Join me on my journey into the past, where my inner demons were born. A place, and time that still vividly haunts my memory. The beginning trek down a road traveled by many, but only spoken by some.
There comes a time in everyone's life, where old wounds resurface, causing a ripple effect of unwanted emotions. Sometimes these memories suck me into the darkness, where no light can be found, and other times, I welcome the pain of old wounds, to remind me that there is always sunshine beyond the storm. I've experienced many trials in my life, and most of which I've blamed myself for, even if fault should be placed elsewhere. I don't want to sit here, and complain that my life has been nothing but pain, and struggle, because I do have many pleasant memories that I hold close to my heart. This is my story. My life. I'm choosing to share the events I've locked away to prove I am stronger than circumstance, and you are too.
The innocence of a child is such a beautiful thing. I can still remember how the summer air felt blowing through my hair, while riding my bike down the private dirt road we lived on. The neon pegs would chime on the spokes of my tires, as I sped by the neighboring houses. To this day, I have battle scars from flipping over the handlebars, a time or two. I was always a very cautious child, and feared getting hurt, but the scrapes, cuts, and bruises from having fun are not the scars that haunt me.
My sister and I would go on adventures, almost daily, through the woods, following the cold spring that ran through the area. Snapping turtles poked their heads out of the spring as we played. With stick weapons drawn, we would shoo them away in fear, and excitement especially when they would muckle onto our swords, overpowering us. We would often stay outside, nowhere to be found, until the sun settled behind the trees. The few street lights on the road, would buzz, flicker, and blaze in an eerie incandescent glow over the dark wooded area, as we hurried home. Mom's voice bellowed throughout the darkness. She would stand tall on the doorstep yelling for my sister, and I to come home for dinner. Mom always told us to be back before dark, but that rarely happened, even though I was terrified of the dark, especially the pitch black of the woods. Who knew what kind of monsters were hiding in the night, just waiting to pounce on us. The scariest monster of all didn't live in the woods though, oh no. What I feared the most lived within the four walls of our family home, and we called him Dad. . .
Our father ruled the household with an iron fist, as most fathers did, or so I assume. The structure in which he demanded was common practice back then, but his discipline came in various, and unpredictable forms, most of which went beyond social norms. I have countless memories of the drama that unfolded behind those closed doors, but I will explain the worst of these encounters one story at a time.
Dates, times, and certain ages are foggy to pinpoint, but what happened stills plays clearly in my mind, like a movie reel, in vivid color. I was young, probably around the age of seven, give or take a year or two. The day spent like any other, visiting my neighborhood friend. We will call her Katie, for privacy sake. Katie, and I would spend hours dancing and singing around outside, playing dress-up, in absolutely anything we could find; just allowing our imaginations to take us on countless adventures. As the day came to a close, the phone rang, it was my mom, calling me home for dinner. We were having lobsters that night, which was always a special treat. Normally, I would run home, but I was convinced otherwise this time, which would prove to be a huge mistake.
Earlier in the day, Katie, and I saw that a new boy moved in, just up the road. Curiosity got the best of us, so instead of Katie walking me home, we made a split decision to walk up the road to spy on the new neighbor. All the while, our parents assumed we would both be back home within a few minutes, but we ventured out on our secret mission instead. We thought it would be a quick trip up the road, but in hindsight, our judgment was a bit off... children have zero sense of time. So, a "quick" jaunt up the road turned into a total nightmare for me. The rain sprinkled over our heads, as we followed the dirt road, up and around the corner, through the darkness, with only a single flashlight dimly leading the way. The light bounced, and dotted around the road, as we scuffled our little feet up the hill towards the strange boy's house. Light shined through the windows of the boy's house. He was home. We waited, and watched through the bushes that separated the road from their yard, like little peeping-toms, spying on our prey. Sadly, we didn't get to see the boy that night, but tomorrow was a new day. We could always try again then.
The air was heavy, thick with moisture from the rain. There was a chill that cling to my bones, as my imagination peaked, and monsters watched.
We hurried, jogging to make it home as fast as possible. Katie and I parted ways as soon as my feet reached my driveway. I ran downhill, jumping over puddles, trying not to splash mud all over myself. I hopped up the concrete steps, taking them two at a time. I reached for the doorknob. Suddenly, the door swung open, jerking the door away from me. My father stood before me, towering over me like a giant.
My mother cried behind him, with the phone in her hands, thankful that I was home. She was preparing to call the police, to file a missing persons report. I showed up right before that call was made, but defiantly not at the right time.
As a mother myself now, I can see why my mom was so worried, but what happened next, I'll never understand, or forget. . .
I felt the grip of my father's hand grab my arm. His fingers squeezed hard around my bicep, as he yanked me through the threshold of the house. While shaking me, he screamed about how worried my mother was. . . not how worried they were, just how worried she was. His grip tightened, then it released, as he threw me forward. My back slammed hard into the back of the couch. My body curled up around itself on the floor. I prayed that was it, but I would soon learn that would only be the beginning. The one man fight had begun, and I was helpless to do anything about it. Tears rolled down my cheeks, in waves, as his screams grew louder in my ears. His voice rattled my body with rippling fear, and torment.
I felt as though he thought I wasn't listening to him, but I heard everything. I even heard the silent cries I tried to scream, as he kicked the sound out of me. My mouth hung wide open, as I choked silently for air. His boot connected with my stomach. I flinched involuntarily with every blow. The pain searing through me, like a hot poker . I can't recall how many times he kicked me, but I do remember my mother screaming behind him...
"Stop! You're going to kill her!"
Her voice sounded hollow, and distant. It was my mom’s pleas that saved me that night, and what would continue to for many years to come.
