Original post 4/2014
My brother and I called our stepfather a Nazi because he was mostly German and he would beat our mother unmercifully. Her crimes as we knew were not having dinner ready or not warm enough. The kids were to loud, noise was not allowed in the house, he was an alcoholic with major control issues. I was 9 years old, my brother six & half years old and our two-step brothers where much younger. They came to live with us after Houston Social Services found my stepfather the better parent. Of the choices, he was.
Their mother was a drug addict. He never saw the boys after the divorce. By the time they were in the court system, they had been left at home for up to two weeks with no food, nothing. The youngest in the same diaper. The youngest experienced trauma so severely he regressed to a baby. Her addiction took over her life for that matter she may have forgotten she had kids until she came down enough.
I hated my stepfather from the beginning, he didn’t wait to start controlling everything. He rarely talked to my mother it was always yelling. It was very complicated for me. I hated my mother for abusing me but it still hurt when he beat her. We had a long hallway that passed our bedrooms. When he was out of control he would walk my mother down the hall hitting her head and body from side to side down the hallway. The hallway ended in front of my bedroom, it was hell on earth.
One night my life changed for the worse. She was screaming, pleading to stop, you could hear her head banging on the walls. He kept saying he was going to kill her. It wasn’t the first time he had threatened but something in her voice was different. They stopped in front of my bedroom. I was so scared, I cracked the door and he had a knife to her throat a little blood falling down her neck. I knew he was going to kill her, I couldn’t sit there and listen. Then what would he do after that? I’m 9 years old, more mature for my age but a child. I struggled with guilt for leaving her to die but I could not hear her cry any more. I took the nine dollars I saved and ran away. I thought my mother was going to die, I didn’t think about the consequences. He’s yelling with a knife to her throat, she thought she was going to die by the look on her face.
I rode my bike a couple of miles to my boyfriend’s house. His parents were so normal. They offered me something to drink and eat, put a blanket around me and let me tell the story. They said I could stay for a while to let things cool down at home but they would have to call my mother. I didn’t think my life could get worse, wrong. At 9 years old it spiralled straight to hell that night.
My mother drove up, I knew the beating would start the minute I got in the car. We turned the corner and she started laying into me barely staying on the road. When we arrived home, I’d reached the point of not feeling the pain. I believe if nothing else happened to me, this night alone would have fuck me up bad.
I logically think what another mother would have done. Hugged their child right away, acknowledged how confused and painful it must have been and explain it’s not the childs fault. I never had normal. I tried to kill myself every chance possible from that day forward. I cut my wrist deep at school, God wouldn’t let me go. I endured much worse until I left home.
I prayed for God to let me go. I had no more fight in me. God had more lessons for me to learn. Looking back I’m so thankful. I would not have been able to create a close to normal life. More importantly I wouldn’t have been able to hold my grandmother’s hand as she died. I would not have taken care of my grandfather as he was dying.
The only time I’ve cried is thinking about my grandparents. They were the only two people who loved me unconditionally. God built my strength, I could be there for them and the person I am today.
All of the above is collateral damage, I packed away. I see a Therapist and when I can talk about the past we do. We focus on my fears as an adult. If you’re a Survivor of abuse, I hold out my hand and give you a hug.