If you haven't read part one of "The Struggle Within", now might be a good time.
This post has also been a while in the makings. A lifetime, to be exact. They say be careful who you point the finger at, because you always have three fingers pointing back at you. We as humans are very quick to focus on the skeletons in the closets of others. But we wish to ignore our own. Pretend they don't exist. Hide them in the darkest corners and recesses of our minds. Why? Why should anyone be ashamed of their past? There is nothing you could've done that is that embarrassing. Your past is part of who you are today. Like it or not, you should embrace it.
"Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it." - George Santayana. Personally, I've learned from every mistake I've ever made.
If you've read the first installment of this, then you know I've lived a lot of life in 40 years. But that is still but a mere sampling of the things I've experienced. This installment will expose some of my childhood skeletons. Am I dong this for you, the reader? Not really. No offense, but you have your own skeletons that you need to exorcise. This is for me. I have come to a point in my life where I am ready to turn on the lights in my closet. It's getting full. I need to clean out some skeletons and cobwebs.
I've known my whole life that I'm adopted. And I'm okay with that. I know that another man and woman gave me life, while my parents gave me A life. Notable difference in the two. I have come to terms with many things surrounding my biologicals. I still communicate with my biological father, Bruce. In fact, I'll be driving from Elkridge to Cumberland this Saturday to see him for the first time in 20 years. The story of that first meeting with him is for another installment. My biological womb on the other hand? Well, for starters I cannot bestow the "M" word on her. She wasn't. The only thing I ever want to say to her face is "Thank you, bitch."
Growing up, I was teased. A lot. Some of you may remember "Ricky The Nerd." I was the resident 98-pound weakling of Woodbridge Valley. I got beat up. A lot. I was raised in an upper-middle class Christian home, so I was taught to never fight back. And I didn't. And my raising also plays into one of the largest and darkest skeletons in my closet. I'll get there. I remember in 7th grade at Johnnycake Junior High, word got around that I am adopted. The "running joke" for the majority of that year was calling me "Orphan Andy." I actually stood up for myself for the first time in my life. I remember my reply like it was yesterday. "At least my parents got to choose me. Your parents got stuck with something that looks like that?" Shut him and the whole class up, real quick. I also remember the tears in my eyes of anger and frustration when I turned to face him and say that.
Moving forward to my teen years now. After Johnnycake, I went to Arlington Baptist. I thought maybe getting into a private school would be better. Yeah. I was wrong. It may have been worse. There were a lot of elitist kids in there. The haranguing continued. My freshmen year, I asked out every girl in the 9th grade. Every one of them turned me down. The only way I could cope with that level of rejection was to make a joke of it, making fun of myself in the process. That year, I asked out every girl in the school. Freshman, Sophmore, Junior and Senior classes. 52 girls. Every one of them turned me down.
Remember that religious upbringing I mentioned? This is where it comes into play. Religious upbringing plus a Baptist high school equals bad results for some people. I had so much religion jammed down my throat and up my ass that I ran. I ran as far as I possibly could in the opposite direction. My entire high school life, I was a practicing Satanist. Yes, even in Arlington. By the time I got to Woodlawn, it was very evident. Anybody remember "Rick The Goth"? I wore all black, listened to death metal, hung out with the ne'er do wells, the whole nine yards. My time as a Satanist exposed me to world of things that most people cannot even begin to imagine in the worst wet nightmares. I have been demonically possessed. I have participated in animal sacrifice rituals. I have been harangued by every conceivable spirit of malicious intent. I no longer have these problems. I no longer do these things, but I live with the memories. For now. Someday, my memory may fail and I may forget. I actually hope not. I don't want to go through that ever again.
Now, you may ask why I'm exposing all of this deep, dark information. Or, you may not. Either way, I'm doing it because I'm at a point in my life where I need to start moving forward again. Right now, I'm sitting in a Starbucks in Washington Harbor. I've realized that the only way to move forward is to embrace the past. Every decision I've made in 40 years, be they good or bad, have molded me into the man I am today. If there is only one thing I can impart on anybody in my next thirty years, it's this...
No matter how bad you think it is, it can always be worse. You could have to live with the person you hate the most. And sometimes, that's yourself.
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