Mental Trauma

They argued with such vitriol that they didn’t notice the children standing between them, until the unforeseen happened.

When I think back that’s all I remember. Being a little boy deathly afraid of my father because that’s what he wanted. He spoke loudly on a daily bases to remind my brother and I we were inferior to his being. His size that stood 6’0  high and over 200 pounds, mostly muscle from his high school years of being a star football player.

His eyes were blank when him and my mother viciously argued. My mothers voice powerful for a black woman was unmatched to my fathers. Friday nights were not the glory days  adults and kids awaited for. While Fridays marked the day of freedom for others, Fridays marked the day of trauma and distraught, as it foreshadowed the hell stricken weekend. Paranoia was my best friend that manifested into a deep soulful hate that lived inside of me.

I had thoughts of killing my father for the drunk nights he would come on the weekends. I would stand only a little over 5 feet staring at him with my lips curled in, eyes pinched together, and little fist balled thinking of that steak knife. The enemy would lay passed out on the couch with his sliva peaking out from his lips while snoring.

He would wake me up and my brother up and speak to us from 11 at night till 3 in the morning about nothing. He forced us to stay up while he condemned us for being kids. He would tell us we don’t need any friends and we don’t need family. No one will care for us as his family never cared for him.

My brother and I both less then age of ten and three years apart never knew what a quiet home was between my mom and dad. Deplorable slurs of words clashed between the two giants  violently every weekend for all of my childhood.

 Nights of him sending us in our room crying behind a door while our ears were pressed against it was normal. Unbreakable nervousness rode the thick red water in our veins when he would threaten to break my mothers ankles. Tears of silent prayers ran on our cheeks.

I can’t seem to forget a history that was part of me as I remained isolated disabling the need to express my grief in what I went through at home. As it was “no ones business,” as my father would say, “what happens at home”.

So I developed the ability to compartmentalize the terror for weekends only. This was my only coping strategy although I was unaware at the time. I gained victory in my dreams as a kid when I would beat my father off my mother. Or when I do grave harm on to him falsely giving me courage I never had growing up.

For being so afraid to die in his arms.

Daily Prompt – For Posterity

Writer’s Block Party: Food, Drinks, and Confusion For FREE!

Daily Prompt: Writers Block Party

When was the last time you experienced writer’s block? What do you think brought it about — and how did you dig your way out of it?


Everyday @ anytime! located on In Your Mind Street Between the Devil and Inspirational Avenue

Come meet local mourners around you and celebrate one of the most forgotten writers diseases in history of inscribing 

That’s it, just wanted to promote this event.

So… To  answer this question I am currently in a writers block and have been for the whole summer. Why? Well, because I want to start on my memoir and don’t know how to begin. Also, I don’t want to relive some of the most haunting memories. I just know I have a great story to tell. I don’t want to spell all that I am going to write in that book on here. Then, I don’t want to update nonsense. I want to update quality that is going to attract people. This is not Facebook and Twitter.

Yes, Daily prompt helps to a degree, it helps me stay relevant. I don’t like to feel forced to write or write about what some one else suggested. I want my blog to be organic.

I figure I have to read or experience more so i have something to write about. This is so not the journey I thought blogging will be. I never really experience the pressure of writers block until i started blogging. Well I never really took writing seriously prior to that.

I figure if I follow, read more write more, I can write more, I don’t know.I know I am still in a writers block. So I cant even say how I got out of it.

Do Titles Do More Bad Then Good?

I’m curious are relationship titles need?
Titles ranging from boyfriends to situationships.
There seems to be a need to have some sort of the identification, is it because of the ego?

I ask this because two years ago and even last year I struggled with the need to have a title in my relationship. I thought it was so important because that what we are taught; You date, then make it official simultaneously getting that title. The struggle came in when I felt like I needed the title to feel complete. The actions of a full relationship was there on both ends, however, during hardships and turmoil and little voice in the back of my head come forth. This voice constantly antagonize me for being in what they called an unofficial relationship.


I would ask a friend or two about this issue and mostly get responses like, “Nah, after 4 months this means he don’t want you. You are being used. Give him an ultimatum.” I will feel even more insecure. Even though this was far from the truth, a negative mindset will fool you into thinking otherwise. Also, I had this need of wanting more and more to feel complete once again; feeding the ego more and more.  I had the substance, I had enough substance to make others jealous of my relationship. So was the title really necessary. This is not a job.

Somehow, I thought the title was going to complete all that is missing. Why? cause titles comes with expectations. Boyfriends are obligated to do X,Y,Z. Friends are expected to do all of this, and all of that, girlfriends got to act a certain way. This made me question…
what’s the difference between the honeymoon stage in a relationship to the Post-Honeymoon stage? Looking deep into the actions of a couple and from my experience, there is a level of ease and freedom. During the honeymoon stage you wouldn’t feel obligated to do anything because more than likely there is no title, so your actions become natural, free, and willingly. There is not hard concern about your partners location, and social life then, so why does it have to change later on.

During the honeymoon stage, the seriousness is way down. couples are to concern with being in each others presence and discovering. For me, there less nagging, less worry and concern although I cared equally. For an example, I realized I was got to conscious on my partners locations all the time. I felt the need to know all the time every minute, if he moved from where I thought he would be and I wasn’t aware I would feel offended.  If his mom don’t have a GPS on him, why should I? During the beginning I didn’t so why start now? In my mind, I reasoned, “well if somebody would to ask me where is he, and I say I don’t know, that would make me look like I didn’t care for him.” But why be so strict and overbearing? The deeper the feelings grow the more fear of getting hurt badly there is, so we act irrational?

