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What are you waiting for?
You tell me that I don't know what it is like to be you. No I cannot know that, I am NOT you. Just as you have never been ME.
You have had your life and I have had mine. You tell me about your life. I sit there listening with intrest. I want to know what make You,YOU. As I listen I realize that you did have a life, good, bad or indifferent.
You forget one important thing, you are still a slave or victim of the things that happened to you. You tell me about the abusive boyfriends, the heart broken relations, the punishments. All of the things that make you into who you are today. You continue on, I lose intrest because you are wrapped up in WHAT you are.
You then tell me that my life was probably a cake walk, I sit there in stunned silence. Because I refuse to speak of my childhood you think you know me. Do you know the little child in me that cries in the shower? Afraid to not be strong because of tears? The child in me that is still scared of monsters hiding in the bathtub at midnight? The child that peeks around corners to make sure it is safe to walk by, without getting beat for just being there?
I want to get up from my seat and Yell. Do know the heartbreak, the hell, the pure fear of another person? Do you? Well? Do YOU?? But, I won't do that. I don't want to see the fear in your eyes I hide in mine. The fear is always there. The scared child is always there. Never goes away, always hiding.
You want to know me?? Let me tell you about me if You can handle it.
I wasn't wanted, I was thrown across the room denying that I was hers. I wasn't alive when I was born. The nurses look in disbelief at her. They raced across the room, to save me. It took the 10 minutes to save my life. So here I sit across from you. Still here I sit because I am a survivor. I was not wanted by my biological father. Here I am still wondering what he is like, do I have brothers and sisters? Would it matter now?
My mother, well she was definite. Got pregnant at 15 and had me at 16. Not a child but in no way an adult. My father and mother were married for a short while. Then they were gone. Step father, well there was a winner in my reflection of growth. An abusive alcoholic and bully. I wasn't his, so that was the constant threat to my mom,"if you don't do this then I will tell him". She became a victim of her timidness and trying to protect me. I never knew the truth about him till I was much older. He would sit and drink, a case of beer was nothing on a weekday. At least 3-4 cases in a weekend maybe more if it was hot out and he was watching base ball in the garage. I was never good enough, never smart enough, never this, never that. I was an idiot, a smart ass, a pain in the ass, an excuse. An excuse to go out and drink. So I would be dragged along to the bar. Only so he could get a quickie from a cocktail waitress. That is when the real abuse began. Being handed over to some blond beehived cocktail waitress as a playthings while he was out screwing the other one. The earliest memory of this is around 4. What a way to get life started. Dead when born, not wanted, mentally beaten. now gotta deal with some sex depraved broad that thought "making a man of me" was a priority. Instead of just protecting me.
Then mother was working, so sitters. She was a red head and her husband looked like he had been drunk his whole life.
So here we are, my step-brother and I at a house with other kids. There were some fun days playing London bridge, this old man, hide n seek, and tag. Then there were those days, the days that will haunt me for eternity. Having my face between the legs of a girl not knowing why, being instructed on what to do. Being told that this is what girls want when they grow up. Being smacked when I didn't do as I was told, "Lick her strawberry, taste it like you want it" . The girl was laying there, she didn't understand it either, but she was told that this will make her a woman. I remember getting sick. Throwing up. Knowing that this was wrong. This wasn't right, but terrified to say anything. If we acted like a baby and complained or cried about any of this, she would strip us out of our clothes, then put diapers and baby clothes on us, force us to lay in a crib. Taking pictures of the "big baby". I just prayed they were destroyed. Destroyed as fast and quickly as our innocence. I guess innocence was as fleeting as youth.
So tell me again about your life?
Can it compare to being beat for the hell of it, just because you wanted a drink of water?? Because you wanted to take a shower instead of a bath. Because you didn't want to go with your "father" because of the tramps, that you were left in the care of would play with your penis. I would cry. Being forced to have sex with someone when you didn't know what sex was even. Now it is called rape. It was always a "joke" between old men that they wished so and so would have done them when they our age. I wanna scream when I hear that "if you knew the truth or how this hurts."
The beatings. It didn't matter what was at hand. But we had the "board" it sat right in the counter. Unless someone was coming over then it was placed on the shelf out of sight. We were threatened with it before they would get there, or maybe just whipped as a precaution. I remember being hit so hard that I wasn't allowed to dress out for gym. Being hit so hard that I had blood boils on my ass. Them missing my butt and hitting my thighs or lower back. We weren't allowed to scream or cry during this time, if we did it got worse. I remember that one time "father" got mad for what ever reason he did and took a belt to me with a metal buckle. I still have the physical scars from that one. But, the emotional scars are worse.
I was beaten if my step brother did anything. Why you ask? Because it was my responsibility to keep an eye on him. I was beaten for bad grades, the lawn mower lines not even and straight. Pretty much any reason was a good reason.
Then it was watching the domestic violence. Watching him beat her because of her asking a question, seeing her beaten because he was so drunk he was about to pee on the floor in the living room. Beaten cause he was outta beer.
You still want to call my life a cake walk??
I started mowing yards at 12 years old, what were you doing at 12?? Playing cowboys and indians?? Goofing off with friends?
I wanted a new stereo I had to work and pay for it, not handed to me like yours. I was not given a car, even a POS car when I graduated. When I was in high school I made a decision to get away. I joined the military. Because I had to make a drastic decision.
I was at a "T" in the road of my life, one side lead to the life I knew, violence, alcoholism, and sexual perversion. The extreme temper flares, giving into the violence swelling up in me. That road lead to an extremely short life, prison or possibly even dying sooner.
The other side was to complete tear down the crap that had become me, that molded me into the person that I hated. To tear down the victim and, survive. Become a survivor.
You tell me I have no idea about your life. You have no idea about mine.
Let me tell you about a person that inspired me, that I respect and admire.
As a child she was a klutz, she was a ribbons in her hair pink dress wearing girl. To me she was the essential girls girl. She suffered abuses unimaginable to a child. Molested by people in respected positions, males and females. She is a survivor, she helps other become survivors. If it wasn't for this person I wouldn't be where I am now. Because she cared and loved enough to help me. To be there for me when no one else would. To be the friend I needed when I needed a friend. She sought the help I needed to heal after vast trauma.
This is a person I totally admire and I am glad and proud to call her a friend.
So tell me again about how bad your life was again??
copyright 2010
RW Fryer
