My mother says the
doctor ask if he could perform an autopsy on me soon after I was born. I’ll
never know if this is true, because I don’t remember and my mom lies a lot. You
may ask why. My mother had pregnancy jaundice. My older brother died a few days
after he was born. I guess they figured I’ld do the same. They removed her
gallbladder, but it cause brain damage to me.
So, I was born with mild Cerebral Palsy. It could have been must worse for sure. As a child I was harassed and possibly beaten, because I "walked different and talked different."
Those events helped shape me, warp me to some degree. I remember the muscles in between my ribs spasming at night that I would pray for death. Death never came, and I was sad when it didn't. This is what I mean by warped, most people would not understand being sad to wake up the next day.
My joints move to far and sometimes even dislocate. It is painful at times, but you get used to it. Sometimes I don't feel pain on my left side. It is strange to know something should hurt and not feel a thing.
My mother smothered me acting like I was dumber than a box of rocks. My dad was the opposite, well you can walk you can do it! My dad is harsh, perhaps even brutal. I think it was because that is how he survived life. In someways I'm grateful to him. I learned to try and do things. Not just sit and be sorry for myself. I do that enough. As I got older I got stronger. People started not noticing as much, but the scars were there. I was a "freak" in my mind. I would never be accepted, never be loved, I would never do anything but die! Was my Cerebral Palsy the cause of my depression? Who knows? I'm no doctor. When I was a teen my depression went off the charts. I cut my wrists and neck slightly, not to die. It was to express my pain I guess. Somewhere in this time I began writing poems. I would throw them away. Year after year, I threw them away. The depression was always there. It was always worse in the winter from about September to December. The height was December 4. Why December 4? That is the day I was born and the day I feel I should have died. My depression on this day was the worst. Why was I alive? Why couldn't I just die? Why couldn't my brother have lived and I died? I'm sure he would have been a better person than me. So much pain, so much anger!
Perhaps the most important thing to me is in elementary school I felt like part of me died. I buried that part of myself under a piece of concrete on a hill by the elementary school. If it's still there I could take you there. This is where my story begins, on a sad day where a confused little boy thinks he his burying his friend that died.
“I miss you Scar, I wish you hadn’t died. Why did they kill you?” Perhaps I thought something like this. I would have said it. No, I thought the people that killed him and possibly beat me would make fun of me again. Or worse, beat me. I marked a place on the playground where I thought Scar and a girl died. In my dreams I saw Scar disemboweled and a girl I loved or cared for get raped and murdered. It seemed so real that I wasn’t sure if it was. I’m still not sure. I know I used to wake up in cold sweats from the dreams wanting to scream. Sometime during this process Twisted Metal had begun to form.
I can remember my rib muscles spasming so bad at night that I would pray for death and be sad that it didn’t come. I think this was the early beginnings of Twisted Metal, the hatred of living. I guess most people would say that Twisted Metal and Scar are fictional they are made up to me after all. Yet, in some odd sense Twisted became a part of me. Scar was left dead at the playground, but Twisted was also created by society and my father to some degree. My father taught me that real men never cried. So when I cried I felt worthless like I was weak. I think someone told me emotions told me that emotions make you weak. If so I still partly believe it. At first Twisted was mostly my father’s voice calling me a momma’s boy, or a cry baby, other voices too telling me I was worthless, unfit to live. I wondered what had happened to me. Part of me says I was beaten in the bathrooms. Is it true? Possibly It wouldn’t surprise me. Orofino isn’t known to be nice to outsiders or people who are “different.” I was both, I was the freak.
Scar told me not to kill myself that if I did so the people that hurt me would win. Scar was a good friend weather imaginary or not. I still remember picking out a grave for him. I knew he was dead. I wasn’t sure where his body was it didn’t matter to me. I wanted to morn my friend. I found a small piece of concrete on a small hill there at the elementary school. That is where I buried my friend. I mourned him for a while to, not sure how long. I would go visit his grave and “talk” to him. No audible words were said, just my thoughts. I always heard him answer. He was a good friend. I miss him still.
Twisted was different. He didn’t have a name then. I feared him. I could feel his hate inside me. The part of me that wanted to lash out and hurt everyone, I hate you all! I hate myself, I hate this world! Yet Twisted always seemed to be there. The part I tried to hide from the world the deepest , darkest, most hateful part of myself.
I didn’t talk to people about this! They would think I was insane! Who would believe a young boy anyway, that was possibly crazy? No one! That’s who! Maybe I didn’t think that then, but I think it now. I remember being “sad” a lot. Looking back I’ve been depressed most of my life that I can remember. Some thirty some odd years depressed all of it. Very little happiness.
Eventually I made friends in school. I didn’t visit Scar as much for that I was sorry. I wanted to be accepted, loved, usual stuff.
So, I was born with mild Cerebral Palsy. It could have been must worse for sure. As a child I was harassed and possibly beaten, because I "walked different and talked different."
Those events helped shape me, warp me to some degree. I remember the muscles in between my ribs spasming at night that I would pray for death. Death never came, and I was sad when it didn't. This is what I mean by warped, most people would not understand being sad to wake up the next day.
My joints move to far and sometimes even dislocate. It is painful at times, but you get used to it. Sometimes I don't feel pain on my left side. It is strange to know something should hurt and not feel a thing.
