The creative outlet of Anthony Munkholm: thanks for reading

Healing through my words:

Life doesn't give you the people you want,
it gives you the people you need:
to love you, to hate you, to make you, to break you, & to make you the person you were meant to be. -unknown

Love can and will come to those who still believe in it. Hope is the key. Even when faced with disappointment love will still find a way. Even after betrayal love will still knock on your door. Love will come to those who have been hurt before. I will never give up on love. I will even love those who no longer love me. Love is all there is and all there ever will be. -me

I believe I have been given an opportunity to share my successes and my struggles, my up's and my down's, the good and the bad with those who find their way to my blog. I feel I have been given a gift to write. I feel in my heart part of my gift to the world comes through my words. My greatest joy comes through expressing myself here. I write for myself but I feel compelled to share it with you too. I believe in love, compassion, and understanding which I share here.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

My Journey Back To God

A short story by Anthony Munkholm
(My short story consists of 6 parts and I will release one part every few days)

Dedicated to my beautiful wife who has stood by my side while I have embarked on this incredible journey that has forever changed my life.

Part I.

A house filled with anger and confusion is the basis of my life. A fire burning inside me so hot, so filled with rage that I swallowed it again because I know of no other release. I reach for my notebook, an oversized black sharpie, and begin to write in giant letters, “I HATE YOU.” I try to turn my music up to drown out the noise but it is too overpowering. I was doing my best to get lost in my thoughts frantically scribbling on paper. “I hate you. You are so stupid. Of course no one loves you.” This became the basis of my journal, statements made to myself as an affirmation that I was indeed utterly worthless.

In the kitchen the circus had started earlier than usual today. ”You do not really love me, you just play games with your love, you take it and you give it.” My mother is doing her best to plead her case to my step-father but he is stuck in his own vortex of rage. Back and forth they go, “You are crazy, you should be locked up in the mental ward,” screams my step-father. I have heard this argument so many times I could practically predict what would be said next. The tension in the house continues to build, my sisters hide out in their room dealing with the madness in their own way. “I want a divorce,” cries my mother as she veraciously pounds her feet up the stairs and slams the door to her bedroom.

I take a breath and hope the insanity has stopped at least for the moment. Retreating to my notebook I continue to project my feelings into the only thing that would listen to me, my journal. It was hard to write as I could hear the whimpers of desperation from my mother through the walls. Into her room I would go to do my best to try to console her. I would look her in the eyes but she was not there, she was lost in a maze of anger and sadness. My step-father had retreated to his office. He would go there so he could be alone for a few minutes of peace. With the two separated from each other, quiet whispers begin to fill the house. My sisters and I take comfort in this stillness, even if only for a second.

The silence does not last long, my mother refuses to let go of the fury swirling inside her. She truly believes with all of her heart that she has been the victim of another rotten relationship. She puts on her shoes and storms out to my step father’s office. The door is locked, so she starts frantically pounding on the door. Banging so aggressively against the door, you would have thought the garage was on fire. I watch through the kitchen window as my mother and step father argue back and forth through the door about who has wronged the other one more. It was like a display of insanity towards each other. The words that were said were so terrible I dare not repeat them here. Witnessing this I had to sit back and wonder did these two every truly love each other? What could possibly be so bad? These two who at one time seemed to be so happily in love have reduced themselves to the most basic form of name calling.

I began to cry as the day’s events continue to unravel. My mother comes back in the house and sees the tears that I was fighting to hold back. She tells me that she loves me, but her words mean nothing to me as I feel completely alone. I plead with her to stop fighting with my step-father. I beg her to stop the madness and just try to calm down. It was no use. I might as well have been talking to the wall. My mother reaches for another cigarette and lights it up. The cigarette appears to be the only thing that she truly cares about. Grasping to it so tightly it almost crumbles in her hands. She is completely oblivious to the influence she is having on her kids and the example that she is setting. She is so concerned with herself she does not even realize that she is tearing apart the very family that she has created. I once again was pushed to the way side so that my mother could continue to deal with what appeared to be a never ending struggle. At this point I felt so alone, I had given up on myself and I had given up on God.

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