I’m sure some of us had lost count on the wooden spoons broken or the hair brushes (those nice round ones) or the belts that would sometimes ensue when more pain was wanting to be inflicted upon you. A time or two (a zillion for a few) of when your parents tempers rose flared & then they came unglued. What was it they would do? Can you remember too? What is it WE are now to do?
6 yrs old, she was. Her father was clueless; it was her birthday and she just rounded the corner & he snaps a picture of his beautiful birthday girl; so he thought. That picture circulates my house [like many others] to this day. Just as hauntingly, little had he known he had actually captured the expression of a child that was just harshly scolded, spanked behind closed doors & shook as her elastic birthday hat string was snapped harshly to her neck & told to “act right”! Do you know what it’s like to celebrate a birthday, as a 6 yr old, trying to fight back the tears and bewilderment of why it was you were so wrong; all the while, trying to show happiness for the gifts you where shoved towards. *poof*[my first recall of disappearing] I apologize for not recalling what it was I had done that instigated the abuse. I was constantly lying, as I was told and caused a lot of disharmony; I have surmised.
I realized religion and the infamous “G”od was a farce at, about, 7 yrs old. We lived in Maui, Lahaina. I had a serious problem w/wetting the bed for a lot of years & I recall that night waking up to yet, another, wet bed. [I had only one set of sheets because I had hid sheets in the past when I would wet the bed. Because I didn’t want the harsh scoldings & jerking me around when I would speak of my accident. So, smart me, I decide to get up and change the sheets but only ones where my parents sheets. I also had to deal w/the mattress being wet. I couldn’t put clean sheets on a wet mattress. I took out the hairdryer & at about 3am I was blow drying my mattress. I don’t know how long I had tried but it gave off a horrible burnt smell. I dried it enough to put the sheets on & climbed back into bed.
The next morning, my step mother rips me outta bed for she smelt the burnt foul smell in my room & sees that there is a cig burn mark on “my/her” sheets. [They were smokers] I tried explaining to her that they were her sheets & she did not believe me. She ripped me across the entire house to the numerous bibles screaming at the top of her lungs for me to stop lying & admit I smoked cigs. After about an hour of torture it stopped, I had stopped begging for mercy and succumbed & lied w/my hand on the bible.& her next line of punishment was eating 5 cigarettes. Chew swallow, chew swallow, chew swallow–hurl–chew swallow 2 more. She decided the caper to my insolence and lying about smoking was going to take me down to the beach (as I was violently ill) and make me sit in the hot sun & not go into the water at all or have anything to drink. I recall laying in the sun wishing for this evil “G”od to rot in hell.
I was the brunt of many jokes. One was around 8, (An adults birthday, I believe) I recall my shirt being lifted in front of everyone & she slaps a bow where my breast was & exclaimed, “Now you have some tits,” I was mortified, horrified, petrified, & *poof*[I disappeared once again] I realized I was a problematic child. I was an unwanted step daughter but told how much she wanted me to be the daughter she never had. Which I was never to make that mark. Another humorous one for my step mother when I was about 9, the humiliation I had doing my chores [vacuuming the living room] while wearing my panties on my head w/the soiled crotch in my face. Some humiliation never goes away; what was she thinking that was solving? Everyday after school I would have to go into the room &drop my pants. On the back of the door was a chart & I would get a gold star if I didn’t soil my panties & I do not recall what was done when they were. Probably best for me.
My stomach turns as my thoughts get darker the more I became aware. The waking me, late at night, out of a dead sleep with perfume wafted under my nose. I would squeeze my eyes tight wishing to not cough to show I was awake. I didn’t know how much more my spirit could break. *poof* [I disappear once again]
Those are just some soft examples of what my little mind was ripped through. I never did know, then nor now, why I was such an awful bad child. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve such treatment. I’m not sure what gives a person the belief or understanding that they can misuse and abuse another human being. What gives another human being the thoughts it’s okay to shower it with vile evil wickedness and tell that young soul that there is a god but he obviously does not view you as worthy enough of a cause or the pain and suffering would cease to exist and I would be a loved little girl. You are proof evil exists! She would hiss time and time again.