Linda: Silencing, screams and finding voice

My voice was silenced since I was a little girl
When I was a small child,I am told,
I had a very large voice,
a large voice and large sobs when I was unhappy.
I would run to my grandma, scared and silent
and hide beneath her skirts so I would not get hit.
I remember running away from my father-
a larger than life person with huge hands
and a voice that made me shiver when he called my name -
I was scared of being found and punished,
for my “big mouth”,
for being a chatterbox,
for minding my brother’s work and imperfections,
for carrying home the “tales of the day” from public school.
for things beyond my control,
such as wetting my bed each and every night.

My father was in the navy
And when he came home on leave
he looked tall and handsome in his white uniform
and shoes shinning like mirrors.
He played with us
until my laughter turned to pleading
for him to stop tickling me.
When I started to cry he became angry
and called me a cry-baby.
Then he’d start drinking.
If one of us misbehaved- we all suffered.
He would hit us over and over
while my mother stood outside the door
holding a tube of first-aid cream and band-aids
that did little to cover our bruises.

I knew fear from an early age.
I feared my father,
learned to hide and pocket my words – my sobs,
trying to find my bed before he found me.
But then I was afraid to go to bed,
scared to awaken in soaking wet sheets and be punished.
I was punished and hit if I asked for a drink before going to sleep
or ices and ice cream like my brothers and sister.
I learned that I was “a problem child” –
always needing more attention than the rest,
getting it in ways that left me troubled and more scared.
I learned early that silence would serve me best
if I wanted to avoid physical punishment
but sometimes I would forget
and had to run away to escape his wrath.
The “all clear” sounded in my head
when my father slipped off to sleep
and was oblivious to the chaos in a house with 4 children.

When I was a pre-teen
I was so terrified of my father
that I escaped by staying at school and doing extra work,
as late as I could to avoid conflict at home.
He became angry, and got me home to help with things around the house –
namely, my sick brother.
Upon verbalizing my resentment
I was silenced with the back of my father’s hand.

An emotional wreck,
I did little but cry
isolated in my room.
Began pulling out my hair,
creating bald spots that called for a wig.
The one I got allowed me to escape again,
covering all the scars
that might have shown I was screaming for help,
screaming for help,
begging to be noticed
behind this head cover.
I started to eat
and eat more
and more –
snacks,
cakes,
candy,
whatever I could get my hands on
to pacify my emotions,
to cover up the pain.

As a teenager
I tried to be silent
but could not silence the screams,
hair pulling,
over eating,
bed wetting,
over which I had no control.
Outbursts led to punishment.
I hated myself
and found new ways to escape the pain –
pills(for a condition my parents called “highly strung”).

My elder sister was protective of me
and I followed her everywhere she let me go.
When I wet my bed I would crawl into bed with her
and wet her bed also.
My brother Howard and I spent time together
getting high and trying to avoid trouble.
It didn’t work
My twin brother Harry developed epilepsy
as a result of a blow to his head
and at age 11 I became responsible for his wellbeing.
As his seizures went out of control
I began suffering from migraines.
The pain medication and tranquilizers I was prescribed
were the beginning of my addiction –
I was high most of the time on doctor-prescribed meds.

At 18 I ran into the arms of my husband.
I needed to be rescued, to be taken care of.
What a bad idea that turned out to be!
Now I had adult responsibilities and 2 children in my life,
still afraid to face myself.
I went from child to adult,
skipping all the steps in between.
I was divorced by 25.

I began a long journey of drug addiction.
popping as many pills as I could
until I had none left or was too sick to take any more.
I was running away from myself,
my problems,
my demons,
uncomfortable in my own skin.
I was confused and frustrated,
couldn’t correct the mistakes I had made
nor the course my life was taking.
I lacked confidence and was frightened
by the impulsive decisions I made
affecting the lives of my children.
I was ashamed and and did very little that was right.
I could not silence the nightmare which was my life.

With 2 kids in tow I went back to my mother’s
who berated me for not listening,
for choosing marriage and children too soon,
for being ungrateful,
selfish and stupid,
for not listening….
Ran away again and found myself a welfare mom –
angry, frightened and alone,
scared to learn on my own,
to take responsibility for my choices.

I moved from place to place throughout the years,
reinventing myself as I traveled about
so no one could keep track of my behavior,
my addictive self
the embarrassing things I’d done;
I moved from borough to borough, state to state,
changing my address, jobs and names,
to protect myself from criticism and judgment.
I was broken and homeless by the end of this story,
having gone through too many beginnings and far too many ends.

I am now a voice trying on truth for a change,
looking to drop off the lies, to become more honest,
lighter to carry myself from place to place.
I am now 50 plus and have chosen to stop running and hiding.
because I can’t hide from myself.
There is much work to be done
to live my life free from self doubt and embarrassment.
It’s time to shake the past off my shoulders
to get busy living in the here and now,
right now!