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