65 Years Old, and Still Trying to Find My Way Out of the Storm

Mystery · October 14, 2026, 10:28:34 AM

Hello everyone,

I'm 65 years old, and I've spent most of my life trying to survive a childhood that I never really escaped.
I grew up in a world where love was something I desperately wanted but rarely experienced. Fear, humiliation, physical abuse, and emotional cruelty were part of my everyday existence. The person who was supposed to protect me was often the person I feared the most.
By the time I was 16, I was on my own. I spent of the next 20 of the next 30 years as a homeless drug addict trying to survive in a world I had never been prepared to live in.
I understand I was child; I have been told that so many times and in so many ways, but what my memories pound into my consciousness, what I see when I look in the mirror, is a little monster who possibly deserved everything that happened to me.
The strange thing about childhood trauma, or any trauma for that matter, is that even when you escape the people who hurt you, you don't necessarily escape what they did to you. So, I wonder, am I in her nightmares too?
For most of my life, I've lived inside my own head. I've fought depression, anxiety, intrusive thoughts, and a constant sense that something terrible is about to happen. I've struggled to understand why I feel the way I do, why I can't simply let go of the past, and why the things that happened so many decades ago can still hurt as though they happened yesterday.
I've tried medications. I've tried therapy. I've tried to understand myself through logic, reasoning, and sheer determination. Some things have helped; others have made things worse.
For over 45 years, I've written poetry and songs. Writing became a way of expressing the things I couldn't say out loud. Sometimes I think my words have understood me better than I have understood myself. Words for me started coming when I escaped one Nightmare, and traded it in for another of my own making.
One of the hardest things for me to accept is that, at 65, I'm still fighting battles that began when I was a little boy. There are days when I feel as though I've spent my entire life trying to become someone I might have been if I'd simply been loved.
I don't know what healing is supposed to look like anymore. I don't expect to erase the past, and I don't believe there's some magical moment when everything suddenly stops hurting.
But I would like to know what it feels like to live without constantly fighting myself.
I joined this forum because I'm tired of feeling alone in a struggle that most people cannot see or understand. I'm hoping to find people who understand what it's like to survive something only to discover that surviving was just the beginning.
I'm not here looking for pity. I'm here looking for understanding, connection, and perhaps a little hope that the years I have left can be different from the years I've already lived.

Thank you for allowing me to be here.

Mr.E. "Mystery"

I go by E, it was my mother who picked the name Edward when I was being named, and I refuse to give her the honor of holding that over me.

I also go by "One of the Broken" for my Writing and Music

I Wanna Cry
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Ll49OG88rMRbcpwct2M83DkB75Ge4gym/view?usp=sharing

NarcKiddo · October 14, 2026, 01:20:34 PM

Welcome, Mystery. I'm glad you found us. Much of what you wrote resonates, and you are so correct in saying that escaping an abuser does not necessarily mean you escape what they did to you. I remain in contact with my FOO, but one of the reasons I started therapy was a nasty feeling that when they die I might still not be free of them.

Kizzie · October 14, 2026, 03:28:23 PM

Quote from: Mystery on October 14, 2026, 10:28:34 AMI joined this forum because I'm tired of feeling alone in a struggle that most people cannot see or understand. I'm hoping to find people who understand what it's like to survive something only to discover that surviving was just the beginning. I'm not here looking for pity. I'm here looking for understanding, connection, and perhaps a little hope that the years I have left can be different from the years I've already lived.

Hello and a warm welcome to Out of the Storm Mystery!

You are in the right place as we do all get it and because of that we offer support, understanding, empathy (versus pity) and connection. We all came here needing these things we never had and so we give it as well as receive it.

I hope you too find it helpful being here.

Kizzie

Marcine · October 14, 2026, 10:22:30 PM

Hi Mystery,
Welcome.
I relate to how you wrote about making it through "only to discover that surviving was just the beginning."

Yes. It's been a several decades-long process for me and I have come to a certain peace in understanding that there's no finish line, that I'll be healing till the end of my life. And that's ok with me.

Along the way, my internal battles have subsided and I discover more depthful, interesting questions daily that help make life feel worth living.

For me, this forum is a supportive, vastly intelligent, compassionate resource with amazing folks. I hope you can find what you are seeking here.

