#itsallaboutmewritingpieces

[itsallaboutmewritingpeices-blog]

A small confession

In my thirteen years of living I have spent only five years living as a child should. Those first five years of my life were most likely filled with laughter and joy. The occasional tear of sadness that would appear as the aftershock of a scraped knee or not getting the toy one desired was minimal at best. Of course though things can not stay perfect forever, if that was to happen then there would be no thrill in life, no reason for living. AS human beings we thrive off of our emotions, troublesome as they might be. Without them we have no purpose, no reason to work hard for anything. Our lives become meaningless black holes, and we quickly lose sight of ourselves. As important as this is however it holds no true importance to the writing of this piece. When I turned five it is easy to say that my father’s demeanor towards me changed completely. Why this is, I have no idea whatsoever. So I am left to use information and scrap together a hypothesis. The one reason I have come up with is that at that age, children start to try and gain a bit of independance. They begin to form their own opinions. While it might seem crazy that this would happen in a child so young it is often true. These children however, have no clue on how to express their opinions. As children their opinions are often compromised, people quite often respond by saying that they don’t know anything about the world, that they are not smart enough to understand. This leaves the child frustrated, which then leads to the often feared temper tantrum. As a young child I had fairley many of these. They would often be violent and loud. The thing is though, that how could I, a person that cares for all living creatures, that despises war and violence, how could I, even two years ago, be this crazy hell storm of fury. Yes, there was the starting point that all children have, but to advance that into the tantrums I produced, there was obviously some sort of example that I had picked up on, or maybe even two. So here is my simple reasoning on why my father changed towards me, he could no longer hope to control me with a few simple words. This angered him, he demands respect, and will always want to be in control of a situation, especially one he does not know how to handle. This is where things got dangerous. As my tantrums built power I realize now that I must have had an example to push me to the point of my tantrums, and I did. These examples, not one, but two, were my Mother and Father. So for all of the time I had spent on Earth, up to any given point in time, I had learned that if it was okay for my parents to yell at me, then it must be okay for me to yell at them. Constantly. Since that would get me what I wanted. Especially since they always achieved their goal when they yelled at me. So this is where my problems began. I have met many therapists that have told me what is happening is my fault, that I am the one who needs to fix it. That I must do everything. I can not change how my father feels about me, nor can change how my mother or my sister feels. I can not force a person to feel something they don’t. It is not humanly possible. I also could not have known better in my actions. Human beings are not born mean. Our lives, and the people in them shape how we act. If the two most important people in a child’s most impressionable years are going to be constantly beating that child and yelling at them they assume this is okay. They can not change that. These children, are the parent’s responsibility, they do not know any better than how they are treated and what they see. So if every day I am yelled at and hit, than how am I to know that this is not okay. I grieve for my sister, who is currently eleven, because up until now, all she has heard is yelling, all she has seen is someone getting hit. So I laugh about it now as I write this, because my therapists have sat down, deeply confused on why a little child thinks that it is okay to hit and to punch their older sister. Why this child believes that it is okay to hurt someone because you didn’t get your way, or that you didn’t win a game. They sit down in wonderment of how an eleven year old girl, a sister to someone so unbelievably passive, could be so violent to another person. So this makes me laugh because the answer is so unbelievably obvious. It is all she knows. All my sister has seen is someone hitting me, of course she is going to think that it is okay for her to do the same. She has only heard people yell at me countless times for things that weren’t even my fault just so that they would have someone to blame. So yes, even though my sister too has beaten me, I feel extreme sorrow for her, because she knows no better. She has no way to deal with her own depression and anxiety than to take it out on someone else, as she has seen others do. That is why I grieve for her, because she never even had a chance to be innocent. Just last week people from child protection services came to my house. They posed an investigation, and we have been assigned a social worker. While this might sound odd, I am terrified. I turn fourteen next month, I am starting high school, and yet, this investigation is what scares me the most. I am still living with my father, and so, I am scared of what he might do. I am not so naive as I was before this year. I know now that it is not okay for a parent to constantly beat their child. I have learned that it is not okay for the only sound you hear for weeks on end is people screaming at you. It is not okay for my father to treat me like I am less of a person than he is. None of this is okay. Yet, I have also learned that I have places to go, places where I can be safe. I have people that love me, and I have no need to let my past hold me back. So when I turn fourteen next month, the first thing I will do is start volunteering at the stable where I ride. I’m going to start making a difference, a good one.

[itsallaboutmewritingpeices-blog]

Silver Stars

An imprisoning soul Some hopes Some words

Stormy skies Clouds that cover unseeing eyes

A glittering star set upon pale skin And so, where do I begin

For three long years I sat trapped inside my head Violent currents of words I left unsaid

I’m an idiot I’m a fool I’m a curse in this life

Or wait, am I the cursed one tonight

For three long years I stood trapped inside my head

Alive, yet not Seeing, yet blind

For how, am I really alive, if I, am shattered inside

I saw the world through filtered blasts Through soldier’s cries And shattered glass

And I heard the words, but they were lost to me For what was I, but drowning

A broken soul held down by tears By fears By hopes By therapists

So for three long years I shattered trapped inside my head And my only goal, was to die

And I wept as I shattered Screamed as they tried For how can you help someone who only wants to die

Scared of the blows Of kicks and of words Tortured by sounds And tortured by hopes

A caged bird I was For a caged bird can not fly Since a caged bird is long trapped inside

Inside of the iron bars of a broken mind For inside i’m destroyed, but outside, i’m fine

And so they all say; we never saw it coming they always seemed fine But yet, they weren’t fine at all

For we laugh the loudest We smile the brightest We seem the proudest

For each day we are ticking, a endless time bomb

And hearing them scream, don’t do it it’s wrong It’s selfish you know, and once you are gone

Just stop right there you don’t get it at all It’s not selfish, it’s not so don’t go there at all

Now i’m not saying you should do it at all I’m not justifying it or glorifying it in the least, but maybe you should just sit down and think

Because how would you feel trapped inside your own soul With nothing but tears With no ounce of hope

For three years I shattered, stuck in my mind Yes I am crazy, crazy am I My soul is still screaming It screams for release For someone to hear me For someone to see

My mind is still broken, a whirlwind of words Yet none can be chosen Since none will be heard

And it’s not the outside of which I speak It’s the inside The spirit These words at their peaks

And for three years I was stuck in my mind And he would scream for an asylum, for a hospital of the mind He would yell as I screamed As I screamed from the pain

The pain that is torture With no end And no gain

But wait perhaps there is one after all For my mind is still broken, but it’s healing that’s all

So one day I hope when I’m whole once again

I’ll learn how to love How to forgive And forget

There’s a hope that one day I’ll get along with him That the asylum, will be more words lost to the wind

And I hope that one day I can forgive the kicks and the blows A hope that one day I can forget being choked

Because for three long years I sat trapped inside my mind And all I have learned are three simple lines

Live each day as if it is your last Please don’t spread hate, try to laugh And most of all; the broken can heal We can learn to love, we can learn to feel

And so inside my mind I pick up the glass

The path will be hard, and it will not be the last But I start off each day, thankful that night The silver stars, did not cut the sky BCBM

[itsallaboutmewritingpeices-blog]

So this is an account where I post writing pieces that either I make or that people send to me. I'll start off with a post of a poem I wrote.