Flashback, journal, moments, Poetry

Flashback: My First Swear

pexels-photo-192560

Time stalls on the window sill

My tiny feet grips past the gloss, straight onto the flaking wood, face pressed onto the window, hands by my side

Laughter from the living room reminds me of their harsh words

Their intent to scare me, to remind me that I was no more than a common fool a success

Tears work its way down my cheeks

My warm breath dents the cold glass as a silhouette shaped like my chin and nose forms as the rain on the other side collect into droplets

 

Finally, I let the pain go and give room for anger to emerge

It wrestles my body into havoc as I begin to kick out against the window, punch away the fabric within the curtains and let my tongue boil out a single word

“Fuck”

I scream it

Then stop cold in my tracks

Did they hear?

Did they hear their 8 year old sister collapse into a word forbidden in this household

I wait

I listen

And nothing.

So I say it again

Nervous giggles jolting the words out in a quiet whisper

The word feeling oversized but good, easing away my anger

 

Better.

 

I feel better again.

Continue reading “Flashback: My First Swear”

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A Traumatic Childhood Relived

The worst experience of my life was, and always will be, my childhood. Although, when people around me claim it was one of the best times of their life, I just nod along like a spineless chicken. You see, if I go against the flock on this one, people would always ask me why and I wouldn’t really know what to say.

How do I even begin to explain the level of emotional and physical abuse at the hand of my father from birth? How do I explain my older sister’s physical abuse against me? How do I explain I was isolated throughout this time by peers in school? How do I explain my very turbulent year of repeated sexual assault from a childhood friend?

The sad truth is: I can’t.

So, I nod along because there is nothing in me that wants to lay claim to these traumatic events. There is nothing in me that wants to relive them over and over and over again in my memory. I just can’t because I don’t want to.

So I paint over these painful memories with the colourful, happy and generic ones that all my other peers share. Because at the end of the day, all I’ve ever wanted was to fit in and left alone.

That is all I want.

Nakedstreetkid out xx

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Misdirected Blame and the Sadness of Impermenance

I’m currently in the process of… Well, processing.

Processing what, you ask? Well, a lot of things I suppose. Mainly that of my rampant abandonment issues.

Someone who has proved reliable and important to me and my recovery has recently left to another country. Which I am happy for her as I believe it is what she wants to do, however, my abandonment issues and I are quite resentful of the fact that she has left. It troubles me day and night that she has gone and has left me wondering if it is any fault of my own that she has left. Which, I really have got to stop doing because you and I both know that projecting blame upon oneself does nothing but destroy your internal equilibrium. So, I often have to remind myself that my blame is misdirected. Not simply misdirected, no, that is incorrect, it is more appropriate to say that any element of blame should not exist in the first place.

There is no one to blame.

And I think that’s what I’m having the most trouble with. I’ve gone through numerous cycles in the last two days (I can’t believe it has only been two days, it feels like decades have passed by) where I’ve blamed her and then I’ve blamed myself. My reasoning for blaming her is that she doesn’t have to leave. And my reasoning for blaming myself is that I should never have gotten so close in the first place.

I’ve pointed this out to a friend, that what is the point of opening up to someone when they’re just going to leave eventually anyway. To which they replied:

“Everything in life in impermenant. To not enjoy and engage in the little time we have alive would be a terrible disservice to our own quality of life. People leave, but that doesn’t mean we should live in isolation, in fear of such prospect. We should grow to expect it and in doing so, we will better appreciate the time we have.”

That friend was my little sister.

I’m glad she said that to me, because it’s making me understand more. It still hurts but as I said, I’m processing.

Nakedstreetkid out x

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Anger and Me

Anger is a funny tool used by people to get things done. It’s something that I, for the longest time, refused to use because I’ve always thought it was something that can only ever produce negative results.

But I think I was wrong.

I’ve been watching Philip Defranco more and more on the youtubes, especially as my gap year continues to progress without much of a blip. Or just a lot of blips but not of fun, rather distressing and incredibly trying times. It’s been very insightful to watch this man that I’ve always seen as someone I’ve always seen as an inspirational figure talk about anger as something that can be positive.

Because for me, anger has always been this terrible evil that infects and destroys people’s lives. And that reasoning has come from a place of experience, where either my father or my sister has used anger to become violent towards me, belittle and ruin me.

So, I’ve always shied away from feeling anger because I was afraid of the devastating effects it may cause. But in doing that, I’ve just turned that anger inwards towards myself in ways that I don’t feel entirely comfortable in articulating. Just know that these ways have been harmful to myself and has affected my life in ways that I cannot begin to explain or describe.

But the way Philip Defranco puts it, to use all that energy from anger and channel it towards something positive and useful, is beginning to resonate with me.
I should probably explain that, during this past year I have been having a difficult time in terms of suicidal ideation, depression, trichotillomania, dermatillomania, anxiety and – on a lesser note from all that – revision. And that has made me so angry. And because of my almost instintual tribulations with anger, that anger has been turned inwards and towards myself. Hence the depression and occasional anxiety.

