stellabelle
ethereal
- Dec 14, 2018
- 3,919
Memories of life. Early childhood trauma and domestic violence, mixed memories between positive and negative.
Being in an abusive household with a bad mother.
She was in and out of a hospital because she had physical health challenges that never improved.
I remember being with my grandparents and that they were good people. My grandmother (deaf) was a wonderful woman in early childhood. They were kind, they sat cross legged on the floor with me to play with toys. They never cause me emotional distress or harm.
I remember my grandfather being deaf and unable to hear, but speaking with a clear, strong voice. He was a school teacher.
My grandmother used sign.
My mother said if we learned sign language she would hurt us. Not my grandmother, but my mother forbid me from learning more ASL.
I remember trying string cheese for the first time in that house and that the kitchen always smelled strong like coffee.
I remember them being very kind and supportive. But I remember my mothers destruction in the relationship between my father, his parents, and me.
I knew right from wrong. I knew what stealing was. I knew what life was "about", but I didn't understand why certain things were never explained. I had a good comprehension of subjects well beyond my years and wanted to learn about genetics and various other topics.
Certain things were "off limits" but with proper instruction I know I could've learned just about anything. Basic anatomy books, not just of "simple" body parts but of veins, anything.
I remember the tv and closed captions and I remember reading those captions.
I didn't understand why my mother was so controlling and essentially insane. She forbid gifts, she forbid contact, she taunted and taunted and taunted.
She was absolutely a problem.
I remember being left alone with my sisters in a house on a street named "Berkeley way" - and living on a street before that in a city with a 76 station along the highway.
I remember they said things would be better when we moved from one rental to another. I remember there was a car I couldn't ride in because the car seat didn't "fit" in the back.
There was always a blue truck. My first ride home from the hospital after being born. I don't remember being born of course but I do remember the blue three seat truck. I drove it later on in life.
I remember a ford bronco, if I remember it right, it was (gray?) I remember that vehicle being vandalized repeatedly. My mother thought it was "funny" to drain the battery and vandalize it to financially abuse my father. Along with the rest of her terror tirade.
I remember her kicking holes in walls, and breaking her toe, chasing my dad into a bedroom. Not sure which house that was but I do think that was the one where you walked in and were met by a "living room", a kitchen was to the "right hand side" and the bedrooms and bathrooms were to the "left". I think there was a second "living room" and a sliding glass door that lead to a backyard.
We had two dogs, Gordon and Dottie.
Gordon had escaped several times.
I remember hiding in that house when someone was pounding on the door, my dad was at work for several days, my sisters were there with me alone, and I remember my mother was in the hospital.
I remember when the knocking kept going, I hid somewhere in the house, I was afraid.
It was my childhood hero who hopped the fence and then came around the back side of the house to the sliding glass door.
He called my name a few times. I remember listening to that voice asking where I was. And I didn't immediately come out because I was afraid.
I was afraid because of my mother. My mother was gone, my dad was paying all of the bills, we were forced to be unsupervised and we had "bad" family members who were drug dealers. I remember being afraid that someone would come hurt us. Our mother had threatened all of us so many times back then that I was in constant fear for my life.
When I finally came out, I saw it was my favorite person in the world besides my dad. I was relieved.
Fast forward.
1997 or so?
Windows 95 computer donated to us by family members. I believe it was "Jack" and "L". I think we had a Mac at some point but the computer didn't "work well."
We lived in another house. It was "brand new."
But things never did get better in that house.
I was told to entertain myself.
It wouldn't matter what I was doing, playing with Barbie's (I wasn't allowed a baby doll), I would occasionally read medical dictionaries, I would become bored quickly by childrens style books.
I remember my daily dosage of screaming in my face, hitting me, Benadryl shoved down my throat, hair ripped out of head, cussing, escalation if I ignored the screaming, and no sports, nothing. I remember biting my lip in fear and when my sisters came home it was the oldest being constantly beat up.
I remember one night "mom" was going to "dinner" with dad. He had no idea. Neither did I.
My mother said if I got "hurt" I would get a new toy. At that age I didn't quite understand what she was asking or what was happening.
She said when she was gone, that one of my sisters would pull my arm out of socket and that it "doesn't hurt" that bad.
The oldest sister, who I "trusted", refused. I didn't really "get it." I think this had to be before kindergarten. The middle sibling "volunteered." The same sibling that hit me in the face with a refrigerator door.
She did it to upset my dad, and said if she did it herself (mom) that she would "get in trouble" or "go to jail" and that we didn't "want" that.
My middle sister tricked me. It was in her bedroom, the middle bedroom, master bedroom to the left and the smaller bedrooms to the right. My bedroom was in the front of the house, which was scary at night because of the stories they told me about people that could come and hurt me.
She asked me to crawl under her bed and get a box that was from grandma H and the box had a tiger on the front of it. It was a wooden box. It had cross stitch supplies in it, string. Colorful string. She said she couldn't "fit" under there. I was happy to "help" and had already forgotten about my mother's "plan." She was so evil.
I crawled under the bed and handed my sister the box.
That's when I was crawling out and she asked if I needed "help" and I said no. She reached under and yanked my arm out of socket and dragged me out. She called the restaurant (or maybe it was the oldest sister.) and told them what happened. It interrupted dinner and my parents came home. I was crying in hysteria because of how badly it hurt. My dad was devastated, I was devastated, my sister lied. She was in middle school, if I'm not mistaken. If I was 4 that would have made her 12 years old. She said that I had refused to come out of under the bed and that's "why". And they insisted that story when we got to the hospital 30 minutes away. If I remember right the hospital was across a bridge, not the one down the street.
They "fixed" my arm. I can't remember which arm it was or the "new toy" but wow. Wowowowowowowow. I really hoped someday that this would come out and I could get the hell out of their grasp.
I remember my mother threatening to kill my sisters and I. I remember her threatening to kill my father. I remember her threatening to kill any parents on the playground that got involved. I remember I was terrified to "tell on her."
Wow.
I remember.
She played inappropriate movies and said it was just a movie. And I remember her saying some vulgar words. Threatening to auction us off to husbands and teach us to get "raped." Some terminology was explained and some wasn't. My dad was truthful but my mother was a liar.
She insisted on what she wanted and not what we wanted as kids. I didn't mind hand me down clothes or goodwill but she told me I couldn't have those things. That it had to be her choice. We couldn't really ever agree on anything. I begged to brush my own hair and she wouldn't let me and if I did she said she'd hit me. The daily dosage of hair pulling and screaming. Screaming at me for crying and screaming at me more and yanking more and more and more.
She insisted on "embarrassing" us and she told me I had to have stupid ugly Santa pictures and swore it was real. She swore Santa was real and she tried to convince me of all of her stupid little games and that I had to smile or she'd hit me.
She said god wasn't real and wouldn't let us go to church or learn about the Bible.
We talked about 911 but only if you "really" needed it. She called all the time and accused my sister of starting fights with her. But it was really my mother who started it and I was told I was "too little" to "help."
I remember being told a gunshot sounds like a big BANG and if I ever heard a gun go off, run and tell the neighbors as fast as I can.
She prevented my father from getting to a phone to call for help, and she continued threatening to shoot him with his own gun. She thought it was "funny." It wasn't.
I would wake up during the night to hear her screaming through walls. Escalating until my dad would yell back and I never knew why they were yelling. I'd crawl out of my room and hide behind the blue couch, back to the couch with my knees bent, arms between my knees feeling helpless and listening to those fights late at night. I remember crying quietly and waiting for a sound so I could run and tell someone.
My mom had lied so much I didn't understand certain things she did to my sister or what she said about gender or what she said about interpersonal relationships or same gender relationships or anything else. She said our bodies were "evil" because we were "girls."
I remember after school being told to get in the car after she rambled about my "problems" which were her imagination. She said my dad drank and it was my "problem." But my "problem" was her. After her daily death wishing sessions pushed onto other parents, she would scream at me the entire way home as loud as she could and told me that I was bad. I asked why and she just kept screaming louder and louder even if I didn't respond, and she'd scream until I cried and cried and cried and she would laugh and turn the stereo up as loud as she could, driving without a seatbelt on, flipping people off, cussing a storm, cutting people off and so on. Every day was an unnecessary horror "movie" of my life. I was just waiting for the day that she would crash or someone would shoot at us because of her. She liked the "N" word and another one accompanied by "f-ing w…."
She was racist. She never wanted me to listen to other music, learn to dance, learn self defense, learn sign language, Spanish, or anything else.
I remember the first time, I was in real trouble. The scariest trouble ever. I always wanted to be a boy. I wanted to be like daddy. In any case, I had a "friend" from school that asked me about the ammunition kept on what my mother
described as an "ugly" green couch in the front room. It was for the shooting range, it was for dad's job.
I knew not to touch or play with guns, or bullets. That one day when I "grew up" I could carry one for safety, if I could ever be like dad and his friends. She told me that there were "secrets" and that "we" kept secrets about her. But when we told on her, it wasn't a secret anymore, and we were all ignored.
I did want to study the ammunition, the size, I knew that certain calibers went to certain guns and never really learned too much about which was which. I never wanted to be gun "obsessed" because people correlate guns with danger, and danger with bad people. Like the columbine kids. I wanted to learn everything I could, but I didn't want to seem "too interested." Too interested to "come off the wrong way." Sometimes I would have daydreams about shooting my mother to protect my father. I remember asking questions about what would happen if either one of us had shot her in self defense. I was very young.
