Some Time Ago, I Began Writing a Sort of Memoir ~ The following is the Beginning
Until Tomorrows End
By: Rob Paquin
I find myself here today, contemplating suicide. Wondering how, given all that I’ve done and been throughout my life, I sit here feeling so worthless, useless, and alone ? For all the words I know, and have used over the years, I cannot quite explain my sadness adequately enough. And God knows…, I’ve tried. Over and over again…, I’ve tried.
I watched this world of mine spin in and out of my control for pretty much my entire life. From the earliest days of my youth, when I was around 3 or 4. One of my earliest memories is of my father punching me in the head because I dared to step between him and my mom during one of his drunken rages. Other memories include him coming home and saying to my mom, “I have 5 kids, and I know one of them misbehaved today. Who was it ?” I remember being singled out over and over again by my mom, and over and over again being beaten by my dad. Even on days when I had done nothing wrong. Ah…, the 70’s. When abusive drunkards roamed and the cops that were called did absolutely nothing.
I think even back then I understood my mother’s reasonings. It was a Deadman’s choice of sorts. Was she going to hand over one of my three older sisters, or the baby of the family, my younger brother, to this drunken asshole hellbent on hurt, pain, and power ? Yet, there I was in all my 4-year-old glory, just waiting to be punished and abused… Don’t get me wrong. All of us kids and my mother as well bore some welts and bruises at the caring hands of my father. But indeed, I was best suited to accept the majority of his heartfelt disciplines.
The thing that surprises me most as I look back is that everyone always seemed so surprised that by the time I was eight, I no longer cared much about anything and was ambivalent to external pain. It was in those early years that I began to write off the world and the people in it. Even as I scoured each of my surroundings, and all the world’s people for the Love and Attention that I deserved. Looking back, it’s easy for me to see that I deserved much better.
My early childhood bled into my teen years, and it wasn’t until I was 14 that I grew the courage to swing back at my father. Though I was 3 years younger when I started swinging back at the world. A pair of twin brothers, who relentlessly bullied me in school were the first of many kids that found out, firsthand, that I was no longer going to take anyone’s shit or abuse. I beat those boys up bad and was sent straight to the principle’s office, while they went to the school nurse. It didn’t take long for their friends to come calling either. But by that point I was a feral animal, capable of withstanding all types of pain and lashing back like wolverine cornered. I spent much of my free time between sixth and tenth grade, bashing boys (and a couple of full-grown men) straight in their faces.
But perhaps I go too fast, and skip too much ?
When I was around 6 or 7, my mom finally had had enough. She left and started the process of divorce. We lost our house, my dad moved us all into an apartment and life went on, only it was much worse without my mom that year or so. She was eventually awarded custody of all of us children. I remember vividly as my brother and I sat in that grand hallway of that courthouse with some female overseer as we waited for my mom. I stared at that door with hope and prayers for a better life for myself and my family. At long last, after what seemed to me at the time to be forever, the doors opened, and my mother emerged. She gathered up the girls and they all turned and left.
A man came over to the lady we were with and they walked off and talked. I called to my mom and she kept walking. Seemingly hugging the girls even tighter at the sound of my voice. The lady came back and said, “Robert, you and Joey need to come with me.” I asked her if she was bringing me to mom?” She never really answered and just said, “ Come on, now. Get your brother.”
My brother and I were taken into foster care.
Turned out, as I discovered over a year later, that my mom stood in court and said that she was glad we were all safe from my dad, but she couldn’t handle all of us, and asked the judge if she could have just the 3 girls…
She fucking walked out of that courtroom and just left us there like so much fucking trash on a barren sidewalk.
By: Rob Paquin
I find myself here today, contemplating suicide. Wondering how, given all that I’ve done and been throughout my life, I sit here feeling so worthless, useless, and alone ? For all the words I know, and have used over the years, I cannot quite explain my sadness adequately enough. And God knows…, I’ve tried. Over and over again…, I’ve tried.
I watched this world of mine spin in and out of my control for pretty much my entire life. From the earliest days of my youth, when I was around 3 or 4. One of my earliest memories is of my father punching me in the head because I dared to step between him and my mom during one of his drunken rages. Other memories include him coming home and saying to my mom, “I have 5 kids, and I know one of them misbehaved today. Who was it ?” I remember being singled out over and over again by my mom, and over and over again being beaten by my dad. Even on days when I had done nothing wrong. Ah…, the 70’s. When abusive drunkards roamed and the cops that were called did absolutely nothing.
I think even back then I understood my mother’s reasonings. It was a Deadman’s choice of sorts. Was she going to hand over one of my three older sisters, or the baby of the family, my younger brother, to this drunken asshole hellbent on hurt, pain, and power ? Yet, there I was in all my 4-year-old glory, just waiting to be punished and abused… Don’t get me wrong. All of us kids and my mother as well bore some welts and bruises at the caring hands of my father. But indeed, I was best suited to accept the majority of his heartfelt disciplines.
The thing that surprises me most as I look back is that everyone always seemed so surprised that by the time I was eight, I no longer cared much about anything and was ambivalent to external pain. It was in those early years that I began to write off the world and the people in it. Even as I scoured each of my surroundings, and all the world’s people for the Love and Attention that I deserved. Looking back, it’s easy for me to see that I deserved much better.
My early childhood bled into my teen years, and it wasn’t until I was 14 that I grew the courage to swing back at my father. Though I was 3 years younger when I started swinging back at the world. A pair of twin brothers, who relentlessly bullied me in school were the first of many kids that found out, firsthand, that I was no longer going to take anyone’s shit or abuse. I beat those boys up bad and was sent straight to the principle’s office, while they went to the school nurse. It didn’t take long for their friends to come calling either. But by that point I was a feral animal, capable of withstanding all types of pain and lashing back like wolverine cornered. I spent much of my free time between sixth and tenth grade, bashing boys (and a couple of full-grown men) straight in their faces.
But perhaps I go too fast, and skip too much ?
When I was around 6 or 7, my mom finally had had enough. She left and started the process of divorce. We lost our house, my dad moved us all into an apartment and life went on, only it was much worse without my mom that year or so. She was eventually awarded custody of all of us children. I remember vividly as my brother and I sat in that grand hallway of that courthouse with some female overseer as we waited for my mom. I stared at that door with hope and prayers for a better life for myself and my family. At long last, after what seemed to me at the time to be forever, the doors opened, and my mother emerged. She gathered up the girls and they all turned and left.
A man came over to the lady we were with and they walked off and talked. I called to my mom and she kept walking. Seemingly hugging the girls even tighter at the sound of my voice. The lady came back and said, “Robert, you and Joey need to come with me.” I asked her if she was bringing me to mom?” She never really answered and just said, “ Come on, now. Get your brother.”
My brother and I were taken into foster care.
Turned out, as I discovered over a year later, that my mom stood in court and said that she was glad we were all safe from my dad, but she couldn’t handle all of us, and asked the judge if she could have just the 3 girls…
She fucking walked out of that courtroom and just left us there like so much fucking trash on a barren sidewalk.
51-55, M