Search for light
"The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach."
I wonder if that quote is really true. For those who have been forced to take darkness upon their shoulders, is it really a measure to which you can aspire to reach? What about when you do not choose a certain path but are instead forced to abide to the rules that a person or establishment has created?
As a little girl I often wondered about how much power I actually had. I lived in fear of dark places for years. Not just, "i'm scared of monsters in the closet mommy" darkness. No. At seven years old, I remember the feelings I got when I walked into the old Michigan basement in the farmhouse that my parents owned outside of Detroit (when the burbs were actually farmland). It wasn't a feeling of being scared. The blood red walls, the multiple rooms with assorted objects. Victorian armoirs, love letters dated back around the time of WWI, old mirrors, and those fucking greenish colored amplified portraits where the eyes just follow you from every corner of the room. The rooms were pretty cool to me. I loved to explore. The house was very old and looking back on what I saw, I'm guessing it was built years before the turn of the century. Lots of history.
Endless fields of sandy colored wheat, run down thatched barns with rusty tractors. Not every little girl's dream land. But it was mine. I loved being alone. Alone and exploring. There was something about not depending upon anyone else - the freedom of being away from my parents. That yearning to be completely alone, is in the end, what ended up causing me to build walls...walls that I'm having a very hard time breaking through. When you're alone, you are vulnerable and unprotected. There's not much that can hold you back when you're alone. You can do what you want. Go where you want. Listen to what you want. Do whatever the hell you want. But, when you're alone, you don't have anyone to watch over you. There is no one who can watch your back. Protect you. Hold you. Empathize or try to help feel with you. Fuck that.
I was alone. On the bus to school every day I remember this one boy. This one little asshole that would rub his dirty shoes on my white pants leaving behind two huge black splotches on my leg. On a daily basis, he would take things that belonged to me. My bag. My little retarded stuffed animal which at the time was my best friend. He'd take my things and hold on to them all day and throw them at me or in my face on the way home.
But then things happened that I don't remember so well. My mom remembers because I spoke up at the time. My mom called the police and not even a week later, the parents were in jail for multiple counts of child sexual abuse. The counts for heroin were lesser charges. Kids all ended up in foster care and I never saw that little asshole again.
Fact of the matter is, is that shit like that happens all of the time. And when you're a kid, there is no right and wrong. Really, is there ever a right or wrong? Even when you grow up, learn about what hurts people, what makes you happy, etc. Everything in life is fucking relative isn't it?
I hope that "the depth of darkness to which you descend...is a measure of the height to which you can reach." But I highly doubt it. No one can correct that kind of pain. There is no opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to wounding another human being. There is no making that person stronger. What happened to me as a kid gave me what I see as a very weak will. I guess others might see it as me being empathetic. As I get older, I grow more and more angry about it. Every day I'm angered by how people treat others. If we all only did what made us fucking happy, how many more fucking kids would end up abused, molested, or raped?
Searching my soul does not make me happy. It makes me feel enraged. However, if I don't attempt to find a way through the walls I've built, I'll always remain a facade. A figment of the imagination. I'm not real. I'm completely fake. I can't even face my own demons.
Today I enjoyed the feeling of rage when I took a look back at the demons that still haunt me. It's quite amazing; to put on a pretty dress, some make-up, make sure my legs are smooth, eyebrows perfect, eyeshadow, keep up on the bod, and torture myself for an image that I am so incredibly far from it's almost disgusting.
I wonder if that quote is really true. For those who have been forced to take darkness upon their shoulders, is it really a measure to which you can aspire to reach? What about when you do not choose a certain path but are instead forced to abide to the rules that a person or establishment has created?
As a little girl I often wondered about how much power I actually had. I lived in fear of dark places for years. Not just, "i'm scared of monsters in the closet mommy" darkness. No. At seven years old, I remember the feelings I got when I walked into the old Michigan basement in the farmhouse that my parents owned outside of Detroit (when the burbs were actually farmland). It wasn't a feeling of being scared. The blood red walls, the multiple rooms with assorted objects. Victorian armoirs, love letters dated back around the time of WWI, old mirrors, and those fucking greenish colored amplified portraits where the eyes just follow you from every corner of the room. The rooms were pretty cool to me. I loved to explore. The house was very old and looking back on what I saw, I'm guessing it was built years before the turn of the century. Lots of history.
Endless fields of sandy colored wheat, run down thatched barns with rusty tractors. Not every little girl's dream land. But it was mine. I loved being alone. Alone and exploring. There was something about not depending upon anyone else - the freedom of being away from my parents. That yearning to be completely alone, is in the end, what ended up causing me to build walls...walls that I'm having a very hard time breaking through. When you're alone, you are vulnerable and unprotected. There's not much that can hold you back when you're alone. You can do what you want. Go where you want. Listen to what you want. Do whatever the hell you want. But, when you're alone, you don't have anyone to watch over you. There is no one who can watch your back. Protect you. Hold you. Empathize or try to help feel with you. Fuck that.
I was alone. On the bus to school every day I remember this one boy. This one little asshole that would rub his dirty shoes on my white pants leaving behind two huge black splotches on my leg. On a daily basis, he would take things that belonged to me. My bag. My little retarded stuffed animal which at the time was my best friend. He'd take my things and hold on to them all day and throw them at me or in my face on the way home.
But then things happened that I don't remember so well. My mom remembers because I spoke up at the time. My mom called the police and not even a week later, the parents were in jail for multiple counts of child sexual abuse. The counts for heroin were lesser charges. Kids all ended up in foster care and I never saw that little asshole again.
Fact of the matter is, is that shit like that happens all of the time. And when you're a kid, there is no right and wrong. Really, is there ever a right or wrong? Even when you grow up, learn about what hurts people, what makes you happy, etc. Everything in life is fucking relative isn't it?
I hope that "the depth of darkness to which you descend...is a measure of the height to which you can reach." But I highly doubt it. No one can correct that kind of pain. There is no opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to wounding another human being. There is no making that person stronger. What happened to me as a kid gave me what I see as a very weak will. I guess others might see it as me being empathetic. As I get older, I grow more and more angry about it. Every day I'm angered by how people treat others. If we all only did what made us fucking happy, how many more fucking kids would end up abused, molested, or raped?
Searching my soul does not make me happy. It makes me feel enraged. However, if I don't attempt to find a way through the walls I've built, I'll always remain a facade. A figment of the imagination. I'm not real. I'm completely fake. I can't even face my own demons.
Today I enjoyed the feeling of rage when I took a look back at the demons that still haunt me. It's quite amazing; to put on a pretty dress, some make-up, make sure my legs are smooth, eyebrows perfect, eyeshadow, keep up on the bod, and torture myself for an image that I am so incredibly far from it's almost disgusting.
posted by Sara at 7:23 AM
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