"There be Monsters..."

Content Warning: the following content alludes to situations of physical, emotional, and spiritual abuse.

In the Dungeon...

The screaming echoed in my ears and in the space between them as my thoughts slipped away into the void. The looming monster stared down at me and roared to assert dominance; the sinews of my muscles seizing as fear began to tie up my reflexes. At a moment of dire need, something within me snapped to life and I swiftly retorted with a deadly strike. There I stood...a dagger shoved into the throat of the oppressor. The roaring shriveled into whimpers of suffering and defeat. I collected up the monster's hoard and departed with another level up under my belt! Or so I wish...

If life were a Dungeons and Dragons campaign then perhaps that would have been the outcome, but sadly life is not D&D. The monsters of everyday life walk in pure daylight and ravage the word unchallenged. If you're anything like me, then you might have even spent many years not even knowing that you were dealing with a fiend at all; maybe you even mistook them for heroes...

Monsters

Despite all the sermons about love and grace I was forced to hear daily, I foolishly believed that I deserved the constant stream of abuse that flowed through the pathways of our troubled home. It wouldn't be until I limped off to college that I began to understand that the scars that made up my then gnarled soul were not justified or deserved. I have spent the last 14 years processing and healing from the monsters that the universe forced me to share a home with.

Perhaps you think "monster" is a harsh term. It is a loaded one for sure, and I have no doubt that many of you might think that I am merely being dramatic. There was a time (many level-ups ago) when I would have felt the same way. But experience has given more than increased strength and a few extra skills. It has given me a great deal of awareness and insight into humanity. The truth is that not all monsters are dragons, goblins, or murderous cultists. Like in the old lore of the Sah-tahn, some monsters shine with divine light and speak with words shaped the purest of honey. You don't have to venture far to find these venerated monsters or their victims. I merely had to step outside my bedroom door.

Illusions

To the outside world, my father was a saint. I know because I heard them say it. I grew to envy those blessed individuals that got to meet my father without suffering the price of living under his roof. The countless men and women that experienced the refreshing fountain of mercy that would conveniently run dry before he managed to get the key in the door to "his" home. I, like most teens, didn't have the skills and experience to navigate the shadows that fell upon that house each night. And when I found myself pressed up against a wall and overcome by the towering, screaming parental unit in front of me, I froze. I couldn't reach for a dagger even if I had one; despite the fact that we were deeply religious, I knew at that moment that my prayers were useless.

What can you do when your entire culture demands that you "honor" your elders yet they prove themselves dishonorable? What do you believe when all of your life is the constant manifestation of paradoxical actions and beliefs? How do you convince the world that the angelic being they praise is actually a prince of Hell? To warn of treacherous fire when all they see is divine light?

There comes a point when scars begin to merge and you can't sypher which were gifted and which were self-inflicted. When those who "love you more than anyone else ever could" bring a whip to your back without even questioning if it's justified, you eventually begin to start picking up the whip yourself. Surely only that which is good and right can come from those destined to be the zenith of affection and care for you...right? I certainly believed so up until my adult life.

Thankfully, my story didn't end as I often thought it would. Instead I found men and women who I could grow with and fight alongside so that I could learn to take on my backstory. I discovered genuine, loving humans in the world who could help me unravel the past and make sense of my present. And I became empowered to see beyond the rhetoric I had been fed my entire life.

As the illusions began to break, I began to find myself and to find my strength.

Unveiling

I remember one night in particular where the illusions truly began to implode. I had just returned from a study abroad in Italy that I participated in during the Spring of my Sophomore year. It was really the first time I had fully removed myself from my family and from my home culture; to venture beyond my comfort zone and engage the world. I came back feeling quite changed, but the chaos I returned to had not.

It began with a pair of sunglasses. I had thought them mine, which is understandable since they were in my room. My brother protested my ownership and it quickly escalated into a power struggle. Then he let out a stream of verbal threats that I found unnerving. Naturally, I yielded the sunglasses to avoid an altercation. This happened while we were present with a number of our friends, so I went off to be alone. I spent hours in contemplation and a great number of tears later I returned home.

I had no idea what waited for me...

Upon my return my father confronted me. He had heard rumor of an escalation and he believed it was his right to know what happened and why. I did my best to redirect the conversation but to no avail. My brother entered the room and found himself also caught in the interrogation. I could tell my father's patience was running out and that this was turning sour at a rapid pace. Suddenly my mom interjected with what little she knew of the situation and the chaos was released.

What little refrain dad had at that point was gone and he unleashed a torrent of angry, degrading words towards my mom. This was not uncommon in the home. I had spent the last 20 years trying to dodge and avoid these frequent displays of dominance and control. But that night...that night was different.

I felt a steadfastness overtake my emotions and for the first time in my entire life, I felt the stubborn fury of the divine rise up in me and I stood between my parents and made myself wall against the madness of toxic masculinity that had permeated our lives. To this day, I think it a miracle that no one got hurt in the aftermath of my resistance. There was a blur of violence as he retorted against my defiance, and before I knew it he was out the door.

A week later I was watching a movie with my friends when I received a phone call. My father returned home with his hunting gear and was making his claim of authority over the family. I drove home, shaking with fear that the outcome might be dire. Images of bloody bodies filled my mind as I drove home in dread and uncertainty of what his intentions were.

I remember uttering a prayer, tears streaming down my face. I was deeply afraid but I knew I could not let the peace we had experienced in his week of absence be stolen from us. I now knew that I had been living in subjugation to a tyrant and I'd be damned if I was going back to a life like that.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and breathed deeply as I walked inside. The shotgun was uncomfortable close to my father's side but I knew what needed to be said. The room was silent as I sat down and I knew that I had just put a wedge in a very tense conversation. I looked my father in the eyes and told him the truth. He wrought chaos and it would no longer be allowed. I told him that he needed to leave because we would no longer be tolerating the pain that he brought to that house.

Perseverance

It's been 10 years since I demanded that my father leave our home. I have continued to grow from that experience, and in so many ways he has grown as well. He is not the monster he used to be, but I genuinely think that had I not learned to fight back he never would have changed. Furthermore, I would have died in the land of my birth, never truly experiencing love, mercy, or peace.

Yet my fight is not over. I face ridicule for questioning the faith of my family and shame for pursuing my truest self. I must constantly ward off the gaslighting of others who would rather continue living a life suffocating on illusions than breathe in the truth. Sometimes shadows of the monsters I defeated appear to try and overthrow me, but I continue to persevere. If you find yourself reading this, perhaps you too have begun to awaken to the reality that this is not true.

Maybe you are one of the fortunate ones for whom the illusions are beginning to fall and you are finally seeing the fangs past the charismatic smiles. I say "fortunate" knowing that it often doesn't feel that way. Many times I wish I could return to a life of illusions because the healing proves painful. Out of these experiences I offer this wisdom: although healing may be painful, it will not kill you. And that is a distinction that makes healing worth pursuing.