And they are not pretty. When I was a small child my mother and father were together. From the stories I have been told, he beat on her a lot. I was far to young to ever remember something like that. But I have it on good authority that he is an abusive man and an alcoholic. I do not doubt that she suffered a great deal at his hands.
Some background for any of you that don’t know these things about me: I am a middle child. I have an older sister and a younger brother. We all three have different fathers. When I was about 6 my stepdad adopted me.
I have come to realize as I have gotten older that the only reason that this happened was so that my father would not access to me and would not make my mother and sister scared anymore. It is possibly so that he would not hurt me like he hurt them, but I don’t know. I have to assume that they did what they thought was in my best interests.
When I was 5 my brother was born. My sister is 8 years older than I am. Mom and Dad went out a lot and left my sister in charge. Would have been great except that my sister resented me for having been born and making her not be the only child anymore and she resented me for being “his” daughter and the reason mom kept him in our lives for so long. She told me once when she was 16 or so that she really hated me when I was born. People say that sticks and stones can’t hurt you but these words play back in a person’s mind and they do something horrible to the soul.
As I was growing up my mother would use my father as a threat. If I did not go along with what she wanted me to do or act how she wanted me to act then she would threaten to make me go live with him. From the horrible things that I was told about him, I did not want that.
My sister and her Daddy were always very close. My brother was the son my mother had always wanted. I was the middle child and all I had was my mother. I was not my dad’s child by blood…just the one that he had to take ownership of. Of course, I am sure, he resented me for that. So here I was this middle child with no one in this world to intervene for me but my mother.
About the time that I was 8 or 9 is when it started. My sister moved out and moved in to live with her Daddy. Mom and my sister had some really bad arguments but mom never beat on her. My sister had a Daddy she could count on and who would defend her. My brother was only like 3 or 4 so he couldn’t possibly do anything to warrant a beating. But I could. I was the daughter of the bastard who beat on her and no one could or would stop her from beating on me. Belts, paint stir sticks, hands….whatever was handy. It started and was worst when I would bring home bad grades. Looking back now, I am absolutely certain that I had some form of learning disability or even possibly have Asperger’s Syndrome, but she never cared enough to try to figure out what was going on, just the “what the hell is wrong with you?” and the beatings. She would even tell me sometimes that somethings I did reminded her of Chuck (my biological father) and when I did those things she just wanted to kill me. My mother told me she wanted to kill me. I was just a child. Sticks and stones DO hurt. And they replay over and over inside of a person’s soul.
When I was 13 we move to Cincinnati. It got worse when we lived there. It got much worse. When I was 14 there was an incident where my mother’s cousin was coming to visit and my mother got angry with me for eating the last honey bun. I had not, but she called me a liar and beat me with her belt. She left welts and bruises up and down my legs. She will swear to this day that I over exaggerated it and that this did not happen how I said it did, but she lies. She doesn’t actually lie, but stretches it so far that she might as well lie.
She was always angry with me. There would be brief periods of time when I would feel like we were finally going to get along and that she would protect me, but then she would turn on me again. Almost as if she got off on the bait and switch she was playing with me. When I was in 6th grade “dad” called me a bitch because I had teased my hair up and had it in the current style. We were going to the father/daughter dance and I was getting ready. She defended me on this. Then she never did again. There were so many times he would call me that name under his breath and she would say it did not count if it was under his breath.
When she beat me that time about the hunny bun, I wore shorts to school. The school called CPS on her but they did nothing to protect me. I went home with a friend because I was scared to go home. I was terrified she would play the perfect mother and call me a liar and they would let her off the hook, so I ran away. Well they found me and CPS did let them off the hook and they chose to make my life worse because of this.
From that point on I had to hear her tell me how I called CPS on her and that I was not abused….that those kids whose parents do things like burn or scald them or cut on them or all of these other horrible things, those were the ones that were abused. She would tell me I had it so great compared to them and I needed to appreciate it.
We moved back to Indiana when I was 15. We moved to Terre Haute which is where we lived when my boyfriend at the time raped me. My mother walked in on that and did not even consider that it could have been anything other than her no good worthless daughter being a whore. And she treated me accordingly.
