Let me be very clear, I am not a silver-linings kind of person. My life motto generally is that if I don’t get what I want it’s because I didn’t commit enough time, I did it wrong, I wasn’t worthy, or there is a best effort that I have not yet achieved. So I find it ironic, and very uncharacteristic of me, that I one-hundred percent believe I have found a pearl in the history I have faced. I dare proclaim: it was my destiny.
The hardships that accompany being born to a sixteen year old, neglected, sexually assaulted, love starved, education and money poor mother are great. And, boy was she in love with my father–also young, handsome, charismatic and equally starved of love. He too was victim to various maltreatments and abuses from his family. Two lost souls searching for an anchor.
We grew up with our parents. We went to rehab with them, we were homeless with them, we got lost, beaten with anger and intoxicated with fear with them. We slept behind the couches of strangers homes so the men wouldn’t bother us. All of this and so much more twisted mine and my younger brother’s childhood into an ever-changing series of traumatic incursions deteriorating our personal image-of-self. My definition of love was contorted. My opinion of men, with the exception of my brother who was an angel, was rotten. I believed I was only worth what I had seen. I tolerated the rotten and sometimes became it.
Both incapable of being ideal parents, however, worlds better than what they experienced and deeply loved by my brother and I. They share the blame for allowing their children to witness and be injured by their tormented lives. How is this ironic you ask? Because I will argue that I don’t believe even the greatest good that comes from evil is ever worth going through said evil. However, here it is, right in front of me. Beauty from disgrace. Their tenacity is the sole reason I have such an innate and intense sense of determination and ability–ironic.
On the cusp of being half a century old, and the concept that it was not all in vein invigorates me. I was charged to bear witness to some of life’s most horrific misconducts so that I could make this world a better place. Yes, my back is strong enough to bear this load. I am now able to look at it all from the outside and see the perversion inflicted upon my parents, and therefore myself and my brother, was an infestation of a diseased family cycle that I freed myself from. An aberration of love, an illness that if not treated will kill you. If not your physical being at least your spiritual. My medicine is intolerance and writing.
How did I make it this far? How do we become aware that survival mode has kicked in? Let alone imagine that what you are going through could help someone else someday. Especially when you are a child and simply don’t understand exactly what it is you are being forced to survive. The profound feelings of loss and hopelessness take the place of the satisfying wholeness of being loved and well cared for. And, as difficult as it is to articulate moments tainted with neglectful disgrace it is quite clear that you desire quiet from the storm and a confidence in goodness and hope. But, sadly the unequivocally beautiful feeling that your wellbeing has utmost priority to the people who brought you into this world never comes.
Herein lies the irony: torment, neglect, abuse of a loved one should NEVER have a silver lining. Ever. Yet, here I am telling you that I believe it was meant to happen to me, to bear witness and at times victim, so I could create characters in my writing that have the ability to overcome the strangulation of happiness, and to fight against the oppression it blankets us with. In short, my feminist-fantasy is to reform and enlighten all humans of their defilement of love, and restore lost hope in family. Millions of you know exactly what I mean. I am so sorry.
There is a contradiction of beauty with pain. I hope to guide your journey through with trust. Thank you for reading and for subscribing.