I couldn't sleep tonight, usually I don't have that problem, but tonight, and yesterday... Well the last year or so, something has been bothering me. Why? What has been bothering me? It's hard to explain, it may seem stupid or childish to anybody who hasn't experienced this, but to me it's painful, it hurts just to even write this, but I think writing my experience will somehow help the healing process.
My memory is foggy, but lately I've been able to recall more and more. Some memories are surprising and shocking, but others I knew where there I just didn't want to face them, I wasn't ready to face them, at least not yet.
I'm not the only one who has gone through this, I'm not special in any way. There are dozens, possibly hundreds of men and women who have gone through this too. Hopefully I can help someone out there, give them the strength to move on, to heal themselves and to let them know; Yes you matter, yes you were born for a reason, yes you are your own person. Your not stupid, ugly or worthless. Your you and that what makes you great.
I'm twenty-one, in fact just turned twenty-one a week ago. I like to write and read, and well thats pretty much all I know about myself, I know I like to do other things but I don't know what those things are. Seriously I don't, even my husband says I never talk about me, he doesn't know anything about me, I don't know anything about me. I spent my whole life merged together with four other people, my dad, my mom, and my two younger siblings. Do you know what it's like not being allowed to have a thought of your own? To not be able to like other things your family doesn't? Thats what it was like for me, being different was met with punishment, even today I'm scared as hell to give my opinion, to say "No" to doing something I don't want to do. Because growing up, any kind of "misbehavior" was met with punishment, not just your grounded punishment, but what I now realize was borderline torture. I mean my legs gave out under me for a few days and I couldn't walk but it was a joke to my family, my punishment for you know, being a kid, and needing an actual parent. Fuck that your kid is in pain and needs a doctor. My parents were kind of crazy, no, they're not dead, just to me they are. They believed the Goverment and public schools brainwashed kids, and therefore ta-da! I was homeschooled, well more like a mini mom and a housekeeper, even after I left I was expected to come over to their house and my sisters house to clean, which I did because I thought I was suppose to, that it was my job, my responsibilty, but i won't get into that just yet. So the homeschooling, well it wasn't great, I remember in the beginning my mom trying to teach us, then after a couple minutes and us not knowing every alphabet, she would get fustrated, mock how stupid we were, yell, throw things, then lock us in the bedroom for the rest of the day, yes we stayed in that room until either she calmed down, or my dad came home, it usually was the second one. After a while our days became less and less about lessons and more about cleaning, cooking and hiding, hiding from my mom or CPS whenever they showed up, and you know when they were about to show up because my mom would get all sweet, she would pull out the school books, cook, and clean. I loved it when CPS came over, we got to eat, we were clean and my mom was nice! Of course I was to young to catch on she was acting so we wouldn't tell the CPS people what was really happening. I often think back to all those times I could have asked for help, I could have told someone, but I didn't. Truth be told, I thought all that was normal, that all moms did that, that all families acted that way, I thought CPS came to every door to do check ups on families because they were evil and wanted to take children away, at least that's what I was told. There's a lot I was told that I now know is bullshit.
I grew up in a small town, very small, so small that most people there hated my family, thought my parents were crazy. We moved a lot growing up, at least fourteen times in that one town, everytime we moved my parents would pick fights with the neighbours that had other kids so they couldn't come over and we couldn't play. I remember looking out the window in the living room and watching the other kids play after school, wishing I could play with them.
My parents were all about looks, so going to church earned them "good parent brownie points," they considered themselves Christians, but they didn't act like it, only that one day a week, or whenever the paster came over, the rest of the time they were completly different. It was no secret they cheated on eachother, my mom liked to tell me that they wouldn't be together if it weren't for me, in fact, she loved to tell me that every chance she got. Surprisingly after I left, they remained together, couldn't be because of me, I'm not there anymore. I think people like that love the drama, love being miserable, love to bathe in the attention they get from the pain they cause, and they love to cause pain, pain to strangers, to their so-called "love ones" and to themselves, without it they have nothing, anyways. My parents went to Bapist churches, I have nothing against any religion, but the things I have seen and heard are unbelievable, one church they had me go to was just ridiculas, they preached about how races shouldn't "mingle" with eachother, and that men rule over women and women are sinful, and should spend a lifetime of punishment for it, yeah I know! Some scary shit, I do not believe in a god, or godds, I'm Atheist. I realized I was Atheist a couple years ago. I've been questioning the existence of a god before I came to the conclusion that there wasn't any, its just us, the human race.
