Around when I was 7 years old, my parents started a bitter
divorce. Some people incorrectly state that a divorce is an event, but this is
woefully wrong. A divorce is a process, a period of life, one that is never
easy, no matter who you are or the circumstances. Divorce is a horribly painful
and wretched thing. Not one person walks away from such a thing unscathed,
unharmed. Those most affected are the children, if any are involved.
As a kid, to the years leading up to my parent’s divorce I
witnessed many verbal, emotional and physically abusive things. But in the mind
of a child, these things never added up to create a bigger picture until later
in my life of how things really were between them. It wasn’t until one day that
my biological “father” moved into the house next door to us that I realized
that something strange and bad was happening. Things were aloof and my young
mind could not figure out what was happening. As time went on, I witnessed my
“father” get into a fistfight with a friend of my mom’s one night, him say
terribly hurtful things to and about my mom, and my mom freak out about him
breaking into the house to move and steal things.
Eventually, we moved out to a house in Plattsmouth for a short time. I honestly can’t remember how long we lived there, but it wasn’t long. After this, we moved to a strange house out in the country, supposedly out in Greenwood or around there. It was at this time that or maybe before that I remember my mom saying that my “father” supposedly tapped our phones, as strange things happened once in a while, sometimes involving the police showing up once our mom left to go get groceries or run other errands. During this time, I began to horribly miss my friends and peers at St. Teresa’s in Lincoln. Some nights I would cry myself to sleep, wishing I was back there in my old house, not understanding why things have changed so much. It was during this time that I had the worst nightmare of my life thus far and started to develop a lifelong anger problem.
Eventually, we moved out to a house in Plattsmouth for a short time. I honestly can’t remember how long we lived there, but it wasn’t long. After this, we moved to a strange house out in the country, supposedly out in Greenwood or around there. It was at this time that or maybe before that I remember my mom saying that my “father” supposedly tapped our phones, as strange things happened once in a while, sometimes involving the police showing up once our mom left to go get groceries or run other errands. During this time, I began to horribly miss my friends and peers at St. Teresa’s in Lincoln. Some nights I would cry myself to sleep, wishing I was back there in my old house, not understanding why things have changed so much. It was during this time that I had the worst nightmare of my life thus far and started to develop a lifelong anger problem.
As a kid, no matter what school I attended, I was bullied by
kids for my short stature. Because of being born prematurely I was afflicted
with a deficiency of Human Growth Hormone due to my pituitary gland being
underdeveloped. As a result, I had to take injections of HGH up until I was 16
or so. It was during this time that I not only lost my best friend, but he
ended up becoming one of my worst tormentors in early elementary school. And
because of this bullying and problems at home during this time, I became an
unruly child. I acted out in boredom, failed to pay attention sometimes, and
got into a great deal of trouble.
In 4th grade my teacher thought that I might have a learning disorder, but this was not so. I was given an IQ test by my then wonderful counselor and tested above average. And yet, my teacher stubbornly kept me in the slow kid’s class for reading class. I would quickly blow through whatever book they were reading and then become bored at the slow progress of class, having already read the whole book. So this only created more behavioral problems.
Now I can’t possibly convey the anger, sadness, anxiety, confusion and therefore FRUSTRATION I felt at that age. I wanted to burn the whole world down. I wanted to hurt people, I wanted to be left alone and go by to my Garden of Eden, my time of bliss and ignorance, free from pain. I hated some people, jealousy grew in me, resentment found a home in my heart. I witnessed one day my mother being harassed by police one day when they showed up at our door and my mother telling them to leave, and instead of leaving, the wrestled her to the floor right in front of me, yelling at them to stop it and to leave her alone. I went to grab my foam Nerf baseball bat to hit one of the cops with it to help my mom, but by that time it was over. Very soon my grandparents were over at our house to watch us, all the while I stood in front of our prayer area praying the Rosary and reciting the Lord’s Prayer, begging for my mom to come back. This was all only the beginning of the hurt my despicable “father” would bring us.
In 4th grade my teacher thought that I might have a learning disorder, but this was not so. I was given an IQ test by my then wonderful counselor and tested above average. And yet, my teacher stubbornly kept me in the slow kid’s class for reading class. I would quickly blow through whatever book they were reading and then become bored at the slow progress of class, having already read the whole book. So this only created more behavioral problems.
Now I can’t possibly convey the anger, sadness, anxiety, confusion and therefore FRUSTRATION I felt at that age. I wanted to burn the whole world down. I wanted to hurt people, I wanted to be left alone and go by to my Garden of Eden, my time of bliss and ignorance, free from pain. I hated some people, jealousy grew in me, resentment found a home in my heart. I witnessed one day my mother being harassed by police one day when they showed up at our door and my mother telling them to leave, and instead of leaving, the wrestled her to the floor right in front of me, yelling at them to stop it and to leave her alone. I went to grab my foam Nerf baseball bat to hit one of the cops with it to help my mom, but by that time it was over. Very soon my grandparents were over at our house to watch us, all the while I stood in front of our prayer area praying the Rosary and reciting the Lord’s Prayer, begging for my mom to come back. This was all only the beginning of the hurt my despicable “father” would bring us.
Good work, Ray. Keep it up. I will be following your blog with interest :)
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