Teens

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The Strong One

I was twelve when my eldest brother Padriac (pronounced Patrick) was killed. Not quite 20 at the time, he was the only fatality in a robbery gone wrong. This tragic event took place in 1993 in Arizona.

My remaining brother Kendall and I tried, like our parents, to put the pieces back together without a clue how to do so. My parents leaned on each other, Kendall had friends at school. I had friends, but I was the baby of the family and none of my friends knew my brother or what I had lost. So I had me to rely on. It wasn't a bad thing - it felt good to take this horrible thing and become stronger.

Three years came and went and I was stonger. Oh yes, nothing could hurt me now. I had a wall of hate around me that was like an iron sheild. I radiated anger the way the sun radiates heat and a bit more intensly. I was a sophmore in high school, now in California, as my father had been transferred shortly before this. I had exactly one friend in school. That was how I wanted it.

Okay, so maybe there is such a thing as emotional imbalance. I was slowly coming to realize this. But I really didn't want to leave my safe place. Because it was safe - no one could get close enough to me to hurt me, nothing penetrated. And some part of me was aware there was a lot of pain I hadn't dealt with. Once I let myself feel it would all come rushing back like a river when the dam breaks.

But eventually I started to let the walls down. I let myself smile and laugh. I quit blanking out my expression and let my emotions show. There was pain. I had suppressed it for three years and it took two more to really deal with it. I found more friends in those next two years. A few I met through drama when I finally turned my attention outward. Friends who were in my wedding party - yes I'm married - and I still keep in close contact with them.

My friends have been so wonderful. Phil is more like a brother to me. Amber is just too cool - she gets it from her mom. I even got back in touch recently with another friend, Julia. My long-term memory suffers, but I remember being able to discuss serious stuff with her without fear. They all have something in common, they never looked down on me.

As I said, my long-term memory isn't so long-term. I suppose this is what happens when you start to repress memories at age twelve. It followed me, erasing most everything from more than two or three years ago. High school was five years ago. I can recall images and scenes, but not much is clear or solid.

Today I live and work in Des Moines, Iowa. I am a secretary in a vetrinary office and having a wonderful time at it. My co-workers and I have fun and laugh alot. My friends are mostly all in California, so I don't know what I would do if my computer crashed. I let myself feel everything now and it has taken a long time to learn how to deal again. But here I am. I wouldn't say I'm "all better" - it's an ongoing process - but at least I am trying now. There is more than one way to be "The Strong One".

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