Sometimes a fear can be overcome by being exposed to whatever it is that scares you. Being desensitized is one of the more common ways to deal with fears. For some it might be a gradual process that fades slowly, while others might find that they will have it conquered in a very short amount of time. As for me, I suffered with a chronic fear that couldn’t be cured. Not a day went by where I didn’t experience it, yet it still scared me as much as it ever did. I expected to suffer forever.

Part Two.

I awoke the next morning feeling unrested and troubled in a way I couldn’t really explain, but the feeling wasn’t that unfamiliar to me.

Getting up and walking to the mirror, I yawned and rubbed my eyes to clear them before examining myself through the glass. I looked exhausted. My eyes were red and my whole face looked oddly swollen, almost as if I was taking an allergic reaction to something. I always hated waking up on a school day after I had fallen asleep crying the previous night. Something always seemed different about the way I looked and I’d always get questioned about it.

“Ronnie..?,” my mom hollered at me from the kitchen, “I’m leaving for work now, make sure you get your brothers up and off to school, okay?”

I sighed and reassured my mother that I had everything under control, just like always. Even though I was the middle-child, I seemed to be the only morning person in the house when it came to my siblings. It was always my job to be in charge of not only waking up my little brother and getting him going in the morning, but my older brother as well. Hearing our mom say goodbye and close the kitchen door every morning always made me feel sick to my stomach; I knew that she was holding up a facade, not so much for us kids, but primarily for herself. She seemed convinced that even after being beaten by her husband as she so often was, that everything in reality was really okay. I knew that deep down she must know the truth, she had to, but she was simply scared to face it. Scared to change the way things have always been. Scared to move on from all of this and begin a new and better life.

I closed my eyes. Turning away from the mirror, I finally forced the disturbed thoughts from my mind and headed to the bathroom to wash up and begin my normal morning routine before school.

It was just another day, after all.

It always was.

—

“I want each and every essay placed neatly in the hand-in folder on my desk. They will be marked and handed back to you by early next week, when you will be required to get a parental signature in order to get your full mark,” announced my teacher, Ms. Morgan, at the beginning of last period.

I sighed and put my head down on my desk, covering my face with my arms. I hated my teacher, I really did.

“Winter? Are you paying attention?,” she suddenly asked in a voice loud enough that I’m sure three other classes were able to hear. Unfortunately, she was talking to me.

“Yes, Ms. Morgan?,” I answered in the most calm tone I could manage. I knew this wasn’t going to be pretty.

“It seems as though you are the only student in the class that did not hand in your work. Do you have it done?”

I looked down.

“No, ma’am,” I muttered quietly.

“And why not? There have been several times now where you have not handed in your assignments. Is something the matter?,” she asked in a bitter, apathetic tone of voice. I bit my tongue and clenched my fists to prevent myself from nearly losing it.

“No ma’am, nothing is the matter,” I lied. The last thing I needed was for Ms. Morgan of all people to find out about my life at home.

“Alright, I will be calling your parents today then, perhaps they can explain some things,” she said as she gathered up the rest of the essays and fitted them neatly into their folder. I heard a few people in the class laugh and mutter things to each other under their breath. I decided not to say anything at all and fell silent again as I miserably laid my head back down on my desk and started scribbling in my notebook.

Journal entry #22.
November 20th, 1998.
Period 4.

I hate my life.

—

“Hey man, what’s up?,” Duke asked, jogging alongside me as I walked through yet another crowded hallway towards the back entrance of the school. I was walking faster than normal and didn’t want to make eye-contact with anyone. Of course, Duke was always the first to notice when something was wrong.

“Nothing, I just have a lot of homework,” I mumbled, continuing to stare straight ahead of me as I walked. Duke didn’t buy it.

“Did something go wrong with your dad again or something? You’re never like this,” he stated bluntly as we passed through the doors that led out into the parking lot. Duke knew vaguely that my dad wasn’t the nicest guy in the world, but he didn’t know too many details. I was the only one that knew everything and I wasn’t about to break that to anyone, not even my best friend.

”No Duke, okay? I said I had a lot of homework, can’t you just drop it?,” I snapped. An expression of hurt suddenly washed over Duke’s face, and I immediately regretted talking to him in the tone that I did.

“Look.. man, I’m sorry.. today was just.. not a good day..,” I stammered, looking away from him as I spoke. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, I don’t know what came over me.”

I looked back up into his face, and to my surprise, he smiled.

“Don’t worry about it Ron, I understand,” he said gently, putting a hand on my shoulder as he spoke.

I knew he didn’t understand, at least not specifically, how could he understand if I never told him anything? But that was no one’s fault but my own. Duke was the only person in the entire world that I could imagine putting up with all of my shortfalls and still unconditionally wanting to be my friend - regardless of the way I acted towards him.

“Thanks, man..,” I said quietly. “We should jam this weekend, maybe.. I’ll see what I have planned.”

Duke’s face lit up at the suggestion, and I smiled as we said goodbye and parted ways to go home.

But inside I wasn’t smiling.

I dreaded the moment I would walk in the house and find my dad beside himself with fury about the phone call from the school. I just hoped that today would be one of those days when he was passed out drunk on the couch again.

Days like that weren’t at all uncommon in my house.


**