The People Behind My Eyes

Broken Boxer Syndrome-Sunday July 23rd, 2006 9:05 AM EST

I’m doing it again, putting off sleep until I just can’t stand to be awake any longer. I call going to bed the broken boxer syndrome. The boxer fights and fights, takes blow after blow and finally he falls. The judging man stands over you counting to announce that you’ve fallen and that you’ve failed. The bigger man still standing has his arm, stained with your blood, held up high as a victor. And there you lay, a broken boxer, having given in to the count…. that is what it is like to go to sleep. To take all you can take until you finally let the count ring out and then run out…..and let the sleep in…let the other man win. I know that every minute I stay awake is going to get harder but what comes after that, laying down, giving in and laying down will prove to be the final blow. I just don’t want to go to bed.

What comes after giving in is vivid memories of the past only the images switch my child’s body with the adult body I have now. So I see myself being abused as an adult. That is humiliating because I see myself cowering before the mother monster. I see me, a 5 foot 5 woman cowering, laying down and fearing her. Humiliation is what drives me to things like cutting and even attempts on my life. I can’t say I’m anywhere close to wanting to hurt myself, not even cutting, but I know from past experience that I have to watch my steps. I have to watch what I do because in the blink of an eye I can be on the other side of safety.

I guess the difference is that I have a bigger support group. I have people I can call. I have friends and that makes a huge difference in my ability to handle this life. Not even 5 years ago I felt so dang on alone in this world. Heck, when I was with Columbus for that 10 years I still felt alone. I felt I carried all her burdens and mine. I supported her, gave to her and received nothing. But my friendships are different now. I can at least tell the difference between a friendship, a blog-ship, an acquaintances and other levels of relationships. I have levels of relationships where once I had none. Now how cool is that? Ha! I can actually say, yeah so and so is a friend or no, I’m only acquainted with that person. Before, it was simply Austin. Now, it’s Austin and friends, blog-buddies and acquaintances….friends I hang out with for a nice night out, friends I have a good evening in with, friends that I talk on deeper levels with. Somehow none of this matters when I’m up considering throwing in the towel and seeing my mothers face tell me that no one will ever love me. I hope to get to the point where it matters and where I hear my friends say to me, it’s okay to let go. Man, Blossom said that to me the other day. She said, “It’s okay to let go. You’re safe now.” She said it to Morton, of al people Morton. He was very impressed. Not many people speak directly to him but not only did she speak to him but she told him he didn’t have to be strong.

You know, being expected to be strong is a burden unto itself. We always say that when people say, “oh she’s strong” it isolates that person and the help they may need could be withheld because after all, so in so is strong, they can handle it. To me, strength is synonymous with the word alone. I’ve never known it to be anything else. I’ve known it only to be something negative, something that takes away instead of supports or carries one to another destination. Blossom told Morton it was okay to let go. She said we didn’t have to hold on like that anymore because we were safe. We heard…. You do not have to be strong ALONE anymore. And those words are healing to even the most broken of hearts.

I am going to bed now.

This Is My Dream

It’s my dream to make my life what it was intended to be.
It’s my dream to close my eyes and never see the reflection
of sorrowful times
To never be forced to endure the sight of
hope dripping down a windowsill
Dripping to the ground that nourishes the very weeds
that choke out my ability to breathe.
Painful and burdensome, bleeding and bereaved
It’s my dream to never use these words in reference to me.
It is my dream to see colours in their vibrant, flowing form
It’s my dream to never mourn
To never regret missed wishes on falling stars or
Never pass up the chance to dance
when everyone fears the ridiculing eye of another.
It is my dream to wake and not remember who I had to be to survive
my mother.
This is my dream.
This is my dream, awake or sleeping.
This is my dream.

Milwaukee, of Morton’s Pride age 12