creative writing..

‘The landscape of one’s past influences who we are today.’

June 7, 1991

Today, as I was forced to visit the Mary-Lynn pier, a fact that became painstakingly evident to me as my feet pressed on the moist wooden slats, was that I would never again enter that vast range of water that stretched out to the horizon before me.The vast array of dark waters, so close to my once ‘comfort zone’ previously held the many memories of the naïve invulnerabilities that I possessed as a youthful innocence, whose mere reason for living was to play in this natural place of once momentary bliss.I can clearly state that it is not due to any physical inabilities that I am unable to enter this premises, rather, it is due to the fact that my psychological threshold shall forbid me any contact with the likes of water for the future as far as I can see it.For heavens, even the sprinkler shall remind me of the wretched horror that these particles of water combined have done to destruct my world, the torment they have caused in the separation of the very ‘particles’ which previously fused together to form my life. It is but these particles that I can blame for having, without warning, removed the beings which formed my spirit’s willingness to contribute to this world, forever.
June 13, 1991
Today, once again someone asked me why it is that I do not speak. I find it incredulous that they should ask when, to me, it is so blatantly obvious that it is because I do not wish to speak. I would much rather mimic the desolate silence that is present at the still nights’ waters, as it more precisely reflects the numb, motionless, empty feelings that I possess, than any words that could possibly be produced from my mouth. Besides, what is the use in words? They are meaningless to me, for no one relying on the English language could possibly pretend to relate to the emotions which are imbedded in me. Nor could they begin to understand the imbalanced thoughts that my afflicted mind contains. I see no use in talking about something that cannot be reversed nor defined to me and quite frankly there is nothing else that I wish to speak of.
July 27, 1991
Not a single day passes without my mind pondering the happenings of that one day, with today- my 19th birthday- being no exception. The details in my memory of that day are faint - the only thing, as I see it, that I should be thankful for. One thing that has stayed with me however is the joyous atmosphere that we shared as a family that morning that God chose to target me as his guinea pig of fate. Within distance of those same waters which torment my life, excitement rose as my mother gallantly piggy backed me beside the shore line, with my father beaming as he reached across and grabbed me, pinning me down to the warm granulate sand and bombarding me with a tickling frenzy. The thing I remember most clearly is the immense amazement that I beheld in the moment that my loving parents presented to me their new glorious treasure; their brand new boat. And on the side of its body, in delicate formal print, was my name; Amy-Louise. I remember being in awe and the infinite pride that swelled inside of me, a memory which now sickens me and brings a pit to my very stomach for having ever admired such a wretched and detestable entity.
July 31, 1991
Today I shall more or less write in brief. Nothing can bring my parents back. Not words, not prayers (though I do not waste my time on the immorality of such worthless faith) nor any grudges which restrain in my heart. But I will reinforce this one fact; that I shall never re-enter these waters which betrayed me so wholly and unnecessarily again. I will go on as I am today, self contained and broken as ever. No glue has the ability to fix this mess.So Aunty Heather, I beg that you please stop trying.