Pain: I Ve Made Her With Me

Life, as we all know is saturated with misfortune. Most of us are able to go through these and learn from and exempt ourselves. Yet, this isn’t always the case. People are faced with bone riveting experiences that often take a long time to get over, if they ever do get over it. These episodes brew in our brain popping up at the most random points often bringing our tone down. Although these experiences may scare us and fill us with ruefulness and penitence, we can’t continue to live in the past and let these regrets habituate us. Self forgiveness is a remedy to healing and to moving on in life, no matter how hard it is.

My mother’s words rang true in my life as I encountered hard times as an adolescence. Last year, I attempted suicide because I thought dying could end my sorrows and heartaches. Depression took a toll on me and the agony became intolerable at times. Even at my lowest, my mother forced me to give, since to her giving will always bring joy, love, and happiness. I resented my mother, as I never understood why she forced me to give when all I had was desperation and woe. I didn’t listen to her, instead, I forced my woes and depression onto the arms of other loved ones. I burdened my friends with my depression, however they never stopped listening to my rants and never gave up on me. I am grateful for my friends who cared enough to listen to me and to console me. I know my friends stood by me, because at their lowest I gave them my time and shoulder to cry on. Despite the feeling that I had nothing left in life during my depression, I still managed to live on. My mother doesn’t know it, but her words had saved my life.

As she rubbed her eyes in exhaustion she remembered the adventures of the day before. When she got home she passed out from the excitement and strain on her heart. She reached down to check her leg and sighed with relief to find a replacement was already attached. She looked over at her nightstand and noticed her spare glass waiting for her to put them on. As she got out of bed all she could think about was how rude she was to Sam. She walked into the kitchen to see her mother preparing breakfast. She looked around and did not see Sam. She didn’t know why she expected to see her but she was upset that he was not here. Her mom turned a saw her disappointment and said “He seem in quite a rush to leave he left his job to help you.” She was startled by her answer and rushed out the door ignoring the cries from her mother. She hurried Sam’s farm almost throwing up because of the strain on her heart. When she reached the farm she found an old man working the fields. She rushed over and asked, “Where is Sam?” The old man replied, “I fired him because...” She didn’t let him finish She rushed to the road the taste of blood in her mouth from running. She saw a man walking on the road looking forlorn. She called out, “Sam!” The man stopped and turned it was Sam he answered her, “Joy?” She ran into his arms and started to cry. Sam confused hugged her back. She thought to herself about how a horrible incident led to her

He meandered up the creaky, wooden stairway to my parents’ bedroom, which at the time was only enclosed on three sides and open towards the stairway, where the fourth wall should have been. I followed closely behind him, my siblings after me. My mom was at the end of her bed, folding clothes. My dad, dirty from his construction job, had begun to change his clothes. Trying to lighten his mood, my mom jokingly took some of his change and tried to start “a game of tag” per se. My dad’s Blood Alcohol Concentration (BAC) was too high to focus on a petty game like this, it just pissed him off. You could see the alcoholic rage in his eyes, as my mom ran down the stairs with his change and keys. My older sister Susie, my younger brother Jacob, and I were pushed into my room and he locked the door, he shouted “Stay here!” as he took of stumbling down the steps after my mom.

The week before Anabelle and I moved out into the city, I felt the nerves, the jittering butterflies of happiness, and the warm hugs our parents gave us in the limited time that we had left. The week after we settled and moved into our new apartment If I had known what was to come, however, I never would have departed from my parents. All the good memories I and Anabelle shared throughout our lives, were taken away, all vanquished because of one night. Those hours of darkness that which we spent out, I wish so much that we could take back. It was supposed to be a night of fun, an awakening of our new lives as adolescents, but what happened instead was a tragedy. In the blink of an eye, I was gone. My soul, my body, my entirety, erased. And so was Anabelle’s.

My mom did not understand how I could love God and another woman or that I was still the same little girl who cuddled with stuffed bears years before. I became a shadow to her and for a moment, I thought she had erased me from her heart or the marks on her stomach I created. This impression resulted into an addiction to pain pills, more specifically Hydrocodone and Naproxen. In a way, the pills acted as my mother’s replacement, comforting me in a time of need. Eventually, I just felt dead in my own skin and self-love was notably absent from my life. Struggling with my identity and sexuality made me feel unworthy of God’s love, of anyone’s love. So, I alienated myself from church, people,

“What the hell is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind!” my father exclaimed apoplectically as the sweat from my face imperceptibly dripped down like droplets from a water faucet that wasn’t fully turned off. “Dad, I-.” Before I could even relinquish the rest of the sentence out of my mouth, I received a firm slap on the left side of my cheek that was as loud as a firecracker. “I am very ashamed of you, Ezra; just wait till your mother hears about this,” said my father. Trying to fight back the tears accumulating in my eyes, I knew the worst was soon to come for me. “Stupid me, stupid me, stupid me! Why did I commit such a reckless act that I’m regretting now! I done goofed up, big time,” I thought to myself on the dismal car ride home.

