Thinking back on my childhood, there was times when it was good. Like before I was six years old, it was good because my father had yet to become the monster he would become. But even after I was six years old there was times when it was good. Usually involved any time I was away from my father for any length of time. One summer it was really good when I repeated trips to the big city.
My sister was diagnosed with some kind of health problem. Something that couldn’t be taken care of at the local hospital. Therefore she had to go to the hospital in the big city to be treated along with the follow up visits. My mother and grandmother went with my sister along with me or my brother depending on whose turn it was on the trip. My father never went on the trips as the bus ride was too hard for him with his back injuries.
That was what made these trips so much the better was the time away from my father. Of course for the brother stuck at home with dad it was hell. The other part that made the trips good was my mother being away from my father. She acted like a mother during those times without my father’s influence.
Even though that was good being away from my father, the best part was yet to come. Me and my brother never lived up to the image that my mother had for us. In a way we where an embarrassment to her. This really played a role when she was with other adults where she had an image to keep up. She often leave us at home by ourselves for hours at a time to fend for ourselves.
This also applied to the big city. Mom would often leave me by myself in the hotel room alone while her and grandma went to the hospital. Sometimes it could be all day. Now before you go and think that was something bad and feel sorry for me think about it from my point of view. During that time I had no adults around me. I could be myself. I had things to keep my occupied but just being by myself was awesome. The only time it became a problem was when mom was really late coming back and started to wonder if I had been abandoned or not.
But also on reflection, it also shows how twisted things can become. I didn’t really care about my sister. I should have but I didn’t. Her misfortune of being sick was my fortune in being away from my father and even better being alone in the hotel room. When something like leaving a kid alone in a hotel room in a strange city by themselves for hours at a time would be bad, it was good for me.
Over time things become so twisted and distorted that I was no longer the person I was anymore. That I would become a person that would think about killing someone and almost did. Worse I would enjoy it and not feel any remorse over doing it That the person I am was outgoing and wanted to be with other people. But I became a person that shunned contact with other people because I couldn’t trust people anymore. As I grew up the person I was becoming was being twisted more and more until I reached the breaking point.
The breaking point was my father’s death when I was 22. What transpired was like looking into a mirror and seeing myself fully. That I had become a person that was happy and wanted to celebrate not mourn a person’s death. People can say it is understandable given what my father did to me those twelve long years until I joined the military, but to me it was awful that I had become that person. At my core the death of any living being is sad but here I was a person that was happy. What had I become, was I turning into a monster myself like my father?
After my father’s death, my fast descent into alcoholism and suicide began. Thankfully my skills at killing myself sucked. Although one time I was very close. That was when I hit rock bottom after that failed suicide attempt. When I decided that life was worth living.
At this point, it may seem like a good stopping spot. To say that life got better and I rode off into the sunset. Life didn’t get better right away. In fact it took over thirty years to reach a point where I feel that life is good now. Took me several years to become dry and I still attempted suicide several times after that. So what changed when I hit rock bottom?
I think if I had to sum it up in one word, it would be acceptance. That I accepted who I had become. That I had to learn better ways to deal with life. That it would take time to learn better ways to cope with stress than booze. That I was worthy as a person and deserved to live. Like all things you learned you fail along the way. But now I could accept that and keep trying.
One of those things I learned was that I cannot get rid of the monster inside of me. I tired by suppressing the memories of my childhood thinking that if I didn’t think about them then the monster would go away. But the monster still lives inside of me despite that. That the monster inside of me is normal. It is what my childhood experiences taught me to become. Doesn’t mean I have to be that way or that is the best way to deal with the universe. if anything now I accept the monster and embrace it because it is a part of me.
Also why this blog exists now. It is not about bitching or moaning about the world. It is not about convincing you that my way of doing things is better or making the world a better place. It is not about getting followres and getting praise. In fact as far as you the reader is concerned, I don’t care about you. This is where the monster lives by talking about those childhood memories. That those memories are out in the open for anyone coming by to read about and see that monster.
In that regard, let me end by saying yes I took pleasure in watching my father slowly drown in the fluids in his lungs as a teenager. To watch you become helpless and weak just like you made your daughter feel when she was younger. I don’t reel any remorse or sadness over your death except that I didn’t kill you myself by stepping on that tube. To watch you gasping for air and begging me to let you live would have been so good. But that is not who I really am, just what you taught me to become.