Her Big Red Heart

I love you and I’m scared. I’m scared because I love you.

Remember being a child, starry eyed, hopefully seeking connection. I love you, the words nervously, almost forcefully slipping from my lips. To say I love you Dad, when mom hates Dad and then he disappears. I love you mom but only when you say it first, only I am supposed to say I love you back. I love my sisters but to say those three words, words alienated with the taste of hate, only there because I love you should be there but the feeling from Mom and Dad was not, the feeling was cold. Is love not meant to be warm, like the sun rising, radiating against your skin, lighting your eyes, the color changing into something deeper. I knew then, my Father was not there, a long lost abandoned soul and my Mother was there, only the shelter, gifts, water and food could not replace the gnawing ghost that resigned inside of her. And where was this radiance, this big red heart that seemed locked inside, seeking out with warm hands, only to feel the cold that savaged this place. The warmth that shivered retreating back, under layers of blankets and childish dreams. Keep it safe, locked away or let it die, a brutal hypothermic death. I would keep that big heart safe, only the color seeped through my eyes, and my Mother hateful of that deep radiant color that only the sun could truly see. She kept it buried under the dirt and worms, to suffocate that heart with lack of oxygen and freezing cold. Did she believe she could kill such a big red heart with her hateful stabbing words. Only her hate would create war and only my love was stronger with the warmth that would melt away that painful, numbing cold. Yet the frozen chunks take years to melt, some piercing inside and the wall of ice thickened enclosing this heart. But the warmth inside glows, this brilliant blinding light; casting beautiful northern lights. Angering her and unleashing more hate in an attempt to cover up the beauty that screams below the surface of a child. Then daughters tears come pouring down as a heavy rain that stirs the ocean sending waves crashing against the dark looming cliffs that taunt with their hardened walls. They may stay there, yet the ocean remains deep and blue, igniting mystery and strength and the sun sets above that ocean, a beautiful sunset that shines light into that big red heart.

As the years go by, the story unfolds leading to the fire that melts away the hardened ice and the sun glimmers onto that deep blue water. What exists between those years, love and hate, bitter-cold and a dooming numbness that takes hold in a little girls heart until it breaks free into a passionate deep red, beating with the fierceness of a lioness. But first the darkness of winter must come before the spring light rises above bringing the flame of life.

There was a little girl, her demeanor naive and quiet, hidden inside a light of smoldering coals. Outside the world was dangerous, her Mother’s words, they will hurt you, promise to run and scream and never look back. When no one but Mother could be trusted, a lock is formed, unbreakable and chained. And to let that fear go, company and safety would be in a controlled world wandering onto many adventures of her own. Who needs friends when Mother says that I don’t need them, only if there are other children here, there must be new life elsewhere, a different place, away from here. A place to create, to form my own relations on my own terms, protective and safe, yet wild and exciting it would be. If I needed a friend, I only needed my twin, yet there would also be room for other friends, only imaginary. There the creation of a Sunflower bloomed, smiling, happy and bright and the creation of my own new self, whatever form I wanted to take. I could share my loneliness with my creations, my identity molding as I desired, pushing invisible imagination to the edge of insanity. There in my free world, the excitement blossomed from my soul. And once outside, in the real world the sun beamed blinding me as I ran to my favorite place. The wind passed by blowing my hair as I gained momentum, the height sending a rush to my inner desires. I was flying, riding upon a white horse, her beautiful wings expanding as we flew over the rocky wild mountains. My eyes sparkled, glimmering in my own place now, peaceful yet the threat of danger lurks behind every wall, built up upon mud and stone. The fire of the dragon casts out, igniting me in warm glowing light. My own inner demon, seeping through the cracks of innocence, defending before it would scar.Even here danger was only fleeting, as I was a fighter, unafraid to show my strength, this warrior held back only by the real world of anxiety that wrapped around my throat. There the real world grabbed at me with forceful words of a Mother and the ghost of a Father, lost in the dark.