There is a pattern of abuse throughout my life but she refuses to acknowledge that she has ever done anything to harm or hurt me. It is very possible that I have Asperger’s or some other condition. Whether this condition is something that is genetic like Asperger’s or something that is resultant of her abuse of me, I don’t know. I do know that I have PTSD. I have a severe case of PTSD from the abuse, the rapes and the miscarriages. I have a pattern of letting people be mean to me because I am afraid. Not because they scare me but I am so conditioned to be afraid.
She stole my son from me when he was just over a year old. She was pushing me and I sent him to his father’s for the night so that I could have the night to figure things out. I went to my best friend’s house and my mother showed up there with her best friend and my sister and told me to get my “shit” out of my car, which was in her name (another control mechanism she used on me) and left me on my best friend’s doorstep telling her that I was her problem now. She stranded me and got his father to bring him to her and then never let me have him back. In effect, she kidnapped my son. I was so terrified of her that I could not fight even though it was tearing my heart out.
I had lost my job and I had lost my apartment and when I needed my mother to help me, she cast me to the wolves and took the one thing that meant anything to me. I want to hate her. I want to cut her out of my life, but here is the thing….even though I know that I am much better than that and I KNOW I do not need her approval or even really want it, I still long for her love. It makes me so very sad because I know that she will never love me. She will always punish me for the blood that runs in my veins. She takes that tone with me and I feel how much she doesn’t care. I feel her lack of love. She can say I love you and make you very aware that she does not in the same breath. These are the hurts that I carry in my soul. These are the things I have in my mind when I lay down to try to go to sleep at night. I am so tired of feeling so very worthless and unloveable. And I am tired of no one listening to me or believing me that she did these things to me.
I told my sister recently and she did not even believe me. My mother has the family so convinced that I am a drama queen that no one will even listen to me, much less take me seriously. I have realized that my mother is an evil person. I just don’t know how to fight her and her money and lawyers. But I will say that the day my son turns 18 and is graduated from school I will tell her everything that I have held back.
There is this dream I have had many times over and again. In this dream I am standing in this beautiful wide open space surrounded by trees and the sunlight is streaming down and there is this beautiful little girl smiling up at me. She is smiling up at me and laughing and we are playing and dancing around. She has long light brown hair and she has soft pink tinted cheeks and she has big beautiful brown eyes and she has dimples on both sides. She is the sweetest thing. She is probably about 3 years old. She is my child, in this dream, and we have this joyful moment that is just ours.
There is another dream I have. It is of a boy who would now be getting ready to turn 18. He would be in his senior year of high school. He would be tall and he would have curly hair. His eyes would be green. He would have freckles and a ready smile for everyone. He would be well liked. He would get good grades (or at least better than his mom did) and he would be planning for his future.
There is another dream that I have often. In this dream the little boy is going on 12. He has dark brown hair, brown eyes and a calm kind smile. He is bookish and smart. He likes video games but not as much as his older brother does. He struggles with math but does his best. He snuggles up to me and tells me that I am the best mama in the world like his older brother does.
There are other dreams that are more vague. There are 5 boys and 4 girls. All different but similar. These are my babies that I never got to hold here on Earth. One day I know that I will be reunited with them in the Summerland. I will know peace and joy and the love of my children.
I have a 13 year old son who is my world. He does not know about his brothers or sisters. I have not told him and I do not know if I ever will. It is a terrible thing to lose a child. I have a child who is living and 9 who are not. I am a mother of 10 but have only gotten to hold 1 in my arms. I have only gotten to kiss the top of 1 child’s head. I have only gotten to rub 1 child’s stomach when it aches. I have only gotten to hold 1 child close while they were sick/scared/sad. I am a mother without all of her children and while I know that I would not have been able to take care of 10 babies, there would not have been 10 of them if I had been able to carry them to term. So I am a mother of 9 angel babies and 1 living teenage boy. I love all of my children. I love them all with all of my heart. I carry my angels with me in my heart and in my dreams every single day of my life.