I Died and Wore a Smile

Location

She left a boy to raise me.

She said i was driving her mad.

That i made her want to pull out her hair.

I fiercely stared at her.

I pulled out my own hair.

To show her what going mad really looked like.

 

I never stopped crying.

They put me in a shower.

Turned on the cold water.

“If you're going to act like a baby,

then you're going to be treated like one.”

I couldn't stop.

 

Maybe this is where I died.

My humanity was stripped.

Down the drain was my self-respect.

I became nothing.

They just wanted me to shut up.

But how could i.

The boy was freaked out.

And my mom...

Only cared that he wanted to leave.

This was really the beginning.

 

My mom was an alcoholic. I was too.

I was the golden child.

The punching bag.

The vulnerable kid seeking mom's love.

There were bruises.

Gosh i was so colorful.

There were welts.

They were the warmest things she'd ever give me.

I went to the bathroom just to see them.

Before long I'd have fresh ones again.

 

It's an interesting wonder.

Loving someone so much.

And hating them at the same time.

The fear of becoming her grew like mold.

It made me bitter.

 

My life was dedicated to not being her.

Yet i still yearned for her approval.

She led me along like a naive puppy.

Making me believe she had anything but pain to offer.

I fell for it every time.

 

When i tried running she was there.

She'd hold me.

Her clammy hands would smell of cigarettes.

I thought she could change.

That she could love me.

But it was all an act.

I must hand it to her, she is a wonderful actress.

 

I retaliated by spitting in her coffee.

Flipping off the world.

Her lovely response was of anger.

She would call me things.

Things i wouldn't dare call my worst enemy.

 

Then i tried pleasing her.

Staying up late when my eyes were burning.

She was as high as the Heavens.

But i was sober and exhausted.

When i finally fell asleep in the early morning i became “worthless”.

 

I found another route.

I journeyed to be what i thought she wanted.

Ah ha, success at last.

She said she was proud.

Even took a picture of me.

But then i became “a little shit”.

Out of her thin, wrinkly lips only came lies.

Lies that caught me like a spider's web.

Those brief moments when i thought she actually loved me.

 

She's drunk again.

I have school tomorrow.

But the living room where I sleep, is now the battleground.

It's almost funny after the moment.

I guess maybe even ironic.

To be awoken by my mom having a temper tantrum.

Throwing Legos in the middle of the night.

She isn't aiming for me though.

No she's trying to hit the boy.

Her intoxicated audacity is incredible.

She yells at us to go back to bed.

Surprised that we'd be awake.

As if we weren't supposed to feel the plastic blocks hitting us.

 

I wanted to tell her I hated her for everything.

That she was the worst parent.

Most of all how could she be so cruel.

But I waited until I couldn't hold it in anymore.

Still she didn't listen.

She thought I was insane.

Needing to be institutionalized.

Maybe she thought she was looking in a mirror.

 

She is a child and i was her doll.

She murdered me everyday.

There was no numbing.

I just smiled.

 

Eventually.

I acted like was nothing wrong.

Like I was over everything.

Forgiveness was far away.

I wanted to kill her.

But I didn't.

 

It was my own doing anyways.

“People can only hurt you if you let them”

I personally handed her the invitation.

Then I opened the door and gave her a tour.

And even told her to make herself comfortable.

You stupid kid.

 

I'm almost twenty.

She haunts my dreams.

I'm tortured by knowledge.

Of what she can and will do.

The inevitable outcome.

Not to me but to my siblings.

By the harsh reality they will face.

 

I thought I was selfish.

Harboring pain, guilt, and resentment.

I was wrong.

She robbed me of my childhood.

Forced me to be a parent.

And demolished my identity.

Even before i knew what it was.

None the less i still sought out her love.

That was all i wanted.

 

I figured out that hating her hurts too much.

Tales of what she does make their way.

She is painted everywhere.

Creating destruction.

None of it is surprising anymore.

It's disappointing.

Can't she get a grip already?

 

She won't ever love me.

Or any of her kids.

I thought that was distressing.

It is nothing.

