Dr. Dragonfly has asked me twice now to step into a scene of my life, not as an observer, but as an active participant. The first scenario was as a baby being held in Nydia’s arms in the Construct. The second was this past Monday. I was asked to step into the scene where my father was beating me for bleeding on the pillow. I was unable to step into the Construct at the time. I could not interact with a baby me and an adult me in the same time and place. (Temporal flux) Now I can.
As I sit and watch the baby me being held by Nydia, the love, warmth and caring is obvious. You can tell the she loves you absolutely and you are loved, wanted and cared for. You are loved unconditionally. I can also tell by how I interact with the rest of the family that I am a part of them, an integral part of them. If I need something, one of them will see to it. There are no questions, I am loved, wanted and adored. I will have all of the support I’ll ever need. [The grey fog of adoption starts to creep into the Construct] The present me stands in the face of the creeping adoption. I lift my hand to halt it as best I can and I tell the baby me to hold on to Nydia as hard as I can and to never, ever let go. You will have a wonderful life as part of her and her family. This grey fog will never touch you. I promise. The adult me steps into the fog, breathes it all in and is destroyed in the process, leaving baby me to live a life free from abuses.
As I lay bleeding on the pillow and being pummeled on the pillow, I have only two thoughts, escape and hide. Eventually, I’m able to wiggle out from under my father, but the stairs are blocked by the adult me. I (adult) sit the boy down and explain who I am. Of course he thinks it’s cool. It’s something out of a SciFi movie. I tell him to get behind me and stay behind me. The child me grabs ahold of one of my legs and stays behind me. My gaze fixates on my dumbfounded parents.
I have to say, flatly-coldly, that you have to be two of the worst parents. You (father) take your frustrations out on a young boy who isn’t even 1/3 of your weight, or his mother, or both of them. You are a monster. I would love to know what exactly turned you into the raving asshole that you are today, but at this point, I don’t really give a fuck. And you (Mother) You had one job that you failed miserably. Your one job was to protect me. I am only 5-8. I cannot fight off an adult. I cannot fight off a school of kids. I cannot fight you off when you’re frustrated. I am defenseless. Your only job was to protect me. You failed spectacularly. I’m not safe at school. I’ve told you that many times. You never once went because I’m not the problem child. I’m obviously no safe at home. You see that on a daily basis, but don’t intervene. I’m not safe at church, now that I’m starting to understand some of the dogma and it’s confusing to me. Telling me that something is in ‘god’s hands’ means nothing to an 8 year old.
What I don’t understand is why you adopted me in the first place. Was it to keep up that ‘xtian façade’ of the nuclear family? Was it because you wanted to be like everyone else and have 2 kids but one or both of you were sterile? (I never have gotten a straight answer on that.) You could always adopt pets. They’re easier to take care of. Dad, especially, did you want to have some little clone and realize on day that I wasn’t going to be that clone, so you decided that maybe you could beat me into submission? Was it easier to beat me because I’m not your natural child anyway? Did you need a good scapegoat to blame on your own failures? Why me and not my brother? He was a hot mess and was never in any danger. Things are just going to get worse from this point on for this poor kid, so I’m taking him with me. I’m taking him to the Construct where he will be loved unconditionally, adored, cared for and most of all, wanted.
I turned around and took the frightened child in my arms. My dad started towards me, but he didn’t get very far before he was back in his chair. I bid them a final farewell and poof, we were off to the Construct.
cazandoconejos 