Daemons of the Past - 1. Daemons of the Past

Silence echoes through the house
Cold, hollow and mocking; it deafens me
I look around – and I see the end
The end of an era that I cannot escape
This was my childhood home
And those walls just claw me back
Good memories pale beside the bad
It is time to say my final goodbye…I hope

I hammer the ‘For-Sale’ sign into the ground,
And stroll down that country lane
I see the curtains twitch, and the neighbors pause
My clothes – flamboyant and designer – draw their gaze
I flaunt my sexuality; revenge for all those times I could not
They remember me, though they would rather not
I try to feel nostalgia or sentimentality or even pain
But I am numbed by those oft-hid daemons

I walk over to Main Street
I sit down in the café and order espresso
I look at the scene before me
And realize that that chapter of my life isn’t closed
The coffee comes, laced with cruelty and sorrow
It burns as it goes down, but it does not warm
I try to put the past behind me,
But there are too many loose ends

I pay the waiter, and flirt because I can
I ignore those stares – heaven forbid I acknowledge the effect they have
The daemons of my past come back to haunt me
But these people cannot provide answers
I am only nineteen, but the weight of the years is on my shoulders
I turn into an alley and buckle at the knees
Unwanted tears well up; I quake in my boots
The first crack in my austere façade

I wipe my face, and turn to walk back to my car
But something makes me stop
Questions rage inside my head, and refuse to be silent
My parents may be dead, but they torment my thoughts
The pain I felt back then is welling up inside me
And I shove it ruthlessly aside, as I have done countless times before
I laugh – they finally dragged me back to this hell-hole
Well, god help me, I am no longer a child

I walk like a model through that town
My hips sway with every step
My apricot scarf a proud flag to those bigots
A flag that cannot hide the fear
I see a young man walk by, and I make sure he sees me
He smirks when he sees me – oh, they all remember me
But I am not the quivering little boy I was
He can’t spread those devastating rumors anymore

But he isn’t my father
He can’t answer the questions I need answered
He can’t offer an explanation
He can’t give me closure
He doesn’t say anything – and I don’t expect him to
I have gotten out of there, and he is nothing to me
I don’t care what he thinks of me
But his silence vindicates my adolescence

I keep walking – and my head floods with memories
I see the grocery store where my bike was stolen
I see the police-men – grayer and rounder – who laughed at my suffering
I see the boys who betrayed me to save themselves
But I also force myself to see the things that helped me escape
I see the ballet teacher who stood by me
I see the one girl willing to befriend a fag
I see the nurse who forged notes to get me out of gym class

Then comes the school
A place I revisit only in safety of my shrink’s office
A place that fought hard to keep me trapped
I graduated at only fifteen, and still it felt like I spent an eternity there
In a way, I am thankful for that school
The cloying walls that suffocated me were motivation
They made me fight tooth and nail to escape
They made me tough enough to push through the pain

I hate this place
Yet it has made me who I am – for better or for worse
My haughty arrogance, my aloof nature, my lack of trust
My fighting spirit, my vulnerability, my carefully hidden softer side
It is the reason I mix my vodka with angst and despair
It is the reason I epitomize dispassion and confidence to the world
It is the reason my faults are so inextricably tied to my virtues
It is the reason that deep down, I’m still that same quivering little boy

Next I reach the church
And all my doubt and fear resurfaces
They lost all ability to frighten me long ago – or so I had believed
I embraced atheism because of them, and their judgment washes over me
I walk through the front door and take a seat in the back corner
I wait, and hear the people start to fill the pews
Pious, agnostic and atheist alike, they all come
For it is the only acceptable thing to do

The young couple beside me doesn’t recognize me
I remain silent, with not a single prayer leaving my lips
Communion time
I don’t get up
As the people walk by, they turn to me
They know who I am
They were there when I broke down in tears in front of the church
They were there when my father publicly disowned me

I think back to the last time I was there
I remember the fear I felt as I was promised hellfire and damnation
I remember the icy stares as the laity looked upon a real, live faggot
I remember my father telling me, before them all, that he had no son
And the pain they caused me has not vanished
My sincere disdain for them hides the inferiority I feel
But the real fight lies not with them, but with my own daemons
They should be proud – they bred the creature I have become

The bells toll, and the crowd moves as one to leave
The last one to stand, I walk out in silence
There is a gathering on the grounds, and I watch
The priest stops as he passes me, and stares
I nod my head in recognition, daring him to speak
He asks if I still bed with the devil
I laugh and smile – he has no power anymore
But my walls start to crack

As I wander from place to place,
And relive the dark years of my adolescence
I discover that I am still not free
Their condemnations, their judgment, their scorn still haunt me
They can do me no more harm
For I am already broken
I have paid a massive price to be free of them
But it has not been enough

We all make our choices in life
And I chose to run away without looking back
There are questions that will never be answered
There are wounds that will never be healed
I came when my mother died, dreading the return
When I first got there, I wanted closure from everything
Now I just want to run away again
I fought so hard to escape, only to fall into another trap

I won’t be going to the funeral
I could barely make myself come organize her affairs
My mother held some small love for me,
And that is why I get the house
And that is why I don’t want it
I would have traded a million houses for her love and recognition
But she followed my father like a dog
Even after his death

It is ironic that the only thing worth dieing for is life
I have been away for only three years
But it seems like far less
It seems like only yesterday that I dreaded waking up in the morning
The chains of memory – and of childhood – are insidious
I forged manacles for myself that even I cannot undo
In escaping these people, I have been locked inside myself
I finally thought I was healed, when I had really just hidden the wounds

My heart beats
Thumping against my chest
I have fought so hard to escape
Is it all in vain?
Is it worth it anymore?
I yearn for the sweet release of surrender
But they won’t get that from me
I will show them that I am the stronger

What have I become?
I still feel the need to have their validation
Am I only living to prove them wrong?
I search within myself for answers
And realize they are not there
The war that I thought was over, has only just begun
I will show them and I will show myself
That I am not worthless, that the fight is not in vain

It’s hard to convince others you are worthy when you don’t believe it yourself
My words proclaim a conviction I do not believe
My actions exude a confidence I do not have
My icy dismissal shows a haughtiness that I do not feel
My defenses are falling; my weakness becomes apparent
The vulnerability I have hidden so carefully resurfaces
Oh, how I hate to be needy – but I need a shoulder to cry on
I need someone…how it galls me to admit that

How is it possible to be so arrogant yet feel so worthless
How can such a stoic face hide such a tortured soul
How can someone so distrustful and distant be so needy
I thought myself cold, but they are colder than I could ever be
They feel no remorse for dragging me to rock-bottom
They revel in my anguish, in my vain attempts at worthiness
They know with such certainty that I am not worth the time of day
And I cannot muster the strength to prove them wrong

Life – a life free of daemons – is what I’m fighting for
My choice of armor is my intellect
My sword is my dispassion
My balm – my cynicism
The hurt they caused me burns sharply in my memory
But that was just the sting; the venom still courses through my veins
I may lose myself before I reconcile my past
But it all will be worth it in the end

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