I missed a critical
situation or two. Everything's so complex, so complicated, it's tough to manage
it all, and some I am saving to tell when I am older in this story. I can't
spill all the beans right away. We have a long ways to go yet.
Upon moving to his
house I began drinking. I also started smoking cigarettes. I also started a
life of crime, but I didn't see it that way yet. These are very typical things
for one who hates himself. It doesn't matter if you’re a kid or an adult, if
you hate yourself, you self destruct. I was an angry pissed off kid with a huge
chip on my shoulder. With the freedom, because he did not keep me locked down
at home 24/7, the downward spiral was growing tighter and tighter. Because I
was so dysfunctional I attracted dysfunction. Some kids thought I was cool
because I was so fearless. It was cool to do what we were not supposed to do.
This stuff all
happened before the prom.
I remember once when
I came home so drunk I literally passed out sitting at the kitchen table. I was
too drunk to walk up the stairs to my room so I just sat at the table. I woke
up in the morning super hung over and because his empty drink was on the counter
still smelling of Kessler I had no choice but to vomit in the sink. I was only
thirteen and they never said anything to me. This was a common occurrence with
my dad and step-mom. Not the passing out at the table, but them not ever saying
much about a lot of the stuff I did. Maybe they too were afraid to make me even
angrier about my life. Maybe they were just too ignorant to know what to do. I
don’t think they had any clue at all as to what was going on with me.
I came home once
from a party with my chin split wide open. I had accidentally walked into the
wrong room at this house party. I thought it was the bathroom, but I opened the
door to two people having sex. I said something about it to other people at the
party. To me it was funny. I guess the guy didn't want people to know so he
came after me because I said something. I didn't get much warning. The guy came
storming out of the house and threw a beer bottle at my face before I even knew
what was going on. I managed to turn my head a bit before it struck me, but it
still shattered across my chin. I had to walk over 8 miles to get home that
night because they kept driving up and down the gravel road looking for me.
Needless to say I was covered in blood again when I got home. Man did those
high school guys hate my guts.
I remember getting
blacked out drunk at a different party once. I got so drunk I couldn’t
function. I was lying on the ground unable to do anything while a bunch of guys
just stood around me laughing at me talking shit, all the while kicking me.
Those bruises too were nothing compared to what I knew. Eventually some girls
stopped them. I didn't care. I was getting that drunk because deep down I
really just wanted to die.
I remember having
beef with a town bully. He vandalized my house once. My dad was really pissed
off about that one. This particular guy though was as crazy as me. He was twice
my size so I couldn't confront him face to face. I had to use other tactics to
make his life more like mine. I know all the good ways to get at a bully.
I had been busted in
the previous months for partying more than a few times. He knew I was getting
into fights, the busted chin, the busted nose, and other guys coming to my
house looking for me. One party though was actually in my house. I got busted
because I forgot to run the dishwasher, so when they got home and opened it up
it smelled like a brewery. He was pissed off about that one too. They made the
mistake of leaving for a night or two. Who doesn't throw a party when their
parents leave? What was really funny to me was that a girl got so drunk she
pissed in their closet all over their shoes thinking it was the bathroom
somehow. I never even tried to clean that up. That is still funny to me. Who
does that?
They were beginning
to catch on to my antics. They were beginning to see that they did not have the
control over me that they thought they had. They were beginning to see that I
was not some good little boy who did what they thought I was supposed to be doing.
But you see, when drunks lose control they rage.
When I went to live
with him he never touched me really. The worst he would ever do was yell at me
or some say something mean. I would get grounded or get extra chores, but he
never touched me. Until that day anyways.
I didn't
come home one night. Or maybe it is better to say he realized I was not home
for once. I was chasing a girl so I took some extra risk. She had a friend with
a car so I just never asked them to take me home. We stayed out all night. Of course
we were drinking. I would drink whenever I could get the stuff. I got blacked
out drunk the first time I ever drank. I was reckless and suicidal, but was
managing to hide it as best as I could. No one had a clue as to what was going
on inside my head. No one, not my parents, not the people who worked at the
schools, not the people in the churches, no one, was capable, or knew what to
do regarding me.
When I got home he
was furious. I really am like a cat in so many ways. It was one of the reasons
I got into so much trouble as a kid. If I wanted to do something, I did it. It
was that simple. It still is that simple. As the pain inside of me grew the care
of consequences lessened. He and I were arguing. It never mattered what I said,
they always thought I was lying, and to them, I generally was. I didn't want to
get my friends into trouble so I couldn't tell him what we were doing. I
couldn't tell him we were just driving around in a car drinking trying not to
care about this fucked up world. We were just being kids.
He grabbed a fly
swatter. It was one of those kinds with the metal wire for a handle with the
plastic swatter part on the top. It only took two swings for the plastic part
to fly off. He didn't care, he was in a rage. He just kept lashing me with the
wire. He just kept swinging. Every time he hit me with it I would turn my back
towards him then immediately and defiantly turn back towards him and just look
him in the eye. I refused to cry. Didn't he know I could take a beating? I knew
I wasn't strong enough yet to take him. I wasn't strong enough yet to beat his
ass like he deserved it to be beat.
I just held it in.
What I did not know is that one cannot hold it all in. It just doesn't work
that way. One way or another it has to come out.
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