I spent many hours staring at this scenery. I wish I was better at remembering.
I wish I hadn't burned my journals. Could you image what those words would tell me now? Maybe it's a good thing. There are a lot of memories attached to this location. I vividly remember the spot my father shot the pig wrong and it suffered greatly until it’s throat was slit.
I remember the headless chicken chasing my cousin around. I remember discovering the kittens all dead one morning and Magpie (the dog) not answering my call.
The bloated lambs dying until we punctured holes into their sides with a straw.
I remember the massive puddle that we jumped in for hours.
I remember standing there when strangers with guns showed up. I'm holding the baby and my sister is behind me holding my brothers hand. I remember real fear as those men jumped out of the truck and drunk they seemed to be. I remember feeling abandoned again because there was no one but me to get rid of them.
I remember holding the baby as she screamed and not understanding why it was just the kids home again and I didn't know how to stop it. I just wanted to throw her but I couldn't.
I remember the hurt as my parents drove off again and again and again. I have never felt true loneliness, abandonment, and fear as being stuck on these prairies. Granny's voice in my head, 'you will die here.' It sucks when you come to a place where you put a lot of blood, sweat and tears into fixing it up. A place that holds so many bad memories. Yet the people who were brought up here only talk about happy memories. During my visit here with no one but my head. I can see that all the hard work has been for nothing. None of it stands today. It is the same as the very first time I saw the place. A hell hole in the sun.
I'm a lifestyle blogger, covering deep subjects including body images, battles with food, and overcoming how I was raised. I try to be as authentic as possible and I don’t sugar coat how I see things.