Recently, in the last 4 years, I’ve had an overwhelming urge to talk about my childhood. I rarely do and when I do, it’s only with the people that are closest to me outside of my family. Outside of family because it wasn’t until recently, in the past 4 years, that I became close to anyone in my family. I did not grow up around my grandparents, aunts or uncles and my cousins were not my best friends. Which I find absurd now when I think about it because a lot of them lived within a 20 minute drive from our house. I have 15 aunts and uncles and 150 cousins collectively. The majority of them living in the greater Seattle area and a few living in Oregon amd California. My family should have been the closest people to me. It was awkward and uncomfortable going to family functions. My siblings and I were purposely kept from our extended family because our parents wouldn’t allow anyone to know, or interfere with, what was happening inside OUR home. My parents beat us. I don’t mean spanked us or slapped us when we stepped out of line, I’m talking about being hit with household objects that were turned into weapons against us and, once, having a 9 mm hand gun stuck in my face. As far back as I can remember, this is what our lives were. We never knew if and when we going to get hit next or even why. Sometimes I don’t think there was a reason. Not a reason that any of us caused anyway. I truly believe, especially about my mom, that it made them feel better. Like a sick, twisted emotional release. If they, or just one of them, could hit one of us then everything would be great. I received the worst and most beatings from both my parents. I’ve never been one to back down from anything or anyone. The severity of the beatings escalated because of that. They were determined to brake me. Still, I never backed down, I never will. There were probably a few things I did that deserved a good ass-whooping. I stole the car once. I think I earned what I got for that :). I snuck out and got caught once. The 9 mm in my face was the consequence for that offense. Very extreme. I didn’t earn that. Not any 14 yr old kid deserves that. I’ll go into more detail about the abuse another day. I decided to blog about it because as much as I want to believe I came out of that ok, I really did not. The more I talk about it with my mom, the more she rolls her eyes at me and tells me to get over it or says none of it happened. I don’t talk to my dad anymore. I cant. I get severe anxiety around him. I may have physically survived my nightmare childhood but mentally and emotionally I’m a trainwreck. I’ve been derailed for years. I can’t figure out how to get back on track. I do know that I feel better when I talk about it. I don’t have to keep THEIR secret anymore. I get to tell people what happened without the fear of what they will do to me when we get home. I don’t live there. I don’t have to worry anymore. I do have to get all of it out though.
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