My experience - Part 1

A perfect report card with satisfactory conduct grades could lead to beatings that left me bloody and bruised. One especially memorable parent teacher night I was actually put through a closet door. To be clear, the laws of physics played a huge roll (F=MA) and my actions didn't help the situation, but the instinct of self preservation was apparently too strong to ignore. I was 7 years old and trying to run away from the barrage of fists (yes, my Dad was a closed fist guy) that were hitting me at any opening. This wasn't my first beating, but it was the most intense up to that time in my life. I knew that covering up was going to prolong and provoke the ferocity of the attack. Previously, my Father had actually sat me down to have a conversation about making things worse for myself by trying to cover up, but it hurt so much this time that I even tried to get out of the room. This was a first for me and as I tried to get away he semi-tackled me into the closet door and our combined force sent me through the cheap door. My mom tried to get him to back off, but he pulled me out the closet and the beating just continued on the couch with my Dad half sitting on me while he fired away with both fists. I was terrified. I recall begging and shrieking that I was sorry through tears. I recall trying to cover my head for a time. I don't remember why he stopped, maybe it was the blood. I don't remember getting off the couch or how I got to bed that night. Based on the number of bruises I had the next day, it's unlikely that it was under my own power.

I remember being in bed at some point that night trying to make sense of what had happened. I went over the details obsessively. I realized that at some point I stopped asking him not to hit me, I stopped saying that I was sorry, and I stopped covering myself up. I just laid there and listened to the deep thud of his fists when they connected. I remembered the impacts and how my little body jerked around with each one. That night is the earliest memory I have of thinking that my life was out of my control. I was so scared to get out of bed that I pissed myself rather than go to the bathroom. I couldn't sleep, I was soaked with piss, and I just couldn't stop crying. I felt that regardless of what I did there would always be some overwhelming fault. I looked back on my young life and saw all the examples of how these flaws were called to my attention and my Father's reactions to them. I loved that man more than anyone else on the planet and I constantly failed to earn any consistent praise regardless of how hard I tried or what I did. Although I was only a little guy at the time, I changed that night. I stopped trying to give 100% to anything and I stopped doing everything that he didn't deem to be worthwhile. I accepted whatever result my limited effort would yield.

Through my adolescence and early teens, I didn't have a passion for anything. I disappointed on a consistent basis, but I knew that I would because I had already resigned myself to mediocrity. I did well enough not to be bothered. When I got frustrated with my unhappiness I drank and acted out sexually as a release. I was a fucked up little kid. When my best friend moved away and I wound up being the only kid from elementary school to attend my high school it was beyond my ability to cope. I missed most of the first 3 months of school by pretending to be sick. My father took me for every medical test, but this only added to my anxiety. I was sure that when the doctors couldn't find anything wrong and everyone would figure out that I was faking it and then there would be more beatings. Nothing happened though. There was no talk about faking or what I was feeling. My parents just picked a day that I was to go back to school and I went. My high school entrance exam grades were high enough that I was in all honors classes. Even though those kids all knew each other they (the geeks) weren't as cliquey as I expected them to be so I blended in with out much effort. I didn't want to be a geek or a nerd though. I wanted to be popular. When baseball season came around my high school experience started to change. I went to parties where I drank and got laid. Eventually I made one real friend and that's only because he befriended me. I was consumed with not letting anyone get to know me because I felt that the more they knew the easier it would be to find fault. I found my niche at some point. I was the jock and I was the honors guy. I did enough at each to retain my place holder. I became a legend with the amount that I could drink. Girls came and went. It was a tolerable existence.

The afternoon that I met Jen, wasn't out of the ordinary. She was blond and cute, but so were a lot of other girls. Within the first hour it was clear that she was different. She had a brain. We talked for hours and I told her things that I'd never told anyone else. We became inseparable and remained that way. We both did better in school than we ever did before. I was flying high for the entire school year. Our relationship wasn't perfect, but at the time it was the best thing that I'd ever known. Her mom was a born again religious nut who was convinced that my family's money must have come from being in the mafia. The more she tried to talk to her mom about how much she cared for me the more they fought. Eventually the strain became too great and we broke up the summer before I went to college. I took it badly. My life was again beyond my control and a deep hatred for her mother developed inside of me. I had started to believe that maybe I could have good things in my life, but that was all taken away. With out Jen's presence to temper my behaviors I was soon acting out again. More girls, more booze, and something new... drugs.

Starting with my first year of college, the next 10 years were a blur of drugs, bars, and self centered fear / pity. I accomplished very little and lost myself in the scene. Jen and I got back together, but I was too focused on protecting myself to believe that it could really ever work again. My behaviors and my addiction steadily progressed and got worse. I dropped out of many colleges. I quit dozens of jobs. I tried at very little and succeeded at nothing. I expected to fail and I did. I met Victoria and I slowed down for awhile. After about a year into our relationship she "cheated" on me (no reason to throw rocks). It hurt, but I wasn't surprised because the pattern of my life is that it's beyond my control. Don't get too comfortable, Tom. The rest of the story is yet to be revealed. The shitty part is right around the corner. The sky will fall.

I stumbled along for another few years by medicating my wounds and dulling my thoughts. I was close to 30 and had nothing. I started to panic that I'd eventually be pennyless and homeless. I tried to bury myself into building a business, but that eventually collapsed as I always feared it would. That was the last straw. I completely stopped trying. I stopped fighting. I stumbled around until the pain / repercussions got so great that even laying in a bed watching tv being drunk and high all day didn't offer any relief. I couldn't take anymore pain or disappointment. I had nothing. I was nothing. I wanted to die.

I'll finish this another time...

There is a lot more to come as time allows. As you've seen not every post will be this... dark. Sharing the above took more work than I imagined it would. There are so many details that are missing. This isn't my whole story, but it's enough for today.