Enough is Enough…when no sensitivity , love or people rarely surround me
Enough is fucking enough when I have to try to remove my own sutures, when I have to stop and breathe almost passing out just to get up the hill to the hospital which has no bus route.
When Doctors upon Doctors need an emergency contact and a support person and I just leave it blank…looking down as I whisper there is no one.
When I cannot even know the littlest yet to me most precious bits and pieces of Chloe as my oldest always states “Not Right Now Mom”…the right now never comes & my soul survives for the thought of her.
Elle, I am at her mercy for she has the info that could save me…My No Matter What promise to Chloe has loosened that noose on the tree when even hanging failed me.
I feel forsaken expected to laugh through the losses, walk hills faster with cancer, not worry, be scared, complain, reach out…anything cuz it interrupts her happiness.
So as Ive mastered suffocating in silence, in there again…at the mercy of the key-holder to what little left can ease the lack of breath shall it be a time she uses that key when nothing is going on in life if she has a minute.
The silent rage, sufferings, sacrifices and even simple needs will be here suffocating within me as a slowly fade.
My mother tortured me for almost a lifetime and still I honored her. My name was on her doctors list, I made time for her appointments, took care of her, bathing her, even the sacred act of tending her feet.
Although broken…her fears were eased as I digested her regrets and anger with little acknowledge until days before the end.Then I rendered my greatest gift ensuring she was not to die alone.
I took my own soul breathing it into her for what seemed like hours. Not even a thought crossed me as i am on ground zero with EMT courageous n selflessly giving her all the beautiful heartfelt words of worthiness so she got to feel that love, that honor…instilling her worth.
I divinely carried her soul through the realms of her passing. All this…to give her everything she refused me…her soul set a free.
Enough – Les Brown
Me accepting silent suffocation with little to no chance of ever relief…
All the while being assaulted on a soul level by an ungrateful younger brother who’s memory obviously vacated; attacking the one soul who threw herself in front of gunfire, violence, trauma
…even putting myself between him & one of Daddy’s Druggies who was like a beast sliding a knife up my 3yr old brothers neck just glaring as if I would scare and run.
Instead I boldly came face to face with Wild Bill his knife blade set to shred my baby brother’s head as he so innocently lied asleep.
That mutherfucker said “Someone’s head is being cut off here & now…Who’s It Gonna Be?” i swear the devil leaped out of his eyes testing my honor, my will and my love for my dear brother.
Swift as a wolf I raised my head up to him as I pushed my neck up high silently declaring…Then take me. Raising his Rambo style knife to my throat I never shifted my gaze…letting that bitch know you’ll have to behead me taking my life while you look into my fearless eyes.
Suddenly as if a ghost appeared his eyes where scared and he startled pulling back that blade before he jumped out Lil Frankie’s bedroom window onto the back storage & off into the night.
Hearing my mother screaming down the stairs rocking back n forth with ambulatory aid. I confronted her in disgust stating “What are you so freaked out & scared? Mom…”He pulled a gun on me”…again her needs
… so trying to inform her; he not only put a gun to my head in the hallway that night …he almost killed my brother Frankie yielding a knife against his throat which was about the size of his 3yr old head…was as futile as expecting her to be a mom.
Springwood would force me to be fearless, protecting my Lil brother’s sheltering their pain by always throwing myself into danger to be the shield.
My dad was always huddled in some corner all scary like with a spoon that I guess held his drugs, lighting it over a glass of water. I was so scared & frantic that by chance if I didn’t watch over my brothers. my dad’s drug uses, and missed a cup of that water it could kill one of my brothers.
Well over a year I got up at 5am going through everything rinsing out all glasses of water also hiding residue. Fearing my Lil bros, unaware of the danger could expose themselves to it or worse drink one of Dad’s drug glasses of water.
No one knew of this besides my therapist, until confronting my mom prior her passing and now…in this random therapeutic rant.
One morning i awoke just a few minutes later than usual…knowing my bros were up early too I ran down the stairs into the kitchen.
Hence my worst fear…my cute Lil bro Marvin wearing my purple polo shit, with his cute cheeks, freckles and red poofy hair…was already in the kitchen taking an almost full drink from one of dad’s cups…
I panicked and instantly reacted by slapping him in the face with my right hand so hard the blow forced the water to spurt out his mouth. I barely saved him, ashamed I didn’t get to that glass…this moment created a trauma so deep it haunts me even now.
It was Not ..doing whatever I could to care & protect my bros not caring of my expense, as I’m the big sister if I didn’t take this job on they’d be scared, unable to protect themselves from the violence and trauma I so vigilantly & desperately tried to shield them from.
It was the look on Lil Marvin’s face…in sheer shock…traumatized by his big sister…and why she slapped him so suddenly when he did nothing wrong…that look of despair left me broken silently screaming what the fuck is wrong with my parents?”
…I couldn’t explain to Marvin or Frankie why I did that, They were too young to understand plus keeping them from seeing/knowing all the bad things going on was my job.
Trauma allows little memory of my plight, never telling them I often wondered if they thought I was a bad big sister…My Mom’s death last Dec. 2016 swiftly assaults me with that answer.
