This I Believe Essay
The memories of wandering aimlessly backwards creep back to me. Step by step into the unknown behind me as I watch the only world I have ever known explode and crumble as evil poured from the mouths and clenched fists of my parents. It is clear this isn’t a dream, for there is the iced chill of a tear sliding down my cheek.
Farther I go into the corner behind me when I suddenly brush aside another body, warm and full of sorrow, like my own self. We reach around each other silently sobbing as we watch our world torn into two.
Although hell reined in our home, in my brothers arms, safety found us, to comfort us and cradle us in a makeshift sanctuary. This peace kept us hidden as our father, out giver, out up bringer, yelled about her drinking. Our mother, out healer, our comfort, yelled about his anger.
The seeds of this should-be-suppressed memory were planted deep within our minds to grow and transform us into believing the lies we would hear for the rest of our lives. Its branches prod us awake in the night, screaming out, we realize it’s just a dream this time, just like it was last night, and the night before. As it had been year after year after year.
Ten years have passed but never does it feel that long, but longer that we had our family whole and as one. For ten long years these memories reemerge from the dark depths of our imaginations to force us to relive it in the night. The end of what we had known to begin something new. To make room for a new family, while breaking the old.
This I believe; my childhood was Armageddon.
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