Parts I, III and IV – Subject Private
I am nobody’s child. That makes me no one. That makes me feel like a nothing. If I am a nothing, I can do anything without consequence. I have been fucked by life, therefore, fuck you too.
I was no one to love. I was a boy. I was six. I can see me in my mind’s eye. He’s there. He still has hair. A big bushy head of hair, laughing and smiling and running and playing. He was a child. His heart was open for love for he thought he was lovable. Then at six, his mother fucking left him. She just left. Him, me, I. She took me and my two younger sisters to her husband’s house – my missing shit father’s parents’ house and left us there. She was too self-interested to take care of me, the oldest, at 6 and me two sisters, each two years apart from me.
I concluded henceforth, I am nothing.
My grandmother and grandfather loved and loves me fiercely. I still take care of my grandmother and grandfather, both in their 90’s with diligence, with love, with compassion and gratitude. They loved a nothing, an unlovable little Spanish boy. I am Puerto Rican and Italian. I look more Puerto Rican. That makes me more of a nothing because society will automatically judge me by the tint in my skin. Fuck those nothing bigots.
Grandma and Grandpa raised us well. I forgot for a long time that I was nothing. The big zero fell off the top of my head, and I didn’t miss it. Bye stupid zero. I’m not a nothing. I excelled in school. I was moved into high honors in elementary school. I flew like an eagle. I finally had wings. A nothing cannot fly; I discovered I had wings.
She came back when I was mid-flight; while I was soaring, wings spread…. she walked in the door of my grandparents’ house and stated that she wanted to take her children back and try to parent them. My grandmother was afraid, but my grandmother is traditional; she felt that a mother has a right to her children, and despite her better judgment, Grandma let my mother take the three of us to live with “Mother” several blocks away. My sisters and I continued to go to the same schools.
A fucking eagle named “Mother’s Shit” came in like an arrow on fire and shot the me who was an eagle down to the ground. I became a Phoenix. I rose from the ashes of my former self…my former eagle, and the eagle was gone. Mother killed the eagle. Mother did not have the good sense to even know that I was an eagle or that she had just killed it but she sure did. My sisters were too self-involved as girly girls to see me flying above so when I crashed, they did not notice. I crashed, I burned and rose from the ashes a different person.
A Phoenix I was…. yet there was a shadow over the phoenix calling to me, the Phoenix…. hey, hey you…. I remember you…. you are the nothing. Fuck you. I am not a nothing. Now I am strong. I was an eagle. Now I know. Go away. I am not a nothing. The shadow continued to whisper, do as you like, I will stay with you and remind you, you are a nothing.
Phoenix…. glorious bird rising from the ashes of death…brightly colored feathers and tremendous. I was intent on being tremendous. However, Mother’s Shit did not permit me to adequately study as I had before…no, I could no longer be an eagle but solely be a colorful, tremendous Phoenix…instead, I became the biggest, baddest motherfucker on the block. I became the monster. Monsters are safe. No one will hurt or damage a monster. Not even a Mother’s Shit will damage a monster. Not even a shadow’s fucking whisper will damage a monster. And the shadow still caught me in twilight sleep and whispered, you are a nothing.
We all have a side that no one knows. He had a side that only he knew but didn’t like to look at though he puffed out his silverback gorilla chest inwardly at his power. He had overcome. So he told himself.
She loved him on and off. He provided well. Then the children came. He became different. He wanted an intact family more than ever.
She grew ever more distant while his children drew close to each of them. She loved her children. What happened that she stopped loving him.
He lost his misery in the joy of his children until they went to school. Then the voices in his head came back … and her stares returned. Get out. We don’t want you. Voices over and over. Throbbing and pounding. Pounding pounding…oh, what?
“Daddy, can you take me to school”
She knows that I love her but she refuses to look at it; my love. She refuses to let my love in the room. She keeps herself in a bubble, an invisible bubble so my love cannot touch her. She hates that I have love. She knows I love our children but she refuses to look at it. She refuses to acknowledge that I am human, that I am capable of love, that perhaps even that I am lovable; after all, my children love me. She cannot look at these things. If she acknowledges that I have love for her and my girls, she is by force of nature required to admit, at least to herself, that it is she that is without love. Instead, she prefers to live in her lie.
But her lie is not her own. Her lie becomes our life. Her lie becomes the grey mist growing ever darker in our home like smoke from burnt food causing the air to be rancid and burning my throat, tearing up my eyes, making me lose my step…. I cannot see. The hostility becomes a palpable, tangible thing that begins to grow outside of the house and encompass the outside of the house. The dark thing soon travels with us…no, with her, everywhere she goes.
I want her to love me but I have grown hostile and angry at the pain she knows she has caused me. Perhaps if she were not aware that she was causing me such pain I could forgive and heal but she glares, she looks at me from the corner of her eye and the look speaks volumes. Her eyes shoot daggers at me as I sit with my daughter watching television; I sit quietly, and I am angry that I am a victim because she has hit me with her hostility while I was not aware sitting peacefully in family warmth. And so, I must escape. I know, this is her wish. I desire not to give her her wish. I desire to survive.
Bitch, why can’t you love me.
Bitch, why can’t you explain.
Bitch, you know I don’t understand. You know I love you. You know what you are doing. You know you are a bitch, but you don’t care. Yet still, I love you. Yet still, I hear it; you have to leave.
And I hear her; leave. And I hear her; stay and let me make you miserable. And I hear it all. And the voices don’t shut up. And I’m never alone from the voices. I’m just alone. Just me and the fucking voices.