Anyway. A "friend" from school, maybe (David?) who lived with his mother and grandfather asked me about the bullets. I asked why? And he said he "collected" them too.
He asked for a couple of them, and I thought he meant he collected them to give them to his parents. I didn't really quite understand what was up at the time, and I was afraid of my mother. I was afraid that she would scream at David or hit David or start yelling like she always yelled at me. David took a couple of them home, and later his mom called with a story about how David asked his grandfather what would happen if he hit one of the bullets with a hammer. I didn't know that's what David was going to do. They explained to me that David couldn't come over and play anymore, and that if David had done that, that it could explode in his face and kill him.
I remember so many "embarrassing things" and the confusion between things that were embarrassing and that weren't.
I remember being told something about my sister and my mother demanding that she took her clothes off, and that she couldn't take a shower afterward. My mother was violent. I didn't really understand what she was doing or why. As a child, you might mimic what you see with your Barbie dolls. She'd hit me for that. I didn't understand.
I remember "body" exploration but I didn't understand what the influence in the household had done. I remember playing "girls" but no touching. Wow. The things I was exposed to messed me up so badly, I had no idea what was "wrong" about playing, like locker rooms and "adult" stuff.
I remember being "excited" and putting on an "act" for my birthday one year. I think I was turning 8. I was "supposed to be" excited. There were gifts. But I knew many years before that, that gifts were gifts and that I didn't really want presents, I wanted her to stop screaming at me and hitting me, I wanted her to stop yelling at me, I wanted her to tell me that she "loved" me. I wanted to appeal to her in anyway that I could. Just for those three words. I remember she wouldn't stop watching Barney and I thought it was creepy by 1st or second grade, every morning.
In any case, she was in "nursing" school and she bought a red convertible Isuzu with a roll bar. She had "commuted" with other peers on highway 12 where there were always accidents, prior to that. There were no center dividers, two lanes.
Anyway. One of her friends bought me an outfit. It was Roxy. It was supposed to be "cool" like the preppy girls, the pretty ones. The gift was thoughtful. I had "raced" to open presents while she stared at me and whispered about me and said how "selfish" I was, pointing at me and smiling saying "look look look." I remember being disappointed that she was doing it again, accusing me of being selfish when it was her that didn't want to play, read, help with math, hear about my day at school, or anything else. I kept up my "act", in a "rush" trying to appease her like she did everyday after school.
I remember being afraid of the new outfit, not because it was a bad outfit but because of the fact that she had done what she did to my sister and that the clothes were disappointing because I thought she was going to force me to take them off or pull my pants down and hit me or do what she had done to my older sister because she said "when you're older" and to be afraid.
If I'm not mistaken by then, that sibling had left for the military (how sad) and I wasn't allowed to go to her graduation. My other sister had taken off too, at some point. She had a car and a job and went to high school and took off to go live with a relative, she got on a plane and just left because of the hell raising.
I was stuck all alone and things never really did "get better."
I wanted a skateboard, to learn how to skate or go to the park or the skatepark. I wasn't allowed to play sports until soccer, which I begged for. I wanted to do gymnastics or ice skating or hockey or basketball. I wanted to ride a bike to school like the other kids. I wanted to be fit, strong, healthy. I wanted to understand babies and how the body worked, I wanted to understand my mother but you know, there was no real answer about her, she was just a psychotic woman who wouldn't stop being crazy.
I wanted to "make the most" out of the time I had, because I was threatened so many times and desired life experiences. I never thought I'd have a chance to be an adult, or anything at all. She was so childish, I remember wondering why she acted like that. After a certain point, I felt like life was just "acting", but you know, by 4th grade I had fallen behind and been moved around several times and became more disruptive in class. I couldn't focus or stop fidgeting because I was afraid. I was afraid of what would happen when I went home.
No matter what I did or how much I begged, it was never enough to appeal to her.
I really didn't understand some things.
By 10 or so I figured since because she had always called me "bad" anyway, I would be just "that." She said I would wind up in jail someday, that I'd never be anything at all. She admired my oldest sister and I couldn't figure out why she was so obsessed with her and how "successful" she was but you know, what did I know.
She started working at a prison. She said the inmates would have my father killed. I begged her not to. She wanted money, she wanted our old house. She said things would get better but they never did.
The inmates told me not to be afraid of them. I didn't understand why she "loved" other kids so much, but she didn't "love" me. Why she "loved" the "bad guys" but not the "good" ones. She would ramble to the neighbors about it all the time.
I was surprised that she wasn't hitting as much anymore, but she was still screaming in the car, screaming the moment she got home. She'd act fine on the phone and come back and go off on me no matter what I said or did. I knew what sarcasm was, I knew what being polite was, I knew truth from lies, and I knew she was still tormenting me.
A family member had a baby. The mother couldn't care for the baby while at work, so she'd watch after him. I didn't understand why she "loved" him so much but she didn't "love" me. His older brother had thrown me on a bed and "pretended" to assault me. I didn't invite it when it happened, I was trying to laugh at him and say yeah sure, why not? (Dumb shit.) he was a tweaker kid that was so "perfect", he was older than me. He took it seriously but I wasn't serious, I was being sarcastic. Like the time he lied to me about throwing rocks into J&M's pool, I asked if they told him to throw rocks in there and he said yeah. So I mimicked him and we both got in trouble. I never thought he'd do something like that and blame me. Well, he did what he did for the dare and it bothered me.
I told a girl at school, but I was afraid to tell what happened because he had "tried" to do something, not the complete act. I was afraid of the bastard for the same reason. I was afraid when the school called and mom screamed, the "baby R" couldn't come over and visit anymore, for whatever reason.
We changed schools again. I was afraid to tell anybody what happened because I had been blamed for so many things before, just trying to "start shit" and instigating, but that was actually the family members, not me. She started calling the police on me constantly and lying to them and I remember telling them she did the same things to my sisters and she's doing it to me. She was doing it for attention, to "show off."
Well, being mad about being a girl, learning about how there are men with hormonal imbalances that have breasts, wanting to "come out" and transition and being afraid to say anything or getting "beat up" for it, we as kids knew we had "rights" but not to act like adults. Human rights. Womens rights. We'd pull our shirts up and laugh and scream no child molesters! In reference to what my mom did to my sister: we shouted publicly because nothing ever happened to the woman for the vile shit she pulled.
My mother gave me a cellphone. I'd call to say I was home from school. I'd run around the neighborhood through the foresty areas. I had a lanyard and a house key that I'd lose all the time. Different phones for "fun." GETROpcs. I was bored. I'd call party lines and lie about my age, what I looked like, and so on, making fun of stupid horny men being stupid and ride my skateboard laughing.
I feared nothing after the shit that happened and begun "living in the moment" because I was afraid of being killed by someone for the racism and her "plans" about me or my father.
What a circus.
My dads friends told me to go play on the freeway or the train tracks. I figured it was probably a good idea. I'd be a "wise ass" and say "yeah maybe when I become CHP, or something."
I felt like committing suicide everyday. That it would save everyone money and time. I was always told how horrible I was, so we'd be loud and make car noises mimicking car alarms when a ball would bounce and hit a tire and shout about never having children.
I'd throw rocks at the train and cover my head and my face and duck and dodge and try to be faster than the momentum of them bouncing off. I liked the idea of geology, I thought about jumping on the train as a "hobo" a few times and getting a "ride" to Albany to ask my grandmother for help, but I was afraid. I was afraid about what might happen after all the years of abuse.
I let other kids touch me inappropriately after a certain point, not because I really "enjoyed" it but because I didn't care, I wanted to transition, and "at least" it wasn't the family members doing it.
Life dragged by and I wondered if time would ever pass. No matter what I did I was disappointed that she kept lying about fighting with me, lying about smoking, lying about how someday I would be able to drive, lying about the shit she did and the racism. Did I mimic her in hopes that someday someone would just nail her for it? Yes. I'm sorry.
I could do basic math but didn't understand all of it and needed a tutor. I was accustomed to inappropriate behavior and jokes, but she'd never teach me anything real or scientific, just kept putting it off.
I remember a school program called Youth in Power and it was to keep kids off of drugs. There was honesty in that program. It was great, but I was still struggling with the "choices" I had made because I was afraid that she was going to hurt me or my father and I'd be dead.
Neighborhood kids kept calling me names, saying I couldn't run fast enough, I kept getting bullied at school, abused at home, eventually nobody came out to play anymore and my mother had burned the bridges for me. Her philosophy was that periods were to be "tracked", birth control to control the pain was not acceptable, that "pussy is evil" and she pounded those ideas into other people. I was so frustrated.
I was always hoping that maybe someday I would go into the juvenile corrections, just to get the hell away from her.
That maybe I'd learn more if I kept deviating and was "sent" somewhere else.
Or boarding school. Military school. Anything to get ahead in life and get away from her.
She wouldn't allow me to be in school plays, or acing, or dance, or anything, she didn't want me to be a person. When I broke my arm, she said she was so heartbroken but it was about her, not about me.
She said I didn't get choices.
We had a male cat, she wouldn't take him to the vet to get him fixed, or the other cats, and then she was angry when the house smelled bad. She was angry about dishes or floors but wouldn't allow me to do them. She basically searched for something to be angry about.
Eventually a car got stolen, bicycles got stolen, I cleaned up a garage and condensed stuff into boxes to try to stop the car from being stolen again. The landlord said stuff was missing, but what was taken? I don't know. Anyways. It should've had a lock on it. It was sentimental things they used to store. I found a Morgan silver dollar, the "lucky" ones. I showed her. I put it back. It was like the one "grandpa Sampa" had.
