HeatherC19
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9
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Nov 26, 2007
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Posted Thu Nov 29, 2007 10:34 pm...
Of my Family.
This forum seems to be very close-knit and so undoubtedly people will relate this post to the "coming out of the broom closet" one. I do know I sounded awfully pessimistic in my resolution, and I was crying when I wrote it and soon you will all know why.
My parents got divorced when I was 13. Before then, I was innocent. They protected me from all the badness, all the evils of the world. I acted so much younger than my years, and it annoyed those around me but it was a blissful existence. Then the divorce. My father became an alcoholic. He spent $500+ on alcohol each month, and would usually always come home with a twelve pack of Heiniken. He fought when he was drunk. But he lived by himself, and usually.. with me. I do not deny that my father had problems of his own. However it is wholly his fault that he chose alcohol, and occaisionally illegal drugs, to handle them. For years I endured his drunken rages, long drawn out verbal fights, stomping around the house and screaming, yelling... but he never hit me. Even when he was very drunk, he never did. He'd drive sometimes, when he was very drunk, with me in the car and it scared me.. I thought sometimes that I would die.
One night, when I was on visitation with my mother, he drank too much and tried to drive and he got in an accident. He was charged with a DUI and his liscense was taken away. He lost his job. His house went into foreclosure. Life as we knew it was falling apart. He told me he was suicidal, and that he couldn't stand it anymore and finally.. He left. He just left. He moved to england and he gave me not but a weeks notice. My mother didn't let me spend much time with him during that week, and I didnt get to see him before he went away. My mother and my grandparents took me into their home permanently.
My mother, who'd always been a bit off her rocker and certifyably so, is extremely abusive. Despite my dad being drunk, when he was sober we got along and so on any day I'd rather stay with my drunk father than my bitchy mother. That should attest to her cruelty. She had always abused my father and that's why they got divorced, when he left, she started abusing me. She let her friends ransack and damage my father's house. She took everything there that meant anything to me and had it stolen or destroyed. It hurt me more than anything I could imagine to walk into the house I'd lived in for so long and see it empty, cold, and with the few remaining contents of the house strewn about the floor and burnt or rusted out.
Through counseling, I got over it. But my mother's abuse never stopped and still hasn't. She yells and screams at me, and often bribes me with things I need, in exchange for information about my father since he no longer speaks to her. It seems like all the maury she watches has taught her the way to control your children effectively is to scream and threaten. She treats me as though I am a heathen child who does all wrong when in reality I stay home, I sit around, I do no drugs and have no sex, I do nothing wrong. The one time I dared to walk outside without consent they (being my grandparents and mother) claimed I was meeting a man somewhere and planning to run away. They are so very terrified of me escaping their tyranny.
My mother now has a job, she rarely has any free time and we rarely see each other. When she does have free time, she chooses to hang out with her friends and spend money she doesnt have to spend on them, rather than spend time with her child and buy necessities.
Which brings me to my grandparents. Ladies first, I'll start with my grandma.
My grandma made me make one of the hardest choices in my life once. I had just gotten out of the hospital for a very intense infection that could've killed me. My father wanted to see me. A simple request. But no, my grandma claimed "His house is too filthy" and forbid it. So I had to choose, go to my fathers and have my mother and I cast out onto the street, or ignore my father's request and hurt him because I was giving in to her shit schemes. This was before he moved away of course. Eventually, after a night of screams and tears and my mother threatening suicide because she had been brought into it and would be punished for my choice (nice to consider her child's pain) we compromised to let me go over to my fathers the next day. Nobody was kicked out. Since my dad moved away, my grandma has been nice to me. She takes the place of my mother, who is never there for me. Because, through counseling, I have overcome the incident with my father too.
And now my grandpa. He's a drunk just like my father was, he goes to the bar every night and comes home very late and cooks dinner, which often isnt very good. Sometimes he doesnt come home to cook dinner and he stays out all night. He, too, drives drunk. He has also never liked me.. how I am often on the computer or by myself (is it any wonder, with a family like this?) and he used to hide the mouse, since it was wireless (before I had a laptop like I do now) so I couldnt use the computer, if we had had a fight. I would have to call back and beg him to tell me where the mouse was. One time, because I did not trust him, I so dared to take the mouse of a computer I owned (Oh, did I mention that? I owned it too) into my room so he couldnt hide it. He stomped down the stairs furiously. He grabbed the modem and he smashed it saying "You like your fucking internet? WELL HERE, HERE'S YOUR FUCKING INTERNET, YOU CAN HAVE IT" and he punched and stomped on it. I was scared, I ran up the stairs and tried to get to my room. He followed me, chasing me. He knocked over a table.. and made me get down onto my knees to pick it up. After I did, he knocked something off of it and told me I missed one. I didn't know what he was playing at. I ran into my room and shut the door. But of course he couldn't have that, so he, in a moment of genius, shoved his finger inside the door. I didn't see his finger, my room was dark, but he was furious. He pulled his finger out of the door and stomped around for a few moments.. I leaned against the door and tried to hold it shut in case he decided to come back. He's six feet tall and weighs over 300 pounds. I was no match for him but I braced myself against the door anyways. This was my curse.
