Archive for anger

The Wrong Reflection

Posted in Healing My Own N-traits, How to Heal, My Childhood, Poems, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 15, 2013 by Aya

If people aren’t like you

What are they like?

If  I’m not like you

What am I like?

people can  see me

Can’t they?

I should ask them

“What am I like?”

I need to hear flatteries

Saying nothing about me is just as bad as

Shame triggering poisonous attacks

makes me try harder

to be lovable

Like other people

My reflection’s off

I was trapped in the mirror

The fire of my awareness

Melted the hard walls

allowing me to see

Different directions

Into a maze

The journey is a labyrinth

my psycho experience

my somatic experience

No longer frozen in a reflection

I feel ablazed with sensations.

© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved

Intimidation is a Trick, a Scandal, and a Lie

Posted in My Childhood, Rants, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 2, 2011 by Aya

My abuser used intimidation to make me feel like I wasn’t free.  It (the feeling of being intimidated) makes me turn away from approaching certain areas of myself inside my body. I feel a since of fight or flight whenever I feel like being happy, enjoying my day, being pretty, singing a song, being spontaneous, something makes me turn away from experiencing arousal, play, or fun.

Her coldness, her steely glare, her standing over me with her hands on hips all to show me that I wasn’t in charge of how I felt inside, she felt that she had all the right to take over my space. When I was a little kid she paid me no mind. When I began to become a woman and my animus began to sprout she always wanted to fight me and intimidate. She did this until I was completely submissive.

Because she couldn’t handle seeing what she didn’t have I couldn’t grow up. I couldn’t get comfortable in my own skin, I couldn’t house my own body. To keep her from antagonizing me everyday I had to be vacant. Nobody was home. I talked to myself, I stayed in my room, I only came out when she called on me, I gave up all activities that I enjoyed. She beat the spirit out of me.

For the longest time I haven’t been able to speak up when I talk to people, I can’t find the right words to say, I don’t know how to animate my body most of the time. I love to sing, but I can’t sing around people, I love to dance and I’m afraid to move.

Intimidation made me feel like I’m not allowed to be here in this world as myself. It made me believe that everything I do is wrong, something is wrong with me and how I am. and I shouldn’t even bother trying. It’s all a lie, a trick, and abuse by someone who is too weak to see that if something triggers her she should go about finding out how to change within herself. Its not my responsibility to twist myself like a pretzel so that you can feel secure in your space. All space is not your space. That is what people who intimidate children need to here. All of space does not belong to you, I deserve to be here and be myself.

© 2012 IAP Art Group ™ All Rights Reserved

People Pleasing and the Rearing of Pre – eminent Death (Mars in the 12th house Transit)

Posted in Astrology, How to Heal, My Childhood, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 2, 2011 by Aya

Mars in the 12th house gives you the potential of a wound that is full of rage from a secret enemy that is very close to home. The 12th house is a psychic blind spot, in order to stave off the truth of who they are really enraged with Mars in the 12th house people are often people-pleasers because facing this enemy is too painful and may mean death psychically.

Last night I was up making psychic life decisions (that is usual as of late). Come to find out Mars is transiting my Mars placement in the 12th house, so, I haven’t really been able to do anything but meditate and rash out what is really important to me psychically. Questions that have come to mind have not only been about what am I doing to make myself happy or am I doing what is in my best interest but what channels are these decisions flowing through?

I may be going after what I want but I still feel some obligation to make others happy which often times puts a damper on what I am doing and the effects are wet blanketed, I don’t feel like a champion but a scared little girl with loads of guilt and self – doubt. I don’t feel in control or settled with in my soul I feel like I could back slide or take back my sovereignty depending on a look or temper tantrum someone may throw at me. My balance has been dependant upon whether or not other people around me feel balanced and not me within myself.

So I died a little last night (this is the 2nd time this week mind you that I have felt the panic of death). Again, Mars in the 12th house transit. Example, I may be getting a 2nd job but they want me to work hours that clash with the job I already have. I would have to tell my bosses at my 1st job that I have to change my schedule and I was anticipating a sigh of displeasure or maybe a lecture of somee sort, which sent me into panic mode on the inside. “Oh my God! I’m not going to please these people, how I can say it, should I just leave a note?” Anything to not face her reactions and so that I don’t have to face the fear I have of standing my ground.

Living in a home with a underdeveloped 5 year old as a mother where nothing I did  pleased her and everything was  my fault has left me feeling responsible for other peoples feelings, like I directly impact other’s state of being while my state of being is in a constant state of influx. (run on sentence)

My psyche was making me face this dysfunction I grew up with and leading me me to take my power back.  I am brave enough to face my fears and do what I need to do but last night what happened in the after effects of the death is that I don’t have to feel afraid anymore while I do what’s right for me. I know I am not wrong and I don’t have to feel guilty or walk away feeling afraid that I am going to lose anything, like a friend, or job, or the feeling that someone likes you. I have security within myself because I digested the fear of not pleasing people and feel a since of well being even if people who feel entitled to be pleased don’t feel pleased by me. I have a better developed system within me to be able to stay balanced. I am growing up and will not be participating in these immature patterns any longer. Man, I love healing!

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

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