Growing up I never believe the crazy events that happens in my life. My family’s quote was “What happens in this house, stays in this house. ” Hiding everything was the normal in my household even the worst home situations. The reality I had to portray was a lie, but my horror story could never vanish like my screams through the night. My horror story is I was abused by someone who was supposed to step up as a father figure unlike my father figure. My mom’s husband. Nobody knew because he used to threaten me or make it seem like I was lying.
After the truth of the abuse came from the darkness, I knew my stepfather’s perfect world would crumble like my youth and teenager years. Never knew how much pain and damage could be caused by been abused by a loved one or someone, and not having someone to run to after every abuse situation. The abused person never like sharing their horror story because of the fear of something worst. The fear of getting hurt worst or losing someone valuable always lurked in my head. Each threat never left my mindset, but they controlled me and my behavior.
Part of me always told me to get help, and my other part of me worried about the consequences of saying something about my home life. My mom acted oblivious to the whole situation as she treated all my new scars and belt markers as results of me playing too hard with my sisters. How badly my stepfather would hit me would leave behind imprints like the belt mark was his signature bruising mark. My teachers used to see the bruises and belt markers on my whole body, and I tried to make- up “how clumsy I am” story. Sometimes the stories would get by, but most times teachers would take note of the bruising for records.
With their worried smile, they would just nod and get back to whatever they were doing before staring at my bruises. My stepdad would keep me close by in case someone would question him or my mom about the bruising. Every time we went out together as a family, we had to paint a picture of a lovely household with no demons. My outlook of life changed from been positive to negative vibes. The abused never stopped, but only got worst. To be abused does not just mean physical, but also emotionally abused. To be abused is to be hurt excessively, harsh words been spoken, or even both physical and emotionally.
The people, who try to act like they do not know what is happening behind closed, are choosing to be silent as someone is getting hurt worst every day. They do not want to be involved in someone’s suffering, but they are pouring salt inside the person’s wounds. If someone would speak up about abused, so many people could be saved or at least get the help they need to survive in the environment. The younger me did not understand why I was the only one getting abused in the household, but deep down I knew always knew why. The older me understood perfectly why he would come and abuses me instead of my sisters.
The reason was I was fatherless and I did not have a male figure to tell what my stepfather did to me. The only people I had to tell was my grandparents, but they lived back in Arkansas (our home state). Every time, my grandmother would ask if I was okay, I would tell the truth with no fear because I knew I could tell my grandmother anything and she would believe me. I decided as I got into high school to get in powerlifting, so I could fight back a little bit. By me getting involved with powerlifting, I could push him away from me.
Especially on the day he slammed me into a wall, I could throw him to the ground, so I could run to my room and locked the door until mom got home from work. The more I started to fight back, the worst he would abuse, but I just work out more to learn need fighting styles from the boys on the powerlifting team. Why are you trying to hide from me? I hated that question because I knew what was to follow it. There was no safe place in that hell place. Not even the attic. My face would show no fear, but my heart was pounding fast as he would walk towards me.
Every time he approached me, I knew my nightmares was about to be my reality for some minutes or hours. On August 14, 2016, everything about the abuse during my youth and teenage years unfold. After nine years, my mom started to believe me even though we both knew the apology was not going to change the past or how damage I was in the mind and outside. Plus, I was twenty years old at the time, so nothing could have been done. We were getting ready for church (time to fake like I was happy), and I was in the bathroom putting on my earrings.
My stepfather walked by me, and I muttered “Ohhh great! The next two hours, he went on a tangent on how I was a bad person, using mom for college money, and that the only three people I will always love is my grandmother and two grandfathers. My mom was shocked by what he was saying, but I was not shock because that was not the worst thing he ever said to me or about me. Finally, mom shut him down by yelling out, “I have giving up on you two to get along after so many years. ” I told mom everything that he ever done or said to me during the time I was in middle and high school, and I walked to my room to grab a journal and his favorite Maya’s belt.
I walked back into the living room, I put the journal and belt on a table, and said “Therefore I could never get along with the man who married my mom. ” The journal was filled with entries of every time my stepfather abused me with the date and time on the title page. Everyone was shocked in the room especially my stepfather. He got up and moved closer to me. I simply reminded him, we both would be going jail if he raised his hand to me again since I was an adult now. He turned on his heels and slammed the door like he was the one who suffered through the nine years of abuse.
I looked at my mom and stated, “You knew what he was doing to me and you did not protect me like a mother should have. ” I never seen mom get that ashamed in her life. On the 14th August, everything changed dramatically, and the fear of my stepfather vanished like his best stepfather’s award. The nightmares will never go away or the bruises, but I know must pick up the pieces to move with my life. I still see the man who caused so much pain in my life because my mom decided to stay with me. I never have conversations with him except when I am forced to by mom.
At first, I did not forgive mom for staying with the person who could hurt someone’s child, but that is her life not mines. My husband tried to make amends, but how he went about it failed and was not very the heart. To be abused changes a person, so help the problem. Not cause the problem. For someone, who was abused: “She’s been through more hell than you will ever know. But that’s what gives her beauty an edge. You cannot touch a woman who can wear pain like the grandest of diamonds around her neck” by Alfa.