Joanna M. Doane
As children,
My twin brother and I
scrunched together.
Whimpered from the sting
of every nightmare,
I covered him up
next to me,
As old country hummed to us
Our bedtime stories,
through decade-old speakers,
With its vocals,
consumed by the potency,
of backyard moonshine -
Tales, lived out,
through the blurred affection
Of bar room strangers,
Stored in bloodshot eyes,
and kept alive in the spirit
of second round beliefs.
We slipped in and out,
Of the familiar scent
Of smoldering tobacco.
Twirling and building up, like fog
Exhaled through the mouths of stars,
All, gathered around the moon, playing poker,
and betting on who would be next to fall.
Whimpered from the sting
of every nightmare,
I covered him up
next to me,
I still inhaled in sync with him,
through the lonesome drone of 2 am,
Chasing down his slumber, and
trying to catch up with his dreams.
Entries in Poetry (5)
Overcoming Domestic Abuse-My Story
by Angel Shadow
Where do I begin?
I grew up in an environment of alcoholism. This environment was filled with physical abuse, emotional abuse, neglect, anxiety and most importantly....denial. We weren't allowed to discuss what went on in our home. It was to be swept under the rug, like the dirty little secret it was. I can't count how many times we had to silently put the house back together while my dad slept it off on the couch. I guess it was simply easier to pretend it didn't happen. I guess not acknowledging it, meant we didn't have to deal with it. But we did have to deal with it and not discussing it didn't make it go away...it allowed it to continue.
I could start with the emotional issues domestic violence causes. Or the anxiety and panic attacks. The issues of trust and constantly being guarded. Always looking over your shoulder, waiting for the next bomb to drop. The effort to accept and forgive...at least enough to move on and live a normal daily life. I could start with the importance of breaking the cycle, so this doesn't move on to the next generation. Or the importance of releasing the anger and becoming a productive human being. These are all important topics that need to be addressed and I will try to include them all.
Or I could start with some of my own personal experiences. The constant physical fights. The yelling and screaming. The broken "things." Being picked up by the throat, while my mom stood by and did nothing. Watching my mom get shoved through a kitchen window by the hair, pulled back through, and pushed out the door onto the porch. Then being told by my dad that if we tried to let her in, he'd shoot us. I could talk about the small travel trailer that was pulled from place to place, sometimes with no running water and illegally wired electricity. Relocating was a constant. There was no need to feel secure, because in no time at all, we'd be on the move again. I could discuss the countless times my parents left us with people we didn't even know; sneaking out when they thought we weren't aware. And there were times those people made it very clear that we were not wanted there. I could never understand how I could be placed somewhere I wasn't truly wanted. But it happened time and time again. I remember my brother and I spending some time on the porch because we weren't allowed to enter the house while the other kids got to have their bowl of ice cream. I remember wearing the same clothes everyday and let me tell you...other kids aren't afraid to remind you of it. I could also talk about the sexual abuse I endured from one of my dad's drunk friends when I was five years old. I could dwell on my mom's attitude of, "If I can't beat him, I'll join him." And how she spent her share of time on the bar stool beside him, while we were left at home alone, probably because no one would take us for the night. And of course, there's my mom's denial and how, "Her kids always came first." I get physically ill every time I hear her say it.
I started taking care of my sister when she was a baby. I was ten years old, and had no idea how to care for an infant. I recall the first time I was left alone with her. I stood out at the end of the driveway, looking up the street, begging them to come back. That was the day something shifted in me. I became hard as survival issues kicked in. When my parents would conveniently find a different sitter for the night, I always seemed to run them off. I literally had babysitters walk out on me, because I made their experience with us a living hell. Who did they think they were, coming into my home and telling me what to do? Thinking they could take care of my baby sister better than I could. I've been handling things just fine, thank you very much. I certainly didn't need them. Over time, my mom told me since I kept running them off, I would just do it on my own. Like I hadn't been doing that already. My sister wouldn't respond to anyone but me anyway....so what good were they? Bye-bye...see yah later!
I was never shown how to change a diaper or make a bottle. I guess it was assumed I would figure it out. After all, they would only be gone "a couple of hours." What could possibly go wrong? But those couple hours always turned into a day long event, usually extending into the early morning hours, which would end with them coming home in a fight. Do you realize how scary it is to a ten year old child to be left at home alone, with an infant, especially when it gets dark? We rarely had a phone, so I never had any way of checking in to see when they'd be home. I was forced to learn to deal with it.
These few examples I've shared are only the tip of the iceberg.
