He had his grown hands around my throat, my tiny body dangling against the wall suspended in the air. As I went limp, moments from unconsciousness he tossed me across the room onto a forgiving couch. All of this because I talked to a Social worker at school because we had no food. No food was only one of many problems in this 'home'. No water, no electricity, no clean clothes, only drugs, and booze. It's no wonder I ate Marijuana as a child.
This is only one of my many memories from my terrifying childhood. Visions of tears, blood, feces, and shame are all that cloud my mind. My story is not a feel-good comedy. It testifies to the true horrors of a young girl in the midst of very real situations.
My mother abused drugs and alcohol and brought strangers into our home. If you could even call it home.
I blamed her for nights I went hungry. I blamed her for not washing my only blanket, leaving me to sleep around a pile of dog poop. I blamed her for letting her boyfriend into my room. I blamed her for me not knowing my real father. I blamed her for never waking me up for school. I blamed her for never having a Christmas. So many things.
I thought things would change when I was placed in an orphanage after my mother left me for days to fend for myself.
Being seven I thought my life was finally about to start.
When my Aunt and Uncle took me in I thought I would finally live a normal life. Full of security, warmth, and family. I attended school regularly and even though I was far behind I learned to read in my third-grade year. I was tested for my IQ level and though it didn't mean much at the time, I was gifted. I had never been so happy in my life. I was clean.
It took two years for my Aunt to realize what a burden I was to their family. It was my mother's problem that had been placed on their doorstep. It felt very much like Cinderella, my Aunt had a daughter from a previous marriage as did my uncle. Everyone had bedrooms upstairs while I was in the basement. I felt as if I was supposed to hide away like some ugly monster.
Yes, I had learned some very bad habits from my mother like shoplifting and lying. Once my Aunt caught me with a fellow student's property she would remove everything from my room except a bible.
This one incident would set the rest of the relationship for my Aunt and me. The one person I thought was my saving grace was so quick to turn her back.
Years went by, emotional abuse was a household fixture.