Welcome to the Show

A real life account of what it's like to living with someone that has problems with rage


1. Welcome to the Show

I just wanted their attention, I just wanted someone to listen. When the demons came I just wanted someone to care, about me. That’s selfish. I know. He needs them more than I do. I have to be normal, I have to be normal, why can’t I be normal? The screaming is locked up inside my brain, I can’t push out the words, it wouldn’t matter if I could.

Ears buzzing, this screaming is not in my head, this screaming is real. it’s my fault! Huddled by the door, you can’t hide from the shame. Falling to the floor you will never escape this pain. it’s here to stay, with the fear. Cover your ears but the silence never comes.

The. Silence. Never. Comes. You caused this, are you happy now? You had to be heard and now it’s all falling apart, you fucking know better.

i just wanted their attention and this is what it brought. Read it like a story, first, next, finally. Step by step, the same thing over and over. Wait until it’s safe, is it ever safe? Will it ever really be safe? I am not completely sure, but I doubt it. Step by step Jordan, pay attention. First anger, then

manipulation, and finally the disappearing act. Wait for that final act jordan. Self-preservation.

Bang!​ ​Bang!​ ​Echoing​ ​through​ ​the​ ​house.​ ​Bang!​ ​Fist​ ​against​ ​wall,​ ​elbow against​ ​counter,​ ​and​ ​foot​ ​against​ ​door.​ ​The​ ​yelling​ ​grows​ ​in​ ​volume,​ ​until there​ ​is​ ​nothing​ ​that​ ​can​ ​drown​ ​it​ ​out.​ ​A​ ​fist​ ​to​ ​the​ ​face,​ ​not​ ​this​ ​time.​ ​Maybe next​ ​time.​ ​Yelling​ ​disperses​ ​to​ ​few​ ​and​ ​far​ ​in​ ​between.​ ​The​ ​first​ ​step​ ​is almost​ ​over.​ ​Angry​ ​words​ ​spit​ ​with​ ​rage,​ ​tumble​ ​out​ ​and​ ​slice​ ​through​ ​the

soul,​ ​additional​ ​scars​ ​are​ ​made.​ ​At​ ​this​ ​point​ ​isn't​ ​it​ ​a​ ​collection? You should be used to to that by now. Why do you still let them cut so deep?

Because I love him.

You’re weak, pathetic, it’s a wonder you still care. Silverware drawer opening that means the first act is over, two more.

The knife is removed and pressed against the skin. I see it all in my head, the images play out like a movie. Make it stop, please. The knife pressed to the skin but it never cuts, it was never meant to cut. He wants water not blood, and the water comes.

These tears fall for sadness and despair, but those fall to request our pity and blind forgiveness. The forgiveness comes but not the way it should. Falling to the floor the words pour out without anymore meaning.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry!” he isn’t sorry. Self-deprecation follows the pleas, but it’s all an act. He loves himself too much to ever hate himself, so instead he uses the words as tools to pull at the heartstrings. it doesn't work, my heart is too broken, there is nothing to pull.

The final step has arrived as it always does, I believe this one has the most impact. This is the act I was waiting for, the grand finally. The disappearing act and isn’t it spectacular! How all that anger and pain is supposed to just go away? How that works I will never know but suddenly everything stops. The quiet comes, it is never silent but now it’s quiet. it might be safe to walk outside my bedroom.

Open just a crack, take a small peak, just as expected they are all gone. Gone to their separate rooms. Tip toe out the door don't you dare make a sound.

Wipe away the water, wipe it away to hide it. They can’t know. A pair of soft dark eyes in a small furry black face stare up at me. The regret hits me as I pull him into my arms. I am so so sorry little one.

“Trevor don’t hate me, please! I know it’s my fault but I'm going to fix it. I promise.”

A door eventually opens and she enters the common room. Looks at my face what does she see? What does she feel? Betrayal? Disgust? Hatred? She probably feels all of that and more.

“What’s wrong?” there it is, the trick question. Endless waves of denial cresting over the shattered remains of my family. Washes away the evidence. Nothing happened here. Nothing took place, it was all an act. Now the show is over, right? Now we go back to the real world, real life. There is only one response to that question.

    Then there was nothing, nothing to talk about, nothing to think about, there was never anything to begin with. Now a whole new show begins, where all the actors pretend that the answer to everything, is nothing.

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