Once

I had a friend
Who didn't listen
Who never cared

Raised to be a sensitive soul
No rough skin on her body
She had been to the fire
But never was burned

Every time she tried to touch the flame
Someone was there to put it out
I've sat in the fire
I've let it burn my soul

I lived in that fire
It took everything
One thing I learned though
That fire can't burn love

I'll take my real problems
Over someone else's made up problems

The Science of memory

I found this article.
http://www.babble.com/toddler/toddler-memories-of-childhood/

I find all aspects of the human brain to be fascinating. But memory and recollection is near the top of the most amazing, and bizarre functions our brain does.
Personally, I can remember age 3-6 pretty extensively. I have one solid memory of being 2 (more like 2.5). After age 6, I can remember where I lived, some of my friends, details about my room (up until about age 11) And so on. But I don't seem to have very specific memories in the volume I have them as a young child. I remember specific events, such as my 6th birthday and having 2 cakes. And lil ceasars pizza. Being 5 and playing polypocket in the tub with my brother, playing in the pool with my brother, kindergarten, the playground at school, my creepy basement room, my dolls, all my board games, a jack in the box that scared me, a pair of red sparkly shoes I adored, a pair of pink heart shaped sunglasses. At age 4 I remember loosing a shoe at the mall, going into a haunted house and needing to be passed through a tiny window back into the real world, the birth of my brother, my babysitter. Age three i remember potty training, barney hair clips I hated, A visit to the emergency room (that might have been when I was 4) but I didn't rememeber WHY we were at the emergency room. I assumed it was because Mom had blacked out again. I remember her blacking out often. I remember her blacking out once while she was painting my nails red. I remember that house too. That was when I was 5 I believe. Because I was also in Piano, violin, dance, and gymnastics! I was in gymnastics when I was 3. I remember that. I remember the chalk I'd put on my hands. Back to the emergency room memory. I remember being in a gown, and having a hospital bracelet and being hooked up to some machine. I still don't know why I was hooked up to the machine. But Apparently I had pushed myself up onto the edge of the balcony, that had a chunk of jagged wood sticking out. And in the processes of pushing or pulling myself up on that ledge, It cut open my belly. I have a scar running from my crotch to my bellybutton. That is at least the story i got. My family doesn't much tell the truth, and I wasn't living under my real name at the time, so there are no medical records to find. (I thought I would be filed under charley johnson, and I might have been but somehow I had a different SS#, and any information on Charley Johnson they have, they can not release to me.) I called every hospital Near Spokecan Washington. So I somehow blocked out the memory of getting injured, but Remember the hospital enough to know, I had a gown, a bracelet and was hooked up to some machine. word

Anywho. I have this rich collection of memories from age 6 and before. Then it kinda fades to grey. I remember my 7th birthday, not anything that happened, just that it was a chuckeecheese. I remember the flight from montana to virginia. I remember having a doll on my lap, and I remember my brother crying at the boarding platform. That is a memory that is burned into my mind.

I remember being 7 more clearly than being 9 10 or 11, but not as much as I remember being 5. A lot of my 7 year old memories are accompanied by pictures, or the person I had the memory with. So it is easier to remember. But how is it that I can clearly remember a life I had, on the other side of the country, with a whole different family, whom I've had little to no connection with since? But my life afterward is a pretty big dark cloud? I know from the age 9-13 I had a very ignorant step mother, who made my life unbearable. So I can figure that I blocked most of that out to keep it away from me. Occasionally I will sit and recall certain events, and the entire thing comes flooding back, but that is never fun. BUT that is crazy right? If I sit down and think, I can pull old memories from the pits of my mind. Think about that. That is crazy. Memories I have burried, are never actually gone. SO MAYBE I can pull the memory of my accident out someday. If I can remember every little detail about my abusive step mother, (like the gaps in her teeth, or nail bitting habit) then surely I can remember my accident. Somehow.
Maybe that is how I can remember being 3 so clearly. Maybe when i left I pondered on those memories so much that they stuck. (we have a pretty solid 2 year memory span, so If I left when I was 7, my 5 year old memories where still very active and very present. So naturally a little digging would pull up my 3 year old memories) PLUS everything changed so much during that time, that I am sure its easier to remember due to relativity . Where all memories age 11-13 are a huge globby mess.

