I Just Wanna Have a Good Time, Just Like Everybody Else.

We force some memories to the back of our minds. They are painful, and distressing, and if we remember them they will paralyze us. We tell ourselves that if no one knows, if we don't speak it, write it, or have photo's than it never happened. History is what we hear, see, or read. Nothing else. So we hide them knowing that if there is no record than it never happened. Something that works very well when your looking at sin and the miracle of forgiveness. But they did happen. These things were real. They ARE. and they are not just because they happened, but because even if your mind did not chose to remember it, the body does.
The body remembers every punch, every kick, every name called, every head slammed into the walls or sinks, every burn, every poke, every cut, everything. It's almost more traumatic when the mind refuses to remember and the body forces it's memories to the surface. It's almost desturbing when you begin to realize that some of the patterns you have as an adult stem from these events in childhood. It's scary to recognize that you spent almost everyday since you were 3 defending yourself against the violence, and not telling a soul to keep it from getting worse. You're left wondering why you were picked. Why did no one else get hurt? what was so different about you that everyone ganged up on you. And why were you not safe? Even in the places of worship you recieved this treatment. Those people were supposed to be better than the rest. They were supposed to be kind, loving, indifferent. You are left with questions that taste almost as bad as they sound. Worst of all no one seems to care. The indifference and lack of shock at the fact that you could be treated that way almost seems to cement into reality that you deserve this treatment. That THIS is the way you are supposed to live your life. You ARE the scape goat. Deserved or not, the punishment is yours to take. Even if you didn't commit the crime.
Perhaps it's punishment for future wrongs you will commit. Or maybe the universe is just that messed up. Either way, the only way you'll ever wrap your mind around it is to act like it never happened. Never speak of it, never remember. Until someone tries to get close and you wont let them. Then in terror, throw up the defenses and sabatoge every attempt to get in. They'll see the scars, and that would mean it really happened.

As Yet Untitled

It is a strange place to be when you recognize that you have no loyalties to your family, or its standard. When the things that drew you all together are no longer the motivating factor in your life. To be able to look at them and say, truely, honestly, I do not feel for you the sense of comitment and unfettered devotion I did. Words could probably not exclaim the deepest depths of the casim that has seperated us. The inhibited understanding and lack of candor are just the tip of the mountian peaks. I no longer feel tied to the eternal bonds of family. Knowing that regardless of who I have become I will always been the same in your eyes leaves me no reason to come home. I wonder, as I set out on this newest adventure if I will ever return. I begin to think not and can trace that thought all the way back to the words that were said, and the ones left unspoken. We are not nice to each other. We dial down the affection we so desperately need, and desire; cutting off the ones who could truely help us. Unable to see past the mistakes made and the hardships endured to know that sometimes, every now and again, even children grow up to be people. It is hard though, when you've raised someone as your own, to see them as an equal. So I bid fondest fairwells, and brightest blessing. I will return for my Mother, perhaps one day.

Truth

The say that honesty is the best policy. That the truth will set you free. They always forget to mention how badly that all hurts.

Sometimes it must seem endlessly futile to be honest. We tell the truth and still get punished. We lose the things we want most in life and end up standing on the edge of eternity looking in at all the people who are holding everything we want. We lose relationships with people we love, and potential relationships with people we might have loved. We are left with nothing at times. Nothing but the want to take it back. The wonder of seeking some type of cure for all the hurt seems endless. There is rarely a happy ending for those who are honest. Life apears to be passing them by. They watch friends and family marry, have children and grow old. We must just grow old. Alone.

Perhaps someday someone will make it right. But in the mean time it would apear that the lonely are the honest. Even when that honesty has been descretely manifest. Quietly in private, or held in reserve until asked for and delivered tactfully. The loneliest place in this world seems to be held for the honest. We get ourselves into trouble and tattle on ourselves to be honest. The strongest punishment is ours; not the one who held it back and hoped no one would ever find out. No, it would apear that because we 'knew better' we are more severely stricken with consiquences. But if we had truely known better would we have done it in the first place? We love at the cost of our souls sometimes. That is another topic, for another time. The fact remains, we have nothing to show for our honesty but the scars left behind and the pain. And all we really want is for no one to speak of the honest moments that have left us with nothing. We wish to forget that they ever happened,and look back at them only in the intimate moments of trusted companionship. . . which is a debatable probability at best. The children we hoped for will not be ours, the homes we hoped to create will go to someone less honest, the success we aspire to will leave us with our face in the mud.
Honesty, it would seem, is only the best policy for the dis-honest.