, , , ,

I may never belong, but I am still more human than most will ever be.

It is pretty sad really, when you sit down and start to think about. I try to close it out of my life, place a veil between that ever so murky past, and my present day. I try with all my might. I use drugs and sleep, in hopes that they will go away. Go away at least for a little while. give me a small moment of sanity, will you?

But the past does not go away. It lives deep within my mind and just waits to pounce upon me, when I least suspect it to. The days of my youth, when I spent more time cleaning blood off of myself, than I did smiling. Was I traumatized by all of the violence that took place? Of course, I was! But it went beyond that.

At school I got to be the wonderful and delightful victim everyday. I noticed during this time that not one single student or teacher ever interfered on my behalf. I went from class to class as quickly as possible, trying to avoid every bully or jackass, that wanted to make a name for themselves. I ran past the insults while watching for the outstretched leg that would trip me up. I spent nearly every day after school either running home or getting caught and forced to fight the next wanna be bully. I stood up for others while none stood up for me. I still wonder how they could just sit there and look on without helping. I still wonder, how they who did nothing, could sleep at night.

As a reward for my bravery in going to school every day, I got to go home to my abusive family. When I was young I used to wonder what I had done to deserve such a life. Often it was hard to even think when I was at home. If my parents were not abusing us kids, verbally or physically, they were abusing each other… both ways. I gave up trying to figure out, what I had done to deserve the life I had been given. I decided I must be bad and left it at that. What else was I to make of it? Only a bad person would get a life like this. Truthfully, I am not sure even a bad person deserved this kind of childhood.

I would like to forget, forgive, move on or at least not revisit these childhood memories. But it seems no matter what I do, they still come back to me. I still wake up in the middle of the night, with tears streaming down my cheeks, wondering why I did not seem to belong anywhere. I cannot count high enough to state, the number of times I have considered just ending my life. I can see no other way of stopping these incredibly sad and painful memories from reappearing.

How can human beings want to treat other humans like they are anything less than human? Why should this ever be a thing or even remotely acceptable? How can you claim to have a heart? If you can stand there and watch your fellow man being tortured and do nothing, you are not human!

To this day, I still hate that I would be happy, elated even, to go out and do some kind of massive harm to these people, who were responsible for these events; these memories. I hate that I still have these thoughts. I hate that they still have sway over me. I hate that I cannot go back and change the past (although I am uncertain how I could). I hate that they will creep into my mind when I least expect it. I hate that I will once more have to entertain, even for a second, the idea of ending my life again. The past never completely leaves us, no matter how much we lie to ourselves, in an attempt to escape it.

The only small consolation I can garner from these past memories is that I am better than all of them. I am human. I am on this earth but not of this earth. I may never belong, but I am still more human, than any of them will ever be.

I need to say these things to myself. I need to believe them. I need to hold onto them. For no matter how many blessings and gifts my wife piles upon me, I can never escape these horrid memories, and these statements are the only thing keeping me, from the forever dark abyss that awaits.