Enough rambling, but this is something I hope I can study one day, and apply to child psychology. Maybe this idea can revolutionary teaching method. (thinks about germany's school system... germans know psychology)

100 messages

Some conversations go
From hate to mate.
Some stay stagnant
Some stay loyal

How do you string a man up
What would u use as bait?
Persistent desperation
As long as your willing to wait

One thing to understand
Women don't play fair
They don't need the upper hand
They honestly don't care

I can feel the stench from your lies
I can see it seep through your rotted teeth
It lies deep in your lovers eyes
Obvious as a bloody sheet

Your promises are vague
Your attempts are weak
Don't say I didn't warn you
You (he) are (is) mine to keep.

wrong house, right neighborhood

Today I pondered depression, anxiety, the usual...

and I wondered IF I never suffered the typical trauma victims conditions, 

then maybe that is why I don't seem to connect with others effectively. Meaning, sure I make friends very easily, but somehow there is always a small detachment.

To put it into context, a typical example of this would be my inability to have a close girlfriend, with out getting pissed off at her needy girly ways. I use to chalk this up to being irritated that the majority of women don't take care of themselves and jump from Daddy to whoever without even thinking about it. And that kind of thinking coming from a daddy's girl, is impressive. The few strong women I do meet, blow me away. But I still find it amazing, that even these strong women get weak in the knees for a man with a fat wallet. I could go on about the psychology to this, and how it pertains to me. (because trust me, If I could swallow my pride, and find a man that I could almost tolerate, that would and could take care of me... I would think about it. Because it beats eating ramen under a stack of old comforters just to stay warm AND still shake from the bitterness that is your home. well.. in theory at least) 

But the idea is, I couldn't stomach these women who had every problem in the world, but exactly none at all. Boo hoo bitch, Im sorry you spent too much on the credit card that IS IN YOUR HUSBANDS NAME and he cut you off. Go home and cry about it into your organic curry and expensive whine, and leave my cold hungry ass alone! See what I mean, can't stand them. I always chalked up my attitude about it as being bitter, from my upbringing. Being taught to never depend on anyone, even my own family. Which is halfway true, but then I started realizing, I always manage to find excuses to not confide in someone. I think MAN we could so be best friends, if it wasn't for your intolerable WHINING. 

The cool thing is, I use to hold my lovers to the same standards. They can't be whiney, needed, stubborn, aggressive, abusive, ignorant, etc. But, when they say love is blind, its the truth, because you never see any of that coming. then bam, a year later your like.. why am I still with this boy? He acts like a toddler. But again, that could be a whole other round of psychology based on "boys never grow up" bullshit. 

Moving on. My point is, instead of all this being justified by skinning my teeth with psychological jargon. I think it boils down to trauma. First, a building trauma, made up by a series of unfortunate events that lead my preschool life by its nose hairs. I mean, imagine being 3 and sleeping in different houses every few months. then stretch that concept a few years, and add hotels, trailers, and trucks to that equation. Built trauma. 

Then there is the one time trauma. As seen in my post "Cuffed at midnight". Parent separation round 2, because round one, revolves around my dream. So riddle me that. 

Then there is living with the trauma afterwards. And then experiences rounds of neglect and abuse throughout your preteen years, while trying to heal the trauma from early childhood. 

Its like a mixing pot of nonsense.

And now, at age 22 I think I know exactly what I did to survive it all. 

I think the night my mom got arrested, a part of my brain switched off, or shut down. I acted on instinct, then never stopped. 

I remember recalling not feeling the cold while standing on the playground at school that following winter. 