So I ask you guys, how do you feel about titles?
Do you feel like it adds obligations and pressure?
Do you feel the need to have it, if so why?
Do you feel its better to have the title and no substance or substance and no title?

One Ear: The Diagnosis (Part II)

“Meningitis,” The young black doctor said to my mom.
My eyes were still closed and face still cringing from the pain.
“Oh, my God, are you serious?” I wailed. I couldn’t believe it! my mind flipped upside down even more. I couldn’t bring to thought how I contracted meningitis. I thought at the time it was only sexually transmitted and having my mother there with that thought was very awkward and embarrassing. I thought what she’d think of me a some loose cannon. I felt like I failed. Still to my conscious it didn’t make since if that was the case. I was in a stabled relationship even though at the moment we called it quits (we always go through that.)

The doctor explained how it wasn’t sexually transmitted because it wasn’t in a viral form but in a bacteria form. My mother elaborated  in my long history of ear infections.
At a very young age I had chronic ear infections. I was known through my childhood years for having these on going issues with my ear. Since I was little, my pediatrician didn’t think to deeply about the issue. We thought and he thought it was just a child thing I’m going through. Eventually I were to grow out of it. Which technically, I did…or so I thought. In summer 2010 just after my high school graduation I experience yet another ear infection. It was almost weird having to experience the pain all over again after a decade. I had undergo my first surgery which required a tube to drain liquid in my ear. That lead to another discovery that I had skin growing in the back of my hear. They call it Cholesteatoma. Few weeks later, I went under again so the doctor can clear out the mess. That lead to facial paralysis on my left side ( the chronic side). I was hard to eat, drink, talk, and blink. My whole left side was shut down like if I had a stroke. Going to work and school required human interaction which was no extremely difficult. formulating words…there was no such thing. I tried to isolate myself as much as I can from embarrassment. I recovered a three months later after I decided to go on a B-12 regime. I tried every alternative way I can to self medicate myself. I hate drug industries; they want you sick for money.

The nurse soon came with the morphine to calm down the pain. Finally, I was able to relax with a mild headache. My mother still with my had my vomit filled shoes and clothes as I switch in the gear that stole my identity. I took off my pants, slip into this light blue gown that exposed my backside. I lost the freedom to wear what I want. my right arm slip from beside and they clamped a white band around my arm. My identity changed into a barcode.The nurse held wires with a round sticker on the end that were placed all over my torso. I lost the freedom to walk. She took my temperature, that read 104 degrees, monitored my blood pressure and heart rate.

More doctors came in. I say about for of them, three males and one female. The all stood erect with white jackets and mask covering their mouths. They encourage my mother to get one immediately since what I have is contracted airborne. I’m registered unsafe to the public now. They ask for me name which no longer mattered.

“Hey dontae, I’m…” I forgot their names I’ve met to many doctors. “We are from the infectious disease department and we are here to tell you, you have meningitis which we believe could have been from you ear infections, can you tell us what happened?” And, so I did with grief. One doctor had a plastic shield covering his entire face. Like the ones police use to protect theirs…yeah! I couldn’t have felt so alienated from other as I had felt at that time. I was reduced to a new identity. A potentially harmful one. I hated it. Later, I was now being transported into another room. Solitary confinement.

It had to be already 3 hours into the early morning, I couldn’t tell because I had no phone for it died as soon I got home. my mother decided to leave because it was late. I wanted her to come back with my charger because I had not tell my friends or anybody that I am home. I couldn’t reach my dad; he’s another story, or my friends to tell them that I had made it home, but now unexpectedly in the hospital, or even tell my dear love “look I know we on bad terms right now however, I need you.”

As soon as my mother left me, the minute she closed the door behind here I was alone. The nurses didn’t help me as they should nor were they even attentive to me. The machine I was hooked up on produced a intensely loud ringing alarm indicating my rates were below average. In other words, I couldn’t tell whether it was saying my breathing was dying, heart racing, my life line is to low. I didn’t understand all I know was I needed help. They button to call the nurses over was broken. Now how can I reach someone when I’m locked in a room alone? I’m looking through a window seeing nurses after nurses moving about talking and not one of them see’s me waving? The noise grew even louder, my goodness It resembled an alarm clock that would not snooze! it felt like hours on end.

I never experienced the moment of now since until being that room. I had no time and I had lost the track of time since I got to the hospital. The loud alarm caused me to tear rapidly. I bawled out. My headache started to grew while I’m left strapped to a bed hooked with wires. I’m yelling help louder and louder but my voice is competing with a machine. I started waving aggressively at he small window at the door.
I managed to get three nurses and not one of them helped me. They all said, “I’ll get your nurses for you.” All I wanted was them to stop the noise and give an Advil or something for this headache. I was hungry too! That one nurse came in gleefully, I guess to brighten my spirits, explaining how someone else is really sick and much other redundant information. I could care any less! I could have caught a heart attack or something and no one would have noticed me. That how deserted I was. I am not exaggerating this either. . . .

Another doctor came in again asking the same dumb questions, “What happened?” “You have this…we’re going to do that.” He looked in the chronic ear and gave me a new discovery.
He said,”It looked like part of the brain fell behind your eardrum.”