my words...our journey
theo
Registrant
brothers,
below is an excerpt from my journal. i firmly believe that while these words are about me specifically, they reflect the journey we share. i have always wondered who i was because i was never the boy i wanted to be and deserved to be. i am slowly learning who i am. i am learniing what other people have see in me. as you read this, imagine, or play, the song "eye of the tiger" by the group survivor (thanks leosha
). these are my words, but this is our journey. the next time you find yourself asking who you are, tell yourself that you are the hero of the ones left behind and those who still suffer in the silence because you survived and you continue to fight and believe. journey well, my brothers.
(btw, for me personally, it is more like the eye of the wolf. it is posted in offtopic)
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2-18-050628hrsFriday
Understanding from where the drive to drink originates is part of the solution. It empowers me with the knowledge, but not the motivation to stop. Saying they took the night away from me is really saying that they took away my sense of security. Children, and adults if truth be said, are afraid of what they do not understand. For a child, the fear is magnified for they have little to compensate for in terms of knowledge and experience. My regression would put me in little theo's mindset and my adult coping strategies would be undermined. What I mean is that while under regression, my adult skills are rendered inoperative.
It is not the fault of little theo's that I drink. The regression is a state of mind and emotions. little theo does not drink, I do. Habitual drinking has become my lifestyle, but the reason behind it is mainly the terror of isolation in the night. The night he sodomized me forever changed me. No longer could I rest easy in the night secure in a simple faith that I would be safe. With all the triggers and stressors in overdrive, the last eight months I have been running on fumes. I know I am overwhelmed, but I refuse to cave.
I keep thinking of what my therapist said that my survival points to my identity. I was telling her that sometimes I reach a point where I realize that most people would not be able to put up with a fraction of what I have been through and it is then that I think I get a glimpse of what people see in me. It is at those points that I have an inkling of who I am. My identity is not strictly my survival, but it is an integral part of what others see. This is what I tried to convey last night when I wrote of what my instructor said to me. Why would I not need to explain? Why would I not need to justify my inability to perform at my standard? The reason is that my teachers have seen within me the skills and the character of an ambitious man who is temporarily rendered incapable of performing at his normal level by overwhelming odds.
I dont need to justify my disabilities. For the time being, I am disabled in the sense that I am facing things that would destroy most people. For so long I have been operating under the lie that I had to justify my inabilities; that I had to have an explanation for why I could not do everything. Even if my instructor did not intend for his statement to mean what I took it to be, the insight is valid nonetheless. What do people see in me? They see a man fighting against all the odds to overcome hell. They see a man who has been through hell and still continues to fight. They see a man who continues to face the horizon. That I struggle with so much and yet continue to stand is what they marvel at. That I struggle with so much and yet continue to struggle for the inherent worth of humanity is what they marvel at. That I still continue to believe, against all I have experienced, is what they marvel at. That I survived, when I should not have, is what they marvel at. This is the man I have become. What people see in me is a man who is fighter and still a believer when it should have been otherwise.
Why am I not jaded or cynical? Because for some inexplicable reason, I yet believe at some level. Because for some inexplicable reason, that reverent sense of awe never left me. Because for some inexplicable reason, that boy that was terrorized still became a man of dignity and integrity. Because for some inexplicable reason, I survived and still cared. Who am I? I am the terrorized little boy who grew up to be a man that still gave a damn.
below is an excerpt from my journal. i firmly believe that while these words are about me specifically, they reflect the journey we share. i have always wondered who i was because i was never the boy i wanted to be and deserved to be. i am slowly learning who i am. i am learniing what other people have see in me. as you read this, imagine, or play, the song "eye of the tiger" by the group survivor (thanks leosha
). these are my words, but this is our journey. the next time you find yourself asking who you are, tell yourself that you are the hero of the ones left behind and those who still suffer in the silence because you survived and you continue to fight and believe. journey well, my brothers.(btw, for me personally, it is more like the eye of the wolf. it is posted in offtopic)
***********
***********
2-18-050628hrsFriday
Understanding from where the drive to drink originates is part of the solution. It empowers me with the knowledge, but not the motivation to stop. Saying they took the night away from me is really saying that they took away my sense of security. Children, and adults if truth be said, are afraid of what they do not understand. For a child, the fear is magnified for they have little to compensate for in terms of knowledge and experience. My regression would put me in little theo's mindset and my adult coping strategies would be undermined. What I mean is that while under regression, my adult skills are rendered inoperative.
It is not the fault of little theo's that I drink. The regression is a state of mind and emotions. little theo does not drink, I do. Habitual drinking has become my lifestyle, but the reason behind it is mainly the terror of isolation in the night. The night he sodomized me forever changed me. No longer could I rest easy in the night secure in a simple faith that I would be safe. With all the triggers and stressors in overdrive, the last eight months I have been running on fumes. I know I am overwhelmed, but I refuse to cave.
I keep thinking of what my therapist said that my survival points to my identity. I was telling her that sometimes I reach a point where I realize that most people would not be able to put up with a fraction of what I have been through and it is then that I think I get a glimpse of what people see in me. It is at those points that I have an inkling of who I am. My identity is not strictly my survival, but it is an integral part of what others see. This is what I tried to convey last night when I wrote of what my instructor said to me. Why would I not need to explain? Why would I not need to justify my inability to perform at my standard? The reason is that my teachers have seen within me the skills and the character of an ambitious man who is temporarily rendered incapable of performing at his normal level by overwhelming odds.
I dont need to justify my disabilities. For the time being, I am disabled in the sense that I am facing things that would destroy most people. For so long I have been operating under the lie that I had to justify my inabilities; that I had to have an explanation for why I could not do everything. Even if my instructor did not intend for his statement to mean what I took it to be, the insight is valid nonetheless. What do people see in me? They see a man fighting against all the odds to overcome hell. They see a man who has been through hell and still continues to fight. They see a man who continues to face the horizon. That I struggle with so much and yet continue to stand is what they marvel at. That I struggle with so much and yet continue to struggle for the inherent worth of humanity is what they marvel at. That I still continue to believe, against all I have experienced, is what they marvel at. That I survived, when I should not have, is what they marvel at. This is the man I have become. What people see in me is a man who is fighter and still a believer when it should have been otherwise.
Why am I not jaded or cynical? Because for some inexplicable reason, I yet believe at some level. Because for some inexplicable reason, that reverent sense of awe never left me. Because for some inexplicable reason, that boy that was terrorized still became a man of dignity and integrity. Because for some inexplicable reason, I survived and still cared. Who am I? I am the terrorized little boy who grew up to be a man that still gave a damn.