The first time I stole something from a store after 9/11 and the country had financially collapsed.
Right around the same era, Marc, the shit disturber from around the corner was throwing asphalt pebbles with me and I missed his body and it bounced off the ground and hit a truck parked across the street behind him. A pebble. No scratch, no damage, and he ran to snitch and get me in trouble, just to be a little ass bite. The neighbors sold their house and moved.
The stolen item from the grocery store. It was a Reese's. She was begging my dad for groceries and I was afraid to ask for the Reese's because I didn't want anyone to be mad at me. Mad about money and what my mother kept spending. She wouldn't buy from a more affordable store. She wouldn't let us shop at dollar tree or 99cent store. He talked to me about it and apologized to the cashier and we put it back. I knew my dreams were ruined, I didn't think I'd ever be anything at all because she told me I wouldn't be anything at all or that she was going to kill me at some point. I didn't do it again after that. Not until I was about 10. When I was 10, I stole from the store because she said I was bad, and because the other kids did it, and because my sister had everything, she'd blame my sister and pay everything for Stacey. She'd blame me for being "broke" but she'd come in and scream every day and then asked if I wanted to go shopping and buy new clothes. People kept making fun of me anyhow. I hated her curly hair, I hated her lies, I hated her "expert opinion" on everything, I hated her little game of "how to annoy" my father and how to "scare" me. Scare me by driving badly, scare me by accusing me, scare me by twisting shit that I did or didn't do. I hoped that someday she'd like me if I pretended to be a criminal like the guys she worked with.
She actually taught me to steal, when I was super little she said it would be "funny" to go steal from my dads wallet. To sneak in unnoticed And take money that wasn't mine to take. It wasn't hers to take. I dropped a bill and he found out, she said she'd buy me a toy. This was why he wouldn't come home. She was a gold digger. She was so god damn evil and I thought if I "pleased" her that she would "like" me but never did. She kept saying I was just like him, or that I looked like her, fuck I mean, I just wanted her to say "I love you," but she never would.
I felt really bad for what I had done, but I had no idea. It was so confusing being caught in the middle of the shitstorm.
By 11, 12 I knew nothing would change. Maybe if I wore black colors in hot weather I would be more resilient. Maybe I'd get heat stroke. Maybe I'd get tattoos someday and someday have that dream of law enforcement. My grandmother had died. I was in "grief." I was also jealous of my grandmother. Dying seemed like the only solution because things never did change in the house. I studied computer coding, HTML, I learned that when we still lived across the bridge. I kept trying to invite her to see what I had put together, a glittery collage. She didn't care.
I got better at "reading" HTML code and learned how to remove clickable links. I learned about limewire, I downloaded music, I messed around with YouTube, I learned how to code MySpace layouts, surveys, I studied people and their profiles, their pictures, their personas. I still dreamed of being sent away to a military school, she kept wishing for money and my dad to die.
I wanted to learn more about drugs, drug users, the science behind sexual intercourse, I had already seen pornography and I knew it wasn't real (as in a realistic depiction of sex or body parts, it just was.)
I wanted to learn more about photography, I wanted to learn more about what people called "cat fishing" and mimic criminals online. I think the first time I lied online I was in 1st grade or so, AOL chat. I said I was 13.
I was afraid of how much my mother kept escalating and threatening and playing her little games. She brought my older, greedy, backstabbing sister to live with us. Got her a car and told her to go to college and get a job. Erika didn't like that. She didn't want to help in math. She wanted to wave boyfriends around, steal my swimsuits, snoop, and snitch.
I had many online "personas" and the point was not to actually identify with those personas, but to basically end up killing myself because of the abuse, or that my mother would probably have me killed.
She told me everyone has cancer and eventually it just gets out of control. I used that one before, just for life experience, so if I ever did become law enforcement, I knew I could "relate" to a criminal and say that I did that once. It wasn't for money or for attention, it was a question of "who's in your neighborhood?" A mystery. That I could be over an ocean, mimic an accent, mimic language, (English only according to the asshole herself.)
Eventually I got tired of watching forensic files and being envious of everyone else succeeding and what was happening in the house, her continued "I'm calling the cops on you" game. I had already egged a car in hopes of being sent to juvenile hall. Nobody saw me do it but they said I did it anyway and all the evidence pointed to 1002 forest (blank address)
I started watching stupid comedy movies just to pass the time, play on repeat.
Prior to that, the Benadryl bullshit. Oh the Benadryl from elementary school had graduated to excessive dosages to "get ahead" and have an "altered state of consciousness" by age 10 or so. Maybe 9. So when she came in screaming I'd already be tired, she'd send me into hysteria, she'd make me tried. She told me to go to a doctor for depression, but the depression wasn't true, it was really about being depressed about her. She hit me and threw me on a floor and lied about being afraid of me. That was still at 1002 forest (blank address.) I was depressed because of her abuse and wishing me dead and wishing my father dead. All of her blabbing.
I started really overdosing on it. Erika and her boyfriend MC witnessed Teresa's terror when I had just gotten out of school, the two chicken shits puckered their assholes and pissed their pants and ran away and Teresa called VVPD with more lies. The dick in uniform bent my wrist while I begged for my witnesses to come back and tell the truth about what they saw. MC was afraid of the inmates and Erika was too much of a greedy lying bitch. Terry the terrorist blocked my exit every time I tried to get out the door. I never did hit her but boy oh boy I wished I had.
My friend and I started goofing off. My mother said my life would be a short one. I was afraid of being poisoned or killed. She said this my entire existence.
So I started stealing hair products from the Walgreens near school. It was "too dangerous" to stop us. We had stolen alcohol before, but I was never interested in getting drunk. I was interested in the how and why people steal, who would steal, and who wouldn't. Motives behind it, methods, and being recognized for doing it. The products were insured, and I hated my dad for his drunk girlfriend from Walgreens. I was envious of the language acquisition and the "good life."
My friend stole a watch but didn't listen to me when I told her to take the tag off of it. I was right, she wouldn't listen to me. About stealing or not stealing, about how to steal, how to "properly" steal, and how to spot people who steal.
I colored my hair from the ugly blond to brown to match the dark roots and then eventually black. Fuck it right? It matched my eye color. I didn't care if it "fried" my hair. It didn't matter. My mother was careless about my safety in cars, careless about her inmates, careless about her threats, careless about her racism, careless about stealing from the prison, careless in general .
I started with chewing my lip in early childhood, preschool. Through kindergarten. I picked scabs. I ate a booger to be disgusting like a boy because I wanted to be a boy and mucus was already in the stomach anyway when I swallowed it because she'd scream me into mental breakdowns everyday. I thought it was "funny" to be normal, to have a body; to have blood weep out of scabs. She'd hit me for that too. I'd cut my toenails too short, they'd get infected, chew my fingernails, I didn't like the white part because it reminded me of her evil hands. I used nail clippers to clip the skin on my feet in early childhood, I was shocked that it didn't hurt unless it went really deep and it was "fun" to rip the skin back. Maybe if I "hurt" myself she wouldn't hurt me anymore because I'd be doing the "work" for her.
I thought about getting a kitchen knife and slicing my arm open. I thought about drowning in the bathtub. Survival instinct was difficult to overcome. I used an art knife, they told me I had to "go to a hospital" - terrys lies and attention games, the school knew about the abuse, I kept thinking you know, maybe someday I'll just get it over with.
My friend told me to just get it over with, that it was for attention. The giggles turned into cruelty. I had a crush on a blue eyed blond girl that had long straight hair, she was skinny, she was out of the closet, she was special. I was mean to her because other girls were mean to her in the ever so extended mean comment section. I pushed her once and gave the school their "entertainment" and "investigation" because they wanted to be ever so nosy. But they didn't care to get me out of Teresa's grip.
When the classmates intervened and said to leave her alone, I was proud of them. Proud of them not because I had intended to hurt her to a point of no return, but proud of them for being "brave" and stepping in. I twisted an ankle running around through the bike path and had crutches. More of the loved and pretty girls threatened me. I was never afraid, I just felt like nobody understood why this was going on. That maybe just maybe, teresa would "love" me again. There were the "white power" skanks that loved Chris brown, oh, boy crushes. Celebrity "crushes." I had mimicked all of that crap just to try to be "normal" years prior. To try to be "normal" and to try to get my mom to pay attention to me and care instead of being cruel.
I was put in an art class. Painted eyes looked like genetials, they were obsessed with sex by then, I always wondered if mine were "normal." In the later part of the semester one kid in Dourghtey's class asked if a baby could get a boner and I wondered why.
We made a clay mask of our faces.
Mine was missing eyes, they were painted black, as if the world was blind as to what was going on. The mouth had no lips, there were scores on the clay instead, as if to symbolize silence and frustration. Some kids would hug me because my mom didn't. But anyway. The side of the face had a deep cut in it, and stitches over it, a wound split apart.
Remember silent hill? I felt like alessa. Good alessa and bad alessa. I had smoked weed for the first time, before I'd just pretend to smoke a cigarette or pretend to smoke weed without inhaling. I snorted a skinny line of what was probably baking soda by the beginning of 8th grade just because I was curious. The same kid that acquired it was caught smoking on the field one day. Someone snitched, but I didn't. I just smiled and said what's up.
I didn't really believe in romance or a romanticized life. I romanticized death. Because of the abuse at home, the bullying at school, not having any friends, pushing my "luck" about lies.
My sister got "married."
