A Walk Through My Time.

A short stroll through my mind.

[tkhernandez3439]

I've often dreamt of it. There have been moments of longing and intricately imagining it.

I dig the blade deep into my arms, I think about watching the pools of life escape as I slip into that irreversible slumber. I wish I had a sense of what it would be like.

It isn't fear that holds me back, in a sense I suppose it could be, but the way I would leave my family. I cannot bare thinking about my husband finding me lifeless, hopeless. Thinking on how my son would feel knowing that I was able to retreat without him. That his mother could surrender and leave him to fend for himself.

I have imagined jumping from great heights. I have watched my body crumble to the depths of a deep mountain canyon. Crippling and mangling new bones with each roll. Then I think of not being found, or worse being found and someone having to remove my body from such a dangerous area.

My heart has begged to be submerged in a body of water. I have played with the dancing waves in the tub as they taunt me to their mysterious innards. How peaceful would that release be? Then I quickly remind myself that I would pass bare and exposed, and I'm not sure how long it would take my partner to part from his engagements to find my wrinkling body. At least i would be clean and whole.

I have toyed with the idea of swallowing a handful of unknown medicines and allowing time to tell. Leaving in a comatose state is tempting, as I know I would be sedated and hurt the least. I hate thinking on how cowardice it all sounds. What good is running from the fears of the unknown if you're plummeting into greater unknowns?

How selfish, to leave those that beg you daily not to go to work? How mindless, to create a life and abandon it when things get difficult. How is it that so many can not just risk it all, but completely give into the rough temptations that we all face?

Why try at all if the end result is the same for us all? Somedays I believe my personal suicide resides idly within. I play death and morbid scenes in my mind often. Somedays the idea of loosing everything before my time is most terrifying. I think of loosing my child or my husband and begin to fill with weight. It makes it difficult to move or get out of bed.

I ache with desire to escape. I am amazed at the amount I love, i feel so intensely that i can actually eliminate myself just to reduce my chances of seeing or living through my family's torments. Greatness is always there, it is just shaded by desire. Desire to outrun the sufferings of the world. Desire to see the otherside. Desire to forget. There is always something worth waiting around for, only time will tell.

[tkhernandez3439]

The air was thick with dust in that tiny shed. It shouldn't have been harboring so many lost souls.

I gave a long studious look around the room, letting my eyes fall upon each one. They were all children, in a sense, broken already as they inch toward adulthood. I could see desire of acceptance and a need to be needed in all of their faces. I watched as they passed the burnt coke can around and illuminate it with every inhale.

'What an interesting drug', I thought. Their worries would slowly melt away as the earthy mix filled their lungs. All at once a lightness filled them and giggles would ring from all around. How could it be that easy to let go of your woes?

For years I had seen others try this and watched them react in a similar yet slightly more mature way. At this time, for the first time, I was curious. I too, had a desire, I too, needed. Would this help me to feel fulfilled?

I let the moment pass and kept my hands behind my back, just taking in the expressions of glossy red-stained eyes. I listened as their speech began to slow, and for whatever reason every word they expressed began to sound hilarious. It seemed to be a great escape, something that helped to unite and bring people to a different world together.

Some of the jokes that were being muttered were demeaning, some were curious to say the least, but all were a hit. I let out a giggle, if only to express how strange they all seemed. Part of me longed for another offer at the drug, my balance of good and evil constantly teetered. One by one the lonely evacuated the tiny shed.

A deep freezer became visible to the left of me, straight ahead were two lawn chairs still occupied by my cousin and his latest tease. He got up, he was determined. We often had these stand offs, he would offer I would say no. I won, most of the time, this time the longing to try got the better of me.

I knew how to do it, I must have seen it more than a few hundred times by this point. I pressed my thumb against the hole on the side of the can simultaneously allowing my lips to cup the mouth of the can, and I lit the lighter. As the green set aflame, I inhaled. I let the smoke engulf my entire chest. That was a mistake, I let out a deep well deserved cough as laughter once again echoed in that tiny room.

Was that enough? How would I know if I smoked the right amount? How long did it take to start effecting you? What if I smoked too much for my first time?

I felt the panic settle through my being. My chest still burned. I could taste the herb like a little air bubble traveling back up my esophagus to remind me it was active within.

My cousin was satisfied, years of persuasion had lead me to this moment. Time after time of seeing others deeply enjoy this clump of sticky grass had finally drug my down.

All at once my insides lifted, almost tickling and I let out a tiny expression of happiness. It felt amazing. Conversations rolled by with lack of judgement and non coherent disagreements. Emotions were elevated but not heated. I felt like a badass, even though I was only a year younger I hadn't felt equal to these kids until that moment.

That longing had been hammered deep inside of me for years. Finally, I had a release, a way in. These people made me feel good, and I honestly felt like I finally had something to contribute to this group, to a group.

