The Beginning

The Beginning

It is all past and nothing can be done to change it or me. i can tell You this, regardless of how it sounds, it all helped make who i am today and no matter what, i like who that person is. i could do without the oral fixation and the sex addiction, but i deal with that *smile* my own way.

The beginning – suffice it to say my childhood was filled with sexual, physical and verbal abuse. i don’t remember exactly what was done first. My first memory is of my mother’s husband who at the time i thought was my father. Later to find out he in fact adopted us, but was not the biological link. i was 5 years old and his favorite. i have an older brother and a younger sister in that lineage. i remember many nights sitting up with him, while my mom was gone to school, on his lap, drinking beer and smoking cigars and watching movies with him. i remember his touches, kisses, looks, etc. Of course, i had no idea at the time that anything was wrong.

This man drank heavily and another quirk he had besides liking little girls was beating them. Never did any of us have any idea when or where he would decide to beat us, and i say beat because they were not regular spankings.

When i was about 8 years old, my grandfather introduced me to masturbation and i had my first orgasm. He did it in such a loving manner, i have never even to this day considered it wrong. Society does, i do not.

Also at 8, i was a very spiritual person. In fact, my mother had even begun to check into convents for me. My love for God was and is an important part of me.

One day, it was my responsibility to make my mom’s hubby his popcorn while she was at the country club playing bridge. I burnt it, and since i had ceased giving him the pleasure of screaming and crying when he hit me, he found a new punishment that day. He sat me down and made me learn every cuss word, vulgar phrase, song, ditty, known to him. Hours i had to sit and say those words. When he was done with me, my spirit was broken and i felt i was unfit for even God anymore. i thought i was too tainted to serve him since i had spoken such filth.

Another event/turning point was when i was around 11, actually there were 2 that year. this one, my siblings and i were playing with the neighborhood kids and we heard his voice calling us, we froze and knew by his tone what was going to transpire. Knowing better than not to go, we went. My sister started crying. She was always so fragile and i was angry that he would do that to her, and angry at her for letting him. He was standing by the garage and instructed us to line up in position against the garage wall. We did, and he told us to take down our pants, even though we knew the whole neighborhood was watching — we also knew it would be worse on us if we didn’t, so we did. He took off his belt and swung. my mind by this time would disassociate from the actual pain and concentrate on other things. This time, i was in awe of how he could use one swing and hit us all at the same time with the same velocity. i had also refused in my mind to make a sound when he beat us. i had figured out that was what got him off and i wasn’t going to be a part of his pleasure at our expense.

The other incident at 11 was when he ambushed me in the middle of the night. I have never been much for sleeping, i really don’t like to sleep, and i wake up intermittently through the night. This night was one of those and he was sitting in the dark drinking. He grabbed me and pulled me to him, french kissed me til i thought i couldn’t breathe while he fondled me. When he was done, he asked me if i enjoyed it, the first time he ever asked my opinion by the way. I told him i did not and he just laughed and said, well, someday you will. He was right.

I have been writing all my life too, as an outlet. My first poem was published when i was in 4th grade. When i was around 14, i wrote one that was published in a local magazine. My mom was gone one day, he was drunk, as soon as she left he called me into the room. I knew to take a position, standing before him and looking into his eyes, and i knew better than to waiver or lower my eyes which i wanted desperately to do because of the extreme hatred emitting from his eyes, burning into me.

He gave me the lecture of his time in the service and showed all his scars. He was angry over that poem, because i had mentioned communism, because the word itself is a derivative of common union taught by Jesus Christ — long story, it was by no means advocating communism, just that maybe the meaning of communism was changed by the leaders of the countries. He stood there over an hour badgering me, taunting me, calling me everything imaginable, and then he looked at me and quietly told me to go to the kitchen and get a sharp butcher knife. At this point, by his look, i thought he was going to kill me, but that thought did not prevent me from doing as i was told.

When i returned, i had the knife in my hand, he grabbed my hand and started screaming at me again and told me he knew i hated him and wanted him dead, and he was giving me the opportunity to do that. I fought with everything i had to keep from stabbing him, he was pushing my hand toward him trying to make me stab him, this went on for a few more minutes and then the knife slipped, cutting his arm, when i saw the blood, i started screaming and sobbing, he knocked me to the floor with a backhand smack and told me to get out of his sight that i disgusted him.

Not long before/after that, i’m not sure which, i found out he was not my biological father and i’m sure you can imagine without me going into detail, the turmoil/feelings i felt.

The last straw, the last event that occurred was when i was 15, my mom had told me i could go to a football game at school, then she left for her bridge game. He was of course drunk and i had to walk past him to get out the door. He stopped me and asked me where the fuck i thought i was going, i told him to the football game and he slapped me and told me i wasn’t going

any fucking place. Then he said, on second thought, go pack your shit and get the fuck out of my life.

I went to my room, my mind whirling, not sure of what transpired, got down the suitcase and started packing, i didn’t hear him come in my room. The next thing i knew, my nose made full contact with his fist and i was laying on the floor dazed, thinking, man you really do see stars. i knew then, if i didn’t leave one of us would be dead, his attacks on me became more violent each time, my reaction to these attacks were becoming more defiant and bold and i was not backing down anymore.

I left, wondering in the streets for almost 4 years, a lot happened to me on the streets, I would do whatever was required to survive.

About the Author