I have a history. I was born into a sexually abusive family and the scarring hasn’t gone away. I am a quintessential example of the long term-effects of trauma on a child and adolescent. It has poisoned every aspect of life from my goals and aspirations to every single relationship, significant or otherwise.
There was a time in which I fought against my inevitable defeat to this merciless and dark adversary. There was a time in which I could salvage the mistakes, the sins, the outright acts of a distorted will. There was a time in which I cared deeply, but I have found that my heart grows more cold, distant and numb to the world around me.
There is no strength of character to which I can turn to find refuge. There is no God to which I can offer my repentance and recover from disaster after disaster. There is no desire to be changed, for change has eluded me now being near 60 years of age.
The slow crumble of my life has methodically taken away opportunities, systematically destroyed my the will to fight and eroded my ability to empathize.
There comes a point at which a building, when severely damaged, must be razed completely. There comes a point that when enough pressure builds up, a volcano erupts violently and destructively. There comes a point that a person who has found no success in life will cut their losses and give up completely.
Getting to this point is no simple or quick process, it is years, and decades of life being slowly sifted away. A little at a time. Sometimes barely noticeable and then at others, tragic and monumental failures that wipe great swaths of hope and beliefs into oblivion.
Such is where I find myself. Everything done to me and indeed all I have done has come together perfectly. The slow crumble inevitably reaches a point of massive change, and I am on the brink of this moment. What once was a life governed by my weakness and failures, controlling people, callous so-called friends, religious beliefs, fear of acceptance, and a desire to conform to the will of others is teetering on the edge of a complete wiping away.
It is time to let some things be razed, for things to die and be mourned; there is rebuilding that will be necessary and it won’t happen quickly, but a new life will emerge.
Will it be better? I don’t know. Will I have the peace which has eluded me to this point? I have no idea. But it has to happen, continuing like I have has become a life not worth living.
The Place to be Real 