I sat here and stared at this screen. I am ready to write things down but unsure of where to start. The beginning,
I was born to parents that had 2 miscarriages before I was born. I cant recall my first memories very well. I must have been 4 or 5. I have a foggy memory of going to look at the house that I would grow up in. I remember my sister carrying a Jolly Green Giant doll. I was the eldest of five children. I think it was the fourth sister but maybe the third. I think things really went crazy after we moved there.
My parents were not grateful for children. I think they could have cared less we existed. We were neglected and often abused. My father was an alcoholic and my mother was emotionally distant at best; to say they were selfish would be an extreme exaggeration. They were cruel and mean.
My dad had a good job. He brought home very good money for the times we grew up in. We didn't seem much of it though He spent most of it at the local tavern. When he did come home he was mean and abusive. He beat my mom and belittled her at every chance. The abuse did not stop with just her. He was extremely mean to my brother. He was never happy with the house or anything that we did. We were used to him waking us up when he did come home to tell us how nothing we did was right and we were failures at life.
When I was in first grade is the first time I remember him touching me. The things before that were bad enough but then the sexual abuse would compound to create me. The only me that will ever be. I can deny myself but I exist. I am here dear Lord. I am warped and I am broken. I sometimes feel lost. I have trust issues but I am here.
