The Deep End

Arrival

12:00 AM.

June 14, 1996.

I felt so exposed, cold & vulnerable as I was escorted out of my mothers womb. 

I didn't ask to leave, there must've been a mix up.

 I squint my eyes at the harsh blinding white light of this unknown room, remaining silent for a few seconds before I felt a rush of pain gushing from my lower bottom, I left out a loud, fatal cry that to them was a sign of me breathing.

 I was passed around like some toy, until I was embraced into a set of arms, a different set of arms. 

They felt like home, they were home.

In the upcoming days the only things I've learned was, cry when hungry, cry when sleepy & cry for no apparent reason & just for the fun of it.

 I had everything I've wanted, two people that served me, unlimited food, the ability to sleep wherever and whenever I wanted to & most importantly I felt loved, important & cared for. 

It was the best of both worlds.

9:00 AM.

June 14, 1997.

I fidget around in my bed, feeling the bright summer sun kissing my tan skin, the cool air conditioned breeze shifting through my messy brown hair.

 I stretch my faint, fragile arms stretching the lengths of my body, my lips parting ways, yawning. 

I open my eyes only to find the two people that cared for me, holding something that was covered in pink paste, with a large grin plastered on their faces.

 I stay extremely confused with a a look of Aw plastered on my face, intrigued by the beauty of the object in between their palms. round, pink,smelling  absolutely mouth watering & it had a candle with the number 1 hammered to it.

 I was suddenly attacked by my female care giver as she splattered the pink paste on my nose, singing and chanting what I believe was " my birthday".

 Is this a satanic ritual that is preformed on confused children each year?. 

Maybe. Did I like it? yes, yes I did It made me feel powerful & different.

 I was carried out of my comfort zone with rosy chubby cheeks and a dimpled grin glued wide across my little round face.

 I still had everything, all the love, the attention & the validation.

Is this how it'll always be?.

3:35 PM.

July 7, 1997.

I've been constantly tormented by my care givers into "speaking", & not just any words but   "mommy" & "daddy".

Is this another satanic ritual? or could it be something more? Am I missing out on something?. 

I escape my death with my bone soft knees friction against  the tiled floor, I've had enough with crawling, I gather up all remaining power, positioning my tiny palms on the cool tile floor and arch my back froward, pouncing my legs with full force to  support my body weight.

 Before I knew it everyone around me was yelling and clapping so loud, It felt like my eardrum  popped, causing me to loose my balance wiggling my small legs around, I slip and with a thump I fall on my bum, my pupils widen as I stare around me, grasping for some reaction as I couldn't make it out myself. 

everyone let out a small but mumbled laugh, trying to not hurt my feelings I guess?. 

But the fact that I was merely offended wasn't the issue to me, it was the urge rushing through, the voice yelling in my head to try again.

 to be never satisfied with the bare minimum.

Was this one step towards finding out what was I actually here for?

10:00 PM.

August 18, 1997.

As I sat on some chair that my care givers referred to as "toilet" , I daydreamed about how life tasted like, how it felt to be, well ... a giant like my care givers. 

so far everyone seems to be doing the same exact thing as one another, it left me to think. 

I was snapped out of my 20 second trance by the touch of two warm palms on my bare knees. 

wilted hazel eyes drowning with so much feeling that I couldn't pin point what were they.

 They looked at me with so much happiness & hope. 

As if it aspired me to be the best I could ever be, With no control over my loose tongue I spit out the words "mommy". 

Two seconds later the yelling & chanting began, this time with tears gushing down her faint blushed hollow cheeks and her wilted hazel eyes.

 She was my mother, She was what I referred to as the feeling of home, the person who risked their last breath for mine. 

& I felt strongly towards her.