I was about five years old when I can first remember my parents arguing. I had a special hiding spot that I would go to with my blanket in tow until the yelling would subside. It was like a small closet but it was about 3 feet high in the wall and could fit about 2 kids in it. Probably about 1/2 of a child if you took into consideration my mother's sewing baskets, blankets, and other odds & ends piled in it. Nevertheless, I would squeeze in, sucking my fingers (I ironically wasn't a thumb sucker, just on three of my fingers lol), and praying that it would end. My blanket comforted me, it wrapped around me, was soft and I just felt safe with it. I called her Rosie because she was pink and there were two small roses on the side of the pockets. Yes I referred to my blanket as a 'she' and actually she wasn't a blanket at all. She was my older sister's jacket that she had grown out of. The siding of my green blanket, that my father threw away so I would quit sucking my fingers, was made out of the same soft, silky material that Rosie was completely made of. So when I found the jacket in my sisters closet unused, I naturally adopted it as my new replacement. Looking back now, I can see that Rosie was like God, there to comfort me when my world was being shattered a little bit each day. Silliness I know, but nothing is impossible when it comes to God, even if He uses a tattered jacket to comfort a scared child.
My parents didn't just argue, they had full blown fights. They didn't just have these full blown fights every once in a while, they had them from the time the sun rose until it set, not every other day, even. EVERY SINGLE DAY. I can't even begin to fathom where they found the energy to fight like they did. This went on from the time I was a baby until they completely separated when I was 15. Fifteen gruesome years of torture, witnessing physical abuse, mental, verbal and emotional abuse. Because of the length of time and because I wasn't really around other kids families, to me this was normal. Every parent had knock out, drag out fights. I did know this though, it made me very sad. No child should be witness to those kind of scenarios. My mother endured it and as a child I admired her thinking that she was strong but now as a parent myself, I quetion her judgement. She never left because she was strong, it was because financially she couldn't provide for us. She had no job, never had, and was so mentally gone herself, she couldn't hold one down herself if she wanted to. She used my father as a paycheck and he used her as a punching bag.
To this day, I can't touch a Yoohoo. I remember her packing us up, my older sister, my baby brother, & I and we lived in a hotel for a while. We lived on Yoohoo and Poptarts. I don't remember eating anything else. I think there was a small store in the lobby and this was all she could afford to get us. She tried to take us away from all the darkness, but a few weeks later when the little bit of money she had dried up, she went back to my father. Things would be quiet for a few days and then as expected, the quarreling commenced.
Halloween day when I was 12 years old, I watched my mother going to our bed rooms and grabbing clothes,tossing it into the backseat of her 84 Monte Carlo. She loaded every square inch of it with clothes, quietly sneaking outside to the carport so my father wouldn't hear her. My father was completely blind,in a literal sense (as well). He lost all of his eye sight in the Vietnam War when a missle blew up in front of him & his friend. He couldn't see what she was doing. His other senses were very keen, so to be extremely quiet was an art she had to learn fast. She dressed my brother & I in our costumes and out the door when we went as soon as the sun started tipping behind the vast trees in front of our home. We said Goodbye to my father & she warned us to not say a word about the backseat as we rolled our way through the side door. Three of us kids, climbed into the neighboring front seat and off to my grandmother's we went, where we stayed for several months until their divorce was final. As you read earlier, I mentioned that the abuse went on until I was 15, that's because when I was 14, she remarried him. Why? Financial stability and false promises of change. Those two years apart, even with the child support coming in, was hard on my mother. As my sister approached 18 quickly, part of my mother's check would be cut because my father wouldn't have to pay for her portion anymore. My mother couldn't raise three kids on less than $800.00 per month. She took the bait and moved him back in with us, agreeing to rent the downstairs apartment to him as a part of her income. Once in moved back in, it was within 2 months they were remarried. My sister, my brother & I sat on the front porch that June morning, all boycotting the trip to the Atlanta Temple where they were to be married. We each declined their invitation to go. We knew, even as young as we were, that nothing but trouble was headed our way and frustrated we couldn't understand why Mama didn't see it either.
