Part 10 - A New State of Mind
At age nine, I moved with my family to a new town in Iowa about a half hour from my grandparents and other relatives. The new town was one of those "blink and you miss it" places, and it was here my most outstanding memory of abuse was created.
Up until this point I had continued my struggle to suppress the realization that I was abused, but one day as I sat in school, all that changed. A few of my friends and I were sitting and talking during a break in class. They began to discuss their lives at home and how, while they didn't like being spanked, it was quick and only hurt for a little while, and then it was over. Very rarely are kids that open about methods of discipline at home, but on this particular day, for whatever reason, these kids were. I remember deciding the time had come to find out once and for all just how abnormal my home life might be. I asked my classmates if their parents ever hit them anywhere else, and they said, "No, silly, that would be abuse." I bit my lip for a moment, then asked if their parents hit them a lot of times during spankings so that it hurt a lot. They replied once again, "Of course not. That would be abuse too. Does your mom do that?" I just looked at the floor and shook my head.
After school, I decided to stop by a friend's house a few blocks away to collect some payment I'd earned taking care of her dog while her family was gone. My brother, Jeff, at age five, was supposed to walk home with me, and since my friend's house was less than a block out of the way, I asked him to come with me while I got the money. Instead of agreeing with me, Jeff decided he'd rather go home, and no matter how I tried to persuade him, he refused to go with me. Finally, I told him to just wait there while I walked to my friend's house and came right back. I was sure I would only need to enter her front porch to get the money, and thus keep an eye on my brother the whole time. My orders to Jeff issued, I made my way to my friend's house to collect my money. Somehow I must have been distracted, because when I turned around, Jeff had disappeared. I ran all the way home, shaking in fear of what my mom might do if she saw Jeff arrive home without me. Sure enough, he arrived alone, and my mom was mad.
As I entered the house, I was greeted with a fierce hostility by my mom, who accused me of being selfish and putting Jeff's safety at risk just to get a few bucks. The whole time she yelled, my anger began to rise at the realization I had finally given in to earlier in the day - that my mom was indeed abusive. Finally, when she'd worked up enough anger, my mom told me to get to where she was for my punishment. I paused long enough for adrenaline to carry me past any sort of sense, and then I exploded.
"Go ahead, beat me!" I yelled. "Isn't that what you do anyway? I know it is!" My face grew hot as I continued to rage. "Go ahead, Mom! Beat me! Beat me!"
My mom hesitated. She'd never seen this sort of outburst from me, and I'm guessing felt taken aback by my rage. After a few seconds, however, her own face grew red as her temper boiled over.
"So, I beat you, do I?" Her voice quivered with rage. "You don't know anything. You don't even know what a beating is! Get over here!" She started towards me. "I'll show you what it is to be beat."
My mom reached for me and threw me against the wall. She punched me several times in the stomach and elsewhere, then threw me to the ground. She approached me from behind and began to kick me, and after a bit she grabbed onto my arm and began dragging me towards her bedroom and the three steps that led from the living room down to it. I yelled and tried to brake myself against the carpet with my free arm, but the rug burn was too much, and my mom was too strong. I braced my body for the steps, and soon found myself in her bedroom, where she jerked me onto her bed and continued her rage with one of the worst spankings I had received. I screamed and yelled my apologies, but to no avail. My mom stopped only when she ran out of fuel for anger, then dismissed me with the phrase, "Get out of my sight." I did so.
On my way back to my bedroom, I passed Jeff, who had witnessed the entire first part of the beating from his place on a living room rocking chair. Bitterness rose in my heart. I spat out the words, "See what you did?"
Jeff only shrugged and said, "You deserved it."
My heart tore in two.
I was in a new state, and my new state of mind was now in place. Was I abused? Yes. Could I stop or confront that abuse? Never. I knew that much for sure.
Up until this point I had continued my struggle to suppress the realization that I was abused, but one day as I sat in school, all that changed. A few of my friends and I were sitting and talking during a break in class. They began to discuss their lives at home and how, while they didn't like being spanked, it was quick and only hurt for a little while, and then it was over. Very rarely are kids that open about methods of discipline at home, but on this particular day, for whatever reason, these kids were. I remember deciding the time had come to find out once and for all just how abnormal my home life might be. I asked my classmates if their parents ever hit them anywhere else, and they said, "No, silly, that would be abuse." I bit my lip for a moment, then asked if their parents hit them a lot of times during spankings so that it hurt a lot. They replied once again, "Of course not. That would be abuse too. Does your mom do that?" I just looked at the floor and shook my head.
After school, I decided to stop by a friend's house a few blocks away to collect some payment I'd earned taking care of her dog while her family was gone. My brother, Jeff, at age five, was supposed to walk home with me, and since my friend's house was less than a block out of the way, I asked him to come with me while I got the money. Instead of agreeing with me, Jeff decided he'd rather go home, and no matter how I tried to persuade him, he refused to go with me. Finally, I told him to just wait there while I walked to my friend's house and came right back. I was sure I would only need to enter her front porch to get the money, and thus keep an eye on my brother the whole time. My orders to Jeff issued, I made my way to my friend's house to collect my money. Somehow I must have been distracted, because when I turned around, Jeff had disappeared. I ran all the way home, shaking in fear of what my mom might do if she saw Jeff arrive home without me. Sure enough, he arrived alone, and my mom was mad.
As I entered the house, I was greeted with a fierce hostility by my mom, who accused me of being selfish and putting Jeff's safety at risk just to get a few bucks. The whole time she yelled, my anger began to rise at the realization I had finally given in to earlier in the day - that my mom was indeed abusive. Finally, when she'd worked up enough anger, my mom told me to get to where she was for my punishment. I paused long enough for adrenaline to carry me past any sort of sense, and then I exploded.
"Go ahead, beat me!" I yelled. "Isn't that what you do anyway? I know it is!" My face grew hot as I continued to rage. "Go ahead, Mom! Beat me! Beat me!"
My mom hesitated. She'd never seen this sort of outburst from me, and I'm guessing felt taken aback by my rage. After a few seconds, however, her own face grew red as her temper boiled over.
"So, I beat you, do I?" Her voice quivered with rage. "You don't know anything. You don't even know what a beating is! Get over here!" She started towards me. "I'll show you what it is to be beat."
My mom reached for me and threw me against the wall. She punched me several times in the stomach and elsewhere, then threw me to the ground. She approached me from behind and began to kick me, and after a bit she grabbed onto my arm and began dragging me towards her bedroom and the three steps that led from the living room down to it. I yelled and tried to brake myself against the carpet with my free arm, but the rug burn was too much, and my mom was too strong. I braced my body for the steps, and soon found myself in her bedroom, where she jerked me onto her bed and continued her rage with one of the worst spankings I had received. I screamed and yelled my apologies, but to no avail. My mom stopped only when she ran out of fuel for anger, then dismissed me with the phrase, "Get out of my sight." I did so.
On my way back to my bedroom, I passed Jeff, who had witnessed the entire first part of the beating from his place on a living room rocking chair. Bitterness rose in my heart. I spat out the words, "See what you did?"
Jeff only shrugged and said, "You deserved it."
My heart tore in two.
I was in a new state, and my new state of mind was now in place. Was I abused? Yes. Could I stop or confront that abuse? Never. I knew that much for sure.
posted by Brooke | 12:05 AM
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