I Left My Heart in...Wait, Fuck...Where Is It?

True Love is Always. It may not do what we want it to. It may decorate itself in anger at times. But if it is real, then it never goes away.


My entire existence has been about starting over; whether it is what I wanted or not.
** I was born into a dysfunctional family of Caucasians (some racist, mostly rednecks, as I learned). My mother was beautiful, though. She was something of a free spirit who loved with reckless abandon. I had a fantastic older brother, technically no father, and an adorable grin. ;-)  November of 1979, my mother, Judy, left this world. My name was Christopher.
**Wait...start over. My name is Billy. I was born to a financially stable black couple. I was raised in a conservative household, with a father who worked for an oil company. My mother was a stay at home mom who loved on and cared for me. I had a much older brother who played football and left for the Navy soon after high school. Aside from that, we had an assortment of animals, an assortment of housekeepers, and a consistent stable home. Over the years, it grew darker. My father was always gone (even when there). My brother was always gone. My mother was angry and unhealthy all the time. The housekeepers went away. Animals kept dying. One day, I leave the house to walk to church. A car pulls up in front of my house. A young man, around my age (I was 15), got out and after a few questions told me "You're not who you think you are."
**Wait...start over. My name is Billiam Christopher. I lived in a single-parent household (father) with a brother I never saw, another brother who was too young and oppressed to come see me, and another brother who was all over the place. My home was falling apart around me; figuratively and literally. I had no idea what I was going to do with my life. What few friends I had were moving away and growing up. My cousins, aunts, grandparents were becoming strangers to me. I fled to Waco, where...
**Wait...start over...

Yeah, it just keeps going on and on like that. Each life was just a tragedy waiting to happen. I started off as this passive, affectionate infant who loved with a gentility you don't see anywhere these days. As each life took its turn with me, I instinctively started using every trick in the book to try and protect my heart. Love became more and more foreign to me; friends, family, co-workers.

Here's how I saw things after I moved to Enid in 1997/1998; My older biological brother came to find me (you'll here this tale later, I swear), but was disappointed in the brother he found. It didn't matter anyway, because he ended up leaving me when he went to prison. My father did not know what to do with me. The rest of the family (aside from a couple of cousins) had no idea what I was going through and didn't bother to try to understand. The only person that ever made me feel safe and loved (despite the abuse) died on the morning of my favorite holiday; Christmas morning. My first boyfriend was a loving, innocent, funny southern man...until he started abusing prescription pills and then...abusing me. It has seemingly been never-ending. I don't know how accurate all of this is, but it is how I felt.

You see, at the time...Love for me was merely a high bridge for me to fall from. Looking back now and thinking about my brother's and how much worse they had it than me, I don't see how they remained so positive and optimistic. I just don't...didn't...have the energy to keep trying to love people that hurt me (intentionally or otherwise).

That's the funny thing about love. No matter how bitter you become, you still want it. There isn't a single person who lacks desire to be shown love. If they do, then they are one cold son of a bitch who has lost their soul. I have almost been that person. To this day I teeter on the brink of saying "fuck it" and going on a destructive tour of America. So what stops me?

Love. As cruel as I think it has been to me, I use it to keep me human. I have so much love for all of my nephews and nieces...you have no idea. They have not been burdened with the things that Joe, Scott, and I have. Right now, they love the way my birth mother loved. It's honest, pure, and upfront. While they open the door to love, my brothers are there to help me walk through it. Because...man...I'm broken. I put on the show, wearing the preppy clothes, using my expansive vocabulary (proud of it), and keeping that posture in check. I try so hard to be perfect because I am broken in so many places.

The fact that my mothers and my brothers, my nephews and my friends have shown me love, assures me in some way that I will get back to where I was when I was a child. Maybe I can be open to giving and receiving strong emotions from others. From the words of that great classic, Nature Boy ; "The greatest thing you'll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return."  

I hope I pass this class. I'm tired of starting over.