Within a few weeks of being newly weds (again), the arguing and abuse was full fledge. I was at an age of rebellion and my mouth was my weapon of choice. I stayed in trouble and even put myself in trouble's way to avoid my other siblings getting the beat downs that I took even for them. It was my grandfather's birthday, January 18th 1999 when my life was met with an alteration that rocked my family. I was on the phone with a boyfriend at the time, Clint. I was telling him about the abuse that I was going through & had gone through for several years. I had never told a soul about the sexual abuse (I hate that word!), that night was the 1st time ever. I believe now that it was all part of a plan, the concidence of my father picking up the phone in the middle of that conversation. He was quiet and I remember hearing a click about the same time I heard the phone being slammed down in the other room. Before I could hang the phone on the receiver, my father in his 6"2' 250 lbs was standing over me, with a look of rage in his eyes. It was pure darkness and evilness that I had never seen before. He was screaming and before I knew it, was on top of my bed beating me and literally throwing punches onto my small 115 lb body. I tried to shield him, but each blow hit my head, my mouth, my chest. My small dog, a chihuahua, came to my defense when no one else could and literally attacked his face, which gave me the time to run for my life. My mother, panicked, hit the emergency alarm on our home security system & got on the phone with my grandparents who lived around the corner, pleading for their aid. I screamed that I wished I was dead, he responded with that he could make that happen. Down the stairs to the basement he went, threats of killing me filling the house. I grabbed a bottle of my sister's favorite perfume (she was soooo mad) and ran to the foyer where the basement door was. I busted the glass bottle on the marble floor, hoping to make him slide on the oil and deferring him from his plan of harming me. I ran and hid ironically in the same small closet that I did when I was a child. A few minutes that felt like a lifetime passed and I heard muffling voices being raised. My little brother opened the door & ushered me out, pointing towards the hallway. My grandfather had arrived on the scene and was demanding to know what was going on. My father stood midway up the stairs with a machete in his hand and what my grandfather described as a dark look in my father's eyes. He said it didn't look like he was even there ... gone. Since my mother hit the alarm system, the police were notified and were at our home around the time I was walking out the front door with my precious dog in tow. They thought they were responding to a break in, they weren't prepared for a domestic dispute and attempted murder. I never moved an inch in the backseat of our mini van. My brother walked out the door and crawled in beside me, hugging me. I later learned that it was his statement that sent my father to prison that night. A child's testimony of watching his sister being beaten and having her life threatened, is what sent him away. Watching him being toted off in handcuffs with a solemn look on his face is still etched in my mind and probably will be for the rest of my life. I've since seen him one time & that was at his father's funeral a few years ago. He has aged more so than he probably should have. He has been living in the home that he grew up in as a child after they moved here from East Tennessee. From what I hear he has been in several other marriages & relationships. Still angry & lonely. He can never hurt me again, I find peace in that. My grandparents insisted that I come stay with them that night. I didn't want to leave my brother and declined. I was then told it wasn't a choice & away I went. It wasn't an easy trip just a few miles up the road. My grandfather scolded me the entire way there. He knew that I was unruly and had a stubborn & careless mouth on me. He told me that I should of kept it shut & none of that would of escalated and happen to me. He had no idea & still doesn't know that it wasn't me being a teenager that got me in trouble, it was my confession, the hardest part of my life that I was finally exposing to a friend. I went to the back bedroom and the fussing continued for about an hour. I was so lost and hopeless. Here I was, beaten, battered, cuts on my face, swelling in my arms and I was being yelled at. I cried until I couldn't cry anymore, telling him that I was sorry and that I would be a better daughter. The lights went out, the moonlight beamed through the sheer curtains. It was then I know now that God was holding me. His promise is firm, He will never leave us.
It was shortly after that I tried to commit suicide. My mother sent me to a hospital for 2 weeks. A month later, I tried again. This time, I was packed up and sent without warning whatsoever to a group home, where I spent 2 years of my life away from my friends & family. The support system that I needed didn't even exist after such a tragic event and a lifetime of abuse, especially the 'secret abuse'. I was sent to find peace among strangers. This part will come another day in my writing. I can't say my tenure there was all bad, it was a blessing in disguise.
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