once my mother cut off all my hair because she was mad. i don’t remember why, neither did she.
she hunted me down with her scissors and mounted me in the hallway. she then proceeded to chop off all my long beautiful hair. violently and like a wild animal panting over my body, just cutting. i had nothing left, no feelings, no love, no mother. of course i hadn’t ever really had a mother and that’s why. she wasn’t safe, i knew that. so i then remember being curled up on the bathroom floor in a sort of shock, beyond fear and sobbing, beyond even her. she then came in all sweet and peaceful a little while later and fixed the hack job she’d done on my head with another pair of scissors, more cutting. telling me how pretty i looked. i forgot this ever happened after this day, that’s what the mind does when it must survive with the enemy, it’s mother. when i was 18 and wasn’t living at home anymore, scenes, like holy visions trying to release me, began to play before my eyes. how could i forget this, how could she do this, i confronted her on it. we were in the car, she was driving. i said, “remember that time when i was 10 and you got really mad and chopped off all my hair after you beat me with your fists as i laid on the hallway floor? she became hysteria, “liar! you liar!” she screamed as she slapped my face. i was 19. she then kicked me out of the car in the middle of nowhere and drove off. mothers don’t understand that children remember things, they don’t tell you everything, they respond to your secret sicknesses, they carry your shadow, they become it really. we’ve all been poor children, even our mother. that’s why she does it, or she overcompensates trying to turn hell back into heaven. it doesn’t work, it won’t help, it’s the same exact thing. i have lots of armageddon stories. i am telling you this because we are not separate, because god is real, hidden deep inside. where i go when there’s nowhere left. she’s says i’m a sick and disturbed person for accusing her of sexual abuse, she says the therapist i went to when i wanted to kill my self at age 19 fed my head all these lies, she says i need help. i have been alone since i was 19. no family, no one to fall back on but boyfriends. and friends can’t be trusted when the party ends or you get too old and broken to try to be beautiful anymore. to think about things like bikinis and being hot. i’m all cut up, inside and out. you know that. i gave up on being a female, being a person, having a body, finding a guru, helping myself shine, eating to be healthy as if i could ever stop the knife. i gave up for a long time on life. i had no center, only a fading grace. the grace that kept me here that i never understood, the invisible savior i could never find. once my mom had a night job and i woke up one morning in bed with my father, wearing only underwear. i was 10. that was also the year all the ghosts would visit my room and fondle me like i was lost gold. i woke up and he was still sleeping, i felt strange. i remembered nothing. this was only about a week after he yelled at me for not wearing clothes to the dinner table. i used to prefer to be naked, but not anymore. now i’m ashamed. of my body, my memories, myself. my parents would weigh me to make sure i didn’t ever get fat. they would discuss my body. i didn’t know how to stop the self hated from taking over. i was sacred and felt i could not uphold the position. i imagined i lived on the ceiling, upside down lying on my bed for hours, it was so peaceful and white, all alone way up there. my mom said i had cow eyes, that if my eyes were like hers i’d be prettier. i was perfect at school. my parents self esteem was through their daughter, me. because all i got was glory and praise. i skipped two grade and never even went to college. that was because my mom joined a cult when i was born that didn’t allow worldly education. or dating. or anything. i was a terrified, hard up virgin. totally lost and ashamed of my sin. deep inside. my mom said i was a slut. my father attacked me with a stick for being a whore with the boys. it’s all a perversion of lies. he was jealous. i stayed silent. too much potent sexuality to ever be honest with anyone. hide, hide it all and be good. pure even. i proceeded to become a loser at that point, gifted, talented, undeveloped and disturbed leaning on men. unusual creative artist men who only wanted a young mother with low self esteem. me. i never had children, i had enough. i went for the animals, they didn’t lie, or beat me, put creepy sex trips on me. they were all i had because i had nothing. not safety, nor trust. my dad would get drunk a lot, couldn’t face all those murders of the women and children he’d committed. my mother was just possessed by her mother’s demon and needed to pass that demon onto me. to this day that demon follows me, wanting in. i keep almost dying daily because of all this truth, that nothing leaves forever. not innocence, not men, not rape, and not love. not love. never love. love never leaves from the depths of some place that still brings light to my stricken eyes. i have so many stories about me, my brother. grief, drug addiction. suicide. god hiding in the scary shadows. god watching from behind. and that’s only my childhood. that was easy. unraveling and untying the black knot of mother, is the most crippling task of all. because she’ll never let go of your throat is the reason. yes my mother tried to suffocate me too. is how i know those hands of darkness. the giver of my life, she’s the one. a true friend is impossible to come by. but once on the rarest of blue moons it might happen. a friend dressed like a shadow, a friend as round as a ring, a friend who sits under the table, a friend a part of you never forgot. will come for you. death is only a word not an ending. death is only a door opening once again, death is mother’s mouth giving and taking the pain, the black in and out. untie the black knot, can’t you. my deep hiding friend. it means everything not just this. it might mean your parents fucking right in front of you, mine did. i wanted to call the police when they were in their room with the door closed because i knew what they were doing and it was fucking and it was wrong. i was 5. i didn’t call the police, it was a dilemma. i have had many dilemmas, i’ve been abducted many times. i have had many sexual trials and tribulations. i have been seeking love. inside wherever and whatever i am. to trust the untrustable human face, don’t get me wrong. i want it all, the softness, the breath that won’t snag. the comfort of being inside my less than acceptable sacrificial body. i want to be wanted for existing not for being perfect. i want to be understood without having to explain. i want to stop wanting out of my body who will also leave me. i want to not feel pain simply because i’m me. i want to not look down on myself for how horrible i must be to deserve all this. i want to believe that hindu gods might help me. i want to think it’s somebody else’s fault i’m so cold, but it isn’t. they are me, they are all me, and i am inside saying i love you. i always did.