Playground

Playground In My Mind
by Clint Holmes

When this old world gets me down
And there’s no love to be found
I close my eyes and soon I find
I’m in a playground in my mind
Where the children laugh and the children play
And we sing a song all day

Oh the wonders that I find
In the playground in my mind
In a world that used to be
Close your eyes and follow me
Where the children laugh and the children play
And we sing a song all day

~~~~~

You know what, there was a girl and as she stood over against the wall just inside the mall door panic seemed to set in and in a moment’s notice she crouched over and gripped her knees with her hands like someone who’s just been hit in the chest by a forceful object. She began to scream and cry uncontrollably like she had lost her mind or something. She seemed to be in pain, not physical pain, the kind of pain that dwells inside that no one else can see.

Have you ever felt like doing this? Have you ever found yourself wanting to just go and hide in a corner or a closet where no one could find you? You may be surprised at how many in this world have panic attacks and nightmares, and flashbacks of things that have happened to them that was so devastating that they could not even handle them at that time. There is a deep emptiness on many occasions and what seems to be a deep, dark hole where there seems no escape. A bottomless pit of despair.

A grieving for the what-ifs and the should have been. An unspeakable rage and an alienation from themselves and anyone else within or outside. There is a sadness that happiness is just around the corner somewhere, but too far to actually grasp. Tears of exhaustion, the anxiety and frustrations, a want to sleep for the rest of this miserable life, and on occasion there is a glimmer of hope.

Hope, where dreams seem to come alive and make you feel alive and sweet sounds fill their head where they go to the “Playground of their mind where the children are laughing and giggling and enjoying their time together. Where there is no more pain, no more hurt, no more tears, no more abuse, only laughter and fun.

Not Worthy

A deep grey haze hung in the room. Particles in the air floated quietly like glitter suspended in oil. Particles of ash, soft and light. All around the room, a blanket of this same soft ash lay several inches thick upon everything, floor and furniture and Christmas tree alike. Time seemed suspended, like it had poured out a millennia into this room and run itself dry. I sat on the floor, covered in the same ash. Unsure of the hour. Uncaring. And blanketed in emptiness.

Drained like time around me, I felt no emotion as warm tears caressed my cheek. They simply came of their own accord and hanging my head, I watched them fall, each drop disappearing into in the ash that had settled between my crossed legs as I sat. Motionless.

When my neck finally told me that time was indeed passing and that it was weary of reckoning it in this position, I tilted my head back. The tears changed course taking a new heading towards the corners of my mouth. My eyes found a photo framed on the wall. Draped in ash like snow on a branch, it was surprisingly unobtrusive. And even though it was a color photo, it too seemed grey. Save for your eyes smiling out at me. But this too was a dimmed imaginary likeness. I let my own eyes close. And realized then, that I was not alone.

I hadn’t heard him enter. Or maybe I had but didn’t care, being too engrossed in my own thoughts. I hung my head again and turned slightly to one side, halfheartedly inquiring as to who was there. I didn’t need to see his face to know that it was the Angel of Death, in his sometime role of Ghost of Christmas Past. The rustle of his robes and the swirl of the ash told me his intentions in a moment. I closed my eyes and waited for the sickle to swoosh. And waited. And waited.

I opened my eyes just as he leaned his instrument against the wall. Dejection set in quickly and brought a new wave of tears. Death stepped lightly in front of me, crouching down to my level and resting one limb on his knee. I kept my head bowed, not out of respect or even fear, but engulfed in sorrow.

“But why?”, I sobbed.

“I’m sorry”, Death answered quietly. I felt one boney digit under my chin lifting my eyes to where his would have been. And looking into the black sockets I saw only the emptiness that I felt reflected back at me. Until he tilted his head slightly to one side. It was such a slight, un-Death-like motion. And then I saw a great sadness there as he wiped a tear away. I could imagine the corners of his mouth in flesh instead of bone and would later remember that he had smiled sadly at me.

“Sweet child”, he whispered gently, stroking my hair softly, “I know your pain. It drew me here, for I feel it deeply. I know what you wish. But I can not take you with me.” The words seemed to hurt him and I wondered if Death could cry.

He pressed his fingers against my cheek and his touch seemed strangely warm. Strangely alive. Strangely loving. I leaned into that touch, needing it desperately.

“For you see my sweet, you have no love. Without love you have no hope. And without hope, you have no soul for me to take.”

