Oblivion

When your a young child, nightmares come at night, though hushed away by the whispering reassuring sounds of a parent, for when you wake in the morning and the dark fades into the light, those nightmares are no longer a part of you.
For Some tiny beings, those nightmares were created by the shouting of a parent, continuing through night and day.
I, I was that tiny being ….

My mother was very interested, shall I say, in the end of the world, it fascinated her, but not in a way that one would see as normal. Her life was one, one were death and fear were her in eyes, normal, almost fun. She also loved the magical and mythical world of dragons and wizards, She wasn’t a goth, not even a closet goth, she was just her own unique terrifying twisted person.

The walls in the dinning room were full of postcards from the 80’s, some with dragons and wizards, but her proudest most loved image was one that to this day is burned in my memory.
She purchased the image, said it was beautiful and how one day this is what we will know, this in her eyes was the worlds path.

The image showed 2 children stood on a long path watching the world burn around them as a atomic bomb is going off before their very eyes, their future and all hope fading before them.

I can’t find the exact image on google (which I am glad about!) but the one here is the closest I could find. So whats so bad about a few images on the wall I hear you ask, don’t look at it, it’s just a artists impression after all. Yet for her it was more then just a few pieces of art work.

For her it was her mission to ensure this child she was meant to be nurturing became fearful of the end of the world.
For her, it was her joy to run into the child’s bedroom banging saucepans together, yelling its time, the world is ending, only when she saw the tears fall and the trembling being in front of her would she stop and tell me it was a joke. Never comforting, never apologizing, just laughing and walking away.
When a loud plane would go over a head but it couldn’t be seen, she would say, never fear its just a comet about to hit the earth.
We would watch films, from the age of 7 horror movies were normal, hearing her talk about death in some shape or form was normal,
Walking around the house I would be on tender hooks, never knowing where she would be jumping out from next in order to scare me. Hiding in my bedroom or escaping to the beach became my life to get away from it all. I lived a life of fear, every unknown loud bang, every rumble, I would wonder, questioning if this was it.
It got to the point were, when I was around 8 yrs old, my brother and I had taken a walk to the quarries and beyond. It started raining heavily, miles from home, when lighting and thunder kicked in. I was never sure of them, again they were used to make me fearful. My brother doing the best he knew, dragged me to the nearest shelter, a shed with a tin roof. The noise was amplified, I started screaming believing the world was about to end. My brother was very aware of how our mother was, but as he wasn’t living at home full time, he never knew the intensity, so had joined in with mother in the teasing.
But this day, The truth hit home, as he saw how much of what she was doing was effecting me, he pulled me in held me close, reassuring me it was OK and it was safe. He never teased me again after, and if he saw her on that path towards me, he would tell her to back down a little. It did ease, but was still there.

As I grew to my teenage years I was able to start learning truth from fiction, I was reading the newspapers daily, reading my own choice of books on the subject, learning in my own manner , but for me, too late as the fear was already built in. It became a natural part of my being.

At the age of 13, English lessons required we wrote poetry, A favourite of mine, books I adored. So opening my soul, I wrote a piece called The Futility of Man, so strong was the writing for someone who should be thinking of light fun things at such an age, that the teachers questioned whether I had written it. After a chat, they realized that this was mine, as little had they known, until that point, that it was written from years of my experience, years of hearing most days that the world would soon go up in flames, reading books, seeing television programs and having it drummed into me that this was a *normal* life, so whilst the other teenagers were writing love stories, or tales of superheros, for me writing about the end of the world, was well, natural. I was proud of the piece, I kept a copy in one of my many note books.

A quick dig in the attic, as I tend to keep most things, I re found the book, I had it saved in. I have taken photos of this, rather then retyping, if you can’t read a teenagers hand writing, no apologies given! I am assuming you can click on this? I have no idea, me and technology don’t always agree. Maybe one day I will type it here.

I’ve never want my children to have the fears I have had. I don’t hide from them real life, I try and protect them from the horrors out there, slightest bit of blood on TV, or them playing *dead* , game over, onto the next show/game/toy!!

I will never understand my mothers enjoyment out of what she did, I respect everyone has their own thoughts and requirements in this life, but to force it onto someone so small, a blank canvas, there is no need, no gain. That child is small for now, those 5 mins of laughter you gained from her tears, you will forget about tomorrow, but I promise you she will never forget. The pounding heart, the trembling from head to toe, believing what this women is telling you, as you know, shes meant to love and care for you, so it must be true, why else would she do it?

With this up bringing, it gave me one thing that I am grateful for, and that’s my religion and beliefs but that’s for another journal.