Archive for October, 2011

Rant #2

Posted in My Childhood, Rants with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 31, 2011 by Aya

I will never call you mother again. I spend most of my thought process thinking of you and why, and why, why would you, how could you, there is no way possible that someone could know what they were doing and kill a child’s spirit, courage, and will to live.

Yes there is, you are living proof for me that there is evil. Everything you did and said to me affected me then and it also affected my future. I AM ENRAGED!!!!!!  Now I will only be asking myself how do I feel, how did that affect me, am I okay?

I see now, that you received a lot of pleasure out of harming me, out of stopping me from completing my plans and doing what is right for me.  It was very pleasurable for you because I fought hard and long and I was very depressed and defeated and you got to feed off of that.  The thought of it literally makes me want to go insane and lose control of myself.

How unnatural, how disgusting, how weak and cheap and predatory, to feed off of your own children. I don’t hate you, I don’t feel anything for you because feelings and even labels of what someone is or isn’t are for humans. And you are not worthy of that label.

© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved

You Can’t Manipulate Life to get what you Want

Posted in How to Heal, My Childhood, Rants with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 31, 2011 by Aya

Growing up I was taught by watching my parents that how you manifest what you want is by trying to manipulate life.  Boy did they scheme, get rich quick plans, ice cream trucks, moving and shaking here and there, promotions at work and they were miserable. My step – father would talk about his dreams but my mother never ever talked about hers. I heard her say once that she wanted to take ballet classes when she was younger but her mother denied her. They weren’t fluid and in the flow of life.

My mother used intimadation to ruin my natural channels and flow with life.  Even though my mother’s life choices were never great and I was sad for lack of connection, I was able manifest everything I wanted for myself in my life even without her help. Others would help me. She was not having it, she watched me like a hawk and made me feel like dog shit in order to keep me from being happy. After a while I gave up on even wanting anything, or expecting anything good to happen for me at all.

This is something that I am seeing as I lay here with myself realizing that there is nothing that I can “do” to make anything happen in my life. I have tried hard to make my dreams come true every since I moved out when I was 18 years old. I just turned 30, I thought that when I escaped everything would just happen for me. Not so fast, smooth or easy, I had no idea the work that needed to done to undo the programming that my mother brainwashed me into by her actions, how she viewed me, and how I was treated. Everything starts from within, with a true desire, with a true passion, the action is automatic.

Now the question is, what do I truly want and desire? I haven’t let myself  know what I wanted with certainty since before my mother started abusing my masculine side (animus) when I was going through puberty.

There was a particular incident that I will never forget. I told my mother I wanted to be a singer when I was 11 or 12 years and she looked down at me with those wild raging eyes and she asked me in a very condescending tone,

“Sooooo, you think that the family is just gonna up and move to California just so that you can sing?,”

I shook my head yes, even though I knew it was the wrong answer, I honestly felt like that would be really cool, and plus I was a smart ass . Then she went in at me.

“You are so selfish, you think you’re all that, nobody is gonna move for you, I have 5 other kids you are not the only one living in this house . . . and etc . . . ”

I remember another time I was practicing really hard to get this brian mknight run from one of his songs, and I shared it with her.  She rolled her eyes at me and had the most evil look on her face as she sled out the room. I didn’t know what hit me.

There was another time, I let her hear a song I had written and all she could say is that’s sad as she walked away from me.

Its so much in the words of the story that are important. It is the sensation I feel in my body that makes the difference in whether or not I truly heal. I can feel this in my upper back. Its a numbing feeling almost as if nothing is there, its a deadening feeling that stops all excitement. Its horrible, its almost as if it didn’t happen but something did happen.

This journey for me has been about self – compassion and self – understanding. As much as I would like to get on with my life and just sing already, now I know why it’s just not so simple. My mother gave me a self – image that I have to uncover and accept those parts of me back into my center. Its based off of her needs, inferiority complex, her never wanting to me thrive so that  I would never leave, she needed everything in her life to match the view of life that she had because if it didn’t she had to destroy. Once she knocked most of the vitality out of me she still wasn’t finished, then I was a loser, I’m nothing, I’m crazy. That thing is vicious.

Oh, how confusing for a little girl.

© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved

Rag Doll

Posted in Poems, Rants, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 28, 2011 by Aya
I am tired of being your rag doll.
I have spread myself far and wide for people who I could never say no to
I have been a rag doll for many men
A slave willingly offering my feminine sexuality
Offering the opening of myself to be engulfed for nothing by nothing
Its because of you mother, my natural predator, I was born to my enemy
Having to grow up and learn that’s its nothing personal
I’ve healed and learned that there is nothing behind all your antics
Your monstrous face
Your intimidating eyes
Your screeching, your yelling, hands on your hips, flailing, and straight up temper tantrums that have haunted me my whole life
Its wrong for me to get angry but permissible for you
Its wrong for me to have wants, needs, and desires but I fulfill yours
As a teen – ager I was obviously worn out
Tired from fighting with you, pleading with you, crying to you, trying to understand you, trying to get you to understand what I needed
For those outburst of self – expression I was shot down, slapped down, and shut up, told I didn’t have a place, a voice, and shouldn’t bother at all to live
Then you had no more use for me, you used me, and started telling my younger siblings that I was crazy
I could barely move
My frontal lobe is worn out because all I had left for me was in fantasy
There is no hope for me and you but there is hope for me
I’ll tell you a little secret that I think you already knew
I held on to myself on the inside and that part you could not control
I face you now again and again, the tears stream out of my eyes
I will make it and be all that I ever thought I could be
I don’t know if I will ever give birth but I will so
The rag doll that you once used and toyed with and chewed, and squeezed and scatched
Knows that to become real, you need real love, and I have got plenty of that
I let myself know what my values are and I’m able to appropriately act
I let my body give me signs and post for I am valuable in fact
Emotional violence is very real and it created a scared cowering child
That turned into a scared and cowering adult but I am can healing now
Its hard to see the truth but I’m glad I’ve done it more than not
I will spend  my life as a vigilent adult
And you . . . well you will probaly still be scouring around like a vulture
Looking for your next prey because you can’t birth anymore children
What a wonderful idea for a predator like you
To make energy meals out the children that need and depend on you
And how wonderfully convenient for you to hide behind
The mask you made
Because all the laws are for adults
In the bible the children get laid
Out on floor for the lashings they deserve for being disobedient to the adults
Who apparently know it all
How can a child be disobedient?
In the constitution it says that all men are due rights under the natural laws of God but I guess that doesn’t apply to little people
Children are just the pets of adults
If it wasn’t for what’s acceptable to society and the image that everyone saw
You would easily take the next step after you were finished with your crimes and make sign that said,
“For Sale, Rag Dolls.”
You would sell your children off
Because to you they are not children at all
And this is where my understanding ends and perhaps you can take over and fill in because I will never understand that kind of indifference
No never, not at all.
This link leads to a link from a journal entry I wrote and a picture drew about how I feel in my relationship with my mother.
© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved

Rant #1

Posted in Rants, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 6, 2011 by Aya

Are all Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers coming out of the closet? Damn. Minus well. I mean you’ve got to at some point because that is part of the abuse for you to hold in all your goods, to feel like you are a bad person for having a voice and speaking the truth. Your voice, your intentions, and your world are all under survelliance and being questioned by these people 24/7 if they are your parent(s).  And sadly as a little person when they are all you’ve got in the world its a cold connection to them that you mistake as you. I could not have realized when i was in my teens the dire effects this abuse would have on my life as an adult even though I held on to myself secretly deep down inside.

Now that I am doing my damnest to make a real life for myself, doing real things that I truly desire to do, putting my heart into my life again all I can feel is this perverse self-hatred. On my left side, in my shoulders, my back where my heart is located, up my neck to the left side of my head I feel this attachment. The message from the attachment is that everything I do is hated, is going to be hated, and I minus well give up because no one is going to support me, everyone hates me  just because I’m me. And its been my pattern, that is part of my mothers message to me my whole life. Anything that I put my heart into, that I held dear, that I felt confident in she pillaged from me, right in front of my face and then would pretend like she didn’t know why I hated my life and felt like I wanted to die.

This is an awful feeling and I am so glad to pin point what it is that has been driving me insane for the past couple of days since I started this Art group of For the past 2 days I have been driving myself crazy thinking my intentions are bad, (had to stop typing to sob), and I have been checking my ego like crazy and making sure I am starting my art group for all the right reasons. Granted, I have lived in a fantasy world most of life and my ego can get out of hand because I’m used to wanting to be more than what I am and often times making myself less than what I am so that I won’t trigger these crazy ass feelings of guilt, isolation, and shame for being who I am and living.  This is just the beginning of my individuation and healing my masculine side, animus. (I actually had a dream that I had a penis and I was getting head from someone I didn’t see. Then it turned into some kind of sex party. It was funny because the girls were flouncing on top of it and I was squinting because I was afraid it would hurt. I looked up what a woman having a penis in a dream meant and meant that my masculine energy is starting to develop = )

That brings me to the reason I am starting this blog. I AM P.A.M. stands for I am Performing As Myself! The Art group I am starting is called I AM P.A.M Art Group. It is for Highly Sensitive People (HSP’s) and all sensitve types who are working their asses off to get back into their own sacred space that was infringed upon by people who are evil, ignorant and don’t want anyone to exist around them that tarnishes their view that they are the most powerful thing walking. I’m tired of this shit, and I want to do everything I can to empower myself and others with this blog, my Art Group, the music I make, and the products I will sell. We deserve to be here too! I was the one who took care of all of my mother’s 4 other children, washed clothes, cleaned the house, stayed in my room on call, and stayed psychologically right where she wanted me, all while thinking that I am the problem. No matter how she tries to tarnish my image in the outside world or how many of my family members are enmeshed with her I refuse to stop fighting for my life. end rant.

© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved

My Childhood Part 1

Posted in My Childhood, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 6, 2011 by Aya

My mother is evil.  Evil is not being used as an adjective to describe her character, like “Girl, you are evil, stop play’in” no, uh, huh, it is a fact of my life. Through very subtle malignant actions she set out to destroy every thread of my being. To say my mother doesn’t love me is an understatement. To say she hates me is also an understatement. Its more like one of those evil monsters, aliens, or predators in movies that humans seem to terrified of but also fascinated by because we don’t understand how or why anyone could or would ever want to destroy and annihilate  another being. What’s so interesting to me about what I just said is that we can be “entertained” by these images on the screen but when someone has a horrifying childhood in our society most people can’t sit down for 10 minutes to understand and empathize. It’s always forgive this, just walk it off that, she didn’t know what she was doing, think about what she went through. Interesting.

I was they type of child who had feelings. I felt everything. I was passionate and able to keep myself company for hours on end writing, reading, drawing, singing, and using my imagination to create anything I wanted. My inner world was my life. On the outside of that was hell and chaos.

I remember when I was in 1st grade, I tried out for my first talent show. I sang an interlude off of an El Debarge album that they pulled off the radio and out of stores for political reasons so I can’t find it anywhere. But I will sing the song and post it. Anyway, I remember my music teacher looking at me in awe because I had so much passion as I sang. I ended up lip syncing because I was shy to sing out loud in front a large crowd, I lip sync Michael Jackson’s ‘ Man in the Mirror,’ and received a 2nd place badge. I was so proud of myself. I remember wanting my mom to be there really bad it seemed like everybody elses parents were there for them but mine, a common theme in my life. I felt very alone as a little kid because my mother never spent any time with me. Because of that walking through the halls at school felt alone, walking down the street, even playing with other kids, nothing ever felt right, everything always felt surreal, like I was alive but I wasn’t. So, I brought home this special 2nd place badge to my mother and she was talking on the phone and she looked at the plaque, and then looked down at me and gave me this weird look like she didn’t know me (because she didn’t) and then she snapped out of it and talked to me like I was a puppy dog and patted me on the head and said that’s so good. She didn’t ask me any questions like, what song did you sing, how did you feel, or even will you sing it for me? The next day I did the talent show my confidence was shot down a little bit more, and of course she wasn’t there. The underlying sadness I felt as kid was always in the background. The voicelessness I experienced when I look back on it was smothering. She never talked to me. It was like the nanny off of Muppet Babies  all I saw were her legs and I remember watching her from a far wanting to reach out, wanting really bad to talk and express something but knowing that I couldn’t. The only time me and my mother ‘talked’ is when she would be trying to take my Will away from me  in some way and I would be standing up for my little self and telling screaming at her that I wanted my Grandma, or my Dad, or anyone else but her. Her response was always, they can have you, or telling me how horrible my grandmother is compared to her, or yelling something bad about my father. There were never any hugs or any kisses, no bedtime stories, just men lingering around and the sounds of her having sex in the bedroom across the hall.

The most important thing to my mother was men and sex it looked like to me. She would entertain a group of men in our home, they would be in the living room watching porn while she made their food. I hated them, I always I had to stay in my room. I hated her and I hated them.  The one I hated the most is the one she got pregnant by and married.

There was something very wrong with my step-dad. I remember the first day I met him he was sooooo fake. I remember how he told Tiffany this girl that used to torture she had pretty eyes and he complimented Leah on how cute she was but didn’t compliment me, he had to go.  I used to give him the ‘get the hell out of my house’ evil eye when he first came into my mothers life. He would ask is what I was looking at him like that for and my mother would send to my room. My mother was so desperate to not have to do anything for herself the first person that was willing to accept the facade she put on and her two children was the winner.  She didn’t care that he didn’t love us.

My life changed forever the first time my mother let him beat me and my sister. I felt so betrayed it was the worst feeling I ever had my life.  First of all there was this belt that got passed down from my Great – Grandma to my Grandma, then to my mother, (its funny how my Nana and my Grandma both kicked my mother out when she was pregnant with me and didn’t even go with her to the hospital when she had me but they gave her a belt to beat me with). It was thick leather and had 4 rows of metal holes going around the whole belt. I hated that thing. Later on me, my sister, and my step brother threw it in the dumpster. He beat us so hard it cut throw my skin. I could only see red I was so hurt and so mad. No explanation, I just had to bend over and let him beat me, I had to walk over to him, bend over and let this man beat me. For what? playing, making noise while him and my mother were fucking in the other room. And then he had the nerve to tell us to shut up that noise because we were crying. How dare them do that to children. How cowardly, low down, dirty, callous, and indifferent. I hate them both.

He would tell my mother that she spoiled us and that we were talking back too much. I wished he would just have died because the only way you can communicate with her is to argue with her. The only thing I was able to fight for in my life were my clothes, my toys and going outside. I would not let my mother dress me any kind of way I was fiercely protective of my style and I guess she didn’t care too much about that because it made her look good, as I got older and the abuse worsened she cared very much if I was singing. My mother and my step – bitch – ass – crack head – cheat’in ass – pedophile ass – bitch ass dad were a worrisome couple, whose bond was sadistically attached to the destruction of their children. They deserve an academy award  for all that damn acting. They had everyone in their world fooled, and their 5 children were part of the props. With the loud exclamations from my step – dad that anything that goes on this house stays in this house. I could really throw up.  To be continued . . .

© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved