The Scars of Who We Are Chapter XI

Chapter XI

                 ~The truth is every year we get farther away from the essence that is born within us. We get shouldered with burdens, some of them good, and some not. Some things change, while some never do and life goes on and on. And it isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and my life in particular is a testament to that little fact. Yes the world can be a very mean and nasty place and no matter how strong or tough you think you are, it will beat you down to your knees and keep you there if you let it. No one will ever hit you as hard as life can and will, but its not about how hard you get hit, or how many times life knocks you down, it’s about how many times you keep getting back up, keep moving forward; how much you can take and keep moving and pressing ever forward on this journey called life, yeah my head may be bloody, but its unbowed and you can either press on to something more, or call it quits and simply give up, never knowing how close you came to getting past those hurdles, to finding solace in a moment, when find peace while walking barefoot through the grass with a pretty girl.
               The battles you fight will be hard, but the reward will be all the sweeter once your journey finally winds down and you look back at a life well lived, because you didn't give up. Yes you may lose your heart’s desire along the way, but you can also find it and there is no greater joy in life than that, yes accidents happen, sometimes you may lose your way, which can be tragic, but only if you let it, or you can embark on an all new journey of discovery until you find your way back home, to the place you’re meant to be. You just can’t ever let it keep you down, because this world is filled with its crazy mazes, obscene obstacles, and flashing lights all meant to test us, strengthen us and sometimes even distract us from what's important…and I...I just want to write, to change the world with my words and get people to read again, to discover the magic in the written word, that magic that has been buried in the hidden depths of your soul. Remember your life is a story, and some chapters end, while others are just beginning, so if you ever think of ending your story prematurely, you’re robbing yourself and of those around you of the story of you and you’ll never see how things were truly meant to be, even the saddest of stories can have a happy ending. Plus, the beginning of most stories are often the hardest, but if you hang in there, you’ll soon discover you weathered the storm and have become a little stronger, a little wiser and just better for having lived through it. Don' think of yourself as a victim, but a survivor, because that's what you are, you're stronger and better than you know.

                After the debacle of my sixteenth, birthday party, I kind of became two people. At home I would withdraw into myself, spending most of time hiding out alone in my room, transfixed by some video game, engrossed in a television program, or lost in a book. Gradually I was becoming a hermit whenever I was home. I hated socializing with the rest of my mom's family because now everything they said to me just felt false, every compliment was a lie. often I found myself entertaining thoughts of suicide, hearing that little voice in the back of my head confirming all my worst fears, telling me my friends weren't really my friends, that everyone was really just laughing at me behind my back, that I was a joke, a burden on everyone I loved and cared for. These words always spoke to me in the voice of my mother, telling me I had no future, I was stupid and ugly, along with all the horrible things we sometimes tell ourselves. I can’t tell you how many times I thought about killing myself, or how close I came. I grew up a Christian and still am, so my beliefs and my relationship with my father, my step-brother, my grandmother were all that kept me strong despite everything else that was going wrong in my life.

            The other person I found myself becoming was in thanks to my friends, who pulled me from the edge and held me there. To this day I still don’t know what it was they saw in me, I was an overly shy, backwards, introverted dork. But they saved me from myself and accepted me for who i was, they started a  change me. Slowly and gradually, I noticed how being around them made me better, more confident and not so afraid to have a little fun every now and again. Because I was as straight-laced as they came. I never smoked, drank, did any drugs, never did anything really, so much so  that most of my friend’s parents wanted to adopt me. In the end, I think that’s why I really chose to stay with my mother during all that time, with a little of it being afraid of what she would do if I left to live with my father.

           A week after my sixteenth birthday, when I was sitting alone in my room vegging out  in front of my t.v when I hear my mother yelling for me. My mom’s sister, Terry was there whose presence I simply endured and hadn't been much of a fan of, (It was no illusion that she liked my older brother better than me, often treating me like a second class citizen), but still I tolerated her and she was standing in the living room, with my mom standing at the edge of the kitchen, upon seeing me, she asks me to take out the trash.

 (Now this part is the hardest for me talk about, let alone write, so I'm probably not going to edit any of it, just going to try and get through it as quickly and as thoroughly as possible, typos be damned.)

