The path well worn

My Autobiography

Everyone’s life, no matter how short a time they have been alive, has quite a story behind it.

It starts with a simple breath, and an adventure is shaped. From crawling, to first steps, to the ever evolving years of adolescence into adulthood: it’s a path to be explored. And as with any other adventure, life is no easy accomplishment. You have to work through it, struggle with monsters that stray in front of you, and stop to rescue other travelers who may need assistance.

My own life began in Fort Benning, Georgia. My father being in the United States Army, we didn’t stay in Georgia for long. As my Father prepared to be moved to Germany, destiny summoned our little pack to a fork in the road. Divorce is no easy situation, and when it came down to it- my brother and I were shuffled onto the route our father was taking. Soon, another fork in the road forced my father to stop: the military would not let him continue onto Germany with two small children.

He would either have to re-marry immediately or we would be sent into foster care. Either decision seemed equally difficult.  He chose to re-marry, and soon we set off again with our expedition.  Soon, a little blue eyed boy with crazy blonde hair was added to our group. Five people altogether left Germany after my dad finished his last three years of his military contract.

Together, we lived in Virginia where another little boy was included- this one with brown hair and hazel eyes- his smile was enough to break anyone’s heart. On the surface- this family of six was happy. But in the core, a monster was hiding, waiting for its chance to attack.

Growing up with a military parent is no painless feat. As the leader of our pact, I looked up to him- as any little girl would do. He was my hero, my big teddy bear. But inside, he was not so cuddly and soft. His anger was swift and had a fierce bite. No amount of tears from even a little girl would cool his rage. My whole childhood was intense physical punishments- things you would see in the military’s Basic Training. In fact, it would appear that I had a personal Drill Sergeant growing up.

Push-ups, running laps around the outside of our house, screaming until his face was so red the you could see it change color as he brought it close to our own faces. Along with him, my step-mother was a bit of a harsh discipliner. Her tongue was her whip, the words she would lash us with bent us to bid her will. No amount of correctness could please her as she watched us do the chores that seemed impossible for a 6 and 7 year old to do.

A childhood lived in fear, shrouded by the darkness of anger; it’s enough to make any child into a monster, which is what I became. Even after my dad left my terrible step-mother and replaced her by another woman shortly later, the venom inside me continued to build up. The innocence in me was shriveling up, leaving a cold and bitter person waiting for its chance to pounce. 

I had no idea of the feelings planting themselves, not even when my two younger brothers were taken by their mother. My child mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening when their mom made it so that we could have to contact with those sweet boys. It wasn’t until, after only four years of marriage my dad split from his wife, forcing me to leave behind my 2 year old baby brother and three step-siblings I came to love. As we moved across the country, the coldness set in. The numbness kept me from feeling much other than confusion. Too soon, my 13 year old self was exploding from the inside, ripping at the seams. My father seemed to ignore my older brother who was always calm and collected. I was the trouble child, and my father struggled to see why I wanted to hide away from the world.

I wanted him to know my pain, to know how deep my very soul seemed to be shredding itself. Black- it became my companion. I felt as if, though people were seeing me, they could really grasp at what their eyes showed them. How could they when I still plastered the same sweet smile. All people could see was the adorable red-haired girl whose laugh made everyone smile. How could they know that with every smile, something was dying inside her?

Inside I was a swirling vortex of hot anger and a numb sadness. I wanted it to be free- I wanted to let it go and be who I once was. But I was crumbling on the inside. How could I show my cries for help when I was too afraid to admit that I needed it? I let it out in a way that scared even me- my skin had become a canvas for my emotion.  The lines were an echo of how I was feeling with in. Each time I dug a blade over my skin, it felt as though I was suffocating my agony.

But I never realized the guilt that would replace the anger. Every look in the mirror reflected what I despised. Gone was the bright eyed little girl who giggled at everything. In her place stood a hollow eyed girl who was struggling to keep everything inside.

Eventually, I managed to swallow the beast I had allowed myself to become. I had it under control- I could breathe and not feel a pain in my heart. The dark clouds were gone- and sunlight warmed the spots where there was once a cold numbness. I lived in Virginia for another few years, until I was 15. Unfortunately, although I had fixed the issues I had with myself, I couldn’t stop my father’s tyranny. 

I did as I was told, biting my tongue to refrain from upsetting him. Even when I was forced to abandon everything I knew in Virginia, I let it roll over me. Even when I arrived in Salt Lake City, I refused to utter a word against it. I kept myself strong, until my dad’s parents moved in. They were disabled elderly people, how hard could it be to take care of them? They were strangers to me; I never knew the growing up. They refused to acknowledge our family, until they needed our help.

My grandmother had had a stroke a few years back, leaving her with the mind of a seven year old. She threw wild temper-tantrums, screaming and shouting when something didn’t happen her way. It was difficult to swallow. Here was a 63 year old lady, yelling about something so small and irrelevant. She would up and walk out of the house and it would be my job to retrieve her.

