There is a scene towards the end of the movie Good Will Hunting that has always had meaning to me. And of course, at a moment when I was trying to “relax” or not to “think,” I found myself clicking through the movies on cable. What did I click on? You guessed it. The very same part where Will has a breakthrough. This is towards the end of the movie when I suppose, for no lack of a better description, Will Hunting finds himself at a moment of awareness. The scene ends as he breaks down and cries because the truth of his life and his hardships are explained.
I can relate to this part.
Yet, there is the other side that I aspire to. This is on the mental health side of the spectrum.
This is where his therapist helps Will break through to the other side. For those who know the movie, or don’t know, this part is played by none other than Robin Williams.
He’s another hero of mine for reasons that don’t need to be mentioned here.
In this case, as a good therapist, Williams breaks down the wall in which Will was trapped or held behind.
Better yet, these are the walls and the unseeable bars to the invisible prison that Will kept himself in. As a means of defense, this was Will’s way to keep himself safe from either a cruel or an unfair world, and to keep the world at bay.
I like that saying
At bay . . .
I always wondered where this saying came from – to keep someone at bay, or to keep them from getting “in” so-to-speak.
The saying means to prevent a person, place or thing from attacking, approaching, reaching or affecting you in any way, shape or form.
This is an interesting concept to me because whether I have done this well or poorly, or whether I have done this at my own risk and created more harm than help in my life; I can understand what it means to keep the world or the people in the world at bay.
I can say that as a person who has acted on both sides of the mental health table, I know all about this invisible prison. I know the warden too. I know the guard and the gatekeeper. I know about the isolation, segregation and the special housing units. AKA: The SHU.
But more, I know the only prisoner in this prison. Lonesome and frightened of the other inmates that don’t even exist. I know this person very well too from both an internal and a personal perspective.
In fact, I know this prisoner so well because as a matter of fact, he lets me call him “Me.”
This too.
This is personal to me. It is worthy to note that yes, I have my own prison. I have my own walls and unseeable bars and, of course, I even have scratches and scars from either the cruel or unfair punishments that have been added to my time. Goddam warden.
He’s always out to get me . . .
I have my own stockpile of memories that stem back to the ages of childhood. Like the main character, Will Hunting, I have memories and pains that are raw to the touch.
You know . . .
I used to train myself to accept pain. I used to teach myself to take physical pain as a means of relief and protection. Perhaps this was to prove that I was really alive. Or maybe this was to rid myself of the intimidation so that pain doesn’t hurt.
Or maybe this was to purge. More accurately, maybe this was to understand and to physically manifest an internal ache or pain in an understandable or notable way; or maybe this was to create a physical representation of pain, so at least this way I could understand why I hurt. I could bleed too.
And blood makes sense.
I could understand why a cut would sting.
But a word? See? Now this is where the mind gets confused because pain registers in the same receptors but without a sightworthy understanding, the mind needs to make sense of the pain we feel. So, we purge. We self-harm. We self-destruct or worse, we kill ourselves in literally thousands of ways.
And so you know –
A word can cut deeper than any blade or scalpel. Yet, a word is invisible. It’s nothing but useless gas that dissipates once the word is spent or gone. But to us, words can linger. A word can last or stay much longer than any unwanted guest in the world.
Trust me on this . . .
I hear these words all the time.
In the case of mental health, I have sat with people who the world would otherwise cast away or call them bums or crooks, or junkies or scum; or, maybe they’re called losers or monsters, or worse, maybe they’re labeled like I was labeled and called “emotionally disturbed.”
I still want to know how a grownup tells a 12 year-old kid, “You are emotionally disturbed.”
In fact, I have detailed memories of this. I can remember the room as well as the internal conversation which took place throughout my life that if I ever run into this man – or this so-called doctor, the old version of me or otherwise known as the assassin version of me would be allowed to show his face – just to inflict the same pain that I went through while growing up with this label.
I have sat with people in institutions and in jails. I have heard them speak. I have heard their stories. I have listened and I have stood across from some of the most physically threatening people in this world. These are people who society would call murderers or any other stigma that might match their harsh or violent exteriors.
As big as they were and as deadly as they might have been, I have been privy to see things, such as their truths and the light of their real character. No differently from the character himself in Good Will Hunting, I have been there to hold them, as big as some of them might have been, and they wept with me – no differently than a kid brother would weep in his big brother’s arms.
And me . . . I’m not small but I am not a big man either. Yet, in this capacity, I was huge to them. No differently than their bravery to come forward was huge to me.
(This is why I plan to go back to get my counseling degree . . .)
I know who these people are. And yes, I know what they did and where they’ve been. I understand the walls around them and the hardness of their hearts.
Like I said, I used to train myself to take pain.
