We are the sum of our experiences. My earliest vivid childhood memories
are of my parents separations and the premonition filled dreams I had before.
It’s a dream that recurred over and over in varying degree throughout my life.
My second most vivid is sitting on the floor at my mother’s feet playing
with toys as she sipped her trademark cup of tea. In almost movie like frames I
remember her looking at me and smiling as me totally engrossed in my toys.
The rest of my memories are snapshots of various events but most of my
childhood seems black or at least locked away in some deep memory vault until
the right key is found.
I do however fondly remember my petrol sniffing escapades. I and a
couple of friends would sit behind a friend’s dad’s car and through a hole in
his makeshift petrol cover inhale the petrol fumes. We would then lie back and
giggle away in a petrol buzz. We would then stagger home eat everything in
sight and then repeat. I can tell you this ended quickly when our moms found
out. We never did it again. Our bums still tingled with the memory of a well
taught lesson.
Today I sit here a little sad and angry. I am sad because in the space
of 24 hours I have had major run-ins with two close friends and mad that I feel
apologetic for speaking honestly. I am mad because I find myself afraid of
being alone and wondering whether I should have spoken the truth. I am more
afraid of being alone than standing up for myself.
I am mad because I should not be here letting another’s behavior go un checked especially if I am
constantly being hurt or put down for being human, for being me.
As a man of faith I have continually vowed and tried to be different,
not in the hip cool way but in the Biblical way. I have despite my inclinations
to anger and resentment tried to be more forgiving, understanding and patient.
I chose to not hold a grudge which seems simple if you are not a
choleric for whom grudges and vengeance come easy. Take a survey of a choleric's
weaknesses and you shall begin to understand the extent of my cross (smile)
More than my inherent weaknesses I am weighed down by some pretty deep
mental chains. All the unclaimed baggage left by careless words and actions. To
deny them would be foolishness. To allow them to rule me would be suicide. And
so I write.
To get over my fear of failure, loneliness, losing people and to an
extent being a victim I write.
I write to tell myself that I don’t deserve to be treated badly and yes
I am worth being loved or fought. I write to extend my boundaries and discover
my limits, to learn to shove some shit and also not to take some shit.
I write because I hope that someone else will find the strength to start
their journey and face their demons, to take inventory of their baggage and to
day by day remove all that is unwanted, perhaps put in some much needed
supplies and with each passing day travel light.
My pen is the blade that cuts away my pain. It is the surgeon’s scalpel
that allows me to dig deep and find the cancer. It is the rescuers search
lights that allows me find myself in the night and it is the scribes torch that
illuminates the library that is my soul and allows me to find the answers. It
is the gift that God gave me to deal with all this excess unclaimed, unwanted
baggage.
