Never have I felt more alone than in the place I should feel loved
I never can escape the fear…the pure horror of a child’s mind
The feeling of play…of love…is too unfamiliar
It sits and it wrenches my eyes with tears
Like a victim living with her abuser
Like cancer living in its desecrated body
I have no where to go
I am alone
Watching you sit in the tub…blood poured
yelling, “Mommy wake up.”
But you laid there, penetrating my mind
Pills on the floor
Booze dripping on the side of your lip
Eyes wide and without any life inside
“Why won’t you wake up?”
Eight years old….
I became a shell of a child
But,you aren’t the only one dying mommy
For when I go home, I come a little bit closer to my own death
I come a little closer to giving into my fear
When I go home
I become a shell of a child
When I go home…
Please don’t make me go…
If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t change when I made the wrong decision, when I felt sad or betrayed, or when I could have altered the outcome of my life all together. No… the feelings of a scraped knee or a damaged pride are petty and incomparable to what I would change if I could turn back time.
I would go back to a time where I was oblivious to what was going on around me. A time where I didn’t question the morals of the people who “cared” for me and “loved” me. A time when I had the perfect family and all was right in the world. Kisses and hugs were my life force and the only thing I ever worried about was if I would get a turn on the computer.
I would go back to a time where I asked my dad, “Hey dad, why is mom falling over?” simply because I didn’t know that a mom could be any less than perfect. I wish that I never realized that my mom would go to bed before me as a child, just because she had begun drinking as early as noon, every…single….day.
I so wish and beg that I could go back to a time where I didn’t constantly notice the fridge stocked with cans of “Bud Light” and cheap wines bought from the liquor store just down the street. I’d go back to when juice boxes and milk for cereal were the only things that ever stocked the fridge… at least in my innocent eyes.
Mom, I wish you weren’t the monster that my older siblings said you were. Today I can only say, you are the monster that shoots through my brain when anxiety turns me into shambles at the sight of alcohol. Mom, you have put me an eternal bind of confusion. Should I love my mom, as is natural for most children, or resent the monster that has taken her place.
If I could go back, I’d want to grow up knowing that my paradise of childhood will end abruptly.
If I Could Turn Back Time