Love Letters to Anne

Like I said before, we were a Navy family. So, when my dad would get deployed to some new base for a new assignment, we usually followed depending on the length of the deployment. And as it happens, when I was ten, we moved to Italy.

I was still troubled, but was happy we were going on a new assignment to a new place. It was going to be scary though, I didn’t know how to speak Italian, but that would come later. And for the most part, with the philosophical and historical all around me, I found myself. I was still wounded and damaged, but this place was a fresh start. And although I was young, I found myself with more freedom to roam the city than I probably should have. And I took it all in. I fell in love with the culture and the people…I was even happier for awhile. I had established myself both in the pecking order in school, and amongst the local population. I grew in mind and my spirit was awoken.

Exposure, combined with freedom I filled my mind in the history of the places I found myself. German World War Two ruins spotted the landscapes. And there were mountains I could climb and even spend afternoons on the top of…and of course, all the ancient ruins of Rome and the monasteries of the Middle Ages, so much history and I drank it all in. And I found myself expanding beyond my sphere of people. I had found ancient civilizations in the encyclopedias we had, but I never dreamed I would see them. Ancient wonders. And my perspective changed. I realized that in the scope of history my story was really insignificant and transient. So I let my pains go for a time. And the awful burden I carried about the mystery of my origen, my roots, I was able to to set down as I lost myself in the history of men and women I would learn about. Giants whose footprints reached through time and touched me.

I started reading in the school library about this place. And my worldview was awakened. By thirteen, I was pretty fluent in the language and history. But then, one summer, I was told we were moving back Stateside my parents were getting a divorce and mom and I were leaving but dad was staying behind. I was devastated all over again as the meager family unit I knew, such as it was, was now breaking and uprooting everything I had established. I would later come to understand that I trying to put down roots of my own, and when that was taken away, I was broken again. My family unit shattered. My last hope.

Adapt boy, shift and evolve…so I did.

We moved back to the old neighborhood in Virginia near the base, but not on it. I went into Jr. High and reconnected with some people I had known before Italy. And I started to have advanced classes. At one point earning High School credits in eighth grade.

I was reestablishing myself, despite all the factors against me. Mom was gone a lot, so I was alone a lot. Left to my own clever devices. She would go out and party, drinking at the single’s meetings and bars. She kind of fell apart. But that’s what alcoholics do. I just had to survive it. At least she worked, we had a fairly nice, if small, house and I don’t remember going hungry or being cold in winter. But living with an alcoholic as a kid is no picnic. I had to grow up faster. So I did.

Then one day, about a month or two before summer break, mom tells me we’re moving again, this time we were going to Florida where we had family. Apparently, she had fallen behind in the bills so far we had to move closer to family for help. So, we did. And I remember crying all the way down. Once again to have to move, pulled up and apart again from everything that was familiar. I had lost count all the times this happened, but every time the pain and the uncertainty of the change filled me with anxiety. I suffered stomach issues all the time. Nothing was ever right to me. And nothing ever stable. I became more of a loner in my teenage years. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

One day, I recall a conversation with mom about college and what should I study to get what kind of career? She told me flatly I wasn’t going. I asked about money and she said it had all been spent. I was sixteen. And it was at this very point I just lost all hope. I had no direction and the school counselor I had was wholly unconcerned, and unhelpful. I stopped seeing the point in going to school so I pretty much dropped out with the intention of joining the Marines.

The Staff Sargent in the recruiting office told me what I needed, which was a parental signature. Mom wouldn’t do it, so I went to live with dad to wait until I turned seventeen and could enlist.

Dad lived in Pennsilvania it was freezing cold as I recall. Of course, I uprooted again to do this but I was thinking I would control my destiny. I also had plans for humanity. I was going into the Marines to deal revenge for all my pain. Everything would be repaid by me. I didn’t care anymore about anything. I spent long hours alone in the basement of his row house contemplating dark thoughts. But ultimately, I came back to Florida because it was the place where I had family and friends. I would figure something out.

Mom had moved in the short time I had been gone. Moved in with her new boyfriend who was significantly older than her. I had no bedroom and slept on the couch for a few months. But I didn’t care about anything really anymore.

I had a full time job at seventeen in a wood shop. Learned a lot. But had almost no bills at that time, so I spent what I had on partying. Ah yes, fell right into the pattern, I guess partially because it was what I knew, and partially, because I had abandoned all hope. The Abyss, The Void, I felt nothing there and that was a comfort. I survived like this for some years actually.

Anyway, Just before I turned eighteen I was told I had to move out. And I had nowhere to go. I called dad again and he promised me some things that lured me to another city. It didn’t work out then either though as his new wife was an abusive, manipulative bitch. Complete narcissist and just generally a toxic person. I never knew the story that brought them together but he was happy to grovel and do her bidding accepting the abuse as preferable to being alone.

Many times I dealt with this when I was cornered by life and had no other place to turn or go. Three times. The last time broke the last bit of trust I had in him. But I tried. He just couldn’t help himself but serve a cruel and ungrateful master.

I would die first. But I digress.