The Monster Inside

When I was growing up it was not a peaceful event to say the least. It was a harsh and violent time mixed with only a few moments of peace and happiness. But I can't remember them, only the hard times. My father was a violent man, back then he's changed a lot since then, and though he never hit me he did hit my brothers. There were times that I feared going home so much that I would walk the long way home from the bus stop. The whole time I was growing up I was hoping and praying that someone would come and save me from that place but no one ever came. And the only way I had to survive was to adopt my father's evil temper and grow up fast.

I had the worst temper that anyone could have seen. I was violent and just mad at the whole world. There were even times where I had become abusive toward my own pets. Thinking about my actions then makes me sick and breaks my heart but that is how I was then. There are some events that I can't even talk about because 1)I'm scared that I'll loose my friends because they'll think I'm a monster and 2)because to talk about it makes me relive it.

I was mad at the whole world and didn't even know why. My mom barely hugged me or talked to me and my dad would just be nice to me if he felt like it that day. I was so scared to come home and he would be there in a bad mood and I would have to take the brunt force of his temper. I grew up only wanting to be alone and to myself. Because if I was by myself I was safe. Most kids only have one abusive parent while the other ignores the violence, not me. They both were violent towards me. I remember one time when I cut my own bangs because I kept asking my mom to do it for me but she never had the time so I did it myself. When my mom got home and had seen what I had done she screamed at me and pulled me around the house by my misshapen bangs demanding why I would do such a stupid thing.

Growing up in that kind of a house all I knew was anger and violence. I only saw that it was a problem when I was in college and a roommate had told me that she was scared of me. That hit me like a ton of bricks! I had become the fear that I was raised in! And I hated that about me. I couldn't believe that I had become the monster that I vowed to never be. It was only through the love and kindness of my other roommate that helped me realize what I was doing, to myself and to others. She helped tame the monster inside of me. And because of that I am forever grateful!

But the monster is still there, waiting for a weak moment to come out and destroy my life. It scares me so much that I don't know if I want kids. I'm scared that I would become the horrible parent that I was raised with. I don't want to pass down the anger and violence that I was raised with. That is not my life now and I don't want to make it that way again for me or any other person. I know that because I'm afraid of it that I probably won't do that but there is still that fear that maybe one night the baby will cry too long or too loud. I can't do that. It scares me. So much so that I don't even like to be around kids. I mean, I wouldn't know what to do around them in the first place and I'm worried that I'll snap at one point and become the monster again. I don't know how long I can contain it. I know that the only way to get it out of me is to face it head on, but I don't know if I'll survive the battle.

I have a monster inside of me. He's caged...for now.

**Discloser: My parents have changed a lot as well. We are no longer the violent people that we once were. But...sometimes I feel it's too little, too late.

My Imagination.

A lot of people wonder how I can come up with some of the stories and poems that I write. All I can say is that it's my imagination. I love it and it loves me...to a point. Basically it's a disfuntional kind of love. I love my imagination because of how varied it is and how it shows me worlds and places that I never even knew excisted! And it loves me because I am able to keep up and even have some input for it to feed off of. But at times I just want to be left alone and just want to sit back without having to think of things. And it's at those times where it becomes the loudest and most cruelest of all. And the only way to silence it is to write out what it keeps screaming at me.

So yeah a lot of my writing is just from me creating whatever I can from within the darkest corners of my mind. When you meet me and see me you can get the impression that I'm a sweet, happy-go-lucky kind of girl. And I am, to a point, but I'm really not. The corners of my mind are dark and deceptive and I have a hard time trying to cope with it sometimes. That's where my writing comes in handy. I can write all of the dark things that pleage my mind and then I feel better about the world. So I guess I am that sweet, happy-go-lucky kind of girl because I know how evil the world can get and I try to celebrate all the good in the world, as much and as often as I can.

