Tragically SPECIAL: The Prince Of LIES

The last couple of days have provided me with a few new ideas in regards to how I process my negative emotions as they relate to my past troubles. Perhaps after all of this time and therapy....we (my therapists and me) had it all wrong fromm the start. perhaps the Black Dog is just another way I heal myself sub-consciously. My body intentionally lowers it's own energy level to help balance out all the stress and strain...providing a much needed respite from the pain, uncertainty and the internal/external pressure to BE BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN like RIGHT NOW that we and society puts on us.


Please don't get me wrong...i am not saying that all Depression serves this purpose or that Depression isn't bad, serious or dangerous because it can be all of those things. Let us not forget that I tried to take my own life here 6 years ago so it IS serious. I am just wondering if there might be another element to it FOR me. That it doesn't always have to be negative...that the human body may very well have a good reason to go into a funk, to climb into a fetal position as it were and ride the storm out.


I most certainly believe there have been times when this is indeed true.


I have been carrying on a comment dialog with a reader about this subject and the subject of how to cope with my parents. My parents love me very much, they have always tried to be there for me even when I was not acting very gracious or grateful to them for all their help. They have been through a great deal. I never did tell my parents about being raped. Not only would it have been humiliating and awkward...the circumstances of where it happened and how would have been impossible to explain. 


I was in an adult establishment/club/private club with the much older brother of some neighborhood friends. My parents would have called the police and I could not let that happen...I figured I made the stupid choice to be there...it was MY problem and I needed to "Fix It" all by myself...and I did. The cuts, bruises and black eye were explained away as a neighborhood football injury and I did not take my shirt of or let them see the rest of my body or they would have known something was up. My entire side, ribs, legs we one big bruise from being kicked and dragged across a tile floor.


It was years before my mom noticed my chipped teeth...it's funny, one of those chipped teeth is right in front. Several times my dentist in Holland MI talked me into having him repair that and each time the repair job failed. It is almost like a message from the gods that I need to see that tooth for the rest of my living days so I will NEVER FORGET!


I remember once watching the Movie "The Prince Of Tides" with Nick Nolte and Barbara Streisand. I had no clue that the film contained a rather graphic rape scene of a young boy. The closest I ever came to telling my parents my 'dirty little secret" was when my mother wanted to see that film and i discouraged her because of that scene and I think that I reacted to strangely emotional that she must have thought something was wrong. They ended up seeing it anyway and I never spoke to them about it again.


it's funny...funny in that not so funny, tragic kind of way that part of me never wanted to be different because of what happened to me. Except at the very same time...throughout my whole life since that day I have wanted to scream from the roof tops that because of what happened to me I WAS DIFFERENT...Tragically Special, I guess.


How does one ever know who they are supposed to be when every look in the mirror makes one want to VOMIT?! Or cry...or SHOUT...or DIE?! You have no idea the irony of my being a Christian today after all the HATE I heaped on Jesus for doing this to me. 




I used to dream that it happened in church...on a Sunday morning...during a church service and every parishioner sat quietly and watched...doing NOTHING to help me while I was raped and beaten nearly to death. I had someone in college once tell me it was God's Will...that I was being punished for my sins.


How does one have  a normal childhood...LIFE after that? When I shredded my arms with a K-Bar in High School I so badly wanted to tell the shrink and my parents the truth about why I hated myself so much but the words just would not come...


I often question why they come so freely to me now? Ahigher purpose, perhaps?