But what I’m beginning to understand – more and more – is all that energy that I put into hating myself and everything I do, if I just direct even a little bit of it towards the things I want to achieve, I can achieve them. I can. Because that energy and all that adrenaline is such so instrumental and should not be wasted on simple self-loathing. It can actually be used for good, something that benefits oneself.

So, I guess I was right from the get-go, that anger is a powerful tool. I just had everything a little twisted about anger being a purely bad thing. Anger can in fact be a good thing, it’s just the way you direct it that matters.

Nakedstreetkid out 😉

NaBloPoMo

A Desk

What’s the best purchase you ever made?

Well, I usually spend my money on experiences (and booze) rather than material things, so this is a hard question. Or, rather, would have been hard if I hadn’t spent my money about a week ago on a desk. So, for me, that’s one of my best purchases.

A desk.

And now, I know what you’re thinking “a desk!?” Of all things I could choose, I have chosen a desk. Well, let me explain.

I share a room with my younger sister. And before that, with all three of my sisters before two of the three went off to university. So, I have always had quite a cramped room. And therefore, no space that I could really call my own (other than my bed).

So, I decided to clear away all of the debris that my older sisters had left in the room and moved things around just to open up the space a bit more. Essentially, I started to make the room feel like my own, rather than the property of all three of my sisters. And in the space I made, I put a desk.

And I’m pretty damn proud of that. No matter how silly it may seem. 😛

Nakedstreetkid out x 😀

Recovery Wednesdays

Paralysing Procrasination

I’m beginning to find everything difficult again.

I think that, when I started this schedule thing, I began to gain some perspective and motivation but that has reversed slightly and I feel as if I’m back at square one. Which is, of course, untrue. It just feels like it, you know?

I think it may have something to do with my sister checking up with me on a constant basis. Even though I’m sure all she wants is to help, it’s kind of making me feel worse. Because I have to detail to her what I’ve done that day and all honesty, all it does is highlight to me how little I’ve done that day. When I was healthier, I could cram about 3 or 4 big things into my day and that was with the added stress of school. Now that my days are endless, it feels like I’m wasting them. Probably because I am. I’m not productive in any sense.

The thing is, an hour can feel like a minute when you’re depressed. And that is a HUGE problem for me. I can sleep for maybe 3, 4 or 5 hours at a time and feel as if I’ve blinked. And when I awake, it is just that bit more difficult for me to drag myself out of my bed and GET SOMETHING DONE. Because, by that point, I am hyper aware about the fact that I’ve already wasted so much time that it seems so fruitless to do anything else. So, I spend another hour worrying about that and just wanting to go back to sleep, so I do. And when I awake, I’m facing the same problem with even less time to do something than before. So, I spend another hour trying to motivate myself out of bed and by the time I do, everyone is back from school or work and, hand on heart, I can’t deal with that amount of people (I have 3 siblings that live with me), so return to the comfort of my bed.

Not sleeping.

Not even resting really.

Just lying there, thinking and worrying about what I am to say to my sister when she comes to ask me about my day.

When a task seems as big as I amplify it in my head, the pressure to do it the right way mounts up and your ability to do it lessens. And you’re stuck in a state of paralysis, procrastinating because you don’t know what you actually need to do anymore.

It’s so frustrating.

Nakedstreetkid out -_-

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An inconvenience of thoughts

From a very early age I was taught how to just stand there and take it. Not to put up a fight because I was too young to understand the reason why the adults in my life did what they did. I have been programmed that way, simply to be less of an inconvenience to my mum, my brother and sisters. Because we went through so much turmoil and trauma, me having a hissy fit or not doing what I was told was an inconvenience. My opinions, my thoughts were all an inconvenience. So, I’ve always kept them to myself and when I found that to be too overwhelming, I put my thoughts and opinions onto my body in cuts and bruises and when that stopped working, I translated it all into poetry.

You know what, life was hard growing up. And I know that is no excuse for my behaviour at any point in my life and that is why I keep most of these feeling buried. But they are damaging me internally and not only just that, but it is damaging my relationship with my mum, brother, sisters and friends. They need me to start maturing emotionally instead of being stuck in this petulant child phase that I am rotting in. I’m constantly angry at… I don’t know, so many things. My dad for his abusive nature, my brother’s baby mama for her manipulative one, my mother for her dependency and my sister’s for the same thing. But, most of all, I’m angry at myself for being angry at all of this. Because I don’t feel as if I have the right to have these opinions and these thoughts.

I’ve just always been used to reserving my feelings to myself or turning them off for the convenience of other people. And it’s difficult now, because people who used to tell me to be quiet and to shut up when I wanted to say something, suddenly want to me to speak my mind. But the problem is, I don’t know how to and the little I can, I don’t know if they would want to hear it. I love them, despite my anger, and would never want to hurt them. But I can’t even imagine how frustrating it is for them, now that they want to hear what I say and how incapable I am to say it. Me stuttering on my words and tripping over my sentences, getting stage fright from simply talking to the people that I love.

It must be hard for them.

Because, goddamn it, I know it’s hard for me.

Nakedstreetkid out x