childhood, Free thinking, heartache, Mind play, natural living, trauma, Uncategorized, writing

Why did I bite the man

How come you bit him my parents asked. “Because he said I could,” was my simple answer. Earlier I had been sitting on the stairs coming up from the basement. I wasn’t allowed downstairs but I was halfway so technically I was obeying. The men lived in the basement once their cabin burnt down. We all ate meals together and worked together as a whole.  This man that I recall feeling close to yet had loathing for had come by me on the steps. Maybe I was waiting for him. Hard to know what my little five year old brain was thinking.  I have no recollection of asking him. The only memory I have is sinking my teeth into the soft flesh of his hand between his thumb and forefinger. Once my teeth clamped down I just wanted to keep biting harder and harder not letting go. A voice in my head said I couldn’t. It would hurt him I thought. I need to let go I thought. Yet my jaw was locked into the bite. I don’t recall him making a sound. I just clenched my jaw, sunk my teeth in trying to hard not to go too far. Not to bite too hard. My teeth marks were there to stay. Little teeth indentations in dark shades of purple. I don’t recall having any repercussions from that action. I suppose the fact that I had asked permission and he’d said yes was enough. As a youth I wondered what would have caused that want in me as a young child. Did he do bad things to me? I would never know.

 IMG_6524

As a youth of the streets my mother would cry out for prayers for her wayward  daughter. Why was she gone, why did she deny the Lord, why was she a herion addict and drug user, as loose woman. Ironically I never touched herion, didn’t really do hard drugs, didn’t drink often and always choose to do it safely where some pervert couldn’t get me. My mother and the leaders of the school never once mentioned I had been denied return to the fold. Never admitted to the community I had come back begging to live with my mother to be one of them again. Promising to be a devote follower and never question them again.

So I wondered. Mother wondered. Others wondered what could have happened to me as child to cause me to turn my back on God, on life in the community, on my family. Who could have hurt me so. Was it the man that I bit, some other man who lived in our home. No one  not even me thought maybe it was being turned away from my own mother. Being sent away as an unwanted bothersome thing. No one thought what internal damage that trauma might cause my already aching heart.

pexels-photo-262075

I will never know why I bit him. Maybe it doesn’t matter. I may never know why I did many of the things that I did. I now know that the biggest hurt of all even more than my father, was being turned away by my own mother and the community I was born into.

IMG_6523

childhood, Free thinking, Mind play, New years, Parenting, resolutions, Uncategorized, writing

New Years

2018 is almost upon us. A time for a fresh start to many. I didn’t grow up celebrating the new year that I can recall.  I would laugh when I wrote the previous years number down as we all do from time to time. As a youth holidays were always very hard as I strongly felt the pain and loneliness of not having a family that wanted me enough. Yet New Years never bothered me. It was a time to work for extra pay. Or for that guaranteed day off. I never got the big deal about it and to tell the truth still do not.

I do not need to wait for a new year to resolve to change or be a better person. That is something I endeavour every day and hope that we all do. Learning new things, pushing my boundaries, trying to be a better mother, partner, friend, employee, person as a whole is a daily effort that I do not want to ever stop trying for.

I started this blog in the late summer in hopes of using this platform as a tool to help me write. It is hard to write about the past. The stories do not fall out all nice in chronological order with proper grammar and language. The depth of emotion that was felt is not easily described.  The telling of stories with a friend over a cup of coffee or glass of wine does not a writer make.

I will not stop writing my story. I will not stop striving to be more active and out in nature. I will never stop trying to be a better mother, friend, person. I may stumble and fall but I will get back up again. New Years day or not.

pexels-photo-288394