Growing up I started to see there was something wrong, I just couldn't figure it out, I thought there was something wrong with me because I was so different, yes I did think like they did for a while, but did I question it? Yes I did. I didn't think being gay meant you were going to hell, that schools were brainwashing kids, and that being a girl was bad. Most of the time I just agreed to get by. That's how my life, just getting by. It hurts knowing that you couldn't be you, that as a child, you didn't experience being a child, you didn't get the chance of discoverying who you are, who you wanted to be, and when you expressed that, it was shot down with critizism. I was made fun of a lot for reading, my dad believed you "caught" alzhiemors, yes you read that right, by reading to much, obviously by then I was starting to not believe anything they said.
I often question myself on why they were the way they were, but then I think "It's not my responsibilty to analyze them, they chose to be like that, they chose to be unhappy and abusive." It took me a long time to say what they did to me was abuse, I didn't believe it was, I thought abuse meant somebody had to die because of neglect, not what they did to me. It really mind fucks you when you come to the realsation that what you thought was normal, wasn't.
The day I left wasn't a pleasant one. After many years of what I assume is sexual abuse from my mom, my brother became unstable, I mean there is something psychotic about him, he became the favorite when he was younger, but as he grew my mom would shower him with stuff, he couldn't do no wrong.
I came home from the store with a small bag of grocies, not much but way more then what was already in the fridge, which was nothing. I put them away and started washing the dishes, thats when my brother walked in. I told him I got some food and was planning on making dinner if he was hungry, no big deal, right? Wrong. "You think your better then us whore?" He said. Now this didn't surprise me because he has always said things like that to me. The kitchen was small and the sink was located across the room from the fridge where my brother was standing, I just ignored him and kept on washing, he walks over and hits me in the back of the head. Now he is younger then me by a year and at the time I was seventeen, he had been taking jujitsu classes since he was fourteen. I turned around and slapped him in the face and told him to get the fuck out, thats when he punched me in the face and I went down to the floor, he got on top and started choking me, I mean he wasn't doing it to scare me, he was going to kill me and he didn't have no remorse, no second thought, he knew he would get away with it. I grabbed what I could reach off the counter, lucky it was a frying pan and hit him over the head with it, he let go and ran into the living room, I chased him screaming, I was pissed and was tired of being beaten, he locked himself in the bathroom and I tried breaking the door down, I wanted to kill him, I really did. Typing this now makes me wish I did kill him. After I couldn't break the door down, I ran to get my things and left. A friend picked me up and took me to their house, a few minutes later, my mom called and screamed into the phone, she was screaming so loud I couldn't make out what she said, but I didn't talk to her for a few days.
That was the day I realized they were crazy, all of them, I just couldn't figure out how to explain what they did to my friends, everytime I tried, I came out sounding like a spoiled brat. It's very fustrating, you have people tell you that she's your only mom, and that you should love her anyways. Why? Why does being my mom make her any different then if a stranger were to treat me this way? A fucking dog can give birth to puppies, it's not like she's special for giving birth to other human beings. I don't think I owe her anything, nothing, for be granted life, I didn't choose to be born, hell most of my life I spent praying to "god" that he would take my life away, to reverse time and make my mom miscarry somehow. Could you imagine a young child thinking that way? Now I can't, it seems impossible, but yes I did think like that and yes it is true. I didn't know what depression was until I was nineteen, I heard about it growing up, but only parents calling someone who is depressed "weak" and "seeking attention," or they're possesed. Most of the time they said it was a made up condition so doctors could sell more addictive medications to people. So those fucked up feelings and thoughts I had as a child I thought they were normal, or that "satan" was trying to get to me. I'm sill depressed, yes I haven't tried to seek help from a therapist, but I have been going onto a few online groups, and that has helped a lot, knowing your not alone in this is actually like a sigh of relief.
