The Angry Children

Submitted into Contest #255 in response to: Write a story about anger.... view prompt

2 comments

American Creative Nonfiction

This story contains themes or mentions of physical violence, gore, or abuse.

I’m not sure when I realized my anger but I definitely brought it from my childhood into adulthood. The first recollection of anger was grade school, my mom drove around aimlessly not knowing where to go to stay away from our tumultuous home life. We parked at the edge of the fairgrounds to ponder our situation. As she started to drive us back home I begged her not to…please just let us sleep in the car and we’ll figure it out. Of course her answer was no, it was ridiculous for her to stay the night with 2 children in the car. I know that now but I was so angry with her for taking us back there. Worst of all she was the one in the most danger and I couldn’t bear to see her beat up again.

my witness to her abuse started around 5 or 6. Her second marriage which didn’t last long but the only memories I have of that marriage are violence. That was the one time I witnessed violence also against my younger brother. Which triggered another emotion in me…guilty! Why him and not me…kind of a survivors guilt I think. I was threatened but never touched. My mom’s third marriage was no better except that it was more confusing because I loved him and I got a baby sister from this union and sometimes things were okay. The anger came from the unpredictability. I would beg my mom to leave, I would hide in the bathroom and yet I’d have to listen to make sure she was still alive when it was over. I really believed one day he would kill her. As an adult I now know that not saying anything to keep the peace only made me internalize the chaos. I spent my 5th grade year with my dad in Oregon. It was a “normal” home life like I never remembered. I didn’t seem to have the anger, but I felt like a visitor or observer of someone else’s family. I lived with worry for my mother and little sister. Then more guilt when I broke my fathers heart to go back to living with my mom. All was going to be better now…with husband number 4, except that it wasn’t. It was a while before he started the behaviors of scary proportions. This particular year my brother was also living with us and I would push my siblings out the window and walk many blocks to a safe place while he continued to torment my mother.Husband number 5 actually married my mom after I was married my first husband. He was no better and in fact has a sexual predator component. It was sad to say but his death felt like no loss to our family. I don’t know how she found them, but it looked to me like one led to the next and they were all the same. Batterers! As much as this has put anger as a primary emotion in my life it also made me vow to never allow my children to witness such violence. At fist blush of violence in my first marriage it was over. I grew up with the anger and violence but it didn’t have to define my life. It did for many years even into my adulthood. If I couldn’t control it it was anger or it made me angry. I know now and reflect often regarding why I fell, act or am a certain way. Truth is we all become what we are through our dna and the circumstances we were exposed to. Even though the majority of which I store in my memory are negative I know there were positive experiences because I am empathetic and have felt the love from those positive people in my life. My Dad for one was an amazing man. Although I didn’t spend near enough time with him I knew he was a good man. He was smart, funny and had a huge heart. My dad was very respectful and polite especially in the presence of the women in his life. He was so much so that in my 20’s I did not believe he ever cussed with the exception of a time a hammer fell on his head. My husband let me know in male only company he most certainly did cuss. I thought this was so funny and it just shows me his old fashioned respect, which I found delightful! Finally, the patience and love of my current husband has showed me I don’t have to be angry all the time. I only wish I could help others understand their anger and find a way to peace. This is in no way meant to blame my mother and her choice of partners on my problems brought from my youth but it is a testament to the fact we can overcome the destructive behaviors we develop in our childhood. As I recount so many situations that have produced anger in me I feel I certainly have a right to be angry but don’t I also owe myself some peace? Yes, we all deserve to live a life free of such devastating anger and chaos. I think all three of my mothers children carry or carried anger. All of us in different ways and some never recovered. My brother died from what I believe is a victim of his own anger. Although he turned it on others he also died from the effects of his own emotions. My future is to help and convince those who experiences anger due to their up bringing that their future is in their hands. You can rid yourself of such anger. Forgiveness may be a part of the healing for some. For me I had to forgive my parents and myself. I believe it’s true people who hurt hurt others. Not intentionally of course but not knowing how to heal themselves and trouble relating or expressing their feelings in a healthy way is at a loss for them. Either it was not demonstrated or it was overrode by more urgent needs of the child. For instance sometimes it is their very survival is of more importance than being concerned with appropriate feelings and emotions.

June 18, 2024 06:02

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2 comments

Brian Haddad
02:12 Jun 28, 2024

With some re-working, this could easily become a powerful essay with a heartfelt call to action centering on peace in the midst of emotional pain and turmoil. I am happy to see that at least one other person has done their "Anger" story with the "creative nonfiction" tag (nobody seems to have noticed that mine carried the same label! lol). Thank you for sharing this story and I hope you will continue to write and submit your creative ideas here for the community. :)

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Tricia Shulist
18:14 Jun 23, 2024

Interesting story. How you were raised really does play a role in the grownup you become. Thanks for sharing.

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