A few minutes later, he rushed at my door and slammed it open, pressing me behind it. He came in my room and slammed the door back onto me a few times screaming "How do you like it?!" and I was crying. He was screaming at me. I didn't know what he was saying, but he was holding me up by my hair, and shaking me back and forth. I remembered, that my mom was home, and I screamed for her multiple times, before he shoved his hand over my mouth and started screaming for me to shut up.
Luckily, my mom had heard my screams. She came upstairs and, in the only event I see her as ever really being a mother, told him to get away from me or she would call the police. He did. She took me down into her room and kept him away from me, and about a half hour later, he got his gun and threatened to kill himself, then left.
Since that night, although he still drinks, he has never been physical with me.
I never told my counselor about it. Or my father. It is the event nobody in the family talks about.
Perhaps knowing my past, you can understand what I mean by giving up my freedoms to my family. I cannot talk much on the computer, go outside, go to friends houses, talk on the phone, or anything concering another person, or the possibility of me encountering another person (going to the gym, walking, etc) without them being with me, watching over me, or calling me multiple times to check up on me. (calling is the least severe measure, used only for being on the computer. Yes, they call me to check on me when I am on the computer) Now, I have finally found the religion I truly believe in. The one that makes me feel whole and peaceful how I haven't felt since I was a child, ignorant and blissful, and still I cannot do it. I can't.. because they, in all their faults, are Christian. And, despite all they've done to me.. I still must be bigger than them, and think of their wellbeing.
I know my childhood is not so bad. It's easy compared to many people's childhoods. Still. It tears me apart to think that I must think well of them when they have never done so for me.
This forum seems to be very close-knit and so undoubtedly people will relate this post to the "coming out of the broom closet" one. I do know I sounded awfully pessimistic in my resolution, and I was crying when I wrote it and soon you will all know why.
My parents got divorced when I was 13. Before then, I was innocent. They protected me from all the badness, all the evils of the world. I acted so much younger than my years, and it annoyed those around me but it was a blissful existence. Then the divorce. My father became an alcoholic. He spent $500+ on alcohol each month, and would usually always come home with a twelve pack of Heiniken. He fought when he was drunk. But he lived by himself, and usually.. with me. I do not deny that my father had problems of his own. However it is wholly his fault that he chose alcohol, and occaisionally illegal drugs, to handle them. For years I endured his drunken rages, long drawn out verbal fights, stomping around the house and screaming, yelling... but he never hit me. Even when he was very drunk, he never did. He'd drive sometimes, when he was very drunk, with me in the car and it scared me.. I thought sometimes that I would die.
One night, when I was on visitation with my mother, he drank too much and tried to drive and he got in an accident. He was charged with a DUI and his liscense was taken away. He lost his job. His house went into foreclosure. Life as we knew it was falling apart. He told me he was suicidal, and that he couldn't stand it anymore and finally.. He left. He just left. He moved to england and he gave me not but a weeks notice. My mother didn't let me spend much time with him during that week, and I didnt get to see him before he went away. My mother and my grandparents took me into their home permanently.
My mother, who'd always been a bit off her rocker and certifyably so, is extremely abusive. Despite my dad being drunk, when he was sober we got along and so on any day I'd rather stay with my drunk father than my bitchy mother. That should attest to her cruelty. She had always abused my father and that's why they got divorced, when he left, she started abusing me. She let her friends ransack and damage my father's house. She took everything there that meant anything to me and had it stolen or destroyed. It hurt me more than anything I could imagine to walk into the house I'd lived in for so long and see it empty, cold, and with the few remaining contents of the house strewn about the floor and burnt or rusted out.
