Fractured Façades - My Personal History Of Hell

I'm finally mustering the courage to be able to say something, thankfully computers exist to give that pseudoexistent sense of anonymity or else this would still probably be several years out.

Hah, even starting this I'm procrastinating and stalling, probably the unfounded fear that this will be twisted against me / brushed off / etc.

Several things have happened in my life to lead me here, a little (possibly a lot, I apologize pre-emptively for this) backstory appears to be in order.


I've been the proverbial punching bag for all of my childhood, this isn't a joke, overstatement, or exaggeration.

My earliest memories are of a farm, that was short-lived because the family moved to my father's home city shortly after they grew tired of farm life.

At around this time, my father got the grand idea to start his own business, he packed the family up and moved us all to a hostile, xenophobic town of which we were the xenos and tried to get his business up and running.

During our stay there, I was ridiculed, deprived of social contact, physically tortured by my classmates and educators, and all of it went silently by.

After six months of hellish torment (of which I never forgived that foul town or it's French inhabitants) my father's business flopped, hard, the family lost everything and we had to move back to his home city again.

At this point I had been forced to put up walls for self-preservation that carried forward to my new education establishment, I was in grade 1 at this point, for reference.

At this time, my father had taken to drinking, heavily, two to three beers a night at least and left to his silent contemplations in front of the television lamenting his fate.

In school, I was busy running for my life, this is again, not metaphorical, I literally couldn't walk the three blocks back to my house without being physically assaulted and the school refused to do anything about it because it wasn't on school property.

Even when it was on school property they did nothing, and the assaults culumnated with one day my mother being late by approximately 15 minutes, and I had been cornered by five youths from my class who picked up a block of ice that took three of them to carry (two of them were holding my arms down to stop me from protecting my face) and proceeding to bash my head in with said block of ice.

After that most things were a blur, family life began to spiral worse and worse as my father's drinking took hold. Violence and extreme punishment were the norm and both myself and my brother adopted a 'stand straight and shut up' SOP to reduce damaging exposure.

From my experiences to that point I learned that I could trust no-one but my brother, everyone was an ******* out to get me or ignore my problems as fictional or impossible to prevent.

Our next stop was another rural town, a hocky town full of ********, as you can tell a pattern is starting to emerge. My father would spend all his time to and from work so he would never be home, my mother was battling her own bouts of untreated clinical depression, and it was just me and my brother against it all.

The town had several redneck ********, and no, I didn't actively go out and pick fights with them, I stayed to myself and they saw I was a vulnerable target alone. On top of that, the school employed an archaic method of student control that relied on singling out the weakest student to control the rest, guess who was the weakest in the class?

There was only one sane person that I knew of that actually cared, a pastor of the town I spent lots of time with, and I'm still friends with him to this day. Everyone else either fell into the category of "It's not my problem so I'm not going to deal with it" or the ********.

What was worse though was things got bad at home, I spent my days avoiding the family, but things got real bad when I adopted a "To hell with them" attitude towards my teachers and everyone else.

One night in particular I recall (my parents minimalize this event considerably) I had been hiding parts of my homework (Stupid in hindsight but I was a kid who was sick and tired of it all). It had finally come to a head and the teachers phoned home...

At Eleven at night, my father literally grabbed my foot and hauled me forcibly out of bed and dragged me into the living room. Hauled me up to my feet, and began screaming in my face about this homework that I'd not been doing. That was the point when I'd finally managed to find some scrap of backbone that hadn't been completely shattered by my dysfunctional seven years of my life on this planet and threatened to call CFS.

They went and got the phone book, opened it up, grabbed the phone and shoved it in my hand.

I froze up, I had only wanted them to stop yelling, to actually listen, instead, they threw my words in my face, called my bluff, and left that last scrap of backbone in pieces.

Crying and saying "I can't, I love you." didn't even break his stride, he boxed my ears, began to yell into my face again, then boxed my ears again, then sent me to bed.