With that he began to withdraw his hand. I wanted so urgently to reach out…to grab that hand..to keep him from leaving me. Alone. But by the time I realized the desperation, it was too late. He’d already picked up his sickle and began to walk towards the corner of the room wherein a single line of bright light cut across the corner.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered again and without turning back he stepped into that band of light. I flung myself after him, reaching to touch just the edge of his cloak but I was too late. He’d already vanished. So all I could do was lay my body with no soul down, curled up on the floor under the dim Christmas tree. I closed my eyes there and let the pain wash cleanly through me again, becoming still and silent. And the ash began to reclaim me once again. Alone. In pain. And not even worthy of Death.

That One Day

This is going to be hard …

I found out I was pregnant when I was 16 years old and I wasn’t sure which one of my brothers it belonged too. I did know that it was one of theirs though because at that time I was no longer with anyone else but them and when I say that I mean that I wasn’t with one of the many strangers that I was sent to and the only people who had been with me were them.

Again, I probably don’t need to emphasize this but I will, I wasn’t with them because I wanted to be and here I am at 16 now pregnant because of one of them.  I imagine it is hard for any teenage girl to tell their mother that they are pregnant but for me it seemed a million times harder.

The first month when I missed my period I started suspecting and shortly after that I was able to grab one of those home tests without anyone finding out so I thought. Lets go on the assumption right now that no one knew though because at that time I thought no one knew. Well it said positive but I ignored it for several weeks because I was, of course, freaking out. I had always been against abortions and since I was so against it I was almost hoping that my mother wouldn’t freak out so bad when I found the guts to tell her.

As the weeks went on though I got more and more scared and I didn’t have anyone I could trust so I told no one and just let myself freak out more and more. I tried to make sure I did everything the way I always did so people couldn’t figure it out on their own but inside me I felt so alone and I was literately going insane.  It got so bad that I did some things that I don’t want to admit but I will because I guess someone needs to know finally after all these years.

It started out small by going into my parents bathroom and finding pills in their cupboard and I honestly don’t even know what they were because I was trying to be fast so I grabbed like 5 and took them and then I did it again another day this time taking more because I didn’t want an abortion but I couldn’t tell my mother either. That is what I decided so I figured that if the baby just .. died .. then that would fix all this. For a couple weeks I snuck into their bathroom steal pills hoping to kill the baby but obviously someone was going to find out that pills were missing so I didn’t get away with it for long.

To skip a lot of writing I will say that my mother already knew that I was pregnant. Someone saw me at the store and told her and she just searched the house and trash and everywhere until she found the stick and saw the result for herself and then she let me freak out for over a month and she claims she knew I was stealing the pills yet she just let me continue doing it. I was actually at the time kind of mad at her because if I had known sooner that she already knew then I probably wouldn’t have gone so insane with worrying and being scared and ultimately trying to kill the baby so I didn’t have to face her.

Obviously she said that she didn’t believe the baby belonged to one of the boys but instead she thought I was sneaking out of the house and sleeping around. No matter what I tried to say she wouldn’t believe me so honestly I didn’t try for to long to convince her otherwise. One thing I had learned ages ago already was that once her mind was made up there was no changing it no matter if you had proof or not.  So my mother insisted I get an abortion I mean since I was trying to kill the baby anyways then that meant I wasn’t capable of being a mother and she said that she would never let me have a kid anyways because it would totally ruin the whole perfect family image.

Ok she didn’t really say it like that but I knew that was the gist of it. I was a minor so she had to sign all the papers to get it done and of course she found a place that didn’t care about what I might want and since she insisted on it no one talked to me. The doctors and the nurses talked to each other about me and my mother was there and it was like it wasn’t really me there. They didn’t try to make me feel comfortable or anything. They did what they had to do then I went home and that was the end of it. It was never spoke of again and I don’t think my mother even told my father either and I am pretty sure the other kids didn’t know either but again, I am not really sure.

Even now, when at the doctor and I am asked if I have kids and how many, I say I have 2 and then they ask “and did you have any other pregnancy”? I always say no even though I know it is a lie. I know that if I was to say yes then they would ask what happened and then I would have to say it, so to me it is just easier to say no.

It was November 13th that I had the abortion and that day is one of several days in my life that I dread. I keep trying to convince myself that it was for the best but I know that isn’t true. I was so against abortion and I still am but now it is like I can’t tell anyone that I am against abortion because that would make me a hypocrite.

My mother told me on the way home that day that it was a girl but I don’t know how she would know that (she probably didn't know!) but since that is what I was told that is what I think about when I think of that baby .. that little girl .. who never even had a chance .. because she was mine …

That is when my mother told me that if I ever did have kids someday then they would end up getting taken away from me because I wouldn’t be able to take care of them and would end up hurting them because that is what my parents did to me.  I always found it funny how she never classified herself with my real parents. It was always their fault and never her fault.

