Filling Your Emptiness -- Your New Life
Chapter 1
My Lifestyle Cycle of Dysfunction!
I was born to a dysfunctional and abusive family. With no caring positive mentor, no good things developed my life.
On April 21, 1970, I wrote the following:
I Am God’s Error
Life is a farce that is taken for granted,
By those who’ve not lived a life of the dead.
One whose existence was one of God’s error,
Is one whose life history must never be read.
My life has the omens of Satan’s forgiveness.
It’s death given life—a life that can’t die.
I’m doomed to live on in this stage of reflection
And no one is willing to give a reply.
The question I yearn to have answered and ended,
The question is simple:
The question is “Why?”
My memories include a family life of drunkenness, beatings, destruction, and violence by a father of multiple marriages with one disabled, bedridden half brother, a mother of many marriages, grandparents of divorce and multiple marriages, two full brothers, and one oldest half sister—each demonstrating a life cycle of sin, promiscuity, abuse, divorce, abandonment.
My childhood memories are of loneliness, emptiness, fear, no love, and no hope. We were poor, seldom had supervision. Our friends were of similar despair: trouble, alcoholism, drugs, crime. Life was a void.
Being the youngest, I generally ran around with or was allowed to tag along with older friends of my siblings and was introduced to their influence of trouble at a much earlier age.
I had plenty of girlfriends growing up and went steady starting in fifth grade. Going steady never really worked out well for me. The girls thought I was overly shy since I never showed up for the movies, or when I did, I didn’t sit with my girlfriend (which didn’t go over very well). Because of my hearing impairment, I could not hear quite intimate talk or whispers, especially in loud surroundings. The impairment caused me many social rejections and exclusions throughout my life.
The hearing deficiency also created learning difficulties at school, but I had no problems with grades. I was smart enough to make any grade I desired. I just never experienced a motivation or reward that proved worth the effort. I could even plan my three-day school expulsions to fulfill my own calendar desires. The teachers and counselor were never concerned. They provided their spare time for the other students that showed potential. I was determined to graduate high school and not be like the real losers.
Later in life, the hearing loss kept me from being drafted for the Viet Nam War. I did not reveal the loss in advance because I wanted to be drafted so I could get out of my dysfunctional living environment. I was even willing to go to Viet Nam and die.
I began working as soon as possible. With no home allowance, if I wanted anything, I had to earn it myself. In high school I took DECA (Distributive Education Clubs of America), beginning as a junior. I would be out of school by around noon and go to work at a local grocery store each afternoon into evening.
I was always a very hard worker. I learned things quickly and had a knack of common sense. Once I was given a task, I did not stop until it was completed, and it had to be the best. I was a perfectionist, which oftentimes created tremendous extra stress. Some credit for this work ethic is probably due to the few times I was forced to help in my father’s painting work. He would not tolerate mistakes, sloppiness, or incompleteness. As well, my first few grocery store bosses, too, did not tolerate slackness or inefficiency. One first grocery manager did not even allow rest breaks, at least for the men and boys.
I believe this was the beginning of my workaholism. Throughout my adult life and professions, I consistently achieved best awards and status. At times, it became a mechanism for avoiding undesirable circumstances, as I could just bury myself in my task and prevent facing the undesired. It was an addiction that served me well and, when needed, provided me a safe place of escape.
I bought my own car with my mother cosigning. My father took a test-drive with me, out of pressure from my mother. He said it was okay, though it almost caught fire during the test-drive. Smoke billowed out from under the dashboard, and many wires’ insulation were burned off. I didn’t know any better and wanted it so bad, I never said a word. The car was in the high school auto mechanics shop having an engine overhaul within six months. So I was making car payments but not driving. Overall, the two-door Chevy Impala with bucket seats and Fenton 500 three-speed floor shifter was quite attractive (though not fast, which was probably an unknown blessing).
Once I had a car, loneliness was no longer a problem, and I even, at times, had girlfriends in various close towns. One-on-one in a car was never a problem, and the back seat was very comfortable. I had plenty of sexual activity and was even engaged—with ring and all—while a senior in high school, but the unhappiness and inner void never went away.
Companionship is not the same as real friends or love.
I found myself, more and more, depending on alcohol and drugs to face the next day, to get through the day, to finish the day, to forget, yet always haunted by just that. What I wanted to forget was my everyday life, but the nightmare never ended. Every time I awoke, it started again!
Life was school, work, Dairy Queen, bootleggers, drag Main Street, and parties, but that never completely filled the personal void or provided hope for the long-term cycles, habits, and addictions.