Saturday, December 18, 2010

For any like Seth...

I began this blog with the intention of sharing things I found interesting, learning a bit about myself in a fairly safe environment, and sharing myself with a world I'd basically avoided. In the scope of this I've found I'm often touched by the pain of others, enough so that I've broken into the past and want to share something with anyone who is reading who may feel such pain and misery. This was inspired, in part, by reading the article on Milkboy's today about Seth. It somehow got me to tell a difficult story, full of sentence fragments and probably confused...it's one I probably should not tell. Well, before I wimp out, I'll post it and let the chips fall. To any who are thinking of ending their life. Don't. Please, just don't. I was born the youngest of two, to the distinct displeasure of the other. An older sister who surely would rather have had a puppy. I was the one who followed and pestered and wanted only to be loved, liked, wanted. To simply be wanted. In the years of my youth I never found the way to simply fit in. I was the middle child in the neighborhood, older or younger than the rest. I had no “best friend”, something I truly always wanted. Oh, there was no shortage of kids in my neighborhood, I just always felt a bit out of sync with them. It leaves a hunger in a kid, a wanting. In the course of time and days I found someone who seemed to want to spend time with me, who laughed at my jokes and antics but not at me, and who I found to be so very cool. He was four years older than me, but for a while that was just wonderful in my eyes. His name was Steve. I found that particular snake in Eden’s garden unstoppable, though. Scandal struck our little neighborhood when he was accused of forcing another boy to blow him. I didn’t know there were others who he had forced to do this; thought I was the only one. He laughed about it, and it seemed he had every right to laugh as nothing ever came of it. No one could stop him, it seemed. I was eleven when he caught me alone in the woods and raped me. Looking back, there are times in my life that are just simply grey and brown fog. Blocked out memories, compartmentalized moments. That was one such day. I remember little from it but feeling humiliated. I was embarrassed and just wanted to escape to my bedroom and disappear. It was just before school started, I remember. I was moving on to the Jr. High that year, afraid of all the new things that would come with that but looking forward just the same. It was the year I learned to love reading, reading my first real book “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”. It was the year I found gym to be the most interesting and frightening place in the world, filled with kids getting naked for showers. I was pushed into the corner by some of the older kids after gym as one whispered into my ear he’d heard I gave good head and was a good fuck. I was eleven years old when I decided I’d had enough and got my father’s gun. I was too afraid to live anymore, and far too humiliated for it as well, but equally frightened of dying. I knew I’d go to hell. I knew it. And still, I couldn’t go on. With the barrel at my right eye, screaming at the top of my lungs for anyone and no-one to hear, the hammer slammed forward on nothing, and I’d realized I’d peed myself. I put the gun away and went to bed. I told Mom I wasn’t feeling well. I’d realized I was stuck. I was too afraid of living, I was too afraid to die. What the hell was I going to do tomorrow? I’m in my 40’s now. I’ve bumped my head on life a number of times, trying to understand the seemingly uncomprehendable. In many ways I’ve found that I’m still afraid of the what-ifs that live outside the walls I’ve built, but I’ve also found that there is life within these walls. I envy some of the young people I read about who seem to have found the way to embrace life, who have been able to be free and be themselves. I cry with the kids who believe there is no life worth living in their current misery. I’m no model, but dammit Hang On! It get’s better. To all the ones giving up, just please...hang on!

6 comments:

Brian said...

This is a sad story. Thanks for telling it. It seems to be a not uncommon thread in other blogs I read. I'm glad you survived this event and life in general. It seems that growing up is a traumatic event for most people. There doesn't seem to be too many people who make it through their childhood and youth without some sort of bad thing happening. It is not an ideal world.

randy said...

Hi Brian;
You are very close to right, there...most of us make it through childhood with significant bumps and bruises. I think that was what I wanted to say the most for those who are struggling like Seth. I don't know if I said it correctly, but I just wanted them to know to hang on. Thank you for writing! -randy

scottiestoybox.com said...

Randy I am glad the mind has a way of "foggy" events of the past. They simply can't or shouldn't be dwelt on. It interferes with our developing the person we want to be.

You just gave a lot of people hope. That is a really grand gift. Thank you.

Hugs,
Scottie

randy said...

Hi Scottie;
Yeah, it's a nice little defense mechanism. I never had the chance to deal with it then, and now seems a bit silly after 30-some years. But, I'm glad I got it off my back and if, as you say, it helps someone to know that no matter how bad it is it does get better, then it was worth it. Have a good night, my friend. -randy

scottiestoybox.com said...

Hey Randy, please don't feel silly dealing with past pains. I am almost fifty and find this year has been rather rough with the issues brought up more than it has in a long time. I have had to talk about small parts on the web, talk with Ron about it in more detail than before, and face the depression. Plus I keep goofing and putting my self into positions where it hits me. That is something I was very careful to avoid in the past, but it is necessary now to say what I wish to say.

recently I bought my self a movie I had seen on a web site three years ago but couldn't bring my self to watch. Call "Song for a Raggy Boy". Yesterday I watched it. Took three tries, and Milo stayed with me all each time. I admit I skipped a few bits, I had gotten up early and watched while Ron was in bed. I was depressed and spent most of yesterday in bed, but who wouldn't be after watching that. We should feel outrage and upset over what those boys went through.

Back to the point. Once I told you my demons were bothering me and your reply was so grand, "F&%k Them!. I love it. I live my life happy, and filled with laughter and good joy, and the demons hate that, and I don't care. Let them wither from lack of feeding.

To me that is what dealing is about, letting the demons wither till they can't hurt me any more. One day this last week a lady was crying, she was horrified and embarrassed. She had pooped her bed, and it stunk ( G.I. Bleed and they do stink ) I took her hand and told her not to be so upset, I had a cure...oh you have to smell it she sobbed. Here is the cure. Clean it up and then take the trash and bed linen out of the room, and the smell is gone. Together we faced that demon and beat the tar out of it because we did not let it get the best of us.

So you have lots of company in the dealing with it club, some are not even the issues you and I face, but ones others know, which are just as bad. I am just glad we have each other, and that the kids today know they can come to some of us for help and strength. And that my friend is the gift you gave. You walked up the ladder, out on the high roof and offered a strong arm to another. That is Christmas.

Be well and happy. Know you are loved and respected.
Many warm hugs,
Scottie

randy said...

Hi Scottie;
I am so glad we have stumbled upon one another in this little cyber-world. You have given me such strength and hope.
I am also so very proud to call you friend, and more that you call me friend, too. Your ability to help people, as exemplified through the pt you were speaking of, is so amazing.
Dealing with things...ooof! I sometimes wish ignoring them worked, but some wounds just don't heal on their own.
Thank you so much for writing, Scottie. I had considered taking this posting down....I guess I'll leave it up for a bit. It was difficult to open that particular box, and I feared the response.
Hugs received thankfully and sent back with equal vigor. -randy