My Unmentionables

Those reading my poetry blog may have noticed a decline in the quality of my work.

As you may or may not know I have started class again but I have changed schools. I liked my classmates in my previous school. The classmates in my new school seem nice and a few of them have attempted to reach out to me. I would like to say I have reached back and am well on my way to making friends but unfortunately that’s not the case. I am overwhelmed by all the newness and by issues in my personal life. I have been feeling very disconnected lately and can hardly carry on a conversation.

So what has me so distracted these days? Well I have recently told my mom about being molested. She believed me. She also confronted my dad, just as I knew she would. He was in bad condition, living in filth, and drunk. He denied it outright but added sharply that if he did anything he was probably drunk. He approached her then (I am not sure in what manner she would not say) but she ran out of the house. He hasn’t changed. He is still a monster. He is still my father (by blood only). I am bothered that my dad is far from the only monster in my family tree. I am bothered that when looking at arrests in my hometown 400 of them are family members. It’s not even a big city. I am bothered that I grew up in a carnival of malevolence.

Part 2. When my mom was pregnant (aside from working the whole time because my dad was an unemployed alcoholic) my grandma tried to kill her/us. I feel some sense of betrayal because I loved my grandma so much. Granted she hadn’t met me when she attempted to purge the demon’s spawn but still it makes me think all sorts of stupid things. Like maybe she only used me to get at my mom, to turn me against her in retaliation (she was vindictive and held grudges for life). I would like to think she genuinely loved me, that she regretted the whole attempted murder thing when she met me. I like to think she came to realize that I wasn’t a demon spawn but a person. I realize that even if I was just part of a revenge scheme that I loved her and she did give me comfort and sometimes weirdly stability (despite being very unstable). I perceived her as loving me as well despite some serious control issues and mood swings. Is a person who would kill their pregnant daughter capable of love? I don’t know. It may not matter because I loved her enough for two people but it breaks my heart a little.


How Crazy Are We?

If you could look inside my mind, you wouldn’t see anything because aside from when I’m sleep there’s not much in the way of visuals in there! If you could listen to my thoughts you’d understand just how much I detest myself. Like a vulture I leave no death unturned. I seem to be in a more or less constant state of consumption and decomposition. I have always considered myself aberrant. The rotten apple. The black sheep. The outsider. So naturally I assumed I needed therapy and lots of it. Naturally I assumed I’d have a list of mental health diagnoses which would conform with my sense of deviation. I might need therapy and I might have a sizable and certifiable personality 😛 But I am not that different from anyone else. One of my major concerns is my memory. How could I possibly forget entire conversations? Events?

I have a 6 year old daughter. She asks a lot of questions. She asks questions that she knows the answers too, questions Sam and I have addressed at length. When I asked her why she was asking questions that she already knew the answers too her answer was because I want to talk. When I can’t think of something new to say I tell a story I like or I ask questions that will get your attention/get a reaction. She is a clever girl that one.

Sam frequently comes home from work complaining that his coworkers are asking him the same questions over and over. Questions he’s answered a 100 times, questions he has even created tutorials too as a reminder! Yet nearly every day someone comes to him with a question they have already asked, a question he has answered thoroughly and multiple times and each time the person seems surprised as if they were hearing his answer for the very first time! So I am not the only one who asks the same questions, has exactly the same conversations and forgets parts of their day. Isadora knows she is repeating herself, I believe adults do too sometimes but I also think that adults are probably not really paying attention. They might be asking “How?” to avoid doing something, to buy time, because they don’t have the confidence to make their own mistakes. There are countless reasons and I am betting at some point I have participated in every single one of those reasons.

When someone is abused, as I was, they don’t walk away from that unaffected. Had I walked away from years of mental, physical, and sexual torture with no consequences there would most certainly have been something wrong with me. That I was effected by the abuse is not abnormal at all. Don’t ever let anyone convince you that there is something wrong with you because you are affected.

The fact is we will always stress out because we care what happens, not just to ourselves, but those around us. I will always worry whether or not I am a good mother and that stress will in turn push me to improve. Emotions are necessary. My mom was on medication for Bipolar once that greatly dulled her emotions (she was psychopathically cold), her personality was all but gone, and she was miserable. Ordinarily my mom is very bubbly/animated and while moody at least some of those moods involve her being expressive in a positive/productive way. Her default is not homicidal Zombie. We will never get all our shit together because all that so-called shit is life.

More and more I think we are labeling normal human characteristics and reactions as disordered when in fact our minds are behaving precisely as they should do given our situation. When I was talking about my response to abuse my former therapist said I responded the best way anyone could have in that situation. Despite the fact that I blamed myself and shamed myself I had made sound choices in a very volatile situation. I doubt I will ever cut myself slack because lets face it that is also part of being human, a part that is, like it or not, essential to growth.

How crazy are we really? Aren’t we all just human? Aren’t we just trying to survive the best we can? Many of us try very hard to get along without causing others any harm but there is always a little friction in the realm of human interactions. I am not saying that we never need help, just don’t let anyone ever treat you like you are less than human. For better or worse we are all human. People might look at you three ways to Friday (like your crazy apparently that’s not a real expression) but often they are just as guilty! Because for better or worse we are all a little bit crazy.

October 19 2013

Peter Smith (20)

Sometimes the breath expires before entering the lungs. Sometimes I stand, hypoxic, mouthing regrets. How I hated my inner child white knuckled and fearful in the crux of my ribs. I ignored her and she poisoned me steadily from within. It has been a long time since I’ve emboldened a dream. Arms and legs umbilical cords, driven deep into the soil. I want the sky unadorned. I want for a moment’s clarity but the clouds, with their macabre facades, remain adrift in landlocked blues. You lean on me a little more than you used to. I do not guard quite as much as before. Sometimes my shoulders sulk, freedom is heavier than I thought it would be. There is so much more to growing up than years spent.


Sometimes I wish I could be achromatic. Monastic in my resolve. Engorged on transcendental fruit. Instruction manual tucked into a metaphorical pocket. I can never be further along than I am. I drape myself in your scent and thank the universe for what I’ve been given. The struggles don’t seem the least bit meaningless when I stand beside you. Whatever tragedies my life has composed, in this moment, I am happy where I am.