My mother smothered me acting like I was dumber than a box of rocks. My dad was the opposite, well you can walk you can do it! My dad is harsh, perhaps even brutal. I think it was because that is how he survived life. In someways I'm grateful to him. I learned to try and do things. Not just sit and be sorry for myself. I do that enough. As I got older I got stronger. People started not noticing as much, but the scars were there. I was a "freak" in my mind. I would never be accepted, never be loved, I would never do anything but die! Was my Cerebral Palsy the cause of my depression? Who knows? I'm no doctor. When I was a teen my depression went off the charts. I cut my wrists and neck slightly, not to die. It was to express my pain I guess. Somewhere in this time I began writing poems. I would throw them away. Year after year, I threw them away. The depression was always there. It was always worse in the winter from about September to December. The height was December 4. Why December 4? That is the day I was born and the day I feel I should have died. My depression on this day was the worst. Why was I alive? Why couldn't I just die? Why couldn't my brother have lived and I died? I'm sure he would have been a better person than me. So much pain, so much anger!
Perhaps the most important thing to me is in elementary school I felt like part of me died. I buried that part of myself under a piece of concrete on a hill by the elementary school. If it's still there I could take you there. This is where my story begins, on a sad day where a confused little boy thinks he his burying his friend that died.
“I miss you Scar, I wish you hadn’t died. Why did they kill you?” Perhaps I thought something like this. I would have said it. No, I thought the people that killed him and possibly beat me would make fun of me again. Or worse, beat me. I marked a place on the playground where I thought Scar and a girl died. In my dreams I saw Scar disemboweled and a girl I loved or cared for get raped and murdered. It seemed so real that I wasn’t sure if it was. I’m still not sure. I know I used to wake up in cold sweats from the dreams wanting to scream. Sometime during this process Twisted Metal had begun to form.
I can remember my rib muscles spasming so bad at night that I would pray for death and be sad that it didn’t come. I think this was the early beginnings of Twisted Metal, the hatred of living. I guess most people would say that Twisted Metal and Scar are fictional they are made up to me after all. Yet, in some odd sense Twisted became a part of me. Scar was left dead at the playground, but Twisted was also created by society and my father to some degree. My father taught me that real men never cried. So when I cried I felt worthless like I was weak. I think someone told me emotions told me that emotions make you weak. If so I still partly believe it. At first Twisted was mostly my father’s voice calling me a momma’s boy, or a cry baby, other voices too telling me I was worthless, unfit to live. I wondered what had happened to me. Part of me says I was beaten in the bathrooms. Is it true? Possibly It wouldn’t surprise me. Orofino isn’t known to be nice to outsiders or people who are “different.” I was both, I was the freak.
Scar told me not to kill myself that if I did so the people that hurt me would win. Scar was a good friend weather imaginary or not. I still remember picking out a grave for him. I knew he was dead. I wasn’t sure where his body was it didn’t matter to me. I wanted to morn my friend. I found a small piece of concrete on a small hill there at the elementary school. That is where I buried my friend. I mourned him for a while to, not sure how long. I would go visit his grave and “talk” to him. No audible words were said, just my thoughts. I always heard him answer. He was a good friend. I miss him still.
Twisted was different. He didn’t have a name then. I feared him. I could feel his hate inside me. The part of me that wanted to lash out and hurt everyone, I hate you all! I hate myself, I hate this world! Yet Twisted always seemed to be there. The part I tried to hide from the world the deepest , darkest, most hateful part of myself.
I didn’t talk to people about this! They would think I was insane! Who would believe a young boy anyway, that was possibly crazy? No one! That’s who! Maybe I didn’t think that then, but I think it now. I remember being “sad” a lot. Looking back I’ve been depressed most of my life that I can remember. Some thirty some odd years depressed all of it. Very little happiness.
Eventually I made friends in school. I didn’t visit Scar as much for that I was sorry. I wanted to be accepted, loved, usual stuff.
I may have stopped visiting
Scar’s grave, but I never forgot him. I guess I stopped visiting Scar’s grave
in elementary school. I thought he was an imaginary friend. I’ld seen a
television show that talked about imaginary friends, and how they were ok.
However, they said you needed to move on with your life.
So, Twisted as I was
I did, full of self hate, hate for society, pain and despair. Twisted Metal had
been born, Scar had died. It was the things were. I tried to bury Twisted, such
strong feelings are difficult to deal with. I tried to have friends, I think I
did. However the emotional scars were deep, and unseen by most.
By Junior High I was
trying to withdraw into myself. People wouldn’t let me. I knew I like girls and
wanted sex. I jerked off for the first time. What a mistake. I became addicted
to it. I started looking at porn in magazines in stores.
Somewhere in this
timeframe I put on my mom’s dress, my sisters bra and panties, and one of their
pantyhose. I forget who’s. For a brief second I became someone else. It made me
happy briefly, and then I had to take it off before I got caught!
After that it was mostly putting
torn pantyhose on that my or sister had thrown away. This way I knew I wouldn’t
get caught, most likely. My dad would have beaten me or worse if he had known.
I won’t go into all I did as a teen,
but I have a lot of regrets. Things I’ll be sorry for, for the rest of my life.
My depression spiked as a teen. I wanted to die! Every day I wanted to die! I
cut my wrist and neck during this time too. My grandmother wasn’t doing well. I
did something for her I had only done for myself. I prayed for her to die. She
wasn’t herself anymore. I felt so bad for her. I thought death was better.
Guess that's enough for now. Not a happy story, but mine.
Love,
Marilyn
