PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

                            I.

    My first memories start as a young child staring into the distance as an outsider to loudness, drugs, and abuse.

My aunt, a child herself, blarring the stereo, smoking pot, and chugging the beer that she received in exchange for babysitting my brother and I. Everything seemed so big while I felt so small and unimportant.



                             II.

    The story of my little sister, April Ann, will never leave my mind. Almost everytime I think about her I cry. My basic memories of her is she loved cherry suckers and when she had one it always made me laugh. She was beautiful. An angel it seems, born on Christmas, but yet a consequence to my mother when she died on Mother's Day. I remember hearing a lot of screaming and crying and the big wood front door wide open as the flashing lights and amusing sirens (to a child) seemed neverending to my ears. Not knowing what was going on I remember somehow thinking it was funny to hear and see the ambulance. I still hurt inside when I think about my reaction. But yet again, I was only 3 years old. Growing up, I was always told she died in her crib from S.I.D.S. Up until I was 13 when my parents divorced did the story completely turn around.



                              III.

    After April's death, It seemed like the abuse become more and more. My mother would always cry uncontrollably while my brother and I was locked inside a closet for it seemed like days. Anything that we would say or do was taken very serious by my mom.

    One night as my brother and I lay in our bunk beds, we were being typical kids giggling and not going to sleep right away. My mom full of anger, guilt and rage came in with an extention cord and wrapped it around my neck. She sayed "do you want to die like April?" I always felt blamed for some reason, or guilt because she died and I didn't. Or at least that was how I was left to feel. I don't think I could ever get that memory out of my head for as long as I live.



                            IV.

    Whenever I write or think about my life as a child, it seems like i'm having a dweeling, feel sorry for me sob story. My life in general has taught me so many things about what is wrong to do to your children that I find it more as a helping tool for my life as a parent.

    As much of what went on still to this day it is amazing my brother and I survived. No we didn't live in Los Angeles in the projects or anything, but to most I know I am lucky to be alive. My brother attempted to give me a bath in my sleep with every chemical you could think of and I had a 50/50 chance of being blind for the rest of my life. My dad left me at 2 years old with a tray full of acid, that I ate 6 hits of and later had my stomach pumped while my parents told the doctors I got into birth control pills. Starting from the young age of 7, I remember walking the streets with my brother very late at night, and when we would finally get home, my parents were rarely there. Everytime I think of then, my brother was mainly the person there. He is 2 years older than me, so it wasn't like he was much older and could babysitt. My parents had too many other priorites like partying or having affairs on one another.

    When my parents were both home, my dad was always quiet, to himself, unaffectionate, on the couch with his cigarette in one hand and a 40 in the other; as my mom was always ranting and complaining about her life and how much we made her miserable. She still to this day seems unhappy about everything.

    In my mind, I craved affection and a stable environment with actual rules and parents that were around. To my friends it seemed cool that I could do what I wanted, but yet they didn't live the life of feeling they were unwanted.

    When my mom would be unhappy with something my brother or I did, she would lash out uncontrollably, Everytime she would come near us we would flinch and when she would get up we would run. My dad was never physically abusive, but he played his part by doing nothing. He sat there and allowed my mom to take charge and for that I feel he is as much responsible.

    My dad had many things he should have been better at doing as a parent but for some reason even though he would do unsensible things while drunk, like almost starting our house on fire with a frozen pizza he had forgotten in the oven, or pissing in my face while I was sleeping because he couldn't seem to ever be able to figure out where the bathroom was while drunk, those things didn't seem to hurt me emotionally. What hurt the most with him was  when I was a kid and I would get up on the couch next to him and watch t.v. and his only words were "don't crowd me".

    I don't believe in blaming your parents for everything that you do or say or how you are as a person in general but I do feel that at times when I have felt coldhearted and unaffectionate it seems as though it is a reaction to the loss of affection in my life as a child.



                               V.

    My parents were together for 17 years and got a divorce. Full of arguements, guilt, rage, and affairs; I was actually not only happy but relieved that my dad left my mom. There needed to be an end to there marriage. My mom, brother and I moved to these apartments called "War Eagle". Yet again a rerun of another time my mom could start over with her worthless parenting tactics, she  cryed uncontrollably for days. She wouldn't leave her room, we rarely had food, and my dad was in his "new" life with a woman that was close to my brothers age. He basically wanted nothing to do with us.

    Finally when my mom stepped out the door, she began her new journey of METH. She was never home, always with a different guy and lost over 100 pounds. It seemed at this point my life was nothing but a viscious circle repeating itself over and over with no help or love to try and stop it.