Monday, August 4, 2014

Inside My Pain

My father divorced my mother when she was 5 months pregnant with me. I only saw him a few times throughout my young life. At the age of 12, I went to live with him, my step mother and their 1 year old daughter. 

After only being there a few days, 
I realized he was an abusive drunk. I was not even permitted to eat when I was hungry, and would get hit when I did. I was allowed to eat when he told me I could. 

Keep in mind, I was a straight A student in school. Honor roll, Beta Club, Honor Society, all that. The worst thing I ever did was leave my light on at night after falling asleep reading a book. But my father always found a reason to beat me. It was if he took delight, even pleasure, in it. 

I remember being held against the wall, my feet dangling off the ground, by his hand around my neck. Why? Because I had not washed the dishes well enough. I still vividly recall the horrid smell of his breath as he told me he couldn't stand the sight of me. 

I found no love from my step mother, either. She couldn't bear to even be in the same room with me. I began to despise myself. I couldn't understand why they hated me so much. It had to be because I was a horrible child. I would soon learn why they hated me. I will save that for another blog post. Another glimpse inside my pain...


  1. Why did you have to go live there? Why couldn't you go back to mom? That is so sad and horrible.

  2. I'm sorry you had to live through that. For 11 years of my childhood, my mom chose to be with a monster like that. I'm still scared of the dark. Just finally gotten to the point where I can sit down if someone is standing up by me.