Real Shit (Not for the Faint of Heart).

I created this blog for all my ramblings, which I do a lot of. My past is brutal and terrifying to most people. Well, I managed to find a partner who knew this abuse and could recognize the fear, and he has helped me face my past with eyes unclouded by my fear. He has helped shaped me into the woman I am, and he has helped wash away most of my fear.

The truth is that it’s still there, and it’s still very real. My mother used to drug me to subdue me. She would beat me and scream at me, then take me for ice cream and cake. Every gift was an apology. Every kind word was whiplashing me. I grew up in this cocoon of Jydon’s World. I wasn’t allowed to go watch movies with friends. I wasn’t allowed to even have friends. I wasn’t allowed to have opinions, and for survival.. I loved her. I loved it. I never thought anything else about it.

I would sit there hyperventilating with tears crushing my eyes if I didn’t tell her I loved her. I felt as if my world would fall apart if I didn’t tell her it was okay. That it was okay to abuse me. That it was okay to drug me, because how could a child know what’s best for themselves? Never. Not in Jydon’s world. Not in my world…

It took me leaving that place, and many years of real love to understand what she had done. She lied to me about my father, and almost all of my past. I blocked out years due to trauma and abuse. She defended my rapist, and fully supported him. I was only three. She even took me back to the place where it all happened years down the road, and I couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to get out of the car. She paraded me around the grounds of the church which desecrated my soul. She was literally dragging me as I started panicking and trembling in fear. So what did my mother do? She slapped me and told me I was embarrassing her. She dehumanized me, and relished in it.

She used to go on witch hunts when my father was kicked out of the house, with me in the passenger seat. I was barely nine. I remember grabbing the seat and thinking “She’s trying to kill him.” And she did. She managed to do just that.

It was a very warm fall, October of 2006. My father was desperately working on getting me into his custody, and had paperwork proof as tall as me. Her game was running short, and she was losing control. So what did she do? She went on a witch hunt, and she found him. She found him outside his work. And what did he do? He ran like hell. He fled on his motorcycle, and drove down the street. That wasn’t going to stop her. No, she chased him as a passenger with another loser in the front seat. Screaming, she egged the driver on and was swinging at him out the window. “Just DIE!!”

SMASH! They ran my dad off the road. He hit a tree and died a few days later from medical complications. “Success!” She thought to herself, as she held her trembling daughter. I was blindsided. I couldn’t believe he was leaving me with her. I couldn’t believe my father was dead.

The only man who protected me. The only man who prized me more than gold. I know it was a complicated case of fatal attraction, and I know the fear he felt because I feel it now.

Being an adult and facing her at my work made me taste a very real feeling my father felt on a daily basis. “She’s here, FUCK! Go hide!” As I ran into the back stock room frantically watching cameras, I was forced to call my manager to the back. “That’s my mother! That’s my abuser! Call the cops if she gets violent, and do not tell her I am here!”

She’s smart, though. She had already cased out the parking lot and recognized the car that left after she arrived. So she fled.. and followed me. I’m hyperventilating as I run up my stairs, frantically trying to hide from her. This was only yesterday.

“Come here honey,” my husband says with opened arms. He wrapped me in a cocoon of safety. I was fine. I was home. Now I’m in the aftermath of this abuse, with a boss telling me she can’t handle this type of escalation. If the cops are called, I’ll lose my job. But you know what’s more important to me? That I’m safe. So today I will hold my head up high and know that this abuser can only abuse those who are willing, and I am unwilling. I will call the cops, I will lose my job, I will deal with the courts and find a way to make this woman stay as far away from me as possible.

I know that when you tell someone who’s psychotic what your plan is, or what they aren’t allowed to do, that it eggs them on to do those very things. I don’t care if my mother attempts to stalk me, find me at work or my home. I know now that I’m safe and I am whole. I know now that the emotional manipulation is what makes me want to appease her and tell her I love her. I know now that I do not have to do any of these things.

She is my abuser. She is my predator, and I do not have to appease those who wish to harm me. I can fight back, and I am strong. I am worth all the fight possible. I am worth more. I am not an abused child, but a beautiful woman.

It’s taken one too many years to finally feel this way, or maybe I’m right on time. All I know is that this is a damn good time to call a therapist.

Side note:

I’m sure you’re all thinking “Where was Child Services?” So I’ll tell you. They were there. They came several times, and each time she knew. She was a killer devil with a silver tongue. She would sleep with who she could manipulate and benefit her situation. She got the cops on her side, and they believed her victim mentality. They would warn her when needed, and she made damn sure to prepare her children’s speeches.

I remember the fear I felt when I heard her on the line.. and she would beat me into submission. She would scream her manipulating lies and tell us we would be fed to the wolves without her. My brother was older, but in worse shape than me. Shit, he even molested me. So she spun her web of lies and managed to dismiss any concerns from those with concerning eyes.

Why do you think she never let me go to therapy? Her game was a very dangerous game, and any one else that is out there in this situation, please, please feel free to reach out to me. If you feel unsafe, I can promise you right now that this life you are living is not forever. It will not consume you. It will not determine who you are. And get help! You have power! You have a voice and that voice can and will be heard! Don’t be like me, and believe the abuse is all that you deserve. It isn’t, and it never was.

1−800−799−SAFE(7233) or TTY 1−800−787−3224 or (206) 518-9361 (Video Phone Only for Deaf Callers). These are the numbers you need to memorize. You will get out of this alive, and be able to look back on it all like I am now. It’s okay, you are safe.

Remember, 1-800-799-SAFE.

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