I believe that everyone has a story; I also believe every story should be shared. There are parts of (most of) our stories that we would rather not share; and there are parts we probably shouldn’t share. Still though, there is a great deal that we can and should share. I believe that if we were to really pay attention to one another’s stories, that would help tear down many of our barriers (biases and prejudices). I have become like an open book because for me, sharing has helped me heal and continue to push through. I share my past pretty frequently because I believe that it will give others hope and strength to overcome their own past torments. At least that is what I hope to accomplish by sharing my past. So when I do share, please do not feel as though I am asking for a pity party, nor am I bragging. The only thing I wish to accomplish by sharing my past is to let others know there is still hope. Just because you experienced something bad in the past, that doen not have to define you. What defines you is what you decide to do with the hell you may have experienced. Are you going to let it break you, or will you become stronger because of it? I have been at my lowest; to the point that I wanted to die. I was planning ways to do it, but every time someone came along to remind me that I am stronger than that. Not to say that suicide is weakness, but overcoming something when all you want to do is give up is a sure sign of strength and perseverance. In my eyes anyway; but then again, who am I?
I would like to take this time to share a poem with you:
“Share my past with as many as I can”
By Roger S. Black Jr
I promised myself to let it all out;
even when others expressed disbelief and doubt;
as far back as when I was a young child;
they said my imagination had run wild;
there I would stand, feeling victimized once again;
as my abusers stood aside they’d snicker and grin;
once again after being called a liar by those I trusted;
I would cringe as they rubbed, sucked or thrusted;
thoughts of revenge often filled my mind;
but my mouth and wrist they’d gag and bind;
“one day I’ll get them back”, I often swore;
only to find myself in a heap beaten and sore;
this abuse went on far too long;
finally my self preservation became too strong;
they held me down as they had done before;
only this time I escaped their grasp and got to the door;
trying to adjust my clothing I was asked why;
trying to explain what had happened I was told not to lie;
boys are stronger so this couldn’t possibly be true;
after all I bore no proof of cuts, scars, or being black and blue;
look inwardly this is where the evidence lies;
evidence of abuse is not always visible to the naked eye;
as I sat in his office I felt overtaken;
overtaken by a little boy abused and shaken;
as I rehashed some specific events I felt it afresh;
the uninvited touch upon my young innocent flesh;
I felt as I had when it first occurred to that innocent child;
then I remembered being my imagination had run wild;
I found myself shaking and crying, the pain I couldn’t hide;
would doubt creep in would I again be told I had lied;
arms folded across my chest coward in the corner of his office;
what could he possibly think what did he make if this;
he looked at me and he told me he believed all of it;
that little boy emerged proud carrying no regret;
finding someone to listen took too many years;
but I now feel free released of all my last fears;
his words spoke to that abused child hiding inside;
the child who once recoiled under pressure no longer hides;
the child who feared once again being accused of lying;
the child who his his face to hide his crying;
that man now stands tall and strong a secure man;
now I openly share my past with as many as I can.
I would like to know your thoughts after reading this if you care to share.
Roger S. Black Jr #729370
PO Box 740
London Ohio 43140
(email available through Jpay.com)
