Broken Path to Purple Rainbows

Sitting dumb in the dark clearly isn't going to bring forth the answers needed to heal my wounds. The quiet calmness of it all is actually shining light on what caused the pain. The scars on my arms are unraveling themselves, initiating a tear that's ripping through to seams that hold together my scabs, leaving the pink of my flesh that lies underneath to concede to the burn of salt that I have allowed others to sprinkle onto my existence. The echo left behind, along with the tirade of hatred that my father held towards me, is beginning to ring loud in my head as a true complement to all of the bullshit I've convinced myself I deserve to receive. “I doubt that you will ever be able to provide me with balance;” That reply sits deep within my stomach to remind me of who to avoid. The words were placed on my plate in an attempt to spoon feed me an excuse for the wrongdoings of many. Each one of my past relationships seemed to come equipped with one. While sitting here, I've tried to find the one mistake responsible for the cross legged position I now hold on my living room floor. There isn't one, at least not one reason alone. My life has always had its share of complications. There's no doubt that it all started with my childhood. Maybe my first baby steps were taken to the left when they should have been to the right. It's even possible that having a father that resented me is partly to blame. After giving the matter much thought, I've come to the conclusion that it goes further back than any of that. Back to a time when my great grandmother, Bell, laid on her back to endure the insensitive thrust of men unfamiliar to her, and far from the type she normally made her own. Bell Jennings was not a lady that you would ever want to place alongside those whom showed signs of weakness. It's true that she fell easily to the need of a drink, but she was more than capable of standing up against the shrapnel of her time. Liquor in one hand, blunt object in the other, when Bell showed up she showed out. There was never a reason for the hell she raised, but the discharge of her vehemence ways on others definitely became her prescribed method to release the anger she held within. My great grandfather died many years ago for reasons that to this day seem unclear. Some say Bell killed him while defending herself during one of their fights over his feeling of her unfaithfulness. Others say Dump, one of her love interests, killed him while protecting her during that fight. Either way, I doubt Dump had any idea of what was in store for him after finally having her to himself. Since Bell's husband was no longer around for her to battle, fights between she and Dump started off where those that took place in her marriage ended. The only responsive action Dump provided as a means to protect himself was what he gave verbally to calm Bell down. That weakness, as Bell saw it, pushed her to pay him back with dues owed to the one before him. As a result, whenever Dump questioned Bell's antics, she grabbed the closest object within her reach and tried her best to part his skull with it. “Shut the hell up!” “Now go tell that to the judge, Bell would say.” That saying was one of her favorite rebuttals. It was her way of bringing closure to the disruption she caused. “Stop Bell! Why do you do me like this?” Dump would ask. Before being able to get the last of his sentence out, Bell would swing down hard, pitching another blow to his head. Dazed, Dump would restrain himself from reacting as she wanted him to. After a moment's pause, he would wipe away what blood he could, fearing that wiping too much would only tempt her to sketch out another mark above his cheekbone, adding to the portfolio of bruises that she had already placed on his face. Many would have let that nightmare of a relationship go a long time ago, but Dump did the opposite. Taking all that Bell chose to dish out, Dump stayed with her and bent over as she used her rod of fury to brand her frustrations on his rear. He really must have loved her, because it's only when in love that our tolerances extend out, enabling us to take on the nonsense that our commonsense would normally filter out. Needless to say, Dump's reasoning was in no way going to change the fact that Bell really didn't give a damn. Choosing to be with her, meant that he was going to have to physically feel what she felt emotionally. I use to sit back and wonder why we so often treat people the way that others have mistreated us. I'll tell you why, “It's because we're still holding on to the fictitious bond once used as power to control us.” You'd be surprised at how quickly ignored bruises from past relationships resurface, when the pursuit of a new one takes its stand. The soreness from that bump will churn itself into anger, and then work overtime to abet in the destruction of every person you grow to love after its receipt. Many nights have passed with thought of how I could break free of that process. Finding a way to do so may help me find myself. The abduction of who I was has awakened my inheritance and left me to be more like my great grandmother than she could have ever intended me to be. I've come to rest in the very same fury she once festered in alone. Just as Bell, I too have ways to release it.