Trouble In Paradise

The problem with paradise is there’s usually someone – at least one – who doesn’t like it.  Usually they are young, restless, arrogant, and stubborn.  They refuse to accept or acknowledge the paradise around them; the beauty and the love.

And usually they’re a teenager.

We’ve got one like that: Matthew.  Of course he lives ‘inside’; but that makes no difference to us.  We’re like the loving, but sometimes hurt and baffled parent who, confronted by those very qualities that make a teenager – this one ‘frozen in time’ – finds himself at a loss as to what to do.

We tried loving him, understanding (and my! what a complex individual) – but still he screams with rage and pain, which exhibits itself as self-hate, self-rage, and self pain.

Yup, folks, we’re struggling with that ol’ “cuttin’ and suicidal tendencies” and crap again.  Not to worry; we’re strong enough to ‘hold him back’ – but it just goes to show how deep his rage and pain goes, and we know some of the reasons.

This guy got hurt.  He got hurt BAD.  Worse in some ways than Mikie; the small child.  Mikie was just molested and abused.  This guy got . . .

There is no word for it.  I kept sitting here, waiting for the ‘right’ word.  And all that comes to me are ‘near’ words: twisted; strange; unusual, pain, agony, sorrowing, an utter and deep loneliness (and more pain), rejection, acceptance, rejection again (which is worse than just ‘plain rejection’ at the outset) – banned from sports; a failure and a retard (his words, not mine, bleeding through with his freakin’ anger) – AND YET – he read voraciously, studied hard ON HIS own – maybe not the subjects the teacher assigned, but further on; way ahead, entering the school library and checking out books that oughta not have been there . . .

abandoned, foreign land; the physical abuse had pretty much stopped (shhh! the neighbors’ll hear!) – but the mental and emotional abuse lives on; indeed, has tripled and quadrupled exponentially – NO friends, NONE whatsoever for almost 4 years solid; then the last friend ripped away  … yeah, this guy’s heart was torn, then ..

coming back here, no friends, and family (shuddering) – 6 weeks restriction at a time to a soulless room; no contact with the outside world for almost a year at a time – and what little contact there was closely monitored and restricted – until he could get out of his room, and you know what happens then:

Take the top of the kettle, and it’s gonna boil over.  And this guy was a steam cooker; red hot, fire cracker and beginning to explode into:

instant drunk and partier; hanger-out on the corners and fringes; not the wall flower, but the wallpaper PASTE my god he could blend with the best of ’em – all except the ‘sports’ crowd … but always alone, separate and apart – never quite fitting in; his knowledge and his past putting him way ahead of them in some ways (sex and things) – and way behind them in others (social skills, overcoming shyness, etc. ad infinitum).  Having his heart broken not just once, but many times since childhood – yeah, the guy was kinda gun-shy, to say the least (but not the least shy when it came to using guns!).

“Ain’t nobody gonna touch this.” He thought, meaning his heart; guarding that – AND his little children (there were two of them, unbeknown to him and others.)

And in that he did a fine job.  He managed to ‘armor’ himself against the world; building a ‘wall’ of sullen hatred and acceptance – and yet that same wall was what protected those children from him – and the outside world.

A nut in a nut, so to speak; double armor coated; extra-crispy on the inside; a double dollop of soft nugget somewhere in the center.  Tough as nails and full of bristles – ‘ain’t nobody gonna touch this one.”

Yeah.  Right.  He tried.

But (sigh) – getting back to that “trouble in Paradise”.  We were ‘comforting’ our own two little ones: they have had a hard time, “being beaten animal story” and all, plus there’s another one we’re probably not gonna publish (but they whisper “you should” – not because they want to tell, but because they know my/some of our selves goal is to “put this kinda thing out there – show what it does to children; show this kind of stuff goes on and REALIZE THIS ain’t the worst of it: some kids fare much better – but others (shuddering) man, poor kids god those kids just wanna rescue them.

Don’t you?

But . . . here we’ve got Mr. Pentup teenager: still trying to figure it all out; he’s a rough one, a tough one: basically formed from those beginning years when a child goes from “family” to “society” – and at THAT instant: his society became a kalideoscope of change, re-arrangement, and strangeness in life (imagine suddenly waking up in a foreign country, o’tay?  Quite literally: 4000 miles from home, no going back AT ALL for the next 4 years; no phone, no TV, and only 1 radio station: “Armed Forces Radio”.

Yeah, that, coupled with a really bad past to begin with (we’re not even near done with that) – and like the old song says, “You got Trouble – capital T R O U B L E.”  LOL!  But we’re good with it . . .  just a ‘burb’ in the system …. (looking sternly down; playing carniverous beast) . . . “we’ll get him digested soon enough”.

LOL!  (tousling hair, angry teenager not so angry anymore, LOL, come on guy; it ain’t so bad anymore you got us)

Until later!  We’re off for a smoke break.
(Teenager’s foul and leftover habits.  We’ll tolerate.  Sarge, too, enjoys them. LOL!)

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About jeffssong

JW is an adult childhood abuse survivor with DID*. He grew up in a violent family devoid of love and affection. He is a military brat and veteran. He no longer struggles with that past. In 1976 JW began writing "The Boy". It took 34 years to complete. It is currently on Kindle (http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004T3IVKK ), or if you prefer hard copy, on Amazon ( http://www.amazon.com/Boy-J-W/dp/1461022681). JW resides somewhere in the deep South. He is disabled and living with family. Note: Please feel free to take what you need; all is free to all. With that in mind, keep it that way to others. Thank you. We have 3 Blogs - One for our younger days, 0-10 (The Little Shop of Horrors); one for our Teen Alter and his 'friends' (also alters) with a lot of poetry; and finally "my" own, the Song of Life (current events and things)
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