I remember coming in from outside, peeling off my wet clothes that I had packed snow on to. Then taking off my shirt, and not feeling naked as I walked into my first grade classroom.

I remember the following spring, playing on the playground, running around barefoot. Then running through a puddle and falling on my back. I just laid there until my dad yanked me up and whooped my ass for being stupid. 

I don't remember being sad when I said goodbye to my grandma or little brother. I didn't cry until I got older. 

Its almost as if i put my brain on auto pilot. 

I didn't even have many wants or desires during that time period. I didn't care. 

I saved my allowance every week during third grade, because I didn't care to use it. When we moved my dad found $250 some dollars stuffed into a penny bank. 

I didn't start feeling again until I felt anger. 

Anger and hurt towards my step mom who came into my life when I was 10. 

that is where it began, crying when Im angry. 

I can't divide the two feelings very well, but Im getting better. 

I made myself numb and defensive to the world around me, and I finally realize it 15 years later. 

Self harm is one thing, and often isn't performed with the idea of death in mind. It doesn't even cross your mind. Its wondering how something feels, and if you can control how it feels. Its understanding fear. I didn't do self harm as much as I whiling found harm.

Like 18 piercings in one year. just to see if my body could handle it, and rate the pain scale. 

Have you ever been so scared, your brain shuts down?

it feels like it skips a pump. the blood just stops. and your eyes shake from the tightening of your nerves. 

can you imagine that being triggered by a memory? or a thought? or a place? 

that is anxiety

but that is also emotional detachment. Once your brain enters that stage, it has shut down the pain receptors and response reflexes. So If you are confronted with death, you most likely won't feel most of it. maybe a little pinch. -_0 

I think I spent 3 years with my brain like that. frozen. I lived in motions. I did this, then that. And enjoyed being alone. 

so when the anger happened, it was the only thing that could make it through the freeze. It burned, and I could feel it. So I used it (no regrets)

It wasn't until 2009, that I started feeling sadness. And even that was somewhat filtered. 

Like Im thawing out, but there are still parts that are frozen solid. 

I can feel my body again. I can feel my skin, my feet, my hands. But I feel almost alienated, like Im not suppose to be in the physical nature I am in. 

I don't feel like I am explaining this accurately, mostly because I am really tired. But its exciting, and a little scary at the same time. But if this is how you get over trauma, I am all for it. Even if it makes me a wreck for a while.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emotional_detachment

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/emotional_psychological_trauma.htm

Childhood trauma results from anything that disrupts a child’s sense of safety and security, including:

An unstable or unsafe environment Separation from a parent Serious illness Intrusive medical procedures

Sexual, physical, or verbal abuse Domestic violence Neglect Bullying

I don't want to be scary

I want to be inspiring.
I want to carry my life
in representations
scattered on my body

I don't want children
to see me as the monster
I want them to see beauty
in the person I am

I can't convince adults
to see me as anything
more than a punk

I can't tell them
demons only live
in their mind

But I can help children understand
you can't judge a person
until you  know them

you must be weary of everyone
but still exude trust and love
because there is nothing else

Don't classify bad people
by appearance or style
classify them by deeds done

and you will understand

Memory #the flight

this is where the story begins, then goes backwards and forwards simultaneously.

July 1998
Two years ago, my life was perfect. Well maybe thats an exaggeration, but I loved my life.
I was 5, and I had everything I could ever want. Even a pony I called "pinky"
My little brother was a year old, I lived in a few different houses. All of which were beautiful. I was in gymnastics, ballet, tap, jazz, played piano and violin, and got my nails done with my mother every other week. Oh and I had dresses, hundreds of dresses fit for a princess.