After I moved out, I lived on a few sofa's, one of my friends Catlyn had a child but let me stay with her, we were kind of close, she was one of those people you remained friends with even after everyone else stopped hanging around her, I found out later on why, she loved drama and loved causing trouble for everyone. I took care of her child, at the time was under a year, she still lived at home with her brother and mom. I don't want to bad mouth her but, she wasn't a good mom, I know having a kid at sixteen doesn't mean your mature, but holy crap, she did not have any mom instincts what-so-ever.
After everyone calmed down, my mom wanted me to come over for dinner, I agreed to, they picked me up, her and my dad, and drove to to their house, on the way there, I got a lecture from my dad "You need to stop this thing." He said, I just sat in the back seat and didn't respond, he continued "Family is importend, and your rebelous streak is hurting our family." I turned to him from staring out the window, "What rebelous streak? Your son tried to kill me!" I cried, thats when my mom chimed in on this "He said you started it! We had to take him to the E.R. because he had a concusion!" She screamed turning to face me. "Did he have a scratch on him? Did he?!" I screamed back, knowing my brother blows things out of poportion. "Yes, his head was bleeding! He would have died you fucking bitch! Leaving him there to die, all you care about is you, you, you!" She screamed back, thats when I pulled the collar to my shirt down and showed them the hand prints around my neck, then I pulled the sleeves up and showed them the bruises on my arm, "Did he have this on him? Or this?!" I screamed but they ignored that and went onto how I better come home and apologize to my brother, I didn't, while the car was still moving, I opened the door, screamed "Fuck you" before jumping out and walking back to my friends house.
BOYS & PUBERTY
Growing up, I heard a lot about boys and how they were evil, never mind that girls and women were also evil... Well I guess we're are evil... Around the time I started puberty, I was an early bloomer, in other words I grew breasts and pubic hair around eight, even before then my parents were against make-up, dating, in fact they were against growing up all together as ridiculas as that sounds, it's true. They hated the fact that we were maturing, shaping into adults , they did everything they could to stunt the growth, including taking away birthdays and not feeding us. We ended up growing anyways. I don't know why growing up was such a huge problem to them, it was like the older we got the more of threat we were, at least the women were a threat, but a threat to what? To becoming the next generation in the family line, maybe? I don't know, I asked one of my family members once, but didn't get a straight answer, just ended up more confused then before.
As I grew breasts, my mom became more and more abusive, before it wasn't so bad, at least that's what I thought, got hit? So what. Hair pulled? Eh, had it worse, Kicked, punched, strangled, dragged across the house? Okay maybe it was just as bad. But what hurt the most in all the abuse, was the name calling, it didn't start until after the incident. Around this time my parents opened up a business, it had a few employees. One of them was a man, he was new, he liked me a lot, I mean he would smile at me, would try to talk to me. He left after what happened, I don't know if it he was scared, or because he knew he got away with it and decided to leave before he got caught. I never told anyone the details of it, just that he "touched me" but there was more involved.
I still feel the coolness of the floor, funny how small something can remain in your mind, even after so long. The way he spoke, it wasn't mean, which I wasn't used to at the time, and I think he knew that. He called me to help him with a project, near the bathroom, at the time the bathroom was hidden between two walls. Later on my dad knocked down one of the walls to make the front of the business bigger. I of course being young, obeyed and went to go help him, the concept of stranger danger didn't really apply to me, I thought if my parents hired him then they can trust him, I should trust him. I later on found out, they hired guys straight out of jail, men with records and couldn't really find a better job. Which is really fucked up to allow them around kids, not saying all people who have been in jail are bad, but c'mon, who just neglects their childrens safety like that?
I keep telling myself this is part of the healing process, it hurts, it really does. Knowing your whole past has been nothing but one heartache after another. Of course I was confused, scared, I did the only thing I could think of at the time, I went to my mom. I told her what happened. She ignored me, didn't even look at me. Her silence meant I was in deep shit. Later that night, I got the beating of my life, I knew it was coming, but it was still surprising. After that she called me unspeakable names, names no mom should ever call any of her kids. After that day, the beatings got worse, the chores and responsiblity grew. I was no longer their daughter, I was their housekeeper, their punching bag. I became the black sheep, the out cast.
