...This Is (or Was) Me.......Agent Smith

Yo Peoples,

Okay...firstly I apologise for the length of this post, as I'm about to unload a few things. I just replied to a post that questioned if I understood about pain or anything. On that post I let this author know a little of what I have been through in my own life, and that I was not preaching to him...just speaking from experience, and I feel there is a BIG difference there.

So what have I got to say? Well...I think I'll just start and see where this takes me. What I'm about to share with you peeps is for real...some of it is kinda hardcore...but hey, take it or leave it...its me:

As some of you may know I grew up pretty hard. My family weren't really poor or anything...but we certainly weren't well off either. My father has working in a very stressful job, and hitting the bottle on the regular...then coming home and hitting us kids. Me in particular. I don't know why...maybe I asked for it, maybe I was just too much of an angry kid at the time...but peeps, I can't recall the amount of times I've tasted my own blood, been bashed into unconsciousness, had to be kept home for a week or so coz I was too beat to go to school. I can recall being a young kid of about 7 years old...sleeping outside in the dog kennel, coz my father had locked me outside for being bad. It was the middle of Winter...and where we lived Winter was beyond cold or mere freezing...it was the kind of cold that cut right through you and your very bones would ache. So I huddled up in the dog kennel, clinging onto the family dog desparately trying to stay warm. This wasn't the only time this happened.

Beatings? Whoa...name it and I've been beaten with it. I guess I was just a rage recepient or something...a place my old man could impart his own self-hatred and/or anger...for even as a kid I got beaten down like a man. Pieces of wood, axe handles etc...heck, I actually prayed to be beaten with only his fists and feet after a while...at least those didn't hurt as much as having an axe-handle wrapped around your back.

But please...I beg of you peeps, please don't think my father is a bad man. He isn't. In fact, I love my father more than life...and I have forgiven him for these things, in a way I guess through forgiving him I was forgiving myself. He is a changed man now...and I know he regrets all he done...but I honestly believe in my heart of hearts he was only doing what he knew - only 'diciplining' me as he had been disciplined as a child. I guess when we know better we do better...but when we don't, we can't. Now he knows better...so please again, do not in anyway feel any anomosity towards him - for I don't any longer.

So why was I an angry kid? Well...not withstanding the above:) which would make any kid angry...one of the main reasons was that I also suffered sexual abuse as a kid. NOT at the hands of my father or any immediate family...but a female relation of ours. This happened from 8-13 years old. Some of you already know this...and I have written a few poems on it...but anyway, those experiences were, well, I can't even begin to tell you what that was like. But it was a living death...in my mind that sicko piece of trash killed me at 8 years old...my soul was gone, my mind was gone, I was no longer there at all...she just had her way with a lump of flesh she thought was me. I was angry at my parents because I hoped they would do something to stop it. The thing is I never told them...so how could they know right? Sure...I wasn't your average fun loving kid, I would recoil from anyone touching me, I wet my bed till I was in my teens, I self-harmed, cut and burned myself, got into alcohol, drugs and crime in my teens...I would have thought THAT would have rung a few 'abuse' alarm bells...but I guess not huh. Instead I just got pegged as a trouble kid and got bashed even more for it.

I remember one day being dropped off at this relatives house for the day...and I refused to get out of the car. My folks were going into the city and this relative was going to be looking after us kids till they got back. My father was yelling at me, telling me to get out of the car and go into her house. I was crying my eyes out...clinging on to the seat as my old man dragged me out, slapped me around the ears and kicked my butt all the way into her house. I am literally shaking now as I recall what she said to my folks "Don't worry, he'll be okay...I'll take good care of him" as they left. Inside I was screaming at them "SEE ME! LORD HEAR ME! DON'T LEAVE ME HERE!"...but my lips just stayed locked shut, my screams muffled by my own fear. She raped me again that day. So you see...this is one of the reasons I can never tell my parents. Can you imagine what they would feel if they knew? Can you imagine the guilt they would be flooded with when it finally hits them and they remember that day...that I was being beaten for basically refusing to go quietly towards being raped again? When they realise I was not a 'troubled kid' but a 'sexually abused' one. It would destroy my parents...they would never forgive themselves...and I won't allow that to happen. The way I see it is this scumbag has done enough damage to my family...and NO other member of my family will carry ANY guilt due to her repulsive actions. It ends with me. I will carry it, and ONLY me...for I will die before I allow her actions to ooze onto any of my family.

