more thoughts of identity in my search for a self 

There are so many innate things that have contributed to the need to search for who I am/existence which….

I realize to any outsider may think ludicrous but

no, I was not sure I existed during most of my younger life

as I was a shadow of my sister in my family. She had rights. I did not. This was different among company. The acts changed. But between day and time at home with them I had little in the way of rights. I was different than other little girls I knew about in the manners I was treated by parents. I was tolerated. I was a show piece. I was an ugly reminder. The acts changed. I waited for my cues. 

Am I hungry? I never knew because I was always with stomach aches and ulcers before I was ten. So she ate out of my plate first before I got what was left. He’d watch and wink at her. Do —I—exist? I’d wonder. Because my mother, where was she? She was on the phone talking to her mother and tying her apron. You don’t know growing up if things should be different until you see other people. I saw as soon as my first day at school that I was not like other children with their family.

I was a shadow member

In public I got attention because of my red hair. I never noticed it myself and I was surprised to see people so happy looking at me. It was nice but confusing. But I found to strangers ….I was no shadow 

It was this way older at school. But young, I never spoke and I hid and kept to myself. Looking back I know today teachers would have spotted the signs but nobody did back then. My quietness was rewarded at school. I came home with gold stars on little papers. That wound up in the trash. Her gold stars were framed and put on the wall

did I exist?

sometimes? 

why am I treated worse than the pet at home? I would wonder over and over ….what did I do? why am I bad?

so I suppose part of my identity has to do with knowing: you are a shame; so guilt and the feeling of not deserving …. food, clothing, shelter ….air….did I exist? days at home nobody ever spoke to me…. except for our black maid Annie, who I loved and talked to every day after school. I learned a lot from her. I existed and mattered to her…. she always addressed me “Miss” and my name. it made me feel special instead of ‘bastard’ which is the name he picked for me. with two prefix adjectives attached 

I saw fathers adore their daughters. but mine offered me a selection of Bally belts to pick as my beating instrument ….who am I? as each blow hit my skin—stings and burns until you decide to go out the door in your head to that ….other place

who am I…. do I exist and do I deserve rights ….why am I here?

And I not prepared to face a world to find out how …..to stand up for my own rights without the awareness of what they should be. Candide out in the world with a kick me sign 

but I had something I guess that got me to survive it all 

not sure what it was but it is wrapped up in discovering and inventing that Electra ….inside 

and the faces like shields I created to keep the world from coming in….those rooms; observatories to note the day and allow the bows and arrows to deflect off my thickly created skinned masks ….we….went further inside but not to share the beauties and wonders and thoughts with a mark ….. the dictionary in the cave is the cryptic symbol left behind like some Rosetta Stone