Loop.

This was how it always began, she knew; this was the miserably familiar feeling of progressing – long and far, and with much despair on the way – blood, sweat, tears – only to eventually carry you to the gut-wrenching realization that you’re patterning a circle – a loop, and nothing more. This seat in front of her word processor, its heavy anchor wrapped mockingly around her ankle, her drink to her left and her joint in her right hand – lodged stubbornly between her index and middle fingers; her mind unsettled on the huge task at hand.
This was a painfully familiar routine, a drill that she practiced as if it were her religious motivation; This was the scout to the expedition – the quiet before the storm; this was an integral part of her every day, twice a day – maybe more. The details behind that part are irrelevant, really…the point is meant to be that she knew the truth could never be set loose. This was Déjà vu; she sat down at that over-sized LCD screen repeatedly, ready to unleash those thoughts and feelings in a indefensible barrage of details and recollections; ready to unload her burdens onto the backs of those to which they truly belonged; she’d go into this state of being that she avoided as much as she was able to – impenetrable focus on those people who were responsible for all of the tragedy, so much unnecessary tragedy.
It was somewhere in between the grips of this dark, animalistic, dangerously focused state of being, and that of the next state in this repetitive sequence, that a fiber of her identity was lost each time. The emotional roller coaster that undoubtedly followed this sub-human concentration was inevitable, although manifesting in different ways with each new appearance. Sometimes she’d cry inconsolably out of shame and guilt, or become too unraveled to refocus her attentions on this chronicle at hand; sometimes she would psychologically work herself in a rage so blinding that she would black out and regain consciousness later in the day, without memory of the hours in between; still, other times found her miserable with denial and disbelief at her circumstance – rendering her so frustrated that she would embark on a new expedition via the World Wide Web, in search of a specific legal code, government policy, or the elusive attorney that would be able to get her on track with getting justice for her only child – now grown into a disturbingly sinister young person. She sighed, the hot breath that she released from her mouth reminded her of how thirsty she was, and she lifted her ice-cold drink gingerly to her mouth for a short gulp.

I gotta cut back on this shit…for New Year’s, I will…

Despite the fizzling tingle on her tonsils as she savored the refreshing sweetness of the drink’s bite, each swallow induced a wave of pain that racked through her head like wildfire through a dry meadow.

I really need to get those teeth pulled…soon…

Her mental notes always contained some sort of self-imposed delay attached to them; as she was not so much of a go-getter these days. Her spirit seemed to have just up and decided to fly somewhere else; or perhaps it had gradually just faded away with so much time spent being abused and beaten down, she didn’t know. Physical pain was not even always a surefire way to get her to force herself into the masses, and she would only resort to seeking medical treatment during the most dire of situations, given an exceptionally high pain-threshold. She had no desire left to mingle with the human-mutants that surrounded her – those despicable and savage creatures that had once seemed so different than her. As she sat, tonguing at the sore molars in her mouth for the umpteenth time that morning, her very core was hollow to its deepest fathom of being, and she knew it beyond any doubt. And at that, she would repeatedly find herself at a total loss for…well, for pretty much anything.
Any former plans, aspirations or goals seemed comical to the remaining logic residing within the empty shell that she walked around inside of. Nothing could ever make things right again, no matter what anyone, including herself, might pull out of a sleeve in attempt to force the appearance of true justice.
Justice
This word had long ago, dug its way beneath the tangible consciousness of her being – the vague ghost which her body beheld, and had been buried – at a time that felt like lifetimes ago.
Justice
A folly that remains depicted in every corner of the national court as a foundational concept of law, liberty and decency – the proverbial snapshot of a pair of scales, polished to a reflective, brassy shine, ever-balanced perfectly against one another – affecting the virtuous and the good of humankind. The iconic symbol of trial and judgment: the biggest mockery in American history.

“Because, what a bunch of horse-shit it all is in real life, the scales of Justice?”

she spat bitterly out loud;

“…as if those scales aren’t rigged to tip in only the most evil of fashions against what is TRULY GOOD and JUST – regardless of the matter at hand…”

