I was born into a world of hate.
My mother hated my father, my father hated his family. They both hated the life they lived. When I was born, my mother probably hated me as well. She was not the kind of person suited for motherhood. Having a yowling brat was too much for her. I've been stomped, kicked, beaten, cursed at and I've had hair pulled out of my head. Bad enough she kept them for whatever reason in an envelope. The day I found THAT out was as much a shock to me at 8 years old as it was to the neighbor that she showed it to.
I was raised in a world of hate.
Don't be a faggot or I'll disown you. If you ever bring a black guy home, don't expect to ever come back in. Don't be a whore like your cousin. Don't stutter or I'll beat it out of you - do you wanna be a retard like Jimmy? (Who btw was brilliant, he just stuttered.) Bitch, cunt, kike, nigger, spic, wop, dyke.
I grew up in a world of hate.
Everyone hated everyone. Wars, gang violence, rapes - all being blasted at my childish mind by a large box. All I wanted was to watch Sesame Street. Enough! Sit down, shut up and go watch TV! Talk shows and crime shows and the worst of humanity being brought to you every hour of the day. Gossip and kvetching and music being shit these days. Your cousin can sing, shame you can't. Teachers telling me, "Well, you're pretty on the inside. Thank goodness you're smart."
I lived in a world of hate.
My ex-boyfriend hated me for leaving him. My husband hated me for having children and expecting him to step up to his responsibilities. The teachers hated me for telling them my child was too smart for them. The neighbors hated me for not giving a fuck what they had to say. Blacks hated me for not being afraid of them. Puerto Ricans hated me for being too Irish. I hated myself and never saw a day where I felt truly beautiful, even on my wedding day. I tried so hard to understand, to love against the overwhelming tide of hate from my own family members. They wanted too much and I began to drown.
I was killed by the hatred of this world.
I lost everything I had. Everything I liked, loved or owned was taken away from me. Again and again. The poison of it seeped into my soul and began to kill me like a toxin. I went to doctors. I went to shrinks. The medications themselves were killing me. One day, I got a phone call that ended my life. Literally, maybe not, but it caused the series of events that brought me to death.
I hate this world right back.
I spent a month on the cusp of ending my life. I said my goodbyes, packed it all up and started giving it away. I realized that in order to survive, I'd have to be reborn. People kept telling me about butterflies, but I could never be one. I wasn't good enough. I wasn't sane enough. Even if I did, there would be gardeners with pesticides telling me I didn't belong in their world. Why bother when the poison would kill me, or the boot heel of a careless passer-by?
I grew wings...
They aren't as bright as everyone else's, but they're mine! I learned to fly even though I've never fully transformed. I'm hideous and awful and evil and the incarnation of all things not well with the world, but you cannot deny my existence. I'm a new breed, Darcaena helle and I was born...
I live...
and I fly!