So yeah that is another thing I have to try to deal with constantly and it is one of the harder things and as far as forgiving myself or trying to get over it  that is one thing that I don’t think I can do this time.

Maybe I am wrong but it seems impossible to me.

Silent Words

As I sit here alone, writing to you, I find my eyes filling with tears again. Seems I cry so much lately. Sometimes the tears scare me for they go far deeper than I understand and they have taken on a new depth that I find no way to describe. It seems it is now that my mind opens up and words flow from me that I do not understand.

This quiet world I live in is so silent at times it is deafening but at other times it rages with such a force that I wonder if anyone outside of me hears what I hear. Sometimes no voices pierce as loud as many voices devouring my thoughts. Sleep does not come except during for a couple of hours during mid-morning. I feel lost within. Sometimes the ultimate sleep seems the only way to escape what I feel.

Finding words to say what I feel seems impossible. They come and go in an instant. The wall around me traps me and I go inside myself for safety. I am so afraid to move yet too afraid not too.  At times my thoughts go numb, which matches my insides. At times silence lies all around and suffocation cuts off my reality. At other times the inside world is colliding with the outside real world that it chokes me and I cannot breath.

Sometimes, I float away, just out of reach of reality—reaching for a place that seems so familiar yet it is not. Sometimes I reach out in an emptiness that surrounds me when all is empty. Fear takes on a new meaning there. It is not only felt but has the knowledge of experience. There seems to be so much encircling my mind but I find no words to explain the feelings. I find myself searching deep within the recesses of my mind for understanding of what is not understandable.

Time ticks away and I continue to write. Somehow writing gives me strength to keep going. Somehow these words speak through the silence that would otherwise have no voice, no escape. This maddening world of silence and voices plays with my sanity. Sometimes it is as no one exists and sometimes in that non-existence, I find it would be so easy to slip away, to never come back.

Conflicting thoughts invade as though nothing else matters causing me to feel deeper exhaustion. To live minute by minute is all I can do, and sometimes those minutes are so long. Yet here it is another night and I sit here writing once again. It feels as though the keys are my voice and the screen my refuge. Quietly words scrawl across the screen, not even the sound of writing.

It is like a silent world right now of thoughts coming and going—wondering if the words even make sense, sharing feelings that would otherwise not ever be shared. Silent screams like the ones screamed so long ago. And those that come at times when I hear nothing else. In between the lines are words you do not hear. “Help” such a small four letter word that says so much.

I feel lost. Part of me is hiding afraid to be seen or heard. Yet another part wishes just to be held somewhere safe. Everything moves so slowly over and over again. My world as I was beginning to grasp has shattered. Writing feels like my only way of existing. The world feels like an open trench ready to swallow me up. I feel so raw and exposed. I always felt from some other place in time that was very distant from me. This is too close to me. My heart is crying as much as my eyes. I feel so afraid. This pain and these words are real. And somewhere in all this—I am real.

Silence echoing, yet pain at times stinging and in the darkness I cry out without words. Emotions run deep—deeper than even I can tell. Thoughts cloud my mind to this imprisonment fear is holding over me. Emptiness surrounds my being; the humming of the computer seems so distant. And all I have are these silent words. They say so little yet they say it all.

Church

It is Sunday. To most people it is considered the day you go to church. I haven't been to church in a very long time. I feel guilty for that. I am not sure why though. Church was something I was required to do when I was growing up, every Sunday. Maybe I feel like I am failing because I didn't keep up that tradition. I don't even make my kids go every single Sunday. I hope they don't suffer later in life because I didn't make it a priority for them. I have been trying to get into it more though. Well, mostly, I am trying to get the kids into more. I let them go to youth group and sometimes I drive them to Sunday school too. I really think I should do more for them. I wonder if I am setting a really bad example. I want God to be a priority for them when they are grown. I want them to take their kids to church and well, keep going themselves.

I fear I have set to many bad examples for them though. I fear them stepping away from all that like I did. Why should they keep it up if they never see me keeping it up. I fear them stepping away would be my fault some how and I feel guilty. I feel I failed them and am failing them.I will continue to pray for them. Even during all this that is one thing I never stopped doing. Even if I can't pray for myself I can and did always pray for them.

I plan on going today ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Edit later in the day:

I did go to church today. I went to a place that was small. My friend was preaching. There was about a dozen people there. It was scary at first, but I think I will go again next week. I have fears but I am tired of trying to do things alone. I want my friend back and I want new friends. I want people to talk to instead of just sitting here writing to a screen all the time.

Soon I will write more about some of the reasons I stopped going to church. For now I will stop with this .. I went back .. once .. and I hope to keep going back. I will pray for strength to continue overcoming my fears.