I didn't want to wear the ugly white skirt and attend her backstabbing shitshow. The new game became driving my mother insane with stupidity because she lied so much about her own abuse, it was "fun" to confuse the bitch. Someone hit her car one night on Richmond parkway, we know exactly why. She wouldn't let me cut my hair, which she always said I didn't have nice hair, even when I was a child I thought about cutting it all off but she said if I did it she would hit me even harder. I had a friend cut my hair. I was envious of her family because they seemed to have it better. Her dad had a job that I envied. She was "wild" and "so was I" but not to the same extent. Terry the terrorist threw a fit and E said I ruined everything. I ruined everything by making a silly face in a photo. A photo I didn't want to be in. A wedding nobody showed up for "her" but for her husband. There was maybe 3 of us. It was at a library. I went to hide with an older friend. Then I was afraid because Terry the terrorist said she'd have them jailed. I "turned myself in" after she "reported me as a runaway" and followed the advice of my peers, tell them you're suicidal. So that was pretty much against my own wishes, that I was depressed because of the abuse and the bitch had me "drug tested." Nothing showed up, just like I said. But I had already been thinking of hanging myself with a belt, my sister S stole my belt from my bedroom, they "searched" for drugs and I laughed at them. I was overdosing on Benadryl trying to kill myself but I was too fat.
Oh the drama.
Afraid to "snitch" on anyone that violated me for fear they'd point the finger. A bad relative during a camping trip, I kept saying no but I was afraid to go tell them. I thought things could go back to normal and the bastard would follow those boundaries. I didn't care. I told him to go get a girlfriend. My aunt attacked and blamed me and the bastard laughed. Same one that shot me with an air soft gun, same one that did the other sexual assault, same one that shot and killed his father, same one that gave me Percocet or weed. They got thrown out of the area by a security guard for being shit disturbers in his car. The bastard was 16 and I was 13 or so.
I figured one night (before that incident) while Narcmom was gone and people were in the house and I was afraid and alone because she kept threatening me, I would just take a bunch of Benadryl. I had already almost fallen into the pool when staggering outside. I started smoking cigarettes after she lit the backyard on fire. I lied about my age IRL because I wanted to know why she smoked. I smoked a bunch and it made me physically sick. I put my head down at the library and then did it again later. I didn't know how to appease her. Anyway, I guess when I was "tripping" I asked someone for a rubber and had sex with a male because I was still hiding in the closet and waiting for the day that Teresa killed me, that I might as well just "do it" before I ended my life or she ended it for me. I was around a bunch of vulgar shit disturbers that said they didn't regret the things they did, and I knew right away I would probably regret it when I had thought about it prior to that while I was unintoxicated.
My friend and I walked to get candy one night. We got caught. Oh well, that was disappointing. Two of us and one of the other person trying to protect us from the rampage. That person got into a fight with someone else at a park later on and tripped over a bicycle and died from a head injury after Terry the terrorist took me out of state without permission, after dropping out of 8th grade, she kept playing her little cat and mouse game. We got a dog, but had to give the dog up. My sister had already bragged about animal rescue and stuff, but the dog couldn't be kept at an apartment and we had problems with hotels and the dog barking and being destructive from separation anxiety.
I remember sitting in history class, a good teacher of mine. I could always be honest with her. My mother mimicked that teacher by buying the same kind of vehicle in a different color after the hit and run. Then my sister had crashed her husbands car with me in it. She totaled it and did it on purpose. I freaked.
My mother pried into my dad, she had told me to steal a vacuum years ago. She stalked him pretty much. Creepy. That was still when we lived across the bridge.
She paid my friends family to have me stay there while she worked out of the area. I still didn't understand math or do well in independent study and the mainstream school wanted me to do 2 math classes at one time. How to cope with all of this?
Basically I was just a dropout. I had a new boyfriend. I wanted to learn history and go to school there. Appreciate the architecture or anything else. We brought him with, and E the shit disturber. My mom was constantly yelling but putting on a performance in public. I'd beg for her to let me out of her stupid jeep at a gas station because she wouldn't stop screaming me to tears or driving crazy with me in the vehicle. She got really crazy when she popped a tire and blamed me. The boyfriend witnessed everything and I was still trying to "profile" Teresa. I remember thinking I'll need years of counseling to sort all of this out.
She got more and more psychotic, trying to give me methadone and shit. I'd keep the house super clean and her and my boyfriend had jobs but I didn't, she would hide things from me like my cats or she wouldn't let me take my bowling ball to go bowling, she just kept acting more crazy.
We left. Then imagine her wasting money and time sending horrible emails and playing stupid games with family court. I went to college, learned a bit but felt really discouraged because of all of her blows to my self esteem.
I feel like if I had my own vehicle, I would've been more likely to stay in school rather than relying on another person. The "guy" I was with was not a "good" one but I hoped he would become more honorable. He didn't. His mom was better than mine, a NP. He was an ass. I didn't know what to do. My dads girlfriend accused me of poisoning trees or vandalizing the house. A "Disney goofy character watch" was found in the neighbors backyard with a bullet hole in it. I was pretty terrified.
I lost weight. I felt bad for eating.
I didn't fit in with the other girls and their high school games. I wanted to study what bad people do and when I put in my two cents they ignored me.
Oh well. I was being bantered about what I was going to do with my life, I went to work at a grocery store but I had serious anxiety about becoming a cashier because of produce number codes and mixing them up. I had a lot of fun at that job but a lot of sad days too. I did get my diploma online. I did go have fun riding my motorcycle when I could. It was my favorite thing. Someone stole the license plate off of it. Then it was vandalized. It was repaired and it had a problem again. I got a new one. I worked as hard as I could but I was constantly being harassed at work.
Eventually I was suspended for trying to "stand up for myself" for "training purposes only" to a bastard named Fernando that liked to harass.
Terry the terrorist snuck a "gift" into a "box" from my snooping sister. They gave me false promises of an education and a place to live and an easier life. I had already seen the cunt when she visited and broke up my relationship, hiding the terrorist somewhere unknown.
I moved to another area with a friend. I was always trying to find better friends or be quiet and people kept picking at me.
I crashed. Oh well. Terry the terrorist kept up her terror and collaborated with my housemate to throw me out. Bastard kept telling me to "go home to Kansas" which wasn't a joke or funny or home. Bastard never listened to me.
Another bastard didn't went to be just friends. "Meet my puppy" - how creepy, I went into shock, he knocked me up. He bragged about what he had done and got me thrown out from bastard's place, blaming me. But bastard was the one that told me to "date him" or that he was "nice" and I just wanted to get to know him instead of sleep with him.
Then more bastard games. Matt. The worst bastard of the bastard crew.
Stalker. Abuser. Creep. Collaborated with Teresa. Blocked my exit. My other friend wanted me to meet his friends and I was tired of everyone's attention competition, I wanted privacy.
Bastard the bastard kept the abuse going for 2 years, I was "left out" of everything when I went to siskiyou county. I needed a class c drivers license and the bastard that bit me, raped me, stalked me, and played fuckin games snatching my phone out of my hand and my motorcycle key and getting into my tablet threatened an actual nice guy that would've been appropriate, right back to bastard teresa the terrorist. "Just stay with him don't break his heart" a bunch of lies he was a dirtbag and a sec offender and got rid of my bed while I was on vacation without asking. He kept abusing and biting and hitting and playing Teresa's bastard game. Accusing me of flirting not allowing me to have friends staring at me starting shit and isolating me. Terry the tick just kept it up and kept it up.
I finally got away from his greedy hands and his "I've changed" bullshit and went back to an old housemate, again with bastard games and more bastard games and bastard games despite me doing well in school.
I went to visit the terrorist and the terrorist kept up her nagging and terrorizing.
I signed up for 3 jobs and full time school.
Everyone kept playing.
That was a gory year.
I thought Terry the terrorist would shut the fuck up and stop nagging and calling my non abusive partner a "dirtbag" if I left. She kept bitching for info about my jobs and so on and so forth after she was told to stop. After all the abusive emails. After the scholarships. She still said she wouldn't come to my graduation or visit me.
I said things in "jest" to a friend. I was depressed and felt like my partner kept ignoring me and I kept buying stuff (to literally just give it away, and being how many times I narrowly avoided death it wouldn't matter anyway. Terry the terrorist wouldn't stop calling me "money bags" or whatever. She just wanted to be greedy and me to entertain her. She still wouldn't say I love you.)
I went to leave and walked into another setup. A setup I didn't want to be in. The bastard poisoned me. The bastard raped me. The bastard stalked me. The bastard terrorized me. The bastard told the bastard who ran their mouth about it and kept playing their game. I snapped. The fucking selfish evil games. I would've stayed at a homeless shelter but the bitch wouldn't stop her game. She was the one who set my ass up in the first place. Wow. What a nightmare.
All these years go by and all this disrespect and all this bullshit.
Nothing got better the bastards kept laughing in my face and stealing and lying and enabling one another. Wow. How god damn fucking evil.
Shit even a new start, the same bastard game. It wasn't a game, wow.
I was not insane. I was gaslight and set up so god damn bad so many times. Push push pushing my boundaries to the point of no return.
I hope someday I "wake up" out of this fog again.
The person I'm around now is doing their absolute best.
But I'm just so god damn mad about it. Not mad about the person, but mad about the experiences that pushed me this far this many times. To hell with it, right?
Truth always comes out in the end.
I know I'm destructive. But I know I'm also positive or responsible.
I just wish.
My one wish.
I was granted the chance for help to have occurred 24 years ago.
