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A Personal Manifesto - Parts 2 - 4
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A Personal Manifesto - Parts 2 - 4 |
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Endlessecho Member
since 2003-09-05
Posts 398I live within myself |
Well here is the continuation of A Personal Manifesto. I hope this doesn’t get too confusing. I’m calling these Parts now, instead of chapters. Because chapters make you think “story” and this isn’t exactly a story yet. The parts don’t follow any specific order. And they are much more “prose” like than having actual events or happenings. More memories and thoughts. They shift time periods and the view of the writer changes in each part because of the time in life that each part occurs at. Such as Part 2 taking place when she’s a teenager and then Part 3 going back further into her younger childhood. Anyway.. I realize there has to be much more added to make a story, but I’d appreciate any comments as I work toward doing that (sometime)  Thanks. Part 2 Three o’clock in the afternoon and my mom is still sleeping. I walk through the dark house dropping my school bag on the couch. Peeking into my parent’s room, I see my mother dead to the world touched only slightly by the sun fighting it’s way into the bleakness through the crack under the shade. My father is beside her, back to back. I close the door and walk to my room in the back of the house. Quiet surrounds me. My eyelids feel heavy and I look to my bed. But, I can’t let it get the better of me. I will not! I move quickly to turn on the light next to me, but it’s still not bright enough. I rush to open the blinds and turn on the lamp on the other side of the room. Light fills the room and I feel relief. I’ve fought the darkness. Now, the loneliness begins its attack; tedium stillness. I stand there, looking around. I once again turn off the lights, but leave the shades open and exit my room. I’m finding no answers there. Down the hall, I pass my parents’ room again. My father’s snoring escapes into the hall. As I walk through the living room and then the kitchen, I absentmindedly flick on the light switches and pull open the curtains. I smile. I smile a real smile because I like the light. Then, I see it. Sitting in the prominent space in the living room. I know if I turn the knob, that’s the end of me for the day. My mind will welcome the numbness. No! I want to accomplish something. I want the phone to ring. Part 3 “Stupid woman!” “Good-for-nothing.” “Why do you even bother to try thinking?” What’s it like for a husband to truly love his wife? Did my father not love my mother or does he just not know how to love? We always said “but he’s such a good father.” Isn’t that an oxymoron? Good father, bad husband. Can you be a good father if your children watch you hit and dehumanize their mother? Doesn’t it just make it worse that you don’t hit them as well; not better? Because then they’re on the outskirts, finding it hard to hate you but hard to love you as well. Hit us too. Let us in and let us feel the pain so we can be angry too. Give us a reason. Let the pain wash away our guilt. Part 4 I stare at my hands. I stare at her face. I should feel sorry for her. I should be sad. I should reach out to comfort her; not reach out and hold her just because it’s what I’m supposed to do. I should be upset and horrified of what she’s saying, but I don’t trust her. My mind is talking to itself and I’m listening to it instead of to her, because I’ve heard it all before. When I cry, I cry for myself. I cry out of anger and frustration and it only reaches as far as my own lifeless heart. It doesn’t have the depth to reach anyone else. When I think of my father, I’m scared. Not for him, but for me. I’m scared that I’ve inherited the inability to truly care about someone else. I wonder if I am incapable of real love as well. I’m scared because I don’t think I know how to love correctly. My emotions have been packed up and stored so far deep inside, locked up so tight, that I’m not sure they can ever be recovered. I did it for myself. I did it to protect myself. Selfish, selfish. Now, I don’t know how to stop – or start if that’s the case. I don’t know how to start caring again. I don’t know if I’m even capable any longer. Or worse, if I ever was. Back to my mother (see! I’m always going back – back from myself). She says that everything would be better without her. I am so stuck in the only feeling I have left – utter bitterness – that my only reactive thought to that is “she is fishing for my pity. She wants attention.” If she ever did kill herself, she would kill with her the last bit of feeling human that I have inside me. I know it’s in there. I see glimpses, but I can’t find it when I need it. Parts 5 and 6 are my favorites. I’ll post them soon. Thank you for reading. |
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Sadelite Member Elite
since 2003-10-11
Posts 2519 |
Wow! Terrific job-you pulled every emotional string I had with this one. Even though I haven't experienced the same, I know those feelings where you wish someone would be mean to give you reason to dislike them. You really made it easy to identify with the situation, regardless how distant it is from one's experience. I can't think of a way to make it better. I'm glad you gave us a hint of the time frame ahead of time-I might have been lost for a little while without that. Very good writing, echo! |
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