Child of the Moon Read online

  child of the moon

  copyright © 2018 by Jessica Semaan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.

  Andrews McMeel Publishing

  a division of Andrews McMeel Universal

  1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106

  www.andrewsmcmeel.com

  ISBN: 978-1-5248-5185-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018951477

  Illustrator: Nour I. Flayhan

  Editor: Allison Adler

  Art Director/Designer: Diane Marsh

  Production Editor: Margaret Utz

  Production Manager: Tamara Haus

  Digital Production: Kristen Minter

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  To my mother and grandmothers

  contents

  introduction

  Blood Moon

  Half Moon

  New Moon

  Flower Moon

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  introduction

  I packed an empty notebook, my comfy pants, and Pema Chödrön’s When Things Fall Apart, and I drove very far. Carrying the baggage of fear, shame, and despair, I took refuge at a writing retreat in the mountains of Santa Cruz. I traveled far to write this book, began it while battling with fear, shame, and despair, with no glimpse of hope.

  For a long time, I have been on the hunt for their origins. I wanted to know why they had chosen me as their friend in sin.

  I screamed why in every forest of California. I yelled why in every desert of Arabia.

  Nothing. I got silence, and as I write this, I still have silence.

  Bathing in tears of silence, I finally noticed the moon, who has always been there to soothe. Especially on the darkest nights of the year. For even a waning or waxing crescent moon, as thin as it is, is still there. The moon was the love that made the questions of why my life was like this, and why my pain was so overwhelming, wither away like autumn leaves.

  Sailing in the sea of silence, I heard echoes of my whys. Other voices were screaming desperate whys. Whys from

  every language, every continent, every ethnicity, every age, every place. I was screaming why with you, you who were hurting, too.

  Sinking into the hole of silence, I heard her sobs. The child said: “Love me please.” She seemed indifferent to my whys. She seemed unfazed by the silence. She seemed unconcerned with my adult drama. She wanted love from her mama.

  I write this book for her, the child of the moon. She is standing at the abyss of the unknown in the light of a full moon. She is ready to jump, but the fear is pulling her back.

  I write this book for you, all children of the moon. Those of you who feel unloved, misunderstood, unseen. Those of you who are relentlessly seeking to know why, why you. Why fear, shame, and despair chose you.

  I write this book for you, children of the moon, to remind you that there is always the moon. In all its phases, and stages, and shapes, and meanings. The moon sees you even on the nights you can’t see through.

  I visited the darkness

  and returned with a

  book of poetry

  When I dance, I dance with you

  When I sing, I sing for you

  When I write, I write to you

  When I breathe, I breathe through you

  To the women that sweat, cried, bled for me

  I dedicate this ink to you

  You are a child of the moon if

  They bullied you

  They invaded your body and stole your safety

  They neglected you, your emotions, and your needs

  They oppressed your talents, your voice, your sexuality, your freedom

  They abused you verbally

  They abused you physically

  They were not there when you needed them to protect you

  They denied your emotions, no matter how big or small they were

  They ignored your triumphs and little wins

  They punished you for being vulnerable

  They reminded you of your mistakes and shamed you for them

  They stole or destroyed your home

  Dreams, while writing this book

  Sitting in a room with hundreds of people, trying to give them the book, they each refuse

  No one will read it

  Mother transcribing my book in a journal yelling, crying, and damning me

  What will my family say?

  Trying to write, my fingers melting

  What if I can’t write it?

  In between being your mother and father, I forgot to be your daughter

  And became the child of the moon

  You and I

  In shame in pain

  Sister,

  I promise

  It won’t be in vain

  Beirut, 1988

  The question of why me has haunted me

  You put a machine gun to my head, you got her on her knees

  Decades later, an unanswered question and a traumatized brain

  This terror is hard to shake

  I tried meditation and it has been the same

  For all this time I thought I was insane

  That was the only way to explain the pain

  Then I educated myself

  I wanted to solve this for the both of us

  Because I deserve to be loved

  Because you deserve to be loved

  Confusion

  How can he love me and touch me?

