Young and Restless, Stressed and Depressed.
Here I am today, sitting on my bed, thinking back to all that has happened. I tremble at the thought of all those horrid memories. My mother being beaten for not cooking, me being beaten because I got a C on my math test. I cry about how it's hard for me to focus, when all this commotion goes on. My cry gets silenced. Day after day, screaming, threats, and fear haunt me. I fill with anger and hatred for the man who has the audacity to place his devil-like hands on women like us. There are days where there is peace. Only because there was a presence of drugs and alcohol.
If the abuse at home wasn't enough, there was bullying at school. The only white girl at a school where only Hispanics go. I go to school, crying, come home, crying, and go to bed crying. Nobody understood. My mother was ashamed, and thought that the abuse was what she deserved. Oh how I admire the strength my mother was hiding. I was shy and had no self love for who I was. Sadly, nobody knew how I felt. Music was my escape, that was when I was allowed to actually have a life. I grew up too fast. I couldn't go outside and play with the other kids. I couldn't go out and enjoy school activities. And, because I grew up too fast, I can't enjoy anything now.
Days I wanted to cut my hair, and change my look, because my hair was once used to make a choke hold, around my small neck, and because my jeans where "to tight" around the legs. I cried that these where the only pants I had, and again, I was shut up by a projectile. My mother and I suffered stuff like this for about 6 years. I witnessed the most horrendous of things that made me want to end this all, but I was no person of violence, I was weak and couldn't protect my mother. A knife was put to her, because dinner wasn't cooked the way he wanted. Oh boo hoo, cry me a river.
Now, it took me the longest of times to realize, these things weren't normal. I was convinced that what was going on at home was normal and happened to every family. It was beaten into my head that it was normal. I had one friendship, someone who understood what was going on before I did. I was really happy to have this friendship. Because I was too happy, that friendship was terminated.
Six years of seeing my mother beaten in front of me, getting her head pushed against walls, weapons being placed near her body, and hearing her cries.
I think what makes me hate the most is, I was useless, and the few police calls that occurred, they were useless too. No cop pulled aside my mother and I to see the bruises. No cop wanted to hear the story. What the hell are the cops good for then?
It was almost a year ago until I actually saved my mother. After we fled the abuser, he returned months later. Life was becoming better, my grades were becoming better, I was becoming happier. All until that day. November 5, 2014, the abuser came back. My mother was convinced that he changed for the better. All because the pain of his hip was gone. Big whoop. January 27, 2015, he attacked her. I heard her topple over the dresser, knocking her and it down. I rushed in the room, he grasped my arm too hard, my guard dog lashed onto his hand, making his grip tighten on my arm. Hello new scar. I pushed my mother into my room and locked my door. Down went the door, down went my mom, as he began kicking her back. Now, back in October my mother had open back surgery, because of bad disks in her spine. Worst thing to ever see was my mother in this pain just after escaping it. That was now her weak spot. The abuser was after me next, he raised a hammer to my head, threatening to hit me unless I didn't leave the room. MY room. In MY house. No. I swung an hit him. Me, being 5 feet and him being over 6 feet, didn't even leave a bump. Such a wimp. He punched me hard enough to make me fall back and away at least 2 feet. My dog attacked him, sending him to the living room to play the same role as he did before. "We attacked him, he's a disabled vet, blah blah bull-crap." The cops saw the blood dripping from my arm and face, and saw my mother's back and arms swollen. So it took six years and a bleeding child to finally do something? Pathetic cops. The abuser was released from jail the next day, free from charges. Hitting a minor alone is a felony. Why the hell was it let go? Days later, he was charged for being found with a gun. Oh hell yeah, I feel safe! It took weeks to get a restraining order. My mother, suffered more than anyone here. She wanted him put away for everything. We told the court about the countless animals he has killed, the countless times he has injured me, my mother, or a caring bystander for wanting to help.
It's been a year free from all this, I still have fear. I still worry about the day I face my death. It may be around the corner. I am only 16, and I fear that my life will be over.
I am here today, at a school helping me gather and raise awareness for domestic violence. Telling my story, sharing my life, to gather and spread the awfulness of domestic violence. Thank you, for reading my story. I hope that no one should ever go through this. And if you have, I know, it'll get better. Stay lovely, and stay happy.