wilwheaton

After months and months of feeling pretty good, like I'm doing a great job healing myself and making a lot of progress overcoming and processing my childhood trauma, I'm having one of the hardest weeks of my life.

There was this kid I knew when we were child actors in the 80s. We were never friends, but just like me, he didn't want to be on any of the auditions our mothers forced us to do. His mother was the most openly abusive monster I have ever seen. More than once, I saw her hit him in public. Literally every time I saw him, she was yelling at him, berating him, putting him down, and being emotionally abusive. Literally every time, hundreds of times, for about a decade.

I always felt so sad for this kid, and his siblings, who were obviously being abused and used by their mother. His mother was so unabashed about screaming at him in casting offices, even little 9 year-old Wil knew that he was probably being physically and emotionally abused at home.

I hadn't seen or thought about this person in thirty years, but the other night I saw him on my TV from a movie he did in the 80s, and all of these traumatic memories of my own abuse were triggered. I remembered things I had totally forgotten, things that I hadn't thought about since they happened 35 years ago, and I just started to sob, because I realized that if little 9 year-old me knew what was going on, *certainly* the adults who should have protected him knew, and they did nothing.

Just like the adults in my life, starting with the two people who I should have been able to rely upon more than anyone else in the world to protect me.

I was a kind, gentle, enthusiastic kid. I was super creative, with an endless imagination. I was honest, I was honorable, and I always tried to do the right thing. I really love that little boy, and I wish he was my own son, because he deserves so much better than he got. I just wanted to be loved and praised by my parents, which I don't think is unreasonable for any child. But my father made it realy clear from my earliest memories that I wasn't good enough for him. He bullied me, he humiliated me, he hit me, and I lived in absolute terror of him. By the time I was a teenager, and had plenty of experience with bullies, I recognized how weak and pathetic he was, and I traded my fear for contempt. I didn't respect him, I didn't trust him, I would never confide in him or seek advice from him, but I still desperately wanted him to love me. I desperately wanted him to approve of me, to give any indication at all that I mattered. He was, and is, such a bully, such a narcissist, so selfish and so cruel, that that was never going to happen. My mother must have known how cruel he was to me, but she protected him and enabled his abuse. She gaslighted me about it for my whole life, as recently as the final communication I had with her. I'm working to accept the reality of who they are, and even though I won't ever speak to them again or have anything to do with them, the absence of loving, nurturing, caring parents is always going to be there for me. It hurts, a lot. It feels kind of like the whole world.

So when I saw this kid, back in 1988 or whenever it was, I was reminded of being that sweet, gentle, curious, smart, clever, kind, child I was. That child who didn't ever get affection or approval from his father, who learned that he could only get approval and affection from his mother when he was letting her use him to chase her acting dreams. Something happened, and it's like this emotional dam I'd built to contain the sadness and fear I lived with when I was that child just totally burst.

The enormity and totality of my father's abuse, my mother's manipulation, and how unhappy, sad, and afraid I was poured over me in a torrent, and I felt like I was drowning. I still do. I'm caught in a rip current, and I can't seem to swim out of it.

So now I have these two profound emotions swirling around in my head: I feel, in full color and as vividly as if it is happening to me right now, the overwhelming fear and sadness I lived with as a child. I was so afraid my dad would be mean to me, or that he would hurt me. I was so afraid that my mother, like my father, would not love me if I didn't do what she wanted. Endlessly, I *begged* my mother to let me be a kid, and she refused. I did *everything* I could to earn my father's affection and approval, and it was never good enough for him. I feel those things with the helplessness and confusion of a child, but I *also* feel white-hot anger at those awful people for hurting that child -- for hurting me -- so much, and so effortlessly.

I love that little boy. I love his kindness. I love his compassion and his empathy. I love how creative he is, how much he loves to make up stories. I love how important it is to him to be kind, to treat people the way he wants to be treated. I want to protect and nurture and love that little boy the way he deserves. I want to go back in time, and protect him from the people who are SUPPOSED to be protecting him, who are using and hurting him, like he's their property, and not their child.

When I remember being that little boy, I feel so angry and afraid, I could join the Dark Side, and that's not something I like to feel.

I'll get through this, because I am stronger than my abusers. I am better than the man who was my father, and I am working to heal from and overcome how manipulative my mother was. Some days are easier than others, but the last few days have been really, really tough.

It feels like the whole world, and if you understand what that means, I am so, so sorry.