It had been a very long 10 years, and not very good ones. It started off good. No man ever starts off hitting you. If they did, of course, you wouldn't stay. No, they reel you in. They smile, they charm. They pay attention. They hunt you down. They search out that specific girl who has insecurities. They look for those little signs so that they know how to gain control. You don't even notice it happening. At first, it seems cute, even charming. He pays so much attention to you. He must really care. He always wants to be with you. Little do you know...until it's too late.
My too late came after 3 children, and many incidents that were just too embarrassing to discuss, and also baffling. After seeing the abuse that my own mother took from my father, I really didn't understand how she could turn her back and not help me. I was trapped. He controlled the bank account, the cars were in his name. He picked up my pay checks. He would go to work and take the phone. He would time me when I was in the shower. He demanded receipts from the grocery store, and God help me if I dropped any change. Once, at a stop light at Bruce and Lake Mead, a man in the car next to us did a double take. It was natural at that time, seeing a black man with a white girl. I was immediately quizzed, "who the hell is that?" "I don't know" I replied. "Your lying...You fucked him." and WHAM! right across my face. This was my life.
I realized one day, after waking up with my 5 year old son Daryal next to me, after being punched in the face, again, that I didn't want my kids growing up with this shit. I didn't care if I lived in a truck. I just wanted him to go away. I really couldn't take it anymore. I tried to hide some money, to save a little for an attorney. About a month later, he found it. It was hidden under the headboard of the bed, and I came home to the eruption that was unlike anything I had ever dealt with before. He was standing in the hallway, in the dark. I walked in the front door, and he literally rushed me like a fullback in a football game. I was thrown to the ground, and then tossed across the room into the wall. I don't remember much more, other than I somehow managed to get out the front door, and proceeded to run down the street. I ran, and ran. We lived 3 blocks from the police department. I went inside, and immediately asked for the oldest, white cop they had on duty at the time. The reason? Most of the cops on the North Las Vegas Police Dept at the time, were his friends. Yay. One of the officers began taking a report from me, then took pictures of me. I didn't even realize how badly I was injured. I had a ruptured ear drum, fracture cheek bone, two black eyes, cut lip, bruises everywhere, and a broken rib. They went to the house, and arrested him. Finally.
Over the course of the next few hours, his mother, my mother, and my father, all called me and said, "Bail him out." WHAT? Then, the best of all. My OWN MOTHER....came to my front door. I answered, looking the way I did, with my children around me. I asked her what she wanted. I didn't let her in. She looked me right in my eye. She said, "Penny, don't be stupid. You need to bail him out now." I just kept looking at her like I really couldn't believe this was happening. I firmly said, "No". Then, just as calmly, and clearly as she had every said anything to me, ever, she said, "It's better to learn to get hit in your face than to cut your income in half." to which I replied, "Fuck you".
I had never cussed at my mother before. A week later, a constable showed up at my front door, and me, and my children were evicted from the house. My parents owned the house. Lovely....we lived in a Uhaul for 4 days, until my friend Melvin found out, and was furious. He gave me money to get an apartment, and helped us out.
I have never understood, to this day, why my parents did not try to help me. I don't understand why they thought it would be better to stay. I would be dead. I wouldn't have made it 6 more months. He had already caused me to loose a child. I was 6 months into the pregnancy. A girl. I was traumatized from that...my health was deteriorating. My emotional state was fragile. I kept asking myself, what in the HELL had I done to deserve this? What had I possibly done to them for them to turn their backs and let me be treated like that?
It's a very harsh world. It's a very rough thing to realize that sometimes, you are alone. Yet it's also a good thing too, at times, to realize that your stronger than you thought. You look back, and you think, Jesus...I lived through that? Wow...So, I talk about it, and I don't let it hurt me anymore, because it's done. It's over. I am stronger now, because of what happened. I know how to appreciate a good man, because I lived with the very worst man. Everything that happens really does happen to teach you. You really can take any situation, and learn from it, evolve from it. I know, that I won't ever allow myself to return to that life....but then again, I have love now. :-)
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The Beginning...
Sigh...okay.