Rather than problem after problem, crime after crime, bastard after bastard, game after game, liar after liar.
Being in an abusive household with a bad mother.
She was in and out of a hospital because she had physical health challenges that never improved.
I remember being with my grandparents and that they were good people. My grandmother (deaf) was a wonderful woman in early childhood. They were kind, they sat cross legged on the floor with me to play with toys. They never cause me emotional distress or harm.
I remember my grandfather being deaf and unable to hear, but speaking with a clear, strong voice. He was a school teacher.
My grandmother used sign.
My mother said if we learned sign language she would hurt us. Not my grandmother, but my mother forbid me from learning more ASL.
I remember trying string cheese for the first time in that house and that the kitchen always smelled strong like coffee.
I remember them being very kind and supportive. But I remember my mothers destruction in the relationship between my father, his parents, and me.
I knew right from wrong. I knew what stealing was. I knew what life was "about", but I didn't understand why certain things were never explained. I had a good comprehension of subjects well beyond my years and wanted to learn about genetics and various other topics.
Certain things were "off limits" but with proper instruction I know I could've learned just about anything. Basic anatomy books, not just of "simple" body parts but of veins, anything.
I remember the tv and closed captions and I remember reading those captions.
I didn't understand why my mother was so controlling and essentially insane. She forbid gifts, she forbid contact, she taunted and taunted and taunted.
She was absolutely a problem.
I remember being left alone with my sisters in a house on a street named "Berkeley way" - and living on a street before that in a city with a 76 station along the highway.
I remember they said things would be better when we moved from one rental to another. I remember there was a car I couldn't ride in because the car seat didn't "fit" in the back.
There was always a blue truck. My first ride home from the hospital after being born. I don't remember being born of course but I do remember the blue three seat truck. I drove it later on in life.
I remember a ford bronco, if I remember it right, it was (gray?) I remember that vehicle being vandalized repeatedly. My mother thought it was "funny" to drain the battery and vandalize it to financially abuse my father. Along with the rest of her terror tirade.
I remember her kicking holes in walls, and breaking her toe, chasing my dad into a bedroom. Not sure which house that was but I do think that was the one where you walked in and were met by a "living room", a kitchen was to the "right hand side" and the bedrooms and bathrooms were to the "left". I think there was a second "living room" and a sliding glass door that lead to a backyard.
We had two dogs, Gordon and Dottie.
Gordon had escaped several times.
I remember hiding in that house when someone was pounding on the door, my dad was at work for several days, my sisters were there with me alone, and I remember my mother was in the hospital.
I remember when the knocking kept going, I hid somewhere in the house, I was afraid.
It was my childhood hero who hopped the fence and then came around the back side of the house to the sliding glass door.
He called my name a few times. I remember listening to that voice asking where I was. And I didn't immediately come out because I was afraid.
I was afraid because of my mother. My mother was gone, my dad was paying all of the bills, we were forced to be unsupervised and we had "bad" family members who were drug dealers. I remember being afraid that someone would come hurt us. Our mother had threatened all of us so many times back then that I was in constant fear for my life.
When I finally came out, I saw it was my favorite person in the world besides my dad. I was relieved.
Fast forward.
1997 or so?
Windows 95 computer donated to us by family members. I believe it was "Jack" and "L". I think we had a Mac at some point but the computer didn't "work well."
We lived in another house. It was "brand new."
But things never did get better in that house.
I was told to entertain myself.
It wouldn't matter what I was doing, playing with Barbie's (I wasn't allowed a baby doll), I would occasionally read medical dictionaries, I would become bored quickly by childrens style books.
I remember my daily dosage of screaming in my face, hitting me, Benadryl shoved down my throat, hair ripped out of head, cussing, escalation if I ignored the screaming, and no sports, nothing. I remember biting my lip in fear and when my sisters came home it was the oldest being constantly beat up.
I remember one night "mom" was going to "dinner" with dad. He had no idea. Neither did I.
My mother said if I got "hurt" I would get a new toy. At that age I didn't quite understand what she was asking or what was happening.
She said when she was gone, that one of my sisters would pull my arm out of socket and that it "doesn't hurt" that bad.
The oldest sister, who I "trusted", refused. I didn't really "get it." I think this had to be before kindergarten. The middle sibling "volunteered." The same sibling that hit me in the face with a refrigerator door.
She did it to upset my dad, and said if she did it herself (mom) that she would "get in trouble" or "go to jail" and that we didn't "want" that.
My middle sister tricked me. It was in her bedroom, the middle bedroom, master bedroom to the left and the smaller bedrooms to the right. My bedroom was in the front of the house, which was scary at night because of the stories they told me about people that could come and hurt me.
She asked me to crawl under her bed and get a box that was from grandma H and the box had a tiger on the front of it. It was a wooden box. It had cross stitch supplies in it, string. Colorful string. She said she couldn't "fit" under there. I was happy to "help" and had already forgotten about my mother's "plan." She was so evil.
I crawled under the bed and handed my sister the box.
That's when I was crawling out and she asked if I needed "help" and I said no. She reached under and yanked my arm out of socket and dragged me out. She called the restaurant (or maybe it was the oldest sister.) and told them what happened. It interrupted dinner and my parents came home. I was crying in hysteria because of how badly it hurt. My dad was devastated, I was devastated, my sister lied. She was in middle school, if I'm not mistaken. If I was 4 that would have made her 12 years old. She said that I had refused to come out of under the bed and that's "why". And they insisted that story when we got to the hospital 30 minutes away. If I remember right the hospital was across a bridge, not the one down the street.
They "fixed" my arm. I can't remember which arm it was or the "new toy" but wow. Wowowowowowowow. I really hoped someday that this would come out and I could get the hell out of their grasp.
I remember my mother threatening to kill my sisters and I. I remember her threatening to kill my father. I remember her threatening to kill any parents on the playground that got involved. I remember I was terrified to "tell on her."
Wow.
I remember.
She played inappropriate movies and said it was just a movie. And I remember her saying some vulgar words. Threatening to auction us off to husbands and teach us to get "raped." Some terminology was explained and some wasn't. My dad was truthful but my mother was a liar.
She insisted on what she wanted and not what we wanted as kids. I didn't mind hand me down clothes or goodwill but she told me I couldn't have those things. That it had to be her choice. We couldn't really ever agree on anything. I begged to brush my own hair and she wouldn't let me and if I did she said she'd hit me. The daily dosage of hair pulling and screaming. Screaming at me for crying and screaming at me more and yanking more and more and more.
She insisted on "embarrassing" us and she told me I had to have stupid ugly Santa pictures and swore it was real. She swore Santa was real and she tried to convince me of all of her stupid little games and that I had to smile or she'd hit me.
She said god wasn't real and wouldn't let us go to church or learn about the Bible.
We talked about 911 but only if you "really" needed it. She called all the time and accused my sister of starting fights with her. But it was really my mother who started it and I was told I was "too little" to "help."
I remember being told a gunshot sounds like a big BANG and if I ever heard a gun go off, run and tell the neighbors as fast as I can.
She prevented my father from getting to a phone to call for help, and she continued threatening to shoot him with his own gun. She thought it was "funny." It wasn't.
I would wake up during the night to hear her screaming through walls. Escalating until my dad would yell back and I never knew why they were yelling. I'd crawl out of my room and hide behind the blue couch, back to the couch with my knees bent, arms between my knees feeling helpless and listening to those fights late at night. I remember crying quietly and waiting for a sound so I could run and tell someone.
My mom had lied so much I didn't understand certain things she did to my sister or what she said about gender or what she said about interpersonal relationships or same gender relationships or anything else. She said our bodies were "evil" because we were "girls."
I remember after school being told to get in the car after she rambled about my "problems" which were her imagination. She said my dad drank and it was my "problem." But my "problem" was her. After her daily death wishing sessions pushed onto other parents, she would scream at me the entire way home as loud as she could and told me that I was bad. I asked why and she just kept screaming louder and louder even if I didn't respond, and she'd scream until I cried and cried and cried and she would laugh and turn the stereo up as loud as she could, driving without a seatbelt on, flipping people off, cussing a storm, cutting people off and so on. Every day was an unnecessary horror "movie" of my life. I was just waiting for the day that she would crash or someone would shoot at us because of her. She liked the "N" word and another one accompanied by "f-ing w…."
She was racist. She never wanted me to listen to other music, learn to dance, learn self defense, learn sign language, Spanish, or anything else.
I remember the first time, I was in real trouble. The scariest trouble ever. I always wanted to be a boy. I wanted to be like daddy. In any case, I had a "friend" from school that asked me about the ammunition kept on what my mother
described as an "ugly" green couch in the front room. It was for the shooting range, it was for dad's job.
I knew not to touch or play with guns, or bullets. That one day when I "grew up" I could carry one for safety, if I could ever be like dad and his friends. She told me that there were "secrets" and that "we" kept secrets about her. But when we told on her, it wasn't a secret anymore, and we were all ignored.
I did want to study the ammunition, the size, I knew that certain calibers went to certain guns and never really learned too much about which was which. I never wanted to be gun "obsessed" because people correlate guns with danger, and danger with bad people. Like the columbine kids. I wanted to learn everything I could, but I didn't want to seem "too interested." Too interested to "come off the wrong way." Sometimes I would have daydreams about shooting my mother to protect my father. I remember asking questions about what would happen if either one of us had shot her in self defense. I was very young.
Anyway. A "friend" from school, maybe (David?) who lived with his mother and grandfather asked me about the bullets. I asked why? And he said he "collected" them too.
