Sonder: Youth Mental Health Stories of Struggle & Strength | Page 17
Remembering Pain
Essay and Art by K.B. Williams
Something good had to come from my experience in the
darkest corners of my closet. Other sixth graders were playing
games and making art projects; I was convincing Dad that his
drinking was destructive. Each night grew worse. One night,
Dad cornered me in the laundry room before ripping the phone
from my hands while I was trying to prevent him from calling
Mom while inebriated. Blurry tears dripped down my cheeks as
I sank to the floor. For years my grades plummeted and I locked
this secret inside. Quiet and reserved, I was afraid of teachers
asking for homework, which I never had. My Mom’s job
required her to travel, and then I would be in charge, not only
of my brothers but also of my Dad. I could not keep him from
drinking—not by shaming him, pouring out drinks, or asking
him not to drink. The ups and downs became routine. I was 13
when he decided to go to a rehabilitation program. By age 15,
my Dad had completed this program 4 times. Nothing lasted.
One night my Mom found my Dad hallucinating, unable to walk
or talk. Similar to every previous relapse, I mourned the loving,
funny person he was. My father was subsequently diagnosed
with Wernicke-Korsakoff Syndrome. Everything was reset in
his head: he forgot that he was an alcoholic, he forgot the hurt
he caused, and he forgot his name. High school was a turning
point, and though it was difficult to focus on myself when home
was so destructive, I sought control and change where I did
have power. Where once I was a mediocre student, I turned
my newfound energy to academics as an unstoppable force
inside and outside of the classroom. By focusing on the Italian
Renaissance or the Civil War, I didn't have to focus on my Dad
or my feelings. Where I could not find organization at home, I
found it in the details of my planner or in my intricate system
of folders. Art became my escape, an all-consuming passion.
Vibrant blues and reds permeated the space in my mind
instead of the pain I felt. By interpreting my pain through art,
I found it easier to understand others’ pain, especially that of
artists like Kahlo,Vermeer, and Munch, whose works served as
an inspiration for my own. One piece I painted, "Remembering
Pain," documented the time Dad left me bleeding in the closet.
Abuse, Addiction, & Loss 15