A moment in time

I'm sorry if it seems I am overly melodramatic at times when I write about my depression here in Steemit.

This is but one avenue that I use to be able to put down in words the truth that in life I don't even say.

I have battled depression from time to time recalling when I was eight years old and wanted to die. What could fuck a kid so much that he thought of ending it so early.

My parents at that time was having a rough patch. It came to the point that there was physical abuse in both sides and I saw it all.

There is something very traumatizing to see your parents wield bladed objects and threaten to kill each other.

I remember screaming for them to stop and they would continue fighting while I ran to the safety of my eldest sister's arms and cry.

My pops would leave for another year, go back to his work and my matriarch went on as if nothing happened. In those days separating was unheard of and the woman usually blamed for domestic issues.

She felt pressured by everyone to keep a home amidst all the problems and unfortunately she took it against me.

I am my father's son. I am a spitting image of him. Even my aunts tell me that when I smile it is as if they are looking at him when we were of the same age.

I constantly reminded the matriach of her husband that at times she loathed. No matter what I did it was never good enough.

I remember my sister to be the one that celebrated all my major milestones in life. She attended all my graduations, PTA meetings and even the few times that I got seriously sick and had to go to the hospital she was the one there.

The matriarch at that point busied herself in work and building her empire. Yet when she saw me, I could see it in her eyes that deep seated hatred.

I remember numerous times of being whipped for any wrong doings that she perceived. Sometimes I feel that she makes things up just to have that excuse to punish me.

I grew numb from all the lashings I received from her when I was a kid. I thought of other things when I was lying face down while she took her belt and smacked it on my bottom.

These things would stop when my father was around. This was why I cherished those moments when we go camping and hikes. Away from the troubles. Away from her.

Always the cycle of violence would be there as they would fight. I remember going home from school one day to see the matriach's leg bleeding, a cut from a jungle bolo strike inflicted on her.

My father would leave during those instances and again she would take it out on me.

I guess this was the reason why I found solace in escaping my world through books and video games. That was my form of escapism in this mad world.

I still remember that day , it was a Sunday and the matriarch usually would be shouting at the maids for not doing a good job even after all the training she gave them. I usually would be locked in my room reading from the many books that I have.

I remember hearing the cries of one of the younger maids as I heard slaps. Apparently she was missing some money from her purse.

I hear her go upstairs and open my door. I hear her shouting but as I have been accustomed to do, I tuned her out as I continued burying my face in the book that I was reading.

I remember her yanking the book out of my hands and clench my face all the while shouting more.

She goes through my cabinet and sees under some of my clothes a stack of bills. Even at a young age I was already saving. I saved some of the allowances that I got from her. I save whatever my sister give me when I shine her shoes. I bought and sold toys and traded cards to some of my friends.

To her it was the smoking gun. It was all the evidence she needed even when I tried to tell her were the money came from. Instead of being proud all I could see was her fury.

It was the worst beating I got and my sister was not home that day so no one stopped her. She was out filming a movie and has not been home for several days.

I remember quietly sobbing in my dark room asking God why. I wanted to die at that point. I wanted to make the ultimate escape and end it.

I had read enough books to know how people killed themselves. Either with knives, falling off a bridge, a gun in their mouth and poison.

To an eight year old child finding a bridge was a bit difficult, access to a gun was impossible, knives was not something I wanted to do and so poison was the way to go.

I reached out to the medical cabinet and saw bottles of cough syrup, fever medicine, antacids. I remember she had sleeping pills as well because she found falling asleep difficult.

I went to her room and hearing her softly snore I got the bottle of sleeping pills. Going back to my room I mixed all that I could in a sticky bitter solution.

I drank it all while popping pills like M & M's. I don't know if it was because of the mixture but instead of falling asleep I started vomiting so much and all the pills that I ingested was flushed out.

I couldn't even die. I was sick for a couple of days and hardly ate. Food that was brought to my room was untouched.

I remember my sister finally getting home and she gave me an earful for doing something so dumb. Yet she hugged me the entire time.

I cried as I have never done before and never left my room. My sister constantly supplied me with new video games as she waited for me to heal. Never questioning nor trying to hurry me.

Eventually summer ended and I needed to go back to school so I left my room and proceeded with life and yet I knew that a part of me died that night because I was never the same again.

Sometimes I fancy myself watching my life unfold as if reading the life of another person. I sometimes feel detached and more alive when I read a story or play through the life of a game avatar.

These days I feel that I am just going through the motions and just waiting for that moment to die.