Lessons Learned

It’s funny that as I sit here trying to decide on a topic for my writing, I find my mind drifting down the dark path to memories that I have caged and guarded closely so that they don’t escape. Memories that I have worked and labored my whole life to keep submerged in the dank recesses of my subconscious. Memories of lessons learned...

A miserably hot day in the middle of the summer I turned six found me hiding in my room while listening to my parents fight. I ventured out after the last crashes had faded with the slamming of the door. I could feel Momma’s torment the moment I walked into the room. Her pain surrounded me like a living creature that fed on emotions, leaving only madness in it’s wake.
“Momma?” I asked as I walked cautiously up to my mother lying curled up on the living room floor in the corner of the darkened room. As I knelt beside her, I reached out touching her softly, wiping her tear soaked auburn hair from her face. “It’s okay, Momma, I’m here.” I reassured her as I gathered her close and cradled her head on my lap. “I’m here, Momma. Do you hear me? I’m right here and it’s all right now.”
The sound of her crying filled my ears, blocking out all other sounds. Momma didn’t cry like other people did. She felt things more intensely and her sobs were gut wrenching, coming from deep within.
“Baby Girl?” Momma asked, hesitantly looking at me with sad eyes.
“Yes, Momma, it’s all right.” I said trying to soothe her.
“Don’t fall in love, sweetheart, promise me you won’t!” Momma begged, her voice becoming frantic, “That’s why I’m crying, Baby. I’m in love with your daddy and it’s killing me! He knows I love him and he uses it to hurt me, control me … do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I understand.” I answered dutifully.
“Do you see what feeling does?” She moaned, sitting up and rocking back and forth, “Don’t you see?”
I did see. I understood more than a child of six should be capable of and I learned from what I saw. I learned the essentiality of remaining in control of your emotions. I began to build strong cages to imprison the passions that could turn to demons in the mind, like they did to Momma. I can’t remember ever feeling the carefree joys of youth and life, instead I existed, cautiously taut within the walls of my mother’s hell.
After Daddy left, I learned that love is not blind, nor does it trust unconditionally. Mother began bringing home a string of new “dads” to replace the man who left us behind. She seemed to exist as a beacon to all drunks, abusers and molesters, begging me to trust her to make everything all right, again. Things had never been right and I didn’t trust her to be able to make it better. I found out that the battle my mother constantly waged in her mind had a name; insanity.
As I got older, Mother began talking to me, pouring out her pain to me, wanting me to make it all better. When I couldn’t stop the voices, when I couldn’t stop the visions, when I couldn’t stop the pain in her soul, she would strike out with a vicious onslaught to make me feel her pain. I couldn’t blame her for a sickness she didn’t ask for, but I learned a lesson. I learned that when people strike out to hurt you, they revealed their own pain.
Some people complain about the inequity of life, cursing God and raging against the pain they have suffered. Some people use life’s experiences as a crutch to excuse them for any past, present or future failures. I choose to take control of my own life, casting away crutches and anger. I think of this world as a classroom where the instructors sometimes lack refinement and the lessons aren’t always easy, but you live and learn.