I am Ultimately Responsible for My Life, Despite Their Abuse

I thought, at the time, as a child, that my life was fairly normal. Sure, Mother was constantly having her nervous fits and was frequently picking fights with my father. Daddy was always trying to smooth things over and protect us kids from the worst of Mother’s behavior. But, we lived in a regular middle class house and Daddy had a regular white collar job and I attended a regular suburban school and our lives didn’t seem too different from those of our neighbors.

And, then, I was molested at swimming lessons and threatened with the death of my parents, my father was killed in an airplane accident, my mother started going out on weekends and drinking, we moved from our peaceful small town on the plains to a large city, Mother married a bigoted redneck who wasn’t anything like my father, the kids at school began to beat me up every day, and I realized I was gay. In a matter of just two years, my life went from the fairly peaceful and secure to one of daily Hell. I learned rather quickly and brutally never to take things for granted because they can change or disappear in an instant.

I made a lot of really stupid decisions after all this. In college, after a successful academic career in high school (I was determined to show everyone who ridiculed and attacked me) I basically gave up. I started drinking beer and smoking pot. I discovered the gay cruising spots on campus. I dropped out of school, even though I had earned several academic scholarships and had several sterling opportunities awaiting me when I graduated. And, I spent the next three decades in dead-end or entry-level jobs as a waiter or working in customer service call centers.

It was easy to blame everyone else for my failures. It was also easy to blame myself completely. On the one hand, the kids at school and my redneck stepfather were constantly ridiculing and attacking me. On the other, there were people who recognized my ability and gave me chances and opportunities that I turned around and blew. Was it the fault of everyone who bullied and abused me? Was it my fault because I was a loser who deserved what I got?

It’s hard to figure out where to draw the line. For years, in my mind, it was either all THEIR fault or all MY fault. It has taken a long time in recovery to accept that maybe there is a point somewhere in between. Yes, I was abused and beaten and ridiculed and survivors of this are often self-destructive and self-blaming. But, yes, I lied and stole and cheated and drank and drugged and cruised and argued and got fired a dozen times. I was abused, but I also made decisions. I might not have made those decisions without the abuse, but I made them all the same.

I struggle today not to blame everyone else for my actions, and I struggle not to make the same mistakes I did for thirty-five years. I recognize that I am a victim, but I am also responsible for my own life. I am determined now not to put the blame for my mistakes and failures solely on others. I control my fate, despite the actions of others.