Through counseling, I got over it. But my mother's abuse never stopped and still hasn't. She yells and screams at me, and often bribes me with things I need, in exchange for information about my father since he no longer speaks to her. It seems like all the maury she watches has taught her the way to control your children effectively is to scream and threaten. She treats me as though I am a heathen child who does all wrong when in reality I stay home, I sit around, I do no drugs and have no sex, I do nothing wrong. The one time I dared to walk outside without consent they (being my grandparents and mother) claimed I was meeting a man somewhere and planning to run away. They are so very terrified of me escaping their tyranny.
My mother now has a job, she rarely has any free time and we rarely see each other. When she does have free time, she chooses to hang out with her friends and spend money she doesnt have to spend on them, rather than spend time with her child and buy necessities.
Which brings me to my grandparents. Ladies first, I'll start with my grandma.
My grandma made me make one of the hardest choices in my life once. I had just gotten out of the hospital for a very intense infection that could've killed me. My father wanted to see me. A simple request. But no, my grandma claimed "His house is too filthy" and forbid it. So I had to choose, go to my fathers and have my mother and I cast out onto the street, or ignore my father's request and hurt him because I was giving in to her shit schemes. This was before he moved away of course. Eventually, after a night of screams and tears and my mother threatening suicide because she had been brought into it and would be punished for my choice (nice to consider her child's pain) we compromised to let me go over to my fathers the next day. Nobody was kicked out. Since my dad moved away, my grandma has been nice to me. She takes the place of my mother, who is never there for me. Because, through counseling, I have overcome the incident with my father too.
And now my grandpa. He's a drunk just like my father was, he goes to the bar every night and comes home very late and cooks dinner, which often isnt very good. Sometimes he doesnt come home to cook dinner and he stays out all night. He, too, drives drunk. He has also never liked me.. how I am often on the computer or by myself (is it any wonder, with a family like this?) and he used to hide the mouse, since it was wireless (before I had a laptop like I do now) so I couldnt use the computer, if we had had a fight. I would have to call back and beg him to tell me where the mouse was. One time, because I did not trust him, I so dared to take the mouse of a computer I owned (Oh, did I mention that? I owned it too) into my room so he couldnt hide it. He stomped down the stairs furiously. He grabbed the modem and he smashed it saying "You like your fucking internet? WELL HERE, HERE'S YOUR FUCKING INTERNET, YOU CAN HAVE IT" and he punched and stomped on it. I was scared, I ran up the stairs and tried to get to my room. He followed me, chasing me. He knocked over a table.. and made me get down onto my knees to pick it up. After I did, he knocked something off of it and told me I missed one. I didn't know what he was playing at. I ran into my room and shut the door. But of course he couldn't have that, so he, in a moment of genius, shoved his finger inside the door. I didn't see his finger, my room was dark, but he was furious. He pulled his finger out of the door and stomped around for a few moments.. I leaned against the door and tried to hold it shut in case he decided to come back. He's six feet tall and weighs over 300 pounds. I was no match for him but I braced myself against the door anyways. This was my curse.
A few minutes later, he rushed at my door and slammed it open, pressing me behind it. He came in my room and slammed the door back onto me a few times screaming "How do you like it?!" and I was crying. He was screaming at me. I didn't know what he was saying, but he was holding me up by my hair, and shaking me back and forth. I remembered, that my mom was home, and I screamed for her multiple times, before he shoved his hand over my mouth and started screaming for me to shut up.
Luckily, my mom had heard my screams. She came upstairs and, in the only event I see her as ever really being a mother, told him to get away from me or she would call the police. He did. She took me down into her room and kept him away from me, and about a half hour later, he got his gun and threatened to kill himself, then left.
Since that night, although he still drinks, he has never been physical with me.
I never told my counselor about it. Or my father. It is the event nobody in the family talks about.
Perhaps knowing my past, you can understand what I mean by giving up my freedoms to my family. I cannot talk much on the computer, go outside, go to friends houses, talk on the phone, or anything concering another person, or the possibility of me encountering another person (going to the gym, walking, etc) without them being with me, watching over me, or calling me multiple times to check up on me. (calling is the least severe measure, used only for being on the computer. Yes, they call me to check on me when I am on the computer) Now, I have finally found the religion I truly believe in. The one that makes me feel whole and peaceful how I haven't felt since I was a child, ignorant and blissful, and still I cannot do it. I can't.. because they, in all their faults, are Christian. And, despite all they've done to me.. I still must be bigger than them, and think of their wellbeing.
I know my childhood is not so bad. It's easy compared to many people's childhoods. Still. It tears me apart to think that I must think well of them when they have never done so for me.