My mind does not stop for one second. I can be thinking of several things at once without even trying. And when I concentrate on things I will have planned and thought out several outcomes and then go with the one that appeals to me the most. And if I talk to you and get to know you I will be able to practically read your mind and know what you are doing and what you are up to and how it was going to end before you even knew that you would be taking a single step in that direction. It's a cool thing to have but also a very annoying thing to have. I'm hardly ever surprised by anything anymore. And when I am I take it and enjoy every second of the feeling because I don't know what it'll happen to me again.

So I guess it's a good thing that I'm a writer so that I can get those feelings out of me before they can do some real damage. Plus I can explore more of my stories that haunt my mind and try to get them out. The funny thing is that when I do write them out they are gone and I am at peace. But not for long. The only down side to writing the stories out is that they are replaced by another one. Sometimes it's of the same level of happy, sad, good or bad that the other one was at but there are times when it takes a serious dive for the worse. And I just don't like myself when I'm writing such things. It's not fun for me. And there have been times where I have scared myself from my writing.

And when I am writing and get really into it, I just loose all sense of time and place and I'm in the story! I don't even know how I even wrote the words on the page! I just watch my hand and it goes off on it's own and places the poem or story on the page and all I can do is just hold it and give it the use of my hand. That's why I always have a pen and some paper with me. If you ask me if I have I pen I tend to laugh a little because I have at least 3 or 4 pens on me at one time. It's because I'm worried that I'll run out of ink before I run out of story. And that's kind of more of a paranoyed feeling than fear. Because if I do run out of ink or paper I can keep the story held up for awhile but when I see some paper or a full pen then the story is practically jumping out of my head and that's all I can think about.

And in short, I don't really know where some of my stories or poems come from, especially the dark ones. They just come out when I'm quiet and still or when I see something that just makes that part of my mind click. And in order to get those dark feelings out of me I just have to write them out. I'm not suicidal, I'm not homicidal, I'm not going to act on anything violent or evil or anyting like that. It's just how my mind and imagination works sometimes. And like I said before it's a love/hate relationship. And there is another side to the whole thing, a lighter side. Where I come up with some of the most wonderful, loving stories and poems there are. My imagination has extreams on both sides of the coin. It loves to be both comedic and tragic.

And that is how my imgaination works. If I have confused you in anyway...try living in my head for a few seconds.

The Whispers in the Dark

They come to me when the night is at its darkest.
They tell me things that I do not want to hear.
But I listen because, they speak the truth.
The whispers tell me of the world and how lost it has become.

Nothing more than that and then they are gone.

They leave me with the horrible images of dead bodies and ruined cities.
I sit in horror and wonder why they do this to me.
What thing have I done to cause such torture?
My mind races with the new information causing it to grow and spread.

But why do I hear the whispers?

I try to play my music as loudly as I can to block their entrance.
But they speak to me through the beat and melody of the song.
I try to watch happy shows to erase the horrible thoughts.
But they show themselves in the shadows of the characters.

What can I do to make them stop?

I try to listen
But they only grow louder and reveal more details.
I beg them to let me help
But they just ignore me.

Should I fight the voices or the cause of them?

If I attack the source of the voices can I become free from them?
Or would I be overcome by the massive overdose of the Whispers?
How can I fight them when I don't know where they come from?
How do I find the voices when they come from within?

I must go deep into myself to find the voices.

And when I find the voices I will demand to have my sanity returned.
They have played with my mind for far too long.
I long to be normal, if there is a normal to become.
I will go to the depths of my soul and find these voices.

May they be ready to battle me.

I refuse to back down.
I know the price of failure.
They must use all they have it they want to win.
I refuse to back down.

But what if the Whispers have a purpose?

Should I fight them?
Or should I fight off the evil they speak of?
What if they are they evil they so eagerly discuss?
How will I know?

The only way to know is to go forth and discover their own truths.

I go deep into myself where I was patiently expected.
They beckon for me to come closer.
I pause and they ask again.
The Whispers say that they will explain it all.

I move toward the center of my being.

It's dark, and I can't see where I am going.
But somehow I already know where I am.
I start to hear sorrowful music.
As if they are mourning a great loss.

