Mother

Trigger warning: child abuse, substance abuse, mental health.

This is a biography, a small portion of why I am who I am today.

‘Mother’

“Stop! You're gonna kill her!!” My 11 year old sister screamed hysterically.

My mom had me pinned down on my back. She was sitting on my chest with my arms locked under her. I was getting punched in the face repeatedly, blacking out and coming to. Not really sure how long it had gone on, but I thought I was about to meet Jesus.

“Mom, STOP! You're killing her, please….”

“Fine. You can take her ass beating then.” She sounded so proud of herself.

Momma beat up my sister against the wall. The screams haunt me to this day. I was 15, their big sister, and I was supposed to protect them, but I couldn't move. She finally tired herself out and went back to Kurt's room to sleep it off.

My three sisters surrounded me on the floor, and we all cried together.

Mommy dearest had been on pills for years and years. Now that Kurt was living there, she was smoking Crack and pot, too. She only came out to beat us if we were too loud.

The bills hadn't been paid for months. We were used to going without electricity and water. We were used to going without food. We were used to going on in life without a mother around, but now we were going to be evicted.

I had been skipping school to pack our things, even though we had no place to take them. It was a Saturday, and my best friend had come over to see where I had been. I told her, and she offered to help me pack. We were giggling a little too loud, and that had awoken the beast.

That's when mom made her leave and turned into Mike Tyson.

Anyway, we were all on the floor crying. “Guys, I'm gonna get us some help. I'm gonna go to J's house and call dad, okay?”

They tried to talk me out of it, afraid that would get us more beatings or worse, but I had to do something, anything. We needed help. I was scared, too, not for myself, for them. I couldn't protect them if I wasn't there. Apparently, I couldn't even do that, so I left.

I went to my best friend's house up the road, told her what had just happened and asked to use the phone. She made me tell her parents what was going on first. They cried and hugged me, then gave me their phone.

I called my dad. He didn't even let me finish. He told me not to go back home even though I pleaded for my sisters. “Everything is going to be okay. I'm coming. I'll be there in two days. Your sisters are going to be okay, everything is going to be okay. I'm on my way. Love you.”

Driving from California to Oklahoma is a two day drive, and a lot happened in that time. Mom had woken up and was looking for me. My sisters told her they didn't know where I went, but my mom knew I only had one place to go.

She showed up at J-lyn's house mad and demanded that her parents send me home. They tried to lie and say I wasn't there, but she knew better. My mother called the cops.

When they got there, they were told of my abuse. I, and then my sisters, were loaded into cop cars and taken to the department of human service. They took statements and pictures of us naked for proof of bruises and abuse. Then they dropped us off at a foster home to be treated for lice until dad came to get us.

So that was the beginning of our new lives, but let me take you back to how it all started. My momma had a son before she met my dad. He loved them both and married her. They had us four girls, one big happy family. (Sarcasm)

Growing up, they fought like hell. I'm talking screaming and fighting all the time, throwing things, bloody noses and cops being called. They'd fight, she'd pack his stuff, they'd kiss and make up. Wash and repeat.

At the time, my dad had a residential flooring business. Mom told him that she didn't want to raise her kids in southern California, we'd all be so much happier in Oklahoma, yadda yadda. So my dad closed shop and moved us all to Watonga.

Well, on my dad's final trip delivering the last load to our new home, the old sweetie broke my daddy's heart forever. She told him that he wasn't gonna be living with us. Everything was in her name, and we were gonna live off the twenty grand she had stolen from his business.

He literally begged and cried on his knees to please not do this, but she did, so he left. Talk about trauma…

So to repay her, he called my brother's dad down in Alabama, and told him where he was. Now, my brother's dad hasn't heard from him since he was a small child, so he showed up to see his son.

Long story short, my brother left us to go start a new life with his new family. I'll leave out the abandonment issues that caused, and just tell you that my brother was killed not even two years later.

Momma went into a deep, deep suicidal depression. The doctors gave her Valium, but it didn't really help. Then, she hurt her back, so she was given vicodins. Yeah, she liked those.

The ups and downs were hard on us all. She'd lose her mind and beat us, then cry and say she's so sorry… hug and kiss us, promise to change, so on and so on..

Now me, being the sweet little helper that I always was, did everything I could to make momma's life better, easier. I cooked and cleaned, took care of my sisters, everything I could. I just knew that my love could save her. In my little mind, she'd love me for loving her. I was a very good girl.

I did love my momma. I felt sorry for her. I justified her pain. Losing a child changes people forever. I understood wanting to get away from the constant fighting. These are all normal things. Maybe her actions weren't normal, but you know, if you grow up that way, it's all you know.

So from the age of eight until fifteen, I tried my best. Suffering builds character, or it breaks you. I refused to be broken. I chose to love the one I feared. All I ever wanted was to be loved in return, but she was dead inside. I still pray for her.

I've learned why God allowed me to go through all this. I can recognize pain in others, and I can help them. A little love and some hugs go a long way.

The good Lord won't forgive us unless we learn to forgive each other. That's a fact. And we have to be careful with hatred. It's easy to turn into the very things we loathe. That's what's happened to my sisters. They all have addictions to things, anger and resentment mental health issues... Y'all know how it goes… So please, don't pity me. Instead, pray for my sisters.

To anyone suffering, trust in Jesus. He will not let you down the way this world has. I'm living proof of that.