Friday, June 08, 2012
***Before you read - my past was full of a lot of things people may not be comfortable reading - This blog is for me to unlock the darkness trapped in me and if that makes you uncomfortable - please don't read***
I left off last time about when it felt like I was forced to live 3 different lives. THe times when it was just mom and me, she wanted me to be like a best friend. We stayed up late every night and watched new movies or played video games. We played board games some other nights when she was tired of me beating her at video games. I'd get tired and then she had no one to play with so she started giving me coffee at night. At 1st I thought it was so cool that I got to drink coffee like an adult, but I was so tired at school and I just wanted to sleep all weekend cuz she'd try and keep me up til my step-dad was done work (he worked night shift and was generally home soon after 2:30am). Many nights mom would lose track of time and we'd hear him pull into the driveway. Mom would whisper "Quick! Run up to bed and pretend you're sleeping!" I didn't have to pretend. I'd pass out the moment my head hit the pillow.
Mom was ok with snowball fights and riding the wagon down the sidewalk. We could "paint the playhouse" with mud after the rain and we could climb the trees on that were on the property line of our house and the neighbours. BUT...when my step-dad was home - my mom would lie and say that we were never allowed to do those things. She'd stick her head out the window and scream her head off at me for doing any of those things and that it was all my fault that my brother and sister were doing it too. A little warning that he was coming home soon would've been nice. If she had to yell at me out the window, it meant I was getting a good spanking when I got inside and if I didn't complain or cry enough I got a 2nd one from my step-dad that was one of those ones that hurt your back, arm and legs. I always hoped that mom's hurt me so that I wouldn't need a 2nd one but by the time I was 9 I got 2 everytime no matter what.
At dad's I just hid in my room. I never knew what kind of mood he was in and I was smart enough to not wait to find out. I'd pretend to do homework - whether it meant I did it a 2nd time or if it meant I did extra. I didn't care. If dad was in a good mood he'd come and get me and ask if I wanted to help him in the garage. At the time he made picnic tables and swing sets and I loved working with him. Then I'd help him set the table and do the dishes after supper. I never once would complain about my chores there. I had done it once when I was much younger and I learned very quickly that you don't complain. If he was in a bad mood. He'd holler up the steps and say "Are you going to help set the table??" and that was my queue to get my butt down there as fast as possible and do what I was told as efficiently as I could and as quiet as I could. You didn't speak unless spoken to and you waited to be told that you could clear the table. Then after dishes you made sure to ask if he wanted any more help. He always said no but you had to ask in order to be dismissed.
When I was 9, I begged dad to not let me go back to my mom's. I had a bit of a mark that showed up enough and I was so scared that dad actually believed me and said I could stay but also said that it wasn't going to be just fun and games. He still somewhat believed that I only wanted to be there cuz I liked it there better and that I was just stretching the truth about the rest.
So I started living with dad and I didn't have to see mom for a little while. Then I started visiting her like I used to have to visit dad. I only wanted to go so that I could see my brother and sister. As far as I was concerned I could care less what happened to mom and I especially hated my step-dad. Every single day I would've been excited if I heard that something bad had happened to him. I'm a person that doesn't hold a grudge easily and in my lifetime I've only ever truly hated 2 people. He was definitely the 1st one and by far the one I hated the most.
Living at dad's was becoming just as bad as living at mom's. Dad had required me to make my bed everyday. I wasn't very good at it. Dad thought I was just being lazy. He started out by insulting me and grounding me or giving me more chores. Then he thought I was just doing it to piss him off, so he started spanking me. His spankings soon became harder and harder and when he started it felt like he wouldn't stop. He'd some into my room every day and tell me that it wasn't made right and then he'd strip the bed and make me start over and he'd stand there and watch me. No matter how hard I tried I just couldn't get it right. He'd yell at me calling me a lazy piece of **** and say I was as useless as my mother and that I'd grow up and be a slob just like her. He started calling me fat and lazy and useless pretty much every day after a while. The spankings he thought weren't working cuz I only got a bit better over time at making my bed and he couldn't understand why I couldn't do such a "simple" thing. The sheet always slid off the one corner. I still to this day think that it was mostly cuz the sheets were old and the elastic in them didn't work right. I still had a few wrinkles in the blankets when I was done and he'd just lose it. One day he grabbed a scrap piece of 2x4 out of the garage and he started spanking me with that. He started and it felt like he'd never stop. My back was bruised and my bum and my upper legs. I couldn't sit very well and my dad would yell at me if I complained about being sore. I had to sit like it didn't hurt when we ate supper, if I didn't he'd grab me off the chair and give it another smack.
The 1st day I had school after that day I went and told my grandma (who lived across the street from the school at the time). She just said again that she couldn't get involved. Then she added that it's pretty coincidental that the same type of thing was happening at both places. I went back to school and I sat at my desk and cried the rest of the day. I wouldn't participate at all in class and I just ignored the world. The teacher had a talk with me and I tried to tell her and I showed her and she already knew about me moving to dad's less then a year before then. She just said that I needed to talk to my mom about it.
That was the day I gave up. No one listened to me cuz I was a kid. No one was there for me. No one cared. Everyone wanted to wash their hands clean of my problems and I became "a liar" and "an attention seeker". I crawled inside myself and hid from everyone. Even my friends thought I was a liar. I had no one. I was 10 years old.