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

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I Can Smell It. I Can Smell It. I Can smell Independence!

Daily Prompt  – Tell us about your first day at something — your first day of school, first day of work, first day living on your own, first day blogging, first day as a parent, whatever.

 

I took a deep breath. Inhaling the warm summer breeze I closed my eyes savoring this moment. I exhaled all that was before me when walked down the path to freedom. Only 2o years young I am happy I can be away from all and be with in me and my sanctuary. Well, I will be sharing space with my best friend, but he will be in the other room. The point be it that I have my own space…partly. In my hand I struggled with the air mattress box that poked a hole in the plastic bag. “Shit, dumb store didn’t double bag,” I said aloud. I would be making new memories and commemorating my freedom in this shabby old house. It was the only odd looking house on the block that stood next to two to three family home houses. While all the other houses connected in one solid row down the street, this house gray and meek deserved an award for passing the test of time. I wondered why haven this place been renovated and remade. Apparently, the landlord ran out the country but is still paying property taxed to sustain this overgrown shack.
I hopped over the gate into the yard of the house like a pro. It was about four feet high, but it still looked like jumping into a convertible. The grass looked as if he hasn’t been mowed in a few years. I looked at the yard very displeased at the up keep. I looked down and around scanning for any shady looking things that may surprise me. I am not here to be scared.  My sanctuary was located behind the suspicious old house. It served as an attachment where the only connection to the house was through the basement.  I smiled. I soon was about to open the warm golden doorknob to freedom. But then I stopped in thought. I squinted at my door only a few feet away at a dark patch that reside at the corner of me door. “What the fuck is that?” I said.  When I got up close and personal with that thing, it wasn’t a thing anymore. It was a beehive. I slapped my palm over my face in distress. It was a whole colony right above the door. What will happen when I open the door? I pray to the heaven I don’t get attacked by these wasp.
I slowly open the door like a robber. My eyes are zoomed, focused, and fixated on them yellow jacket bees. As soon as my head was inside my home I slammed the door closed breathing heavily against the door. I shook my head to regain my composure smiling at the revealing of my new home.  I went into my room that was once a living room and laid out my mattress to blow up.  the room was entirely empty and small. The only furniture I had there were my old shoes and socks from the other day. I made way into the kitchen to turn on the stove. It didn’t work. “hmm okay,” I thought. ” Maybe it’s a Con Edison thing.” I kicked off my shoes touching my toes on the warm wooden floor that creek from old age. In the bathroom I turned on the hot water to refresh my face. It was cold. very cold. I turned on the shower now curious to what the hell is going in this place. And that too was freezing cold. ” What the fuck!” I screamed. There seemed to have been a creepy one hundred leg insect running out tub. I ran out of that bathroom faster than a jacket rabbit in the middle of August on a hot greasy griddle as Sandy would say. My friend ran toward me with a bat.
“Yo! oh my god, son!” He said. ” I was about to bash your head in. I didn’t even hear you come in!”  “What the hell is going on here?” I belted.
“What you mean?” He said.
” What you mean, what I mean? Nigga where is the hot water and gas?”
” Yeah, about that…It doesn’t work.”
What about the fridge?” I opened the door to be punched in the face by a grotesque smell.
“Oh! there goes my extra cheese pizza I was looking for!” My friend said joyously. The pizza was deteriorating by mold and the foul smell. I was growing angrier by the minute. I starred at him with my palm over my face covering my mouth and nose.
“This is going to be an experience” I mumbled in my hand.
“What did you say?” he said.
“Nothing”
” What did you say? I cant hear you…”
I rolled me eyes.

 

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?

Well before I start… COME OUT TO THE DAILY ANNUAL WRITERS BLOCK PARTY FREE CONFUSION! FREE PANIC ATTACKS! FREE DEPRESSION! FREE FOOD AND DRINKS! FREE NO KNOWN WAY TO GET 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.

You’ll Never Know !

The DJ tried one last time to make the club enjoyable or maybe to make me enjoyable. I came to the club to release the heavy burden of my mother’s death two weeks ago. Nothing honestly is working its magic during these mourning stages. I figured I just have to let it pass and run its course, how long is that going to take? I went to the bar to order me my last drink,” Can I get an Ameretta Sour,” i said placing twenty dollars on counter. “That’s going to be eleven dollars,” the bartender said. The bartender wiped fresh a new glass for me to mix the combinations of the armeretta mix and vodka together. “Don’t make it to strong!” I said watching him pour a little too much vodka in my drink. “I would like to remember tonight, damn!” I laughed. The bartender giggled and collected the twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the change,” I said. Hopefully he doesn’t mistaken my nice tip as flirting.

