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Why I'm "CraZy"

I lived in a hostile environment

By Angelica VauxPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
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AGE 5

A quiet little shy girl amongst a very hostile environment, the place I called home. Mother did her best to be emotionally strong, but my father was angry all the time and he also loved alcohol.

I was the 3rd born of four sisters!

The eldest was betty, she had it the hardest with my father, and then there was Dina, the second oldest who my father favoured (but still punished on occasion).

Then there was myself Angela, I was very timid and very afraid to cry in front of my father for fear that I would be physically abused (we weren’t allowed to cry).

Then there was the youngest of all, Janette.

My mother’s favourite of all, Janette was very spoiled by my mum.

Our relatives used to call us the “brady bunch’ and without the boys obviously. I believe it was a dig at our family as if to say we were hideous.

We were a family of six and living in a single bedroom apartment.

That’s not the only reason we were ridiculed by them and the small town people where we lived, we were also made fun of because the police were at our place almost every night because my father would come home drunk and physically abuse my mum in front of us because he lost all his money on gambling and prostitutes.

The truth was that he did not like us, (his children) he hated us, he blamed us for his wrongs and for everyone else’s wrongs. For years we watched as this person, this male “mentor” of ours, would act like a loving father to everybody else’s children, his nieces, nephews, his friend’s children and even a stranger’s child. But not to us because he hated us with a passion, why? None of my sisters and I ever truly know why but we do know that he always wanted boys.

A domineering man who’s face was always red and prepared for eruption, his anger would go from 0-100 in a split second, he could laugh one minute and hear a strange tap that made him lose focus and erupt seconds later. In short, he had a short fuse, he hated women, he hated my mother, he hated us.

We grew up in fear of making a sound or laughing too loud for we would get punished if we did. We Were not allowed to cry or feel pain, if we did, we would endure more pain even worse than that of the initial.

This is where the building blocks for mental health begin to manifest, in young children, where the children can only dream of a big house and loving parents, but rather, being handed an unloving family and a tiny unit with a narcissistic alcoholic abuser we called “dad”.

Yes, although he was never actually diagnosed with this disorder, naturally, anyone living amongst this thing called a “man” would agree that this was the only rational explanation for the type of behaviour we witnessed as children.

AGE 7

I started school at the age of four, because I begged my mum that I wanted to go to school, I really didn’t want to be at home anymore, I can still remember the excitement I felt about going to school and making friends as a little girl who was as shy as myself, very unusual to say the least.

As I started school a year early, I was the youngest in my glass, and I was also the most bullied.

I was bullied by the boys because I wasn’t pretty enough, because I lacked confidence, I was a quiet little girl and I remember being very afraid of boys for fear that if I wronged them, that I would get in trouble from my father about my problems at school.

I remained silent, I let them push me around, I wouldn’t even tell the Teachers what was happening, only because I had been taught forcefully to not whinge or cry because I would be in trouble for “making a fuss’.

Time went by and I had to repeat the first grade, the teacher (and I still remember her) Mrs G. was not nice to me either.

There were a bunch of nasty boys in that class that would push me around a lot, one even pushed me into a desk and my upper right eye was split and bleeding all over the place. Did I cry and run home to tell daddy? No, because I thought I’d done something wrong.

It was then that I realised that people could do anything to me and I wasn’t allowed to complain, so I kept even more quiet than what I already was.

My second year 1 teacher (as I had to repeat} was lovely, Mrs R. I was her favourite, she always said nice things to me and encouraged me. I was a loner, scared and lost at home and in school, and she noticed. She may have been the teacher that put me into child psychotherapy at school I don’t remember fully. But, I do remember the police throughout primary school, pulling me out of class and taking my sisters and I to a different woman’s refuge every time.

When the police would come to my classroom door and ask the teachers of me, I would get all excited because I knew I wouldn’t have to go home and I wouldn’t have to stay in school either, I would get to go to a nice ladies refuge where the kids got to do arts and crafts, day trips, movies, Christmas, birthdays all paid for.. I didn’t have this at home because my parents where both gambling alcoholics and we never had Christmases or birthday’s so I had to lie in school about what I got or did on those days and holidays. so I would be like (YESSSSS, SCOORREEEE!!).. This was the way my brain was beginning to react to something that was meant to stress me, but to be honest, being in those refuges as a child were the best times of my childhood.

AGE 10

Still struggling with school and ongoing issues at home, lacking concentration, getting into trouble, waiting for the day police pop into my school to tell us our mother is dead because my father had killed her. One morning before leaving to take us to school, “Father” told us that when we get home, our mother will be dead. He dropped us off at school and that was it for the day.

(My mother is still around because the narcissist didn’t kill my mother, but he sure did mentally damage her and us also!

I always ran away from school, I hated everything about it, the teachers, the boys, the girls…. I hated going back.

And that is why by the time I hit puberty and went to high school, not long after the seventh grade at age 13 did I choose to drop out.

Yes, by this time the mental damage was done.. I skipped school, had myself a boyfriend, smoked weed, drank alcohol and stole cigarettes from my drunk parents who happened to be passed out at the time.

In the process of me officially dropping out, my parents knew I was out of control and they didn’t even try to correct me properly, my father was violent and the more violent he became the more I wanted to shame the bastard.

So my mother came to the principles office with me and sat next to me as I told the principle that I didn’t want school anymore. I always remember his reaction, there was no trying to talk me out of it. All I remember was him blandly telling me (ok, if this is what you want), no, it wasn’t even a question.

After that, my mother signed off paperwork bla bla bla…

I was free now to ruin the rest of my pathetic little existence! Nobody cared, I wasn’t pretty or cute enough. I always recall the prettier girls in school being told by teachers, (oh your so pretty why are you acting this way?) or, (your too pretty to be bad).. F*#@ that right? So I’m here wondering if the reason that I wasn’t talked out of my rash decision at 13 years of age, was simply because “I just wasn’t cute enough for people to GAF”!!!

I am going to write about my problems with rejection as my story is to be continued. This is the basis of the first decade in my life and the next stage will be my adolescent years.

I am telling my story following up to my current stages in life.

Stick around!!

humanity
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About the Creator

Angelica Vaux

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