The Tape: Unheard Lyrics Are The Loudest, Side A

I love the way you scream.  How your blood seeps into my skin. I truly hope that this moment never ends. Can you see how this may excite me? How this has been a dream come true? 

I bet you are scared aren’t you? Don’t lie now, I can see the fear in your eyes. Want me to tell you a story? About how I got I got these scars in my wrist? About how, for awhile, I couldn’t think past the bullet jn my head. I can tell it to you darling.  Let you see the true me. Just know though, I am telling you this cause you will never have the chance to tell anyone else. Cause I am going to kill you. Oh no don’t shake your head and cry more. You knew this was going to happen. You knew that this was result of your very own actions. 

Where to begin…

Oh yes…

See, my name is Hannah.

….to be continued…

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   Today I had a conversation with someone about parenting.  Now normally these end on a pretty positive note despite some arguments in the middle. Yet this time I was left with a horrible taste in my mouth. I felt so very dirty after talking to them.

     They told me how once they became a parent they would not allow their children to have any toys or watch TV. They would monitor the  friends they made and their lives will be filled with nothing but learning. Even from the womb they would be teaching them a new language.

      Now all that isn’t all that bad. All parents do a variation of this. What made me feel ill is how they would go about doing this. How the child would not be allowed to talk to others outside of the family. How they had no choice in this and werent not allowed to play. First they said no tv but that they could play old school games. When I mentioned that games where TV time pretty much, they changed it to that the child can watch TV but not much. They would only get movies and the child would not allowed to read anything that wasn’t educational.

If the child did not like this then the childs only option was to move out. They had to obey all rules or would be forced to go to the nearest mental ward for a bit…no matter the age. So if their 4-year-old was giving them problems they would call the comes and have them admitted.

I listened to this for as long as I could handle before I couldn’t take anymore. They said that they lived a life such as this and grew up fine but when talking about their parents you could tell they hated them. They treated the parents like shit and gleefully explained how they should no longer be allowed do certain things. Like be on social media or even talk to them. They said they loved their parents a lot.

They said that they turned out fine but they are homeless and they have a sibling who is in jail…yet both turned out fine from their own choices. Despite having a life they said guarantees them success in life.

I urged them to read a parenting book but they explained that they would make the perfect parent. I highly doubt that…

There is nothing wrong with being a someone strict parent but being both strict and a helicopter parent won’t help a thing.

This life of this hypothetical child sounded horrible. I felt like crying because I couldn’t image this sort of suffering. To not be able to have friends and enjoy life. They wouldn’t even be allowed outside cause they had studies to do. Sure they may have a good adult life but what about their childhood. Being smart is something we all strive for but that won’t bring us happiness. Sure having a crap ton of money, doing well in school, having various skills is nice, but what about life?
What is the point of living when you are alone?

This person seemed almost proud of how things are and I hate them for it. I know I am judging their life. I have my own issues. My life wasn’t perfect at all. I had the strict parent and I had the one who wasn’t there. I had the parent who tried to be my best friend and I had the parent who wanted me to worship the air they breathe. The ones who say they are always right no matter what and the ones who admitted perpetual defeat.
I was raised with it all and I did not turn out fine. I was spanked as a child and hate the ones who did it. I plotted their deaths for quite some time. Wasn’t till I was an adult that I realized that they came out of the experience able to sleep at night, and I was the only one who hated myself for it.

As a parent I see myself as more Permissive/ authoritative style. I give in a lot of the time. I want my daughter to have her own mind and at times forget that I have one. I have a hard time staying structured. I am pretty spontaneous as a parent which can be good and bad. I love talking to my daughter about how she is feeling. Is she gets into trouble we talk it through. Sometimes I just randomly ask her how she feels. It makes me happy cause there are times she will do the same for me. Praise is often given for no real reason in my home. I can be distant when I go through a bout of depression and I really hate playing pretend. But I make up for it by singing with her and reading her books whenever I can. We play dress up and paint our nails.

I do not expect much from her. I just got to the point where she has to pick up her own toys but I do not push a lot of issues. As long as she does her best I am happy.