He asked for a couple of them, and I thought he meant he collected them to give them to his parents. I didn't really quite understand what was up at the time, and I was afraid of my mother. I was afraid that she would scream at David or hit David or start yelling like she always yelled at me. David took a couple of them home, and later his mom called with a story about how David asked his grandfather what would happen if he hit one of the bullets with a hammer. I didn't know that's what David was going to do. They explained to me that David couldn't come over and play anymore, and that if David had done that, that it could explode in his face and kill him.
I remember so many "embarrassing things" and the confusion between things that were embarrassing and that weren't.
I remember being told something about my sister and my mother demanding that she took her clothes off, and that she couldn't take a shower afterward. My mother was violent. I didn't really understand what she was doing or why. As a child, you might mimic what you see with your Barbie dolls. She'd hit me for that. I didn't understand.
I remember "body" exploration but I didn't understand what the influence in the household had done. I remember playing "girls" but no touching. Wow. The things I was exposed to messed me up so badly, I had no idea what was "wrong" about playing, like locker rooms and "adult" stuff.
I remember being "excited" and putting on an "act" for my birthday one year. I think I was turning 8. I was "supposed to be" excited. There were gifts. But I knew many years before that, that gifts were gifts and that I didn't really want presents, I wanted her to stop screaming at me and hitting me, I wanted her to stop yelling at me, I wanted her to tell me that she "loved" me. I wanted to appeal to her in anyway that I could. Just for those three words. I remember she wouldn't stop watching Barney and I thought it was creepy by 1st or second grade, every morning.
In any case, she was in "nursing" school and she bought a red convertible Isuzu with a roll bar. She had "commuted" with other peers on highway 12 where there were always accidents, prior to that. There were no center dividers, two lanes.
Anyway. One of her friends bought me an outfit. It was Roxy. It was supposed to be "cool" like the preppy girls, the pretty ones. The gift was thoughtful. I had "raced" to open presents while she stared at me and whispered about me and said how "selfish" I was, pointing at me and smiling saying "look look look." I remember being disappointed that she was doing it again, accusing me of being selfish when it was her that didn't want to play, read, help with math, hear about my day at school, or anything else. I kept up my "act", in a "rush" trying to appease her like she did everyday after school.
I remember being afraid of the new outfit, not because it was a bad outfit but because of the fact that she had done what she did to my sister and that the clothes were disappointing because I thought she was going to force me to take them off or pull my pants down and hit me or do what she had done to my older sister because she said "when you're older" and to be afraid.
If I'm not mistaken by then, that sibling had left for the military (how sad) and I wasn't allowed to go to her graduation. My other sister had taken off too, at some point. She had a car and a job and went to high school and took off to go live with a relative, she got on a plane and just left because of the hell raising.
I was stuck all alone and things never really did "get better."
I wanted a skateboard, to learn how to skate or go to the park or the skatepark. I wasn't allowed to play sports until soccer, which I begged for. I wanted to do gymnastics or ice skating or hockey or basketball. I wanted to ride a bike to school like the other kids. I wanted to be fit, strong, healthy. I wanted to understand babies and how the body worked, I wanted to understand my mother but you know, there was no real answer about her, she was just a psychotic woman who wouldn't stop being crazy.
I wanted to "make the most" out of the time I had, because I was threatened so many times and desired life experiences. I never thought I'd have a chance to be an adult, or anything at all. She was so childish, I remember wondering why she acted like that. After a certain point, I felt like life was just "acting", but you know, by 4th grade I had fallen behind and been moved around several times and became more disruptive in class. I couldn't focus or stop fidgeting because I was afraid. I was afraid of what would happen when I went home.
No matter what I did or how much I begged, it was never enough to appeal to her.
I really didn't understand some things.
By 10 or so I figured since because she had always called me "bad" anyway, I would be just "that." She said I would wind up in jail someday, that I'd never be anything at all. She admired my oldest sister and I couldn't figure out why she was so obsessed with her and how "successful" she was but you know, what did I know.
She started working at a prison. She said the inmates would have my father killed. I begged her not to. She wanted money, she wanted our old house. She said things would get better but they never did.
The inmates told me not to be afraid of them. I didn't understand why she "loved" other kids so much, but she didn't "love" me. Why she "loved" the "bad guys" but not the "good" ones. She would ramble to the neighbors about it all the time.
I was surprised that she wasn't hitting as much anymore, but she was still screaming in the car, screaming the moment she got home. She'd act fine on the phone and come back and go off on me no matter what I said or did. I knew what sarcasm was, I knew what being polite was, I knew truth from lies, and I knew she was still tormenting me.
A family member had a baby. The mother couldn't care for the baby while at work, so she'd watch after him. I didn't understand why she "loved" him so much but she didn't "love" me. His older brother had thrown me on a bed and "pretended" to assault me. I didn't invite it when it happened, I was trying to laugh at him and say yeah sure, why not? (Dumb shit.) he was a tweaker kid that was so "perfect", he was older than me. He took it seriously but I wasn't serious, I was being sarcastic. Like the time he lied to me about throwing rocks into J&M's pool, I asked if they told him to throw rocks in there and he said yeah. So I mimicked him and we both got in trouble. I never thought he'd do something like that and blame me. Well, he did what he did for the dare and it bothered me.
I told a girl at school, but I was afraid to tell what happened because he had "tried" to do something, not the complete act. I was afraid of the bastard for the same reason. I was afraid when the school called and mom screamed, the "baby R" couldn't come over and visit anymore, for whatever reason.
We changed schools again. I was afraid to tell anybody what happened because I had been blamed for so many things before, just trying to "start shit" and instigating, but that was actually the family members, not me. She started calling the police on me constantly and lying to them and I remember telling them she did the same things to my sisters and she's doing it to me. She was doing it for attention, to "show off."
Well, being mad about being a girl, learning about how there are men with hormonal imbalances that have breasts, wanting to "come out" and transition and being afraid to say anything or getting "beat up" for it, we as kids knew we had "rights" but not to act like adults. Human rights. Womens rights. We'd pull our shirts up and laugh and scream no child molesters! In reference to what my mom did to my sister: we shouted publicly because nothing ever happened to the woman for the vile shit she pulled.
My mother gave me a cellphone. I'd call to say I was home from school. I'd run around the neighborhood through the foresty areas. I had a lanyard and a house key that I'd lose all the time. Different phones for "fun." GETROpcs. I was bored. I'd call party lines and lie about my age, what I looked like, and so on, making fun of stupid horny men being stupid and ride my skateboard laughing.
I feared nothing after the shit that happened and begun "living in the moment" because I was afraid of being killed by someone for the racism and her "plans" about me or my father.
What a circus.
My dads friends told me to go play on the freeway or the train tracks. I figured it was probably a good idea. I'd be a "wise ass" and say "yeah maybe when I become CHP, or something."
I felt like committing suicide everyday. That it would save everyone money and time. I was always told how horrible I was, so we'd be loud and make car noises mimicking car alarms when a ball would bounce and hit a tire and shout about never having children.
I'd throw rocks at the train and cover my head and my face and duck and dodge and try to be faster than the momentum of them bouncing off. I liked the idea of geology, I thought about jumping on the train as a "hobo" a few times and getting a "ride" to Albany to ask my grandmother for help, but I was afraid. I was afraid about what might happen after all the years of abuse.
I let other kids touch me inappropriately after a certain point, not because I really "enjoyed" it but because I didn't care, I wanted to transition, and "at least" it wasn't the family members doing it.
Life dragged by and I wondered if time would ever pass. No matter what I did I was disappointed that she kept lying about fighting with me, lying about smoking, lying about how someday I would be able to drive, lying about the shit she did and the racism. Did I mimic her in hopes that someday someone would just nail her for it? Yes. I'm sorry.
I could do basic math but didn't understand all of it and needed a tutor. I was accustomed to inappropriate behavior and jokes, but she'd never teach me anything real or scientific, just kept putting it off.
I remember a school program called Youth in Power and it was to keep kids off of drugs. There was honesty in that program. It was great, but I was still struggling with the "choices" I had made because I was afraid that she was going to hurt me or my father and I'd be dead.
Neighborhood kids kept calling me names, saying I couldn't run fast enough, I kept getting bullied at school, abused at home, eventually nobody came out to play anymore and my mother had burned the bridges for me. Her philosophy was that periods were to be "tracked", birth control to control the pain was not acceptable, that "pussy is evil" and she pounded those ideas into other people. I was so frustrated.
I was always hoping that maybe someday I would go into the juvenile corrections, just to get the hell away from her.
That maybe I'd learn more if I kept deviating and was "sent" somewhere else.
Or boarding school. Military school. Anything to get ahead in life and get away from her.
She wouldn't allow me to be in school plays, or acing, or dance, or anything, she didn't want me to be a person. When I broke my arm, she said she was so heartbroken but it was about her, not about me.
She said I didn't get choices.
We had a male cat, she wouldn't take him to the vet to get him fixed, or the other cats, and then she was angry when the house smelled bad. She was angry about dishes or floors but wouldn't allow me to do them. She basically searched for something to be angry about.
Eventually a car got stolen, bicycles got stolen, I cleaned up a garage and condensed stuff into boxes to try to stop the car from being stolen again. The landlord said stuff was missing, but what was taken? I don't know. Anyways. It should've had a lock on it. It was sentimental things they used to store. I found a Morgan silver dollar, the "lucky" ones. I showed her. I put it back. It was like the one "grandpa Sampa" had.
