alt control delete

some should never be let to be trusted with the honor system —like the son of the international school’s Superintendent; the superintendent who was later (recently)found on charges of embezzlement of teacher’s salaries

 

I have been thinking about such weird things …. you know, watching the mushroom cloud —i was thinking about my high school stalker 

….the Maryland trauma —how it fits with today’s criteria of “normal” so, whatever it impacted me is irrelevant but —anyway, in my reality … the bait and switch move; date rape and to add insult upon injury he said, “you’ll go to a hair dresser and I’ll tell them how I want you to look”

We were sitting on the porch 

I began to hyperventilate 

He was red faced. Drinking. 

He said, 

“and your clothes ….why do you wear such odd colors?”

that is when I panicked and bailed out 

   I bailed out which sadly, pathetically only amounted to a freaked out —I’d been duped and no one to turn to 

sewing the neverland shadows back on

you know it is to document. as ive spent hour in reflection contemplating so many ‘whys’ and then watch history itself melt away.perhaps Ai is now the ideal friend.my thoughts snd words may ricochet through cerebral passages of a vacuous void of human thought

lost purpose becomes …. just the canoe to still cling to.words to engrave and so i have been thinking about well, completing what was “my work”

i cannot let it go unfinished …

    purpose and being was the original mission but became it…. now seems that might not have been at all what i have been exploring after all 

—wasn’t it then 

the work was to solve the Puzzle and as part entertainment for those of whom enjoy a mind twister to solve i think really the mission must have been —the puzzle 

    i could never account for why i have always had such vivid early memories 

Very very early memories. To this very day i still remember leaving the hospital in Florida with my mother after i was born. We were by the front doors. There was a lot of yellow. I think it was my mother’s dress. I was on her lap and they had pushed in a wheel chair. A blue car drove up. I still remember who got out. That was the first time i saw my grandfather. There were only the females around; no other man. It would have been my grandmother and aunt and who would have been my older sister. 

I remember my grandfather stared down into my face for a very long time. 

It was summer Florida hot. We got into the back seat and I remember falling asleep. 

I remember soon after my birth we flew to Jamaica. I remember landing, leaving the plane. 

I remember Jamaica. We lived there for the first year of my life at the half moon resort. I remember the soft sand, the way the sheers that covered the windows would blow in the breeze. I remember my bassinet, it faced away from the patio. 

i reflect on this really to remark and personally document because memories …. some get blocked …. some people can’t remember elementary school 

  like Persephone who has blocked the years of her life with me

i find this curious; perplexing; fascinating; horrifying 

But scientific method has always been the tool we measure and drive this process 

if my choice method to survive expected traumatic daily physical abuse without a single alley at home, what could I have chosen to use to get through the hours. the hours of bullying of a sibling who did it for sport with the parent’s encouragement, and no alley—it was mental. The mind. it was thoughts and dreams ….and mysterious magical sparking ‘visitors’ i was convinced spoke to me as a child. yes, i know it sounds strange but i did see stars that seemed to often visit me in the nursery and —warn me of my future as strange as i know that sounds. but i remember this still, and telling my mother when i learned to talk.

maybe they visit all children and only some of us remember. 

my theory as to why i remember all these things so well—with the exception that makes the rule; the blocked memories— my educational guess is that it is connected to positive reinforced memory building. 

My mother played Jamaican music for years after we left there. We were so happy in Jamaica. It was before the bad things began, before she went back to her husband. And still she played those records with the Jamaican tin drums, and the little hand made drums and the voodoo toys I would play. My mother kept photo albums by years. She filled the pages with dozens of beautiful photographs she took of our adventures and all accurately dated. 

I miss those albums

I would spend hours looking at our pictures. remembering

the universe always feels off whenever we fall out of each others orbit

est-ce que tu remarquerais si je ne rentrais pas à la maison

this is for electra; mending Ophelia (tying up the pieces)

I think it helps to look back upon the past with an attempt at objectivity, as it is not possible to be objective with one’s memories, but I never had the conversations with those that mattered to resolve what has followed me all my life since, in particular, many died before I had the chance. 

To step outside of the redheaded doll my mother dressed everyday but never asked me how I felt or what I thought or feared or wanted …. to step away from those memories and not identify with that one but looked at the mother. Looked at the father. The “father”.

It looks much different from their side. 

There was much emphasis on what I looked like. It seemed extreme important to my mother. The outside of me was all that she bothered with. Never a mention as to why I got punished by her husband. Not a mention. Never once referred. Less said the better. But also it was ok to let it happen there. I knew that. I didn’t know why. 

The outside of me was another entity. The outside me strangers would come over to and say nice things about ….the way I looked. 

I never looked at mirrors. I didn’t like myself but I didn’t care either. Sometimes I just wished she’d just put away the hairbrush and talk to me, but it was at least better than what he did.

As an adult looking back it’s clearer now why I first starting cutting and the emotional set up that cast the dye of my pattern of the self fulfilling prophesy of unlucky in love and I’m glad I can see it now and why it ever happened 

It was that day when he said to her,

“you preen her like a prize poodle! You have another daughter—I forbid you ever doing this anymore!”

like a Quintin Terrintino movie where you go forward in time. Double back. 

Then take it from another angle 

from my side— it was the day she withdrew the only form of acknowledging my presence in her life 

But remember what I’d forgotten? I could have been sent away from her. I had blocked that then. 

I saw it as rejection. From love. Undeserving. And that was the summer the cutting began. 

If as a psychologist I went in there with my precision tool and cut out those memories and just healed it up ….

pictures. On a table. What do they mean when they burn up and wash away like the memory rooms in that Star Trek movie. You visit a day in your life. Step into a room. Breathe the old dried flowers 

I’d say maybe I misinterpreted why I got pushed away from love as a child and family was out of reach in my own home as a child—kept from rooms, from family time and later Christmas and thanksgivings and it’s easy to think it’s because you are unlovable and of course that is what I grew to believe but it was something darker I could never have understood. And the behavior I misinterpreted was just how that family decided to hide me in plain sight. I was just an ignorant bystander 

for this purpose as scientific method this dictionary at least, if nothing else, heal thy celves 

electric dawn

if I was not not frantic, I think I would be able to be. again. would be able to create. and laugh. and waste my time just playing 

but there is peace. within. more now than it was when there were my captors. a woman on her own has a great price to pay. camo stealth and move quick. 

right now—let’s stop.right now, perch….watch the horizon over this —cliff; perched upon.the precipice.i have more peace than before under the thumb of all my captors.i move fast.still.i have the spider reflex; still.spring.would i settle for a one less than me?no….i have my standards.they were not as endurable as me; could not understand ….could never…see…me—well, why; I know why.they required a lot of work….they were all projects.and left zero room to be me 

i take no prisoners, free agent unless you prove you are as endurable—had to fight for every little thing to claim as yours…. nothing just given to you…imposture syndrome? That was never charted on my character because I fought to be, to breathe and to say “I AM!” ….i have no sympathy for those with guilt trips of a life paved by entitlements ….its just yeah, im that tough; im an actual warrior so i dont need a cos outfit 

if i was not frantic i think I would think calmly.clearly.why am i frantic—that my existence makes anyone uncomfortable when how was there ever a choice to be?its a mind blowing thought to a philosophical martyr