory of my father; the man who referred to me as his owl, the man who wrote me a letter, taught me to skate, fixed my easy bake oven and promised me the world.
They say the parents are the building blocks for a child’s foundation or rather the nurture part of nature vs. nurture but they can also be the reason a child’s foundation is cracked. I remember always trying to please my parents, to never say bad words to be good but my natural instincts and my mind were two opposites. I was an evil child to put it nicely. I was the sibling who had tattle tale on speed dial because my siblings refused to allow me to play sometimes. I was the sibling that had to have it a certain way. My childhood games always had some sort of romance and a bad guy even as we played imaginary ponies or mermaids there was some evil lurking nearby. This may be normal for some children but to me it seemed twisted. I liked the idea of pain and sadness but hated the feeling of being hurt. My poetry that began so simple slowly turned to dark tales of woe. Now I am sure there were times I was a complete angel, but things or events such as church bore me. I always wanted to be in charge and when things weren’t going my way, well I had a howl. Life just didn’t seem fair at all; how I knew things were not equal I do not know but I remember bits and pieces of events where I saw the evil in my mind outside in my world.
emblazonedpassion 