I was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. My parents were married October 5th, 1963, and I came July 4th, 1964. Damn near 9 months to the day. I was a girl, much to the dismay of my mother, and hence the beginning of the disappointment that I obviously was to them both. My father was sent to Thailand when I was about 2, and my mother was then pregnant with my brother Frank. This was a turning point for me. When Frank was born, my mother was thrilled. She had her son, and then turned me over to my Grandmother and Aunt Leigh, stating that she couldn't deal with me. My Grandmother lived in Tempe, Arizona, and my Aunt was in high school at the time. I remember waiting for her to come home from school anxiously. I also remember the trees in the back yard, with grapefruit and lemons, running around the house with their dog Bo, my Aunt putting my hair in curlers, drinking out of the pineapple shaped cups, being picked up by my neck until I turned blue by my mother for knocking over her chocolates, then running and hiding in the closet for hours. Yeah...good times. My mother would tell the story to my kids later at holidays, laughing. Great story! Most mothers tell stories like that..how they had to take tranquillizers to be around their daughters. Great.
Most of my childhood, I knew, understood with much clarity, that I was not wanted, and was looked down upon by my parents. They had their own issues, and I always felt like I was simply in their way. They couldn't wait for me to be old enough to get out. My brothers were looked upon with great anticipation, to be something wonderful. They would swell with pride when they spoke of them. Me? I was just to grow up, find some schmuck to marry me...and if I was to redeem myself, maybe have sons.
December, 1979. It was about 11pm. I was sleeping in my room. It was freezing outside. Missouri winters are miserable, and our life there was not much better. The house was quiet, and all of a sudden, I hear the kitchen door open, the slam with such a force, I was sure the window had broken. Not two minutes later, I hear the door open and slam again, and THE fight began. It wasn't the first, but it was the famous one. Dishes began flying, and I know this because I heard them breaking. The screaming was so intense, my heart was pounding. My parents were yelling so loudly, I was sure the entire Base could hear every word. Apparently, my mother was pissed that my father was not home from work yet, and had gone down to the officers club, where he worked as a bartender, (second job) to see why. She saw our camper there in the parking lot, opened the door, and yeah, there was my father having sex with one of the cocktail waitresses. The fight continued, and now they came running down the hall. My mother ran into their bedroom, which was across from mine, and slammed the door. My door was shut. My father couldn't get in. He kicked in my door, backed up, kicked in their door...I got out of bed, and then watched, scared to death, as he grabbed my mother, threw her to the floor, and proceeded to punch her repeatedly in the face. He only stopped when he heard me screaming to "fucking stop!" and turned around to see me standing there. I ran to the kitchen, my mother running after me. I tried to get out the door, and she grabbed me, getting blood all over me. I asked her to let me go. She screamed at me to stay. I told her that they both were crazy...and I ran. I banged on my boyfriends door, across the street. His father answered, seeing me covered in blood. He asked if it was mine, I said no. He said, "go downstairs". This was where my boyfriends room was. I went downstairs, and laid on the couch, and cried. Moments later, the window was glowing with flashing lights, as just about every single cop car on base was parked in front of our house. The next day, my mother sat with sun glasses on in our living room. I came out of my room, and she said to me, "I came out of the shower, and slipped on some baby powder." WHAT THE FUCK? I saw it all with my own two eyes!! This was the beginning of my insane parents insisting that I am a liar. This was the beginning of me knowing the difference between "relatives" and FAMILY.
It happened. It wasn't the first time...it wasn't the last. Nobody is perfect. My father was not a "Prince" and my mother damn sure wasn't a "Princess". Life is not a fairytale. My ability to realize this, has helped me to survive. Please understand, I don't tell this because I am looking for sympathy either. No fucking way. I tell it because there are so many people out there who go around pretending like their life is perfect, and they can't be honest. They are so worried that they have to be, or need to appear, perfect to be accepted. Nobody has a perfect home life. Nobody...there is a little dysfunctional in us all. :-)
More to come..
I was born in Las Vegas, Nevada. My parents were married October 5th, 1963, and I came July 4th, 1964. Damn near 9 months to the day. I was a girl, much to the dismay of my mother, and hence the beginning of the disappointment that I obviously was to them both. My father was sent to Thailand when I was about 2, and my mother was then pregnant with my brother Frank. This was a turning point for me. When Frank was born, my mother was thrilled. She had her son, and then turned me over to my Grandmother and Aunt Leigh, stating that she couldn't deal with me. My Grandmother lived in Tempe, Arizona, and my Aunt was in high school at the time. I remember waiting for her to come home from school anxiously. I also remember the trees in the back yard, with grapefruit and lemons, running around the house with their dog Bo, my Aunt putting my hair in curlers, drinking out of the pineapple shaped cups, being picked up by my neck until I turned blue by my mother for knocking over her chocolates, then running and hiding in the closet for hours. Yeah...good times. My mother would tell the story to my kids later at holidays, laughing. Great story! Most mothers tell stories like that..how they had to take tranquillizers to be around their daughters. Great.
