The Third Piece: My Grandfather (Story One) Trigger Warning

 

 The third piece did not wake me up or arrived as a flash back. It was something that I expected and prepared for, once, every year for two years since i was seven. I can’t remember where, why, or how it started. I don’t know if he was the first or the second, but I’m certain that he was NOT the last. 

 Every year, during the hot, Texas summer, my grandfather would come and visit my mother and us. He would come for exactly a week and then leave. He was a calm man. He was very respectful during our family gatherings. He would socialize. He would smile, tell jokes, tell us stories about his childhood, play with us- everything a grandfather should do, he did. I only liked him when everyone was together. I feared him when it was just me and him…alone. 

At first, i thought a kiss on the lips was normal for a grandfather and grandaughter. 

“It’s okay. Don’t tell anyone. Just keep kissing me like I told you. It’s okay.” He said, numerous times. So I did. When touching lip to lip turned to him inserting his cigarette infested tongue inside my mouth, I began to question whether this was normal. I couldn’t tell anyone, “Don’t tell anyone.” The words echoed in my mind. Why couldn’t I tell someone? Fear? Guilt? Confusion? How about, all of the above?

Over the years, his actions increase.

 One hot summer day, my family decided to have a cookout. We were all outside, my mother on the grill, my siblings playing, and my father drinking a few beers; Corona, the usual. The smoke from the charcoal grill was becoming too much for my lungs, so i sneaked inside the apartment. I was becoming a bit dizzy, so I headed to the bathroom and rinsed my face with cold water. I turned off the light, turned around, and there he was. My body became engulfed with goosebumps as he stared at me from head to toe like a predator observing the prey. I tried to brush it off, so i smiled and tried to make my way around him to leave, but he placed his left arm at the edge of the door, blocking my path. My breathing became silent and deep, “Stop. Go away. Go away.” I kept telling myself to prevent myself from panicking.  

“Come on. Give me a kiss.” A knot formed in my throat when i heard him say that. He walked closer to my body and put his hand under my shirt. I held my breath and clutched my hands, forming a fist, “Hit him. Hit him. SCREAM!” My inner self begged me. I let my hands loose and not a single word came out of my mouth. His hands crawled upward, touching my breasts, he grinned. He squeezed. 

This is not normal. 

 I continued to hold my breath. I didn’t want to breath in that old man’s, sweaty, stench. “Kiss me like we practiced.” His face got closer and closer.

 “RUN!” I pushed him aside and ran. I listened to my inner voice. I listened. 

I ran outside, stood next to the grill and deeply inhaled the charcoal smoke to the point where I was coughing; I wanted something, anything else, except that smell. 

 Once I inhaled as much as I could, I looked up at the sun; the clouds, my brothers and sister happily playing, unaware. My eyes blurred, “I rather it happen to me than them.” A distant voice whispered inside me. 

My mother walked to me and put her arms around my shoulders, “Are you okay?”

I shut my eyes to stop my tears, quickly looked up at her and smiled, “I’m okay Mom!”

The Second Piece: The Letter (Trigger Warning)

 

  


 This second piece to my unsolved puzzle came to me unexpectedly, thanks to my older brother’s goodbye letter. 

  He left. He disappeared. He was the first one to gather his courage and leave. Leave without saying goodbye. Leave without saying one word. Leave without shedding a tear, without a goodbye hug, or even a last fake smile. He left, leaving a one page letter:

“Mami (mother), I’ve decided to get married to L. I love her and I will be okay. Don’t worry. Please tell everyone to take care and that I love them. I love you. I’m sorry.”

A simple, one page letter. 

I was nine when I found his letter. It’s strange on why it appeared to me. I don’t know if he purposely left it at the corner of my bed or if he simply forgot to leave it with my mother.  

 I was sitting at the edge of my bed, both hands holding that white, copy paper. I read, reread, and continued to reread the words over and over again. I was confused as to why he would leave us:

“Why did he have to leave us?”

“Did he not love us anymore?”

 I glanced to my right and stared at my window. The thick, creamy colored, curtains prohibited the morning sun from delivering its daily joy. My mind went dark and the air around me felt like it was trying to suffocate me instead of keeping me alive. Thus, began my first flashback. 

My flashback made me feel like my mind was dislocated from my body and transferred back in time to my seven year old body. The time i was in was not my present. The images, why couldn’t I recall them. 

 I was in my old apartment that was located on Cranford Ln in Garland, TX. It was not so long since we moved from our old, rundown apartment in Long Island, New York. My head turned and i realized it was dark-midnight. I could see that  my brothers were in the living room, but a haze covered their faces, “Why can’t i see their faces?”My body walked towards the small corridor and I turned left. My parents’ door  was slightly open so I walked in. I was only able to capture a small picture before my mother approached from behind and covered my eyes, pulling me away; my father, on top of- who is that? The same haze that covered my brother’s expression covered that figure. “Who is that?” My present self kept asking, repeatedly. My mother ran and pulled him back. Afterwards, the scenes were projecting like a  picture disc camera. 

Disc 1: My father fighting with my mother.

Disc 2: My father screaming and yelling. 

Disc 3: My father grabbing a rope and heading outside while my mother tried to stop him. As he passed by me the strong stench of alcohol made me gag. 

Disc 4: Red. Blue. Red. Blue. Police cars. Ambulance. 

