I was about 5 or 6 the first time I realized I was different from most of the other kids. At that time my family life seemed to be normal, besides not having my real father around; but I was too young to understand that. It was until later on about a year or two when I understood that I really was from an unusual place. Anyways we shall cross that bridge when we come to it; now back to the story. Despite growing up roughly, there was a specific experience that I was forced to repress that came back to haunt me; even to this day.
When I was growing up it was deeply frowned upon to spend all your free time indoors unless it was either storming or out or way too cold. I knew a good amount of the neighborhood kids and for the most part we would wake up early and be out until the streetlights came on. Every other week my step-sister would come to spend the weekend with us, and she never really made any friends out here. When ever she would come over, I would dedicate most of my time to hang out with her. Of course, being 2 years older and being a girl she was bound to reach the "experimentation" phases of being a girl (make up, fashion, eventually interest in boys) and when it came down to that, I didn't really know how to accompany her in those times.
One day while we were doing our weekend chores, we decided to play dress up with our parents clothes. She proceeded to put on her dad's shorts and t-shirt and I put on one of my mother's dresses. After looking at each other and having a giggle attack, we went downstairs to show our parents how silly we were. They all laughed, took some pictures and that was that; no big deal right? It was a pretty harmless experience that didn't seem to hurt anyone, there was nothing wrong with it. Eventually, I wanted to do it again, I liked doing it. Obviously my mother's clothes were to big for me and that led me to try on my sister's clothes when she was staying with us. The feeling of wearing her clothes was overwhelming and satisfying; I was comfortable and I saw nothing wrong with it. One night my step-dad walked in on my while I was wearing her clothes and that's when the rest of my childhood started to change and it would remain that way forever.
My step father was a very abusive man, everyone around me was oblivious to it as well. My mother ignored me, my step sister always turned the other cheek and all my friends bailed on me, probably because they were scared and had no idea what to do. The only person I really blame is my mother for basically neglecting me. After that one night my step dad walked in on me dressed in my sister's clothes, I thought I saw Hell itself on Earth; little did I know that was only the beginning. The abuse and neglect got so bad, that I used to wait up at night until my mom came home from work and I'd show her the dried up blood that was dripping from my arm, the cuts and bruises. Despite having the physical notions, which I thought was the best evidence, she proceeded to ignore me. I literally had no where to turn. The only place I was ever taught that would support me and love me and protect me, was tossing me aside like a rag doll; I had no one.
Let's fast forward a few years, my step sister entering middle school perhaps 8th grade, I know I was still in elementary. She started to experiment with make up and I was in bed reading a Harry Potter book when she asked if she could put some make up on me. Thinking it was no big deal and that we were bonding, although I was secretly super excited about it, there wasn't anything wrong with it. Roughly 20 minutes went by, we were talking about random things and laughing and enjoying our bonding time when suddenly my step father barged in. He started screaming and yelling asking what we were doing. I immediately picked up my book and did my best to hide my face. My step sister told him how she was playing with make up and I told him I was reading, he didn't like the fact that I wasn't looking at him so he ripped the book from my hands.
Within seconds I was screaming at the top of my lungs after each devastating blow to my body; I tried to protect myself and curled up in the corner of my bunk bed. It was at that moment my step dad pulled the bed frame away making me fall to the floor where he then thought it was a great idea to push the bed frame against me. So here I am, trapped between a wall and a bed frame, screaming and crying with make up on my face and my step dad yelling and screaming disturbing names I've never heard before. The next day a friend of mine made a comment about my arm and when I looked, my entire outside forearm was covered in bruises.
To be continued...
Published by Adrian Allen