I walked past my mother, opening the cabinet which held our trashcan, which was overflowing, and started liberating the bag from the can, when behind me my mom asks me to check on our cat’s litter-box, responded by saying, 

Age 16

            “Alright, as soon as I finish with this,” and I stand up and begin to carry the bag out of the kitchen when I’m shoved into our fridge which sat next to the entryway of our kitchen. At first I cracked a bit of a smile, believing my mother was just goofing off with me, or was trying to be cute or something, so I laugh and roll my eyes and pick myself back up and begin to step away, when my mother grabs my head and slams the side of my head into the fridge.

I whirled my head around in confusion, no longer thinking this was some harmless fun and wondering what I did wrong, but before I can ask she throws me up against the fridge, then hits me. My face stinging from the blow, I can already feel the red hand print throbbing, with my cheek feeling like it was on fire, I open my mouth to protest, when she shoves me again, followed by a second blow to the other side of my face. 

Then I do something I had never done before, I shove off of me, which also proves to be a mistake. She leaps at me again, her hands going to my face and she slams the back of my skull against the side of our fridge, before hitting me across the face again, harder this time. I manage a brief glance over at my aunt, expecting that she would have enough sense to stop whatever this was and I watch her smile and and give me an exaggerated shrug and my blood begins to boil. I barely have time to register her apathy, I feel my mother’s nails digging into my neck as she grabs the collar of my shirt, pulling me towards her, before shoving me back against the fridge once more. 

Pain lances up through my shoulder blades, with a part of me believing that this was it, she was going to murder me, because I can feel is her jumping on me, reigning blow after blow on me, hitting me everywhere and anywhere as I tried to shrink back into the fridge, raising my arms to protect my face, all the while still holding the bag containing the kitchen's garbage.

Finally having enough I snap, shoving her off of me as hard as I can and into the counter at her back. I’m screaming “Stop,” at the top of my lungs, maybe a part of me was hoping a neighbor or someone would hear and call the cops. But I was so angry, I could barely think clearly, with my whole body trembling with rage, wanting nothing more than to finally hit her back and not stop until I could no longer raise my fists.

     My heart was racing and feeling as though it would beat right out of my chest. Then she hits me again and I slam her harder into the counter and throw the bag of trash at her and scream,

“That’s it, I had enough, I’m packing my bags tonight and moving in with my dad, I don’t care what you do to me, I’m done!”
           
        With my heart still beating like a jackhammer, I storm out of the kitchen, pausing momentarily to glower at my aunt, who’s still just standing there.

       “Are you really going to do nothing and let her beat the hell out of me?” I ask, and she responds by turning her back to me.
            Shaking my head in disbelief, I turn and storm down the hall to my room, already thinking of how I was going to explain this to my friends, hoping that I’d still be able to see them from to time and wondering how difficult it’d be to make new friends in a new school, to be the new kid all over again. Realizing I hated my mother then, I hated her for doing this to me, for forcing me to leave behind my friends. 

         I make it to my room where I try slamming the door behind me, (because when you’re angry slamming things usually feel pretty good,) But my mother catches the door just before it slams shut and throws it open, and shoves me from behind. I stumble, catch my balance, but by the time I recover, she’s on top of me again, beating me, clawing at my face and neck, pulling and tearing at my shirt, going absolutely berserk. I'm terrified, believing this was where I'm going to die.But my anger fuels me, drives me and I let her hit me three or four more times before I explode, shoving her out of my room and pin her arms at her side, bringing my face inches from hers as I scream. No words, I just scream, feeling every part of my body wanted to hit her repeatedly, I wanted to show her how to hurt and teach her how to bleed. I wanted her to know, to feel every blow, ever pain and every hurt she ever made me feel. In that moment I wanted to kill her. But I manage to reign in my anger just enough to shout, 
  
            “Stop! Just stop and leave me alone! I’m done with this, I’m done with you! It's over.”

            Shaking I let her go and turn to head back to my room  and begin packing my beds, when she shoves me from behind and again I stumble, recover and turn to face her as she shoves me again harder. I stagger back, plant my feet and shove in return, in what erupts into a brief shoving match between us. Realizing she’s losing ground, she launches herself at me and begins wailing away on me, hitting me, scratching me in what felt like an endless barrage of blows to every exposed square inch of my body, while the whole time I’m seeing red and all I can think about is breaking her neck.  That’s when I see it, I see her pulling her hand back in a fist and I clench my fist in return, making the conscious decision I was done letting her hit me, I bring my arm up to block the blow when she smiles.

