There's so much to tell. So much I want to edit so as to save your eyes from a wall of text, but so much I can't edit because.. Well, it would be much too confusing, at least to me. I'm jumping back and forth through time, I realize, and I'm sorry. This is my first post and I'm.. very scattered, very nervous and very anxious. Nearly every person I mention that is in my family is narcissistic. I don't know all the terms yet. Also, I don't know if I tagged correctly, I'm sorry if I didn't..
Several days ago I posted in suicide watch. I didn't say I was thinking about suicide, but I figured that posting in that subreddit made that a given. I made my first new years resolution on Jan first at midnight to find a way to... You get the picture. I deleted the post. I find I delete a lot of things. I don't like to hold onto things. Clutter.
I just can't stop going over my life in my head. Demons visit my nightmares nearly every night. Demons and/or people raping me, watching me, always smiling.
I remember being 9 or 10 years old. My father was in the kitchen standing at the refrigerator, looking for something to eat. My cat, Patches, came in and rubbed up against his legs. He turned and punted her in a quick fit of rage, and she retreated to my room. I went in my room and waited for her to come out from under where she hid, and when she did, blood was coming out of her ear. I cuddled her gently and cried.
My mother was gone at that point. She left with her drug friends and didn't come back. I didn't see her again until I was 16, visiting her in prison. I didn't know this until 5 years ago, but she didn't just smoke weed like I foolishly believed.. She was and currently is addicted to meth, heroine, weed, and I'm not sure what else. She was in prison for trying to steal money by cashing a check that didn't belong to her.. And then trying to bribe the police officer who caught her. Before being in prison, she lived in the streets of Vegas as a prostitute. Which, contrary to popular belief, is illegal in Las Vegas.
I have a vivid memory of my mother molesting me when I was 3 or 4. My father was nearby, only on the other side of a bedding sheet nailed to the ceiling surrounding their bed inside the basement we were living in. He was with his band, playing music while my mother had me do.. things to her.
Before I grew up to realize what she had done was wrong, I forgave her. Before she even realized I had remembered, I forgave her. I still forgive her. She blamed me 5 years ago in a meth high. Obviously, if I hadn't asked what she was doing, it never would have happened. I was a toddler, and I am to blame.
I'm 8, my grandfather on my mother's side is visiting. He's pulling my shirt open and looking down at my naked chest and staring for what feels like forever. The next morning I wake up with my shirt off, no recollection of where it could be. Find it on the back of the living room couch.
Lots of my memories are like this from 3 to 11 years old. A year ago or so, my nightmares became more repetitive. My father's face on the person raping me, every night I see him above me, waking up in cold sweats, full of shame, doubts, fears. Memories start coming back, I decided to tell my dad. My dad beat me a lot growing up, but I didn't think he'd ever touch me like that.
He all but confirmed that in addition to what my mother did to me, my grandfather and uncle on my mother's side had raped me. He asked if I remembered coming to him when I was 4, telling him that one of his band mates was touching me. I said no. And no, I still don't remember. I still feel like I'm crazy and making this all up because my own father told me I was just born without a hymen. Yet I always knew instinctively what a man tasted like, felt like inside me,from when I was very little. I don't remember this, but my Grandmother says she visited when I was 4 or 5, that I kept touching my privates like I was in pain. When she came over to look, I clamped my legs shut and said no, and started to cry. Why hasn't anyone done something about it? I deserved every bit of my life. That must be it. Grandmother now says that I just need to get over my life. It wasn't that bad. Grow up already.. I'm trying to grow up, gramma. I still feel like a lost child.
I'm 7 or 8 and I'm in school. It's movie time and someone I don't know takes me to a small room with several other adults. I think I'm in bad trouble.. They have a picture of a naked woman and tell me to tell them yes if they point to a spot where I've been touched. I'm scared, and say no to everything. Dad doesn't like me telling anything to anyone. I heard him telling mommy in the middle of the night in his deep, raised voice that he wishes I was dead or never born because I told gramma something I shouldn't have. I'm not supposed to tell secrets, and as far as I knew, everything is a secret.
I'm 6, mom and dad are fighting again. Mom is on the bed in a ball, a banshee begging for my dad to pull the trigger. My dad is holding a loaded crossbow, aiming it straight at her. I walk up to daddy and pull on his pant leg. "Please don't kill mommy."
Every home we lived in full of holes, broken mirrors, yellow walls and the smell of drugs. Every fight I was put in the middle, used against the other. Every mistake one committed towards me was a victory to the other. Who could be the least shitty parent to me? Make it a contest.
I'm 7 or 8 and need help with my homework. Mom is busy making dinner so tells me to ask dad. He is watching TV laying on the couch. I walk in front of him and ask for help, he kicks me to the floor so he can see the TV. Mom comes in with a knife and threatens his life if he ever hurt me again. Too bad mom left me with him alone for nearly 6 years.
I'm 14 and have been alone with my dad for 4 years. We fought. My opinion didn't matter about anything. A child's mind is nothing, especially that of a girl. But then.. When I have a chance to agree with him on religion, politics, etc.. My opinion meant the world. I wrote and drew in my diary a lot. I had acquaintances at school but I never left the house. I lived as an only child, my half brother I'd never met up to that point. It was me and my dad, who had friends only over the Internet in his games.
The idea that I could be using sharp objects to hurt myself simply didn't cross my mind. I did well enough using my nails to dig into my arms, my throat. I met a girl in middle school who "cut" herself. Thoughts of using tools to do more efficiently to myself what I already desired and acted on played in my head.