I listened to "I wanna cry"— powerful and heartfelt, chills.

~Marcine

Mystery · October 17, 2026, 09:43:07 AM

Thank you

Alexandra · October 17, 2026, 07:57:16 PM

Hello Mystery; Wow, I listened to "I wanna Cry", and did I cry, it is liberating to hear what I felt, living with my so-called being sung out loud, I could not articulate it with this clarity. My name for fearing something dreadful is going to happen is " the nameless dread", the problem is in childhood, something bad did happen , a lot .

Alexandra · October 17, 2026, 08:30:39 PM

Hello mystery ; I would very much like to know who wrote and who is singing " I Wanna Cry", thank you, Alexandra

Mystery · **Today** at 08:31:20 AM

I wrote them, Here is a link to my Poetry. https://allpoetry.com/Mr._E. I also have a youtube channel. and my own website https://www.oneofthebroken.com/home

I've been trying to find the right words to describe something that has been happening inside my head for most of my life.

I feel as if I have four or five different "voices" in my head, and one writes Poetry.

This started when I was a child.

Also, what I am starting to learn about my mother is that she is a psychopath, and she wanted to learn as much as she could about manipulating people and controlling the world around her.

So, when I was eight years old, my mother began giving me diet pills, Cross Tops, Black Beauties, Xmas Trees, and others. What we would call amphetamines today.
Doctors and therapists, I've spoken with as an adult have told me that being given those drugs at such a young age, combined with the trauma I was experiencing, could have affected my developing brain.

Around the same time, my mother started making me read psychology books to her.

The first was I'm OK—You're OK.

I was eight. Half the time I couldn't even pronounce the words I was reading, much less understand the concepts. So, she ordered a set of World Book encyclopedias for children. I can still remember the rainbow-colored labels on them.

It took me about a month to get through that first book reading for about 5 hours a night.

At the end of each chapter, she would test me on what I had learned. At first, I couldn't explain much of anything. Then she would explain how that information could be used to read people, see what's wrong with them. She would talk about certain people, do you see how they talk funny, or act a special way.

When I failed her tests, she would make me strip down naked and put me in the towel closet in the hallway for the night.

The shelves were only about six inches from the door, so there wasn't enough room to lie down. I learned to lock my knees against the bottom shelf so I could rest my body a little.

I say "rest," but there wasn't much rest.

My mind would be racing from the pills. I couldn't sleep, so standing there in the darkness, I started creating other worlds and other lives in my head. Places I could go when I couldn't escape physically.

By the time morning came, I might finally sleep for an hour or two. Then I had to go to school.
My grades began slipping.

So, the punishments became worse, of course.

Do any of you also hear Poetry inside your head?

Dead Tears in My Eyes
Poem written 5/27/1982

Today, is a day, like any other day, and in my mind these words play,
It's from my heart, that they convey,

All, that I am about to tell you.

It all started when I was young, into a life of abuse, I found myself flung,
My Mother found use, for only my tongue,

And from the world, I willingly withdrew.

Fighting sorrow, depression and rage, to helpless and frightened to ever engage,
So terrified to play, or even act my age,

I dreamed of a world far away.

In this world there are many walls, just in case any one of them falls,
Built in a circle, and reinforced by dolls,

Forever crying, in its center I lay.

The very first wall was built for pain; of it to survive, I must learn to sustain,
For crying out, any vocal disdain,

Only intensified and fueled the barrage.

The second one held out emotional desire, and for its warmth, I must never aspire,
So I forged it thicker, and oh so much higher,

Because for me, love is a mirage.

Next protects me from my own self-loathing; this outward push was constantly holding
An emotional torrent I found most imposing,

In my world, guilt rains from the skies.

The only hope ever found in this place was an end to the suffering in death's own embrace
A merciful presence, the last touch of my face,

That wipes the dead tears from my eyes.

So here I still sit with only words as my friend, and the poetry I write somehow transcends
This broken soul, that never mends,

Still waiting, with dead tears in my eyes.

By Mr. E.
AKA One of the Broken

Last year I learned to use AI to turn my Poems into music; now I hear this: This is my story.

