Children.
Child.
When I was a child, my thoughts were of a child. When I was a child, I had child like emotions. When I was a child, I never had a chance to feel what a child was suppose to because the time was spent building up walls to protect the child called me. The child that was suppose to be. The child who became an anomaly. Developing tendencies to only succeed, creating perfection that was just perceived, waiting for anyone to see, that the person they saw was hiding inside what was me.
Sculpted.
Chiseled.
I crafted myself into a rock, protecting every emotion and feeling and never letting them get soft. Because what I wanted and what was met like the titanic and the iceberg, boiling over the pot. And anytime the one got a hold of another it spilled over and then I was reminded NOT…. to cry. That I needed to be strong, not just for me but for the others who controlled my life like a ticking of the clock, and I wanted all the inconsistency and chaos to just STOP. But as a child, you don’t really have a choice.
Imagine.
Create.
My brain was creative, sinking itself into fantasy and sci-fi. Trying to elude to reasons why… why did my parents split up, why do I think it’s my fault? And the stories I made in my brain to cope began to feed me like my own little dope. And it worked for a very long time.
Fight.
Battle.
Then my child like self through a tantrum. Because my diluted realities were nothing to be glad of. It just created sadness and nothing solid to land on. So I flew myself into books and school, making up my own rules because no boundaries or guidelines were ever set… I just made them myself.
Mad.
Scared.
And I become angry, furious that I had to deal with yelling and moves. Upset that adults always treated me so rude. Hysterical that I had no friends, that I had to learn to be invisible to survive because I knew the trend… I would just move again. And I’m, still, ANGRY. Mad of everything I got and didn’t chose, that nobody can explain why I always feel like I lose. A child that can never have both, and hardly has one, and feels stormed by all that life has become.
FAST.
Speed.
Yet… I…. excelled everywhere I went. Also anytime I lost I was filled with regret… with hate… with guilt and shame. That I felt like I was never enough or gained. I could never win because the love and attention and affirmation I craved…was busy working a minimum wage job like a slave. So my imagination became my salvation and perfection remained a goal… and downfall.
Children.
Child.
Yet I was a child carrying too much. Thought about bills and food and missing the bus. Made sure of good grades and anything to keep me off the shit list rage. Needed anything to focus on to keep off what had me down, needed things to turn my frown upside down. I was child that thought like child, that had emotions of a child, but never had a chance to be a child. The responsibility outweighed me, the feelings carried over-bade me, and somehow… I drowned.
