The Swing

It’s sarcastically funny the way our past shapes us. The way a single word or action towards a child can alter the person they grow into. Change the way they see the world. It isn’t just children though. Words, actions, no matter who you are, or how old you are… Those are far more powerful than people realize. Those two things, no matter how small or insignificant they seem, have the ability to alter the future that lies ahead.

A single person is like one drop in the expanse of the ocean. Yet, that single drop can still cause a ripple effect. A single person’s word or action, will impact the ones around them. Those people will cause their own ripple; reaching out to the ones around them. This cycle continues until the entire ocean has been changed. And it all started with one small word. One thoughtless action.

Whether these changes are good or bad; that’s up to people. A lot of good is still in the world, though it may be hard to see at times. Sometimes the bad is so thick in the world, it feels as though we’re drowning in it. The good is still there though. It doesn’t have to be flashy or in peoples’ faces the way the bad does. The bad surfaces because it knows that’s the only way it can gain power. The good though… It builds person by person, a whisper of a touch to their very souls.

Not everyone can feel such a light touch of good though. Some people… Some people are caught up in too much bad to be able to feel the good. For some, the bad doesn’t just feel as though they’re drowning in it. It feels as though the bad has encased their lungs, burning through their veins, stripping them of who they might have been. Those are the people that look the happiest. They know the pain of the world, and they work hard to make certain others don’t know what that’s like.

I’d know… I’d been one of those people. Words and actions of those who should have cared for me the most; they were the ones who broke me. The ones who made it to where I could never feel the good in the world. I could see the good. I could see the good in other peoples’ lives. I never felt it myself though. As a child, I had no idea what it felt like to laugh and actually mean it. What it felt like to smile a true smile.

Father was a cruel man. Even before the drugs and alcohol. It felt as though I lived with the devil himself. No, that wouldn’t be fair to the devil. Father was far worse. His cruelty taught me from a young age that no one cared for me. How could they when my own father didn’t? It simply made no sense to think he was wrong when he said such things.

Hearing “you’re worthless” instead of “you’re a blessing” from the moment you’re born. “I wish we never let you live” instead of “I love you”. “I should kill you now and be done with it” instead of “I can’t wait to see who you grow up to be”. Those words, the actions that went with them, it breaks the very soul of a child. And yet, the moment I left the house, I became a mask. Always smiling, helping whenever and however I could, going out of my way to ensure others saw hope and goodness in the world. That they didn’t see what I had.

Mother was a completely different story. Whenever she was home, she did her best to give me a smile, even though she was exhausted. She was rarely home though. She would avoid the house so she wouldn’t feel the power behind father’s fists. She worked three jobs, sleeping in the falling apart car between shifts, trying to pay the bills and feed father’s drug habit. But she was always behind on bills. More than once lights or heat would get shut off. Somehow, it always came back to being my fault.

Mother knew exactly what was happening at home. Still, she did nothing. She never tried to stop him, no matter how bad it got. As I grew into a teenager, she’d tell me she allowed it to happen because she knew I was strong enough to take it. I should never have had to take it though. A hatred for her burned deep within my heart. Father was a cruel, unforgiving man. The bruises and broken bones he gave me never once hurt worse than the betrayal of mother. The way she abandoned me caused far more damage than father ever could.

Once I was officially an adult, I found myself still trapped. The moment I turned nineteen, I packed a backpack with the bare minimum I’d need. I tried to leave while he was drugged up and asleep. It didn’t work though. Mother came home just as I was leaving, the sound of the door closing enough to rouse him. In moments I was pinned to the wall by my throat, father telling me if I ever tried to leave again, he’d hunt me down and torture me to death.

Fearful of his wrath, I stayed. After that day, he packed us up. To ensure I couldn’t leave, he was taking us away so I had no one to help me escape. Not that I ever had anyone that cared. I had some friends throughout school. None of them were close enough I could actually talk to them. They weren’t the kind of friends that’d ever invite me out with them; even though I wouldn’t have been allowed. No friends that would ever notice if I disappeared.

We bounced from town to town for a while, mostly homeless. It wasn’t until I was nearing twenty-two that we finally settled down again. After years of looking for the perfect place, father finally found a tiny town to hold hostage. Only a few hundred people lived in the town, woods and farms covering its expanse. There had to be at least four miles to the nearest neighbor.

It didn’t take long for life to fall back into the same routine. My parents were more like my demons, and I was the worthless punching bag doomed to live in their hell. Every once-in-a-while though… There was a rare moment I’d get a chance to breathe. The times when father would fully pass out, moments when the torture wasn’t as bad. Those were the times I’d step outside and walk into the woods. There was a peace in the woods, unlike anything I’d ever felt. I felt as though I could breathe; simply exist. And that… that was how it all started.