"Fear" — Switchblade Symphony

I see the children,
I see all their scars.
I fear the monsters that
don't know who they are.

When did this all start?
When did I fall apart?
When did this all start?
When did I fall apart?

I am too frightened
to open my door.
I can't stop shaking
as I drop to the floor.

When did this all start?
When did I fall apart?
When did this all start?
When did I fall apart?

 

Can you hear me? Can you help me? Can you hear me now?
Can you hear me? Can you help me? Can you hear me now?

 

My hands, unfaithful,
did not protect me.
My voice, transparent,
when I need it to scream.

What really happened
during those nights?
I could not move so
I just turned off inside.

 

When did this all start? When did I fall apart?
When did this all start? When did I fall apart?

Can you hear me? Can you help me? Can you hear me now?
Can you hear me? Can you help me? Can you hear me now?

Hear me now...

I don't remember exactly when it started, but I learned pretty early on to beware the "wrath of Daddy". He's not really my father. He married my mother when I was 18 months old, and he's the only male figure I remember, so he became "Daddy".

I don't remember the first time he hit my mother, but I think my earliest memory of incident would be when I was 3 or 4. It was around Christmas time, and I had gotten a Lite-Brite. I had made a picture and wanted to show Mommy and Daddy. I walked in on them, together on the couch, in the den -- he yelled, spanked me hard, and sent me running and screaming for the safety of my room. I don't remember him hitting me elsewhere, but I remember being absolutely terrified of him.

Looking back now, I don't remember much, and I might had been instructed to stay in my room so they could be alone. From what I'm told by other relatives, I was not a child who acted up a lot or misbehaved, usually did what I was told, and was usually very content to stay in my room ... I guess I picked the wrong time to go show off my artistic achievements. Whatever the case may be, he should not have reacted that way, and my mother should have stepped in and put a stop to it. But she didn't, and things only got worse as time wore on.

My brother was born just before my 4th birthday. I remember being excited ... I wanted a playmate. I've always loved my brother very dearly, but growing up I always sensed a bit of favortism towards him from Daddy and never understood why. I was never told that he was not my biological father. I never knew that my mother was married to another man before Daddy -- I found out when he first contacted me at age 23. Daddy has never acknowledged this and does not speak about it ... but I'll expand more on that later.

I'm sure there were more similar incidents, but nothing comes to mind at the moment. Fast forward a couple of years to another event that has remained a very strong memory. I had received a makeup kit of some kind for Christmas, I think I was 7. It was something you used to mix up stuff to fill inside lip pencils and eye shadow pencils -- some sort of "do it yourself" kit.

While Dad was gone to work, Mom put my brother down for his nap and let me stay up while we were going to play with my new kit. We had gotten so far as 2 or 3 lipsticks when Dad came home from work. I think he may have come home early, I don't know, but I do know that for some reason he was furious that I wasn't taking a nap and that Mom and I were "playing makeup". I remember him yelling at me and Mom, and throwing things around. He sent me to my room to take a nap and I remember leaving, and hearing him continue to scream at my mother while he struck her. I was too afraid to turn around to see where or how he hit her.

I never saw the kit again, I can only assume that he broke it and/or threw it away. T'was par for the course ... looking back, that happened with many of my things.