History

Even though my dad was a highly abusive alcoholic, and a pedophile, he was still my best parent. My therapist asked me one time why I thought that was. Thinking she had hit on some big insight, but this has never been a mystery to me, he was predictable, my mother was not. I could tell days in advance that he was going to go on a bender. He would start getting agitated and easily annoyed. Within two days I could count on him coming home drunk and beating the shit out of everyone. I learned how to hide, I learned how to become invisible. I learned that if you slept in a pile of blankets, clothes and various crap, (we had a very messy bedroom most of the time) that no one will see you there. I purposely camouflaged myself in blankets and toys, and let’s face it, probability garbage. When I got old enough to take care of myself, about 4 or 5 years old I did so. I would get up early in the morning, eat if there was any food, and head out into the “woods.” A group of trees basically. I stayed in barns, sheds,…

Starting school was the best thing that ever happened to me. I loved school. School was a wonderful place. I loved my teachers. They were all kind, and seemed to care about me. My favorite thing was that they fed you every day without fail. And I do not care how much the other kids complained about school lunches, to me they were good! Any food was wonderful to me, but anyone who has ever eaten my mother’s cooking would understand why school lunches were delicious. But I also loved learning, and playing. School for me was a safe place. So, it is not very surprising that I remember my life in school years. Every year was a new adventure, a new teacher, new things to learn and experience. I tell people that you could boil down my nature to the word “why.” I feel like a continual preschooler constantly curious about how the world works. An explorer who constantly wants to see what is over the next hill, just for the sake of knowing. I can’t believe that I am saying this, but I actually went to school in an old, three-room school house straight from the past. It…

Only half of me knows that this was very bad. I need to start this one with a trigger warning. It is probably the most graphic and horrific of all my memories…to other people. To me, it is only one of many horrific stories. I have had to gain empathy for the people who hear it. If horror stories or movies bother you, this story may be hard to hear. I woke in the night to the sound of a woman screaming. I got out of bed and walked over to the door. I opened the door and looked down. I remember seeing my bare feet, the ruffle on the bottom of my night gown, and a set of bloody footprints on the floor. I think I should have felt fear, but I was filled with curiosity. I remember following those footprints up the hallway and into the bathroom. I opened the door. The room was full of fresh, bright red blood. My mother was sitting on the toilet, her hair and clothing covered in blood. She was hunched over with her face in her hands. When I opened the door, she looked up at me, her face and hands…

I have memories of quite a few different “planning meetings,” but basically, they were all similar to the example I am going to describe. As children we knew when shit was going to go down. You could feel it, and it followed a predictable pattern. Dad would start to get irritated about little things. He would start to be easily annoyed. Eventually, something would be the last straw, and off to the bar he would go. Now, one of the older children would take charge. These were basically strategy meeting for the upcoming battle. We were soldiers in a war. Assignments would be given, and eventually escape plans would be drawn up for our inevitable retreat. One of the older kids would take on dad, one of them would have to be back up, for when the first one went down. The twins were in charge of getting the guns. My job was to get the bullets. I was little and I could sneak around the fighting and separate the bullets from the guns if the twins failed. He could not kill us if he did not have bullets. The rest of us would scatter. The idea is, he cannot…

I think I was being “safe housed.” The problem is, I was safe, sure, but it was probably the most terrifying thing I have ever experienced in my life. Waking up in a strange land. From my point of view, a beating was nothing compared to my mother’s attempts to keep me safe. I would like to invite you to image what it would feel like if one day you woke up and you had no idea where you were. You were surrounded by people you had never met, and had no idea how you got there, or how long you would be staying there. Take some time to really imagine how you would feel if that happened to you tomorrow morning. My eyes open slightly. Just enough to see that there is a soft glow of light coming through the window. At first, I feel the peace of just waking up. There are a few minutes of disorientation when I wake up in which I feel, what I think is, a peaceful mind. It is just awareness, no thoughts, no feelings, just becoming aware that I am alive. This peace is short-lived, as soon the information starts to register…