My dad was no better. He was married a total of thirteen times, not counting live-ins. My mom left my dad when I was eleven. When we were getting ready to leave, my dad told me if I left not to ever come back. I didn’t know why he would say something like that. I didn’t know I could have stayed with him; no one told me that till after I was grown. It was about two years before I saw him again. We were never allowed to say his name in front of my mom or she would slap the mess out of me.
For a long time I thought it was a nightmare. That anytime we would go back to my dad’s and everything would be alright. But it never happened. I started working when I was twelve at Pecos Valley Country Club. I would cover my mom’s shift on Saturday night and Sunday lunch, because usually she was hung over and couldn’t get out of bed. My dad’s last wife didn’t even know that my dad had a thirteen-year-old daughter; boy, was she was hot. Needless to say that was an unpleasant first summer; she ran a day care and she put me in it. Then I was hot. We moved to Pecos, Texas when she left him.
My abuse didn’t stop from her until I was seventeen. I got pregnant to get away from her. Every time one of her so-called boyfriends broke up with her, I knew what was coming. I was her escape goat. She would take it out on me. My mom was considered the town whore. So I was not allowed to play with the (good) girls of the town. I was not good enough. Because like mother like daughter. If the good people only knew about their own little girls. I was the only virgin in the group. This is the most I have written in one time. I have written bits and pieces, but never this much detail.
When I was in junior high, my mom said I could stay after school and help one of my friends with her posters for class counsel. When I got home she was so mad at me and asked me where I had been. I told her that she said I could stay after school and help Keema. She said she didn’t say anything like that at all. Started slapping me around until she got me in my room and knocked me down, then she grabbed me by my ears and hair, lifted me up by them and then dropped me. She busted both of my knee caps and cut back behind my ears. Nothing I ever did was good enough for her. I have been wanting to die since I was thirteen, just to escape from her. I asked god to save me over and over, but it never happened. I never understood what I did that was so bad that she would do these things to me. Then I started to believe that I deserved it. That I was nothing, that was just how things was going to be and I couldn’t do anything about it. I wish I knew then what I know now.
My mom once told me that my dad put an ad in the paper stating that I was not his child and he was not responsible for any bills. When I got older, I asked him if I was his child. He told me, “I gave you my last name, didn’t I?” That was all he would say on the subject. My dad had an accident back when he was real young and this quack of a doctor told him that what ever his first born was that would be all he would be able to produce. So naturally he had three boys right off the bat. Then came my sister that he never claimed was his, then me. So I don’t know if I am the lucky one or not.
When we moved to Pecos, the whippings got worse because there was no one she had to hide it from. The reason I am writing this so that I can get it out of my head and on paper. One of the counselors to me that if I wrote all my thoughts down that it would help me get rid of some the junk I have been caring around. My mom abused me until I was sixteen. When the beatings got pretty bad, I would move in with my grandparents. But after a while she would always make me move back home. I got pregnant when I was seventee, so I married the daddy. He was also abusive. To finish off about my mom, when I turned nineteen, my first ex-husband and I was celebrating our anniversary and my mom was at the club we were at. I don’t really remember what she was mouthing off about me, but I finally had enough. I got up from the bar where we were sitting and walked over to her and she stood up. I pushed her up against the wall and told her if she ever laid a hand on me again I would kill her.
I was very calm when I said it, so she knew she had pushed me too far. From then on, she watched what she said around me. One more thing I remember my grandparents came to get us one summer to go on vacation with them. I was so scared that they were going to leave me there with my mom, I starting crying, begging my grandmother not to leave me. She looked at me so funny that day, and then she said you are going to sister’s. I was so relieved, but I never told why. Not until I was grown. My mom is dead and gone now. No feelings one way or the other.