Modern Day Cinderella

Since I was little, my father would call me names. When I was 3 years old he took my binky around, because, "I was too old". When I started 2nd grade, my mother became very ill, and I took over the household choirs; cooking, cleaning and taking my brother to and from his bus stop, while my father was "working". He lied always about where he was. He would always come home smelling like food, and my brother and myself would be left to fend for ourselves.

So I went to school, played with my friends, then would take care of the house and mom. With her illness some days she was okay, and she would play with us and watch movies. Other days, she couldn't see, walk, talk or feed herself. It was so hard to see her like that, it gave me nightmares. I would have to retell her stories because after what we called "episodes" she couldn't remember anything. That's when I stopped sleeping as much.

At the age of 12, my father moved us to yet another house. By that time we had moved 15 times. 4 weeks later we find out that we're homeless because he never paid for it. But he told us our grandmother wanted us out. My mother ended up having to call her parents just to get us a hotel for a few nights until we were able to get a place to stay.

This was the way things were until I turned 14. My mother started to regain her health and started to notice what all I was doing in our 1 bedroom apartment. At the time I didn't think much of it. Then my father came home one night and told my brother and I that he was getting a divorce. We were devastated. He didn't go through with it, but the next day he told my brother and myself that he didn't think our mother would live much longer. I also started to hate all men because I figured they were all like my father. His words were always biting and hurtful, he lied constantly. All I wanted was to keep my family safe from him. My younger brother started having extreme anxiety. His once sweet demeanor was consumed with fear and anger.

Now as I was getting into my full teenhood, he would tell me I was ugly, stupid, and hairy. This made me extremely self-conscience and I started shaving every day. It was not until I turned 15 that I started to notice how different my life was compared to my friends. When I would hang out with them, their dad's weren't hovering over us, they weren't calling them to do choirs half way through a get-together, and they weren't asking us for money. Then also I met someone who I fell in love with. He started to show me that not all men are like my dad.

Then my father started to obsess over getting and running a hot dog cart. He built his own and secretly stole money from my family and friends to the point where I had 3 friends left. But at this point in my life, I was so depressed by all the housework I had to do and school work that I just stayed away from having a social life. My brother did the same, and we both became anti-social.

When I turned 16 I confronted my father about how he wasn't treated my brother or myself fairly. The day before my brother was sick and my father hit him badly for not getting up for school. He exploded and talked about killing himself so I didn't mention it for a while.

Then it finally happened. He tried to take his own life when I was 19 and ended up in a mental institute for a week. When he came back he told us that he was going to visit my uncle and grandfather. And he never came back. He also stole all the money my mother had saved for our house, tax papers, and then lied to everyone in my mother's family about his leaving. He told them that my mother and I were good for nothing woman who never worked.

The meaning if this story is emotional abuse doesn't always show itself like physical abuse does. And if you don't know you may make the same mistakes I did. If I had spoken up to an authority like a teacher or a close friend I wouldn't have been trapped in this endless loop along with my brother and mom.

Getting help is not a bad thing. It's now 8 months later and I am healthy and happy for the first time. I no longer pretend everything is okay, and I smile because I am genuinely happy. My mom, brother and I are now going to family therapy to assist in the healing process. Emotional therapy is just like Physical therapy...You have to take it one step at a time.