Recently, due in part or wholly to therapy, I have been reflecting
inward a lot. Some of it is good, some bad. For the most part it all
returns to being simply “it is what it is”.
One of those reflections has been creating havoc within. I keep
returning to an evening spent on a cold concrete slab floor. My
step-father had taken a Babe Ruth swing with a two by four to the
back of my head.
I don’t recall why, hell he didn’t need a why. See he was absolutely
fucking crazy. Sure, I’m a bit insane and stay lost out in the ether
a good bit. He, on the other hand, fucking crazy.
So, I was put on that floor. I got knocked out in every sense of the
term.Here’s the real kicker, I was about seven at the time, maybe six.
You lose any real sense of time once you go across the sane and insane
boundary. So, I can only frame those two years of age.
So what? Well my mom could not, would not come out to help me. She was
over a barrel, you see? She had two other boys, his by blood. She was
protecting them and herself.I have talked to her about it.
I can understand her reasoning. Doesn’t mean I can forgive it. She
made me into the sacrifice for the lion. So, yeah I have a great deal
of abandonment problems. My dad left me and mom when I was two, then
mom pulls this shit.
It really hurts to not be able to forgive. I don’t want any deities in
my life. They’d probably abandon me as well. So, I’ve played one on
Well, I better close for now. Run it slow.