I used to want to learn how to endure pain so that I could be unaffected by things like sadness or loss, or the humiliation of being degraded by a person, place or thing. I wanted to be free of shame or the unwanted stimulation that comes with rejection.
So, I created a wealth of hate and rage to defend myself from these things. Hot blooded and emotionless, like a killer . . .
I wanted to be numb or callous so that nothing could permeate or penetrate my skin.
I wanted to be like a fisherman to his catch or a butcher to his slaughter – just numb, detached or unaffected, and simply business as usual. This way, nothing would be personal enough to hurt me. But so you know – none of this ever worked,
at least not really . . .
I used to try and keep everything at bay.
I kept myself in this internal prison as a means of both safety and punishment.
At the same time, I never knew the value of warmth from a person’s touch or love.
And as for love, I mean real love. I never knew what that meant because I never dared to be the warden and pardon myself from the crimes of my humanity. This is why I have always been terrified of people. And you, your kind and your brilliance has always been so intimidating and beautiful to me.
As for anyone who entered or looked to get close to me, my answer is yes. I looked to sabotage this.
I broke myself in ways so that my edges would cut or pierce the hand of anyone who would touch me.
I admit this.
I know what I have done. I know that in the case of the saying, “Man is as he thinketh,” I know what I thought.
I know what I thought I deserved.
I know all about the details and the outlines and the casualties of my so-called war which I can trace back to dates and crimes and memories of betrayal. I know all about the destruction of youthful trust and the touch from an unwanted, yet supposedly trusted hand.
I know who and what this means.
I understand the ideas of violation.
And certainly, I know who the people that violated me are as well as how celebrated they were “for being such good people.”
I know all about the battles with internal dialogues and the inner-voice which whispers louder than any scream. Perhaps this is harsh. Then, yes.
Maybe that’s me. Harsh and raw. But to rid myself of this then I have to rid myself of all of this.
I have to get this out there so that today and every day after, I can save my own life on a daily basis.
Sure, I’ve been hurt.
I’ve been on both sides of unfair treatment.
That’s me too.
Then again, I was also a small boy who was unprotected and used or molested.
Yeah . . . that was me.
I know about pain.
I know about self-inflicted wounds.
I know about the scrambled thoughts and ideas that come to mind which betrayed me as well as my best interests.
Again I say, as a person who has been on either side of the mental health table, I have stood across from and spoken with people whose physical strength is undeniable.
Their physical ability and their might is untouchable. Yet, on the inside, regardless of how many fights they won or how many people they could beat up, like me, they were likened to a small child weeping because of a punishment that never seemed to go away.
This is why I have the drive to do something different with my life. On another note, this is also why I am looking to break the cycles of my cyclical behaviors – to ruin my routines; to help you believe in me; to show you that you can trust me, and also, to let my old demons die because there is no life for them here, at least not anymore.
The last time I spoke in a treatment facility was not too long ago. A man pulled me to the side. Nearly speechless, he said, “I understand.”
He finished his prison term after murdering a person.
He was trying to get out of his own way but all he knew was a cycle of self-destruction.
With tears in his eyes (and mine) he told me “I don’t know where your Father is now, son. But I can guaran-damn-tee that he’d be proud of who you are now.. I just wanted you to know that.”
See, no one ever breaks these things down.
There’s only judgments of good or bad and evil. But behind these topics and subjects are the things behind the symptoms.
I like to deal with these first. I’d rather listen to this and understand where a person comes from before giving someone a label or putting them down by not allowing them to be human.
I say this because this is what labels do.
They dehumanize people and remove the normalization that life happens and yes, life’s a bitch! But it’s also a bitch to everybody. People seem to forget this and believe that they are alone in this world.
More, I should repeat this subjectively and say I used to believe that I was alone –
(perpetually)
Don’t get me wrong. I defend people as an advocate. However, I have met people who fit their description and who deserve nothing more than a hot bottle in hell.
At the same time, I have met good people who lived in bad bodies.
No differently than me, they did bad things.
And some day, I will have to face these old demons of mine.
But until then, I have the right to do one of two things: I can adjust and improve or I can submit and give in to my doubts or to the voices in my head.
I have lived in accordance with a certain idea and lifestyle that either separated me or taught me that I am either less-deserving or specific to a lower caste system; as in peasant-like or undeserving, unwanted, unlikable, unincluded and most of all, unlovable.
I have lived under the misdiagnosis of an internal injustice. Yet, here I am now writing to you about deep dark secrets and about scars, both hidden and obvious.
Here I am, telling you that I have never believed in myself, that I have always doubted my worth and that my imposter syndrome speaks louder, or as I mentioned before I have fears, worries and insecurities that whisper louder than any scream.
This is me . . .