The first time I stole something from a store after 9/11 and the country had financially collapsed.
Right around the same era, Marc, the shit disturber from around the corner was throwing asphalt pebbles with me and I missed his body and it bounced off the ground and hit a truck parked across the street behind him. A pebble. No scratch, no damage, and he ran to snitch and get me in trouble, just to be a little ass bite. The neighbors sold their house and moved.
The stolen item from the grocery store. It was a Reese's. She was begging my dad for groceries and I was afraid to ask for the Reese's because I didn't want anyone to be mad at me. Mad about money and what my mother kept spending. She wouldn't buy from a more affordable store. She wouldn't let us shop at dollar tree or 99cent store. He talked to me about it and apologized to the cashier and we put it back. I knew my dreams were ruined, I didn't think I'd ever be anything at all because she told me I wouldn't be anything at all or that she was going to kill me at some point. I didn't do it again after that. Not until I was about 10. When I was 10, I stole from the store because she said I was bad, and because the other kids did it, and because my sister had everything, she'd blame my sister and pay everything for Stacey. She'd blame me for being "broke" but she'd come in and scream every day and then asked if I wanted to go shopping and buy new clothes. People kept making fun of me anyhow. I hated her curly hair, I hated her lies, I hated her "expert opinion" on everything, I hated her little game of "how to annoy" my father and how to "scare" me. Scare me by driving badly, scare me by accusing me, scare me by twisting shit that I did or didn't do. I hoped that someday she'd like me if I pretended to be a criminal like the guys she worked with.
She actually taught me to steal, when I was super little she said it would be "funny" to go steal from my dads wallet. To sneak in unnoticed And take money that wasn't mine to take. It wasn't hers to take. I dropped a bill and he found out, she said she'd buy me a toy. This was why he wouldn't come home. She was a gold digger. She was so god damn evil and I thought if I "pleased" her that she would "like" me but never did. She kept saying I was just like him, or that I looked like her, fuck I mean, I just wanted her to say "I love you," but she never would.
I felt really bad for what I had done, but I had no idea. It was so confusing being caught in the middle of the shitstorm.
By 11, 12 I knew nothing would change. Maybe if I wore black colors in hot weather I would be more resilient. Maybe I'd get heat stroke. Maybe I'd get tattoos someday and someday have that dream of law enforcement. My grandmother had died. I was in "grief." I was also jealous of my grandmother. Dying seemed like the only solution because things never did change in the house. I studied computer coding, HTML, I learned that when we still lived across the bridge. I kept trying to invite her to see what I had put together, a glittery collage. She didn't care.
I got better at "reading" HTML code and learned how to remove clickable links. I learned about limewire, I downloaded music, I messed around with YouTube, I learned how to code MySpace layouts, surveys, I studied people and their profiles, their pictures, their personas. I still dreamed of being sent away to a military school, she kept wishing for money and my dad to die.
I wanted to learn more about drugs, drug users, the science behind sexual intercourse, I had already seen pornography and I knew it wasn't real (as in a realistic depiction of sex or body parts, it just was.)
I wanted to learn more about photography, I wanted to learn more about what people called "cat fishing" and mimic criminals online. I think the first time I lied online I was in 1st grade or so, AOL chat. I said I was 13.
I was afraid of how much my mother kept escalating and threatening and playing her little games. She brought my older, greedy, backstabbing sister to live with us. Got her a car and told her to go to college and get a job. Erika didn't like that. She didn't want to help in math. She wanted to wave boyfriends around, steal my swimsuits, snoop, and snitch.
I had many online "personas" and the point was not to actually identify with those personas, but to basically end up killing myself because of the abuse, or that my mother would probably have me killed.
She told me everyone has cancer and eventually it just gets out of control. I used that one before, just for life experience, so if I ever did become law enforcement, I knew I could "relate" to a criminal and say that I did that once. It wasn't for money or for attention, it was a question of "who's in your neighborhood?" A mystery. That I could be over an ocean, mimic an accent, mimic language, (English only according to the asshole herself.)
Eventually I got tired of watching forensic files and being envious of everyone else succeeding and what was happening in the house, her continued "I'm calling the cops on you" game. I had already egged a car in hopes of being sent to juvenile hall. Nobody saw me do it but they said I did it anyway and all the evidence pointed to 1002 forest (blank address)
I started watching stupid comedy movies just to pass the time, play on repeat.
Prior to that, the Benadryl bullshit. Oh the Benadryl from elementary school had graduated to excessive dosages to "get ahead" and have an "altered state of consciousness" by age 10 or so. Maybe 9. So when she came in screaming I'd already be tired, she'd send me into hysteria, she'd make me tried. She told me to go to a doctor for depression, but the depression wasn't true, it was really about being depressed about her. She hit me and threw me on a floor and lied about being afraid of me. That was still at 1002 forest (blank address.) I was depressed because of her abuse and wishing me dead and wishing my father dead. All of her blabbing.
I started really overdosing on it. Erika and her boyfriend MC witnessed Teresa's terror when I had just gotten out of school, the two chicken shits puckered their assholes and pissed their pants and ran away and Teresa called VVPD with more lies. The dick in uniform bent my wrist while I begged for my witnesses to come back and tell the truth about what they saw. MC was afraid of the inmates and Erika was too much of a greedy lying bitch. Terry the terrorist blocked my exit every time I tried to get out the door. I never did hit her but boy oh boy I wished I had.
My friend and I started goofing off. My mother said my life would be a short one. I was afraid of being poisoned or killed. She said this my entire existence.
So I started stealing hair products from the Walgreens near school. It was "too dangerous" to stop us. We had stolen alcohol before, but I was never interested in getting drunk. I was interested in the how and why people steal, who would steal, and who wouldn't. Motives behind it, methods, and being recognized for doing it. The products were insured, and I hated my dad for his drunk girlfriend from Walgreens. I was envious of the language acquisition and the "good life."
My friend stole a watch but didn't listen to me when I told her to take the tag off of it. I was right, she wouldn't listen to me. About stealing or not stealing, about how to steal, how to "properly" steal, and how to spot people who steal.
I colored my hair from the ugly blond to brown to match the dark roots and then eventually black. Fuck it right? It matched my eye color. I didn't care if it "fried" my hair. It didn't matter. My mother was careless about my safety in cars, careless about her inmates, careless about her threats, careless about her racism, careless about stealing from the prison, careless in general .
I started with chewing my lip in early childhood, preschool. Through kindergarten. I picked scabs. I ate a booger to be disgusting like a boy because I wanted to be a boy and mucus was already in the stomach anyway when I swallowed it because she'd scream me into mental breakdowns everyday. I thought it was "funny" to be normal, to have a body; to have blood weep out of scabs. She'd hit me for that too. I'd cut my toenails too short, they'd get infected, chew my fingernails, I didn't like the white part because it reminded me of her evil hands. I used nail clippers to clip the skin on my feet in early childhood, I was shocked that it didn't hurt unless it went really deep and it was "fun" to rip the skin back. Maybe if I "hurt" myself she wouldn't hurt me anymore because I'd be doing the "work" for her.
I thought about getting a kitchen knife and slicing my arm open. I thought about drowning in the bathtub. Survival instinct was difficult to overcome. I used an art knife, they told me I had to "go to a hospital" - terrys lies and attention games, the school knew about the abuse, I kept thinking you know, maybe someday I'll just get it over with.
My friend told me to just get it over with, that it was for attention. The giggles turned into cruelty. I had a crush on a blue eyed blond girl that had long straight hair, she was skinny, she was out of the closet, she was special. I was mean to her because other girls were mean to her in the ever so extended mean comment section. I pushed her once and gave the school their "entertainment" and "investigation" because they wanted to be ever so nosy. But they didn't care to get me out of Teresa's grip.
When the classmates intervened and said to leave her alone, I was proud of them. Proud of them not because I had intended to hurt her to a point of no return, but proud of them for being "brave" and stepping in. I twisted an ankle running around through the bike path and had crutches. More of the loved and pretty girls threatened me. I was never afraid, I just felt like nobody understood why this was going on. That maybe just maybe, teresa would "love" me again. There were the "white power" skanks that loved Chris brown, oh, boy crushes. Celebrity "crushes." I had mimicked all of that crap just to try to be "normal" years prior. To try to be "normal" and to try to get my mom to pay attention to me and care instead of being cruel.
I was put in an art class. Painted eyes looked like genetials, they were obsessed with sex by then, I always wondered if mine were "normal." In the later part of the semester one kid in Dourghtey's class asked if a baby could get a boner and I wondered why.
We made a clay mask of our faces.
Mine was missing eyes, they were painted black, as if the world was blind as to what was going on. The mouth had no lips, there were scores on the clay instead, as if to symbolize silence and frustration. Some kids would hug me because my mom didn't. But anyway. The side of the face had a deep cut in it, and stitches over it, a wound split apart.
Remember silent hill? I felt like alessa. Good alessa and bad alessa. I had smoked weed for the first time, before I'd just pretend to smoke a cigarette or pretend to smoke weed without inhaling. I snorted a skinny line of what was probably baking soda by the beginning of 8th grade just because I was curious. The same kid that acquired it was caught smoking on the field one day. Someone snitched, but I didn't. I just smiled and said what's up.
I didn't really believe in romance or a romanticized life. I romanticized death. Because of the abuse at home, the bullying at school, not having any friends, pushing my "luck" about lies.
My sister got "married."