  Disc 5: For some odd reason, this picture disc was the longest. I walked outside and my father stood on top of a tree branch, a noose around his neck, he put one leg forward- “What is he doing?” My mother was able to grab his legs before the noose broke his neck, the police officers jolted towards the scene. A wicked, naked, tree; long dangly branches that reached towards every direction. If there was such a thing as the tree of death then that was it; a pleasant welcome to my father’s suicide attempt. 

Disc 6: Police officers grabbed him and pushed him down. His face on the brown dirt.

Disc 7: My mother crying. 

Disc 8: My brothers’s scared eyes. 

 Disc 9: My little sister…my little sister.

  My conscious was immediately pulled back and forced into my present, nine year old self. I could barely breath again. My hands trembled. My head felt like a thousand needles penetrating simultaneously causing an intense pain. My tears fell down in an uncontrollable speed; the letter. I had to save the letter from the damn tears. I kept snatching the tears away. My hands were moving on their own, trying to stop the damn tears. “Stop. Stop. Stop It!” A quietly screamed to myself. Why was I crying, because of the letter or because of a memory I thought I had long forgotten? 

My mother walked in, her sight averted towards my hand. The letter. I tried to hide it, but she knew. How? Mother’s instinct? Maybe. She took the letter from me and read it. She looked at me and all I could see was pain in her eyes. I think i was too focused on my flashback, because i don’t remember the words she spoke to me during that moment. Her lips were moving, but all I could hear was a ringing; a soft, high pitched ringing that kept me out. She left with the letter seconds, maybe, minutes later. 

I stood up. My body felt numb. I couldn’t feel the sensation of the soft carpet caressing my feet, instead it felt like I was stepping on glass.  My mind was unclear. I felt unsafe. I felt like a piece of me was taken, ripped out of me. Not only did I gain an unwanted memory, I lost the one person that made me feel safe. 

I walked towards my window and opened my curtains. The sunlight bursted in, the heat gently burned my face… I felt nothing. 

I looked up at the cloudless sky, “How annoying.” I quickly closed the curtains, crawled in to my bed sheets, throwing the thick cover over my head, and embraced the dark.
 

Successful

#Successful #DailyPost

http://wp.me/P23sd-iIC

 

  

 The meaning behind the word successful comes in many forms. Everyone has their own definition of what it means to be successful. Whether it’s finally achieving the career you’ve always thrived for, purchasing a new house, or even something as simple as bringing joy to others. 

I had to learn to feel successful everyday. I had to learn that everything that i do, whether it’s something new or repeated, it is my own. I am the one making it happen.

  I am bringing forth my strength, my courage, my knowledge, my emotions, myself, to make everything I do a success. I may not make it happen the first, second, or the third time, but i am trying and I love that I AM.

“Success is liking yourself, liking what you do, and liking how you do it.” – Maya Angelou

Exposure

‚Äčhttp://wp.me/P23sd-iIC

 Trigger. 

This word causes shivers down my spine.

  Exposure meant vulnerability and lack of self respect. For me, this word encouraged my perpertrators to continue their daily, sexual, abuse towards me. 

 Exposure only converted me into a lifeless sex toy whose only function was to reboot herself to please the needs of others.

 Exposure took my innocence and turned it upside down. 

 Exposure. Why does this one word cause this trigger?

 I refuse. I cannot. I will not. My mind dragged these words around and around. 

Exposure. 

Trigger. 

My beginning

  

  

   The memories of my beginning is like a puzzle. I have been patiently and cautiously collecting them and trying to fit them into place throughout my years. From the time i was very young, my mind decided to shatter my memories so I will not remember. Coping mechanism or avoidance? All i know is that i could not remember, until one day my first memory woke me up. 

  My earliest traumatic memory was watching my father force beer down my mothers’ throat. My mother down on the floor, her hands protecting her face. She wants no more of that poisonous medicine. My father’s right hand grabbing the back of her wavy hair and his left hand guiding that generic form of water from the glass bottle to her mouth. Glass; precise, time consuming, and an exquisite masterpiece only reflected my mother’s pain and my fear. Fear; my body shivered as I felt the inconspicuous unknown slither all around me. 

Time froze for 10 seconds. 

My mind was stuck on that scene. I couldn’t think back or think pass it. His malicious grin. Her sad eyes begging to stop. My mind was frozen, until I heard a faint whisper counting down – Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

I ran to her. My small, two year old, clumsy body ran to her. I don’t remember the words I screamed or yelled that caused him to stop. I don’t remember my father’s or my mother’s expression when I hid behind her. I don’t remember what emotion I felt after those ten seconds.

 I remember that I ran. 

I remember the picture that has been embedded in a perpetual frame within my mind. 

I remember the emotion within that ten second, frozen, time frame. 

…Fear.


Scenes

Filters of absent colors sorrounded my vision. These delusional obstacles prohibited me from seeing the wonders in front of me. I walked, step by step, and all that my mind would transfer to me was solitude and the one question that has forever haunted me, “Why am i still here?”

Filters of gray that transcended my thoughts and incorporated them into my daily life so my legs would not give up, so my lungs would still try to embrace the cleansing air that i found to be a burden.

These imaginary filters that my young mind adapted to, was the sole reason why my younger self was capable of looking at her sorroundings and not feel an ounce of attachment.

Attachment lead to the disgusting reasons to have my body, soul, and mind stained once again. 

Attachment lead to the betrayal that transformed me to a creature from an unknown dimension. Filters prohibited attachment.

My filters gave me a new cloud that covered my vision and mind from the truth and reality. My filters brought me a massive wave that pulled me down to a darkness that i called my “safe zone.”

My filter began at the age of 2 years old.