Some Pain is internal

For as long as I can remember my parents were substance abuse addicts. This always seemed to spill over onto their children (though if you were to ask them they would deny their parenting blunders). My parents were not good at acknowledging their children. It was almost as if they didn’t want us around, but didn’t want to give us up.

My parents’ story is not as black and white as it may seem. There are so many different colors that belong in this story. There is so much more than the wondering eye can gather. Their journeys are deep. Their sorrows cut them to the core. So maybe you can’t blame them for these things. We will dive deeper into the subject of my parents later in this blog I’m sure.

Let’s go back to the beginning. My first memories are violent shaking memories. My very first memory is of my father beating my mother with a kitchen chair. I remember hiding away in fear and being scared for my life I must’ve been 2 or 3 years old. It was the first of many episodes of domestic violence I would see in my family.

I think that violence did rub off on us. Children know what they see (and trust me they know). I knew my parents were doing bad things as far back as I can remember. I didn’t need those anti-drug campaigns. My parents were walking reasons never to take drugs or drink. I vowed at a very young age that would not me. I vowed never to do drugs and never to hit my husband or children.

My very first memory of my siblings and I was a violent memory. You see I learned to use violence to solve my problems at a very young age. I remember stealing my sisters glass baby bottle and hitting her on the head with it. I’m lucky I didn’t really hurt her. I remember hiding behind the couch because I knew my parents would beat me to death as soon as they heard her yelp in pain.

My other sister who is much older tells me stories of when I was a baby. One time my dad came home high and intoxicated. He pointed a gun at us both (she was holding me) and tried to shoot us. I couldn’t have been more than 3 months old at the time this happened. My mother had to get the gun away from him.

I happened to be my mothers’ only unplanned pregnancy. I was born out of wedlock. I was born to a 19 year old mother who knew nothing about raising a child. I was born as a stay for my mother. She quit taking contraceptive pills in order to get pregnant with me. She trapped my dad. You see it was still traditional for most people who conceive out of wedlock to marry for the sake of the child (though I really can’t see how this helps anyone, but the parents).

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