forthelost
forthelost
For The Lost
4 posts
if you find a typo, act like you didn’tthe world is my muse limited by my perspective, but i hope you enjoy
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forthelost · 10 months ago
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//TW: SUICIDE, SEXUAL ABUSE//
I am only a few minutes old, you fell off the balcony out back and broke your ankle— now you’re in the same hospital as Mom. My birth, a bad omen for the things to come later.
I am 3 years old. You bring home stuffed animals for me every week. You tell me you’re the best claw machine player in the world, and I believe you. The truth is you know a vendor, and he gives you one for me every week. You can do no wrong.
I am 5 years old. When we come home from the grocery store, you take me down an extra muddy road because you know I think it’s fun. You tell me to keep it secret from mom, even though the jeep is covered in mud. This isn’t the last secret I’ll keep for you. You can do no wrong.
I am 8 years old. We moved, and are struggling to make ends meet now— I wouldn’t understand why until a decade later. Mom is going to work, and it’s just me and you. The seed has been sown that mom is a villain and you’re my happy place. I catch you watching porn on your computer in the living room. I ask you why there’s naked women on your screen, you get angry and say that I was mistaken. You can do no wrong.
I am 11 years old. We moved again, now we live with my estranged oldest brother. I don’t know him that well. When we’re alone in the car, you tell me that he molested my older sister when she was a kid; that’s why he’s never around. I’m too young to really understand the implications. You tell me you hate Mom— I agree because she tells me I can’t stay up past my bedtime. You can do no wrong.
I am 12 years old. You take me to the park three times a week so we can ‘get away from mom’. You’ve been subtly enabling her to drink more and take more pills. This is the start of her addiction getting out of control, but you tell me she’s always been worthless. I believe you, she makes me do chores and can be mean sometimes— you would never do that. You can do no wrong.
I am 13 years old. The Florida heat is unforgiving. You tell me a story that will alter the course of our lives. You tell me about the time you molested both of my sisters in a hotel room, back when i was 5. You tell me they were both passed out when it happened. You’re bragging. I don’t know how to respond; you tell me to keep it a secret. We go to the pool a lot in the summer. I make a comment that the pool jets ‘feel funny’. You teach how to use them to masturbate, and I orgasm for the first time in my life. I’m another victim now, but I don’t feel like one—You can do no wrong.
I am 16 years old. You’re cheating on mom, I’m holding onto the secrets for you. You tell me everyday that I’m your best friend. We have fun going places together. I’m miserable around mom, years of being told she’s a horrible person has exasperated the situation. I beg you everyday to leave her so we can have a peaceful life. You make comments about to girls I hang out with and keep around. I think it’s normal, if I think they’re hot at the time, who wouldn’t? You can do no wrong, after all. I walk upstairs one day and catch you using a CD to see under the door to the bathroom, so that you can spy on my sister in the bathroom. The illusion cracked. I tell her, and she asks me to keep it a secret.
I am 20 years old. You don’t tell me secrets anymore, but we’re still very close. Mom’s addiction has spiraled and we fight everyday. I finally snap and catch a flight up north to live with my sister. When I arrive, she tells me that we can still put an end to your abuse. I agree. We spend two years helping the authorities.
I am 22 years old. I wake up one morning in March, and my sister is calling me. She tells me that the authorities are in your house, and that I need to call them. I tell them where you hide your hard-drives. I tell them what they are going to find. I can hear the dog barking over the phone. I’m in disbelief. Afterwards, I tell them all of your secrets— and they tell me the things I didn’t know. I see your mugshot later that day, and it’s burned into my head.
I’m 24 years old now. I haven’t processed all the pain yet.
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forthelost · 2 years ago
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Music is nearly universally loved by humans. It has become one of those emotional tools that can easily transcend time. Moments in time, captured and preserved for an unknown amount of time to come. Whilst you may be physically alone, you can be connected to an entirely different place and time; a moment where someone on the other end empathizes with you. This person can motivate you through a difficult time, share your sorrows, bare similar wounds to yours, or they can celebrate you achievements.
Listening to an artist that has since passed from the mortal realm can bring about quite the ethereal feeling— one that is difficult to describe with accuracy. This feeling is amplified if the artist was alive during your lifetime— while you were wandering the world, perhaps sleeping or eating, they were here too. Facing the same trials and tribulations of the human condition— and they left something behind before they were gone. An immortalized moment where they still breathed our air felt our struggles.
To be human is to express— and music remains one the most beautiful methods to achieve this expression.
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forthelost · 3 years ago
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Reactions
We as humans often live our lives reactively. That is to say, most allow the world to decide their emotions throughout the day. Events in our daily lives are meant to only influence our thoughts and actions, not dictate them. It is ourselves who should determine the outcome of our day, rather than forfeit that right to the world.
Why should the people around you have say in this matter? Do you allow them to decide your meals? or perhaps when you must go to bed? This is no different, and while it's a difficult task to reign in your emotions -- the effort is far more than worth it or the sake of your prosperity. This life is yours, and yours alone. Only you have the ability and power to re-organize your mind and dispel the will of others that plague it's corridors.
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forthelost · 3 years ago
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Expectations
I don't like the pedestals we put each-other on. Just as I hate to be worshipped, I hate when I catch myself worshipping another. When we do this, our expectations of that person become un-attainable. We forget that they are human, that they have flaws, and that being less-than-perfect is quite lovely in it's own right.
We begin to expect them to act a particular way, which is an unfair circumstance in which to place someone. The human condition is to be unpredictable to some degree, and to make mistakes that we can learn from -- what defines us is our ability to push past the errors during our time of trial and error. Just as we expect the right to these mistakes, it would be wise to allow your partner this same degree of leniency. To rub away the tunnel-vision of love is a daunting task, but it is with my full belief that the reality beyond rose-tinted lenses is far more beautiful, anyways.
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