As I was growing up I was also a bit of a runaway. I had a few close friends who were also getting beaten in their homes...and we had this agreement that if any of us got beaten we would ALL run away to the city together to keep eachother company. So yeah...we would live on the streets for a coupla weeks at a time, until the cops or Social Services picked us up...then we'd all go back home...to more beating...and so the cycle continued. I won't say much about the street life thing, as I did a few things I am not proud of to survive out there. But when you are cold, starving and scared you'll pretty much do anything for money to survive. But yeah...all I got to say on that is you'd be surprised what those respectable businessmen and family men do in their 'private time'.

Not surprisngly I also ended up rolling with a few hardcore individuals in my late teens and early twenties. We were a gang yes, but not a recognised 'gang/set' or anything...just an organised group who did a few things here and there to make some serious cash. Life was spent drunk or stoned...or normally both. Again...I ain't gonna say much on that...it was a way of surviving at the time, a family or sorts to replace the one I had basically walked away from. But there came a time when I could see that I wasn't where I needed to be...I couldn't take it any more. Couldn't bear to see it...have to deal with peeps buying drugs etc while their kids went without food. Gangs are a plague...a pest...a leech that feeds on the lifeblood of society and drains its goodness for its own evil ends. And I couldn't do that any more...so I told them I was quitting - leaving to get my life sorted out.

Funny thing is I thought it would be really as simple as walking out the door...but no, life ain't like that. Ya gotta pay your dues sometime. They dragged me back into the gang house...beat me down, stripped me and tied me up to wait till the boss got there 'to sort me out'. While I was tied up they taunted me...telling me how they were going to torture and kill me, cut my stomach open and ditch me deep in the bush for the wild pigs to feed on my entrails etc etc. One of them thought it would be a great laugh to go get some dog faeces off the lawn, bring it to me on a plate and make me eat it. So there I was...kneeling with a revolver stuck in the side of my head, with the plate of dried dog *poop* (see, I'm watching the G-Rating Admins:> Not much choice really...you can guess the rest. To cap it all off a coupla them decided they'd urinate on me for good measure. The boss showed up...told everyone to leave and cut me loose. Picked me off the floor and said "Bro, you and I go a long way back, thats why I'm gonna let you walk out that door. But if we meet again, expect no favours". That came from another incident where I basically saved his life...so I guess him letting me go was his way of calling it even. One of my friends recently said something to me that just blew me away "You were never a bad guy man...just a good guy in a bad situation". Hmmm...not too sure if that has truly sunk home yet.

Then came many many years of dealing with the Hell I had created in my life. Many times I stumbled and crawled into a bottle or rolled up my troubles in some rice-papers and faded it all away for a while. Suicide attempts? Well...lets just say those are things I'm thankful now I FAILED at - LOL! For many years I continued to selfharm...mainly cutting or starting fights and letting the person beat me without even fighting back. But my pain of choice was to burn a cigarette into me. Yeah - pretty intense...and its something not many people can understand. Ya see...for me anyway, selfharming was NOT a sign of any insanity as some may feel...in fact it was almost the reverse...it was like a last ditch attempt to remain sane. When ya have inner pain...when you have this hurt you can't see, or even sometimes explain...its like murder...its torture beyond any mere physical beating. And selfharming just kinda snaps you back outa ya head...it kinda provides a focal site for that inner pain...somewhere you can look and say to yourself "There. There is my pain." I know that may not make much sense - guess its just one of them things ya gotta know to understand.

Over the years I went through a buttload of counselling, and many 'off the wall' healing/self healing therapies like Rebirthing, Dream Therapy etc etc...gees, I think I've pretty much had my fill of Homeopathic or Bach Flowers remedies for one lifetime...and if one more person tells me to "breathe in that healing loving light" I'm gonna scream - LOL! Spent my fair share of time in front of psychiatrists too...I laugh at that now...its SOOO ironic, considering that I have been working in the Mental Health Field for about 5 years now. Hahaha...oh, ya gotta laugh (or you'll go nuts - LOL!). I escaped the labelling of any psychiatric diagnosis - thank goodness, working in Mental Health I have seen how that a diagnosis can hang around someones neck like a millstone. I guess what I was suffering at the time (and probably still do to some degree to be honest) was Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Though the main issue I had for years was severe depression...and thats the cloud that I continue to hold back to this day. Thankfully I think I'm winning that battle - with help from friends and many loved ones...and a faith in God.

