Lure of the Monster

Not a Good Person

I swallowed the sobs that threatened to escape as she stroked my hair lightly. She didn't say anything, but what was there for her to say? I had just told her my version of the truth, but how could she believe that it was actually true?

Addicts are liars.

I was taught in the facility to never believe myself. I thought I was strong? That meant I was weak. I thought it was a good day? Time for a meeting. On and on. The lies would continue to spew out of my mouth and in my brain. I tricked myself into thinking that everything was okay, that I had beat this, but it wasn't and I hadn't. I never would. Or was that just a lie, too?

I was so tired of trying to sort out what was true and what wasn't. I was so tired of fighting the cravings and trying to stay sober, to stay present. Some days, it was so easy to convince myself to fight. I was young and it wasn't my time to go yet. Even though I'd fucked everything up by getting AIDS, I still had such a long life in front of me.

I just didn't know if it was worth fighting for anymore.

"I'm sorry that I fuck everything up, Jane," I whispered.

She drew back and shook her head. "Do not say that, Beckham. It is not your fault that you were in such a dark place," she said, cupping my face in her hands. "Your father is a dark man and if we were to place the blame on anyone, it would be him for driving you to such extremes to escape his cruelty. Oh, honey. I wish I would have known what you were going through. I wish that I could have done something to save you."

I drew back from her grasp and ran my hands over my face angrily, trying to stop the tears. "I don't think anyone can."

"Beckham," she said, stroking my hair. "Listen to me, Beckham. You have so much to live for. You have so much, so many people, to live for. Your story is not ending. It's beginning. You just have to let someone help you for once."

I closed my eyes, putting my head in my hands, taking deep breaths. She didn't understand that each time I got sober, the darkness came crashing on me more heavily than ever before. Each time I was sober, I could see my father's cruel smile as he hovered over me, ready to force more drugs on me. I could feel his hands gripping my face as he forced me to watch my mother bleed or as they pummeled my face. I could hear his voice telling me that I was the cause of all his pain, of all the dirty deeds he had to do.

I remembered getting out of the facility and reading the articles online of how he had said he did it because of me. All of his actions had been driven by his need to punish me for my sins. I was an addict. I was a fag. I was the root of all the problems in his life. He didn't know where he had gone wrong with me. He'd tried to beat the gay out of me. He'd tried to feed my addiction. He'd done all he could to help me, but it wasn't enough. In the end, he thought that me realizing I was the reason he had to kill his wife, my mother, would be enough to wake me up and cause me to repent for my sins.

If only he could see me now.

"I'm not a good person, Jane. You have this image of me that I'm innocent. It's not all my father's fault. I was the one who turned to the drugs instead of asking for help. I didn't go to anyone at school. I didn't reach out to any friends, to any teachers. I was at a party and they offered me shit to make me not be such a bore. Turns out that shit helped to ease the pain a little and so I just started self-medicating and then my father ended up feeding my addiction in the end."

I looked up at her, the tears finally stopping. "I've stolen and I've beat people to a pulp and I've helped people get addicted to heroin. You should not pity me and you should not try to place the blame on someone else so that I don't feel bad about myself. I knew my options. I'd sat through all the lectures about what to do when you're involved with someone who is abusive. I knew what I could and needed to do, but I chose not to. So, in the end, I was the one who killed my mother because I didn't try to get us out. I tried to end my own suffering and didn't think about her suffering."