The past is just that…

Everyone has a past and some choose to not let the past dictate their future and some do not.  I have actively chosen to not let my past dictate my future but it hasn’t been easy.  I’m on this new journey towards a new healthy lifestyle  with the hopes that it will give me the opportunity to grow as old as ever.  But you can’t always go into the future without acknowledging that you have a past.  So today I will tell you some about my past.  This is my warning though, it’s not a pretty past and while I won’t go into brutal details, I will be truthful.  So if you struggle with some harsh reality, and we all do, you may want to stop reading here.

I come from a long line of child abusers and as such, I grew up in a physically abusive home.  Well up until the age of 13 years anyhow.  I have scars on my body and aches and pains that are not related to my age but related to the abuse I was subjected to as a child.  I remember many times being tucked under the covers of my Mom’s bed or on the couch watching movies and playing with whatever new toy my Mother bought for me out of guilt.  I missed lots of school days at times because time was needed to allow for the bruises and cuts to heal.  I needed to be able to walk, sit and play without showing obvious signs of pain.

My Mother was sporadic in her feelings and I never knew what would cause a beating so I lived in constant fear of what thing might set her off.  I never slept well as a child because there were times when she would come screaming into my room in the middle of the night because I had done something unforgivable.  Maybe I didn’t make sure the toothpaste was out of the sink from when I brushed my teeth, maybe I hadn’t told her that the milk was halfway gone, but most times the anger beatings in the middle of the night were probably related to her own demons because more often than not, there was no reason besides she was angry.

I remember waking up and knowing what was about to come next.  I would be yanked from my bed and thrown to the ground, either she’d tear my room completely apart while screaming obscenities at me or she would beat me first then finish with tearing my room apart.  I just know that I was never safe when I went to sleep and I prayed that I could make it through a night without being punched, slapped, kicked, thrown by my hair and whatever else she would do that night.  

That’s reason number 1 why I’m afraid of the dark.  Reason number 2 is that my Mother was absolutely horrible in picking out childcare for me.  A book could be written on how bad she was.  One of my babysitters use to send me out into the dark backyard telling me that my Mom was ready to pick me up and was waiting for me outside.  I’d go outside and not be able to find her and I would come back in and find her place completely pitch black and I’d have to roam around in the dark until she would jump out at me from her hiding place to scare me.  On the lucky chance that she babysat me during the day she couldn’t scare me but she would humiliate me by taking walks and require me to have a pacifier in my mouth.  I was 5 years old at the time and was never one to need pacifiers as an infant so having to be forced at the age of 5 was even at that age, embarassing. But it was meant to keep me from talking and I could only talk when she told me it was okay to pull my binky out of my mouth.

For awhile there I had the good life and got to go to a daycare right across the street from school and that was pretty great until I ended up with hepatitis and was extremely ill.  There were the babysitters whose son molested me and the ones who were pretty free about their sexual lives and I got to see things no child should ever see.  I’m not sure which was worse though, the horrible babysitters or no babysitters?  And this will be reason number 3 I’m afraid of the dark.

Mother loved to go out to the bars to drink and dance with her friends.  Sometimes she had a babysitter lined up for me but most times she didn’t.  On good nights, I would watch her get ready to go out and she would have snacks for me and leave me the number of the bar that she would be at.  The TV would be all ready to go and she would leave me alone for the night while she went out.  Those were good nights because I knew exactly what was going on and that it would be fine and when Mother got home I would have a treat just liked she promised she would be bring me home.  The bad nights were when she would tuck me into bed and I’d go to sleep and wake up in the middle of the night to find no one home but me.  I would cry until she got home after the bars closed and she would comfort me and put me back to bed.  I was at the age of 4 when she started doing this.

I’m not very religious today and in fact call myself agnostic.  I guess a lot of my views on religion are based on the fact that Mother loved to dabble in it.  Like it was a hobby that she could pick up anytime she wanted.  We were Lutherans, Jehovah’s Witnesses and then just plain old Christian.  At first I loved going to church and loved the bible camps that I could got to participate in.  Every time I went I would always pray that God would take pity on me and save me from Mother.  I always believed that if I pledged my soul to him he would save me cause I was one of his children and he loved his children.  But my first salvation didn’t come until 4th grade when yet again, Mother had almost killed me with a beating earlier that day and then she left for her appointment.  I was left to take care of my nearly 2 year old brother and my few months old baby brother.  I remembered seeing a commercial on TV with a number if you suspected or was a victim of child abuse.  I had put it to memory and after several attempts and hangups, I dialed the number and told on Mother.  That was my first doubt that there really was a God and he loved and protected everyone.  I know now that Mother used religion as a way to atone for her guilt on beating me.  She finally had the excuse to beat me and not feel bad about it all because it was in the Bible that it was okay.  