  Confusion

  How can it feel good and be so wrong?

  Confusion

  How can she love me and hit me?

  Confusion

  How can they be adults, and act like children?

  Confusion

  You were supposed to be the sun and the moon and I the star

  Feeding on your light, basking in your shadow

  You were supposed to be the water and the soil and I the flower

  Flourishing from within you into the world

  You were supposed to be the rudder and the sail and I the ship

  Guiding me into a safe shore

  You were supposed to be the mother and the father and I the child

  Feeding on your milk, sleeping in your arms

  Instead you were two children fighting and drowning and dragging me down with you

  The bystander

  You gave me love, affection

  You were the only one I trusted

  Yet you stood there witnessing the beating

  Saying nothing

  How can I reconcile your silence and your love?

  The mourning

  I searched for your love in the wrong places

  The healing arms of shamans

  The loud prayers of ashrams

  The stillness of Buddhist monasteries

  The softness of protective fairies

  The soothing words of other mothers

  The bottomless edge when I suffer

  I roamed, starved, begged

  And when I gave up

  I saw the mourning

 
And I wept

  Suicidal fantasy

  She will finally hold me close

  There, dead in her arms

  Regretting all the harm

  She will see

  A beauty mark on my left cheek

  Imperfections and wisps of curls

  Then she will come to love me

  Like a mother loves a daughter

  Bathing my body in the freshest rose water

  The loaf of bread

  I waited, nose smashed against the window

  Counting the bombs, praying they did not hit you

  You said we needed a loaf of bread

  But you did not return at sunset

  I imagined you dead

  The pain that never goes away

  When the person you love the most

  Leaves you when you need them the most

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to believe the whole universe’s calamities are your making

  Because they blamed it on you

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to believe you have to constantly prove that you are worthy of love

  Because their version of love is conditional and fleeting

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to seek approval from anyone and everyone

  Because as a child you begged and prayed for one smile that rarely came

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to deny your mistakes, weaknesses, and vulnerabilities

  Because you are a projection of them, and they are never wrong, never weak, never in need

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to become an expert at manipulation, not out of choice

  Because you saw them charm the whole universe, the same universe who never understood your suffering

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to become the parent of your parent

  Because all you see is a child throwing tantrums, so you adult up

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to struggle in love

  Because you assume they will all leave you just like they did

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is to choose the healer, caregiver, artist path

  Because you know loss and darkness too well

  Because perhaps deep down inside, you would hope to one day save them

  To have a narcissistic parent

  Is heart wrenching because you see them destroy themselves

  Because their trauma must have been so painful, letting down the wall will burn them alive

  In between feeling angry, unheard, unseen, and in a constant search for the love you never received

  You start seeing these moments of acceptance, you surprise yourself by putting up boundaries, you give yourself approval just because

  And slowly you realize that you have all the love in you

  And you begin seeing them for who they really are

  A terrified child seeking love, just like you

  Perfectionism

  I could have turned out an alcoholic or a drug addict. Instead I was addicted to my mother’s bread crumbs of acceptance

  the sound of the militia

  machine guns was a breeze

  compared to their verbal storms

  A tragedy

  My parents are dead

  And alive

  Shelter distractions

  A moon gate

  Rose out from the rubble

  Behind it lay the gardens of Isfahan

  The sound of the Israeli jets

  Crouching on the balcony, dripping in sweat

  Alone in my plight

  I took refuge in the moon so bright

  Childhood trauma #1

  The body is the most dangerous place to be

  Childhood trauma #2

  When the feelings of terror are too much for your little body

  When the events are too much to process for your fresh growing brain

  Your life from there on is fighting, freezing, fleeing, to survive what was not yours all along