I watch them go through it.

They're so young.

My ylittle sister found out already.

She screams out about my mom.

“SHE IS A MONSTER!!”

There is no arguing with that.

 

I want my siblings to know.

There is good in the world.

Hope for a better life.

And amazing people.

But why would they believe me.

Eventually they'll learn how their parents do drugs.

Alcohol. Weed. Meth. Cocaine. Speed.

And whatever else.

 

They'll see how their parents put on a show.

Made it look like they cared.

Like they were saving them.

But then they will know.

It was just that.

A show.

 

Adults see what we've become.

They think it's their doing.

I ask when they think they were raising us.

Perhaps it was when they were...

High.

Leaving.

Sleeping.

Playing games.

On the computer.

Locked in a room.

Kicking us out of the house.

 

My two personal favorite mom quotes.

“Go shove Six-Flags up your ass.”

and

“I hope you choke on it!”

She's the best right?

A freaking comedian.

 

She slammed my head into the wall.

It hit so hard it bounced off.

Then back on again.

She threw the wrench at my sister's head.

Luckily my sister blocked it.

Ended up with a sliced hand rather than face.

Was that mechanics and self defense 101?

 

All followed by classic bullying.

“You're a pussy for crying.”

“Why can't you do anything right?”

“It's not that hard!”

“Stop being such a girl.”

“Go tell your sister to come here since you're a little bitch.”

 

My siblings brought an irreplaceable gift into my life.

It was purpose.

A reason to pick up my head.

Step forward.

And face another day.

She was too drugged to take care of them.

I hated her for that.

 

It became a time of survival.

We were on a life boat.

The only supplies were each other and what we stole.

It was us against the world.

I watch them grow.

I am amazed.

 

The world calls people who use violence to subdue the nations heroic.

Soldiers. Police.

We're brainwashed to believe these people are.

Taught to trust them and back them.

“War is nothing more than young men who don't know each other

Fighting for old men who know each other all to well.”

No longer is there glory in fighting for the country.

It's just a place to be screwed over.

Signing up for it, is not admirable.

It only fuels the government's self righteous thoughts.

Supporting their selfish desires.

 

And police...

Ha. Need I say more?

They brutally beat people to death.

Kelly Thomas.

They say that's what they're trained to do.

 

The power and force gets to people's brains.

The uniform goes on and the morals go out the window.

What is heroic about destroying families?

Those old guys don't care.

They create problems and send young people to die for it.

Suicide missions.

 

Children are the real heroes.

They're born with chains.

Expectations of what they should become.

They're untainted, innocent.

They have the power to unite the world.

Kids get screwed by their parents-

the people who are supposed to love them no matter what.

They created them.

Nevertheless kids illuminate life.

 

 

Our world is trampling them like a stampede of evil.

Leaving them on their own, looking for someplace to call home.

Pawned off from person to person.

Place to place.

They wake up each day.

Forced to face their demons.

A gift from humanity.

 

Imagine being young and knowing that no one cares.

But they all expect us to respect them.

Children are given responsibility but no support.

Parents have kids to take care of their kids.

The people that are supposed to protect them turn away and fail.

The day is supposed to end when the lights go out.

It just continues on through, a never ending nightmare.

There is no way out and it feels like Hell.

This is childhood in the 21st century.

 

People see youthfulness as a weakness.

Because they can't see past the outer layer.

It's easy to abuse kids.

My mom did it for many years.

It's a challenge to put out fires and kill people.

However they are trained.

 

Surviving when the world is against you.

That is courage.

Holding on to hope and changing for good.

That is respectable.

Saving someone else along the way.

That is noble.

Kids do this every day.

 

They are in situations they didn't seek.

They go through challenges they don't deserve.

No one trained them.

But they triumphantly succeed.

Without bringing the world down.

They deserve the Purple Hearts and honor.

 

I attribute my life to my four siblings.

To the battles they fought with and for me.

To the gallantry they show everyday.

It's awful what they face but a miracle what they've become.

They're my heroes.

 

16 January 2014

 

 

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