Posts Tagged childhood abuse


He was an angry, hate-filled man, who could at times be the complete opposite. Unfortunately, the angry side was the dominant one, and when he died—alone and still mad at the world—few wept.

And then there’s me—the guy who professes to be afraid of nothing, yet fears he is too much like the man who raised me–not my father, but whose name I carry. Read the rest of this entry »

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The Things I Carried

I strongly believe we are products of our surroundings and, unfortunately, when we are young our surroundings cannot be of our own choosing. We are born into the time we are born into, to those we are born to, and if we’re lucky… well, we’re just lucky. The thing is, we don’t have to carry the bad stuff from our past with us, and the sooner we realize this simple truth, the sooner we will become the person we can be. Countless times I have said, “I wish I’d known then, what I know now.” Now… I’m just glad I know it now. Read the rest of this entry »

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Those Dreaded Friday Night Lights

I posted stories the last three days that spoke of my dad and the fear he instilled in me. I spoke of it in a lighthearted manner, but it was not actually so. I won’t go into great detail, but I will say my childhood was at times horrifying. This story will give you a glimpse into what it was like too much of the time. I won’t speak often of this. Read the rest of this entry »

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Those Dreaded Friday Night Lights

The boy lay atop the wrinkled, threadbare sheet, sweat beading on his face, as he waited; waited for the sound of tires sighing on the narrow blacktop street… and the lights that would splash across his window as the old truck pulled into the yard. He waited with a sense of familiar, painful dread. Read the rest of this entry »

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