Forged in the Flames of Childhood

I don’t hold anyone responsible for the way my life has turned out.

Every person who has ever hurt me has been hurt themselves.

Kids, teens, adults.

We’ve all gone through something we have never been able to recover from.

And that something has altered the way we interact with the world.

That something made us create a persona.

Build a wall.

Take on an addiction.

To cope.

To be able to take on another day.

To survive.

Then we grew up.

Became adults.

And still behaved the way we behaved when we were children.

I can’t walk into a room without noticing the slightest change in expression, body language, and speech.

But it’s just 8-year-old me trying to avoid a beating, being molested, being insulted.

When I have an issue, I run away. 

I don’t reach out.

I don’t ask for help.

But that’s just 14-year-old me doing what she always did.

Relying on herself because there was never anyone there.

It’s like my marriage.

I’ve left three times.

Three times I’ve come back.

We are like strangers.

And he is infuriating.

But do you know who I see when I’m over the anger?

This little nerdy kid with his jeans pulled up to his chest.

Wondering why he’s never enough for his mom.

Why she chooses to compare him and his siblings to the better-looking, supposedly smarter kids on the block.

Why she chooses to fight each and every night about money with their dad.

Why she chooses humiliation and their dad chooses tears instead of confrontation.

I then understand why he thinks marriage is about being a provider of money.

Why he decided that avoidance and withdrawal were safe.

I see my mother.

I wonder what caused her to live in an alternate reality.

One where little girls are whores who seduce 30-year-old men.

One where she went to the most expensive schools.

Lived in the most expensive places.

Was courted by the richest men.

Despite all facts pointing to her growing up in poverty.

Her single mission to ruin people’s lives.

Through deceit and triangulation.

While refusing to acknowledge wrongdoing.

Or discuss her past.

What happened to that little girl?

But it’s not just the people who hurt me.

It’s also the people who hurt you.

The boss who finds fault in every little thing you do.

The partner you’re never enough for.

The friend who doesn’t know the meaning of being loyal.

It’s every friggin’ adult we see or interact with.

These children in adult bodies.

With behaviors forged in the flames of childhood.

You can see their little bodies.

Their faces filled with terror.

Trying to survive.

Just wanting to be loved.