Of Love and Memories

Love.
I still remember when I called those touches “cooties”
When all that mattered was playing superheroes and loving those PB&J sandwiches
Which you never did figure out how your mother made them so damn well
And those few television shows that made you believe anything was possible.
I remember how those cookies were perfectly out of reach and how many plans I would concoct to try and nab one of them when the parents weren’t looking
And shoving every loose Lego and read book under the bed, in the closet, under the blankets and mattress.
I remember how I would run up and hug random strangers because I was hyper and happy. I would want to make so many new friends. I would proudly announce my name and giggle and play around with people I knew nothing of, only caring at that moment about making a new friend to play with.
I remember how my parents always told me that one day I would regret being so mean to girls because of reasons I would learn about later and whenever I asked, they always told me, “When you’re older. You don’t need to know about that now.”
I remember one time begging so hard that I threw a tantrum and still learned nothing but how to get a good spanking.
I remember how my sister always tried to act like my parent, and that she was almighty and superior because she had two years on me, give or take a month. I remember how many fights we got into, and how often it would end in a physical fight. I remember a lot of things about my childhood because it didn’t last very long.
My childhood lasted until I was 8 years old.
My parents got divorced when I was seven years old.
I had to comfort my older sister who had two extra years to practice this sort of thing, how to support me in this situation. I remember how I thought that they were joking while I was choking up, on the verge of a fit but locking the first of thousands of millions more to protect those around me.
I thought they had loved each other.
I thought they had cared for one another, and would forever. Isn’t that what they said Marriage was? Was I wrong? Were they wrong? Is this how every love turns out?
I remember clearly the first time I truly questioned myself. Questioned love and life.

I remember how quiet I became after that.

I remember how shy I became, how clamped shut I became.

I discovered how cruel the world was at the age of eight.

A woman named Suzy was the bane of my existence for years. Unfathomable punishments, cruel ultimatums and names that hurt far more than any stick, stone, log or boulder could bludgeon me. I remember how frequently I would go to bed without supper because I couldn’t play Jingle Bells on the recorder perfectly, or I couldn’t understand one math problem from my fourth grade math class in first grade, or how I couldn’t figure out how to answer a question about the reading, or god forbid I want to watch TV before I did my homework as that would lead to more than a dinner-less night, but a scolding to boot. I began to do poorly socially because I was far too anxious and doubtful of myself to socialize. I sat in the corner while others played at recess. I was sleep-deprived from waking up at 4:30 in the morning to travel an hour and a half to school every day and having to wait an extra 3 hours before I could go home, contemplating the names and actions of every bully and even casual student I had encountered that day. I couldn’t even face myself in my mind; I was too much. My morale was challenged and defeated hour after hour in my mind, day after day by my household, week after week from the bullies and month after month from the planet herself.
I remember one time I nearly went a month without so much as a simple mattress and a book. One single book that I read twenty times over, memorized every single word because it’s all I could do for five hours at night, unable to sleep because of anxiety for the next day until I collapsed of exhaustion due to fatigue from everything.
I had come to the conclusion that I wasn’t worth it.
I remember the day my depression and anxiety kicked in as clearly as I remember my breakfast this morning.

I remember how Jessica would demean me more than anyone else would or could, how her daughter was the meanest anyone had ever been to me until I went to that new damned school. I remember that, shortly before my dad and Jessica broke up, I was so nervous about asking to leave to the restroom that I didn’t and I soiled my pants. I sat in my own feces the entire day because I couldn’t stand taking the chance that someone could taunt me to ensure their comedic and social status.
I prayed that nobody would smell it and remember using the Febreeze from the front of the room all over me to mask it until I got home and threw away the pants and underwear, and nobody ever noticed.

I remember how I never went a day of the 3 years that Shannon was with my dad without fighting with her, having to treat her like a queen and she lowered me to a level below needless. My heart had hidden itself below so many layers by now, had shrunken and snuck into and behind those locked doors, and when I went to feel I couldn’t find the heart to. I was fading from humanity, and while I was drifting aimlessly and sadly, the only emotion I could feel now, while taking the mighty blows of “Geek”, “Dork”, “Dumbass”, “Freak”, “F****r”, “Animal”, “Retard”, “Smartass”, “Shithead”, “Butthead”, and “Hopeless”.
My heart hid behind the doors, feeling the blows even through the door. I remember when I broke in Middle School and threw a kid off a desk who decided to taunt me too much about my wrong answer. I remember I went home and cried for three hours, refusing to eat or drink anything for the rest of the day because I had hurt someone and wanted to kill myself for doing something so idiotic, so reckless, so evil.
I remember when I thought I found love a few years ago, I had opened up to her just a small amount. I opened my window for her, showing her the inside of my soul, how dusty and cobweb-ridden it was. How dull and bland it was, save for the blue and grey hues here and there, and she didn’t realize that the house had a freshly painted outside but dirty windows; that I had a perfect interior worth a million dollars, but she made it worthless when she had really laid down a new rug and a couple pieces of new furniture into my blandness. My heart peeked it’s head out, and got itself caught in the door.
I wanted to give up. I wanted to cry and whine and end everything, but I simply couldn’t make myself even think about doing it beyond ‘why not do it?’
My emotions stay bottled up in the inactive volcano that I am and, when I find someone I truly trust, I drive them away by releasing one emotion which blasts out the rest.
They think it’s their fault. They think they did it, and they leave so I can heal because they’re terrible. They think that nothing they do helps or can help, and they simply leave me stranded on the same island I always was on, thinking I was there on purpose and they were intruding when in reality I needed them to take me away from this wretched place.

I remember when I thought love possible, that people could be good and trustworthy and I could comfortably speak to people.

But memories fade.

Like me.

Reviews

[ohsograceful]

this brought back a lot of memories for me and put them in a kind of melancholy/ nostalgic focus. Well written