An Entire Life Trashed – By Anonymous

My mother eloped from her well-to-do family with an unemployed alcoholic who had been molested by his father.  My mother said I was born mad at her because I refused to nurse. There is a rumor that I was a breech birth. Her parents paid for me to stay in the hospital for one month to give my mother a rest (no bonding).  I was named for a rich great aunt on my father’s side in hopes she would name me in her will.  My parents left me alone in my crib when they went to church, and a distant relative of my father’s found me screaming and alone, and took me home with her. For a short while my parents thought I had been kidnapped, before the relative returned me.  Just barely able to walk, my parent’s inattention allowed me to toddle into the path of a truck, for which I received a spanking so severe that I went in the other room and held my breath until I fainted.

If I had been “trailing trains of glory” upon birth they were extinguished fairly rapidly.

About Nan Mykel

I used to think I would be a child prodigy, but then I got old. Formerly I had fantasies of rubbing elbows with cultural and academic leaders but that did not come to pass because I did not become a cultural or academic leader or any other kind of leader, for that matter. I am not even an "Alpha Dog," a term learned from a friend who had to become "Alpha Dog" in order to influence her own pet. (When gazes lock, she never looks away.) For years I expected to become a published author, but in passing I could not avoid the fact that I had little to contribute to the world's bulging dumpsters. I'm embarrassed to report that I also considered my primary process artistic productions powerful, rather than mildly neurotic. Which is not to say that I disrespect myself, only that I am beginning to doubt my potential for making a mark on the world. If I focus on strict self discipline I may be able to keep my garbage removed on a weekly basis, to keep the kitty box changed, the clothes cleaned, the dog watered, fed and walked, but that just catches me up to the starting mark again. When writing I physically grapple with words, wrestling them from their indifference into attempted chunks of awareness. I sit heavily on my chair; I breathe in artificially cooled air; my ear drums note the tap tap of the keyboard and the steady uninterrupted sound of the air conditioner, What is that sound? The roar of the ocean from 30 yards away...Inside, my thoughts are are balls in an electronic game machine, bouncing hither and yon from lever to lever. I am a little grim and intent until I recall a dream related by a black man in the prison where I once worked. He said that when he was a small boy, back home, he dreamed he was standing on his front porch pissing, and that he suddenly found himself pissing stars...
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5 Responses to An Entire Life Trashed – By Anonymous

  1. E says:

    You are not ‘anonymous’ to me Nan. I see you. And I see the hurt you’ve endured. Ouch.

    Like

  2. Sautee Barb says:

    Can Anonymous write another side to this?

    Like

  3. bethanyk says:

    Oh this pains my heart to read such abandonment and absence of love. How could one leave a child, blame a child, hurt a child.

    Like

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