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The Key

Some times its right in front of your face the whole time

By Beth BradenPublished 2 years ago 12 min read
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The Key
Photo by Michael Dziedzic on Unsplash

My depression is keeping me up. More and more I can feel myself fading into the void of the abyss. I'm trying to hold it together but I only begin to fall apart worse as time goes on. I don't understand why my body is doing these things to me. To be so young and to have so much damage. It simply makes no sense. Is it a compound of all the physical trauma I have ever been through? Like just the most giant pile of crap anyone has ever seen? F*ck...... maybe that is the key. The key for the Drs to help me. I remember constantly going to Doctors as they wildly tried to figure out why I was in so much pain, but they never could. Maybe I have just cracked the code. It's all the years of abuse and neglect. When I was just a mere pre-teen, my doctors would question me rigorously to see if I was on illegal substances but that was never the case, obviously. It was the abuse.

The earliest I can remember was from right after my parents divorced. My mom was bent on me being an uncontrollable child. Makes perfect since (rolls eyes) due to her being the only one with this issue. At the time I weighed an absolute staggering eighty-five pounds.... If that. My mother on the other hand weighed just a featherly little weight of three-hundred and twenty pounds. I'm not sure what I did, it changed each time.... however, no matter what devious act I managed to accomplish it always ended up in the same ole chicken wings. Sadly no, I am not talking about a delicious, fried to perfection, poultry treat. I am talking about a militant style hold in which my mother would take both of my arms behind my back and force my hands to touch my head as she applied the pressure of nearly her entire body weight. This happened countless times throughout my youth. This led to my body not developing properly. I have nearly no muscle in my scapula nor do I have the cartilage necessary to cushion them.

Bear with me here, I'm truly trying to be chronological, but it's hard to keep track when you've been through so much. I guess the next forum of physical abuse came from my "foster family". Please note that I was never in foster care, my mother had full custody of me from the moment my father went bonkers and my parents inevitably split. My mother, however, had essentially nothing to do with me and would pawn me off on anyone that would take me. I could write an entire book on the mental and physical abuse I acquired while in the M's home. It makes me gag just thinking about it. However I'll make this brisk, there were a lot of "accidents". Whether that was me "falling" down the stairs, or "tripping" at the park next door... it was always something. The most notable thing that still haunts me to this day was something so insane, I still do not understand how my mother not only allowed this, but incentivised it. One day at the mall, in the late great Sears, I was like twelve at the time and trying to be "hip" with the "fosters" daughter I mouthed "Oh F*ck No" when she asked me if I would like an obviously ugly bathing suit as a joke. Well apparently she went around and told everyone I mouthed "F*ck you". When we got to the house, they proceeded to take away everything from me. E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.... My furniture, lightbulb, books, stuffed animals, ipod, and the cherry on top: My Clothing. I was left NAKED.... in an empty room with nothing but a mattress on the floor. I was only privileged to wear clothes during certain hours of the day. Anything and everything that went wrong in that household was blamed on me..... if I don't stop here I will lose track of my current goal.... we will get to this story another time.

The next big thing; my mom had decided I was finally going to come home to live with her. Only we weren't going to be alone. She started her reign of live in boy toys. The first was E*.... we are going to leave it at that cause.... apparently even abusers "deserve" the "right" to privacy. Anywho.... he was my favorite, but my mom was obsessed and he was a cheater. The only abuse that I can recall during his time with us was abuse by neglect. I had gone on a school field trip and was badly electrocuted. I was having severe signs and symptoms and several other students had seen the incident and the teachers just didn't care. We were on our way home and as I was slumped over on the way back on the bus begging with what speech I had left to call 911, they're-ensured me that my mom would take me to the hospital once at the school. She picked me up as my condition was deteriorating. I was "overreacting" and I wasn't about to ruin her night. By time we got home, I could no longer walk and just asked that she could help me in the house. She laughed in my face and left. It was february, cold and raining. I fell out of her high truck and army crawled to the house, up the concrete steps, and banged on the bottom of the door until E* came and opened it. He then watched me crawl pass him into the narrow hallway and closed the door behind me. He left me in the floor and went back to my mother. That's when I blacked out. I lost an hour or two, I find it hard to remember now. By time I came too, mom was getting ready for bed, and audaciously asked me if I was "done being over dramatic" yet. Ironically following this incident I started having a lot of health issues and neuropathy and no one could figure out why. This is when they questioned if I was on drugs... Oblivious... Flippin... OBLIVIOUS!

Now we move onto momma's little boy-toys number two- D. He was mentally, physically, and sexually abusive... to both me and my mother. It took my grandparents stepping in for her to kick him out and open her eyes. I've erased most of this from my brain. I do however remember him getting me overly drunk... at 13 years old... on multiple occasions. What happened after that, I don't remember. I had my fair share of getting hit by him. I also had my fair share of my mom making me the "bad guy" because obviously I wasn't defending myself..... I was "starting it all to get back at her and ruin her relationship."

