As a child I was a blonde (toe-head) haired scrawny little girl. I was full of life, energy, and, according to my mom, determination. Strong, spirited, and energetic my extroversion was evident from the beginning. I don't remember a lot of my childhood but I have been told lot's of stories of crazy things I did like fall face first into a garbage can, not once, but twice in the same say. Or riding around on my tricycle with a paper grocery bag on my head with holes cut out to see through. I was always pushing the line and was devious in my desires especially when told not to do something. Here's an example:
When I was five I was in the bathtub playing as any small child would. Yup the joy of bubble bath and toys! Well we only had one bathroom and my sister had to go...if you know what I mean. So she came in and pooed while I was in the bathtub (which was right next to the toilet fyi) so I flipped her the bird. Of course she told on me and I was grounded. But did that stop me from sneaking off to my best friends house for hours allowing my parents to freak out because they couldn't find me....nope. Not even for one second did I think twice about it. I wanted to do it so I did. Determined despite the consequences.
My mom also said that I would never sleep. And when I did, I would walk and talk in my sleep. Over my lifespan I have been caught doing some pretty crazy things in my sleep, like singing, having a full conversation, eating, walking, enacting my dream (but not always like it was happening in my dream). As a child my mom said I would walk into her room EVERY night and say one of two things 1) I love you, which annoyed her because she was sleeping or 2) I don't feel good to which she would tell me to take some meds and go back to bed. I woke up all over the house from the floor of the kitchen to the bathtub to the hallway. Luckily I never opened doors.
I can also remember my first drink of alcohol. We were at my dad's friends house for a party. I remember being afraid of their house once it got dark because I thought it was haunted, what five year old wouldn't be afraid of an old creaky house? We were outside and my uncle handed me his beer and told me to take a drink. Yup, encouraged by the adult. Smart move. NOT. This definitively was a road that I wish had never been started. Nonetheless it happened. It was also a relative that had me try chewing tobacco for the first time which I quickly spit out and never tried again, and yes he was an adult as well. I can honestly say, it's not a good idea to encourage these behaviors in children...what were they thinking?
I remember attending church. I loved my church. I felt free and loved when I was there. It was a safe haven from what had started to happen at home. What was happening at home? Here's where my life changed. When I was five my dad's mom passed away. I don't remember too much about her except that she chain smoked, had really long finger nails, and would feed us (my sister and I) chocolate ice cream any time we were hungry. But her death changed my dad's perspective on life. He was so angry that his mom died so young especially when he was diagnosed with health conditions that he felt would lead him to death. He started to take his anger out on his family. I don't remember him calling me by name unless we were in public. He definitely called me some colorful explicit words as well as stupid, fat, ugly, worthless, and almost anything else negative you could think of using. I don't remember my house ever being peaceful, there were always arguments and fighting happening. My parents fought over money a lot, they fought over us (my sister and I) a lot, and they just nagged and nagged and nagged each other. But there came a day where angers flared and he hit my mom. Left a bruise the size of a softball on her thigh and she threatened to leave and take the kids if he ever touched her again. So he turned his furry on the children.
I can remember only a few events from here until I am twelve which was a huge age for me and I will blog on that year all by itself. But here are the few things I remember from my childhood:
In the first grade after a large fight between my parents my sister and I were in our room cleaning. We hid as much as possible when arguments happened because the result of any argument was pain of some sort. My mom walked by our room to go hide in her's and looked at me and said "What do you want me to do? Divorce him?" I soberly looked at her and said "Yes." To which she replied "I can't do that." and walked away. I have often wondered how different my life would have been if she had been willing to walk away.
In the second grade we had to do a self-esteem class in school. They gave us a piece of paper with a mirror on it and told us to write what we thought of ourselves in it. I wrote "Bitch" to me this was normal, my dad called me on a regular basis, I didn't know it was unacceptable. I was taken into the hallway and asked about it. But I already knew that you couldn't tell people about what was happening at home, I had made that mistake once before and got in a lot of trouble for it...so I lied and said that I heard it from kids on the playground and they believed me.
When I was eight my dad's dad passed away and my dad's anger escalated. I remember not feeling safe at home, hating the thought of 5:30pm because that was when he got home from work. Moving quickly from his chair that he claimed so you wouldn't get hit, having to wait on my dad hand and foot bringing him his food, his drinks, his shoes, his socks, whatever he wanted he never left his chair. When you walked past his chair you would try to walk as far from him as you could which wasn't possible since the walkway was so small. Why would you walk as far away as you could? Because he would punch you in the leg as you walked by.
When I was eight I also met my second childhood best-friend who would remain my best-friend through high school. Her family, although none of them to this day will admit it, was also abusive...but it was my safe-haven because when I was there I wasn't the one being abused. I lived half my life at there house as a way to escape my own situation. I watched as their mom spanked her son with a baseball bat and her youngest daughter with a 2 x 4. And to me that was normal...scary right? I saw some pretty scary things in that house, besides the abuse, for example I walked into the seven year old son attempting to hang himself with a belt while I was babysitting him because of the things that were happening in his home and at school.
In the fifth grade I had made a really good friend who one day was talking about how her dad told her that he loved her. I stared at her in amazement, I didn't know dad's told their daughters they loved them or that they even hugged them, or held their hands, mine definitely had never did those things with us. She asked me about my amazement and I opened up to her. She told my teacher and I was in the principal's office begging them not to call CPS and somehow convinced them not to contact the authorities. They made me keep a journal about the incidents that were happening at home but nothing was done about them. Despite my fear of punishment for telling people I relished in the freedom of being able to share the burden. This was also the year my mom's mom died and with her a little piece of any joy I had was gone.
I loved my church as a child. My mom had me in a Southern Baptist church from the day I was born. I remember feeling like I was safe while I was there, loved, cherished even. The people were friendly and I remember dreading the drive home after church was over. You were never really sure what kind of mood dad was in since he had been left to do everything for himself and that upset him. When I was nine I had decided to get baptized. I know that they had sat me down and asked me questions about it but if I was honest, I did it because I knew I was supposed to and my friends were doing it. Life was good when we were inside the doors of the church but good things can't always last forever. I am not sure how old I was when my first shattering view of the church happened. And if you are not a Christian, please do not read this and say, "see this is why I don't like church" you will have to read my whole story before you can make that kind of judgment on a whole religion. An elder of the church molested my sister's best friend and when it came to light, the church was devastated and it caused a split. We stayed at the church but it started my thought process of is this really the truth? The second church split we will discuss when I talk about the year I was 12 years old. Putting these two together shattered my safe-haven and thus my view of God. It's sad how little people think about their actions before they indulge in sin.
I didn't have a happy childhood. I learned how to fake being happy to the world while dying of anger, and fear inside. I longed to be loved by the people who treated me poorly and looked for safety in all the wrong places. Bad habits were encouraged and life was sad. BUT the worst was yet to come the age of 12 proved to be a pivotal moment where what I decided changed my life forever.