For those who that term doesn't make sense, my dad had bear paws for hands, and when you cup them and slam both sides of someone's head around the ear area, that's known as "Boxing someone's ears". It doesn't take a lot of force to cause pain because it relies on air pressure on the eardrums rather than physical strength.

Sufficed to say I had bruises up and down my face for two weeks, my mom had to lie to the school and say I had strep throat to keep me home while the bruises healed. I wasn't allowed outside at that time and the first chance I got I tried to run away.

The school set up a search and just as they were winding down the search they found me on the outskirts of town trying to break out of the net they'd sent out to search.

There was a police officer there, wanting to find out just why I'd ran away, and once again, I froze, I didn't want to cause problems for the family, but I knew I had to get away from them. So I muttered a half-truth about not wanting to do my homework, the officer laughed and told me "Well everyone has to do their homework!" with a kindly smile on his face while my parents released a sigh of relief.

Here comes the fun part folks, hope I haven't lost you yet!

From there the family (my father) decided it was time to take a trip overseas, on a glorious mission to help the church! What a crock, I was trapped, in an unknown land, with nobody but my family to rely on, and sure as hell I'd be dead if I tried to run away again.

Surprisingly though, the two years we spent out there were two years I have the most fond memories of as a child. But that would soon change as well.

You see after that we came back to this ******* of a city, I was convinced at that point that everyone here was awful human beings who had no scrap of humanity left.

And time and again it proved me right, the school I was tossed in to for my grade 8 year quickly found I had to hide again, I spent my lunches, breaks, etc. in the councillor's office just reading and staying away from the negative elements in the school.

The greatest kicker though this school taught me, is that EVERYONE is an ******* at some point, remember my brother? Thick as thieves? The guy I could rely on no matter what? Well guess what, he stabbed me in the back and used me as a social springboard, siding with the attackers for a few extra popularity points.

You see, my brother feeds off of social interaction, he NEEDS to be part of the group, and it wasn't nearly as strong during childhood as it was when he got a major taste of it in our overseas trip.

Anyways, without allies and aid I receeded to the only safe place I had left, my room, I literally had to barricade my door and spent most of my highschool life contemplating suicide while sealed in that little room trying to keep the demons at bay.

High School was no picnic either, my first year in, I literally had to be segregated from the class, it was one of those classes where the homeroom teacher got pregnant at the start and a circle of subs would run through.

This class was so bad that one of the classmates actually slugged one of the substitutes over a car magazine, they never came back. My projects on display would never survive, and any time I was in general public I would likely leave with several bruises and an overwhelming urge to just end it all there.

I escaped to the internet in those days, not much on in the old Netscape Navigator days but it still provided a way to escape the hell of living for a short time. I also developed two alter-egos at that time, my 'Online Self' and my dumping ground (for the bits I didn't like in either self). Screwy I know, but it's how the cookie (or self-image) crumbled.

I would spend my days avoiding crowds, staying out of the lunch room (otherwise I'd have food thrown at me) walking to school (the times I brought my bike it was vandalized and once there was even a condom shoved on the seat horn. I tried to take my life twice by overdosing on painkillers, only to come to my senses five minutes later and induce vomiting, with my family none the wiser.

First thing home I would seal myself in my room and not talk to anyone period, none of them were worthy of trust or even companionship in my opinion. My father's sense of humor notwithstanding when you're labled as "The Accident" well it kinda leaves a mark.

Anyways, this is getting to a lot of "and after that I had this" talk so I'll wind it up by saying I got hit with a major clue wand after joining Cadets (an activity I will always recommend to anyone).

You see, it took about five months before my "Everyone's an ******* that will hurt me if I let them" walls broke down, the last nail in the coffin so to speak on that idea was when I went to Vernon BC and spent time away from the family, away from the ******** in this city, away from everything, and actually got a chance to re-calibrate to normal people.

From then on I was happier, or at least not suicidal, and managed to hold a job etc. even buy my own house.

All positive right?

Well fast-forward about six years, I'd been keeping regular contact with the family, gotten a decent job, an education, and proven I can live on my own. But something was amiss, and for two years I fought my depression alone without even realizing it was coming back. Nearly lost my job in the process, and also came to the realization that I have very little to be proud of on my own after analysis.

