The House that Pain Built

Many of us grew up with sensitivity to energy, smells , sounds, places. Where these abilities came from some will never know. Was it an inherent trait passed down from generation to generation? Or just the luck or unlock of the draw as some may see it. Either way there are those who walk among us that feel deeper than most.

The all-knowing sense of sadness that attached to a dwelling as it was left to be a shell of its former self, the house that held anger and pain deep within its walls wielding it to cut into the next family who chances to move in. Within an instant of walking over its threshold, we are bombarded with memories, emotions, the sensation of panic and despair.

This is how I have felt my entire life. I was raised in a house that held its emotions and used them at will to try and destroy a family, and in the end, many were damaged and caught in the battle between love and anger. Peace and turmoil.

Let me first say this there were times when the house was calmer, not quite peaceful, more satisfied, like someone who has enjoyed a long, luscious meal that filled a sense of hunger long ignored. While these moments are harder for me to recall they are still there tucked back inside the closest where I can access them when the time is right.

These are the moments of standing my brothers, sisters and our mom on the small stone stoop watching the storm clouds roll in, all of us anticipating the cleansing that was surely coming with it. For there was one thing we knew through living in this home, after a vicious storm there always came clearing and a moment of calm where one could breathe deeply for a bit and steady the body and slow the heart.

There were the moments that the laughter and joy of many little bodies spilled out the cracks in the foundation. 5 children piled on a mattress poised to engage in flight at the top of stairs from a third-floor landing of the home, sans helmets or any type of protection other than the support of one another. Hoping against hope that the adventure we embarked on would allow that light carefree feeling to stay just a little longer. For we knew it could be taken away in an instant.

However, the house demanded its weight in pain and when that debt came due it didn’t matter who paid the tab. Regardless of your age, inability to comprehend the expense you were expected to share in this role.

I was 4 when I realized it was my turn to pay. My mom was taking the kids somewhere and my youngest sister just a baby still in an infant seat. We had a bigger kid car seat that was placed at the top of the first flight of stairs in our home complete with a difficult harness system designed to outsmart even the wisest of children. I settled myself into the car seat while I listened to my mom gather the baby and get her into the car. I waited quietly at the top of the stairs for her to come and get me, listening for her steps on the carpet but realizing all I heard was the click of the large front door and then nothing but silence.

“Mommy” I said beginning to struggle against the restraints that I so cleverly had buckled myself just a little while ago. Panic began to form in my throat as the darkness in the hallway seemed to grow and expand, choking out the light that had been showing through the window at the end of the hall. “MOMMY” I said more forcefully and with definite fear in my voice. And that’s when the house awoke to me for the first time.

Sitting locked in a prison of my own making I saw shadows emerging from the bedrooms on either side of me, menacing voices that seemed to come from every corner, and I was unable to escape. As the energy and entities within the home soaked up my screams and tears, I was helpless to do anything except cry. “Stop, you’re scaring me, I want my mommy” was what I remember saying repeatedly. My small body taking the abuse that fear often has on us. Heart pounding, sweat pouring and my brain attempting to engage in survival mode, as I slowly gave into the escape of nothingness. Allowing myself to disengage in the here and now and go deep within my own unconsciousness until help could come.

At this point I could not remember anything until I saw my mom’s face in front of my own. She came back, found me locked in the car seat at the top of the stairs, soaked in sweat, dried tears on my face and my body still quivering with the fear that coursed through my blood.

The house needed to be the one in control, it needed to be fed its required energy in order to continue. Our family had unwittingly purchased a home that was alive, one that would attempt to take all it could from its inhabitants.

Many of us would suffer within its walls, some would be chased by the demons long after they left its premises. Some would find the strength within to fight back and create peace and healing where pain and hurt had been. We all learned to respect the energy held within its confines and brought that respect into places we later occupied.

In the end the house that pain built still stands, a showcase to the level of destruction it created. The emotions of the home are palpable to any who happens to walk by. The windows still show signs of witnessing the abuse, terror and sadness once experienced by its residents.

So the next time you enter a building and sense the energy, I encourage you to stop. Engage all the parts of your soul, knowing and ask if that is the place you are welcome in. Is this a place of peace and growth or is it a place where you too will be expected to pay for someone else’s tab.