Haven't we gone through enough

a little bit about my past and how its shaped me today.

A tall strawberry blonde-haired woman and a short stumpy man come stumbling in reeking of alcohol, clinging on to each other. Ugh, I feel like I am in a circus stuck at this stranger’s home babysitting 6 children, one including my sister. I’m enduring this annoying task because I wanted my mother to have a fun night out with her friends. Something she doesn’t get that often anymore. The comfort of having a variety of friends you can interact with or activities that you love to do, she no longer had the freedom to do so.

“Where is my mom?” I asked the freckled woman with strawberry blonde hair

“She is still with your stepdad at the bar, they should be home soon,” the strawberry blonde slurred

It isn’t but a couple hours later that the strawberry blonde came walking over to me with information to give.

"honey, your mom is in the hospital, she got into a car accident. Your stepdad is with her now, try not to worry your little head over it too much and get some rest, he will be over in the morning to pick you guys up,”” she said in a soft voice trying to be reassuring.

I almost remember how it felt walking into the hospital that next morning. It suddenly felt all too real, hearing the drunk strawberry blonde tell me what happened didn’t feel real enough for me until I had stepped into a hospital. Hospitals never seemed to give me positive vibes, I get anxious, like I’m going to catch a disease just by sitting there. I would pull the rough fabric of the neck of my t-shirt up to my nose and mouth so that I could avoid breathing in the “sickness” I would have sworn was swarming through the air.  The smell of overwhelming hand sanitizer and over cooked cafeteria food is something that makes me sick to this day. I noticed the lobby wasn’t packed, no people in fact. Is it bad that I wished there was at least one person waiting in this lobby, so that I didn’t feel like I was the only one experiencing some sort of accident or tragedy, throw in a crying mom or grandma to make me think I wasn’t going to have it as bad?  Doctors and nurses coming in and out of rooms swerving in-between us fast, making me feel like we are moving even slower. I was sitting on a hard leather couch when I was crying at the sight of my mother’s appearance. She didn’t just have a couple scraps, she had a hole in her leg, maybe two inches deep and wide and stitches holding her ear together, three fractured ribs, and a face I couldn’t recognize. She looked like some failed experiment with all the tubes in her nose and a needle stuck in her arm. The bright fluorescent lights wanted to take her. I thought, why my mom? hasn’t she gone through enough. I knew this was somehow her husband’s fault. Later, she would tell me, it was. He is the root of every problem yet here I am crying on his bulky hard shoulder.

               “she is going to be alright” the bulky shoulder said

A couple weeks have passed since the accident and here I am outside my mom’s room as I watch them do their routinely arguments. It was stupid of me to think that since my mom is basically crippled that the arguments would come to end, at least for a bit longer. It’s hard to tell if this time it’s the drugs or just him, but what’s the difference? His pacing keeps taking him to the small window in my mom’s room. Sweat beads sliding off his bald head and tears welling in his eyes. I shriek when he hits himself in the head, it’s like he is punishing himself.

“Stop it! No one is here, get out of the window and come lay down!” my mom pleaded

               “I know you are f*****g that n****r next door,” he barked

               “Don’t start with this bullshit, you know I can hardly move, I can’t even care for myself”

My mom tries all night to get him to calm down, no matter what she says, his paranoia wins. He thinks my mom is having sex with our neighbor. Oh, not just any neighbor, our black neighbor. It’s like he forgets that his step daughter is of color as well but oh wait, it’s okay though because I’m the “exception.” Yes dude, my crippled mom is having sex with our neighbor. She can’t even walk without her walker, it’s only been a couple weeks since the accident he caused.  Are you mad that she can’t give it up? Sorry you are deprived of your sexual needs while my mom can’t even care for herself[YW1] . How was I able handle watching my mother endure such abuse?

"

Two years later and my mother finally got a divorce. Not only did she get a divorce, she moved to an entirely new state, Texas, it was apparently the only way she could escape him. Even though we escaped, it was hard for us to start over when we had to start over on broken hearts. After she got a taste of this new-found freedom she had been longing for, it wasn’t too long until she decided to get back out into the dating world. I came to think that my mother forgot how to date or even how to choose a decent guy. She is so quick to choose “the one” because she feels like she is running out of time but sadly she ends up choosing the wrong one. Guy after guy, they would move in when only being in a relationship for a month or two. My mother had a “type,” they either didn’t have a job, car, or a place to stay and seemed to lack ambition. Instead of my mom being dependent on them, they were dependent on her. Then my mom would eventually see through them and get tired of it. Sometimes it would end not so bad but other times it would end badly. Some guys would have a psychotic breakdown and threaten my mom, stalk her, or just be verbally abusive. Ever since my mom’s marriage and divorce I’ve become protective of her, more defensive and worried. It was hard to tell when a guy was being sincere or if they were going to eventually break my mom even further.

"

The first time I could recall ever moving was during my freshman year of high school and it was because my mother’s husband got us evicted from the apartment complex I practically grew up in. We moved into a new house far away from the home and friends I knew. They are trying to run away from the past, like a fresh start will fix their abusive relationship. The yells vibrate through the house telling me it’s time to wake up. I try to get ready for my first day of the new girl in school but another sound chimes through the house, my younger sisters cries. I can still feel the sun beaming down onto me as I hold my sister in my arms feeling her tears wet the shoulder of my shirt. Her little eyes couldn’t handle seeing our mother being man handled. They shouldn’t be able to handle it. We shouldn’t have to endure this, especially our mom.

               “why do you do this? Can’t you see you are hurting us?” I ask almost wanting to hear an answer

The wall hovering over my mom stopped barking into her face and backs away. She can now move out of the corner she is in. She wipes the tears from her face and walks over to us and tells us to go inside.

               “what is your problem! You are scaring my children” my mom says trying to buck up to him.

“shut the f**k up you fat w***e, I’m going to work try not to cheat on me today, okay? He snickers at my mom

 My mom never cheated on him. He had this paranoia that makes him think this way. This leads them to their violent fights that creates the nice decoration of holes in the walls and hinges being ripped from their friend that was the door.  It wasn’t till I got older that I thought: Why did he say these things to his wife? Some days he was this model husband, he would play video games with me, show me songs, and movies that I would later love. I saw why my mom fell for him in the first place. His vibrant green eyes put her in a trance, his smile would paralyze her, and his shyness pulled her closer. He even tricked us with coloring books and Legos. Other days, he would throw things and scream into my mother’s face. Then, I could see why she hated him. I just didn’t understand him and what made him do this.

"

Although it had been years since my family experienced my mother’s abusive relationship, I still find myself thinking back to the past, wanting to understand what his problem was. I became overwhelmed with the thought. This single thought about this little man started to grow branches and I started to ask more questions; like why am I this way? If my childhood went in a different direction would I be a completely different person? Then those questions became child’s play when I started to look at bigger things; like why do people kill? What goes through a serial killer’s mind? Not only those demented things, but my mind dived into human sex, evolutionary, clinical, and forensic psychology. I still don’t know if my experience is what triggered it all but I know it didn’t change me for the worse.

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Author's Note

I wrote this personal narrative for class and was a little bit proud of myself cause I've never gotten so personal into my life. I realize I could have used a little bit more imagery to make it more effective but for my first time writing about something so sensitive to me I think I did a decent job. Give feedback please!