Lindsey Altom
Bio
For me, writing runs in the blood. I've wrote songs, poems and short stories ever since I was a little girl. I mostly like to write about my life experiences mixed with a little fiction or just things that come off the top of my head! :)
Stories (62/0)
- Top Story - April 2024
Two Pink LinesTop Story - April 2024
I had never really felt like a child. I'd always had to raise myself. My mother was just a teenager when she'd had me and consequently, we had spent my whole childhood arguing and fighting like a couple of sisters as opposed to mother and daughter. My father was older than my mother but still had some maturing to do himself. He focused his entire life on me, his little girl but never realized the pressure that put on me. I always felt I had to raise him even as he was trying to raise me. We raised each other. Then, I met him. He cares, he shows me a love like I've never known. For once, it's about me and I don't have to focus on other people's needs and what someone needs from me. Someone always wants something from you. That is what my parents have taught me. Love is selfish but it isn't with him. He is perfect, beautiful, funny, and can take me to places I've only dreamed about. Places outside my mind and my own pathetic life and I know that I will always love him. When we first met, I wanted him to have my children, but now? Right now, with us both still in high school? This is all happening so soon. I slipped into the restroom at work. It had been 6 weeks since my last menstrual and this was not normal. I couldn't wait any longer. I put the top on the test and waited. These 60 seconds felt like forever. What would we do? We were both seniors so we didn't have long to go before school was over but this was not the plan. The plan was for him to join the Army and me the National Guard and for me to get my associate's degree and then we marry, then have kids.
By Lindsey Altom5 days ago in Fiction
~Mother~
Mama, I see you. It took a long time but I see you. I can understand now. I got hurt because they hurt you. It doesn't make what was done right but that is the hard truth of generational trauma. We all are little children who need to feel loved, wanted, needed, accepted, and protected. When that doesn't happen for one reason or the other, that is when trauma comes into play. Our human minds can't accept the fact that someone who was supposed to love us, someone who was supposed to protect us has rejected us. We will forever question, why? What did we do to deserve this? It must be our fault somehow we assume. Most of the time, it is not about us but the person rejecting us and their past. The pain they felt; and rejection get projected onto someone else. The pain isn't meant to be shared but it has to come out some way and too often it comes out in the wrong way. This needs to end. We are all human; at the end of the day, we can only do our best. However, a genuine effort needs to be made to not pass this poison down the line to our children and the next generation. I'm personally working on my change and my truth. There are better outlets, more healthy outlets, than passing our anger, hatred, bitterness, and pain onto a loved one.
By Lindsey Altom10 days ago in Families
10 Million Little Things...
When a person has been through so much trauma there comes a point where the mind overthinks every little detail and every little interaction that hasn't become a commonplace occurrence. That too sometimes gets questioned in his or her mind. This is where I found myself this morning when I stepped out of my car to pump gas at my local gas station and a gentleman came strolling up to me but respectfully keeping his distance and said, "Mam, I hope you don't take this the wrong way but you are beautiful." I said thank you and continued pumping my gas as did he. He didn't say anything else to me while we were both going about the business of putting gas into our vehicles but my mind was going a thousand miles a minute from just that simple interaction. "He didn't go behind my car and put a tracker on it when I wasn't looking, did he? No, of course not, I saw him come out of the gas station.", "Am I really that beautiful? No, trust me, you don't want me. I mean if you could just hear me rattling off in my head right now you'd understand why.", "Damaged beyond repair that's what I am. It's best I'm left alone.", I had turned to put my wallet back into my car and my thoughts turned to, "Watch your back. Listen. He may try to attack you." Eventually, we both finished pumping our gas and then he bid me a good day and I did him as well and he left. A simple interaction and yet it brought tears to my eyes. As you've probably figured out by now I don't take compliments from the opposite sex very well anymore. I'm not sure how to perceive them. Are they disguises for something more sinister lying in wait just down the line? Is it a mask used to lure me in? To me, all a compliment from a man spells out is danger. You see, we've been down this path several times before and it always ends badly. I feel like a stray animal that's never been in a loving home before and doesn't understand how to accept love. My parents showed me love in the best way they knew how but to be honest, it was an obscured view as well, and now although I have a good understanding of what love should look like I don't trust that it exists at least not long term. And certainly not for me. When I receive a compliment I know what I should do is receive the compliment, perhaps say something nice back but in my mind, all I can do is look for danger and all I want to do is run. You see what you don't see is the 10 million little thoughts running through my mind, what you don't see is the 10 million ways I've done thought of how you've murdered me and buried my body, what you don't see or realize is the 10 million little things that have led to my PTSD and my trauma ridden mind, what you don't realize is the 10 million battles I've already had to overcome and the last thing I want to do is overcome another one, you don't know the 10 million mountains I've climbed just to get here, you don't see my 10 million little scars do you? You wouldn't I try hard to hide them. I've tried hard to overcome them, to shine despite them but there is one thing that terrifies me still. Please don't be nice to me.
