LET THE TIGER PLAY

Prologue

Out in the sun, above the great divide.

We sing a song that we've known for long.

Let the trumpet play it's song so the tune can at once be heard.

Learn it, savor it, before it goes away.

Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why won't you come out to play?

The tune has died, the trumpet can no longer be mended.

So let the Tiger play.

Let the Tiger run around and jump and hide and play.

Let him see the hatred the world has hid away.

Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why won't you wake today?

The tune is decayed, the trumpet is lost.

The Tiger prances around the field, acting both good and bad.

Acting smart, and playing rough and secretly very mad.

Lock up the Tiger, with a bolt and key.

Look at it closely and you will see:

Where green eyes now lie blue.

Where ferocious claws now lie gentle hands.

Where clear, vivid stripes now lie long, curly hair.

Rachel lies within the Tiger. The Tiger lies within her.

Are surprised that Rachel is only five?

Where blue, crystalline eyes now lie green.

Where soft, gentle hands, now lie ferocious claws.

Where long, brown, curly hair now lies vivid stripes.

Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why can't you make up your mind?

The bolt is loose the key is lost. The world cannot give up.

So let the Tiger play it's game.

It'll surely give up some day.

Let it wander around the pen, as it watches you slowly die.

The beautiful stripes are seen as scars.

Mental and physical, the Tiger slowly dies.

It roars and moans at the trumpets tune, is heard deep inside.

Good Rachel, Bad Rachel. Why won't you let the Tiger go?

Let it die away as it speaks your name slowly in your ear.

Entices you with every word, as you learn to play it's game.

The Tiger sits and watches as you slowly die inside.

With all that he makes you do, you slowly fade away.

The Tiger feeds on this and that alone.

The Tiger's game has now changed as Rachel begins to learn.

The monster can now be seen, staring back at you in the mirror.

So sing the song, that dare be heard, above this great divide.

Learn to fly away, above us only sky.

Spread your wings and face your fears, as the Tiger purrs his tune.

He hasn't died, I'm afraid to say.

For this, you will pay the price soon.

He waits and watches to play his game with you.

This now I can see.

Learn the ropes, Rachel.

And let the Tiger play.

Chapter One

Life has never thrown me an easy pitch. Mostly curves, but this isn't a story about baseball. Ever since I escaped from the womb, I feel like I've always had to struggle. But who doesn't have a hard life?

My name is Rachel, and this is a biography of some sort. I may be only 16, but I've been through more than your average grown adult. I've seen shit that no person should see and I've done so much. But I live my life with no regrets.

My dad was an abusive alcoholic. He would hurt me and my mom and my brother. Lori, my mom, would try so hard to get us away from him, but nothing ever helped. He was the one with the "iron fist" if you know what I mean. I remember once when he locked me in the bathroom shouting "You move..." and then he'd shake his fist in the air. He did that to me when I was two. I'd sit in the corner trying to hide myself from the world as I'd try and block out the muffled cries of my brother and my mom. I still don't understand why he spared me. Why me?

Why did he sexually abuse me as a two year old? Why did he tell me that everything was ok when he "checked" to make sure I was "normal". Why did my mom not help me when she saw the bruises forming on my stomach. From purple to green in a matter of days. I guess that's why I've associated myself as a "tiger" from early on. I associated those beautiful markings on the beast with my scars caused by a beast. Forever marked, i guess you could say.

I became a ward of the state at the age of two and a half. My grandma decided she had had enough watching him do this to us. Me and my brother were put in foster care and I was only allowed to see my family on certain days with supervision. That's what made me crack. That's when the voices really began talking.

They started when my dad locked me in the bathroom. As tiny whispers growing in fear. Then they began to grow louder and louder with every punch. With every scream i yelled they began to gnaw at my brain. They began to scream just as loud, until I decided it wasn't worth the energy to scream. They did it for me.

I never thought I was crazy. But what three year old understands what "crazy" is. I grew up fast in that house. Especially living with my dad. Never really had much of a childhood. But still...I see now that I was completely insane, but back then, I couldn't see inside of my skin. You have to step out and take a look around to understand what's really going on.

Chapter 2

Early on, I associated the good personality as Good Rachel and the bad personality as Bad Rachel. When Good Rachel came out to play everything was fine. I tried real hard not to let the voices, or as I like to call them now, the Tiger, influence me in any sort of way. I knew then, as a three year old, that this is what could overtake me. What could empower me to do things that aren't right. But I let the Tiger play. I let him dig his claws deep into my voice, straining every breath as I screamed, begging him for mercy. I let him pounce in every part of my brain that was fragile. I let him go into the deepest, darkest corners of my soul and let it all out. I let him hurt who I loved. My foster mom, my brother, my foster brother who was less than a year old. I let him turn me into a Tiger.
The Tiger became too much for me to handle.

Fortunately, the state gave my mom a chance. So she divorced my dad and moved us to a women's shelter. And that is when the Tiger set his match.
Sex has always been a struggle for me. I guess we only have one person to blame for that anyway. That is where the Tiger saw my greatest weakness.

"C'mon, Rachel," the Tiger would say. "Boys were meant to make you feel good." Feel good? HA! Boys have caused nothing but pain for me. "But it'll make daddy so proud." You're right. We both know how angry dad gets after a few of his special drinks.
So I'd pull down my pants in front of all the boys in the home, only to see them point and laugh at me. I'd run into the house locking myself in the farthest bathroom and sit in a corner facing away from the door. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. "You didn't do it right." What's did I do wrong? "Let them do what daddy does." NO! I will not let them do that. "I'll be there with you through it all. I never leave." That was what I was afraid of. Him never leaving me. He had set a flame that was about to go out of control.

I have a pretty big family. My mom and her older brother are 26 years apart. Making my cousins at least 30 years apart from me. What is that relevance to, no idea. I just think it's weird.

Me and my brother were visiting my grandparents in Winfield one day in June in 1999. My mom wanted to take us out to Wendy's for dinner so we could meet up with our cousin Vicki and see her newly formed family. She blacked out, or something, we don't really know what, and crashed our little Volkswagon Bug head on into a super duty pickup truck. She died instantly. My brother was nearest the window and suffered brain injuries and almost lost his eye. All though he did lose the bone to his pinky toe... I crushed both of my legs; every bone below the knee. Crushed growth plates, traumatic internal injuries. That is a pain in which I never wish to experience again. Physical and mental. My mom was the only one who made the Tiger still. He never talked when I was around her, he just purred quietly. Looking back, I can still hear the Tiger chuckling to himself before waking up in my hospital bed 2 months later.