The emotional issues from domestic abuse could fill a book and there is no way I can cover them all in this article. The programming that comes from living in an abusive household is devastating to the human mind. In order to survive, the mind has to adapt and it becomes programmed to work in a certain way. It remembers everything and protects against danger in ways we still don't understand. The human mind literally has the ability to protect itself and it does this by altering what we think, which effects the way we see things. When our programming changes the way we think, it also effects the way we feel because the mind and body are tightly connected. What effects one, effects the other. Emotional abuse is one of the hardest to overcome because of the programming done to the mind. You can reprogram the mind to think and operate in a different manner, but it takes time and a lot of hard, heavy and deep soul searching, which is hardly a walk in the park.
Anxiety and panic attacks are also experiences that come from abuse. In most cases, the attacks are chronic because the mind/body are used to working in fight or flight mode. When the mind is trained to live this way, it will continue to do so, even when there is no reason for it. It simply doesn't know any different. I've been experiencing anxiety since I was five years old and it wasn't until a few years ago, I finally figured it out. I still get anxious from time to time, but I've learned to deal with attacks.
Growing up in an abusive environment made me hard, guarded and non-trusting. You'll never see me cry. It doesn't mean I don't...it just means you won't see it. I view life differently and I respond to it differently. I don't drink. How could I? Drinking is what caused my childhood to be the way it was. The thought of putting alcohol in my system makes me physically ill and brings on anxiety instantly.
I've had to overcome serious trust issues. How could I possible believe what you tell me? You're not really going to be there for me, so I simply won't count on it. I've learned to survive and I can take care of myself. I've learned to accept certain things and I've learned to forgive. I've done this for ME. Not for my parents, not for the bullies I encountered, not for the other adults who treated me less than the trash in their garbage...but for ME. For my own sanity and well-being. For my own piece of mind. I'm happy with the person I've become and I've become that person on my own.
I decided a long time ago, I would not remain a victim and I would not become a product of my environment. I decided I would forgive as much as I could. Does that mean the circumstances I encountered were justified? Not for a second! Does that mean that to this day, I think it's alright that my parents have to make a nightly stop in the bar on their way home? Not a chance! Where do I place blame? With my father, who didn't know how to stop? With my mother, who allowed it to happen? I feel they both should be held responsible. But I'm no longer a victim of their circumstance. Their life is their's to live as they choose. I simply choose to move in a difference direction. I decided the cycle stops with me. It will not be passed on to the next generation that I brought into this world. Which means my kids won't pass it on to their's and nothing makes me happier! At least I can sleep at night knowing that.
Angel Shadow's Contact Info:
URL: http://www.myspace.com/angelshadow7
*****
Confessions of the Wounded Inner Child
by Angel Shadow
Confessions of the Wounded Inner Child
by Angel Shadow
I have always been there
But you chose not to see
The pain and bitter heartache
That you enforced on me.
I could not escape you
Trapped inside your hell
A child of your making
Bars upon the cell.
You taught me oh so much
Not to trust and not to care
My world became so shattered
My eyes a cold, blank stare.
I soon became so silent
And found a place to hide
To young to understand
I was only along for the ride.
Overtime, as I grew
These issues that you dealt
Became so overwhelming
The bitterness was felt.
It took me a long time
To emerge from the dark
To learn to heal and forgive
Was not a walk in the park.
I did learn how to heal
And I did this just for me
A new world was created
For my eyes to see.
I will not pass this on
The heartache and the tears
The children of tomorrow
Shall enjoy their wonder years.
I will learn to be stronger
And stand up on my own
For the next generation
Will not be my clone.
My life is in your hands
Even if you think unfair
Be careful what you teach
And treat me with more care.
For I will never forget
The weary ways of past
Overcoming this takes time
A large stone for me to cast.
My mind is like a thirsty sponge
Absorbing and so free
So please don't damage and harm it
For you're creating me.
© Copyright 2006 Angel Shadow,
All rights reserved.
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Forgiving the Winter
by Joanna M. Doane
Written Spring of 2003
Inside the miracle -
The muscle of thought and emotion
there's a slightly transparent veil
that separates me from my shadows.
Within the reflection of a mirror
I've smashed time and time again
my shadows struggles lay forsaken
until the veils pushed open through their wind.
And the years crawl forward, inching towards me
from behind the safety of the veil.
They bring with them the torment of my shadows
and all the secrets that they tell
It never seemed meant to be -
that shedding my skin could be so painful.
It only left me naked, with nothing underneath,
In a winter that lasted 7 years.
1989, she's hiding under the bathroom sink.