I am that vulnerable boy who was hurt. I am that kid who was picked on or bullied or beaten and broken. I am that young man who allowed myself to step forward and tell a girl how I liked her, only to be laughed at and worse, I am that person who was betrayed to the point where I was in the act of sex, or in an attempt to “make love,” so they say, and I was called another man’s name – or namely, this was the person who she was with before me and was “still” with behind my back.
Laughed at and humiliated. Broken and beaten.
I know about these things.
I am that person who swore that I would never feel that pain again. So, I trained myself to endure pain to the point where I could accept this with a trained and perfected numbness. I wanted to perfect this to create an unfeeling-like callousness to the point where I could have committed a murder or the most violent offense, or seen the worst of things in front of my eyes yet none of this would mean anything to me.
As in, I wouldn’t even flinch.
It’s funny too because as hateful as I was, I have been working to undo and let go of that hate. My aim is to do this so that I can be twice as loving or twice as capable of feeling love and enjoy the healing aspect of say, the most wonderful hug in the world.
I am not that person anymore. Yet, like I said – I know him well. Too well, in fact because I know him personally. Remember?
He lets me call him me . . .
I have lived under the misperceptions of self and the misconceptions that I am somehow incapable, unable and helplessly lacking the ability to live, love, laugh and learn.
I am unlike the rest of the world – or, like normal or the so-called “good folks,” I would never be allowed to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, so-to-speak, because after all, I am tainted and impure, toxic, demonized instead of humanized and forever labeled by a society who would see me as less-than or unworthy of a key to the executive washroom.
I have lived like this my entire life – believing this way and living this way. And no, I see nothing else but my scars (that you can’t see) and the imperfections (that you don’t know about) yet this is all way too apparent to me.
This is why I never dared to touch you or allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of your hand in mine because as good as this felt, I believed that I was either undeserving of something and someone so beautiful or that I might be the punchline of some cruel joke and the minute I let my guard down (or let you in) the lights would come on and everyone would come out from behind the curtain to point and laugh at me.
These are the ideas that kept me in my prison. This is what kept me from love because to me, I was stained and too imperfect for you or for anyone.
So, why try?
Why bother or believe?
Therefore, in the case of real love or true love; and when either of the two showed up, I ran to hide in my prison. Yes, this is when the warden placed me in solitary – for my own protection.
I destroyed things like this. I self-sabotaged. I hid and allowed myself to be washed away by the world’s undertow and let the current of a great thing (like you) be taken away and never to be seen or heard from again.
I asked you to walk with me.
No, wait.
I asked you to help me and hold my hand.
I asked this from the voice of that small boy who was either hurt or violated (or both).
I asked you to help me from the voice of that criminal who betrayed himself because of a hysterical blindness to my best possible potential.
I never understood why or if anyone could or should love me.
This is hard to admit, but the truth is never easy to say.
Maybe this is why I am writing it down in these notes. It’s easier to write to you here instead of saying this to you, face to face. But at the same time, this is more intimate to me. This is also more meaningful to me – to address you here as the one and only, and the most beautiful person that I know or care about.
See this?
This is my heart.
This scar is where I was stabbed in a figurative sense. These are all my scars. And like a train track, these are links to old memories and through different episodes of pain or betrayal.
These are the tracks of my tears and bloodstained lullabies that were tainted and taken from me.
But why do I tell you this?
Why say anything?
Who would want to love me this way?
Who would love me anyway?
You?
Do you even know how deep this runs?
Do you even appreciate this as my truth – or wait, am I just being too dramatic.
But no, fuck that!
Could you love a man who never believed in himself?
Could you love a man with secrets like mine or scars so deep?
Could you love me like I am, a brave coward who can openly admit to this as my truth; yet, could you love me as I am, imperfect as the day is long and hurt or raw to the touch?
I am like an infected angel with clipped wings, just wishing to fly, but I can’t because my broken wings keep me grounded. But ah, the air up there seems so gorgeous and free.
I want to be “up there.”
I want to be beautiful.
I want to be worthy.
I want to be loved by you, so badly, that I can see you in my thoughts, hear you in my dreams and more than anything, I can feel you in my soul.
But could you love me with all of my damages?
Could you accept me as I am, young almost like a kid who never danced before.
I’m scared is what I’m trying to say.
You have more than me. I have nothing.
But I can give you my all if you’ll take me.
I can love you because if you take someone like me and show me the light and share yourself and show me your darkness, I can make us shine together – if you’d like.
I am humble here. There’s no need to be tough. And please, before you read this and think that I am degrading myself or that this is self-deprecating or that I am putting myself down by admitting to this, just know that it has taken me nearly 51 years to be this brave to reach out to you and say, “I love you” and mean it with all of my heart.
I want you to see me, as in all of me.
I want you to be my soulmate.
