Already read "my story"? Want to know more? Read part 2 now!
I have received so many good responces to the first part of my story and have decided to write more. If you are interested then sit right back and you will hear a tale...
I guess I was about 7 maybe even 8 the first time I realized that the things taking place in my house were wrong. That there was a name for it; Abuse.
My step sisters and I had faught alot in the past, my step mother gave new meaning to "wicked stepmother" and my dad and I hadn't been close since we moved to SC. The walls were closing in and everyone seemed so angry. ALL OF THE TIME! the memories I have are sketchy so please remember that so that you can understand why I will be jumping around a bit.
One of my earliest memories of this abuse was when my dad had my step sister Christy pinned in a corner and was yelling and screaming at her. A scene I had seen many times before. His fist was raised and I knew she was about to get hit, hard. Not just slapped but punched. 40 year old closed fist to the 16 year old face kind of hit. So I pushed my way between them and told him that he would have to go through me first.
The look in his eyes was unreal. It was one of possession. Who was this man? Definitely not my father. It was as if someone else was controlling his body. And he looked at me hellish fire surrounded by icy black eyes and told me to move. When I refused I thought he was going to hit me and instead he turned and walked away.
The next day Christy told me how much of a whore my mother was and gave me my first real emotional and physical scar.
Another incident I remember was a remote flying in the air, hitting another of my stepsisters in the face and then blood. Pouring out of her nose.
The next was by far the worst. Hope the bad ass of the bunch and of course the favorite of my siblings had been grounded, but since no one was home she was going to call one of her friends anyway. She picked up the phone at which time my dad just happened to have called. The phone didn't even ring kind of thing. I don't even know if what I am about to say was the same day but it is in my mind. But, all I remember next was my father coming home. Hope in the kitchen washing dishes, me dusting in the living room. My father storms into the kitchen and starts yelling at Hope. She dropped a dishtowel and before I knew it he was kicking her hard in the ribs. The screams that came out of that girl will haunt me for the rest of my life. Within minutes my father left the house. A short time later my step mother came home and told me she was divorcing my father and it was all my fault. My fault?? MY FAULT!
About 2 years later, while at a Youth to Youth conference (Drug free and proud! ehhh yeah right) anyway, while there I learned about abuse, not just that it happens but the terms of how to recognize abuse, etc. I quickly realized that I would forever be the scapegoat.
There is so much more to this story and if you want to read what else happened you will have to stay tuned! Or drop me an email and I will fill you in. If you are a publisher and want to help me put a book together Email me!
JLeMin@mail.com
