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Every story has a beginning, a middle, and of course in due time an end. The beginning is that I was adopted when I was born, I never knew my real mother or father. Both my so-called monsters (foster parents – that’s what I call them) were already abusive to each other when they had a boy (my brother) who was 13 at the time. When I was 2 my monster of a father would molest me while changing my diaper, that’s how it started.
My monster of a mother had multiple sclerosis and blamed me for everything. She always hit me and at the age of 5 called me a slut, I had no idea what the word meant. As I grew up the molestation turned into rape. I would fight for my life only to get hit, punched and whipped with a studded belt. So, my monster dad would cut up pieces of fruit in a jar and fill it with sweet alcohol, by the way he was an alcoholic too.
I remember waking up with no clothes on, having no recollection of what happened every night. When I started to develop as girls do, it turned into sodomy. I would bleed, and I had trouble going to the bathroom. I was hurting, really hurting. At the age of 13-14 I started drinking and smoking pot all the time to not feel anything. I became an alcoholic at a very young age, too young, I was lost. My mother got sicker and became meaner to others, her caretakers. They would just walk out, and I had to take care of this monster I hated. Changing diapers, staying home from school all the while telling me how she wanted to die and that I should be the one to do it.
My monster father had a gun, so she told me to shoot her, I was so scared that I put the gun to her face then I thought I should just kill myself. God was with me that day, I heard a no. I took the gun and threw it in the garden and buried it. As I got older I would run away and ask for help and NOBODY believed me, I had black eyes, bruises everywhere and nobody cared. At the age of 18, I had a boyfriend who ended up saving my life. I hurt my leg, so he took me to the hospital but thank God I just pulled a muscle. He walked me into the house and the male monster (my father) came walking down the hallway to grab me to beat me. My boyfriend pulled me out of the house and I never went back.
I lived with his family for a year and I guess it was meant to be because we got married. I was safe all of a sudden, but I had time to process my abuse and it wasn’t pretty. I was a mess. I had my first child, a boy, and all these feelings started to unfold, and it scared me. I got help and I started seeing a therapist and psychiatrist and was diagnosed with depression, PTSD and anxiety. They gave me medication and it helped, to this day I take meds. I am not saying that anyone has to, it was my choice. Both my monster parents died, and I guess out of guilt left me their home. My father-in-law had a heart attack and couldn’t work anymore so my family begged me to take the house, so I did for them.
The flashbacks came flooding through me and my depression and anxiety was turned up!!! I told my husband I couldn’t live here, it was not good for me. My in-laws sold their home, so he could gut the house and rebuild another. I still hated that house. In the end, I moved into a new home and I am so much happier. I still deal with all my abuse daily. I started writing a blog about my story and I also shared others’ I had no idea it would blow up like that. I was helping others with my story and my journey as well. I am 51 and I survived this abuse for a reason and I believe it was to help others. I am not mad at God anymore and I embrace his love with help from my friends. Never give up on yourself. You are not the crazy, sick one, the monsters are. Never give up, you are poetry in motion. Thank you for taking the time to read this. So much love and healing.
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