I did not jump head first into the lifestyle, but I would be lying if I said it wouldn't have been easy. Later, it would become a necessity.

[tkhernandez3439]

Sorrow, I was no stranger to. Night after night I would lay in bed toying with thoughts of impending doom. My heart ached daily.

For months nightmares would come to me. I was given moments of relief through the day, but it wouldn't be enough to put my anxious stomach to rest. Everything screamed danger. Everything felt surreal.

Now, I fear that the thoughts and dreams of my child hood sit at my doorstep. Have I been given a chance to get used to it? Did I have a jump start that others did not?

I see the world reacting in a very distressed way and for whatever reason I finally feel comfortable. In madness, I strive. Not that I create disruption, but it feels decent when other lives are disturbed. It has been said 'misery loves company.'

So many questions circulate through my mind. I have no answers. Rumors of prophets and knowledge are out there. However, there are no good answers. Here I sit wondering if I should give into the fear, or if it is falsified to cover something larger?

Being shielded for years has left some weak. Struggling encourages a fighting heart, and strong men, but I see so many robbed of that opportunity. I hope for mankind, and feel comfort in knowing goodness still exists.

There are good things to come we just have to create them.

[tkhernandez3439]

Blood was pressing on my ears, the heat radiated from my heart and flowed heavily to my head. The weight of my body lessened, as I worked steadily on trying to become unseen. Blankets covered my whole, and I begged them not to give me away.

Nights were dangerous. Anytime I was alone I felt fear but the promise of my reoccurring demons kept me up night after night. I let out a properly calculated breathe slow enough that a person exactly at my side would have trouble believing they could hear it.

Creaks would sound abrupt as firecrackers to my ears urging my blood to press heavier against my body, pegging me to the bed. My eyes felt heavy, but angst wouldn't allow enough comfort for unmolested slumber. Slipping slowly against my eyes I could feel my lids sink, tempting sleep.

Thoughts, however, were often my enemy. Dancing within my head were images of unbelievable scenes, grotesque and unique. Deep within, I would fight against the dreams. Negativity was and is a driving force in deciding which images fill my unconcious. Much like a remote, I would entertain the idea of "changing the channel". Recalling moments filled with elation could temporarily calm the storms flooding within. Often, unfortunately, those images would be soured by my expectation of the worst coming to pass.

Late within the night I would wake with my guts in knots. Still firmly planted in my bed, I would search within myself for the courage to move. Making myself audible was not an option. Creeping out of bed was routine. Protection was strictly at my parent's bedside. My bladder was full and would direct me first to the bathroom.

Always, I was careful to remember flushing would wake my father and deliberately avoided alerting him. As I tip toed around the creaks in the floorboard, my breathing would pick up pace. Recollecting my calm was near impossible while in motion. Heart in my throat, I would almost jump into my parents room disappearing into their safety. It was as if a large hand would lift my body and settle my feet gently against the ground, silent as a cat.

I could rest. Residing beside my mother, wedged between her dresser and her side of the bed. I would be completely relieved. The carpet felt rough and familiar against my cheek. I left my worries and gave into my body's needs, rewarding slumber extinguished my tired game.

[tkhernandez3439]

My mother and I were on our way to my aunts for the day. I had my favorite dress on, it was black from the torso up and a dark floral pattern decorated the lower half.

I loved spending time with my cousins, as an only child playing with others was a huge event. I would look forward to upcoming visits as if they were Disney Land.

We pulled into the drive way to the left was a white two story house that looked like an abandoned farm home from WWII. I worried that a strong wind would be able to rock it from its foundation.

My cousins came running from the front door to greet me. The oldest, Justin, was dark haired and looked wound up. Dana, his younger brother, curly-haired and strawberry blonde followed his older brother around like a lost puppy at his heels. They met me at the car door. They were very young at the time, Dana was 4 and Justin was 5.

The boys made me feel important, truth be told, I think they may have wanted to see me as much as I them. Competition was our driving force. We often tried to best one another by eating the fastest, or being the smartest.

Dana spoke first, "Don't pet the dog, it is really mad."

I looked to my right at the neighbor's pet it was a golden-mix and appeared to be sitting upright and chained. I wasn't concerned about the warning, I disregarded my cousin's judgement often due to his lack of understanding. This was an animal that I had personally interacted with several times before. I had a weakness for animals, it was like an invisible string drew me towards them.

"Why? What's wrong with him?" I asked in attempt to understand the panic in his statement.

Justin spoke next, very serious; "We were throwing rocks at him, and he got mad."

I felt pity for the creature, why were boys so mean? That poor dog was probably sad and hurt. Why would they throw things at it? It had no way of running or defending itself. The string tugged me forward to the tortured animal. I thought, "I will be able to fix this."

I heard a warning, "Tash, don't! Don't pet him!"