I took my drink still sitting on the chair sipping away watching everybody become another self in the dark room. The song unknown to me waved through the air controlling the sways of the people creatively moving to the beat. They created their own perception of the beat as some were in rhythm and some, like the red-head on my left side, was just slight off beat. I laughed and nodded my head at how confident he was with the song. He married the song with such vows of certainty. His face was zoned out with is eyes closed almost in a moving meditative state. You can tell he was comfortable in his skin probably more than he has ever been before.

You know, actually I think I’m going to show him how to dance. This should be very fun yet, bold of me to do. I got my from  my seat and placed my empty drink on the counter. “The was fast,” said the bartender. “Yeah, I know, I had a rough two weeks,” I said screaming over the loud music. “You should have let me make the drink stronger,” he laughed. “No, no that’s okay!” I swam through the bouncing bodies to the red-head dancing off cue. Hopefully, their were an understanding of me pushing and stepping on their shoes. I just don’t have the time to be screaming excuse me.

When I reached him his eyes were still closed. “Hey excuse me,” I said tapping on his shoulder. He stopped moving opened his eyes then closed them back. He continued in his unmatched sways to the beat. “Hey, excuse me, you are a little bit off. I want show you how to do it.” I scream. The guy opened his eyes waiting to see what I had to offer. Very simple I just move side to side meeting my feet together from the left to the right.
“See it’s very simple just ride the beat, pick a part of the song and just groove accordingly” I demonstrated. Finally speaking he said, “And what am I doing wrong?”
“let’s just say instead of picking one beat you are mixing all the beats and it looks crazy, no shade”
Together we worked on him trying to move to the beat until he was able to not need my guidance.
“I’m David, what brings you to the club today,” I said still swaying side to side letting my body move freely.
“My mother passed away recently, it’s Friday, I’m single, but I don’t feel social so i’m by myself. I’m Steven,” the red-head said while occasionally moving out of rhythm.
“My mother passed away too, that’s ironic. I am here for the same exact reason.”
“Is this your pick up line, if so that’s not funny.” Steven said.
“No, I’m serious my mother passed away of stomach cancer, and plus I don’t do red heads.”
“My mother did too!” Steven said “Rihanna did it so I’m allowed to do it also!” . He did share the same complexion as her, so I guess he can get a pass.
“That’s so ironic. Was you close to you mother, me and mother was very close so it’s really hard for me going through this alone,” I said

“No, we lost contact after I came out to her, but she is still my one and only mother, I missed the funeral and everything too, I’m not good with death”
“What is you mothers name?” I asked.

“Stephanie Bright,” He replied.

I stopped in my tracks immediately,”Stephanie Bright? Are you sure? “
“Yeah, Why would I lie about that!” He said sternly.
“When was her funeral service?”

“Last sunday! Why are we talking about this in a club. Look I’m sorry for your lost but you are getting to personal. I don’t know you and I’m here trying to end my night right. Goodnight!” Steven said while grabbing his black jacket he had against the chair.
I went into my wallet and pulled out a picture of my mother dressed in all white maxi dress paired with white and red Christain Louboutins and grabbed him by his shoulders.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone, what the fuck!” He screamed.
“Is this your mother?”

Write Now: Writing Prompt: The DJ tried one last time to make the club enjoyable

Hell To The Pile Of Trash No!!!

What the hell seriously! I want to throw this 1960’s computer out my 21st floor apartment window and let it fertilize the grass with its invisible infections.

FUCK IT ALL

FUCK IT ALL

Recently, my computer contracted a virus infecting a little over 1,500 files. I had no clue, for I had done a previous scan before, but since my beloved Malwarebytes Anti-Malware software was not updated it could not catch these bastards.

Who in their left mind who invented viruses for computers. Don’t go and say it was something that was inevitable to happen like glitches or some bullshit, because to be frank with you guys computers came from humans and should have been made without being susceptible to a virus.

The conspiracy theorist in me says,” They made viruses for computer so they can make more profit by selling viral protection softwares

HELL TO THE NO! (In my Glee voice)

This computer has one more time to fuck shit up

This computer has one more time to fuck shit up

I refuse to be another patent profit victim like how the health industry already done. You won’t catch this negro! Word!

I am annoyed

I am frustrated

I have a book to write, a blog to update, I cannot continuously keep working from my phone and reading tablet. It’s a damn shame when these devices works faster than an actual computer! A serious shame. I can’t go to a library because they time you and forty minuets is not enough, especially with my wanderlust mind.

Say hello to my little friends Dell PC

Say hello to my little friends Dell PC

I don’t know what to do yet, this is like me third day trying to clean this garbage and when I do it freezes trying to rid what is now 150 or so infected files.

I need a laptop. I need some food.

P.s. Believe me when I say this wasn’t caused by porn. Truly, sincerely, believe me. As for my brother, I wouldn’t know,  I’m trying to figure out these crumbling pieces of paper towels myself.