            The blow never comes; instead she’s smiling ear to ear and begins taunting me, presenting her face to me saying,

            “Oh you going to hit me, come on, hit me,”

            “I don’t want to hit you; but I want you to stop hitting me!” I snap, but she doesn't stop, nor do I think she hears a single word I said, because she’s shoving me now with her palms, presenting her chin to me, saying,
           “No, I saw you, you want to hit me, so c’mon and hit me,”

Shaking my head with my heart still racing, I slowly back away wondering if this is what she wanted all along and I try rationalizing with her, telling her how I wasn't going to hit her, albeit I wanted to, but I wasn't about to let her beat me to death, I was done being the victim.
 
            But she won’t have it; instead she shoves me again and I almost fall against my bed as she saying,

            “No I want you to hit me, it’s what I've always wanted you to do, so come on hit me, It’s what I want you to do, c’mon hit me,” She taunts, presenting her face to me and outstretching her arms, to give me a free open shot at her. When I refuse, she continues,
            “Oh, come on, I want you to hit me, it’s what I've always wanted you to do, what I've always been wanting you to do.”

            Those words hit me harder than any blow I ever received from her and panic begins setting in as I start to realize what all this is.

            “Hit me!” She screams over and over again, “C’mon hit me,” She demands, “Hit me so I can have your step dad (who’s a cop) Come home and haul your ass to juvie, and your uncle Skip (who's rich)  knows judges so I can make sure you never see the light of day, your dad, or anyone you love ever again, I’ll make sure you stay locked away in the system from juvie to prison, it’s where I want you to spend the rest of your life, what I've always wanted you to do.”  She professes, sounding like she’s already won and had beaten me. She smiles and shoves me once more for good measure, then smacks me again, hoping I’ll snap and  hit her back. But I don’t. I'm too much in shock.

            The horror of what she was saying kept me rooted and I saw my whole life flash before my eyes, remembered every beating, every nasty thing she’s done, or said to me, knowing then in that moment she wanted to ruin my life. My mother, the woman who brought me into this world, had gotten off on the idea of making my life miserable.

Me newly born & now I wonder where'd you go?

            I know people sometimes say things they don’t mean in the heat of the moment, but the way she looked at me and how she recanted her plan to ruin my life, I couldn't and still can’t help but think she had given this some real thought. But now I refused to play into her little game, I stood my ground and an idea came to me, to turn this whole ordeal against her, to let the whole world see her for the monster she was.

            “You know what?” I asked breathlessly, shaking my head as I started for my phone, “I think I’ll go ahead and call the police myself and let them see the marks you left on me, then I’ll testify against you and we’ll see where all your connections get you when all this is done.”        

            My mother didn't move, she was stunned and I could feel her eyes following me as I moved to my phone and my hands were still trembling as I began to dial 911.

            By the time I picked up the phone, she started crying, which had always been my Achilles Heel. (I never could stand seeing a girl cry, let alone my own mother) and I could feel myself beginning to lose my resolve and my the time I dialed 9, she was began begging me to stop, asking me, pleading me to think of my Brothers and how it’ll affect them and I told her how I didn't care, not anymore. So I pressed 1 and she sobbed harder, begging me to stop, asking for my forgiveness, telling me how sorry she was, how much she loved me, how she didn't mean any of the things she said.

            I fell for it…..

              Dropping the phone I turned to her, she was practically on the floor sobbing defeated and was still pleading for me to stop and not do this to her, so I say, 

           “Fine, but if you ever and I mean ever touch me again, I won’t hesitate to make this call and there's nothing you can do, or ever say that'll stop me.”

            She crawled back to her feet then, all tears and apologies, wrapping her arms around me, telling me how good I was and how much she loved me and all I could say to her was,
            “Never again.”

             My mom and her sister then blamed all this on me, because they claimed I said something, or smarted off after I was asked to clean the litter-box, however neither one could tell me what it was they thought I said. But after that day, I stopped trusting my mother and began spending more and more time with my friends, too afraid to go home…. But I’m still here, I survived and if I can make through all that, there’s no limit to what you can do. 

Oh how I miss her, my grandmother and me
who was more like how mom should be.

The Scars of Who We Are Part IV

Part IV Be careful what you wish for, because you may just get your hearts, just to discover it’s not really what you wanted at all.

                At best my life has been plagued with turmoil, impossible obstacles, forcing me to learn how to overcome incredible adversity and accept change. No matter how how hard life got for me, no matter how dark the skies became, I survived and lived another day and despite all the darkness and pain I endured, there were quite a few sunny days, day I'll never take back for anything. Yes, although thinking back over the rough patches of my life are painful, I’m proud of the life I lived.