I found some solice in the bush. When I was younger my Dad would take me into the bush, teach me how to hunt, various bushcraft techniques etc. So often I would retreat into the bush when things seemed to get too much. Just chill out there...just me and nature. Whoa - I can't begin to describe to you peeps what thats like...the energy that is in the forest...the peace that resides there. Its beyond words...it is something that MUST be experienced to understand what I am speaking of. But finally - FINALLY it was like I belonged. The bush did not judge me...it did not hate me...it did not abuse me...it did nothing but allow me to be...to BE. Simple as that. Oh peeps...the joy that is in the forest...the experiences that are there...whoa! Get this - one day I was tramping through the bush, just scoutting out a few new areas that I hadn't really hunted through. I had been 'in bush' for over a week...and I came across a group of deer. They were approximately 30 metres in front me...slightly cloaked in the morning fog that gathered in the lower valleys. Instinctively I raised my rifle up in preparation for a shot. But something was different...whoa, it was dare I say spiritual. I lowered my rifle and just stood there watching. One of them, a young fawn looked back at me...and yet did not run...it just continued to chew on the bark of the young sapling in front of it. I noticed 3 other deer to my side...and they weren't scared either. Normally deer will bolt at the first sign of trouble...but these ones just keep on eating, like it didn't matter. I walked closer...they let me get to about 15 feet from them before the started to get a little edgy, so I stopped. After about 1/4 of an hour they started to move off down further along the valley...so I followed, again I noticed other deer around me...I was walking in the middle of about 12 deer...totally amazing. When they stopped to feed I would quietly sit and wait for them to move on - and I'd follow. Ever seen that movie 'Gorillas in the Mist'? Hehehe...'Deer in the Mist' buddy:) Man...I totally give praise for that day...to have experienced that beauty.

Anyway...so where does this leave me? Well...I'm 30 years old now, and have a wonderfully loving relationship with my parents and my brothers and sister...as well as many good friends. Went to University, studied my butt off and obtained a BA Degree, as well as other Certificates etc. Currently work in Mental Health - and not to brag here...but I'm a DARN good Mental Health Worker:) Ask my boss...she'll tell ya:) Hehehe. And that brings me to why I guess I posted this:

Why did I post this? Well...what I DIDN'T post this for was to solicit any "Oh poor yous"...coz don't feel sorry for me. I don't. Nor did I post this to hear any "Good on yous". I only did what I believe anyone can do...

Ya see...we all find ourselves knee-deep in it at some point in our lives. And while we may not see it then...give it some time and you will see that everything - EVERYTHING happens for a reason. For me that reason I guess was self-growth, but also it taught me to understand peeps a little better. Ya see, my own experiences, as painful as they were, allow me to empathise with those going through similar stuff. Which is why I think I make such a good Mental Health Worker. Coz I can relate. If it wasn't for those things then I doubt I could help anyone I work with quite as effectively as I might be able to now ya know.

In a way that helps deal with it...if I think "Hey man, all that mess ya went through is gonna benefit those you work with, by allowing ya a little insight". Another thing...and this might sound a little wierd too...but I don't know if I would really change anything either. Yeah, sure it was horrible and a living death at the time...but all that mess merely led me to where I am now - made me who I am now...and while I ain't perfect by any stretch of the imagination...things could be worse...and actually things are pretty sweet:)

Ya see...I honestly believe that we can be whatever we wanna be. Nothing is set in stone. If you have the will, if you have the courage to just go for it...to just throw down and make a change, then change WILL happen. My life may have beat me...but it never broke me...and the same goes for everyone else who has been (or is still going) through that mess. For real...if I can do it, anyone can. Ya just gotta believe it...then ya will achieve it.

Okay...if anyone is STILL reading this...I wanna thank you for listening (reading) to these ramblings...and if I could (and if ya would let me) I'd give ya a big hug in thanks.



Much Love Peeps! A/S

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