Who am I?
Well that's an interesting question and one I've been working on for the last couple of months. If the question seems pretentious to you, then you've never had to look in the mirror and wonder for yourself. You were either born knowing all the answers about yourself or you're an idiot. Either way, there are times I envy you.
For me, this time has been filled with joy and agony. But this isn't a new story. It's actually very old, and sadly, not all that unique.
Anyone who knows me well enough remembers the shit storm that was my childhood. Those involved have put it behind them and are fully willing to forget certain events even occured. It would seem that I wasn't so lucky. I thought, no doubt like anyone else who'd experienced such situations and survived, that I had gotten the better of it. I had climbed to the top of the mountain, bested my memories and subdued my emotions. And I'd have been right, IF my life hadn't taken a turn for the best. And that's the rub, ladies and gentlemen. Or the bitter irony. Or the jagged pill. (Pick your own cynical euphimism.)
Holly showed up and loved me like no one ever had. She adored me. Boasted my skills and creativity and personality to anyone who'd listen. She said she believed in me. In short, Holly made my dreams come true. So why did my every waking thought center around dying? Why did I wake up screaming in the middle of the night, clutching my chest and begging for air?
Every child that had its development halted by trauma or violence knows the answer to those questions. It's such a simple answer that it's often easily missed. The long and short of it is: I don't deserve anything good that happens to me.
You see, when a child is terrorized by violence or even the threat of violence it does whatever it can to ensure it doesn't happen again. The child begins to control its environment in any way it can. This can even mean the child will do things to attract the violence because it can at least know when the attack will come. It can prepare and withstand. It's those unplanned eruptions that cause the most damage. And the saddest part, the most hideous aspect of this whole charade is that the child blames itself. "How awful must I be that my own parent/guardian doesn't love me?"
In the light of day and growth of adulthood, we know without a doubt that a child can do nothing to bring on what happened. At that age, we're not even mentally capable of doing whatever it is we're being found guilty of. Logically, that should be enough for us to move on. And sometimes we do. Of course, what we fail to realize is, that beneath our facade of comfort and confidence lies that secret belief that we don't deserve the good things that life has to offer. When the bad things happen, as they do in everyone's life, we accept them. Sadly, we are actually
comfortable with them. After all, we're on a first name basis with the dark and ugly things in the world. And when the good things happen? Well, we simply wait for them to be snatched away. The true crime is the self-fulfilling nature of this thought pattern. If something good lingers, we find a way to corrupt it.
Along comes Holly. I won't corrupt it. I won't ruin this beautiful thing I have. Holly seems dead set against ruining it as well. Well then, the only path I have left is to wait for the universe to step in and do it for us. Surely there's a meteor out there screaming its way toward earth with my name on it. There's a drowning accident in the pool just waiting for me. There'll be a knock on the door some afternoon informing me that Holly's been killed in a tragic car accident that morning on the way to work. And around every corner now, I look for the Reaper. He has to be there. He has to be there because I don't deserve to be this happy.
Holly's dedication to me, her deep love for me is reaching down into that emotional bedrock where the dark, brooding child has been sitting since my wee years. She's disturbing him. And he's fighting back. He's making me anxious and sick. He's causing nightmares and panic attacks. He's trying to maintain the status quo. But she won't give up. She refuses to stop believing in me. And here we have the emotional showdown at high noon.
That's where I've been for the last couple of months. It seems impossible to write ... indeed, stringing more than a sentence or two together caused me great agitation and stress. So to see all these words, you may conclude that I'm out of this mess. Not yet. There's a long road ahead of me. But I think, if I squint hard enough, if I pull enough focus, I can see some kind of light at the end. It's going to take a lot of work to reach it, but with Holly helping me along and my own desire to
deserve to live, I think I can do it.
Some of this work will need to involve therapy. I think after reading this that will be a foregone conclusion. I've also modified my schedule (as you'll see by the time stamp of this post) so that I can write at night, with Holly soundly sleeping upstairs and my spirit more able to dance. What will I write? Well, that's still an open book (pun intended) and we'll have to see where that road leads. I've stopped work on everything else at the moment and have started a new short story entitled,
Ben, Again. While it could be thought of as a horror tale, I've got good reason to believe that I might not always write such things. When this one's done, I'll probably finish up the other short story in the works,
Drain. After that, I'll go after
Online; A Ghost Story again. There's a lot of redemptive association in that book. Now don't get me wrong, I love being the Darkwriter, but I know I'm capable of writing other things as well. I'm just waiting to see what rolls out of the shaken up psyche that I currently own. Right now, I just want to find joy in being alive. I want to look into my wife's eyes and know that I deserve the love I see there. I want to revisit an old relationship with God and see if he's still interested in catching up. I want to play with my puppies and learn to play some country songs with my new guitar.
In short, I want to live.