By Lindsey Altom22 days ago in Confessions
Why I Fell In Love with You...
The first thing I fell in love with was your red hair. I mean it is the first thing you notice without a doubt but I have a heritage in Ireland and Scotland and am deeply attracted to red hair so your beautiful red hair and your goatee drew me in. It was almost brighter than the sun itself. I just love hair on a man. There is something truly primal about it. The second thing was when you looked at me I felt like I was in my ancestor's shoes looking out at the great blue ocean that carried us all to America. Your eyes are so blue that one could seriously swim in them. And speaking of primal, when you spoke your voice had a deep, husky sound to it but not so deep that it couldn't have a soft edge to it. It could be both at the same time and it was truly a God thing your voice. The first time that we held hands I knew that everything would be okay. Your hand was soft in the center but rough around the edges. It takes me back for a moment to my great-grandfather's hands. He, too, had red hair. To be honest, I've searched my whole life for a man with hands like my Papa. He had rough hands from hard work. You see, he worked with wood, vehicles, metal, and anything that needed fixing on his farm. At the same time, he could also tend the earth with a gentle soft touch or wipe a child's tear away with a gentle swipe of the finger. My grandma always taught me that you could tell a lot about a man just from his hands. I never forgot that lesson. At that moment we held hands, I felt everything I had been lacking in a relationship before that moment suddenly fell away. None of it mattered anymore.
By Lindsey Altom2 months ago in Fiction
VOICES of Survivors
Over the past few months, I have been invited to join a wonderful group. This group is small in my area right now and we only meet once every two months but this is a National group that has been established since 2002 and it just keeps growing. This group's name as you've probably already gathered by the title of this is VOICES. We are a group comprised of men and women who are domestic violence survivors. Our group leader is Ms. Penny Hensley and she works very closely with our local law enforcement, our ADA's, our victim witness coordinators, WRAP(which is another wonderful service), and other agencies I'm sure I'm forgetting. The goal is to create a Family Safety Center so women, men, and children who are victims can go there for shelter and initiate any legal proceedings they may need/want to start during a domestic violence situation. Also, so they can have any questions they may have answered. Ultimately, we want you to feel safe, secure, and like you just received a hug at a time when your world is shaken. The first VOICES group started in San Diego, California in 2002 where the first members served as an advisory committee for the San Diego Family Justice Center. (https://familysafetycenter.org/voices/) You see, from the very beginning, we have been a group of people who want to make our VOICES heard. At one point or perhaps multiple points in each of our lives, our voices were silenced and this group, VOICES is about taking that back. This is about making people aware of not only abuse and its presence but also breaking down the barriers. There are so many stigmas around what a woman should take from a man because she needs to "obey her husband" as stated in the Bible, stigmas concerning whether or not a man can be a victim of domestic violence, stigmas even concerning how a victim should act after the fact(should she/he be quiet and not say anything or is telling people okay?), stigmas on therapy and how this can impact a person's mental health, etc. I could seriously go on and on. It is deeply troubling how we as a society victim shame and blame and then we wonder why these women keep going back to the violence or making excuses for their abusers or why a man is statistically far less likely to report D.V. than a woman. "Half of male victims (49%) fail to tell anyone they are a victim of domestic abuse and are two and a half times less likely to tell anyone than female victims (19%)." This quote from (https://mankind.org.uk/statistics/statistics-on-male-victims-of-domestic-abuse/). It is sad that we as a society(and yes I'm throwing myself under the bus here too) have taught women to be subservient to the point they could die or be raped multiple times and men that they have to be so macho that they need to suppress their feelings to the point it doesn't matter if they get beaten on? I'm sorry society and mankind as a whole but this is not ok! And honestly, this is why I'm still mad. I'm mad at myself, mad at society as a whole, mad at every abuser that ever was or will be and I'm mad at who hurt that abuser to make that woman/man into an abuser because typically every abuser starts as a victim first. So, let's turn things around gradually and step by step because we have to do better and be better and this is what VOICES is all about.
By Lindsey Altom2 months ago in Viva
- Top Story - March 2024
When the Demons Come to Play...Top Story - March 2024
Who do you think you're fooling? I know you're here and I know that you were invited although not by me. You follow me through the hallway whilst you and your friends cling to the walls like unwanted spiders. You make no sound but I can feel your heaviness. I reach the door to my and my husband's bedroom and hesitate. The tension in the air is so thick I could cut it with a knife. He lies just behind this door, sleeping as usual. Lately, if he's not sleeping then he's working or drinking or something else entirely. I keep trying to help him but I keep getting the feeling that he may be too far gone. I keep getting this sinking feeling that he likes the darkness. I'm scared he's the one who asked you here.
