Memory is a fickle mistress August 25, 2008
Posted by mirla in : Uncategorized , add a commentSo after thinking about an article I read about a girl who has psychosis, I’m begining to doubt wether or not I am too. There are alot of paralells, but I dunno. The person said that it generaly “creeps up” on people, little flashes, before it becomes full-blown episodes. The parents realized after the psycologist told them this that they realised that she had been having flashes her entire life even though they were so shocked by her sudden outbursts. I thought about this for a bit….and realised by their standards, technicly I have too.
i didn’t think anything of it, I’d be paranoid on the bus ride to school that the other kids could read my thoughts, that even now how I believe that everyone is talking about me behind their backs, that I had the power to reflect people’s true emotions in intense situations. You could say that’s just kid stuff but aparently it isn’t.
And can you really call what my expiriences with the others anything BUT hallucinations? I know my past, I know that nothing traumatic ever happened to me to create what feels like seperate identities in my head when they feel the need to speak up for themselves.
The one difference is that my behaviors are not like hers, sometimes how I wish that I could act out my feelings but I don’t because of the paralyzing fear that people would mock me for it, wether to my face or behind my back.
As I was pondering this, I wanted to make a poem in dedication to Skye, who I think I unintentionaly let down because my mind never made the connections to realise that she was in a really bad situation to do anything. But you know what? I can hardly remember anything from that time period.
From that time, here is what I DO remember:
. My “friends” were three spoiled rotten children, I felt so bad for the mom that I always offered to help her in whatever she did. My behaviors I’m sure were similiar to her own children’s at one point or another in my life, but the difference being that they never seemed to understand or appreciate all that their mom did for them. Here are the things I remember doing together with them:
. Played baseball and some other outdoorsy games
. They pulled a trick on me once by pretending that we were talking to ghosts, they would hold a marker to the white board, and then I would hold onto it too, and then the “Ghost” would write down a message. They told alot of stories about abused and murdered children, oddly enough, and then they pretended that a ghost would haunt me forever. Well, it was a nice prank for them but I really believed it was real and started getting hysterical, they really had to apologize alot and kept saying that it wasn’t real and they were only joking. Ghosts really scare me.
. We built a tiny, (and very well controlled) bonfire in the middle of the driveway during the 4th of July…we had a blast toasting marshmallows and hotdogs over it but the landlady was REALLY mad at us though and dumped a gallon of water over the thing which I swear was just a 1 square foot little fire that was surrounded by bricks and stones anyways so that was a little overkill…being kids we thought it was SO out of line and unreasonable of her, and were shocked that our parents were just as mad at us when we told them about it!
. they would play a game called psycho were they made themselves pass out and the other people would interveiw them to see what they’d say. Oh my god, this game freaked me out so bad! I couldn’t watch, I just hid behind their door, peeking in. They told me I was acting really weird and that it wasn’t a big deal.
. Exploring the woods
. This one little brat of a child who would always pick on me. He made me so angry!
. sometimes I’d overturn rocks just to look at the bugs crawling around, and feel their bottoms for warmth during those summer evenings, I’d also hop around and paw and the sand like an animal when I felt alone, if there was an island up mud in a puddle, t suddenly became a nation with a rich history and culture.
Skye August 25, 2008
Posted by mirla in : Memories, Musings , add a commentI don’t know why her story popped into my head over the past day or so. But it did, and with this new insight on things that I didn’t have years ago, it makes things seem alot clearer.
When I was younger, about 12 or so, we had this next door neighbor (if you count the family that lives on the other side of your townhouse your nextdoor neighbor) her name was Skye. I don’t remember much of that little girl, except she was very cute, with her long blonde hair and pretty eyes, she liked to play with me and my “friends” at the time. She didn’t talk, but she was little, so I never thought anything of it.
anyways, after a while, the parents started getting into alot of fights. They would scream and scream at eachother. Probably hit eachother hit eachother too. When they got into fights, I started feeling sad and I’d just bounce a ball off of the garage door for hours…just sadly contemplating why people just couldn’t get along. Eventualy they moved, after abandoning their cat… which they kind of neglected all winter anyways (we adopted her but sadly she was hit by a car shortly afterwards) Months later, the police came to our door, saying if anyone here owned a white such-and-such kind of car. I didn’t know anybody, because I don’t know cars, and it didn’t ring a bell with my mom and step-dad either so they left. Funny, my step dad remembered a few minutes later that the car they were looking for belonged to Skye’s parents.
Strange to think really, that for such a long time we lived so close to those kinds of irresponsable parents, bad people really, but didn’t even know it. I guess tonight I’ll cry for Skye and hope that she will be okay.
I remember those days, so clearly I do. The thud of the ball against the ball, the ping it made on the ground as it bounced back to me in perfect rhythm, it wasn’t even my ball, but I was in a trance, humming little songs to myself, a trance so filled with sorrow, that I really didn’t even care. I felt like crying, maybe I did, I was never one for fighting.