When my breasts starting developing, my mom was convinced I was getting fat, so my food intake went from getting very little to almost nothing, at fifthteen I was a hundred pounds, but I still felt obese, that's all I saw, was a fat ugly girl. My mom started cutting my hair as short as a boys cut, I wasn't allowed to shower, I wasn't allowed to use the bathroom without permission, most of the time I went outside. She would constantly accuse me of sleeping around, accused me of being pregnant, or stuffing my bra so boys will look at me. She forced me to wear heavy coats all year long. Refused to buy me panties, or bra's that fit, on many occasions she would say "Your tits are disgusting." "You back fat is gross." If a boy looked in my direction, I was screamed at, so I kept my head down, I learned to walk behind them in public so they couldn't see if someone looked at me. I stopped talking altogether, I just tried to get by, that's all. That's how my childhood was, getting by.
The house I grew up in was small, it was a one bedroom, unfinished trailer house. It was heated by a wood stove. My siblings and I shared the bedroom, and a bed. My mom would come in randomnly in the middle of the night to wake us up, either screaming, or by pulling our hair and making us clean the house she distroyed earlier that day. She once got me out of bed, I was nine at the time, and pulled me by my hair to the living room, in front of her friend she had over she screamed at me "Did you fuck your brother?!" I of course did not, but she was talking to her friend about how I was sexually active and was scared I was molesting my little brother. She didn't believe me of course and proceeded to scream about how nasty I was and how I was going to hell. Being nine at the time, I didn't cry, I just stood there and took it, I learned early that crying just made it worse, then again they didn't allow crying. After that, I slept on the floor.
My younger siblings both had a dog a piece . They were big black dogs, not well taken care of, but they lived a long time. Sleeping on the floor wasn't fun, it was hard, cold and worse of it all was the dogs, I loved them, but they never got let outside, ever, so in the middle of night they would do their business, sometimes next to my head, other times on me. My parents would get mad at me for it, because it was my fault right? My siblings thought it was funny. Our house, it's hard to describe, it was cleanish, just very used, there was always mice running around, always some kind of mold somewhere. Mom would have me bleach down the walls, which were suppose to be white but after none stop smoking from my mom, they turned a slight yellow. The carpet and furniture was white, but smoking, kids, and animals, didn't keep them white for long.
The house work wasn't easy, it involved a lot of bleach and scrubing on your hands and knee's. If it wasn't done right, then you got screamed out, things flew by your head. My dad at this point, was taking jobs else where and leaving us alone to fend for ourselves. Cooking was included in the chores, and well, when you have nothing to cook with, it's kind of hard to make anything edible. We had no running water at this point, so washing dishes was hard, I had to use old greasy water, and that never cleaned anything. Well mom wanted me to do some chores, she was sitting on the couch, smoking, watching tv, I told her the dishes weren't going to be cleaned because the water was gross, she ignored me, so I washed them in the nasty ass water. I went outside to check on my younger siblings, who were outside at the time, I was out there for a few minutes when I heard screming and crashing inside the house. I was immediantly scared, I ran to the door, just to have mom burst out and chase me in the front yard, she had a glass in her hand, she threw it and it hit me in the back of the head, I went down and she stood over me screaming, calling me names, I tried not to cry but I did anyways. She grabbed me and picked me up just to throw me onto the side of the house. She then had one of my siblings grab the glass, which didn't break, and screamed into my face "Look at it? Does this look fucking clean to you?!!" All I did was shake my head in a response. She then slapped me in the face and told me to go to my room, I spent the rest of the day laying on the floor.
My mom had this thing about "cleaning the outside" which meant all the rocks, sticks and leaves had to be in piles around the yard. it wasn't like it was dirty or anything, it was nature. We lived in the woods around this time and of course fucking nature had to be corrected. She would have us spend hours outside cleaning, then the next day do it again, she wouldn't help, it was up to us, the small children , to read her mind and make sure nature was in order. It became a daily thing, if a stick, rock or fucking leaf was out of place, we got locked outside, didn't matter if it was winter, raining, or a hundred and twenty out, we got locked outside.
To be continued....