You see, I'm fiercely independent, my father describes it as "When it comes to my way or the highway, you are the highway!" mentality. Yet when confronted with the realization that every major step I'd taken since High School had been orchestrated, started, or powered by someone else, everything collapsed in on itself.

So that fight started, and it lasted for three years total, after two years I finally admitted that I won't be able to fight this one on my own as I'm woefully inequipped and sought help. So I tried the meds, meds failed me miserably (and the doctor never listened and just shoveled pills down my gullet.) and then went to therapy.

The therapy was working, I was also taking steps in my personal life to debunk the little negative voices in my mind. All was going well until this summer, because my house needed to be replaced and I had to move back in with the family.

And it started again and with a force I hadn't seen in years...

My family is making decisions for me that I feel like I can't rebuke, I've tried, several times now, but they either flat out ignore me, or just keep throwing their point at me until I conscede. Not only that, but there was a brilliant idea to Self build...

For pete's sake I HATE CARPENTRY! My father's trade was carpentry and he tried his damnedest to get one of his sons to take on his legacy, none of us wanted to and only made us hate it more as he kept trying to shovel it down our throats.

Not only that, but my father and I get along like oil and water at the best of times, and I think this is my mother's grand idea to try and get us to finally see eye-to-eye without realizing this is only pushing me away further.

Of course it's saving money on the surface, but they both know I don't care about the money.

I started out wanting a one-bedroom house to live in on my own with no intention to sell or move, and it's been "Decided for me" that it will be a four bedroom bi-level that's got resale value, several design choices have been conveniently forgotten or they've browbeat me enough to give up on them.

So a project that started out being 'My House' has become 'A House' and when I tell them that they don't seem to understand or care enough about the implications of that statement.

On top of that, as I live with them it's wearing down all the progress I'd made over the past year with my Therapist. Because not only are they doing this to the project, they invade my privacy, I have no space that's my own or that I can seal myself in to this time, and a whole laundry list of other things that are ruining everything I've achieved.

The history is incomplete at this time, still haven't put everything in, just the most extreme situations in order to keep it brief enough to still be somewhat readable.

So I find myself once again at the cliff, the brambles closing in and hemming me against the vast expanse as I claw and flail against the barbed hedge that refuses to stay down, barring my way back to greener pastures.

There are only two things I can count on in this state, everything will put my mood further down, and that my excessive willpower's the only thing that keeps me from loosing the fight completely, even if I loose the battle.

I guess this is more of an exercise of trying to find a vent that is both healthy and supportive, and no, I wont (re: can't) give up, but there are times, and I'm afraid that as long as this construction's going on it's only going to get worse, and on top of it all, due to the construction it's reducing the amount of times I can see my therapist.

Catch 22, either I visith the therapist and it slows construction down and go crazy from exposure, or I don't visit and go crazy from lack of maintenance. :P

Anyways, this whole pile aside, in case you're joining me at the bottom for the cliff notes, it boils down to, I'm trying to fight it off, but my stressors are applying a considerable amount of pressure and minimizing my ability to cope at the same time temporarily.
TRMordSith TRMordSith
26-30
2 Responses Dec 4, 2012

I'm sorry all that happened. Here's my advice: Never forget that if things were better before, they can get better again. Try to find a job or two (apply as often as possible, however boring the jobs) that will allow you to buy a one bedroom apartment and leave your family, even if it means moving far away and starting over. Reach out to people and find the good in everyone. Having a close friend to share good and bad times with, and having mutual support with them can help a great deal in brightening up the world. You are obviously very strong to have gotten through all this and I have faith that you will continue to better and happier times. Best of luck.

You really put a perspective what you went through in your childhood and what your still going on. It seems ones childhood is the building blocks you can't let go of because no matter where one goes they pick up the blocks and move down the road. As one continues down the road perhaps with a good therapist a few of those blocks will be left behind. I wish you all the best as you continue on. I really believe life will improve.