By Lindsey Altom2 months ago in Psyche
We call her Grandma...
This woman is amazing in every way. I was born when my mother was still just a child herself so this woman along with many others helped raise me. I feel I became in many ways, like a third daughter to her. At least, that's how I've always thought of myself especially as I've gotten older. When I was young, she would change my diapers, and watch me for my mama as she finished school, as I grew she would be sure I had my favorite breakfast so my mama could go ahead and go to work and then she would get me on the bus to school, she wiped my tears as those hard days came and went, she has been there to celebrate the good and the bad. She didn't do it to take me from anyone, she did all these things out of the goodness of her heart and to help. Sometimes in life, we get a person, a person with whom our heart intertwines and they become our person so to speak. My grandma has always been that for me. I can't explain it except to say that we just get each other on such a deep level. I can look into her eyes and know what she's thinking, know what she's feeling and she can do the same for me. She has always been able to see me for me, she has always heard me and accepted me for me even if she didn't agree or understand it. She has always fought for me even sticking herself in the fire to do so. This woman is a survivor and I will always look up to and admire her for her perseverance, honesty, bravery, and tenacity. She was a single mom for years with my aunt and mother to look after and care for and all that time she never settled back down with anyone else. Why? She didn't want anything else bad to happen to her girls. I know this because she's told me. She became a nurse to support herself and her girls and persevered. She has given so much of herself throughout the years even though it has never been easy. I thank God daily for my beautiful grandma because I know what a blessing I have in having her in my life. She is my dragon, my protector, my rock, and my shelter against the storms.
By Lindsey Altom2 months ago in Viva
A Love I Didn't Expect...
Dear Love, Wow. Where do I start? At this point in my life, I feel like we have such a toxic relationship. On the one hand, I can't stand you. You are such a bitch. I mean when I was little all I ever wanted was to be loved and accepted for who I was, every single part of me but other than a couple of members in my family, I never really got that. More importantly, I never got that from the one person that mattered the most to me, my mother. I was a lacking girl. You left me in the cold; all I had was myself and God's love covering me in warmth. I've felt so betrayed by you and stabbed in the back. The very one that gave me life taught me to hate myself. Then, you gave again. I received Jay, my beautiful perfectly imperfect first love. My heart was so codependent at this point due to not only my mother but the judgments I received and the strict morals I was expected to live by enforced by my mother, stepfather, and my father. Jay, too, had grown codependent over the years from both his parents. Together, our hearts are bound in a way that cannot break easily. Some may call it a trauma bond. We were each other's escapes until we realized that we needed something deeper that the other couldn't give and then that too ended. You're such a cruel mistress love. You give and then you take. Your many limbs twist and weave in a way that no one person could ever figure out on their own. Your ways are complicated and yet simple. After Jay, I fell and I fell hard. His name is not important. At first, I fell so I wouldn't feel the pain of losing Jay. Also, I didn't yet know how to trust and love myself; how to rely on me and me alone. Or God and God alone I should say. That relationship started so blissfully. I was finally being taken care of for once in my life. For once, someone was putting me first. However, it was a trick, wasn't it? A smoke show until the truth came out. Soon, he started treating me like his slave. I was there to take care of the children, clean the house, work, and please him when he wanted it. If he was doing anything out of place or anything I was concerned about, sure at first we could discuss it but slowly it became he would do whatever he wanted to do regardless of my opinion. That ended terribly. He, too, taught me how to hate myself. As it turns out, that was never love because someone who can teach hate doesn't love truly. I spent a while recovering and as it turned out, my first love still loved me but not enough. It never has been enough has it, love? Have I ever been enough? I know now that I have. You have not given me a partner which is something I have always longed for but you have given me something else which is perhaps even more beautiful...
By Lindsey Altom2 months ago in Confessions
Blood Red Snow
I'm running for my life; this is a matter of life and death. My pursuers are relentless, fueled by the desire for blood. I need to keep moving to stay alive. They've got the taste of blood now and they'll never stop. I'm so very cold as I only have my one fur jacket on and these slippers. They caught me unaware and now there is nowhere to go in this barren, frozen landscape. Suddenly, I see a tree that I can climb up ahead. It is hard to with all the snow and ice but I scramble up the tree just as my pursuers reach me. I see the blood that I left behind like small diamonds in the snow. My arm is oozing blood but there is no time to think of that now. The beautiful creatures snarl their teeth at me from below and try to climb my safe haven. They really are quite lovely in all their fearsome glory with the sharp teeth, the razors for claws, and their keen sense of smell. I look into the deep brown eyes of one of them and see nothing but survival instincts there. She just wants to feed her family and this is the only way she knows how, I've intruded upon her family. Finally, I know there is no getting out of this as they inch closer and closer. I take the dagger out of its sheath from within my jacket, pray, and jump to my death.
By Lindsey Altom3 months ago in Fiction