This can make it seem as though I see her as a friend and I guess there are times I do. My daughter is the only person I talk to. I can go months without speaking to anyone who isn’t paid to be around me (Therapists, Doctors,etc). I sometimes forget what it feels like to talk to an actual adult. Now I go about a week without speaking to friends but it still takes a toll on my parenting. I am a single mom and it is hard for me to get to know people. I came from a pretty chaotic background. She is all I have really. It takes looking through articles such as this for me to realize how what I am doing affects her development.

I still have structure. She get rewarded or disciplined for bad behaviour. I no longer allow her to do what she wants but I am not yet where I want to be as a parent.

Still when this person told me about their plans it sickened me. It sounded like a prison.  I know I am probably judging them harshly but I couldn’t take it. Once they left a weight was lifted from me. Their  very presence was causing me to go insane.

This may not make any sense to many. It may even seem a bit silly to get upset over something like this. Something so small as talking about a child who isn’t here. Looking back at it all I probably over reacted but I won’t say a thing to them. I no longer trust them and want nothing to do with them. In my eyes they are monsters. How could they do this? How could they treat a child so? I have a feeling that is silly but my hurt and anger won’t go away.

I hate this…

L

I still like the petty poet thing

So working on my story thing is going ok. I haven’t really decided on a theme and am just writing random stuff. On a later date I will go through what I have and decided what to keep and what to use in a different book. 

I want to do a bunch of short stories but am thinking that combining it with some poems will help as well. Short of like an anthology but instead of other people writing it will just me. 

Like person who wrote ‘Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark’ mated with Shel Silverman and had a book baby. 

Or that one lady who wrote those poem stories but doesn’t piss people off cause she is obsessed with everyone getting unhappy endings even though we expected them to have one. Like seriously why would you end a book on a good note only for them to come back in a different book doing the same shit they were in the last book. Like do you want them to fail at life, cause that’s how you fail at life.

No in my stories happy endings are not to be expected. Unless you feel like death is a happy ending. In that case you will not be disappointed. Cause someone is dying, I can assure you of that. 
I have always felt a little bit of pitty for the bad guy in almost every book. So this will be a story of the bad guys getting their just desserts. Not all victems ate innocent you know. Not all  monsters are without a heart. 

…..

Maybe

We shall see how it goes

Update: I need to learn how to edit as I write. Or at least go over things… 

Life as a Poster Child

Ever pay attention to those posters in your doctor’s office and say, “Glad that person isn’t me!”, Or , “Wow that’s sad, I should Facebook that”.

You never really stop to think if that person is truly like you. They could be talking about starving children in Africa, and all of a sudden you forget you are in that office due to an eating disorder, brought on from constant malnutrition as a child.

You forget it all because they seem worse off . You suddenly have your crap together, despite dying inside, because someone on that poster is suffering.

You will never see yourself as that child. Never see yourself hunched over in pain with overly watered eyes. Will never see yourself covered in bruises, crying in a dark corner as someone yells at you…again…

You will never see your scars as you stare at the poster of the child with scars on Their wrist.

You won’t see it because they are suffering more.

You will strive to get better, sure, but there is always someone out there that has it worse than you do.

It is like you invalidate what to have been through. Because you are…

It is easy to care about those poster kids. So why can’t we care about ourselves?

See, I am a poster child for mental health. Not the good kind but the one where the homeless kid in a beany (why are they always wearing beanies) is sitting on a bus stop (again why always a bus stop) looking at the people around them with vacant eyes. I am that girl ( cause it’s nearly always a female in these posters) who is homeless and clutching the hand of child. A child who may or may not be crying (usually not crying because that defeats the purpose of the unhappy mother. Always put lost mother next to somewhat better dressed and vacant eyed child. There lies the money-maker). 

Always surrounded by those who are better off.

In some shots she is smiling with her child and others they stand as if they are drones.

I am that poster child who is holding out a broken bowl for food

I am that child who covers their bandaged wrist.

I am that mother whom begs on the street corner for help.

I am them and I still believe that their suffering matter more than mine ever will.

