boy, interrupted
weeks of silence. shame at abandoning your journal, embarrassment about writing again - self-loathing. words wouldn't come, couldn’t come.
tonight, you’ve figured out why you’ve been silent.
there were more recent posts that brought up memories that you had shut out since a child - old traumas.
without realizing it, you had shut yourself down like you did back then. it’s only now that, weeks later, you are starting to open up again.
that house in alderdice, at the kitchen table with your brother - where those old memories came flooding back - and even now, it’s difficult to write about.
only later did you remember that you did challenge your schizophrenic brother there on many occasions, including that dreaded, cramped kitchen table.
one day, you had enough of him staring at you, abusing people at will, saying crazy things like how he should be the king of england. you stood up, yelled at everyone, declared you were leaving home. he yelled back, probably even lunged at you.
to your shame, you maybe sat back down.
every day, you’d come home from school - you’d open the side gate to park your bike, and he would invariably open the front door to see who was there. you asked him so many times to stop doing that - who else would it be at 3:45pm on a school day. he said he would keep doing it.
this was the defining period of your life. 14-15 years old, becoming a man, feeling a sense of identity, feeling power and that you could shape your life how you want.
but, no, your parents made you live with an animal. a tall, scary animal that couldn’t let you be yourself - wouldn't give you space to breathe.
you’ll try to keep writing more, try to push past this trauma, try to accept that you’re not that kid any more.
there is power in you, you’ve felt in deep in you.
give it breath.