Wednesday, December 14, 2016

There are no men in the world

There are no men in the world. Only fathers. There are good fathers and bad fathers. There are accepting fathers and rejecting fathers. That is why no matter how superior I may be to a man, in intelligence or capability, I am always potentially wiped out of existence by him.

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

The windows in my father’s house were so big I could see the sky

The windows in my father’s house were so big I could see the sky. I’d press my face against the glass just to feel alive.

It was a moment, one sliver of a moment – I could see beyond his house. I could be grass or a tree or rain or wind. I could see people moving through the world. How strange how mysterious. Children – alive. Running and breathing and playing and crying. It happened beyond my father’s window. Beyond my father’s house. That dark house. That gapping wound with wires allowed through it’s flesh. Wires to trap you and pinch you and stick you – when you moved, when you blinked, when you took a breath. A breath a moment – it was not for you – it was not for this house.

I want to tell you about the rape. It started in my bed, in my fathers house, when I was a little girl. He didn’t touch me but his presence was there on top of me. There in that room in that bed. I wasn’t allowed to move. The blankets were over my face. protection. I was hot, I was suffocating with the heat. My legs ached. But I’m not allowed to move. It’s very dangerous and scary. They are fighting in the next room. Their bedroom. I hope he doesn’t hurt her. I hope he doesn’t hurt me. I’m thinking that I want her to shut up and do whatever he wants her to do, say whatever he wants her to say, think whatever he wants her to think. So we will be safe. So we can make it through the night.

No one can know how it feels. To be in that much danger. No one knows what it is like not to be able to move in their own bed.

It’s like not owning yourself. Somewhere I crossed a line and entered a place where I gave myself permission to do anything.

My father was off of me.

Thursday, October 20, 2016

She’s on the floor again

She’s on the floor again. Her arm raised – pathetic defense. I do not know why she is there. Everything is crazy. The room swirls into one color around me. He kicks her and he screams. He raises her body by her shoulders and throws her down. He is in his socks. He makes a ludicrous monster and I hate him for lying to me.

He pretends he loves us and I believe him. He always betrays me.

Friday, September 23, 2016

If I could see inside myself, what desperate terrain

If I could see inside myself, what desperate terrain. Bits and pieces of smashed bone and teeth, dried blood splattered against a shriveled background. Empty….dust. Scratch it,
scratch and you’ll see. It is the rack. Muscles tearing under it’s pull. See it, see it. It is not so deep. The blood still oozes like a thick black paste. Open it. It is dark. It’s darkness could fill the world.

A world has been destroyed inside of me. A world is being destroyed inside of me.
It is a massacre, it is an inquisition. It continues. Flames burn skin and hair, thumbscrews crush fingers and blood splatters. Every day, every night. Unspeakable crimes. My personal genocide. Listen, you can hear it. Listen, you can smell it. It is death. It rips at me. It tears at me. My insides are left shredded. My sores never heal.

Who is this head hanging on my wall? Ripped from it’s body. Hair matted with excrements of torture. It’s mouth gaping and twisted. It’s eyes so resigned to the inevitable pain, the inevitable butchery. I know him. I know him. He is my lover. We dance each night with splintered bones. Each footprint of blood shows our steps. Off, off into dreams, into nightmares that rob us of sleep that rob us of rest. We are married to it.

Friday, August 26, 2016

I would stand in the hall looking in at him

I would stand in the hall looking in at him. He was sitting on the edge of their bed. He looked disheveled, very intense. He was staring at the floor and breathing hard. His face was red. I hated going into that room. The air was different in there, everything was different in there. You could hear yourself breath.

He saw me staring at him. I was bewildered. This was the time of transition when somehow everything that was shattered had to be pieced back together. I could not understand how that was going to happen. It is as if a china cup breaks and you have all these pieces in front of you – how are you going to get them all together. Of course you can’t.

I do not know what I was thinking. I was just waiting. Waiting for someone to tell me what was going to happen next. Waiting for someone to tell me what I should do. I did not want the craziness to begin again. I wanted my father to love my mother again – even if it was pretense.

I do not like being in the room with him. I do not like being by the bed. I do not like seeing him like this – breathing hard and shaking. He is coming down. It makes me sick.
I walk towards him. He pulls me close or reaches out to me. I am not sure. I just want him to tell me that he loves my mother and will not leave her. I want him to tell me the fighting is over.

I am standing between his legs. His arms are around me. He is telling me that he loves my mother very much. He is telling me that the fighting is over and that my mother is a good woman. His face has a lot of pain on it. He is very sorry. My mind is relieved that he is saying these things even if they might not be true. Most of me believes him. I am grateful he is saying this.

