mybrokenroad-blog1 - Tumblr blog

[mybrokenroad-blog1]

(Graphic Content May Be Triggering To Some)

I have many memories from my childhood that where bad. The bad outweighs any good that I had.

I remember being in 5th grade and my mother being drunk one afternoon. She called me in the kitchen and pointed to the dishes. “Fill the dishwasher.”

I remember not ever using a dishwasher. We always hand washed dishes. I had never used one before. I was scared to ask her any questions so I just did the best I could.

After I finished I heard her screaming from the kitchen. I ran in to see water pouring from the dishwasher. I hadn’t rinsed the dishes well enough and the bottom of the dishwasher was clogged. she grabbed me by the arm and grabbed a hanger from the counter and hit me over and over on the backs of my legs. I remember crying, pleading with her to please stop but it only got harder. She yelled about how stupid I was... that was when I felt urine running down my legs. I was so embarrassed and sorry. She finally let me go and I dropped to the floor like dead weight. She threw a dish towel at me and told me to “get this shit cleaned up.”

I remember looking up to see my older sister just staring at me and shaking her head at me in disappointment. My sister was in high school at the time.

I often wonder what I did to deserve this. Was what happened really that bad for her. Was I really that much of a disappointment...

Sometimes I still wonder

[mybrokenroad-blog1]

[mybrokenroad-blog1]

[mybrokenroad-blog1]

I look in the mirror and see a child. The child that just wanted her parents love and affection. The little girl’s green eyes fill with tears, she struggles to not let them spill over and down her cheeks. I can feel that knot in her throat that is suffocating her. The one that fills her with anxiety when her mother is unhappy. I can feel her heart racing and her stomach twisting and turning. Her green eyes look to me for guidance and I can see the fear behind her watery eyes. She is pleading for help but unable to speak the words. I wish I could hug her. I wish I could hold her in my arms and tell her she doesn’t deserve this. I know how tired she is. How defeated she feels. I am so very sorry I can not take the pain away. I wish I had the answers.

Unfortunately that little girl appears in my weakest moments. When I am struggling she reminds me of how weak we are. I fall back into that feeling of helplessness.

When someone is angry with me I can only compare it to my mothers anger. That little girl makes me feel like a child running from a nightmare that will never go away.

[mybrokenroad-blog1]

*****Story Contains Graphic Content******

may be triggering to some

Dear Mom,

I am not sure what I did to make you hate me so much. From a very young age I learned love is something that must be earned. Not by only you but my step father. Nothing I did was good enough. My unconditional love for you was never enough to stop you from drinking or abusing your medications. I was always the crazy one. I often wondered what you where thinking when I would see the rage in your eyes as you struck me in one of your drunken rages when I was a child. All because I couldn’t answer questions you had about my your paranoid accusations of my step father being unfaithful. I remember being a child and questioning “How could there be a God if he allows this.” My step father knew, he always knew and when it would get bad he would leave. To let you take your anger out on me. When he came back and I would go to him for comfort he would always say “You don’t know what a beating is. You deserved it.” I deserved being hit in the mouth with the hair dryer because I was in 5th grade and should know how to dry my own hair. I deserved the hit to the eye and my mother’s ring caught my eye and blacked it. I deserved being pulled down the hallway by my hair because I had broken my leg in school and didn’t do my homework that day. I deserved the hits, punches and throws to the wall I got.

I remember the conversation like it was yesterday. I remember questioning myself.... do I really deserve it.

Mom I remember going to you about a family member abusing me when I was 5 and I remember the boy getting fussed. Then it was all swept under the rug. Kept quiet. As if what he did wasent that bad but it needed to be covered and quieted. I wondered a lot as an adult... why wasent I good enough for you to go to the police... bring me to the hospital or hell at least keep him away... he came to many family functions afterwards.. why was I not good enough?

Of course my step dad loves to accuse me of being a liar. Because at 5 years old I apparently made that up for attention.

Throughout my teenage years I was told I was mentally unstable

That you didn’t remember any of those things happening

I was told so much how crazy I was I started actually questioning my sanity.

I was truly feeling like somehow this was al my fault.

To this day you love to call me a lair.

But mom... why am I not good enough for you to tell the truth

You have once again painted yourself as a wonderful mother.... who’s daughter has cut her out of her life. Family members have become angry saying “you only have one mother.”

I guess I will forever wonder why I was not good enough...

[mybrokenroad-blog1]

Sometimes I see a ghost. She follows me and I see her everyday. She holds me in a warm embrace and clings on to every bad thought I have. She replays events and tugs at my emotions. She encourages my anxiety and feeds all my doubts. My bad habits she applauds. She pulls me back in with her comforting and soothing words. She claims we are friends and no one will understand me like she does. To be honest she scares me and I feel paralyzed when I feel her presence. She likes to point out my flaws and make me feel bad about myself. She degrades me and picks me apart with her words. I try to hold it together but she unravels me with just one tug. I wish I could push her away but she claims she’s here to stay and I’m afraid she may be right. She showed up sometime in my childhood and stayed with me throughout my life. She claimed to be my friend but I don’t think we really are. Sometimes I wonder how I can save myself but then I remember.... how can you save yourself from... yourself?