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    Person Suit
    Person Suit
    Person Suit
    Ebook147 pages1 hour

    Person Suit

    By Dreaming Big Publications

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    About this ebook

    This collection of poetry, memoirs and stories of amusing short fiction presents to the reader such themes as depression, suicide, hopelessness, grief, loss, love, mental illness, and abuse both emotional and physical experienced by the writers or someone close to them.

    This collection serves to demonstrate that hiding behind shame or fear rather than sharing emotional pain as the authors in these works do is tantamount to “putting on a mask” or “wearing a person suit.” It is pretending. It is a state of existing but not truly living life to the fullest.

    The 11 authors featured in this collection have taken off their “person suit,” exposed their true selves to the world so that others may find their own voice and the courage to speak about mental illness and abuse of any kind.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDreaming Big Publications
    Release dateJul 31, 2015
    ISBN9781310195396
    Person Suit
    Author

    Dreaming Big Publications

    Author and publisher, mental health professional

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      Book preview

      Person Suit - Dreaming Big Publications

      Introduction

      The Poems and Short Stories in this Anthology are an expression of the authors’ journeys through painful experiences. Writing and journaling has been proven to be an effective cathartic exercise. Deepest appreciation is extended to these brave men and women who shared their narratives. Many are giving the world a first glimpse beyond their person suit in this publication.

      Kristi King-Morgan, Editor

      I

      Sexual Abuse

      Night Terrors

      Dianne Lowe-Breakfield

      I live in your room

      under your bed

      I hide in your closet

      filling you with dread

      I lurk in the shadows

      covered by night

      hoping you will soon

      turn off the light

      I drool in anticipation of

      you falling asleep

      so I can begin my game

      of Touch and Peek

      I scrape my fingernails

      hoping you will hear

      Just in your mind

      not with your ear

      I smell your fear

      as you begin to dream

      My mouth waters as I

      devour your scream!

      Stolen

      Dianne Lowe-Breakfield

      Has he told anyone else of the dark night in the woods when he led me away from the campfire?

      He led me away from my friends; he took away my virginity.

      I fought. You better believe it, but that didn't make him stop.

      In the dark woods he took me down and took away a gift I had been saving. He smashed it into a million pieces and left me alone in the dark woods on that confusing night.

      I Am a Survivor

      Anea De Guzman (Philippines)

      If there is someone in your past you could eliminate or change who would that be?

      A classmate of mine asked this question that for many would be a simple one to answer. It was not simple for me. Upon hearing it, my heart skipped a beat. I knew immediately who that person was for me. My response would require an explanation that would prove difficult.

      All eyes were on me and all ears were waiting to hear my answer. This class was my favorite, yet I cried in front of fifty fellow classmates as I prepared to tell my story.

      At first I tried to be brave. I cleared my throat and said, If there is one person that I want to remove or change, I want it to be my biological father. I heard a few people gasp. My story came on the heels of the professor sharing his love for his now deceased father. That very day was the anniversary of his father’s death. I sensed the professor’s shock at hearing my response but he gestured for me to continue.

      Suddenly, I lost all the courage that I had earlier mustered up. I stuttered and stammered, my hands shook. I took a breath and said, I know that most of you will disagree with me but I would have preferred to have a different biological father. Had I the choice, I would rather have been born to another family than my own. Sacrificing my loving mom and sister would have been better than enduring him as my father. I would have preferred that than what I lived through. I took a bow and then quickly sat down.

      What did your father do?

      That was the question everyone asked me but I didn’t answer. What did my father do? Back then I thought that he had ruined my future, but I know now that he only ruined my past. I was determined not to give him the power to ruin my future.

      In July 2007, I was an incoming high school freshman enjoying the last few weeks of my summer vacation at my grandparent’s house. I was 11 years old, almost 12 at the time. Unlike other children who seemed worldly, I only knew about school subjects, playing video games and with Barbie dolls. Little else mattered to me then.

      Truth be told, my mom was against the idea of me visiting my grandparents without her and my sister, but I insisted because I wanted to ride a boat and play with the new friends I had made there. She agreed to let me go if my father would keep an eye on me.

      On the last night of our stay, relatives arrived who would be spending the night. My father and I were to share a room.

      I woke up in the night with a start. I was unable to move, I felt like I was in the presence of a ghost. I felt someone or something touch my arm. It wasn’t a ghost; it was my father touching me. Being too afraid to speak, I pretended I was still asleep.

      I became paralyzed with fear when his hand moved over towards my breast. He lifted my legs and inserted something unknown to me. The unbearable pain caused me to black out. At the time I didn’t know what happened to me.

      There was blood on the bed sheets, tangible evidence of his abuse. He merely reported to my mother that I had my period and messed up the bed. They laughed causing great embarrassment to me. In my ignorance, I let it go. I had no conception of the nature of the horror that had taken place. I was sheltered and naïve.

      I was unaware that I had been raped.

      I celebrated my birthday, attended my first day as a high school student as usual and told no one about what happened that night, not even my mom or sister.

      A month or two passed and it happened again. Again, I pretended to be asleep. I imagine most people think I should have told someone, that I should have called for help, and they are probably right. I should have come forward and told someone. Sometimes, I hated myself for not speaking up. But it wasn’t that simple. I lived in a country where virginity is treasured. I attended a semi-Catholic school and I knew that it would be a disgrace if people found I was not a virgin, no matter the circumstances.

      I kept it to myself; I said nothing; I cried each night, making sure to not make a sound and endured the pain alone. The urge to scream went unsatisfied.

      For months I kept silent as he continued to do it to me once a month whenever we found ourselves alone in the house. I smiled when I was at school and made friends. I told everyone who asked that I had a loving family, that my mom and sister loved me a lot and that my family rarely fought. It was partly true. I didn’t lie, but I left out the fact that I had an abusive father.

      I thought he would grow tired of me as I got older and entered my sophomore year in high school. Instead the abuse escalated to twice a month. I tried to tell my mother, but the words would not come out.

      Once we were watching an investigative show about a girl who was raped; it seemed the perfect time to tell my mother. However, the mother of the victim, instead of believing her daughter, scolded her for lying. Again, I kept silent but watched as the rapist was caught. A women’s welfare group took the victim into custody. It fueled my fear, what if I was taken away?

      I began using a blade on my wrist. The cold feeling of the brand new blade as it lightly sliced through me felt wonderful and it brought me more focus. It made me feel better and somehow inspired. I mutilated myself for over a year, carefully choosing when and where to slice so that it would not leave a scar.

      Senior year in high school marked four years that father had been raping me on a regular basis. He was breaking me with his sick need. I started to have an irregular period. I would go for 4-5 months between each menstrual cycle.

      At the end of my rope, I took matters into my own hands. I still did not have the courage to tell my mother but I confronted my father in the form of a letter. I told him emphatically that he had taken advantage of my ignorance and now I was fully aware of his ruination of me. I begged him to stop. I gave him the letter. He responded by barging into my locked room. He simply said, Sorry.

      Sorry? Was he serious? Did he think a simple sorry would suffice as consolation for all that I had endured at his hand?

      I didn’t talk to him again as I was preparing to tell my mom. One day, while my father was out, my sister talked to me about him, telling me to stay away from him, telling me about a similar scenario where she too was a victim of his advances. Luckily, she was able to push him away. Her screams frightened him away and he left her alone. She had been brave enough to tell our mother. She claimed our mother had confronted our father.

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