In the making

Faithless in the making

I pray for help from above

I want him to stop hurting me

But I fear I am in love

Wedding bells in my future

White dresses painted red

I can tell he loves me

But maybe it is all in my head

I can hear her scream

From just down the hall

I can hear his laughter

Right before she falls

But I know that he loves me

And wants me forever more

It isn’t my fault that

My daughters such a whore

A/N

People always talk about how a parent should always know if a child is being abused. That as a parent, we have this built-in clock that lets us know if something is amiss. This isn’t true at all. But for those who do know, and ignore, and blame the child…I hate them. I despise them with a passion. How they sit and pretend that everything is ok when it is not. How they make the child out to be the criminal. They are disgusting people and deserve all sorts of pain…..

Yet

In some cases I believe the one who listens and does nothing is often hiding something. They must be sick in the head to let something like that happen.

Yet

Can they be helped?

I wrote this because I wanted to show the world how twisted the brain could be. Here is a mother listening as her child is being hurt and all she can think of is being in love.

Yet

From the words I have written you can tell there is an innocence there that makes it seem like she is not all the way there. Something must have happened to her.

Yet

There is no excuse for this. There is no excuse for allowing your child to be abused. But I fully believe that people need to try to understand the motive behind a crime.

I often think of why my grandmother sat and listened to what happened. I don’t recall her turning up the TV so she must have heard it all. I remember her warning me about it hours earlier. But me being 8 years old, I figured she was lying. grandpa’s aren’t suppose to hurt. They most they should do is tsk at kids. They aren’t suppose to do those things to kids….to anyone. Yet it happened and she sat and listened. I often wonder if she blamed me for his attraction. Did she hate me? Is that why she lied to the police when I finally told. Is that why she still tries to call me and tell me that he misses me and wants to see his granddaughter?

I want to know what she was thinking. I want to get a clear understanding of what was going through her head. Maybe I can properly hate her if I knew. Possibly even forgive.

Yet

There is a part of me that believes I am better off not knowing.

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Drinking Daiseys

I wonder if she can see the shadows

If they keep her up at night

I often think it is from my own doing

That I am the reason she feels such anger

It must be my fault

That she can’t seem to shut her eyes

Without whimpering out loud

Sometimes I think she can hear the whispers

Voices telling her it is ok to die

Creepy little people who just love to lie

It must be my fault

I can’t protect her from the pain

I wonder if she tastes ashes

Whenever she greets the sun

Does it drive her insane to stand outside

Feeling all of those eyes

Hearing those screams

Tasting things that will probably never be

I wonder if it is my fault

That she is drowning on her own

Can you remember your nightmares?

I can.

They never really fade away.

I can see a hint of it out if the corner of my eye

Hear the whispers of it when it gets to silent

I can feel it creeping up on me with every waking minute

My nightmare never ends

But I can’t accurately explain it

I can only tell you how I feel when I notice it

I can’t remember what the nightmare is about

I am not sure but

I think that makes it all the more real

A Mothers Love

A baby bird with broken wings

Listen softly as mothers scream

She is distraught and filled with rage

Was forced to carry this vicious egg

Failure is what failure does

Something to which she can never love

Little bird with a broken wing

Such a pitiful and unwanted thing

Gives a whistle to hear sweet sounds

Mother hurries to the ground

Kicks up dirt

Rocks and

Leaves

She is filled with terrible things

But the little bird sees none of this

Moves its wing in for a kiss

A Hug

A gentle touch

All ignored

By the hateful bird

But baby bird does not notice

Filled to much with hope and purpose

Mother bird shudders and drops

Gives a tweet and then flies off

Permission

CW:Suicidal thoughts, Self-harm, depression and parenting.

My daughter has never really experienced death. The only way I could explain things to her is that when people die they change. Thier bodies break down and they become other. Tress, grass, flowers, but not just plants.

This hurt her of course. She is only four yet I needed to explain why I cried when I held her grandmothers photo. Sure she wasn’t blood but she meant so much to me.

My daughter has little memory of her. Try as I might she has now forgotten her.

There are days I cry cause I know she is disappointed in me.

I explained to my little one that grandma is a flower. A beautiful Daisy just like her. One day I will be a flower as well. I want to be a lily or lavender. Those are among mt favorites.

I get sad a lot. Some days I want to be a flower as soon as possible but others I do not mind the wait. Last night was horrible. I cried a lot as I held my daughter and told her I wished I could be a flower. She told me that she didnt want me to leave. That being a flower wasn’t a good thing.

She denied my request to leave.

I sent my daughter to bed then promptly self mutilated to stop the pain. I learned long ago that I am a terrible person but I love my daughter with all my soul. Instead of cutting like I wanted to, I held a blade against my arm and pressed down. It never broke past the first two layers. I figured it would be enough to ground me but it wasn’t.

So I heated the blade and tried it that way. This time it worked. The pain was glorious and I found instant relief.

But

I messaged a suicide chatline anyways. The burning faded way to quickly. I had no desire to die but I wanted to hurt. I wanted to be in control of the pain. To channel it to a more manageable location.

I will not lie and say that this was bot a mistake, cause it was. So many things could have gone wrong. In that moment I needed it but I could have done something else.

I know this now.

But it doesn’t take away from the desire to want to do it again.

A touch strange

I hear voices but not what you think. More like whispers really. A buzzing that doesn’t really seem to stop. Almost like my mind is made of glass and someone is stuck inside of it. When it breaks I get locked inside. The voice is in control and boy do they love it.

It can hurt but it is a good kind of hurt. When I am in control is almost seems like it isn’t really me. I can feel things but occasionally it is the othet voice who feels it for me.

These voices are my friends and enemies. They do not want to hurt me but they do. They give me the best nightmares.

I know it doesn’t make any sense but it’s true.

These voice give me choices that leave me in dispair

A statement

I know to learn how to forgive myself for my mistakes. To not let all my flaws get to me. I know I allow them go control my life and it starts to effect that of my daughters.

I love her so much and I can see how my mental disorder is taking a toll on her.

I need to learn how to forgive myself before it is to late.