My whole childhood seemed in vain; as Frank verbally shattered the few patched up pieces of my existence. Especially him, I was devoted…
my parents left my brothers with this weird couple to watch them a few hours – lack of care – me not there – lead to a huge physical trauma to my Frankie.
One full leg was shattered, his pelvis broken and the upper other leg broken as well. He was in a near full body-cast for almost a year, only 4, mom & dad couldn’t keep him safe…so big sissy was determined to keep him cared for.
We lived in the projects and since mom barely made meals and we had little food most times. I would take Lil bros over to the rec center for free lunch every day.
There was this tight left/right/then left fenced entrance…no other way could we get in. So bis Sissy proudly smiled as she patiently and strongly carried her Frankie, in full body-cast which also had a bar connecting the legs to keep the core in place
…all the way from their apartment which was very far (in kid glasses) to that rec center for his daily lunch. Sometimes they’d run out and I gave up mine so my Lil bros would feel good & strong.
Relentlessly, for months, every day 1x or more severely struggled successfully getting Lil frank through that damn gate. He’d be hot(it was summer) in that cast and frustrated so I’d tell him don’t worry little brother were gonna get through this gate and every time the struggle was worth it.
The trauma not only physically stunted him as he would have to re-learn everything, yet psychologically as well…he couldn’t talk saying words trying to get his point across. Sissy put on her teacher hat and sure a shit Frankie was talking again.
I also saw him as my savior…due to many violent scary experiences all occurring at night where I put on my Momma Bear hat giving myself in hopes I could spare them of the suffering and pain.
I was terrified of darkness w/out light. Laying in my bed paralyzed, too afraid to move as I could not see my surroundings…
I would cry “Frankie…Frankie…Frankie”; and that adorable red headed stunner at 2/¾ yrs of age…would run into my room turn on my light…so I felt safe. We would fall asleep laughing and telling stories.
I prayed every night silently making my plea to God, that if he could put any pain or struggles my Lil bros may face on me to weather. I also prayed that if I have kids please please please help me save them from ever experiencing my type of sufferings.
I, being a child naively tried to make a pact with God. I would take all this pain, all this suffering, all the severe scary abuse and be brave always in exchange for giving my Lil bros a fighting chance at life.
I insisted he gave me any experience that would scare or hurt my Lil bros, as my scars to bear. Always reminding God my future family will be everything our family was not and my kids would never be abused in ways that I did.
Thinking back my thought process could only be unconditional love & hope for my Lil bros to not see what I saw, felt what I felt, experience what I experienced as I was already damaged goods but the boys…we can save the boys…right God?
Later in life i struggled with God…as Marvin was into gangs and angry at the world…then Frankie was just used as another player in this world’s sick selfish games
…everyone & everything to this day is shadowed by Frankie’s acts, being still a child 11/12, was acting out his abuse. I didn’t blink and protected Frankie from the backlash, injustices and judgements these acts would bring.
Even risking my own children defending his honor… This was important to me as I saw things bad scary things mom n dad even with friends used to make him do.
These struggles my brothers endured in my eyes were supposed to be on my shoulders, and as Big Sissy I personally blamed myself for their sufferings…believing i failed somewhere along the line
…and God had failed on 1 of only 2 prayers I prayed for nightly since I could remember…I hated him…Crossing his name out of every spiritual book I would buy…eventually learning many paths all led me back to Him.
For years I have suffered immensely feeling my failings to take better care of him earlier in life was why…now…in my greatest tragedy…i’m nothing but a piece of trash left on some dark lonely road in Ocosta.
..My son Sage, losing everything for an imminent noble plight, my breakdown suffocating silently as no hand reached my way. I was in this alone and with every missing of the mark; Frank would judge me, looking down at me, denying such; yet he either was blind to his own behaviors or this infliction of shame upon me is intentional.
The moral to the story, better stated stories’… on most levels is still up in the air.
My mom’s death… compounded with Frank’s, almost demonic in nature, verbal and non verbal abuse is long-suffering. Perhaps the Devil has been sneaking upon him years now…
Instantaneously when mom died, so did any goodness in Frank. Possessed, creating chaos on sacred ground, refusing Moms children, grandchildren, family and friends any sort of closure…In respect for impending legal actions I won’t prevail any further details…
In a short time span; I lost my only real longtime girlfriend and coworker to a tragic death, soon after my Kelly who glitters died in her sleep…then my mom died – devastatingly so did my brother frank…
Another child taken (via brotherly love) ~ My Sissy…my heart just cries out for her daily…constantly looking, searching, praying God will at least… bring My Sissy back.
My soul decided any hope of some family besides personally was dead. My safe place gone…
I always felt content knowing that If; Life May Again Rip Me 2 Shreds…I had Momma’s Compound, with the Satanic Scary Ritual Grounds & old creepy mossy forests
In Frank’s eyes; its a garbage dump hoarders compound…and by golly…against all consciousness, Mom’s rights, her will, the beneficiaries, that property, and all her items would be pillaged, dishonored, and by legal standards; straight up fuckin irrevocably damaged