Yes, I stumbled here and there, I struggled with an uphill battle with depression which I nearly lost as it threatened to consume my very being, but I fought on and refused to ever give up. Because I've always believed in something being out there, looking over me, something so much bigger than me. Because I believed in God, and I'm incredibly stubborn. That said I've also been a survivor. My mother tried having a miscarriage before I was born, fought to get an abortion, making it a miracle I’m even here today, but don’t get me wrong, I’m not depressed, or jaded or anything well not anymore. I had my issues which I managed to work through, sometimes I had a little help from my friends, others were family.

Now I can say with the utmost confidence that I love my life and I’m happy. For better or worse, I’m happy with my life and where I'm at. I've seen and done some pretty incredible and amazing things. I believe this may be the same with you as it was with me, I didn't realize how spectacular my life had been, until long after the fact and I looked back and finally saw the many blessings that the Lord has granted me with.

Which is why I’m telling you my story. Because life…it does get better and it can hit pretty hard sometimes and some blows will knock you down pretty hard and sometimes it’ll feel like you may never be able to pick yourself back up, or even be you again. But hang in there, we're all pulling for you, even if you never met me, or you have and we spoke briefly in person. I love you and I'm here for you, always. Because sometimes we go through these struggles and believe me, they make us stronger and define us as human beings. These struggles will give you a far greater appreciation for the good things life has to offer. Even if you can’t see it, the struggles we face now, the pain, humiliation, they don’t really last. Even though it seems like it may never end, but it will, just give it time and have a little faith. Besides if you give up now, you’ll never know how close you’ll come to victory and falling in love with the life now, or discovering something truly amazing. Because things will get better, they always do, and sometimes you just have to push through and survive High-School and step out into the world for the first time on your own and don't be afraid if you stumble, or fall and lose your way. Because we all do, I did and we all eventually find our way back home. 

               

                Now, the last we left off, my mother had abandoned me while I was a baby, leaving me for my father to discover sitting at the top of the stairs of our home. He then took me to my grandmothers where I stayed for a week before she even tried to contact him to see if he had me. Then she arranged a meeting where she stole me from my father’s loving care and ran off with me and with my dad in hot pursuit, only to eventually be forced to give up the chase.

                My parents separated shortly thereafter and my father felt the very foundations of his whole world crumbling beneath his feet. He knew he’d end up losing me in the divorce and my mother would win soul custody, partly because she was better at lying and squeezing out a few tears. Whereas my father has always been more honest and straightforward and more often than not too much so for his own good. So the thought of losing me along with his wife who he still loved became almost too much for him to bare. So one day he's driving to his mom’s after a hard day’s work he loses it, he begins cursing God, accusing him of being the cause of all of this pain and strife, telling the Lord, he should just kill him since Debbie, (my mother) was going to take me. He challenged God's hand and God listened and responded.

                A semi-truck ran a red light and t-boned my father’s car.


                               

                The damage was catastrophic and resulted in my father’s death. He challenged God to kill him and so he did, even when you think God isn't listening, he is and when you think he doesn't care, he does.
  

               
I came very close to losing my father that day and I would forever miss out on the one man who’d be my saving grace growing up and who would later teach me to be a parent, who wouldn't simply be a good father, but one of my best friends. Words cannot express how much I admire and love this man, he’s my hero and he’s also my father and I thank God every day for him. Two things saved his life this day. The first being that he wasn't wearing his seat-belt (I know right? nothing makes a kid more terrified of wearing a seat-belt) But because he wasn't wearing his seat-belt he was able to jump into the passenger seat which saved him from being fatally crushed to death.

                The second thing that saved my father’s life was a woman who appeared and pictured below, who got of her car and checked on him, discovering that despite his narrow escape from being crushed to death, he had died. Paramedics were still far from the scene. But there was this woman who leaned into his vehicle and laid her hands on him and she began to pray. It was then, only then that my father came back and started breathing. Once he described this feeling to me, about what it was like to die. He didn't see any light at the end of the tunnel, instead all he saw was darkness, but in that darkness he felt an incredible sense of peace and love. He was ready to pass on, but was told it wasn't his time and he needed to come back and take care of me. To have a little faith, this story isn't so much about me, but my incredible father who saved my life, my heart and my soul, simply by being there for me and teaching me about the all-encompassing love of God.

My father as a young man, examining the wreckage and what could have been his  coffin.