I didn't want to wear the ugly white skirt and attend her backstabbing shitshow. The new game became driving my mother insane with stupidity because she lied so much about her own abuse, it was "fun" to confuse the bitch. Someone hit her car one night on Richmond parkway, we know exactly why. She wouldn't let me cut my hair, which she always said I didn't have nice hair, even when I was a child I thought about cutting it all off but she said if I did it she would hit me even harder. I had a friend cut my hair. I was envious of her family because they seemed to have it better. Her dad had a job that I envied. She was "wild" and "so was I" but not to the same extent. Terry the terrorist threw a fit and E said I ruined everything. I ruined everything by making a silly face in a photo. A photo I didn't want to be in. A wedding nobody showed up for "her" but for her husband. There was maybe 3 of us. It was at a library. I went to hide with an older friend. Then I was afraid because Terry the terrorist said she'd have them jailed. I "turned myself in" after she "reported me as a runaway" and followed the advice of my peers, tell them you're suicidal. So that was pretty much against my own wishes, that I was depressed because of the abuse and the bitch had me "drug tested." Nothing showed up, just like I said. But I had already been thinking of hanging myself with a belt, my sister S stole my belt from my bedroom, they "searched" for drugs and I laughed at them. I was overdosing on Benadryl trying to kill myself but I was too fat.
Oh the drama.
Afraid to "snitch" on anyone that violated me for fear they'd point the finger. A bad relative during a camping trip, I kept saying no but I was afraid to go tell them. I thought things could go back to normal and the bastard would follow those boundaries. I didn't care. I told him to go get a girlfriend. My aunt attacked and blamed me and the bastard laughed. Same one that shot me with an air soft gun, same one that did the other sexual assault, same one that shot and killed his father, same one that gave me Percocet or weed. They got thrown out of the area by a security guard for being shit disturbers in his car. The bastard was 16 and I was 13 or so.
I figured one night (before that incident) while Narcmom was gone and people were in the house and I was afraid and alone because she kept threatening me, I would just take a bunch of Benadryl. I had already almost fallen into the pool when staggering outside. I started smoking cigarettes after she lit the backyard on fire. I lied about my age IRL because I wanted to know why she smoked. I smoked a bunch and it made me physically sick. I put my head down at the library and then did it again later. I didn't know how to appease her. Anyway, I guess when I was "tripping" I asked someone for a rubber and had sex with a male because I was still hiding in the closet and waiting for the day that Teresa killed me, that I might as well just "do it" before I ended my life or she ended it for me. I was around a bunch of vulgar shit disturbers that said they didn't regret the things they did, and I knew right away I would probably regret it when I had thought about it prior to that while I was unintoxicated.
My friend and I walked to get candy one night. We got caught. Oh well, that was disappointing. Two of us and one of the other person trying to protect us from the rampage. That person got into a fight with someone else at a park later on and tripped over a bicycle and died from a head injury after Terry the terrorist took me out of state without permission, after dropping out of 8th grade, she kept playing her little cat and mouse game. We got a dog, but had to give the dog up. My sister had already bragged about animal rescue and stuff, but the dog couldn't be kept at an apartment and we had problems with hotels and the dog barking and being destructive from separation anxiety.
I remember sitting in history class, a good teacher of mine. I could always be honest with her. My mother mimicked that teacher by buying the same kind of vehicle in a different color after the hit and run. Then my sister had crashed her husbands car with me in it. She totaled it and did it on purpose. I freaked.
My mother pried into my dad, she had told me to steal a vacuum years ago. She stalked him pretty much. Creepy. That was still when we lived across the bridge.
She paid my friends family to have me stay there while she worked out of the area. I still didn't understand math or do well in independent study and the mainstream school wanted me to do 2 math classes at one time. How to cope with all of this?
Basically I was just a dropout. I had a new boyfriend. I wanted to learn history and go to school there. Appreciate the architecture or anything else. We brought him with, and E the shit disturber. My mom was constantly yelling but putting on a performance in public. I'd beg for her to let me out of her stupid jeep at a gas station because she wouldn't stop screaming me to tears or driving crazy with me in the vehicle. She got really crazy when she popped a tire and blamed me. The boyfriend witnessed everything and I was still trying to "profile" Teresa. I remember thinking I'll need years of counseling to sort all of this out.
She got more and more psychotic, trying to give me methadone and shit. I'd keep the house super clean and her and my boyfriend had jobs but I didn't, she would hide things from me like my cats or she wouldn't let me take my bowling ball to go bowling, she just kept acting more crazy.
We left. Then imagine her wasting money and time sending horrible emails and playing stupid games with family court. I went to college, learned a bit but felt really discouraged because of all of her blows to my self esteem.
I feel like if I had my own vehicle, I would've been more likely to stay in school rather than relying on another person. The "guy" I was with was not a "good" one but I hoped he would become more honorable. He didn't. His mom was better than mine, a NP. He was an ass. I didn't know what to do. My dads girlfriend accused me of poisoning trees or vandalizing the house. A "Disney goofy character watch" was found in the neighbors backyard with a bullet hole in it. I was pretty terrified.
I lost weight. I felt bad for eating.
I didn't fit in with the other girls and their high school games. I wanted to study what bad people do and when I put in my two cents they ignored me.
Oh well. I was being bantered about what I was going to do with my life, I went to work at a grocery store but I had serious anxiety about becoming a cashier because of produce number codes and mixing them up. I had a lot of fun at that job but a lot of sad days too. I did get my diploma online. I did go have fun riding my motorcycle when I could. It was my favorite thing. Someone stole the license plate off of it. Then it was vandalized. It was repaired and it had a problem again. I got a new one. I worked as hard as I could but I was constantly being harassed at work.
Eventually I was suspended for trying to "stand up for myself" for "training purposes only" to a bastard named Fernando that liked to harass.
Terry the terrorist snuck a "gift" into a "box" from my snooping sister. They gave me false promises of an education and a place to live and an easier life. I had already seen the cunt when she visited and broke up my relationship, hiding the terrorist somewhere unknown.
I moved to another area with a friend. I was always trying to find better friends or be quiet and people kept picking at me.
I crashed. Oh well. Terry the terrorist kept up her terror and collaborated with my housemate to throw me out. Bastard kept telling me to "go home to Kansas" which wasn't a joke or funny or home. Bastard never listened to me.
Another bastard didn't went to be just friends. "Meet my puppy" - how creepy, I went into shock, he knocked me up. He bragged about what he had done and got me thrown out from bastard's place, blaming me. But bastard was the one that told me to "date him" or that he was "nice" and I just wanted to get to know him instead of sleep with him.
Then more bastard games. Matt. The worst bastard of the bastard crew.
Stalker. Abuser. Creep. Collaborated with Teresa. Blocked my exit. My other friend wanted me to meet his friends and I was tired of everyone's attention competition, I wanted privacy.
Bastard the bastard kept the abuse going for 2 years, I was "left out" of everything when I went to siskiyou county. I needed a class c drivers license and the bastard that bit me, raped me, stalked me, and played fuckin games snatching my phone out of my hand and my motorcycle key and getting into my tablet threatened an actual nice guy that would've been appropriate, right back to bastard teresa the terrorist. "Just stay with him don't break his heart" a bunch of lies he was a dirtbag and a sec offender and got rid of my bed while I was on vacation without asking. He kept abusing and biting and hitting and playing Teresa's bastard game. Accusing me of flirting not allowing me to have friends staring at me starting shit and isolating me. Terry the tick just kept it up and kept it up.
I finally got away from his greedy hands and his "I've changed" bullshit and went back to an old housemate, again with bastard games and more bastard games and bastard games despite me doing well in school.
I went to visit the terrorist and the terrorist kept up her nagging and terrorizing.
I signed up for 3 jobs and full time school.
Everyone kept playing.
That was a gory year.
I thought Terry the terrorist would shut the fuck up and stop nagging and calling my non abusive partner a "dirtbag" if I left. She kept bitching for info about my jobs and so on and so forth after she was told to stop. After all the abusive emails. After the scholarships. She still said she wouldn't come to my graduation or visit me.
I said things in "jest" to a friend. I was depressed and felt like my partner kept ignoring me and I kept buying stuff (to literally just give it away, and being how many times I narrowly avoided death it wouldn't matter anyway. Terry the terrorist wouldn't stop calling me "money bags" or whatever. She just wanted to be greedy and me to entertain her. She still wouldn't say I love you.)
I went to leave and walked into another setup. A setup I didn't want to be in. The bastard poisoned me. The bastard raped me. The bastard stalked me. The bastard terrorized me. The bastard told the bastard who ran their mouth about it and kept playing their game. I snapped. The fucking selfish evil games. I would've stayed at a homeless shelter but the bitch wouldn't stop her game. She was the one who set my ass up in the first place. Wow. What a nightmare.
All these years go by and all this disrespect and all this bullshit.
Nothing got better the bastards kept laughing in my face and stealing and lying and enabling one another. Wow. How god damn fucking evil.
Shit even a new start, the same bastard game. It wasn't a game, wow.
I was not insane. I was gaslight and set up so god damn bad so many times. Push push pushing my boundaries to the point of no return.
I hope someday I "wake up" out of this fog again.
The person I'm around now is doing their absolute best.
But I'm just so god damn mad about it. Not mad about the person, but mad about the experiences that pushed me this far this many times. To hell with it, right?
Truth always comes out in the end.
I know I'm destructive. But I know I'm also positive or responsible.
I just wish.
My one wish.
I was granted the chance for help to have occurred 24 years ago.
Rather than problem after problem, crime after crime, bastard after bastard, game after game, liar after liar.
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