As he speaks I feel very self conscious being near him. I do not want to touch him. I do not like the way it feels. I am very aware of my body from the waist up. I hold my body in a very contained way, close to itself. I know exactly where I end and he begins. My body is very sensitive. I can feel my clothes laying on my skin. I feel the center of my chest caving in and pulling the top of my arms inward and down. I am very aware of the outside of my body and the inside. My stomach muscles are pulled tight and inside my stomach feels empty. My eyes feel like they are crying but I am not sure if they are. I am exhausted. I don’t think there is anything left for me. When he touches my face or hair it hurts. I hate being near him. I don’t want to be near him. I want to leave him. I want quiet. I want silence.

I wanted to feel him holding me. I wanted to lay my head on his shoulder and feel him holding me. I liked feeling his arms around me – he was warm and I liked the texture and smell of his shirts. I liked feeling safe, feeling that he was strong and that nothing bad could happen to me as long as I was with him. I wanted that feeling back. I guess I still want it back.

Friday, July 22, 2016

I witnessed their dance

I witnessed their dance. He leads, she follows. One, two, three. One, two, three. Fast then slow. He spins her round. She falls to the ground. She cries. I scream. One, two,
three. One, two three. He is in command. How handsome he is in his uniform. Blood turns blue and yellow under her skin. Yes, he spins her again. One, two, three. One, two, three. Now, this is the part we all love. He is sorry…He takes her in his arms…
what has he done? He says “I am sorry. I love you.” One, two, three. Courtesy and bow.
We always loved the ending.

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

I stand in that room

I stand in that room. I am standing on nothing. I am nothing. The only thing that holds me up is fear. It shoots through my body like electricity. Without it I would fall away.

I see it over and over and over.

I see something flash…and then it is gone.

I can’t make it stop. I can’t make them stop. My scream is stuck in my throat. I am frozen. Unspeakable images flash like an atomic camera’s light. They burn into my brain. They blind me. They melt before me. They fade in and out. I chase them but can never catch them. My fingers pass through them. I squint my eyes to try to see the fading negatives.

I am not sure what you want. I am sure of the fear.

The terror is with me always. It is a part of me. When I am away from home everything is unreal.

I stand in the center of my fear. I am lost in it. I cannot tell where it ends and I begin. I breath it in, nothing comes out. I am lost. I cannot believe the others do not see it.

My world swirls and screams and melts – and all around me everyone continues in the slow motion order of their world. I am not a part of them. No one sees me and no one can help me. I am terror.

My mother, my sister – we are alone. We live in terror. We live under the boot. It falls on our neck and no one sees. No one can stop it. There is nowhere to go.

My father is God. He is invincible. He continues because he is power. He continues because the world is indifferent and we are weak.

spin, and I run, and I hide. The best I can do in this dream is to disappear. Disappear to where nothing is real and no one feels.

The safest place to be is curled up in a dark corner, or under the bed or in the closet. I love these places. They are places where it is easy to disappear. To float away. Disconnect. I hope this is what death is like.

Friday, May 27, 2016

I am a victim of rape

I am a victim of rape. Really not a victim because I made it happen. I am very bad. Awful. I should not be allowed near children. People say, “Low self-esteem, very bad judgment, naïve, foolish, stupid, slut.” It’s all the same to me.

I am a victim of an inevitable rape. Like dominos, the events fell one by one through the years – until it happened.

And this is what you deserve and this is what you need and this is what you get and this is how the world treats you when you are stupid, foolish, naïve, low self esteem, raped. You are social pornography. You are a slut. You know how to treat a slut don’t you? You treat her like she is disposable, your treat her like she is the punch line to some joke, you treat her like a receptacle. You treat her like a jerk off magazine you don’t have to hold up.

And she knows she is wrong – and she knows you are right – and she wonders if she should hate you…or just take the beating.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Family Violence - Introduction

The material on this section of the blog is published anonymously by someone who grew up in a family where domestic violence was common. As you can see by what is written, the presence of spouse abuse can have a profound effect on children. While there is an increased probability that an abuser will also abuse children in the family, this does not necessarily occur. However, as we see the presence of abuse can affect the children even when they are not physically abused.

