Abuse - sexual, as in my case, or any other - will mess you up. I was probably in my late 30s when I was able to pinpoint the exact moment when my life changed forever. Though I do not know the exact age, I know the exact location, circumstance and people in the room as clear as I am writing this. That meant more 20 plus years of layer upon layer built upon that wound so that area of my life was underdeveloped, overcompensated for in other ways and a mythological creature was built upon that vortex.
The curious thing is that I remembered it and could talk about that moment but the disconnect was so great that I did not know that it was the source. I may have have noticed it when feelings of rage flared up around the person even though I didn't quite know why; I just thought that person was just a jerk and I justified the behaviour because of the abuse within his family. In hindsight, after this I would find myself amongst the company of outcasts, most, maybe even all, of whom had come from abusive or troubled environments.
I recall being at one of my friend's houses and having his stepfather threaten to whip all of us in the room, me included, with a belt because we were being too loud. And he most certainly meant it. My friend would later move on to the military and I lost touch with him though back at home he was seen in town behaving in a fashion that would lead one to believe he carried on the same manner of raising children.
I recall being at one of my friend's houses and having his stepfather threaten to whip all of us in the room, me included, with a belt because we were being too loud. And he most certainly meant it. My friend would later move on to the military and I lost touch with him though back at home he was seen in town behaving in a fashion that would lead one to believe he carried on the same manner of raising children.
It was never a conscious thing. I just knew I did not belong in certain cliques and, though not antagonistic toward those cliques, I did not fit in. So I fell into the non-clique cliques and even hung with the 'hoods' loosely enough not to go down those paths which, I am well aware, were also symptomatic of abuse. Had I chosen to go down that path rather than soak up the vibes without actually entering, those addictions may have done more damage sooner.
It was then that the seeds of rebellion were planted. Though it would in time graduate beyond the suburbs it was comfortable, suburban rebellion. Sneaking out at night, alcohol - lots of alcohol - and rock music though, again, it was the obligatory classic rock and the rebellion that got a knowing smile from those who lived through it the first time and passed it on to us.
However, this was a linear progression. This was not a circular progression out of which people grow and conform into their expected role once they've shaken the 'teenage rebellion' rite of passage. No, this would grow differently than those within my family. I was not alone in this as many from my class would follow similar trajectories and it always led me toward believing that there was some form of trauma underlying all of these people's lives.
I graduated beyond the classic rock of my youth and 'discovered' Motley Crue (now classic rock) and heavier, louder rock and roll, though comfortably from within my suburban bedroom. Alcohol was not frowned upon so it was easily accessible. In my case, it started before I became a teenager. It was all controlled, the parameters of our rebellion laid before us. And I think, when coupled with the abuse, because there was no relief for feelings of which I was not aware, I progressed. I wanted more, further, deeper, louder, angrier, self-inflicted as other than appearance and my internal dialogue I had learned to put on airs.
I kept clean cut rather than becoming a stoner cliche. I maintained, though this was a gradual slope, a job. From the upper echelons of my first job to working in a coffee shop, I cannot remain oblivious to the fact that my addictions were leading me to make some minimalist choices.
There was always 'something' there that kept me from going all in, some effort at restraint that kept me from doing heroin, that kept me from growing my hair long and living the cliche. But that 'something 'was slowly losing its grip and I was gradually on my way there. Addiction isn't always instant. Perhaps our level of security slows the journey and we can go a long time without going all the way there. But it was coming.
Before I left on my walkabout I met my now wife. It was she who kept me going and it was she who I turned to on the lonely journey across the country, even as I lived among and with people. She was my life line though I didn't know it at the time. And it was because of her I returned when the bottom was falling out and I somehow knew where I was heading. And it was through her that I was introduced to a faith that would ultimately reveal that moment in time when life changed, when my innocence was lost and I would spend my youth trying to destroy that innocence - and myself in the process - and my adulthood trying to reclaim it.
It was then that the seeds of rebellion were planted. Though it would in time graduate beyond the suburbs it was comfortable, suburban rebellion. Sneaking out at night, alcohol - lots of alcohol - and rock music though, again, it was the obligatory classic rock and the rebellion that got a knowing smile from those who lived through it the first time and passed it on to us.
However, this was a linear progression. This was not a circular progression out of which people grow and conform into their expected role once they've shaken the 'teenage rebellion' rite of passage. No, this would grow differently than those within my family. I was not alone in this as many from my class would follow similar trajectories and it always led me toward believing that there was some form of trauma underlying all of these people's lives.
I graduated beyond the classic rock of my youth and 'discovered' Motley Crue (now classic rock) and heavier, louder rock and roll, though comfortably from within my suburban bedroom. Alcohol was not frowned upon so it was easily accessible. In my case, it started before I became a teenager. It was all controlled, the parameters of our rebellion laid before us. And I think, when coupled with the abuse, because there was no relief for feelings of which I was not aware, I progressed. I wanted more, further, deeper, louder, angrier, self-inflicted as other than appearance and my internal dialogue I had learned to put on airs.
I kept clean cut rather than becoming a stoner cliche. I maintained, though this was a gradual slope, a job. From the upper echelons of my first job to working in a coffee shop, I cannot remain oblivious to the fact that my addictions were leading me to make some minimalist choices.
There was always 'something' there that kept me from going all in, some effort at restraint that kept me from doing heroin, that kept me from growing my hair long and living the cliche. But that 'something 'was slowly losing its grip and I was gradually on my way there. Addiction isn't always instant. Perhaps our level of security slows the journey and we can go a long time without going all the way there. But it was coming.
Before I left on my walkabout I met my now wife. It was she who kept me going and it was she who I turned to on the lonely journey across the country, even as I lived among and with people. She was my life line though I didn't know it at the time. And it was because of her I returned when the bottom was falling out and I somehow knew where I was heading. And it was through her that I was introduced to a faith that would ultimately reveal that moment in time when life changed, when my innocence was lost and I would spend my youth trying to destroy that innocence - and myself in the process - and my adulthood trying to reclaim it.
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