The heat in her face became a noticeable burn across her cheeks and forehead, and the tiny wisps of baby hair at her light blonde hairline stuck there from the increasing layer of sweat, despite several attempts to blow it away. A loud bang sounded following the rap of her hand heavily against the desk at which she sat, struggling to find any useful weapon within her once highly impressive linguistic arsenal. She hated thinking about these things – as she knew all too well what the result of her brooding would be – stagnancy and frustration, despair and self-loathing beyond description; just more of the same routine that her life seemed to be defined more completely by everyday.
This, is the Juvenile Justice System’s very essence: confusion and perpetual lack legal articulation. The agenda in this hideous arena remains increasingly different from ‘Truth or Accountability’; the so-called ‘Home of the Brave’ is chock full of the world’s biggest chicken-shit trust-fund fed politicians and useless financial backers and/or holders. Yes, ‘the Brave’ being those in positions of power and action, congressional and legislative ring-leading clowns, community social workers and those that oversee their actions, judges, psychiatrists and medical doctors, varying “specialists” of the intrinsically heinous legal arena – a collective of those “brave” enough to steal the very light from the eyes of a child in need of her mother – to disgustingly and unashamedly make a buck off of the very families to which they claim the service of Justice.
Justice… the word made her stomach do cartwheels and the cavity-borne headache return. And, this was how it always played out for her. She became venomous then, an emotion so familiar and easily recognized by her character that its appearance onto the scene of her chaotic existence hardly attracted attention anymore; she forgot to breathe for a few, drawn out moments while she stared blankly at the screen, waiting for the right words to come; waiting to finally begin the report of despicable truths that had ultimately ruined the lives of her immediate family.
Nothing…nothing…
The anger began its bubbling within her every nano-particle, frustrated and exacerbated by the lack of stimulus. She allowed the thoughts to come to her awareness, knowing from experience that the attempt to shut them out would be a futile one; experiencing the anticipated rush of a variety of uncontrollable emotion and perception, unleashing the memories intentionally now in feeble hope that the raw force associated with them would somehow miraculously be guided onto the screen – that this release will open the gateways to her collected verbal arsenal, the most lasting of any known weapons of war.
In a former life, she had been a poet – a spotlight verbal violinist in the most well-known operas – somebody who was able to change things, touch people, and create inspiration and awe through her exquisitely procured and ever-growing vocabulary. The details that her stories offered were vast and all-encompassing; each piece’s poetry was a feat that she carried, attached to a tether at the end of stick –exacting complete control over its every directional move – she contoured its path, essentially; so influential and dominant was she in the play of words in written form, that sometime – long ago, but for reasons unclear to her now – she began to take the gift for granted. And now, that gift had all but left her totally without. She had stupidly allowed herself to slip into the realm of self-righteousness: an unforgiving and deceptive place from which a human with a spirit will return without anything at all to love, to be loved for. Hollowed out and superficial, she had returned to write the chronicle at hand – the most important one she could ever create. The expressive art that she had beheld since her first memories began did not return along with her, however – leaving her in a perpetual state of the most torturous deficiency and need.
Need…
The word made the corners of her navy blue eyes wrinkled as they shrunk tightly into a squint, with all of the co-dependent implications attached to its ugly, four-letter face.
THIS NEEDS TO STOP…
Tomorrow is another day, and if she sees tomorrow – she will return to this drill and try again.

If You’re Reading This, Maybe Today’s the Day You Understand…

 

…that I went over the edge of madness today; after so many years of trying to hold it together and make sense out of the life that’s been deemed fitting for this huge heart and old soul of mine; if you’re reading this, it’s  because the trail has led you back here to this piece- to this note of chalked lines of vengeance declared and scores settled into stone…

If you’ve found this, it’s because I have decided to act, in place of the pathetic, seething stagnancy that has grown so familiar with each new morning in my life – it’s because I’ve been driven over the edge and have been unsuccessful at retrieving my sanity in time to stop the laws of gravity from executing the proverbial drop in the bucket…if you’re reading this, Kiddo – it’s because I love you. 

I realize now that I will never be able to change this, to finagle what’s been ignored and overlooked into a different scenario and outcome for you; and to be perfectly honest, that realization is slowly killing me these days, I think.

Ah, the far-fetched ideas that we cling to fiercely in times of desperation…

I guess the bottom line here is that I am crushed, squeezed by the knowledge that you have repeatedly chosen to leave a world of love and support and the closest thing to true acceptance that you’ll ever find – it’s like a marching band has ripped suddenly out of unrecognized scenery props all around me and taken to a heavily footed performance across the wastelands of my heart each time that I allow my thoughts to touch upon this reality. I can’t help but to allow my logical self to try and deduce the situation into basic terms; and this characteristic of mine only shines additional beams of artificial light down at you – skewing my view of your beloved face even further, likening you to a beast, bearing teeth.

What could possibly draw you to that place, that Hell on Earth you’ve voluntarily embedded yourself within? Is it even possible that I managed to raise you so horribly and unsuccessfully that you hold yourself to such dilapidated standards at age sixteen? It can’t be possible, Kiddo – I just don’t see how it happened, when it happened…and how I failed you like I have – so very totally and completely. As much as I can comprehend the reflection cast on me by your actions, I remain unable to connect the dots.

I am so deeply sorry and ashamed of myself for failing you so badly to have cultivated such self-demolition in you; and if you’re reading this, it’s because you must already have figured this out on your own. The depths of my misery and failure as your Mom are increasingly more crippling as time goes by; as you get worse in your drug addiction, self-destruction and alienation, I get worse in my collective state of mind.

If you’re reading this, it’s because the camel is down – back is broken – and I have passed the point of ever returning again – of having any interest in returning again. If you’re reading this, it’s finally going to be simple enough for you to decipher and comprehend. Maybe it will finally register in your burned out brain that you had things all wrong; that you’ve been manipulated and brainwashed and lied to and pawned by the very same people who allowed a pedophile to assault you and then called you a liar when you accidentally told on him…you were just a kid…you were under court order to be there for “treatment”…everything slipped from my grasp back then, when that predator ruined you; when nobody with the power to help you even took you seriously, when you were locked away in another state and swept beneath the Department’s carpet for years while the pedophile continued to hurt more little girls just he’d done to you. How many of you did it take for the fucks in charge to take you seriously? I forget…was it eleven of you? Four years later? Yeah, that was it. Sick bastards…

If you’re reading this, Boo…its because they’re all finally gonna get theirs for that heinousness, despite thinking they got away with ruining your life permanently and exploiting and victimizing and degrading you like have. I have always told you that life is not always swift in its recourse, and that I believe that what goes around comes back around without fail; I have sold my soul to the Devil in order to show you that this is true – in order to give you the most basic of justices due.

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p style=”text-align:center;”>If you’re reading this, don’t ever read it again.