i think of dying every day. i cannot help it.
I haven’t drawn, made art. Anything in YEARS.
my mom, before she had me, ended a pregnancy. she had been held against her will, in a basement, fed drugs and assaulted, tied down to a mattress. she escaped, crawled from the basement window to her freedom.
she never really escaped. no one does. Some moments are like black holes.
Recently, i asked why she didn't let me stay with CPS and foster care. i pulled away, i cried, i didn't want to go back to hunger and cigerettes and violence.
"i know, I’m sorry… but you were mine.." her voice cracked with the saying, so soft; a broken heaviness to the truth. i understood her more than ever in that moment.
I am a father now.
i have a hard time letting go. i love you all so much. i always have. even them that still wish me ill, i just would hug you to pieces if i could. i can't though, can i? i've cut off my arms a handful of ways. puns.
i had been left with a preacher man and his wife for a time. the people who baptized me.
i was very little.
my mother was told not to report the bruises to the police for the good of the church. For her own good.
i didn't even remember my baptismal until this recent conversation with my mom. i had been trying to talk to my mother about the past, to get some clarity on when/where/what. i do not remember things like other folks its been my experience. I have an illness.
A black white and red snapshot of my mothers arm in my stepfathers hand, nude bodies silhouetted in the moonlight, a red thread from it to her body on the floor. Attached/unattached.
An uncles dark basement.
A cousin twice my age and size in the warm summer woods.
I want to be good, to love and to give joy unending to everyone I can. But I cannot. I am in the dark. I am in the woods. I’m a scared little 6yr old boy and have been for 46 years. I HAVE HURT PEOPLE and allowed myself to wallow in the self-hatred a dark forest can create inside us.
I cannot escape. No one does.
It’s called dissociative disorder.
I was diagnosed in the 90’s. I used to collect social security for it. I probably still should, because I’m fucking unemployable, but I keep trying to be normal. Hold a job. Go to school. To carry on like it was nothing. After all, invisible wounds. Nothing to see here folks!
I HURT people. People who loved me and cared for and accepted me. I threw away every relationship and friendship aside from a handful of the most forgiving philosophical types. I don’t want forgiveness I deserve this shit but please know;
I AM SO SORRY PEOPLE. I CANNOT FIND WORDS TO MAKE IT ANY MORE TRUE. I’m so sorry. i wish it was enough.