I am a poster child who can’t help but view the posters of others and try to figure out the best ways to help them.

I know what my picture means, I will not ignore it, but at times I find myself forgetting all about it.
My suffering is no where equal to that of others.

My favorite poster to ignore is that of a single mom. Mainly cause there are not a lot of posters on the subject. At least not many attempting to seek help. 

Just success stories of those who rose up from the life given to them and raised children who is turn where successful. 

The “Thanks mom, Thanks dad” posters.

The ones littered around some community colleges.

They are there though, go, take a look. You are bound to find at least one or two posters, maybe just a pamphlet, stating something about single parents support-group. If you don’t find one I will make you a special gold star made of real gold and the tears of a very hangry dragon. A very hungry…very angry…dragon.

It is my favorite to ignore because I tell people that being a single parent isn’t that bad all the time. I tell them that I enjoy the solitude. That I am perfectly fine being single and alone. I like eating pizza with just a toddler. I hate going on dates anyways. That it eventually gets easier to tune out the most basic cartoon noises.

It is not that bad.

But it is.

It is that bad.

But I won’t tell anyone why. I won’t tell them that some days I go into my room and cry. How there are days when I washing the dishes and have to fight the urge to “accidentally” slice open my arm. I will never tell them of the days I resent my child. Of those times when I want to run away. See I can’t tell them that I go days without adult interaction and the reason I am so silent is because I forgot how to talk to people my age. I can’t tell them how my daughter is my best friend. They would think I was strange but she is the one person who has never left me. She has never abandoned me to the wolves and instead tells that I am the best person ever.

I talk to people online. They keep me insane more than they know.

If I died do you know how long my child would sit here alone? Days…maybe even weeks before someone started to worry about us. Even then it would be because I haven’t posted a video or picture of her.

I am the Poster child of a single mom.

But it is one I will greatly ignore. I will share pictures to the world about how single parenting can be fun. Every once in a while I will reach out for help.  Only rarely though.

I will lie to the best of them but am also willing to help others in the end. Other single mothers that is. The posters always meant more to me then my very own. I will seek help, I will not ignore, but I will invalidate my own poster for the better of others.

Cause I am the perfect poster child of a broken home.

Wake me up a little later prequel

This is a series all about smiles.

Haven’t you ever wondered why when a person dies that is all we ever talk about. How happy they where. How they smiled.

We are never allowed to talk about the bad. We guilt ourselves into only seeing the good. There are even times when we blame the who has people passed. Those are the times we hold no guilt at all.

Still there smiles are the last thing to fade from our minds.

Suicide, homicide, accidental death, dying from old age. They all smiled once.

We either pretend they where perfect or make a liar out of them.

Suicide victims should have spoken up, those who were murdered should be forgiven, people who died of old age should be praised, those who died from disease or accidents should be pitied.
We never give them their due.
Abuse should not be excused

Suicide should be mocked

Old age doesn’t make you an instant saint

Illness or unexpected deaths does not mean you are forgiven.
People can cause so much pain. They will not be loved by everyone. Sure there are those whose souls where grey but no except child are ever pure white.
I write these things for those who have lost their ways. Victims of abuse who were forced to keep silent.

Those who were bullied and had their  glossed over and forgotten.

Peoples who had their sins justified by an event we all go through.

This is for them all.

Prey and predator alike

I can only hope this helps people think.

Cause smiles are never what they seem.

Mystery

Standing there you would think he had not a care in the world but in side he was truly dying. His heart was racing faster with each passing glace the people gave him. It was almost as if could taste their contempt and hatred. Their eyes judging him for something he couldn’t help.

They didn’t care, wouldn’t allow themselves too. despite the smirk on his lips he couldn’t have been more terrified. Soft whisper reached his ears, so quiet he could barely make out the words, but oh did he feel it. They wanted his blood on the ground, couldn’t wait for the moment to executioner to pick up his blade and end his life. They prayed upon it with disgusting glee in their eyes.

Oh how he wished he were someone else, wasn’t his fault really, it was instinct after all.