After carefully rummaging through a series of poems or topics I normally don’t share too much detail over; I came across a poem I’d written about child abuse. Unfortunately, this topic rings of truthful familiarities of a society driven by the selfish entitlements of self-gratification. Sharing the harshness of this troubling topic is well worth the possibility of inspiring another to bask in the comforting notion found within the tranquility of hope.
Child abuse is a topic built with many complex layers to which many people often gawk through glass windows with eyes filled with the combination of bewilderment, sympathetic remorse, anguish afflictions and curiosity. Enduring multitudes of psychological studies, theological assumptions, medicated sedation, and self -destructive behaviors; I can speak first hand of the countless moments of diminishing self-worths as well of the rebirth of self-preservation. Utilizing various techniques, accepting failed attempts, and embracing modification as a step towards understanding the dynamics of one’s self; an individual is capable of overcoming traumatic experiences of many levels.
“When the fool commits evil deeds, he does not realize (their evil nature). The witless man is tormented by his own deeds, like one burnt by fire.” Dhammapada ch 10 #136
Statistics are that of numbers; hollowly filled with observances by the most educated minds of those trying to rationalize behaviors which can never fully be understood. Humans are that of organic substance; locked in the evolutionary genius as we are capable of harnessing the internal survival instincts of renewing adaption. It’s the emotional restriction that inhibits our simple minds to fully grasp the awe empowering ability of our bodies rejuvenation of our mind and physical well being. Lying deep within our genetic code is a blueprint of our very own internal healing attributes. I must point out; every victim’s story is uniquely shaped of details only best understood by them; just as every abuser’s temptation is uniquely fueled by their own internal desires. Physical and mental abuse has a way to detach it’s victims from all rationale as it creates the wedge of separation between strength and perseverance. Detachment from a person’s internal hidden strength can often lead an individual astray as they wander aimlessly trying to make sense of this life.
Falling deep within depression’s chambers of guilt, remorse, anger…blame; it becomes easy to victimize ourselves by continuing to inflict pain to the physical and mental self. Without the educated guidance of experienced professionals or the genuine support from those around; the journey to healing can be encumbersome to the vivacity of life.
“Things that cause people to stumble are bound to come, but woe to anyone through whom they come. It would be better for them to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around their neck than to cause one of these little ones to stumble.” Luke 17:1-2 NIV
Speaking of personal triumphs; I can say Solitude’s mask is that of a veneer; carefully depicting what our unconsciousness wants to reflect. Unfortunately, triggers of many attributes can entice old wounds to bleed into our daily lives. Eroding the relationship with ourselves and others. The harsh reality is found within the many layers an individual has built to distance themselves from the traumatic event. I have found, the barely visible fractures leave this type of foundation brittle. I now fall into the group of those needing to speak, write … express the past in order to relinquish the ball of chain keeping us shackled to the residual effects of those abusive moments.
Ownership of the road which has led us to who we are today is the only true victory in appreciating our life today. Whether you like to remain an introvert or have adopted a life of socialism; life is what we choose it to be… I choose to be grounded with optimistic beliefs. I choose to view those abusive struggles as new levels of internal strengths as they fuel the ability to achieve the unachievable; love the unlovable; filling my heart with the purest form of clarity to compassion and unrestricted acceptance of another.
Please note; this is just my personal observations of my experience towards different levels of child abuse; as I mentioned; each story is written of its own truths.However, one constant remains the same from different perspectives … seeking help needs to be a constant for a victim of abuse … patients and understanding towards someone of abuse needs to tap into the compassion of all… most importantly, a call to action needs to be earnestly carried out when in the presence of any form of abuse… we just may be the defining catalyst to a life of peaceful hope or the final nail sealing the coffin to a soulful death as the victim remains trapped in the melancholy world of traumatized injustices.
I can hear his breath,
Coming down the hall,
Oh, that sound which haunts me still… his distinct scrape of his dragging right boot,
Bringing chills to my bones…
Holding my blanket tightly across my head,
Praying begging the Lord for him to lose interest,
Digging nails bring crimson streaks to my palms,
My achy fingers become numb as the hall light peaks in…
No need to cry,
No need to yell,
No need to fight,
Her drug induced silence is the chilling reminder … I’m alone…
Alone in this repetitive hell,
Sequels upon sequels to a trilogy of debilitating torments,
Chained to the vicious cycle of his demonic…animalistic appeasement,
“Monster” holds no bearing to the dreamless terrors stuck in the residual loop of malicious acts lurking in the dark…
Gritting my teeth,
Balling my fist,
His suffocating stench of whiskey smothers my face to my pillow,
I count … I recite poetic words… I scream in my head to the Lord to bring peace…
Grasping for freedom,
Fighting against the pain… my mind races to escape reality,
As if the Lord’s angels hears my pleas…I begin to feel the icy chill against my feet,
Enjoying the melodic crunching sound as the ice breaks with each step…
Through the stillness of the night,
A flicker of light becomes my only guide,
Grazing my hands against glassy walls,
Admiring the multitude of reflections as light dances…tracing each frozen sheet…
I come to a halt … A chilling draft caresses my cheek,
Looking deep below… I see the perfected pit,
Warmed by the flicker of a flame,
Stepping off the ledge, my breath fades as I welcome Freedom’s embrace…
Induced with Solitude’s comfort,
Strengthened by Isolation’s whispers,
My heart floods of worlds found in the pages of my books,
My soul finds its own peace as the body eagerly awaits his tormenting release…
Coldly transfixed to my secret place,
His drunken grasp begins to break,
Annoyed with my detachment… he climbs away…
His hands wrap around my childish neck,
Delivering one final menacing threat,
No streams of tears … No expressions of fear,
Just an equally measured glare screaming the words, “ YOU HAVEN’T KILLED ME YET”
Fueled by Anger’s passion,
Driven by Hate’s prideful spite,
Using every fiber of brillo filled scrapes,
Lost attempts wash away horrific chasms of the night …