Did you ever have times when you didn’t want to go to school? Childhood memories can be either a memory to recount or one that we leave not to be mentioned. I know I sure did. Being bullied and not being able to understand my elementary classes was a big motivator for me not wanting to attend school, but little did I know, that the healing power of poetry would later become my refuge.
I know I sure did.
Being bullied and not being able to understand my elementary classes was a big motivator
As an adult, I understand now that the part of not understanding my classes was more than me not paying attention or not being smart enough.
I remember that I would cry almost every morning for years during my elementary years. There were classes I did excel in. Classes like art, English, and music, and in clubs like chess and art. (This information will come into play later on 😉 )
As my despair grew about going to school, I would lie about feeling sick. I was even willing to take nasty medicine to stay home.
One day, my mom had a pretty bad accident at work. My mom worked at a factory that made comforters. Part of her job was to measure and cut all the fabric needed with a huge electrical saw that could be glided over their work table. Then the seamstress would sew all the fabrics together.
One Dreadful Day
As my mom held the fabric in place while running the saw across the fabric, she sliced the top half of her middle finger right off. It was from the tip of her finger (right underneath her nail), all the way down to her second knuckle.
The extent of her injury were severe. She had to be rushed to the hospital to try and save her finger. Thanks to my mom’s quick thinking of picking up her finger, the doctors were able to stitch it back into place.
Afterward, my mom had to go through months of pain-filled days, nights, and physical therapy. My mom was given very heavy painkillers to manage her pain. As the days went by, I saw how much the painkillers were helping my mom. I saw how she was able to sleep through most of the night.
Then there was a night that I was dreading going to school the next morning. So, I began to question my mom:
- Me: “Mom, when you take your pills for pain, what happens?”
- Mom: “I go to sleep all night.”
- Me: “What happens if you take 2 pills?”
- Mom: “I go to sleep all night and all day.”
- Me: “What happens if you take 3 pills?”
- Mom: “I will sleep all night, all day, and all night! Now finish your dinner and stop asking so many questions. It’s late.”
My little 8-year-old brain got working on doing the math. If I take 2 pills, I will sleep all night and all day tomorrow! This meant that I wouldn’t have to go to school and face my teachers, or my bullies.
So, I did just that when my parents weren’t looking. I took 2 of my mom’s painkillers.
As my little body was processing what I had just ingested, I was going in and out of consciousness. I can still remember it as if it were clips of a movie.
Remembering
I remember being picked up by my dad. Then, I remember waking up at a doctor’s home that treated patients from his home clinic. I remember catching my dad’s worried glance as we locked eyes before I went unconscious again. I remember being outside our apartment complex before heading to the children’s hospital. Then, I remember throwing up in the hospital parking lot.
Ending my life never crossed my mind when I chose to take my mom’s painkillers. I just wanted to “sleep in” so that I wouldn’t have to go to school.
It was such a scary moment for my mom, my dad, and my brother. As a parent, I can imagine their pain.
Later, I learned what happened while I kept going in and out of consciousness. My mom and brother tried to keep me awake while my dad drove us. The first doctor warned them not to let me fall asleep or my heart could stop.
My dad’s initial steps after scooping me up off the floor the first time and making me throw up began the roller coaster of saving my life.
It was something innocent on my part. As a mom myself now, it breaks my heart to think of a little girl being bullied so much that she just wants to skip school for a day, to not feel dumb or be bullied.
So…about the classes I did excel in
Writing was my passion. I mainly wrote poetry. I loved reading it and writing it!
As I sat in my room last week and processed this whole innocent accident, I connected with my poetry writing again. I sat and wrote many poems in one night.
The poem that I am sharing with you is of this incident. I had family that thought I had done this on purpose and that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Take a look and enjoy this poem for what poetry is defined as:
“literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm”
In conclusion
Reflecting on the healing power of poetry has been both insightful and liberating. Revisiting the memories of childhood struggles and the solace found in writing poetry underscores the profound impact words can have on our emotional well-being.
Whether you’re a seasoned writer or just curious about dipping your toes into the world of poetry, remember that there’s no right or wrong way to express yourself through verse.
So, I encourage you to unleash your creativity, experiment with rhymes, and let your emotions flow freely onto the page. If you’ve been moved by this post or have your own experiences with poetry, I’d love to hear from you.
Share your thoughts, subscribe for more content, and don’t hesitate to spread the word by sharing this post with others. Let’s continue to explore the boundless possibilities of poetry together.
