Just Outrun The Demons


Is the last sound I can remember hearing

It was the sound that was made when your skull connected with the ground

It was the sound that made me look at my hand and see what I was capable of

I was a warrior, a beast, the emotional emotionless. The cocky, brass one that everyone wanted to hang out with because it was always party time with me. But at home I was a storm that could not be contained. I set a dark cloud around our home for I thought I was a warrior. I was weak, but I did not see it. I thought I was showing love whenever I laid a hand on you. I thought I was protecting you from something other than me. But it was me you needed protection from.

All those trips to different hospitals because of your “falls” So your scars could be treated. When it was getting too suspicious, we started doing home remedies. You cried while I apologized to no end. You kept apologizing to me when I kept repeating “look what you made me do”. I hugged and caressed you to stay awake so concussions could be avoided. I thought I was a warrior. I was in control of the house, that is what I was told a man was supposed to be. But they didn’t teach me right. I was not in control of the house. Oh, contraire I was terrorizing the house, you flinched at any movement I made. You would jump whenever the door closed. When you saw the bottle in my hand you would run and hide because you know what was coming.

Is it too late to say you didn’t deserve that?

I saw my old man beat my mom once so bad to the point her eye was shut for 2 weeks, she kept telling me she should have never overcooked the meatloaf. I once hit you so hard you crashed into the bathroom door and broke it, because dinner was not ready when I got home.

My old man once uppercut my mom in the car because she mistakenly gave him the wrong turn. I once pulled you from the garage to the living room by your hair because you did not come home on time.

My old man once chocked my mom because he suspected she cheated on him with the wealthy neighbor, he was drunk and jealous of his money. I once beat you with my belt because you mentioned a nice co-worker bought you lunch. I think you see where I’m going with this.

I treated my mother’s wounds while we both cried. I don’t know why I would put that punishment on another woman. My dad would say it’s because he loved her, my mother said it was because he loved her. I said it’s because I love you. Love does not have to equal pain. Love is and was not an excuse to leave blood on the floor. The bottle is and was not an excuse for me to leave trails of blood on the floor. I did not show love, I showed possession. When you love something, you don’t need to kill it. I left your hearth on the floor along with the blood. You went so numb and cold you felt nothing anymore. I don’t know how you found the strength to keep coming back home. You saw the dark clouds hover over the house as the storm was on the horizon.

Why you didn’t kill me? Only you and God can answer that. I had to leave you because you would never leave me. The unconscious body on the ground that was on top of a pile of blood was all that was left. I realized I could kill you. I don’t even remember why I did what I did. I’m sure you don’t want to think about that. But it’s part of my rehabilitation.

After I healed you, I left you a note before I ran away. I don’t remember all that I wrote because the tears running down my face ruined most of my writing. But in essence I said I had to leave before you became a corpse. I told you to not look for me. I cancelled my phone plan, quit my job and destroyed any trace of myself. I wanted to vanish; it was the only way to save you from me.

Since I wrote that letter, I took all of my savings and left the country. I went looking for myself, no longer could I blame my old man for my crime. I needed to find the source of my terror. I have been to 3 continents so far; I’ve visited places I have never seen before. I’m talking rural places, where sometimes there is no water or electricity. I have seen poverty at its finest.

 I have climbed places I did not even know existed. I have experienced extreme temperatures; they still can’t match what I have seen my hands do to you. The storms I’ve witness can’t even compare to the storms you’ve seen pulling up to the house knowing I was inside. I can’t hide from the agony I’ve committed. I made you cold. I can never repair that. I can’t run away from what I did, but for now I must…. I’m not a warrior.

I have learned to meditate in many different forms to control my anger. I went to a village and tried to learn their ways of exercising self-discipline and control. But the chief of the village told me “even the darkness can’t hide the lives we’ve destroyed”. He knew I was chaos and I only know how to destroy. I’m still looking for myself but saving what was left of you from me was critical. I have yet to learn how to apologize. You deserve better than that from me. You deserve to have never met me. But since that can’t happen, you deserve to learn how to live the life you were meant to live.

It’s been 5 years since that sound rang in my ears. I don’t know if you will ever get this. But this is part of the journey. This is the classic case of the abuser getting all the shine while the abuse is in the background. I’m making it all about me and my pain, while I step on yours. I really don’t know what to do. I’m still finding myself, I’m still on a journey. I have yet to find what I’m looking for.

I hope…. I don’t know what I hope honestly.

                                                                                 Sincerely, what the darkness can’t hide

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