your proclamations were lies
billowing constant torments to my psyche
you could have used a medical diagnosis
i needed medical intervention well into my adulthood
soothing came with age
the abatement of self-destruction
long in coming
self-worth returned
self-love administered
wholeness flourished
the cries of a young boy go unheeded
his innocence questioning why love hurts
why is he to blame
always
his reddened body
and damaged psyche
aches
at the prospect of another beating
his mother
another pawn
sidelines her nurture
for her own peace
the child twice unlucky
lives out a horror-filled childhood
but with determined endurance
his strength gets him thru his familial hell
at the tender age of sixteen
grasping sweet freedom
in the ball of his fist
he holds back the final strike
quieting his monster
embarrassing the beast’s over-blown stature
it shook the cowardly aggressor
finally
there was peace
a respite from the violence
a start of healing
yet the dysfunction lingered
the home, always a yelling place
a source of constant dissatisfaction
coupled with emotional abuse
the father found other ways to injure
it was only a few more years
then the young man’s escape became possible
finally living on his terms
had begun in earnest
he peeled off the pain
saved himself and forged a future
promising himself to live a better life
he tried
one marriage in and down
the second one brewing for a storm
the dysfunction of the past not quite gone
just carried forward
he’d survived
but had not shed the poison within
still imprinted deep
was the darkness of the monster
not expunged, as thought
only resurfaced in time
the complete healing
required reflection and resolution
steadfast and enduring love saved him
pushing him to face his demons
and asking forgiveness of those he’d broken
just as he had been
Redux
I want to thank my friend Chuck for reblogging some of my much earlier thoughts from my old blog – PhiloSusi. This piece from 2015 highlighted how far I’ve come since those years of my childhood but also what followed in the lessons I learned. I’m glad I went back and reread it. It reminds me how much my world has gotten better. With slight revisions, I hope you enjoy it.
~~~
When I look in the mirror now, I see the beauty within and on the surface of the creation, which was initially out of my hands.
It wasn’t always that way.
“You’re so fat.”
“Can’t you be smarter?”
“Just stop, I’ll do it. You’re doing it wrong!”
“You’re not good enough!”
“Why can’t you do better?”
“Only angry people are crazy!”
“No one will want to date you.”
“You’re so stupid!”
“Can’t you do anything right?”
The words were repeated often enough and fell easily into my psyche, stuck there for a long time.
I never realized when I was younger it was a sick and twisted game initiated by someone who was supposed to just love me. I didn’t know how to maneuver a win against someone I looked up to. The person who made me feel low and afraid to achieve had an agenda which my tender years didn’t understand. I was competition, which elevated her every time she uttered one of those statements. She, being the winner every time. Me, the loser.
Or so I thought.
Today I’m filled with confidence in my being, a fierce determination to exist exactly the way I want to be, have an appreciation for myself that was non-existent before, and hold the firm position that I am just right. My body image was extremely poor, and to this day, I don’t think I see what others do, but I’m probably three-quarters of the way there to loving my body exactly as it is.
I don’t need to compete with the ghost anymore. Who I am and how I look was already winning.
Redux
Originally posted 4/20/2018 on I Write Her.
“Dead family walking!”
The family was chaotic from day one.
They being an absentee, alcoholic father, and a probably-suffering-from-a-mental-illness mother not understanding love.
A child being cheated out of something before her existence had ever really begun.
So many unusual life lessons played out where mediocrity would flourish.
Determined small steps tested the authorities; she tried where she could.
Her willingness to rise above engaged with her persistently in the aftermath of their lives.
She took control of all in her realm, determined to do what was best.
The past is now safely in the rear-view mirror.
Today promised ever-increasing clarity going forward.
i want to avenge my broken heart
why do these lame excuses for men
promising comfort
always give out a ticket to hell instead
as i sit waiting for him
i cram my anger
here in the spot where love was
it gets me nowhere
it pulls me down deep inside
maybe i’m too used to this empty space
A powerful read for anyone with a dysfunctional childhood, definitely one for me.
Father used his fists a lot Though never on the kids On the walls and the furniture and the doors and the mailbox and the fence and the neighbors and random people on the street and strangers in the bar and a few times the poor dog and one time on mother He was the childhood’s villain To defeat him one had to become a hero and becoming a hero took time And today after all this time the villain of childhood was dead He died at the hands of some other character, a neutral one A cop who told him to drop to the ground and father didn’t so he got shot That was it The end of his saga Utterly unsatisfactory anticlimactic disappointing just bad There was no final showdown between hero and villain because those things only happen in childhood and childhood had ended a long time…
View original post 7 more words
i know i should be your champion
your friend
the best actually
always by your side
but i’m not your mother nor your shrink
and i’m way too old
for these repetitious struggles
leading nowhere
how can i keep fighting for someone
who has worn me down
to the point
where i don’t even fight for myself
i’m exhausted
and filled with anxiety
staying shackled
to a future which remains elusive
i’m spent
and not in a good way…
fear keeps us silent mostly
the expression of needs rare
we remain stoic above all else
fear keeps us panicked always
internally we are a mess
externally no one would know it
fear keeps us shackled mostly
wounds so easily reopened
when secrets are shared
fear keeps us lonely always
in the interior of our souls
giving a small bit but revealing nothing
fear keeps us all to itself
by chance
life begins amongst strangers
a start of birthed possibilities
propelled without consent
entering this world
substantive expectations spur entities on
with an unconscious hope for empathy and guidance
yet living is a potluck
one possibly enjoyed
but for them
probably not
filled with variables beyond their control
with only but a few moments
bent favorably in their direction
too soon
the barely living
trudge towards the inevitable
a half-achieved existence for most
with regret
many pass
with tears
they leave in agony
their death
the unfortunate finish they’d not hoped for
our family rich with morbitities
of the mind, body and soul
wondering which fate awaits me
inviting the punishment
for perceived past misdeeds
a self-flagellation of sorts
abuse hammered in
nailed to my psyche
hard to escape, even after years
wrenching free is the only hope
I Write Her 
_01.jpg){kind=link}