Dead Tears
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1h0sZSVB20kMK2FtcXN6WW3IoNfv8GlbP/view?usp=sharing

Sleep of the Damned
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1ODcj9-LmG3p_Tk0aNfnOhsbsfhcReene/view?usp=sharing

A Prayer not Answered
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1uFQUPMmh9dARrngMqDxvKB2bmrSJGJxI/view?usp=sharing

Souvenir
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1uwS3-RqcJwAYn-bvtZGLEQGe9hDTjolb/view?usp=sharing

Little Boy inside it All
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1DeKA-R7dQe6_HCM8mDMLxxgw1Yhzfuz_/view?usp=sharing

Why I Hate Christmas
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mDJR5ezzEXtIBQFhUDf7EsbnXOXxbXjP/view?usp=sharing

The Videos are not very good yet; I am still learning the AI prompts needed to make it do what I want, not what it wants.

One of the voices in my head wants me to kill myself. It tries so many ways to make me feel like this life isn't worth living. Sometimes it comes close to convincing me.
It's a woman's voice I hear, my mother's. I know why; she wants her secrets kept.

Sweet Whispers in My Head
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1f9RmYaiMyN2AifUI_4jQCb_vadc0EK1t/view?usp=sharing

Mr.E.

Mystery · **Today** at 09:31:51 AM

Alexandra · **Today** at 11:47:12 AM

Hello Mystery; Thank you for taking the time to post your work, I will listen to each one, you are very talented . You may want to consider that your mother , like my so-called mother was an NPD, narcissistic personality disorder , from your descriptions it sounds like it, there are good resources , on NPD, I found Jerry Wise videos, on YouTube, very helpful, to me in understanding who she was, also, that what she did to me, was what NPDs do, it helped me to know it was never about me.When I was little , my so-called mother told me " I can do anything to you I want, and nobody will stop me", which was true, she did and no one stopped her. It is so hard to live with both her uncontrolled violent and abusive behavior, and that society did nothing , to help me, the sense of loneliness and abandonment ,is beyond what I have words for

NarcKiddo · **Today** at 01:04:51 PM

I just wanted you to know that I read your story about how your mother treated you and I am very sorry that happened.

Mystery · **Today** at 03:47:23 PM

Quote from: NarcKiddo on <strong>Today</strong> at 01:04:51 PMI just wanted you to know that I read your story about how your mother treated you and I am very sorry that happened.

Unfortunately, that's only a small piece of the story, much of it I cannot talk about at all. After 53 years of keeping it locked in my head, I was able to tell a Therapist about the one thing that haunts me most, it took me 4 months seeing her to get it out.

That's why I don't have any friends, I'm afraid something will slip out, my wife asks me about what I'm going through but I can't tell her anything, even if a small piece of information gets out I won't be able to stop it.

That's what my mother hated, and feared about me the most, she couldn't teach me to Lie, and once I start talking I didn't stop until I said everything.

Well, something happened when I was 12, and it was my fault, Dr.s and Therapists tell me over and over it wasn't, but I was there, I know.

That's when Mom really started to worry about me keeping my mouth shut, she pulled me from public school, started home schooling me. Kept me in the house 24/7.

We had a restaurant in Oakland The Early Bird Cafe. One day the news paper machine broke our window. Mom got an idea,she asked me if I wanted to me Rich. We were gonna stage a robbery and sue the San Francisco Chronicle.

One day a man comes to the broken window and puts a gun through while I was locking up for the day. He told me to call me mom. I did.

Mom and the one guy started snorting Cocaine on the counter, the one with the gun was holding me, running his fingers through my hair.

Mom and the one started making bruises on her. They used the bell brillo pad to make scratches on her shoulder, that's when the one with the gun said, "we don't have to watch this" and pulled me into the bathroom.

https://youtu.be/e5sNHDl31ck?is=gknoRkYq2T9ptg2r

After, he put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger, I heard a click, he tried cocking it again and when he did i got to see the gun, I know that gun, it's my grandpa's gun, I've gotten in trouble for playing with that gun. That's when he said "shes gonna be pissed, I forgot the bullets.

That's when I finally knew the truth, she wanted me dead, mom told me not to say anything about what had happened to me. And if they had us look at pictures do not point them out.

I'm sorry, I have to stop.