Most of my childhood, I knew, understood with much clarity, that I was not wanted, and was looked down upon by my parents. They had their own issues, and I always felt like I was simply in their way. They couldn't wait for me to be old enough to get out. My brothers were looked upon with great anticipation, to be something wonderful. They would swell with pride when they spoke of them. Me? I was just to grow up, find some schmuck to marry me...and if I was to redeem myself, maybe have sons.
December, 1979. It was about 11pm. I was sleeping in my room. It was freezing outside. Missouri winters are miserable, and our life there was not much better. The house was quiet, and all of a sudden, I hear the kitchen door open, the slam with such a force, I was sure the window had broken. Not two minutes later, I hear the door open and slam again, and THE fight began. It wasn't the first, but it was the famous one. Dishes began flying, and I know this because I heard them breaking. The screaming was so intense, my heart was pounding. My parents were yelling so loudly, I was sure the entire Base could hear every word. Apparently, my mother was pissed that my father was not home from work yet, and had gone down to the officers club, where he worked as a bartender, (second job) to see why. She saw our camper there in the parking lot, opened the door, and yeah, there was my father having sex with one of the cocktail waitresses. The fight continued, and now they came running down the hall. My mother ran into their bedroom, which was across from mine, and slammed the door. My door was shut. My father couldn't get in. He kicked in my door, backed up, kicked in their door...I got out of bed, and then watched, scared to death, as he grabbed my mother, threw her to the floor, and proceeded to punch her repeatedly in the face. He only stopped when he heard me screaming to "fucking stop!" and turned around to see me standing there. I ran to the kitchen, my mother running after me. I tried to get out the door, and she grabbed me, getting blood all over me. I asked her to let me go. She screamed at me to stay. I told her that they both were crazy...and I ran. I banged on my boyfriends door, across the street. His father answered, seeing me covered in blood. He asked if it was mine, I said no. He said, "go downstairs". This was where my boyfriends room was. I went downstairs, and laid on the couch, and cried. Moments later, the window was glowing with flashing lights, as just about every single cop car on base was parked in front of our house. The next day, my mother sat with sun glasses on in our living room. I came out of my room, and she said to me, "I came out of the shower, and slipped on some baby powder." WHAT THE FUCK? I saw it all with my own two eyes!! This was the beginning of my insane parents insisting that I am a liar. This was the beginning of me knowing the difference between "relatives" and FAMILY.
It happened. It wasn't the first time...it wasn't the last. Nobody is perfect. My father was not a "Prince" and my mother damn sure wasn't a "Princess". Life is not a fairytale. My ability to realize this, has helped me to survive. Please understand, I don't tell this because I am looking for sympathy either. No fucking way. I tell it because there are so many people out there who go around pretending like their life is perfect, and they can't be honest. They are so worried that they have to be, or need to appear, perfect to be accepted. Nobody has a perfect home life. Nobody...there is a little dysfunctional in us all. :-)
More to come..
I needed a venue to vent
So, some of my friends have this blog venue, and I have read their stuff, and they have some really good stuff. I usually don't have too much to vent about...until recently. It seems there is just so much crap going on, and I have been overly stressed, and worried, and well...I need a venue. I need a space to let it all out. I am going to try this, and see if it works.
I tried posting small thoughts on Facebook, and well, anyone who has a Facebook knows, you just can't do that. People are too fucking sensitive, and they get their panties all in a wad. All hell breaks loose and before you know it, deleting begins, phone calls are being made, and you start looking for the bourbon in the kitchen cabinet and thinking, "when in the hell did I turn into my parents?" I really, really don't want to turn into my parents.
I am going to start by posting some stuff that has really bothered me for years, and get that shit off my chest...and then go from there. For some of my friends, you may or may not know some of it, and I will apologize in advance if I upset you. For others, well, it may just help you to understand why I am the way I am. Lets see if this blog thing is cheaper than therapy. :-)
I tried posting small thoughts on Facebook, and well, anyone who has a Facebook knows, you just can't do that. People are too fucking sensitive, and they get their panties all in a wad. All hell breaks loose and before you know it, deleting begins, phone calls are being made, and you start looking for the bourbon in the kitchen cabinet and thinking, "when in the hell did I turn into my parents?" I really, really don't want to turn into my parents.
I am going to start by posting some stuff that has really bothered me for years, and get that shit off my chest...and then go from there. For some of my friends, you may or may not know some of it, and I will apologize in advance if I upset you. For others, well, it may just help you to understand why I am the way I am. Lets see if this blog thing is cheaper than therapy. :-)
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