Trigger warning. This poem contains a traumatic event.
I don’t remember
the first three years of my life.
But my gut remembers.
My heart knows the truth.
Frozen terror within.
Terrified of daddy-Monster,
the volcano in my home.
I must hide from him, but I can’t.
One simple request when I was five:
take out the trash.
I freeze in terror.
What if I do it wrong?
I do my best.
I must have done it right this time;
the volcano stays calm, for now.
He doesn’t explode all over me.
What don’t I remember?
Mom won’t/can’t tell me.
She tells me I was too sensitive.
But her broken bones tell a different story.
Mom chooses to dismiss the past,
to remember only good times –
how much he “loved” us.
But her bitterness continues.
What I do remember:
my teenage years –
mom and dad fighting
all the time in drunken rage.
I learn a lot from their fights.
One time, she accuses him
of throwing a six-month-old baby
down a flight of stairs.
My heart collapses.
Who is this baby?
My youngest brother?
No, not him. I would remember.
My reckless brother?
No, probably not.
Only one child is left,
the one who’s birth disrupted his life.
I am the one he despises.
I am the one he blames.
I am the one he calls bastard.
I am the target for most of his contempt.
He often speaks the words,
“I love you.”
But his violence
betrays the truth.
What else don’t I remember?
I wish mom would tell the truth.
I’ll ask her once again.
But I’d have better luck with the lottery.
What don’t I remember?
I don’t know.
But I know this:
I remember enough.
I remember the frozen terror,
mom’s broken ribs, her broken arm,
the beating he gave me when I was three,
the beating he gave his own mother.
I remember being slapped around,
being suffocated by him,
being locked in the basement,
his many explosive eruptions.
I remember the insults,
the backhanded compliments,
the gerbil he killed,
his explosive profanity.
I remember the overwhelming grief
early on in my recovery –
the uncontrollable tears and outrage.
I remember the shock and horror.
I don't remember the flying baby event:
unbelievable, unthinkable –
yet entirely consistent
with everything I do remember.
– Healing Heart Warrior (Tom M.)