I did not approach the dog with caution, the warnings drowned in the background as I reached the animal. I stuck my hand out to touch it, and felt it's touch in return. My head was within the animals grasp. I do not remember screaming, but I'm sure I did. The pain is also a blur. I was overcome by blackness.

I was in the car instantly. I looked down at my beautiful dress, it was ruined, covered with my blood. I looked to my right at my mom frantically comforting me, "It's going to be ok, we're almost there."

I had no idea what was happening.

Suddenly, I was on a stretcher with the lights above me flashing brightly, as if they were on stobe effect, as I was rushed underneath of them. I felt panic. "Mom!" I yelled.

"Mommy! Please? Where is my mom?"

I hadn't noticed but she was keeping pace with the doctors near the end of my ride. I didn't know it at the time but my mother has difficulty in stressful situations.

"I'm right here Baby. I'm not going anywhere." I heard her words and I felt tears well up in my eyes, I could not feel their warmth against my cheek.

"We are going to seal the wounds, it will hurt less without anesthesia." A voice from above was speaking now. I felt pressure on my skull and a deep pinch almost as if it touched the inside of my skull. The pain was incredible.

"MOM! HELP!" I pleaded with her for guidance, I felt helpless and lost. Why was this happening? How did this happen? I looked to my mothers face, she was swollen from her heartache I had never seen my mother's expression more helpless. She was looking at me almost to say, "I don't know how."

Blackness overcame my conscious.

[tkhernandez3439]

Have you ever tried to walk against the wind? The wind pushes against the whole of your being leaving you weightless against it. That light feeling of freedom.

My feet, bare and discolored, hit the ground as I raced down the dirt drive way. My voice rang as I released nonsensical sounds just to be heard. A smile brushed my cheeks, tempting my curiosity further.

I can see a house about a half field's length from me. The neighbors had children too, but they were well into their teenage years. The trailer that I stayed in during my summer days was yellow and had a nice porch that attached against the back of it. My days were rarely spent inside of that trailer, it wasn't air conditioned and the occupants didn't have toys or anything more interesting than fridge magnets to play with.

Kittens bounced happily prancing in and out of the shed on the backside of the drive way. The smile on my face widened thinking of how precious they looked. I started to walk towards them, inching slowly as not to scare them away.

"Here kitty, kitty." I sang in an attempt to lure them to me.

Five kittens looked up in response to my song, I wondered what they were thinking. It was always a gamble if the kittens would want to be touched today or not. I continued forward now reaching the open area where the majority of them were, two kittens were laying in the dirt peering up at me, I leaned in to pet the orange-striped one. It purred and blinked it's eyes heavily in response. My insides lightened once more.

I could sit in that memory for a while as the sun beamed against my back I could feel warmth but not in the way I can now. The sensitivity to everyday things was new, there was little to complain about because every experience felt exciting. Being alive was exhilarating.

I wonder where our sense of adventure and compassion leaves us? Does it sit dormant waiting for us to call upon it once more? Why is it so difficult to feel inspired, but instead give into a repetitive life style?

[tkhernandez3439]

The first vivid memory I can concoct involves a room full of clutter. I remember being entranced by the specs that fell seemingly endless through the air around a 1950s-style high chair, the ones that had the step ladder to the "big kid" seat. The chair is yellow-splattered and pots of unkempt plants engulf the majority of it. I remember wondering, quite consciously, how those specs came to be. They danced playfully in the sunlight streaming through the semi-parted curtains.

This room shouldn't have been as full as it was, I know that now, but at the time it was full of curiosity. The shelving to my left appeared to have risen from the ground and somehow outgrown the ceiling. My eyes were constantly finding intricate details among the debris. Somehow I had no recollection of the dirt and animal stool that I was surrounded by, I found only enjoyment in the forgotten objects that I was engulfed in.

I was quite alone, as I often was, but I wasn't afraid. I remember calculating each breathe trying to slow it, to control it, though it was not within my control the game I played would occupy my ever-reeling brain. Even as a young child I had a way of entering a greatly endangering section of my brain that would do nothing but self-harm.

My grandmother's house had a smell, however, describing it proves difficult. The dishes pouring out of the always-crowded kitchen sink onto the counter, and sporadically abandoned in every room each left their own distinct odor. While the bird and dog, allowed to defecate wherever they pleased, had their's. There were also several children being cared for that had a way of leaving pacifiers and bottles to rot.

My thoughts trail here, from time to time. I find myself questioning it's existence because it is so far from my near memories. I can feel the moment more than I can see it. This was a place where I felt absolutely safe. This little room, that was unfit for living, was one of my most cherished safe spaces.

I am aware of the image I'm creating, it may be cringy to a modern house wife but the child in me is craving one more moment. I want to turn to my grandmother's bedroom where there was always a piece of chewed gum on the lamp post and a 50+ oz of Sprite beside her bed. I miss the image of her in her wheel chair with a bird perched upon her shoulder. I miss the embrace of her presence.

I lost my safe space when I was 8.