Then came Paul...... I can say his name, scream it from the rooftops .... cause the flipper is dead. This was the time in my life... this B*tch got me f*cked up. My mother, post D, promised me that she would never move another man into our home. But let me tell you.... loopholes are golden to this hoe. Paul had his "own place". A small two bedroom apartment in the back of a major rental storage facility. He was a manager and a requirement was that he lived on the property. So to my mother, she wasn't breaking her promise when we moved in with him. Within the first month or so, I at 14 spilt some chocolate on his new couch. He proceeded to throw away all of my candy and grab me by my wrist. This is one heck of a trigger for me. and a snapped my wrist away and tried to go to "my room." But no, huzzy was oblivious to the red flagg af numero uno. He swung on me and I went into full self defense. My mom stepped in to defend him, not me. I had enough and used every once of self defence the idiot had taught me herself. She called the cops on me.... and I spent the night in jail. Following this, Paul lost his job at the facility and was forced to move in with us. Things only escalated from there. Any time I reached out to school counselors, they would call my mom to verify the abuse and shit would just get worse. I've lost count, but there are three vivid instances I could replay in my mind. They are engraved and probably will be for the rest of my life.

The first remembrance, mom had watched him berate me for months but was in denial that he was abusive. It was always me.... I was the way-were aggressive child. Such crap. I do not remember what led up to this moment. If I had to guess, my room wasn't clean or I had not done the dishes. Anyways, Paul proceeded to throw one of my prized arlooms from a deceased family friend out the front door, which is 6 ft off the ground. When I obviously upset started scream crying he proceeded to get in my face. Spitting in my face, pushing me back, screaming to get out of his face. I tried to flee to my room as he backed me down the hallway. he ended up pushing me so hard, I tripped backwards and fell on my back. This 400+ lb man proceeded to stomp on me and stand on my chest as I couldn't breath until I blacked out. My mom finally decided to step in and get him off of me. When I came too, My mother told me to go to my room and I deserved it and should learn from this and do whatever next time. Later the same week I ran away to the fire dept and begged for DHR to take me out of the home. I was promptly arrested and was told if I pulled "such a stunt" again... I would go to the big teen jail in B-Ham.

The next instance was the night of my sweet sixteen party. I had left something at home and my sister, her daughter, and her husband; had gone with me back to the house to get whatever. Paul had stayed home and simply wasn't interested in attending. When we arrived, he was complaining that I had yet not done any chores and shouldn't even have my party because I didn't deserve it. I'm guessing I smarted off to him at this point and he came across the room in front of my two year old niece and proceeded to punch me so hard I hit the cabinet behind me. He went for yet another punch and as he pulled his fist back my sister snatched me out of the way. He ended up punching through the glass door of the cabinet. I was promptly blamed and forced to clean up the glass out of the floor. You know what came from this? I was no longer allowed around my sister because she tried to tell my mom the truth. But... she wasn't ready for the truth.

(This is a side note to help the next thing make more sense... I mean none of it does, by hey I can try right?-: During a trip to the emergency room at children's hospital Paul tried to enter with his pocket knife and was denied entry cause no weapons ya know?... so his entitled a** proceeded to sneak in to see me after threatening the security officer. As he was escorted from the property BPD took his gun after he made several threats to shoot the officers. He was banned from Children's hospital for life, and I finally got the DHR worker I so rightfully deserved.)

Finally, the last I remember was the last day of his life. August 5th 2015. I came home from hosting a blood drive. I walked in the door and he started berating me in front of my mother for not having done the dishes. My mom for the first flipping time took my side and proudly defend me as I had been gone all day doing volunteer work. That wasn't good enough for him... He proceeded to hit me in front of my mother and I guess a light bulb went off and she sent me to my room. From there I called my dhr therapist... multiple times. It was her off day but she knew I needed her there now. She showed up with her mom and son in tow. As she tied to de-escalate the situation and have us all come together and talk it out Paul proceeded to hit me in front of her and my mother, so she called the cops. Then this hefer proceeded to hit me in front of my mother, the DHR worker, and the flipping cops. White male privilege at its flipping finest because I was escorted away from my home as we were told no, the cops can not take his gun away and no... he doesn't have to leave. We go to my grandparents house.... my mom has the light bulb finally go off to kick him out while we all talk through the abuse that she has sat back and watched for the last two and a half years. At this point she goes back home to give him the news. Fast forward... the butt-head had called and reported the phone I paid for as stolen and had it cut off, so I have no communication now. My mom goes back home to pack an overnight bag. Shortly after I realized I had left my medicine at the house in the rush to leave. As my grandfather drives me home, we get the call I will never forget. My grandmother frantically calls saying she was on the phone with my mom when she heard a gunshot and the line went silent. Then my mom had called her back saying had really did it. We pulled up to cop cars surrounding my childhood home. He had killed himself that night. I laughed at his funeral, not my proudest moment but was happy I was free.

Shortly after, I turned 18. I had "aged out" to DHR's standards and they closed the case on my mom. This was the end of the physical abuse from my childhood. However the mental abuse never really ended from my mother. However, the physical abuse just transferred over to my partner of eight years that ended with him strangling me.... but that is a story for another time.

If you made it this far... god bless you and all of my grammatical errors....

Thank you for coming to my Therapy session.....

Until Next Time,

Beth B.

Family
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About the Creator

Beth Braden

To be frank, I've been through some crap. These are my stories. These are real, names may have been changed or redactid for privacy. Sometimes I've almost drowned, but I've stayed strong. Enjoy the sh*t show!

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