Around this time my mom was not only drinking heavily but she began to become
abusive. I had become the scapegoat for all her problems. I remember being fully asleep
when she barged into my bedroom in the middle of the night turning on the light,
grabbing me by my hair and telling me we had to go see the priest because I was
possessed by the devil. I was confused and terrified. What the fuck? I was 10. All I could do is scream and cry. It was like I was in the movie Mommie Dearest but the cast was different and my mom didn’t give a shit about wire hangers. The next morning it was as if it never happened. That wasn’t because she was embarrassed about her actions it was because she didn’t even remember what the fuck she did. So this cycle would play out again and again getting worse over time. What happened to the mother that
used to tuck me in at night, make me feel secure and safe? What I didn’t realize then was
that I was never getting that mother back and things would only get worse as time went
on. When I look at pictures of myself from this time in my life I can’t help but cringe. I
see a little girl who was so lost and desperate for love but also so confused about what
love was. Was love something that you earned because you were good? Was it something
that came and went like night and day? School was the only place I felt safe even though I hated it. At night I would hide in my closet that I turned into a reading cubby since it was big enough to put a small chair in and had a light. But there was still no escaping my mother’s wrath when she was pissed off about something. She fought with her boyfriend Jay, yes even psychically. One instance I can remember clearly was them fighting in the driveway about who the hell knows. My mom took a 2 by 4 to his truck and then he punched her in the face. She ran into the house and demanded that my brother punch her jaw back into place because she was convinced he knocked it out-of-place.
Misguided Mommy 