What could make evil feel so sad?

They tell me that the evil they spoke of where warnings of things to come.
But instead of trying to fight that off I chose to take the fight within.
Because of my self-violence the world is now lost.
And now, the whispers have no reason to stay.

The Whispers are gone, as is the rest of the world.
I have my victory, but was it worth the price?

Keep Your Hands to Yourself by The Georigia Satelites

I just love this song and I thought I would share it. It's also something I'd have as a callback tone for my boyfriend.

I got a little change in my pocket going jingle lingle ling
want to call you on the telephone baby I give you a ring
but each time we talk I get the same old thing
always no huggin no kissin until I get a wedding ring
my honey my baby don't put my love upon no shelf
she said don't give no lines and keep your hands to yourself

Cruel baby baby baby why you want to treat me this way
you know I'm still your lover boy I still feel the same way
that's when she told me a story 'bout free milk and a cow
and she said no huggin no kissin until I get a wedding vow
my honey my baby don't put my love upon no shelf
she said don't hand me no lines and keep your hands to yourself

you see I wanted her real bad and I was about to give in
that's when she started talkin' true love started talkin' about sin
I said honey I'll live with you for the rest of my life
she said no huggin no kissin until you make me your wife
my honey my baby don't put my love on no shelf
she don't hand me no lines and keep your hands to yourself.

Grief of a Daughter

Does she see me the way I see her?
Does she feel me when I touch her?
Does she sense it when there's something wrong?
Does she even know the way I feel about her?

I'm so scared that when we part that she'll forget me and live on her life without me.

No calls.
No letters.
No visits.
No form of any contact.

I love her.
Ever since the day I was born I have loved her.
And I know she loves me.
Why won't she say it?

I call her "sweet" and "cute."
I say to her that I love her.
I do all that she asks of me and more.
Why won't she do the same for me?

Is it because she can't?
Is it because she doesn't know?
Is it because she doesn't care?
Is it because she won't?

I know she loves me and that's what hurts the most.
If she loves me so much why do I have to be the one and only one to say to her that I love her. She won't say it first, but she will say it back. And I know that she'll think of me whenever she gets the chance to when we go back home, but is it such a hassle to pick up the phone and give me a call? I know that she is still my mother but she stopped being my mother for a long time now. Now, she thinks that she can be my friend, just my friend and nothing more. I still need a mother no matter how old I become. Even when she has passed away, I will still need a mother.

This is the grief of a daughter that loves her mother more than her mother loves her.

Fighting a Losing Battle on an Alien Planet

A dream I had...

First of all I'm all decked out in some white futuristic military outfit and I'm hiding behind some stacked stone arches of a hollowed out building and there are huge, I mean HUGE, machines coming for me shooting their weapons and everything. And I know that I'm done for, everyone else in my platoon (for lack of a better military term) are dead or dying and I'm about to join them soon.

I look over to my left and see the side of a hill that looks a little "off." I fire of some last rounds and run to the hill side. I notice that it's hollow so I start to kick at it to knock a hole in there so I can hide from the huge war machines. Suddenly I hear a voice over some sort of a radio that says that's a dangerous place and that I shouldn't go in there. I tell the voice that I'm no better off staying where I am and I feel I have a better chance with the devil I don't know. So I give one last kick and I get a crack in it enough for me to pry open the shell enough for me to crawl through.

As I entered the hollow hill it's completely dark but from the little light I have I can tell that there's only about half a foot of a ledge before a huge drop down into some mammoth bottomless pit. But I have to get away so I crawl in and put back the piece of hill I took out to hide my tracks. But it doesn't work. As soon as I shimmy away from my little door it's discovered by two ground troops and they open it and look through. They can't see me or what's about to get them. They shout to see who's in there and at the sound of their voices the ground shakes and huge tentacles shoot out and grab them and drag them down into the darkness. I breath a sigh of relief but I suddenly slip off the ledge and slide down to meet whatever or whoever lives at the base of this hollow hill.