Not all are Saints

“Come, thou Fount of every blessing,

    tune my heart to sing thy grace;

    streams of mercy, never ceasing,

    call for songs of loudest praise.

    Teach me some melodious sonnet,

    sung by flaming tongues above.

    Praise the mount! I'm fixed upon it,

    mount of thy redeeming love.”

-Robert Robinson

My voice gently sings from the bottom of my heart, on my church’s benches as I recalled how my striking past that has tormented me, yet taught me so much.

Being a hyperactive child does not gain you the liking of parents. Adults looking at you with an annoyed look, but who payed attention to that? My head being forced to turn their way for a scolding on what I had done wrong, or so they claimed. The sound of laughs, panting, shoes stomping the floor as they run; the uncomfortable feeling of sweat dripping, hair flowing everywhere with our movements, they all filled the air as myself and the other kids played games on Tuesday nights at church. Yet, one by one, kids were being prevented from playing with me and I watched as their mothers and fathers called and they walked away with frowns on their faces. My smile disappeared and my shoulders lowered in disappointment. I was said to be a bad influence, being scolded for something I never even did -oh those church days.

    While in Primary(the section kids from 3-12 years go in my church), girls would whisper as I passed by. One day Melany mentioned about how my house was hideous and horrible. Fury rushed through the depths of my soul, as I looked at my mom struggle to the point of shedding blood to pay for that ‘horrible’ house. Hate towards that girl grew within me. Who was she to talk that way? What was wrong with my place? I stayed away from her and her friends.

    Keeping my distance for many years, I became the outcast in Young Women(girls from 12-18 years). By saying something simple I would get a death glare and a harsh answer, I decided not to argue with it. I was not like them. They would speak of things that up to this day never stops surprising me.

    Trying to sleep in those camp tents with Sofia pulling my hair in an attempt to fight me while the others laughed in amusement. How could I bear it all? The loneliness would pierce a hole into my soul out which slowly dripped my heart. I lost the desire to attend. People would come over, tell me to attend that I was giving the girls pleasure by not attending. I started to attend once more believing I was strong enough, that I could even change them, I had no hate left within me, and for an unknown reason I just wanted to help them stop and choose the right for them to be okay. I would even attend dances, but as expected, in slow dances I sat alone as I saw them dance with one guy after another while my mind dozed off into thinking of them, “you are beautiful, enjoy it, dance, laugh.” The road home was a taste of bitterness, as they would talk and ask who I danced with while I looked out the window.  

    Eventually, I reached the point of leaning my head on the wall, staring at the door knob unable to

 turn it without the longing to give in to the pain that was dragging me down and cry. My limit was

reached. How can all these people who have ‘known me’ for so long see me and treat me worse than

they would ever treat their own dogs? Then I realized, not all are Saints.

Unwillngly part of me

“Everything is going to be alright,” she whispers to herself as she cradles her little arms around her, tasting the salty bitter tears run from her cheeks into her mouth. Daddy had a little too much to drink, screaming and crying momma prevented chaos, her brother blind by fury, and her sister Priscilla crying in the corner along side of her while everything passed. This foreshadowed how her life would be, was she ready for it?

Remembering makes her eyes water, her heart sink, her mouth open in an attempt to breathe, and her fits clutch as she gazes at the ceiling calling out for mercy. This is not an easy tale to tell. Her father, who for as long as she can remember has been an alcoholic. It resulted in a tremendous lack of money which her uneducated mother could not handle. Her brother, unable to help, easily became frustrated and attempted to fight her father.  Priscilla who she adored would cry for her father, which ended up leading her to do things to make her feel fulfilled in some sort of way even if it were wrong.

Years passed, yet nothing got better. Hope walked away as I believed I could calmly breathe again. Dad would disappear for weeks; she would scream when she believed there was a homeless in her house -which would turn out to be her father. Mom would wake her up at 3 A.M crying and begging for help. She had to sit there listening to everything, expected to withstand it all, until one day things changed for worse.

She had grown enough to finally get in the face of her father in attempt to protect her mother from another accident. Trembling, she would pump her fist to prevent the tears. Her father screaming in her face to move, she learned to stand her ground.

           Eventually, Priscilla got a boyfriend who was just like her father; it terrified her. Nevertheless

that boyfriend exploded one night when her sister was pregnant. She got in between them raising her

hands telling him to calm down. He screamed at her threatening that he would beat her; yet she didn’t

 move. She would protect Priscilla at all costs. He threw a punch but it landed in the fridge a foot

away from her. Holding her breath, her eyes wide with terror, she longed for someone to save her as

she gently pushed Priscilla away.

    This girl still lives with problems, cops have been involved, has slept in the car, and has visited a

shelter. Yes, this girl is me. This is my family, an unwilling part of me.

Not a night mare nor a daydream

“I’m afraid. I don’t want to continue. Help me.”

Walking down the school, people looking at you that’s frightening already. Yet, what if each step contains a burning wave of laughter and a demolishing stab in what we call “self love.”

Growing up constantly being teased and laughed at. Never truly realizing what happened until the moment I had to hide bruises from the kicks that would mark my skin. Stronger boys made self defense useless. I cried uncontrollably believing ‘it’s nothing’. Those became my restless nights.