But, if you won’t have me then I suppose you can’t have me. And thus, none of this will matter.
But still . . .
This is written to you, my soulmate, and hopefully my other and perhaps better half.
You represent the best of me and the person I want to be.
You are the inspiration that leads me to want to reach my best potential.
They say that we give off an energy.
Maybe this is our chemistry and maybe the reasons for our connections are more scientific than the cosmic nature of what we think or believe our fate should be.
What is fate anyway? Is it a sign?
Is it a set of initials on a license plate?
Is it a random song on the radio?
I realize that we have little to no control over fate or what’s meant to be. However, I can say that living and working towards a goal or an outcome does more than doing nothing and just wishing that life would start to happen. Living and working towards a goal can bring us closer to where we want to be – as opposed to doing nothing but living in regret which puts everything we want either farther or further away.
I believe that as people, we fall into each other’s life at certain times and in certain places and that while chance has so much to do with our random meetings, which can happen out of nowhere, or be so random as running for a 6:00 train on August 24th; still, in spite of how everything changes around us, our fate is our fate and our science is what makes us match.
I say this because if there is no energy and there is no connection, a random passing would be nothing more than a random passing; and thus, there wouldn’t even be an afterthought or a specific memory. We’d just be two ships passing in the night.
I do believe that my life has a course which I am following this now, as hard as this may be at times and as unsure as I might think I am, I know that there’s a path for me.
I know all about the rocky roads of my yesterday and sure, I know all about my mistakes. Yes, I can see where my battles with selfish, self-centered ideas and my fears have either reshaped or changed the hopes for my future.
I cannot do anything about this. As much as I want to and as much as I wish that I could change everything behind me, I cannot change what took place nor can I alter my past.
All I can do is change from here on in.
All I can do now is ready myself for the next opportunity. In fact, I have to do this.
When my next chance comes my way, I have to reach for this.
I have to grab hold of it. I have to understand that my past can absolutely repeat itself unless I dare or open myself up to the subjects of change.
I do admit to my faults and my wrongs. I admit to them fully and without any excuse or protest.
There is a result and a reaction for everything we do or say.
I know this.
Even if this is seen as minimal or if a reaction seems slight or nominal, there is always a reaction. And me – as for now, I am working on transforming my life.
I am working through the fears of loneliness. To be absolutely transparent, I am afraid of the monsters beneath my bed and the unseeable, internal violence that comes with brokenheartedness.
I am worried that I might be “that guy” alone and unmatched
(or unmatchable).
I am worried that perhaps I might have moved into this stage alone and while alone, I look around and see what happens when we waste time on things like worry, fear, insecurity and doubt.
Maybe I am unwantable, I say to myself.
I have been here before – alone, I mean.
But this time is certainly different. I am older. I’m not sure if I am wiser or not. But yes, I am older.
I am aware that time keeps on moving. I am aware that while living in defense of my character flaws and living while trying to hide myself; as in never daring to expose my truths or never enjoying the freedom of being absolutely vulnerable; I am aware that I have lived behind walls for much of my life.
I know all about this prison that I live in. In fact, I helped build this place which is why it seems so inescapable. As I look to build bridges and catwalks, and as I look to rebuild my life and to do so, I try to create new walkways and new pathways. However, I am faced with new and different challenges. I am faced with different fears and questions.
I am also faced with new worries of rejection, namely by you . . .
I think this is important to say. I think it is important to put this out there and more, it is brave and fearless and searching for me to say that I don’t care so much anymore. I’ve been locked in here for too long. I don’t worry about yesterday anymore. It’s gone now. Even if no one else lets me let them go – my yesterdays don’t belong to me anymore.
Nope –
These are in the books.
These are my memories and my lessons; however, I need to heed them differently this time.
And it’s fine – no, really it is.
It’s fine to define this and declare this as part of my emotional property; however, I don’t own this anymore. I’m giving it away in these note for you to read. For me to overcome this, I have exposed this – to keep this from keeping me sick.
(Get it?)
Maybe I learned too late but to hell with it, at least I’m learning.
You might not stay or love me back. But in that case, then fine.
At least I can feel the feelings that come with this. At least I can dare the edge and I can walk and talk without hiding my thoughts or my true feelings.
I don’t have to hide who I like or love or who I care for (or who I don’t care for) anymore.
I don;t have to watch my tongue.
I don’t have to lie to anyone to hide my truths.
I just have to be me – scars and all – because somewhere, somehow I know there’s a home for me – and as for the love that’s mine – she will never let me feel lonely again or afraid or imperfect. (I know because she promised me.)
This is who my soulmate is . . .
Anyone else, step out of the way please.
I have a dream to reach
(and a girl to touch)
With all of my heart ~
The Written Addiction 