An Abusive Home (Part III)

My stepfather one night decided it was a good idea to photograph my sister and I. She was 13 I was 11. Not just your average pictures, I am talking child pornography. We were only babies still. We were afraid if we didn’t listen to what he told us to do we would be beaten, my mother was only in the next room sleeping.

By the time I had reached the age of 12 I was deeply disturbed by everything that had happened to me thus far in my life. No child should ever go through what I did. I had tried to commit suicide 3 times (that I really did want to die) had cuts and scars on my arm from cutting, because I was so numb from the pain I needed to know that I somehow was still alive, if not emotionally at least physically. I had been hospitalized (medical) for one major suicide attempt thinking there was no other way out, because I felt so much pain inside it was unbearable. My soul was so wounded and scared that I felt like everything was beyond repair and that I had nothing to live for. I felt as if I didn’t have a mother that loved me, the only person in this world that understood me had died when I was only 10. My sister and I always fought, my brother and I were never close due to age and gender differences. My step father was physically abusive, he had even given my sister a black eye. My mother after everything came out even entertained the idea of taking him back, that was the night my sister got a black eye from him. I tried to call 911 for help but she (my mother) took the phone from me. I knew what they were doing was wrong and was child abuse.

I had a brand new prescription for Wellbutrin and Tegretol. I took ever single pill got up in my bed and prayed to God I would never wake, because my life was too much for my little soul to handle. I was tired of the abuse and being questioned by police about what happened with my step father. I remember easily drifting off thinking my soul would finally take flight and become peaceful. I remember waking up at some point and puking and then laying right back in my vomit, I didn’t even care I just needed to be at peace. My mother found me just in the nick of time to save my life. It took 5 EMT’s and firefighters to hold me down to get on the gurney, I don’t even remember this. Even in my medicated induced coma I still knew I wanted to die. How very sad (and preventable!) this was. I stayed in a medicated induced coma for 5 days, I had tubes to breath for me as I had stopped breathing on my own, a tube down my nose to pump my stomach, the stickies on your chest to monitor your heart. I remember my first breath of my “second” life. I took in my first breath and I realized I couldn’t breath that something was fighting against it. I apparently had my arms tied down from trying to take out the tubes and what not in my unconscious state. I easily lifted my left arm and tore the tube out of my mouth (and down my throat) so I could breath and then back into the medicated induced coma I slipped. I remember waking up at some point looking over my shoulder looking for my mother, only to see my step father one of the major reasons I had done this to myself. I slipped in and out of my coma a few times before fully waking. How could she let someone that had physically, sexually and emotionally abuse me and one of the main reasons I had ended up in this state come into MY room?! I will never pretended to understand why my mother did the things she did or allowed what she did, nor do I really care to.

An Abusive Home (Part II)

From the age of 5 she had been trying to get doctors to diagnose me with SOMETHING so she could get an SSI check for me (well really for her) I was diagnosed with ADHD first (yes at the age of 5!) I was put on every medication in the book, because there must be something wrong with me.

I remember everything so clearly this one day. I was only 11 and I was cleaning the bathroom. I had finished and had asked my 6 year old brother to go get me the mop water so I could mop the bathroom floor. My mother had just steam cleaned the carpets and he accidentally spilled the mop water all over her floors. When asked who spilled it, he lied and said it was me. I told them it was him. I remember the sun still up and standing in the kitchen our backs faced to them. My mother had this long 15” paddle that was thin green plastic in the shape of a rectangle and it was the worst paddle she had. We were hit on our bare asses until the sun was long gone. Their arms had gotten tired with no regard that we were in tears from the pain so they decided it was finally time to stop. My brother still refused to tell the truth. Then we were forced to have dawn dish soap in our mouths and hold it there for a few minutes and then swallow it. I couldn’t keep it down, ran to the bathroom puked and was made to go back and put more in my mouth. Again my brother still wouldn’t tell the truth, though I don’t blame him he was terrified as was I. We had these hard mexican red tile floors in the kitchen that we were forced to kneel on and I remember us both crying, we hurt, we were so scared but they didn’t seem to care. Finally the torture stopped. HOURS LATER! Our asses were black and blue we couldn’t even sit down. It stayed like that for weeks. People knew but no one dared to speak a word.

After everything had happened to me by the age of 12, my home life started to get worse. I realized that I was bisexual and I had no where to turn but my mother, I was confused and a little scared of my own sexuality. My mother rejected me, she refused to hug me or kiss me or tell me that she loved me, she actually told one of her friends it was because “She was afraid it would turn me on!” REALLY?! Who the fuck does that?! Do you not hug, kiss or say “ I love you” to your straight son because your “afraid of turning them on”? I felt so rejected by the one person who should have accepted me most, my own mother who carried me and gave birth to me. I don’t care whether my son is straight, gay, or bisexual. I will love him no matter who he is or his sexual orientation. I feel such a bond with him, I never could have imagined feeling such strong emotions for someone I have known for such little time. I bonded with him through my pregnancy, through his birth and after he was born, how could I NOT love him?! I couldn’t even fathom treating him this way. My mother disregarded me and all of my feelings, for some reason she was so selfish when it came to me.

An Abusive Home (Part I)

I wasn’t sure where to start this blog or even how, but I will start with my home life first, the blogs will be out of order of which it happened in my life, but here I feel is where I need to start first as this is what I am dealing with now as a mother myself.

I am the middle child out of my mothers children. There are three of us. My older sister and I have the same mom and dad, my younger brother has the same mom but different dad. My father left when I was 8 months old, he seemed to love his alcohol more than my sister and I. When he drank he was severally abusive. I couldn’t even crawl yet and while he was beating my mother my sister only 2 years older than I would pull me under the bed to protect us. I am sure some how she saved my life, with all the physical abuse that went on. He would get so angry when he had been drinking, you couldn’t even recognize him. He was a good man when he was sober and he loved us girls, just not enough to put down the bottle and pick us up instead. My mother became a single mom of two girls and some how we made it. My mother got knocked up by some other guy when I was about 4 and after having my brother when I was 5 for some reason she never could show me love the way she showed it to my sister and brother. I was always the odd ball out. I never got the attention I needed, I never even got the love I needed. I struggled with school, with everything actually because I didn’t *feel* loved. I never got hugs and kisses like they did I was always the bad child, the demon child. I was always being punished.

When I was only a year and a half I got spanked for walking across my mothers freshly mopped floors. I was just a baby! Somethings had happened to me (that I will later explain in another blog post) that was hard for me to cope with on top of the way my mother treated me. I acted out because I was too young to tell her what was going on. At the young age of 7 my mother told me she was going to sign me away to the state because I was too horrible of a child and too much for her to deal with.

Could you as a mother EVER tell your child that?! If you could/have I will tell you right now you must not love your child/ren the way a mother should. I could never ever in my life say something so horrible and so damaging to my son. Do you really care? Do you really love them? How do you speak to your child in such a manner?!

She threatened to give me away to the state uncountable times. Never once did she ever peep a word to my brother or sister about such things or ever talk to them the way she talked to me. I was always treated different like there was something about me or in some way resented me for something completely out of my control.