A boy’s soul torn apart, but his body survived.
Recurrent sexual trauma slammed shut the doors of hope,
locking love and tenderness out of his life…. completely.
His spirit shattered, and he was silenced.
**The criminal teacher who injured him has evaded justice**
The man he became survived in the boy’s shadow, deeply wounded.
Silence his shield against memories of abuse.
The boy and the man, although one and the same, were ripped apart.
An impassioned letter from a 70year-old man to his teenage self:
“In Search of My Beautiful Boy.”
Oh, my beautiful boy,
Where did you go? With your wounds exposed.
I pray for your safety and wellbeing.
I will find you, wherever you are hiding.
That evil man cannot hurt you now. Never again.
Anguish
It cleaves my tormented soul to write this letter to you.
Hiding ice-cold tears, I pen these words of shame, revulsion and horror,
trying to suppress the untamed rage and agony that pierce my very essence.
Standing beside me; you are so, so far away. I cannot break your sorrow.
I have to tell you of the nightmarish future you will face, so utterly alone,
and the all-consuming terror that will overpower you, my precious boy.
I must avenge the sordid crimes that made you vomit from your teenage soul
as you bled from your battered behind, after his violent, abusive, anal invasions.
Naked Panic
You will live in dread of seeing him, hearing him; his acrid, leathery smell.
His voice will encircle you with horror,
and his breath burn like acid on your tender skin. When fear of his unclothed, adult body incapacitates and silences your terrified mind, neither empathy nor compassion will reach you.
My grieving heart will shatter.
I cannot bear the pain of knowing where his tongue, his hands, his stiffness will invade you. Above your thighs, below your chest; his demonic lust will spurt, leaving its squalid stains.
In your frozen paralysis, you will scream; heard only in the silence of your soul. I weep that I cannot rescue you from your bitter anguish, my devastated boy.
Abandonment
Even when you turn away to hide your tears, I will be there beside you; although
it will seem to you that I am nowhere near; that you are entirely alone.
My heart and spirit are breaking, my handsome boy, as I tell you of the dread,
and the merciless fear that is in store for you in the years to come.
Night after night, horror and disgust will tear you violently from your sleep, with
feculent torrents of putrid, frightening dreams destroying your much-needed rest.
Tears mingle with sweat, turning to ice that penetrates your teenage brow.
Devastating shame will asphyxiate your innocent pubescent passions, my beloved boy.
Seclusion
Thoughts of your piercing loneliness drive the serrated knife of sadness deeply, and so viciously, into my soul, as I yearn to ease your intolerable pain. Your gentle hand slips away…… The knife twists. My soul is shredded. I cannot reach you. Never such torture have I known. For however many years it takes, my lovely boy, I will wait for your return.
At school, as your grades decline, your oppressive secret will dominate your mind.
Depression, withdrawal and confusion will befriend and overwhelm you.
Unbearable isolation will crack your soul, crushing your spirit, my desolate boy.
I will long to kiss your head with tenderness and compassion, but you will turn away.
(The boy hides his shame as he travels from adolescence to manhood.
The secrets are locked inside his adult soul; he thinks they, and he, are safe.)
Buried Adolescent Distress
(It is 1998.) You are forty-four years old now. Warm sun shines brightly on your life. Teenage memories are deeply repressed within you. Why, then, are you so restless?
Moon and stars soothe your soul as you sleep in safety, my fine-looking young man, but, a menacing phantom lurks in the shadows of long-forgotten danger, and you are uneasy. What is it that you dread?
Living the Nightmare
Snatched from your adulthood on August 18th, you will neither see nor hear it coming. The dam will break, as a torrent of thirty years of pent-up shame engulfs you. Choking, drowning.
Primal screams of visceral torment. It is midnight; you are a frightened teenager once more. Ancient howls screech through the night. Antidepressants, seclusion, wretched melancholy.
Death, surely, would be easier than this?
So Close to Extinction
Noose, blade or bullet; please extinguish this inferno of suffering.
Which of these gluttonous rivals for teenage blood will take you away?
The merciless triad of annihilation competes for your final breath.
But! They plunge to the floor, unstained, unused. You survive the flood, my darling boy.
(The boy within the man’s body survives the revelation of his hideous secret.)
The Rescue
I walk the streets, searching for a lacerated soul in a grief-stricken adolescent body.
“Help me please, this is an old school photo of him, but he may look more like me now.”
Until I find him, I will travel barefoot over the splintered shards of his shame.
Blood from my feet matches that from his long-discarded blood-soaked, teenage underpants.
Reunion
I walk past a full-length mirror. I am startled; but delighted.
“Oh! My wonderful boy!”
He is standing there, in the mirror. His eyes meet mine.
Smiling, he opens his arms wide.
Running towards me, he says,
“You found me. You found me.”
He rushes into my arms. We embrace, as time evaporates. The pool of tears becomes a lake. His arms encircle me. Teenager and man reunited. Tenderly, I kiss his head with love and compassion. At last, we are together again. This time, forever.
Text and images provided by Matt