In the back of the house, uncomfortably scrunched,
between the pipes and the corner,
She's counting the seconds and bargaining with God.
Gods in this room,
surrounding me,
but I can still feel the slightest draft.
I need the chill there to remind me
that the floor beneath me can still collapse.
The warmth could break all around me,
and I could wake up in the snow.
Gods in the room all around me,
but still my trepidation grows.
Because God was there for the viewing
God was there when she died
and he gave one hell of a eulogy.
What was left of me stood in the background and cried
for the summer that slipped further from me
with each wind that blew passed with an arctic sort of cold.
Until I found myself in a blizzard that mocked the fragility
of the season through which I ever felt whole.
Through the darkness, a bathroom door opens -
Cold hand hitting the light switch.
And I close my eyes and image
melting into the towels beneath my feet.
The cabinet door opens and I realize
I didn't melt as I'd imagined at all.
There's no more reason to hold my breath any longer.
All bargains have been apparently called off.
But, while there's still time, I toss her back
because safety exists only in this way.
Where staying in her boundaries means
keeping this desperation at bay.
I gave myself away to winter's birth
with each contraction, piece by piece.
I thought if I bargained I might keep winter from coming.
Now there's so little left of me.
And the dreary hallways of unkept rooms
are haunted by my fears.
There's an existence I sustained behind closed doors
that only warps into different years.
And, from behind the frigid, silken clothe
they dance, and cower, and rage.
The only relief I seem to find
is when I whisper their names on page.
But Gods in my room with me again
where its warm for the first time in 7 years.
But I can still feel the slightest draft.
Winters still whispering in my ear.
In a frigid language she keeps trying to convey
That nothing could over power
the need for her in my world.
So that I might learn this art of survival
but she never made it to the funeral
where I misplaced all my past fun times,
where I can't remember exactly
all the things I once loved.
I dropped so many pieces of myself along the way.
Sometimes it seems too broken to make sense of.
The putrid scent of this betrayal
stole all the warmth that remained in my breath.
How can a child's eyes reflect this grave?
How can this conclusion be all that is left?
Am I still the little girl that survives the winter
by burying myself in the snow?
Am I still in the trench, under the bathroom sink?
Hiding in imagination so that I might cope
with these ritualistic acts...mechanical...
that smell of alcohol and broken promises of love.
Forced to breath while under water...
Tarred feathers that once belonged
to the body of a dove.
The dull movements never expressed a human emotion.
The shadows never contained a human soul.
Frozen...slowly thawed..re-frozen,
and transformed through different roles.
- Joanna M. Doane
© 2007
http://llfallenstarll.deviantart.com/
Remember Me
you awkward monster
you fumbling devil
Remember Me
Remember Me
in your impotence
Remember Me
through tormenting dreams
Remember Me
in the silences between the changing of the moments
Remember Me
like a wild bird that pecks at your brain
Remember Me
when you see that the marigolds are in bloom
Remember me
when the horizontal rain attacks your rooftop and raps at your windowpane
Remember Me
when a pleading sun cries out against morning.
Remember Me
Remember Me
as Women and Men raise their voices and speak out
Remember Me
as they stand up
Remember Me
as they rise
Remember Me
you miserable monster
And above all else:
Remember
that I have forgotten you.
Bedtime Stories
by Joanna M. Doane
-- Joanna Doane
©2006
My favorite sweater - my ample, royal blue armor.
Light indigo, that flowed off my creamy skin.
Wearing it always helped me to feel
far more comfortable to exist, back then.
In a world that seemed solely fixated
on my narrow shape, and on my subtle figure,
I returned the favor, with the soft glare
of my guarded eyes.
Every night, I kept my sweater's warm fabric
wrapped tightly around me - draped, soothingly,
as a comforter over my light frame, as I laid.
I never slept without the lights on,
or without my bedroom door locked.
Even the shaded walls of my room had eyes that stared
I, somehow, always thought.
I’d doze off, taking refuge in my small cotton hideout.
Feeling well protected, despite the intricate night terrors
that were at war with me, as they repetitively careened.
Always finding a way to haunt me from
within the lingering frailty of my dreams.
Upon waking, I remained
burrowed in my rationalized safety -
as thick as the sullen, silver sunrises,
that greeted me, on my way to class.
As I wove through, speeding past the
same battle line of vague, empty faces -
shrouded in the rising, highway smoke.
Each one - prepared for their day's march,
adorned in their own respective camouflage.
-- Joanna Doane
© 2001 - 2006
http://llfallenstarll.deviantart.com/