Hank Wentz

Hank Wentz





I don’t know when it started — the freezing up, that is. People think I should react “normal,” but my fucking “addiction” counselor told me I am so “abnormal” that I think it is normal, so you would think she, of all people, would know, and doesn’t have a clue. She knows my history, so I guess she cannot put two and two together. It seems as if I have to qualify myself for everything, to prove I am traumatized, like I want to? That I do not “know” myself, and go out of my way to protect others from my anger, like I have no coping skills.

Don’t you think I do not want a “normal” life, or a movie fairy tale romance I keep hoping for? ‘As Good As It Gets’ shows Jack Nicholson having mental disabilities struggling, or “A Perfect World” shows Kevin Costner having scruples besides being an escaped convict protecting the vulnerable to the end, “Glory” shows Matthew Broderick, despite being Caucasian, fighting for the African American giving up his life, “Windtalkers” had Nicolas Cage protecting a Navajo dying for him, or “Joe” when again, Nicolas defended an abused kid from his dad, “Terms of Endearment” with Debra Winger dying full of life trying to keep the peace and being human, “Dances With Wolves” again with Kevin Costner defending a culture he adapted and falling in love with Mary, “Grumpy Old Men” with Jack Lemmon being chivalrous wanting his friend to be happy at his expense, or “Hope Springs” with Meryl Streep and Tommy Lee Jones renewing their vows through painful growth and refinding love. All of these things I identify with and have experienced somehow, but my own training was from being sexually traumatized four times as a youth, kidnapped nearly and sexually abused in fear for my life as a teen, being burned on purpose with hot bacon grease as an adolescent with a 3rd degree burn, beaten for 10 hours viciously as a pre-teen, a runaway and teenage alcoholic, being drunk punching a window at 12 and nearly coming close to having an amputation, being sent away as a juvi and getting hit by a jeep at 45mph, nearly dying twice that night. I expected to be home in 6 months, but that was only one of many untruths told to me by many. All of this happened before the age of 16, not counting the rest of my life. When I say to drop it, or fucking whatever, don’t you think I need a time out and being responsible enough to do it; or do you want to be like the sergeant in “Gomer” thinking I am not going to defend myself? I have a myriad of experiences simultaneously triggering me, or actually, “bombarding” me at once, so when I say drop it, I ain’t whistling Dixie, nor will I back down from defending myself. Instead, I freeze, and get into deep, deep, DEEP depression self-destructing.

My anxiety, depression, PTSD is no joke for me, and because of my own self-awareness, addictions, empathy, and patterns, sometimes I am not even “safe” around me. I am not “shitting” when I say if I want your opinion I will give it to you, or that I am “that” grumpy old bastard next door, that I am an “acquired” taste. WIth the level of empathy, compassion, sympathy, intelligence that I do not feel the “words” and “character” of your “Christ?” When I say to “leave me the fuck alone,” it is to quit attacking me, or do I have to fucking qualify myself? Holy fuck. So, I isolate, unable to work a “normal” job, and am alone — unwantingly — hungry for “normalcy” and love waiting with a tender and kind heart, being misunderstood with my old fashioned values, that I am so simple that I am complicated. Top that off with being Native not wanting to “assimilate.

I don’t know what the answer is. I have an eviction notice, no income, trying to hold onto the only thing I have with my dignity and word, that I would rather go through surgery then hurt someone. This is how much people hear me when I am serious about this. Evidently I have had a broken shoulder bone for nearly 20 years, but all these “expert” physicians never fucking listened to me, until 2 weeks ago, and the doc felt it, looked at my x-rays, and heard me, finally. That ache throws me off balance, affecting my left elbow now, so corrective surgery to me is validated, needed, and may correct my neck at the same time with the ringing in my ear, or the headaches I get. I also have a hand that needs repair with no circulation that my finger feels like it is burning at 40 degrees, or a knee replacement as my big toes are so arthritic they stab my feet, affecting both my knees, and my hips. I worked like 10 Indians all my life not complaining, only to prove myself, but I am tired of that, as I cannot fight off those fucking triggers anymore or longer. I feel that “little Hank” inside crying, and finally “Big Hank” inside will not let anyone hurt him anymore, so my self-destruction is there. I don’t want permission from anyone, nor want to be “rescued,” just heard, respected, and loved, “hopefully” by a “Fist In The Air” someday?

I feel like I have given so much, or misunderstood, or being “peacemaker” Adult Children of Alcoholics characterize, that I am rare, especially as a male sexual survivor, and a Native, but trust me, even though I am a minority of this dilemma, I am the tip of the iceberg for men, or women, or kids, regardless of culture that are traumatized, and I feel you. I am even more “rare” than the LBGTQ+ community, (LGBTQ+ stands for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer or Questioning, and Intersex), but I fight for the traumatized, regardless of whatever.

So, when I say “I hate everyone,” don’t you think I am crying out? But actually in my own way, I am protecting myself, seeking those 4 quarters instead of 100 pennies in my circle, only needing a dollar piece, because I will not give my power away. I do gently hold out my hand, and like a Native will walk away when I am a burden, but I am so tired of self-destruction, or explaining myself. My heart aches, my eyes tear, my finger is cold in my apt. I have an eviction for, my shoulders ache, and I haven’t been out of my apartment for 6 days, much less get out of bed. Fuck.

Don’t feel sorry for me, I don’t want your pity. I am too good for that crap, and hate to be patronized. I forget more in a day then most learn in a lifetime. Can’t you see I can do what others can’t? Why do I need to be like you, or follow your “rules” when I have my own set of old fashioned values, and “blessings?” I won’t tell you I love you; because my actions speak louder than my words, I will show you.

My abuser was online so I am on the internet “jail” when I confronted the hypocrisy. So, for what it is worth, I won’t be able to post this, if it gets published, and another type of permission or editorial thing. People have a way of twisting my words.

I don’t hate, have no bus pass, have to walk, my phone is out, as my entity caseworker tried to be a sergeant when I told the person to drop it, all from reaching over beyond a gate for a business card, which was from a secretary complaining to her about this. Drop it, as this is the result. Just move on with it, I beat nuf dead horses in my head. I don’t want to lose my place, though.

Going to be hurting all week fighting dragons in the world, and demons in my head as I cling onto hope, faith, and love. For your “religion,” Christ is the best thing you “invented” that I can identify with. My knees ache already, ugh.

Last thoughts: imagine if I did not internalize all this crap and trauma, and took it out on others? Am I not worth a second chance? Are other traumatized young people worth a second chance? Are the villagers not worth an even playing field. I don’t know if Alaska is what America used to be anymore. I hope I am proven wrong, because this is so unlike me, but here I go again, lifting myself back up again after being alone for 20 years. Like Pink's "There You Go" bouncing through my head, when I say "I am through, I am through with you."

Load comments