It got to the point where I would avoid my house altogether. The thought of being there while they were awake make my blood boil. I took it into stride as best as I could. I could feel the monster trying to force its way back in, it threatened to swallow me whole once more. I fended it off- until my father thought I wasn’t doing enough to be LDS, which is the religion I was raised into. His pressure to remain strong was unnecessary because I was already strong- I believed the church was helping me to stay afloat. The more I tried to show him that I was doing my best- the more I realized I’d never be what he wanted me to be. The guilt drowned me yet again as I fell, knowing that I’d never make my dad happy. My brother was the prime example of a good person; it was always about how I couldn’t be like him. He would storm around, demanding to know why I refused to be friends with other LDS girls.

When the reason why I didn’t befriend them was because I was guilty. It was like a tar wrapping around my heart. I could never be like them- I was harboring too much anger. I was on a path to destruction. My friends of choice had always been rebellious types. Since I was 11, I had been breaking school rules. Once in Salt Lake, I began to strike out at my dad- pushing him into anger for no reason, perhaps to try and make him realize how unnecessary it was to yell. I would skip school; I hated being around people, recognizing the vortex that was ripping me apart again, and knowing that no one would try to save me.

When that was all I wanted really- was to be saved. I was drowning; the monster had become immune to my previous efforts to dissuade it. It created new methods to capture me. I could feel his vice-like grip around me once more. I refused to even try at school. My grades were nothing to me, teachers attempted to reach out to me- but I didn’t want the help. That was my problem- I had become accustomed to the pain that I couldn’t imagine not feeling it.

What was happiness? What would true joy feel like? I wanted not to find the answers to these questions. I simply didn’t want to be happy. Once more, I attempted to relieve the pain inside by reflecting it onto my skin. Deeper and deeper I went, until once I ventured too far. I was sent to the hospital for stitches. On the way there, I realized that not even my father would try to help me solve this problem.

He screamed and screamed, when he didn’t realize that that was a majority of the problem. I began to shut him out. I hated him. I tried to imagine what life would be like if certain things had or hadn’t happened. By this time, it had been almost 7 years since my two brothers had been taken by their mom. I craved to know what they looked like- I wanted to hear their laughs, I wanted to know if they were tall, if they were into sports, or if they were musicians. It was like a hole had been opening my whole life and the monster was filling it.

I was lost from the world. I couldn’t rescue myself. But I didn’t have to. It was by the saving grace of a few friends that I was able to find a ledge to hold onto. A program at my school called JROTC, which stands for junior reserves officer training corps, was introduced to me. At first, I was uncertain and shy. But my friends insisted- and so I joined, and watched all these kids who had become role models. And to find out- they started out just like me, lost and hopeless, but soon found their way into life.

Soon, I was sucked into activities that forced me to work with others. I was amazed by what the program offered, and soon I let myself be pulled into the pile with them. Before this- I had no hopes for my future; I hadn’t thought much about it. As a kid, my dad forced me into going to side jobs with him- he was a handy man, and a good one at that. He taught me how to use tools, as well as ways to use what I have around me to aid me.

Soon I picked up a hobby of working on cars. Growing up with all brothers, I was accustomed to being dirty. I wasn’t afraid to wrestle in the mud, eating bugs was no problem. So being covered in car fluids with grease stuck under my nails didn’t bother me. I loved it. So I looked into military careers with mechanic occupations.

This has become the most important thing to me: a career and assuring that I can get there. It wasn’t too late for me to catch up in school I can still make up credits to graduate by next year. But being able to go into the military is my dream; it gave me hope in my life. I have always been a patriot at heart, but being up close and personal with military personal, I had grown to love this country with a passion that killed the monster inside me.

It’s  funny how, even though I’ve only been alive for 18 years, I have been to such a low place and managed to bring myself up. I know I will never be free of monsters on my path, but I’ll shoulder my pack and push onward until my adventure is finally done. I don’t know my final destination, but I won’t give up now that I’ve begun to travel a path all on my own.

Author's Note

I realize that some of this material is scary, and may seem life threatening, but please realize it is in my past and I know longer resort to self harm.

Reviews

[RAOrourke]

Very well written story that has such hope shown at the end. I thought you did a very nice job writing your story and only found a few minor areas to look at:

My child mind couldn’t comprehend what was happening when their mom made it so that we could have to contact with those sweet boys. did you mean so that we couldn't have contact with those sweet boys?

felt as if, though people were seeing me, they could really grasp at what their eyes showed them....did you mean..they couldn't grasp at what...?

Eventually, I managed to swallow the beast I had allowed myself to become..Very powerful sentence..great emotion showed here!

I never knew the growing up....I never knew them growing up...

The only other thing I found myself looking for in the beginning was what happened to the mother. It was shown clearly there was a divorce, but the reader is left wondering why foster care? Why wouldn't the children be placed in their Mother's care. Everything else was wonderfully written and filled with emotion.