Only freedom was at the end of my chain, becoming stronger, thickened with heavy metal and steel. Cast away I was from the weakness of my Father, for his arms may be strong, yet his mind unable to handle simple love for a daughter. For it is easier to get lost in hate and misery then to open your arms wide, accepting the lashes of a whip that may strike from the world of pain. The tear in his mind too wide, ripping at the seams, unable to form love and only selfish for, his own eagerness for the easy road when the thought of seeing his daughter, made him bleed from his wrists, yet the booze numbed the blood that flowed. Like Father, like Mother.

Thrown away I was from the society of meaningful relations and relatablities. Once the confidence was building, the connection of life forming like the bud of a rose, young and eager to bloom. Playful, dreams, of a tween on top of the cheer-leading team and pushed down onto the hard concrete, knees scraped and dragged by my Mother’s leash around my neck. For in her world, a young daughter could never gain the strength to fly, for confidence leads to abandonment and loneliness of a single Mother, incapable of selflessness. There I must be isolated, under the cloud of mental illness that poured onto her, poverty breaking her legs in-half, refusing to stand up for her daughter. Her wounds would be cast down, to break the eager capabilities of success that her daughter would conquer over her, leaving her to misery alone in the self destruction of a bottle. For if she suffered then we must suffer at the level of weak insecurity doomed in the worthless feeling of unlovability. Only dependability must be ingrained deeply into a young girls mind, so the fear of the world would keep her shivering in the tight space of an attic. Spiders lurking in the corner walls, forming webs in the darkness of her world.

Yet the run rises again, to create a new day of life and the grass beneath my feet gives me joyous pleasure. The hot sun, howling wind and stormy winter days, a place to relieve inner loneliness, to feel a connection to the outside world. Holding sisters hands, and growing into ourselves, ourselves alone, for we were almost always left to ourselves. And Mother comes home, where the yelling may start at any given moment, for heavy stress burdened her mind, with the in-capabilities to love, not only her daughter, any man that may express affection. For she was alone, therefore we must all be alone in the shadow of her pain. Closed off, outsiders left in this tiny house, and brightly colored walls could not bring the happiness, that had no existence in her heart. Gifts poured out on overspent credit cards, happy birthday toys and Santa were limited pleasure, the only limits willing to go for gifts could be bought but love cannot.

And soon, threats emerged; the mind of a malleable young girl soon took its toll, lurking with fear of the unimaginable.The elves were watching, be a good girl or the monsters will get you in your sleep. It was the dark unknown to be afraid of, bad men and monsters that hid under my bed. Soon nightmares ravaged, sinking their claws deep into the flesh.

The prayers were sent out to God to protect me, the evil; darkness enveloped it hidden away from my sight. But God left unanswered, only becoming coping protection for a young girl needs to shield herself, even with make belief wishes. And when she closes her eyes, the monsters fleet back and forth, closer threatening to hurt and abuse her. Tears flow down her face, as the unknown of danger and the future of hopelessness lost and alone. Through the nightmares, brought a lioness clawing to unleash herself in battle of life and death. When curling up in a ball and closing her eyes, wishing it all away was not enough, she put it in a box, locked and chained sending it deep into the darkness of the ocean, there to drown forever away from her thoughts. There the battle began, run or fight and make it out alive.

And past these fears, laid out glimpses of an almost Father, small moments of peace but the hands of Mother holding back any connection. Small memories of horses, beauties that gave a girl hope to someday take control of these beasts and ride off into the sunset with her prince. But her hopeful eyes were soon covered in a blind fold, unknown at the time, until a Father held his favorite daughter in sight and left the others lost. The awards and trophies given to a happy little girl, the stares of her sisters wondering when it may be their turn to receive the attention of their Father. Moments upon those horses were torn away, as the favorite would be the center girl, the girl who loved the horses the most and I left with small arms held out waiting until mere hope was no longer. For not all of the girls could have a horse, nor could it be ours, only hers for she was loved and I was not. The Christmas gifts and learning to ride the bicycle did not take away these painful moments of loneliness, being less loved, rejected. Only it was completely severed the day Father was gone, washed away. But the special visit endured with his favorite, award winning daughter. And I there waiting still, for one day I may be someone’s favorite, only now I was alone.