I'm writing in my diary, my father comes in. He yells at me for not talking to him. "What the fuck are you writing about, anyway?!" he violently rips the book from my hands and throws it across the room. "TALK TO ME, NOT YOUR STUPID FUCKING BOOK."
I didn't do my homework all the time. The end times were coming, so what's the point? I'm 15 and he's yelling at me again. I didn't do my homework.. "You're a stupid fat bitch, you know that?" Hurt, I say, "That doesn't mean much coming from you." so many times he would put his face to mine, daring me to say or do something. I often see dogs act in the same manner before going in for the kill.
He's throwing me over my bed and into a wall. He's hitting me so hard that I see stars. He's nearly breaking my glasses.. He's calling me the spawn of Satan and refusing to talk to me or hear my apologies for not doing my homework, crying so hard and believing I'm the spawn of Satan. I went into the kitchen and for the first time, I used a steak knife to carelessly drive into my arm. I'm 15 and bleeding in front of him. He still doesn't look at me. I go into my room and sit on the floor, continuing my homework, trying not to get blood on the papers.
He says I'm such a good person now because he was such a good father. He didn't raise me wrong like his parents.
A teacher sees my wrist by accident. I kept it to myself. I wore long sleeves and was usually very careful not to be seen. But he sees during an obvious slip of carelessness on my part. I'm still not sure how..
He sends me to the counselor. She's telling me I'd be surprised how many of the popular girls have bad lives, that it isn't just me. I tell her that I don't doubt there are others going through hell. I don't compare my life to others. She must call my dad and have him come to the school, it's the law. I told her I understood it was her job, but to please be aware that this was a huge mistake. "Sweetie, it isn't a mistake. Your dad loves you. Every parent loves their child, whether they think so or not." Dad arrives, she tells him the situation. He laughs at her, and I'm looking down and away, fear of making eye contact. He is full on yelling at her after having been handed a list of professional psychologists, "How dare you tell me how to raise my own daughter?! What the fuck do you know?!" janitor brings in my belongings and I'm sent home with dad. On the walk to the car, he throws away the list and tells at me. "How are you so fucking stupid as to do something like this? What makes you think I want to get off my ass and come to your stupid school?" I can't remember the rest of the day after the violence in the car. The next day, the young counselor seeks me out to apologize. "I didn't know." she says. "I warned you." I never see her again.
School is my getaway. The only place I have friends. I don't tell them anything close to the truth of my home life. I'm afraid. I want to keep my friends. I tell them only that I will never do drugs with them, and they accept that. I skip my favorite class, world history, to be with my friends during their lunch hour. I go to my class after to get the homework and classwork. I do it all. I have an A in that class.... The end of the year comes by and grades come in. I'm being failed because of attendance in a class I have an A in. I lie to my dad, the teacher is saying I wasn't there when I clearly was. A chance for him to be the savior, he tells me to lead him to get classroom. The school is deserted, my hopes of her not being in the room permeated through me. Please, let me get away with this one lie.
Walk into the room and there she is, pretty, nice, older lady. Never did anything to wrong me. Never had ill will towards me. Her only crime to deserve my father's wrath was telling the truth. He's accusing her in his demanding, deep tenor.. She looks to me with her kind eyes.. "You know this isn't true, don't you, 88thrownaway?"
"Yes. I know." I look to my father's astonished face and tell him I had lied.
The start of that summer I was made a barren wasteland. I accepted it. I was the liar. I made my dad a fool for coming to my rescue. He was publicly humiliated. I remember him storming out of the classroom. I had to hurry to make sure he didn't leave me alone at the school.
We moved across the city, I was going to be at another new school for junior year. Before that, I had to get through summer. My father wanted my head shaved if my grandmother couldn't get the black out of it. Luckily, my hair got turned back to its natural brown after much damage and many hours at the salon. The cloths I bought for myself by working for my grandfather the summer before and during the school year, he threw away. I was the ultimate betrayer. I was invisible for the next two years unless he was angry, or needed someone to share his personal epiphanies with. I wrote him a letter, pleading for forgiveness, admitting, again, every error, in the best way I knew how. At the time, it did nothing. A week ago from current time, he called to say that he found that letter while cleaning. "It's beautiful, i'm going to frame it and hang it on my wall. My letter from my ittie bittie. We got along after that, didn't we, 88thrownaway?" No, dad. We didn't. But you can show that letter to family, a proud moment for you. I don't lie to this day. I simply.. don't talk.
The lock was removed from my door. My mom was living with us and on house arrest. When the machine went off she had to do a breathalyzer test and if she missed it, even in the middle of the night, the cops would be at the door. And they were, a couple of times.
I was 18 when he last hurt me physically. I disagreed with him on something and he was dragging my mom into it, I yelled something I can't remember and went into the bathroom to wash my face from crying. I forgot to lock the door. With soap in my eyes, he opens the door into me and I'm pushed between the door and the wall. He sees his mistake and takes advantage by using the door and door handle to beat me while I'm trapped. He then yanks me from behind it and opens the door the rest of the way and stares at me like the dogs I mentioned before, his nose touching mine. Mom walks in and says that if he touches me again, she'll have the cops come. He hits me across the face once and walks to his room.
There's so much more and I don't expect that anyone read what I've already typed.. If you did... I'm sorry.
I hate myself still, with a passion. Over ten years and my "phase" of cutting myself still hasn't passed.
I've never typed this much in one sitting, not about my life. I can't believe there's still so much more. Idk how I can still be supplying so many tears while writing this.
Goodnight..
Submitted February 24, 2015 at 02:19PM by 88thrownaway http://ift.tt/1GnLLZE raisedbynarcissists
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