Note - I believe it is important to differentiate ongoing domestic violence like the battered spouse syndrome from domestic violence that is mutual (intimate partner violence) and a violent incident that occurs in the heat of a divorce.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Bad Mom – II

The residential parent usually gets the worst from the child and may be unappreciated. Sometimes a parent may become so involved (wrapped-up) in their own issues they are less affective as a parent.
You usually think Mom’s have your best interest in their heart. But there are some moms, who are bad, “Bad Moms”. They are selfish and don’t really care about you. It makes you wonder if they are like this all the time, or just with you.
When other people are around its like every thing is OK but when the other people leave its like everything is wrong. When you think about it you wish you had a mom that wasn’t so bad – that you had a mom that didn’t make you sad. Moms are supposed to help you reach for your goals and dreams. Bad moms don’t help unless they can get something out of it for themselves. They are selfish.
When you have a bad mom you feel she is out to get you. You feel uncomfortable about her as if she’s out to get you. With a bad mom you feel like there’s nowhere to go.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Bad Mommy – Good Daddy

This child likes his mother and is being playful in calling her “Bad Mommy”. Like many other children of divorce, this child is caught in a mixture of feelings that tug at one’s heart strings. We also can get a glimpse of what the child sees the father going through.
Bad Mommy
Most mommies are nice but my mommy is bad - just bad. I don’t know why my mommy is bad. I think she was born that way.
My mommy hits me and yells at me and even spanks my butt. I think she likes being mean. Once I had to go in my room all day – can you believe that – making me go in my room all day. My mommy only lets me sleep with my brother on the weekends. Daddy lets me and my brother sleep together in Daddy’s bed.
Mommy is mean to daddy also. She calls him names and made him leave the house. Now I am going to have a divorce – and she caused it. My daddy is so sad, cause he can’t see us most of the time.
Nice daddy
Daddy is nice. He lets me and brother stay up late. He takes me to work. He tells me I’m special. He got me an I-pod and he said he would give me a cell phone for my birthday.
Sometimes he gets mad at me about the divorce. He’s afraid he won’t see us anymore. Daddy gets sad a lot and this makes me sad. He cries and doesn’t answer me. Daddy gets his tears on me when he cries. I feel mad when he doesn’t answer me.
I think daddy is jealous of mommy because we live with her. He’s mad that he can’t go in his own house cause mommy won’t let him. He’s mad because he thinks mommy is trying to take us away from him.

Sunday, January 17, 2016

I Wish Mom & Dad Would Remarry

Children whose parents are divorced frequently have the fantasy that they will remarry. This child is upset and needs to be comforted.

My mom and dad are divorced. The best thing would be if they remarried. Some days I don’t know if I am suppose to be with mom or dad. If they remarried I could be with both of them and I wouldn’t have to remember who I am supposed to be with.

When dad and mom were married and I was a baby and had bad dreams, they wouldn’t let me in there bed. I kicked on my bed.

I had a “stuffy” when I was born and I still have it. Dad says throw it away because I am getting old. I don’t want to throw it away because I always sleep with it. The “stuffy” is getting ripped on his arm and most of his head. Mom says I should put it in a box with a ribbon on it and save it. I want to keep it in my bed forever.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

I Have Two Houses

Divorce is hard on children. They may wish their parents would remarry, even years later. Most children want to keep their connection to both parents but this can be difficult because they can only be with one at a time. The parenting time schedule can be hard on them and when they are with one parent they may miss and worry about the other parent.

I have two houses. Sometimes I live with mom and sometimes I live with dad. I didn’t like having two houses because I like being at my mom’s house more than my dads. I don’t really like living at dad’s house because he makes me eat vegetables and I don’t like his new wife. What I wish more than anything is that my mom and dad would love each other again and be married again. That would make me happier.

It’s confusing and hard to live at two houses because it is hard to know what is going on and when I’m going to be with which parent.

I told my father that living at two houses was hard for me. My parents decided that I could live at my mom’s house and spend time with my dad every other weekend instead. This is great. Now I have one house and know what’s going on.

There is another problem though. When I am with mom the time goes too fast and I worry that I won’t see her on the weekends that I am with dad. Mom says that I get anxious but I don’t know what that word means. I think it means something like worried. I worry about going to my dad’s house, and I am sad the day before I go to his house. When I get to dad’s house I feel sad but I try to hide this because I don’t want him to be upset. I am afraid he will change the schedule back to when I had two houses.

I love mom and dad very much and I don’t want either of them to get upset. It is hard for kids to have divorced parents because at first before we changed the schedule, I only saw mom two days of the week. That was only a little bit of time. I missed her. This was when mom and I lived with mom’s parents. We couldn’t find another house to stay at. Later mom got her house back when dad moved out of it.