Why me? Out of everyone, why me?!” I exclaimed. My eyes burned, my heart rate increased, and I felt the transudation of sweat down my back. Infuriated, I aimlessly tossed the pictures away from me. All these memories made me dizzy. My legs were numb. God knows how long I was sitting there. A state of stupor overcame me and I lay down on the cold, hardwood floor. Once again there was darkness. The echoing of the dripping tap jolted me awake. I noticed the minimal light that entered from the windows as the last hues of the setting sun mellowed my rage. I had bathed myself to revive my inner being and to clear my head. As I headed towards the lounge room, my gaze fell on two photographs, side by side. I picked them up and tears welled up in my eyes from what I saw. Although the two photos had different couples they both depicted the same thing: A drunken father, a traumatised son, and a lonely wife. The smiles were a mere mask to conceal the truth. How had I not realised what I had done? What I had become? I was just like him. Like my father! I gave Chris the very same treatment that I had despised as a child. I knew what I had to do now. To make it up to them was going to be a challenge…But it had to be done. I was truly sorry and they had to

Children do not have the option to come into this world. They come into this world because of either of their parents’ choice or because of their mistake. However, once children are born, their parents have the opportunity to write whatever they wish to write on their clean slate –“life.” Indeed, some kids grow up in a safe environment and have loving parents, but some children are reared by the parents who themselves grew up in an abusive family and do not know how to raise kids. Abuse does not see race, gender, or stature, yet it happens every day in a close - knit relationship. Abuse can be so subtle that it slowly chips away a person’s identity, and the person does not even realize that they are in an abusive relationship. In James Joyce’s, “Eveline,” Eveline exhibits the classical signs of a victim to abuse. She lacks self-confidence due to her father’s verbal, emotional, and financial abuse.

He glanced in my direction, saw nothing of interest there, and padded to my mother’s sleeping form, leaning towards her face. Staring at her, he took a deep breath and shook her. She awoke with a gasp, the of kind one that emits when a child is about to pull a pot of boiling water onto its head, and whispered fiercely, “What is it?” She had gone, in that instant, from being concerned about the pot of water, to becoming the pot of water: Her usually loving voice turned fixedly dangerous, and I am sure my brother, being astute, saw the imminent explosion in her eyes. Her tone reminded him that his reason for startling her better be good, or he was about to taste some serious pain. She was angry, and why not? My brother had been fired from his job that day for theft of services: giving away toys at his game stand at the local amusement park to those who had not necessarily earned them, and my mother had been furiously livid towards his attitude. My brother and her have had many grievances before, over school, issues at home, in life, but always he managed to bring a smile to her scowling lips and the two reconciled for a time. But now, she spoke again, and the sultry room seemed cool, stiff with her words, and I could almost see the “What?” hovering between them. His reply, which was simple and calm, made me feel my soul scratching at my ribcage and pounding the walls of my body, rushing to leave me at it 's

With love and family comes heart break and sorrow. Certain individuals will let agony define them, and others will persevere and find the qualities of life that remain bright. In the past sixteen years of my life, I have experienced both dejection and elation; however, in my mind, those moments of defeat have left the most prominent scar behind. Although the initial experience may have been negative, knowledge and appreciation for life was gained because of it.

Grieving had become a lifestyle, I sat around my home for quite some time by myself, crying, agonizing and suffering. I reluctantly waited for the phone to ring, wondering if I’d ever hear from my siblings or their children again. My family had gone through an extreme and unthinkable tragedy and needed to communicate, but this didn’t happen. We were all so wrapped up in our agonizing pain that we forgot to check on one another. Our previously happy family had been shattered, extremely damaged and seemingly irreversible with no evidence of healing any time soon. We were broken, even worse, for the first time, we were divided.

I reached my house and dropped my bruised, blue bike in the middle of my grassy green lawn. My house was an average size, just enough room to fit all four of us in my family. I opened the door and, unanticipatedly, as I began to say ‘I’m home’, I apprehend, “Chloeeeeee,” my three year old sister, Belle, hurried up to me and clings on to my leg, all dressed up in her favorite yellow dress.

“Hey Caitlin! Can you get that bottle from upstairs?” dad shouted. I ran as quickly as my little six year old speed could allow up to the baby’s new room. I grabbed the bottle and ran downstairs. Me and my sister were waiting near the front door, but not outside, it was raining and thundering. My sister Mady tried to open the door, but dad caught her. “No going outside, there is going to be a long storm, probably for three or four days.” he said nervously. “Once mommy and Josie comes home, I’ll be working on the electricity at work for a couple of days.” “So we won’t see you?” Mady asked while backing up and on the edge of tears. “Yes.” he replied unfortunately. “Great” I thought, “I’ll have to help with and Josie.”

Writer’s mother had nine siblings. Four girls and five boys, her parents were married two years before they started to have children. Her parents wanted to be stabled before having children. Their parents meet at a family party. Writer’s mother stated that as she was growing up she was not allowed to go outside and plays with the siblings. The girls will stay inside the house helping her mother cook and clean the house. They will have the food ready by the time her brothers and father arrived home. Due to the family dynamic the parents were unable to meet the emotional needs of their children. There was not a lot of love or affection from the parents. Writer’s grandmother was very busy working on sowing so she can go sale items to have food on the table. As for writer’s grandfather he was busy on the farm feeding the animals. There was times were writer’s grandfather will come home drunk and will verbal and emotionally abused writer’s grandmother. It was really hard for writer’s mother not to see as they leave in a small house. When writers mother was 11 years old she decide to leave her house because they were constantly a lot of problems due to her father alcohol abuse. Her parents