Posted by: littleredman on Wednesday, May 19, 2004
From my earliest memories, I remember being abused. I don't seek pity, but just wish to share. I believe sharing will help me to heal, and may help someone else who has been there. Both my parents suffered some sort of mental dysfunction .Father tormented mother and children and mother tormented children.There are so many memories of abuse, I could compile a book. It was consistant.I believe I not only endure anxiety, but post traumatic syndrome, as well. Much of these symptoms occured after the death of a close friend, then truly manifested into something greater the day I buried my mother.
It was as if her death released all the little monsters of anxiety.Though father had his many moments of abusing his children, the abuse that keeps recurring in my mind, is that of mother.She was severely mentally ill, diagnosed with schizophrenia after my birth. I would soon learn things just were not right. We lived in an old farmhouse in the middle of a modern neighborhood in Michigan .
I will share only two of my memories with you. The first memory occured in November.Father was taking my brothers hunting.Mother and I were all alone.I watched my father and brothers drive off, waving at them in dad's old stationwagon. As soon as they disappeared down the road, mother grabbed my arm and jolted me off my feet. I was wearing my favorite red sweater with wooden buttons.She was angry. She began babbling and ranting."This is how it feels when a man leaves you all alone!" she barked. She pushed me into the backyard, toward the shed. I hated the shed. It was full of piled wood, and spiders. I never would go in there to play, only peek inside. She pushed me into the shed, shut the door and screamed something like,"live and learn, little girl!" Then she disappeared.I was 5 years old. Standing in the shed, all alone, and didn't really know why.I soon realized she was not going to return for me. The door was locked tight. The sun was going down. I was in my red sweater and brother's brown corduroy's. It was getting very dark, and very cold. It's strange, I didn't cry...I just waited. I didn't want to sit down on the pile of wood. I remembered spiders in there. Soon my legs became so tired and I became so cold, I sat on the pile.I stared out the tiny window in the shed. The glass was old and distorted. I could see the moon, it looked blue and wavy. There was a canvas covering much of the wood. I reluctantly pulled it over my shoulders, curled up and fell asleep. I knew the spiders would crawl to my warmth....I just couldn't stay awake.I was a small child all alone in the big world. No one cared, and no one could reach me.Morning came, and I still slept. Mother came and opened the shed door-she had been crying. "oh, I am so sorry, I don't know why I do these things..." she always said that. This memory flashed back at me one day, suddenly last year...as though it happened yesterday. I always KNEW it happened, but pushed it so far back in my mind-so I wouldn't have to deal with it until I was ready.
The next memory I will share occured in the warm summer. Mother was in the cellar doing laundry. I didn't like the cellar, either. I was 6, and running about the yard. I always pretended I had a twin sister. Her name was Cynthia. She wore a fluffy pink dress and fairy princess shoes...mother called me. I did not want to go to her, She began screaming my name. I slowly worked my way down the steps into the dark cellar...a primitive lightbulb swung furiously back and forth hanging from the cellar ceiling. Mother was furious,too...she was doing laundry, and angry for some reason. She began babbling and ranting, she grabbed my hand and began to push it toward the moving rollers of the wringer washer. I screamed, she pressed my finger tips into the wringer. Pain surged through my hands...I thought she was going to wring all of me into that wringer! I screamed and begged....she tried to pull my fingers out, and couldn't!! She began panicking, and I cried louder with fear and pain! She began screaming for me to shut up...I think she reversed the rollers...because my fingers were free! They were pressed flat! I ran up the stairs to the water spickot and held them under the water, crying and screaming in my mind,"why? Cynthia, why?"Up the stairs came mother..."I'm so sorry..." My fingers were blue for some time and very sore. They were not broken, but my heart and my soul were.Maybe these weren't such horrible events...I don't know. They cause me great heartache and distress. I would never treat a child like that. Never...
Though many awful things have happened in my life, I know I am a survivor! I really believe God has allowed certain things in my life to form me into the person I am today. I believe if He had not cared for me in His wisdom, I would be a self-centered, cynical, hateful, spoiled person.
I can look at others and feel compassion, and understand even what may seem like the smallest hurt, can be very painful.I continue to survive every day. When I say "I'm a survivor", it doesn't mean the pain has gone away.It doesn't mean the fear has gone away. It just means simply, I am here and I've made it through so far. I am here to learn, to fight, and to live.I will not give up, and I will not give in. I won't back down.
I WILL SURVIVE!
Thank you for letting me tell,