1 Kind Thing Poetry

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Cut And Run

Chapter 9

3/30/2004

She did not call the cops on the guy in Camarillo Springs Park. That bugged her for weeks to come. She knew she had chosen a lifestyle which kept her underground. She was always flying under the radar, one way or another. She had been keeping terrible secrets since memories started to stick, and her long memory had amazed people all her life. She would dredge up some old musty memory to share with people, and their eyes would squint, and you see them trying to remember. Then, they would slowly say, "Ohhh yeah. How the hell did you remember that?" Or some other form of expression of their amazement. Her long memory for details, people, places and things was both a blessing and a curse. It was part of the nature of the beast, called her life.

If she complained about things to her poor mother, who was raised in an orphanage in the 20's and 30's, who had zero parenting in her own childhood, with poor her coping skills, her mother would just snap and snarl, leading her to believe things were usually somehow her fault. It was together better, to just keep quiet. Speaking of problems was just an invitation to implicate her mother in the problem, not solving the problem. That made her feel responsible and hopeless, at a very young age. So she learned how to keep secrets at a very young age. What's the use of trying to change things? They are what they are.

Then there were the spankings… Her own mother told her, when she was just a toddler, before her memories started, her own mother would spank her so hard, she left red marks on her little baby butt. Then feeling guilty, he mother would put her into a bath of baking soda water, tying to soothe and calm the firey and red welts on her small body. She learned at a young age, to take what came, and act as if. Act as if their lives were like everyone else’s. Act as if she did not come from a house full of anger and violence. Act as if your heart was not breaking, and being broken by the one you are supposed to be able to trust in, the one who is supposed to protect you. Act as if you did not hate the world into which you were born, and were just waiting to leave, however and whenever, God saw fit. In fact, her loco man used to threaten her once in a while, saying he would call some people he knew and have her shot. She always replied, "O.K., but look, I have never been so bad that anyone should torture me. I have had more than my share of that. Tell them, when they knock on my door, and I open it, to look me in the eye. Tell them to put one clean shot through my forehead. Tell them to be prepared, 'cause when I see them ready to cap me one, I will say thank you. Thank you for ending my suffering." He would always reply she was crazy. But he knew she meant it, and he eventually quit threatening her.

When she thought about her family, there was one term that she thought fit them the best. Bitter-sweet. It's not like they never had nice times, or that they never knew nice people. But nice times were few and far between. And nice people only lasted so long, in their lives. Nice people left soon after they figured out how dark and sick the spirit of their family was, and in those days, there was hardly ever a clear way out of darkness. You lived your life in secret if your household was sick. People did not talk about those things. There is so much more help now for people like her family. She gets really frustrated now when people refuse to try and help themselves. God knows, she tried to help her self. She was in and out of mental health offices since she was 18 years old. Shoot, the cop that picked her up off of the streets when she ran away from home at 15 years old, right after the rape (that went unreported), told her mother, if things did not change for her, everyone was gonna pay dearly, later. But ultimately, she paid the highest price. Her own mother never asked questions that needed to be asked, and her mother did not believe her when she spoke the truth... And the saddest thing for her and her mom, was when she found out her mother had passed away, and had been gone for a year, and no one even told her. She found out from the internet. Just like that.

Her childhood had warped her way of thinking, to some degree. To this day, she believes that if you take what she did not offer, if you violate her, her rights or her property, she considers it a rape against her very soul and being. She believes in capital punishment. Well, think about it! People murdered the child that was born to be, all the time. They did it the moment they assaulted her and raped her, forever taking away her innocence, and taking her right to be whole and healthy. She believes in "an eye for an eye." And, she knows she could kill someone if it came down to them, or her. She could kill them, get up and have a bowl full of cheerios the next day, think about it, how to deal with it, and get on with her life. Murder would just be one more thing that could happen in her life. All things considered, she thought, no, she knew, if she did not have to go to prison for it, there are a few people this world would be better off without!

But, she also wanted to be a better person all her life. She wanted to do something with the high IQ God gave her (Jeez, she still believed in HIM?) and she wanted to help people. You see the problem? On one hand she could kill a person without batting an eye, yet, her big heart wanted to help those who suffer, and really wanted help. After all she'd been through though, if you want to see some real hostility, just try to using her and get away without doing any real work at helping yourself. She will come down on you with both feet and stomp a mud hole in the middle of you. Her help was conditional, that's for shure!

She was always amused when people recognized her aggressive tendencies. She thinks it’s good they nticed. Let them keep a respectful distance! She only shows the soft side of her soul, to a very select few. Like a lizard keeps it’s soft underbelly from the eyes of vultures that fly overhead, she keeps her soft heart on the down-low.

“Well, today is just another day,” she mutters to her self. "Nothing special today to look forward to today. Still I gotta get up and do this deal. Face the freaking population of my life, again. Shit, I am so tired of all this and I can already tell today, I HATE MY LIFE." Sometimes she does not even know why, but she wakes up bitter and hateful. And she is glad that she can not hear every thought that runs in her sub-conscience, 24 x 7.