Rage Against the Dying of the Light

Article submitted by Anonymous
Poem Excerpts from “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night” by Dylan Thomas

It was senior year in high school, I was trying to come out of the closet. I just wanted to be accepted. My brother, who was my best friend, wouldn’t accept me unless I had sex with his buddy, I did. As to his surprise – still gay.

One month later, I found out I was pregnant. I forced myself into a relationship with this random person because I didn’t want to be alone, I wanted my child to have a father.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Two months later, he went on a rotation. I knew him for all of 4 months. Five months later, my child is born. He comes home, the perfect dad. We got married, we moved in together, everything was normal. Here I am, eighteen with a newborn, 4 hours from home.

I was alone.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Baby wouldn’t stop crying. It’s midnight, where is he? Two hours later. There he is. Drunk. High. Still in uniform. Pushes me & the baby out of the way & goes to bed…

It started slowly. It was a few pushes, shoves, slaps, here & there…

It’s been a week. Where is he? He’s not answering me. I have no car, and I need groceries. Next day, he comes home. I don’t even ask him where he’s been. I tell him we need groceries. He yells and locks me and the baby in the bedroom. I have to break open the door. Six hours later, he’s gone. His friends are still here. He comes home, he yells, says I cannot interact with his friends, strangles me and throws me into the bathroom sink. I break my arm; I have marks everywhere.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I wasn’t allowed to leave the house without him, I had no car, I couldn’t escape. I wanted to leave, I needed to leave. I told him this. I told him to let me leave, and I’ll be silent. He couldn’t have that, so he eased up on me. The hard stuff stopped. I wasn’t allowed to leave without him. I wasn’t allowed to be with his friends. We looked normal, but we were far from normal. Every time I talked, if I said something that wasn’t okay or looked at somebody wrong, I would know. Either by a pinch or a look, I would hear about this later.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

His battle buddy noticed something weird, slipped me his number if I ever needed help…He found out, and it started again. He knew my every move. I couldn’t do anything without him knowing. This was the worst fight yet. I couldn’t see out my right eye, my side hurts, why am I walking like this? I haven’t seen him in days, weeks almost. His superior comes to the door, asks if he’s here, no I haven’t seen him in days, weeks. He hadn’t been to work either. His superior asks if I was okay from the bar fight I got into, he noticed the limp and bruising. All I said was, “I’m 18. This is your soldier’s doing.”

THERE I SAID IT, I couldn’t believe it. I did it.

All he said, “No, it’s not,” and I never heard from him again.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

He came home, he found out I told.

I don’t remember the last two weeks I was there. It’s all a blur. Every silent stare was a cry for help. Why isn’t anyone helping? Do they not see the bruises? The scratches? The broken bones? One day, finally, he left for deployment. Days after I came to, I texted his battle buddy. The only person who saw it, the only person willing to help. He helped me escape to my mom’s. I had an hour to shove my whole life into his tiny car.

I did not look back.

It’s been 4 years. It’s still hard.

You are not alone. You will get through this. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

This does not define you.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light