But a little over a year ago, my life started to change. I had to become a different person, very quickly. My mother, my father, my brother, and I were in great falls to see my grandparents. It was christmas. I sat at the window, and watched the snow fall. Then a car pulled up to the curb. It was a familiar car. <insert dream here). I ran to my mother. "Its that man! the one from my dream!" Moms eyes widened. She ran to the window. Then grabbed me and carried me to the basement. "Mom?" I asked "What are you doing?" "Shhh Quiet" "Mommm!" "Shhhh!" She placed her hand over my mouth. I heard knocking at the front door. Grandma answered. I heard a deep voice. I couldn't hear everything but I heard "Presents for Charley" and got excited. Moms grip tightened. I heard the door close and broke free from mom. I ran upstairs. "PRESENTS!" I squealed. Mom was right behind me. "Charley for christs sake be quiet!" She went to the window. "Don't worry, he's already gone." Grandma said. "Presents!" I tried again. "What presents?" Grandma said.
Im not sure what they did with the presents, and at the time I had no clue that man was my dad. In my reality, my dad was the man who had lived with me. The man who came to the house that day, was a man who had haunted my dreams since I could remember. I tried to get information from my mom and grandma, but they wouldn't tell me anything. Said I must have made it up. We stayed through my birthday, age 6. I had two cakes. One barbie one and one chocolate one. And we ate little ceasars pizza, my favorite. Shortly after that we went to live in a small house on the outskirts of town. The house had pink shudders, and it was there I swallowed a penny. 3 months later, we were back at grandmas. Mom and the man who I thought was my dad, were in trouble. I don't know what they did, or who was after them. But we had to split up. Mom, my brother, and I stayed with grandma, and the man had to run. I guess I can refer to him as my step dad, no matter how weird it feels. That is the last time I saw him. A few weeks after he ran, there was another knock on the door. It was my dad, the man from the dream. And this time, we couldn't hide, he had cops with him. Mom had to let him visit once a week, after a few weeks he was allowed to take me places. We loved McDonalds and the park. He even taught me how to play checkers. I didn't mind this man, I still don't know why mom didn't like him. Maybe its because he brought the police to her, and I know mom doesn't like police men. And the police men don't like her. In late May of that year, they came and took her. In the middle of the night. (insert cuffed at midnight memory)

After they took her, the life I knew fell completely apart. I had to go live with my real dad, the guy from my dream. Which was pretty cool. He tried to feed me these flintstone vitamins that I hated. So i hid them under his toaster and fridge. He found them eventually. He had two cats that I loved playing with, and was very kind to me. But my little brother didn't get to come with me. He had to stay with grandma, because his dad had run away a few months earlier. On the weekends I would go to grandmas house to see him, and her, and we'd all go see mom in jail. They moved her quite a bit, so sometimes we had to talk to her through glass, on a phone, and sometimes we'd see her in a small room with tables and chairs. A few times we got a nicer room, just to ourselves. But that didn't happen often. Mom asked me a lot of questions about my father. Where we lived, who I met, what he does. Dad didn't like it very much. I guess that is why we are moving. He waited until I finished 1st grade, then called his mom, my nanny, to come get me and take me to Virginia. That is where I am now. Sitting in the boarding terminal, waiting on my plane. My little brother is standing on the other side of the glass with his face all pushed up into it. My grandma is next to him. Only grandma, not grandpa. He died a few months ago. I made a few silly faces at Dalten, and he made them back. Then grandma bent down, and said something to him. His face fell. Tears and snot streamed down the glass. My nanny grabbed my hand, it was time to go.

In virginia, I won't be Charley Johnson, I'll be Charlene Schillinger.

surrounded

needing time.
untangle unwind
from the chaos
the reality that is mine

seeing age in a different light
being alive isn't a privilege
darling its a fight

Fix this and replace that
everything is insured
live for tomorrow
prepare for it today

we simply don't know
any other way

and in my heart, in my mind
I know this is wrong
we see it as normal
life isn't suppose to be long

only the good ones die young
23 is the magic number
he knew it all along
it's magic from his slumber

my clock is winding down
and I want you to know
i love my small town
with six months to go

i hope you read this
and understand
the plan was his
my deck is his hand.