I do not know where this will go, or if it will be chronological. This may or may NOT be graphic. Continue at your own discretion.
It’s strange the path my life has taken, ne’er could I have expected to be where I am, or what it took to get me here. As the ultimate song story-teller, Garth Brooks, put it: “I could’ve missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance”. The good, sweet memories are worth the sorrows. You would think, growing up as the skinny-legged kid with hearing aids that I would have realized my path early on and followed it.
The problem is, at least as I’ve found it, that darkness often obscures the path, covering it in brambles and branches; allowing it to be strewn with thorns and snags, snares and pain. Being sexually abused as a child is a horror I wouldn’t wish upon even my worst enemy. Being sexually abused again as a young teenager I can’t even comprehend. I often sit and wonder why I didn’t fight back, why I didn’t react in any way other than to retreat…Fight or Flight be damned I aimed to escape. And I did. I don’t know any other person who read more, or spent more time “away from earth” than me throughout my entire schooling career.
Even as the anger threatened to consume me, as my sense of self and self-worth slowly drained down my leg, I fought. I fought demons raging inside that nearly swallowed me with the need for revenge, vengeance and yes, blood. It was not pretty to be inside my mind and in very rare times, it is still not. I fought by out-studying anyone I could, answering questions faster and blindly reaching out to my teachers for their friendship. I was the definition of teacher’s pet because they were safe. They wouldn’t, or rather COULDN’T hurt me with so many people around.
Through the studying and all that, books sustained me. I would read after completing my assignments in class before the lecture was even over. You’d rarely see me walking without my nose in a book from class to class, or sneaking paragraphs in while a teacher spoke. Books always opened, never said “No.”, and only sometimes fell apart on me. But they, unlike people, were easy to fix and easy to put back in order for my own needs.
It behooves me that I have wandered. ADHD… Yes, the point of this is to show what writing and books have done but I took a wrong step back there somewhere. When I was very young, perhaps 3 or 4, a male teenage babysitter took advantage of me. I will spare you the details of the things he made me do; just know they were not pretty.
A few years later I was introduced to another young man in my life, which I had no control over and whose name I won’t reveal. I’ll call him Chris. I should have raised red flags and screamed bloody murder the first time he ever wanted to show me his business. Looking back, I see the tiny child retreating to a safe place and abandoning all reason. I was afraid of him, and afraid of his mother.
It was he who introduced me to pornography, he who broke into MY father’s “secret cabinet” and he who snuck into far too many things. Chris wanted me to do things to him that to this day make bile rise into the back of my throat. He wanted to watch films I thought were terrible initially, but of course as with all sinful things, became second nature with repetition. It is an addiction, like any a person encounters, that I battle day in and day out with more than a little grace and some good old fashioned grit.
I say grace, because the fall of 2000 I was introduced to the reality of it. I found community and family in my church, and Jesus pursued me with unwavering determination. I gave my heart and my life to Him in November of that year and experienced my very first spiritual renaissance/awakening/high. While I was freed from my guilt of sin, I didn’t realize the battle had only just begun.
Since those days I have often struggled with feeling worthy of anyone. I had no girlfriends in high school, not finding love or companionship until I had moved away from home to Minneapolis. We got engaged, and less than a month later she left me only to end up pregnant by her ex 3 months later. The next one lied to me about being pregnant, and about cheating on me to get me to leave her, admitting such to me a few months later. The next one left me with no reason and moved back home down south within a few weeks. The next left me to go back to her ex and give her family another try. I can understand that, but at the same time still do not.
I’m not asking for an ounce of your pity. I want you to know that I have been there, seen it. Through all of it I have never doubted God’s hand on my life, and his very real presence. How can I believe? How can I have faith? I am still alive. I am still able to find joy and while my demons have for the most part been banished, I still struggle with fear and insecurity. I still ask questions, still have doubts and want to tear my brain from my skull at times.
This is where books and writing come into play. They are my safe haven. They are my first and forever love. When I open the pages of a book, the world around me ceases to exist. My four walls melt away and become the environment of whatever world I’m visiting. I make friends with the company, get to know the characters and invest in their patterns of thinking. I sometimes have my own conversations with them, wondering at what their answers would be. So far to date my favorite conversationalists have been Drizzt Do’Urden and Richard Rahl…but a little Gandalf wisdom peeks in now and again of course.
It isn’t about getting away from the pain of my abuse anymore. I am dealing with that as well, and the effects of that are works in progress: For a lot of years I couldn’t use a public restroom, or stop on the side of a country road and go to the restroom. I have a very hard time introducing myself to the opposite sex, regardless of the amount of attraction I feel toward them. My mind speeds forward to the fear of inability to perform or fear of them leaving me with only my tears and questions. If you’ve ever felt these fears or dealt with these things, you have my complete empathy and love. It is not easy, but we can rise above.
Now my reading and writing are all about the beauty of arranged language, the music that words put into my mind and the dance that takes place when putting the words on paper. As I continue to heal, I expect the beauty will only shine brighter. So will my layers of pain and anger come apart and fade? Will the memories ever disappear? No, not completely at least. In his book “7 Deadly Sins”, Corey Taylor of Slipknot/Stonesour fame puts it like this: “Sometimes you have to be more than a survivor. Sometimes you have to move on.”
I have set 2015 as my goal to be published, and to that end I am not giving up. I’m finding that I constrain myself with the fears I spoke of above, fears of success, and fears of failure. I mean, what happens if I am well received? What happens when people start to expect me to actually expand on the beginning of my story? Will I be able to get a second piece out that measures up? And all these fears rear their ugly heads before I’ve even begun the body of my writing!
My goal, with my writing, is to take you away. If you’re feeling pain, shame, sorrow, fear…Just let go, even for that tiny little bit and go on a journey with me away from it. But also know that you’re not alone. I am brother to you in your journey. Should you need, I will be an ear, an eye or a shoulder for you. I pray for you that you would turn and see Christ chasing you with steadfast love and mercy.
I’m exposing myself to show you that I am me. I am you. I’m here and there with you. Take care.
-Tony
The Pen is Mightier.. 
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