I guess that’s not completely true though.. One time she did feel guilt and it was when we were Jehovah’s Witnesses.  I can’t remember what but I do remember that I was in 7th grade when it happened.  She was angry at me for something and was trying to get some form of truth out of me about something she was convinced I had done.  Luckily she had fed me the story of my wrongdoing so I could come up with a sincere apology for something I never did.  However she didn’t like my apology and she told me to repeat it word for word what I had just said.  So I did repeat it word for word and she claimed that it wasn’t what I had said originally.  That was when she introduced a new little game to me.  The game was she would count every word that I said that wasn’t word for word what was originally said and for every word I got incorrect, she would spank me.  Not with her hand but with her latest favorite beating toy.. The broken metal handle off of my brother’s Radio Flyer Wagon.  185 words later she set to spanking my bare bottom.  I cried and screamed and begged her to stop.  Every time I started to collapse from pain, she’d pull me back upright by my hair and add another hit on top of it.  I remember pushing my thighs into the couch cushions to keep me up and putting my hands together and begging her to stop and pray please.  Finally I gave up with the pleading and through my tears and pain, I prayed myself to make it stop or to finally just allow me to die. 196 spankings later and a broken metal handle, wooden spoon, raw hands and a trusty old belt.. she finally stopped.  That was the only time she felt guilty because maybe she should have prayed with me so that God could help me remember my words.  That was the time I got to miss nearly 2 weeks of school because I couldn’t sit or walk.  My rear was a bruised, swollen, cut bloody mess.  To this day I still have an indentation from that beating and my tailbone has swollen look to it that will never go away.

There were a few times when she would beat me so much that I actually passed out from her attack.  I remember one clearly and the beating came about because her friend “Peaches” decided the night before that she wanted to go for a walk because it was nice outside.  She was baby-sitting me that night while Mother was out partying and even though Mother said I couldn’t go out she decided we needed to get some fresh air.  I paid for that fresh air the next day.

She didn’t get too far into the beating, maybe only a minute or two but she made a huge mistake.  The last thing I remember was laying on the ground on my back, of course crying and pleading, and I saw her foot coming down at me.  I woke up later on the ground not sure how long I had been out.  From the living room floor I could see the bathroom and saw that she was putting on make-up and had dressed up nicely.  Her hair done and she looked ready to go out for the night.  I whimpered out a ‘mommy’ and she said, “Oh you’re awake.  I was getting ready to leave you but wanted to get ready first.  I’m going to call the ambulance so they can come get you and I’m leaving for good so I don’t get in trouble.  Like an idiot I started crying and begged her not to leave me.  That I loved her and I was sorry for all that I had done and I would try to be a good child from that point on.  She didn’t leave me that day.

I never knew what it was that made her so angry with me.  I never knew why it was that my own Mother seemed to be focused on killing me.  I got my answer in 6th grade and it came during a hollering match.  She said, “I absolutely hated your Father.  I hated everything about him and every time I look at you, all I see is him.  It makes me so angry that you look exactly like him and I have to live my life having to look at his face every single day.  Because of that, I will make you pay every single day of your life because of the pain that man caused me.”  

I never wanted children when I grew up.  I was okay with being the favorite Aunt but I never wanted children of my own.  It wasn’t cause I didn’t like children I just never wanted to be the monster that Mother was to me.

Why am I sharing this with complete strangers and friends?  Because in order for me to move forward and really be successful, I have to acknowledge my past.  My boyfriend is the only one who knows some of what happened to me as a child but nowhere near all.  There were so many more horrific incidents that I refuse to share.  

My goal in life is to help others find their peace and health.  To be a person that others can trust and believe.  I want them to know that every single day can be a struggle if you choose to let it be one.  You can choose to be the statistic and fall back on the excuse that, “Well I don’t know any different.”  Or you can choose a different path and I have chosen a different path.  

Today I’m the Momma of 3 beautiful kids.  Kids that love and trust me and have never gone through what I have.  They know that I really do love them and will do anything for them.  I have chosen to break the cycle of child abuse at least in my family from here on out.  I have chosen to have a different life and be a better parent than what I had growing up.  I know that the act will repeat itself and my children will grow into parents and be an even better one than the one I am today.

Sadly some of us were victims in our past but let’s make a promise to each other that we will fight every single day to not be a victim of our futures.  I guess this journey isn’t only about being physically healthy but also emotionally and mentally healthy as well.

NB