  Childhood trauma #3

  My body is one of a four-year-old hostage

  My brain is one of a forty-year-old lizard

  Childhood trauma #4

  Danger is safe

  Joy is dangerous

  Childhood trauma #5

  My mind can’t comprehend what it would be like to have my needs met

  Despair

  Despair is calling her name

  Despair knows the game

  Despair feels like home

  Despair won’t leave her alone

  She is fragile like a dead flower

  Her petals fall by the hour

  She is three or four

  She sees no sky to soar

  I am struggling to look at her again

  She reminds me of rotten pain

  Buried in rubble of shame

  Smelling like gunpowder and flames

  She is looking for me

  She is ready to be free

  Am I ready to be free?

  I know tomorrow will come with another excuse

  Of why I could not save her from the abuse

  But tomorrow I stay

  For despair no longer scares me away

  I know its ins and outs

  I know how it laughs and how it cries

  I know better not to believe the stories

  I might be ready to give her back a life of glory

  Lisbon, 2016

  I woke up in sweats. It took me a couple of minutes to orient. I was in Lisbon. In a hostel. I was safe. I could not go back to sleep. I wrote my therapist:

  The memories of the abuse are flashing in my dreams. I think I am ready.

  I had to stop my life. My work. My routine. Travel to lands far away. For my unconscious to find space to serve me with what has not been resolved.

  Alone in despair

  Drenched in sweat

  I opened my eyes

  I am a burden

  I deserve to die

  I checked my phone

  No one to call

  I am a burden

  I deserve to crawl

  Bardo

  I have tried your healing remedies

  And everything in between

  Sometimes nothing works

  And I must remain in between

  Why me

  Generations of pain

  Are shutting my brain

  Stones in my DNA

  Are keeping me hiding away

  Anger unreleased

  I cannot breathe

  Why me why me

  I scream

  Shame #1

  Shame is protecting me from death

  But shame makes living full of regrets

  Shame is a never-ending hole

  Shame has no soul

  Shame is a trickster extraordinaire

  Shame will choke you and give you just enough air

  Shame is bacteria that feed on secrecy

  Shame fears your sympathy

  Starve your shame by speaking it out loud

  Starve your shame by typing it real hard

  Shame has no place

  Shame, thank you, but you overstayed

  Shame #2

  Shame feels like I am going to die for simply existing

  Shame feels like stones hitting my naked body, leaving me with bruises and blood

  Wall of shame

  Anger toward the people I love, when they don’t give me what I want
r />   My depression episodes and anxiety

  White lies

  Having no savings

  Sexual fantasies

  Constant worry that I am going to be abandoned

  My rage

  Judging other women who are confident

  Being single when everyone is married

  Not knowing whether I want children

  My health anxiety

  Falling in love with my married boss

  The blood on my panties

  My impulsivity

  My typos

  The parsley in my teeth

  My messy closet

  Sleeping too much

  My cellulite

  Top 10 self-doubt tracks (on repeat)

  1. You are too broken to heal

  2. You will always be afraid of love, you will never be in a relationship or have a child

  3. You are self-absorbed and therefore a selfish friend

  4. The anxiety in your chest will never go away

  5. All the work you have done on yourself is useless

  6. When lovers see how insecure you are, they will run away

  7. Look at Ilana, she has a baby, a start-up, a wonderful husband. Did you see her Instagram curated feed? You cannot even maintain your inner peace for a day

  8. Time is passing by, and you still wake up alone. This is your future, stupid

  9. You are a bad person because you cannot be grateful, you have so much going for you, yet you sit here sulking, playing the victim

  10. Whoever is reading this is going to judge you so hard and call you a wimp

  Heartbreaks

  It started with a Tinder match

  He broke my heart and walked away just like that

  It was only a three-month thing said my best friend

  Why are you mourning like it is a divorce with children?

  Good question

  It was not the first time

  That I lost myself for a man who sent me poems

  I thought I was crazy and would never be loved