Though the real world comes back with the added addition of a Grandmother bringing more chaos to the flood of negativity that discolored the brightly painted walls. Yelling endured, as my Mother and her were the combination of destruction. Unstable relations bring war and war I witnessed. Yet there were others who could only increase the waves that lashed violently against that little home. For a Grandmothers love, strained by family affairs would soon visit with the demon hidden behind his eyes. My first witness of a demon, first terror that filled my childish heart. Awoken with a scream that pierced the silent night, silent but below me. The sound of a man, a man on the hunt to hurt his victims. Curling up I bawled as I listened, hearing the fear in my Aunt’s voice, the fear in all of them. It filled the air, my breathes, unknown to the foreseeable danger that clawed into my young mind. Then the echo filled the home as he punched brutally into the attic gate and then he was gone but the fear remained. Wailing persisted as thoughts of death flashed before my eyes. Taken to the car, we rushed to the school, locked, piled together. As I closed my eyes I could not sleep, as he could come back, lurking there in the dark night. That taste of fear, a taste that lingered in my mouth, haunted my mind with nightmares. Nightmares of an unsafe home.

There I was lost, savaged away from the potential of society and common knowledge, only fed the words of Mother to remain trapped inside the poverty and fed contamination of narcissism. Kidnapped away from educational systems as in her words, evil with perverted demon souls and Satan will punish the wandering eyes of adolescent hormones.Therefore the pure Christian girl must stay from all sins, locked away from any boy that may rescue her. She will endure pure loneliness, afraid of humanity. Yet in this loneliness, thoughts endure, fantasy, forming confusion in a lonely mind. There naive, indifferent to the outside world, for her world was that attic, sharing a bed with her twin, conflicted in this tight space around her. Then there was the outside, only transformed into something magical, swapping characters for each new adventure. As she evolved, they stayed only becoming more elaborate, closer yet so far away, each chosen for their time to shine. For in her world, she felt safe.

With her own world each character takes a role of their very own. Minerva, her dark long hair, the fire burned inside of her, sexual tension flowing through her veins, confident, brave, serious and intelligent. Josephine, the red head. She was shy, goodhearted and influenced. She was a good girl, empathetic and soft-spoken. Christina, only 12 years old but mentally insane, perverted and vulgar with no moral compass. There in her mind, these three resigned, awaiting there moment to ease the shadow of loneliness and pain. But with these new hormones, blossoming into adolescence, each character develops puberty as they shared a body. For if she could not experience boys, she would create them herself, lovers for the play, her play. And with her sister by her side, the characters could interact, forming relations on their own. They shared her body, yet they were not her, therefore pretend can become farther away from normal rules, expected in a society. Yet where was real society when she could not coexist among the real.

In the coming years, they each came out to play. Yet the hormones, the lack of parental boundaries lashed out into a perversion that became real life. For Mother did not allow normal sisterhood to take place within that home. The prolonged showers together with a twin sister and the constrained presence with no privacy. Curiosity with wandering eyes, comparing nude breasts and longing for a first kiss, a first kiss that would have taken place with boys from school, yet here we were lost and naive. And when the characters came out, it was not really me then, was it? For it may be my body but my mind was under a different form of control. There the characters must have boyfriends, and there we could be either for each other, to ease the temptation of love and romance. Hidden away, behind that small cottage, standing she first asked, for the desire of a first kiss was more to bear. Agreeing, as I was her twin and there was an unforgeable bond together, trust. As our lips pressed, nervous laughter expelled and then it was finished. It was not too far, was it? Sisters kiss, family kisses each others lips I thought.

And when night came, in that small bed, our bodies touched and I squirmed to get further but with failure as my body would fall off the bed. Now 15 years old, a late bloomer as Mother warned of the sins of masturbation. Yet I knew of it’s temptation, ready to rebel from her unrealistic warnings. There I waited, listening awaiting her sleep beside me. For I needed privacy, for such a personal endeavor. I wanted boundaries, yet I wanted to explore myself and when all was quiet, I nervously slid my hand down rubbing myself quietly. Every small noise sent me on edge, as I listened, moving slowly until I overflowed with pleasure and drifted off to sleep. There, the beginning of my innocence would slowly take a turn of perverted taboo. Only then I did not know, the upcoming year would become my first dark secret.