You asked: What my role in life was?

anthony-brady Poems

I tried to be a man that's patient: someone kind and calm, open and understanding. Someone who felt other’s pain who didn't let it turn him cold. You see, their lack of trust wasn't entirely their fault... they grew up stunted: watching their father abuse their mother. Or, in his absence they grew up without him ever there: erratic, extreme emotions; thunderclouds of anger, thus implanted self-hatred. Then he would return, amusing, funny - the centre of attention. Other times he was miserable or an erratic, manic-obsessive, a hopeless compulsive mess. Their mothers stayed quiet took the lashings, the outbursts to keep the fragile peace, while they internalising them, kept feeling it was their fault. Innocent, naive, hurt, numb always feeling like a stranger. Home? a war zone where words were irrational, erratic weapons of mass destruction. They learned to hurt others to protect themselves. They witnessed human weakness; the unreliable became friends, the consistent the enemy. They grew shy and reserved couldn't stand the spotlight their skins made them anomalies spectacles, defectives, tattooed victims with emotional scars. Rejected by the outside, no place to call a home let alone a safe haven. They numbed every inch of pain, outcasts. Or so they thought. Once in a while their anger would burst out unexplained, their heart would pound and their body would shake over the slightest inconveniences. Their thoughts expressed: "Am I like:my father? Bipolar, violent, irrational?" Often flooded their minds. I believed their words – empathised. “I deemed myself unworthy of consistency, reliability, happiness, trust and love. I preyed on the weak they reminded me of my mother. I destroyed my body with any drug or liquor that I could get my hands on. Denying myself of food, Starving myself of love.” For years and years and years, I helped them stumble upon peace: once I explored the inner crevices They surrendered to the war within and stopped abusing themselves. Years of therapy. Countless hours of running notebook after notebook Of poetry and musings, they learned to let go and love. The trouble, you see is often lack of self-love: my perceptions revealed it. They finally learned to trust: I've fought one hell of a battle. I was a Social Worker. TOBIAS.