Time passed, yet things did not get better but worse. Walking to school in my drunk fathers company wasn’t a shock for me, till someone pointed it out. Unwelcomed, shame walked into my life. Torn apart by other’s awareness that my father was alcoholic. Memories of taking him to the hospital, of everyone on their knees crying, overwhelmed me. What was next?

Too soon, kids began to judge my appearance. They laughed at my outfits my mother would pick out for me, while throwing rocks at me, claiming how pathetic I looked. Teachers would send me to the corner because I laughed loud, looking at me with eyes that made me question if I was as horrible as they believed.

Middle school became bearable. Yet, once again I spoke too soon. By accident I hit one of the guys. I trembled, furiously when he grabbed something and threw it at me. Everyone, wide eyed looked at me as I tried not to cry.

Later on, sitting on my bed thinking about what girls said; how nobody wanted me, I would end up alone,  I needed to lose weight, and how annoying I was, it all became a habit. Tears, would stream down my eyes taking away the air with each and every one of them. Grabbing onto the bed sheets, I would plead in a whisper for help, just to be disappointed by the answer I would receive from my tears and my unheard scream. I was afraid.

Eventually blackmail arose, along came with it various of other issues. Depression was at my door, laughing at my misery, each day dragging me down onto the depths of hell. With every night on my room’s floor, depression would choke me, sadly it never came alone. Anxiety grabbed my hands, shaking them while rocking me in an attempt to burry my nails into my skin. Frightened and alone, what else could I do? My dreams of a future shattered into a blade that I so longed to cross along my skin.

          Pushed against the lockers, burning with the laughter I have always heard. I lost sight of the ray

of hope in front of me. ‘Ugly’ became my new name. This was not a nightmare nor a daydream, but

my way of life.

As is time were to stop

       Days flow by, time ticks, and the world keeps on moving. Yet, is it always like that?

Can time actually stop? It feels like that without his presence. That person who, without realizing it becomes the one you constantly think about, the one who makes you feel safe with a single glance, the person whose name you start and end your prayers in; yes, him.  

       I gasp for air, as I remember. Growing up with hardships I became that girl who would constantly seek affection. As a result I have constantly felt disappointment and despair. The moment I found myself deep down in the abyss, he arrived. That person became my hero, my shoulder, the one I loved the most. Tears shed as I recalled; his presence, his words, and affection.

       I would end up running to him, yet it did not always work like that. He would call when I most needed someone, show up at my door when I wanted to cry. All with astonishing, perfect timing. I would ask how he did it, and with a smile he would reply, “I felt that I needed to pass by and contact you.” His words would bring me a generous solace.

       My heart still longs for him. He, who taught me so many things. I love him. Time ticks, as I

desperately wait to see him again. Days take ages to pass by as I wonder if he will come back. If time

 passes a little, will I get to see him? The more that I think about his absence, I miss him so much, as

 if time stopped.

It's okay

        

                Dear Readers,

 

We all grow up believing we are a certain way. For example, the moment we first see a rainbow, the profound amazement it engulfed us with was far greater than what we could understand. Now, some of us don’t even notice when a rainbow is present. Remember that moment you would throw yourself on the floor when something would upset you while your mother rolled her eyes and walked away? Now, people go on day by day hiding their feelings, hoping somebody hears their unheard screams.

As you can see, the past and present are totally different things. The past shapes our present; while our present designs our future, causing a grave identity struggle. You may be reading this holding your breath, clenching your teeth, which all contains so many unheard stories. It’s okay. We all ‘mature’ one way or another; it could have been because of so much pain and sorrow you were forced to deal with, maybe you just woke up and realized what life really means, who knows? You may have read a story that impacted your life. Now don’t stop reading just yet; my point has not been stated.

As you may have read before, my life has been struggle. I can honestly say that I am okay. To the point where I can sit outside and gaze at the stars, remembering everything and not be drowned by my own tears. Everything that you believed hurt you so much, all of a sudden becomes bearable. You look back at all those people you could have sworn you loved realizing they were not even a sentence in your life, when you believed they were the end of your book. All the people you claimed you hated with the depths of your heart, you find all the hate irrelevant as your heart begins to grow. You even start to care for the little bird that passed by you down the street last night.

This change may not come easy to some as for others. Sadly enough, I had the struggle. I fell into the depths of my own soul. I wondered what my worth was. Why I was allowed to live for so long. I believed I was useless; how could I even finish school if I am not good at anything. I am sitting here at the kitchen table on a Saturday night, my fingers typing this down as music gently makes my heart pound while I fight back the tears. As I tell you that it is okay. It’s okay not knowing what you want to do. It’s okay to be afraid of what life has to offer. It’s okay to be excited. It’s okay. Just close your eyes and breathe, remember that you can do it and continue forward. I have faith in you.

           Fall in love, in true love. Don’t let it be that love you can move on from within a week. If they

break your heart, take the time you need to recover and love again. Care undoubtingly without regret.

Laugh at those corny jokes that used to annoy you so much. Smile with a gentle heart to those who

 give you the ‘death glare’. Cry when you want to, that it is not bad, and it does not make you weaker

 than those who refuse to cry. Don’t try to do things by yourself. Fall onto your knees,close your

eyes, press your hands together and pray with an enormous passion. Know your limits, be proud of

them, and live by using them to the fullest. There is so much more that I can tell you, but you will

find that out on your own. Our identity struggle is the thing I believe impacts our lives the most, the

one that breaks us apart completely, and yet constructs who we really are. You are you, and believe

me, that is completely okay.