I hated being at the farm, hated how it felt when I went there, hated how it made me feel even after I left. I couldn’t completely shake those feelings, no matter how hard I partied or worked or studied. Nothing worked to stop those feelings from creeping in. Doubt, fear, loathing, anger, hopelessness, and so much sadness. Around and around I swirled in these crushing and overwhelming emotions.
Depending on the cycle I was in, I lost friends, jobs, apartments, quit school, or I started new jobs, found new friends and went back up the hill to the next fall of emotion. Eventually I knew I would have to go back to confront these emotions that had attached to me, and which held me a prisoner. I would have to confront the people who shared in this mess, or at the least, confront them in my head if I couldn’t do it in person. So I packed and called to let them know I was coming.
When I arrived, it was as if I had never been gone. Everything exactly as it always was, everything still exactly placed so mom could find something even if it was dark. No one commented on my return, as if there had not been months and years of silence. I was not surprised.
The first thing I did was to go to the closet in my childhood bedroom and pull open boxes of journals I had left behind. Opening the first box, I began reading. Ugh, what dark days these passages brought back. Reading on I opened myself up to the darkness, reveled in it even, immersing myself so completely in this horrific reality that I couldn’t quite get away from. I read it all, experiencing again and again the fear and anger and hatred and loathing of those attacks on a child’s body and mind. I shook with tears, shuddered in disbelief, and re-experienced what a child experienced from my now adult perspective.
As I closed the last journal, I breathed deep cleansing breaths. It felt good to draw in air and feel alive and still OK. Even after all the horrible experiences I was OK. But I knew there was more to it, that I still had a long way to go before I could get past OK and move on to happiness and joy and love. I pack up the boxes again and carry them to the burning barrel. I pull a lighter from my pocket and open a journal for the flame to catch on to. It burns slowly at first, then faster and hotter, catching on to the rest of the journals. Smoke blows in my face and I close my eyes, feeling that smoke envelop my head. My memories, locked up for so long, begin to slide out on the smoke. I can feel the smoke lifting the darkness in my soul and heart. I poke in the ashes, making sure everything is burned beyond recognition.
On the way back to the house, he stops me to ask what I’ve been doing. Instead of answering I ask why he did what he did. His face twists into a familiar smirk as he says with absolute conviction “You asked for it, you wanted it”. I shake my head in disbelief and tell him he is wrong, was wrong, will always be wrong, and I will never forget that what he did was wrong and not my choice. He just laughs and walks away.
I know I can smoke out my internal demons as often as needed, but the true life demon will never be gone. I will see that one at the farm for years to come, and I’ll see it again in other forms, on other faces. This is not a onetime act, it just repeats. Different times, places, people. And I begin to realize my mission in life is not to kill the demon but to learn to live with it. As it is for everyone. And my mission is to help people make friends with their demons, or at least learn to tolerate them and smoke out the truly dangerous effects.
