Can You Hear Me?
The walls were bare, the room lifeless.
You looked at it in amazement.
This space reflected your happiness as did everything else.
My joy never 1st, 2nd or 3rd place, merely a ‘well done for partaking’
How was I to know that this wasn’t living?
This was all I knew.
So many trips to the north that resulted in me watching you walk away.
Leaving me at any given opportunity.
So many New Year’s countdowns spent crying alone, as my grandparents slept in the next room.
Who knew a 9 year old could be depressed?
I was a burden.
An uncle that hated you, so hated me.
An uncle that was so traumatised by life that he’d do everything in his power to hide.
A granddad that made the room cold, with his very being.
Who knew a 9 year old could understand the intricacies of faking love?
My eyes were open.
The male named ‘Dad’ appeared about once a year.
Not sure of his purpose, but to flirt with you.
Great Choice
You let the male take me out.
I had nothing to say. Who was he?
We stood and knocked at this door.
‘Meet your grandparents’
Who knew a 9 year old could be a secret for 9 years?
They thought I was stupid.
We lived in a house congested with anyone in the family that needed refuge.
Each bed shared by three.
A house filled with warmth and love.
The only place that could be called HOME.
A year later and here I am at this door again.
You knocked said Hi, then left.
I watched you walk away.
In the front room was a child that resembled me.
The male walked out and introduced my baby brother.
9 months of pregnancy, 6 months on the earth and not one mention of his existence.
Fast forward to my teenage years.
I drank.
I smoked.
I had sex.
I rebelled
Sexuality formed my world.
I wanted to talk to you.
The secrets wanted to trickle out.
But your judgement and disapproving nature always kept them in check.
I became two people.
The unhappy and angry teenager (outside of your company).
The teenager YOU wanted me to be.
Lost.
S, C and L became everything to me.
They said your friends were the family you chose for yourself.
And that’s exactly what it was.
We cried, we laughed, we celebrated and got lost together.
The best years of my life.
We were the Black Female Engineers.
Accepted into 4 out of 5 universities.
The college lecturers loved us.
Strong, bold and fearless.
I guess we were unstoppable.
19.
I missed the coach.
The one chance I had to say goodbye.
You turned to me with tear filled eyes.
“She is gone”.
The only woman who ever loved me unconditionally.
3.45pm
The male appeared again in the form of a Father.
Blame, guilt, sadness, anger, self –loathing and arguments.
Divided, we fell.
You blamed me, for needing you.
Your anger built up.
Because I did not grieve as you wanted me to.
I dropped out. You kicked me out.
Weight loss. Sleepless nights. Hunger. Shouting. Abusive relationships.
Suicidal thoughts.
It needed to end.
I applied again and you let me back in.
You struggled because she was gone.
A lot of crying and anger.
All my fault.
She’d be ashamed to have a granddaughter like me.
You always reminded me.
University didn’t help the struggle.
Bombardments of texts.
Traitor. Selfish. Ungrateful. Irresponsible.
The only time I saw your support was when the girl got me arrested.
Although short-lived.
That too was my fault.
Final hurdle.
I was convinced you hated me.
Accused me of everything under the sun.
But to Facebook everything was fine. Not even family knew.
You warned me not to tell them. “Traitor”
“They don’t care about you”
Right before you told me to leave for the final time.
I lived my life to make you proud.
Nothing I did was good enough. Always met with a disapproving face.
And a compliment of another.
My achievements weren’t my achievements. They were yours to share with Facebook.
Facebook is where you expressed your pride, while I received silence for weeks on end.
A public show.
6 years it took to get the degree, through homelessness and 30 hour working weeks.
2:1 Honours, Engineer, Good Job and Business Owner.
Despite this I’m sad. All the time. So much so that I’ve mastered the mask.
2 years and counting.
With you left my family, confidence and self-esteem.
Every time I tried to contact you, you’d tell me it was my fault and this is what I deserved.
“Unconditional love is a myth, I love you as a human, not as a daughter”
Deluded
Now here I am. Alone but rediscovering myself.
Teaching myself that not all love is good love.
Blood does not mean a thing.
They do not owe me anything and neither do I.
There are days that I struggle, cry, long for you to hold me and tell me it’s going to be ok.
Then I realise its ok and I can do that for myself.
But Sometimes I can’t help but think.
I am the abortion you should have had.