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.

Stupid Dream

Stupid dream .. or maybe it was a nightmare. I just know it woke me up and I was scared.

I don’t remember how it started but I do remember seeing myself sitting on the floor and I was crying. Someone was sitting there with me. I don’t know who it was but I know it was a female. All of a sudden in the dream I start coughing and gagging and then this white stuff comes out of my mouth. It wont stop coming out either. The person who was with me starts pulling it out like it was a huge and very long string. But it wasn’t string, it was .. Well I can’t say what it was..  but it was something really gross. Yes, I know what it was .. Just I can’t say it. 

I ended up waking up shortly after seeing the white stuff being pulled out of my mouth. I was shaking and breathing heavy and very scared. I assume the person sitting with me was my mother. 

Deserve ..

I can make a huge list of things I don’t think I deserve but that list would be really long. I don’t know why I think that I deserve nothing good. Maybe because I haven’t had much good in my life and yet I have had a lot of bad. After living a life full of bad things a person tends to think that must be all they deserve. At least that is what I think about myself. I can’t really speak for anyone else. It is really really hard for me to think about good things and say "I deserve this!"

My kids, even though sometimes they are naughty and drive me insane, they are awesome and nice and I love them to death. Yet at the same time I think that they deserve someone better then me. I don't feel worthy to be their mother a lot of times. I think I am a bad influence on them or I am not teaching them all the things they need to know for later in life. Or maybe they are catching all my fears and uncertainties and making them their own.

My daughter already says that she will never live alone. Maybe she says that now but as she grows older she will find that she is braver. Is this fear from me though? Sometimes I think it is because I have never lived alone that much either. I am scared of the dark and so is she. Is that my fault too? She hates doing chores and I hate them too, so maybe she learned that from me as well. She really is trying to be a little rebel too. I think, I hope, I have been steering her away from the worst of that, but she gets so mad at me when I tell her no. She talks back to me. Don't get me wrong, she doesn't hit me or swear or anything like you see them teens doing on Maury. I think she knows not to push it that far, so I am thankful for that. I just want her to know that I do everything because I love her .. I don't know if that is how she sees it though.

My son, he has a hard time answering questions and speaking up. I am the same way. I fear my son follows a crowd when around his friends because he wants to make them happy. I fear he is afraid of hurting peoples feelings, even if it means he gets hurt in the end. I see myself in them both sometimes and it scares me. It is all my fault and I don't know how to fix this. I want them to be awesome adults, but I fear they will end up just like me and I hate me. I don't want them to hate themselves or be afraid or be needy or dependent on other people. That is what I see though .. and I don't know what to do. I only have a few years left before they step out on their own and that scares me more then I can imagine.

Maybe I deserve the kids to be just like me too .. because I have been sitting here in my own messes for so long instead of doing what I need to do to help them become something other then me or like me. I don't know what to do though at this point. Is it to late to make an impression on them. Is it to late to help them become them .. instead of me.

I don't even know if this makes sense...

Nightmare

I had this dream again.

I was in a dark room and it was musty and cold and made of dark brick that was almost black.  I couldn’t really see much but I think I was alone at the beginning of it. My stomach was huge and when I put my hand on my stomach I felt a baby kick it. Then it kicked harder to the point that I saw its little foot and leg push out of my stomach and I don’t mean actually out because it was still in my stomach but the foot was pushing so hard that you could see the foot and the leg shape of the baby. I screamed about then and that is when my mother showed up  and she grabbed my hair and pulled my head back so that I was looking at her and she was yelling at me but I can’t remember what she said now.

Obviously this nightmare was not real because that isn’t what really happened. I have no idea why my nightmare had to make it all “horror movie” like but I guess dreaming sometimes does that.

Puppet

I see so many patterns in my life of all the times I kept at something .. doing it over and over again because it was expected of me. It never really mattered to me that I hated doing it. I just did it because I felt I had too and because somehow it was making someone else happy, or proud, or content.  There are even times I can remember staying places with certain people because I felt like I had too.  I felt like if I went away or made them go away then the other person would hate me or even feel so hurt by it and those thoughts always make me feel guilty. Like it wasn’t my place to hurt other people, even if they are hurting me or making me cry.

I feel like I have given so much to some people to the point I have given them everything that I am and all that is left of me is, well, nothing. I have worn clothes that they like and combed my hair how they like it. I smile on cue and pose like a puppet anyway they want me too and all I get back from them is “oh I love you so much” while at the same ignoring the tears as I force myself to once again play a role that was created for me.

Tiny Mouse

I feel like a tiny mouse standing in the middle of a huge room with dusty, dirty brown floors, and a ceiling so high above that it makes me dizzy to look up. I can’t stop shivering, standing with my feet together and my arms across my chest.  I know there is a cat waiting to catch me, I can feel him watching me even now. If he catches me he’ll hold me up for everyone to see, for them to laugh at me, and tell me I’m a bitch. The cat will torture me for daring to be there, but the nearest place to hide is too far away,  and I’m afraid to move. I think that if I just hold still, with my head down, eyes averted, no one will see me, no one will hurt me, and I’ll be OK. I can hear the whispers around me, echoing off the distant white walls, and all I feel is the pain inside, and I know that I’m totally alone to face the cat’s claws and teeth.  Alone, just like I’ve always been.

Don’t ever look them in the eyes, they’ll see the truth. Don’t share your feelings, they’ll laugh at you.  Don’t tell them about him, they won’t believe you.  It’s your fault if the cat catches you, you deserve what he’ll do to you.  Why should you ever think it will be any different? Isn’t this the way the world is?

I want to run, but my legs won’t work, they feel heavy, leaden. So I scoot along the floor, feeling the cold, smooth tiles under my hands. My hands are dirty, my pants are dirty, I’ll get in so much trouble for that. My heart is pounding so loud, and the roar of the other teens as they move from class to class, I can’t tell where he is. I pull myself under the gray metal stall doors, just to find myself in another long white hallway.  I’m so scared. I scramble along the hard, chilling floor, breathing in the dust and grime.  My legs hurt, my chest hurts.  The few others who notice me just laugh and point, and go on about their normal day.  Where is he?  I know he’s coming to get me. I’m so tired, tired of running, of pulling myself along, getting bumped and kicked by the anonymous shoes and legs swirling around me.  Why can’t I be like them?  My body is tired, my mind is tired.  This is the dream I have had many, many times, for so many years.

Why should you have any friends?  You’re not a nice person, you don’t deserve to have people care what happens to you.  No one cares where you are,what you’re doing.  Stay out of the way so you don’t make their life more difficult.  There is no cat, there is nothing except your own spoiled, self-centered existence.  Everyone knows it,  especially the cat.

I watch him lick his huge paw, his tongue flicking in and out like that of a snake.  His fur is orange, thinning, plastered to his chest as his rough tongue grates at it, chewing out the fleas that live in his scruffy coat.  I know the feel of that tongue, of those thick, cumbersome paws, holding me down.  His eyes are half closed now, his face reflecting his satisfaction, his breathing even and deep.  I feel his hot breath on me as he holds me still, and I shudder, waiting for it to begin again.  When his breath turns short and shallow, his eyes bright, his grasping more insistent, then I know it’s time.  I’m so cold, the room is so empty, and all I can hear is his breathing.  Again I wonder, why doesn’t he ever finish?  Why does this cat play with me, never going that last step, never completing the kill?  Why, after he’s finally done with me, does he let me go, back to the expanse of the brown floor and the chilly air?  Why am I always left by myself, until he’s ready to hunt me again?  Alone, to face the world, and the cat that lies in wait, and I stand again with my eyes down, holding very still, and I die a little more inside.  Always the little mouse.  Alone.

Horrors

Throughout my life I have been witness to horrors that a lot of people can’t even imagine. I am not talking about things like war or famine; I am talking about child abuse.I was raised in and around child abuse for so long that the abuse started to feel normal to me.I thought all families lived like this. I didn’t know that fathers weren’t supposed to rape their daughters and I didn’t know that mothers weren’t supposed to beat their kids.

The things I learned growing up weren’t things that a lot of kids learned. I learned how to keep secrets. I learned how to hide bruises. I had learned how to please my father, and others, in ways girls my age should know nothing about. I learned how to pretend like my life was normal. I learned how to defend my parents against people who tried to tell me that what I was going through was wrong.