Ramblings of a Broken Mind

Part Two: When Worst Comes to Worst

I thought I had seen it all. Years of anything but a simple, ordinary childhood. Surly at some point things would start to look up. At age 11 I was already mentally drained. I missed my mother. I missed my father. I was emotionally hurt with an indescribable hole in my spirit. It didn't seem fair for me to have to go through much else. Once I heard my father got a stationary job close to home a little hope returned. My brother and I got to move in with him shortly after.

Everything finally felt somewhat normal. It was still a broken family, but a little family nonetheless. I was actually starting to feel happy again. Of course anytime I was happy it seemed to be short lived. My father started dating again a bit after we settled into our new lives. It wasn't bad in the least. Or so I thought. It was the start of an incredible rollercoaster ride of traumatic experiences hidden like a Trojan horse.

What made this time so much different than the rest was how much more permanent it was. Before, I'd only be stuck in situations for a few months to a year or so. This time my life would gradually get worse as my father's new significant other became more comfortable in her role.

They dated for a while at first. We would all go out to do things together and it was just like any other family on the outside. I never had much of a real motherly connection so I was content with just the bare minimum. Any act of kindness towards me would give me a false sense of being loved. It all started out so wonderful. She was nice, funny, smart, and fun to be around. After a few months they got married. It seemed like I was going to get the stable family life I was more than ready for.

My father gave his new wife the role of raising his children. Something he never quite understood always being a working man. It was easier for him to find someone else to take care of his home while he took care of the bills. It was easy for women to try and take advantage of the opportunity as well. It was a very subtle change at first. Once we were all moved in together, I noticed how the rules seemed to change. Things became much more strict. More so than I had ever dealt with before. To fully explain the trauma I went through would take an entire novel.

In most situations responsibilities such as chores, keeping good grades, and being respectful are not terrible things to ask from a child. Being grounded or lightly, physically punished for straying from these responsibilities is also not that big of a deal. It's when these simple requirements are exploited and used as excuses to carry out an array of abuse that it becomes a problem.

School was important. I was supposed to bring home A's and B's. Normally that is not very difficult. We moved to a new school shortly after my father's marriage. It was a little hard getting settled into the new place at first. I started to have a hard time concentrating in class. I was nervous being around all new people while adjusting to the new home life. To help settle my nerves I would draw in class. It was the only thing I could do at the time to make myself feel comfortable. My attention would get caught up in hiding behind the artwork causing me to miss out on work in class. I brought home a C during the first new school semester.

I wasn't too worried about the C. I knew I would get in some trouble, just not quite to what extent. My progress report waited for my father to get home. He and my step mother went over it together. I didn't have a good excuse for getting the low grade so just waited for my punishment. I was told I would be grounded until my next report term showing a grade increase. The terms were that my step mother would pick out my clothes for school. I was in the fifth grade at that time so thought it was a silly punishment, but maybe fair for not paying attention in class.

The night before it was time to go back to school, I noticed that my clothes had been replaced with new things. My step mother had gone out and bought a completely new wardrobe. The clothes she managed to get were as hideous as she could make them compared to my normal attire. She went to a thrift store and found a lot of outdated, uncomfortable clothes to have me wear. My anxiety worsened when I was back in school making it even harder to concentrate. Kids that age are not empathetic. I was bullied and made fun of constantly. I remember crying before school almost every day.

Eventually I did what I thought would help ease the bullying. I started sneaking out my old clothes to the bus stop so I could change before school. At some point I got caught doing this, which only made my punishment worse. My step mother then went out and bought me a school uniform and got rid of all my clothes to keep me from sneaking them back out. The bullying got much worse. There wasn't much else for me to do other than suffer through it at that point. As hard as I tried my grades weren't getting any better. The punishments got worse and so did my mental stability.

Once my stepmother got the ok to use physical punishments she made sure to use it as much as possible. The beatings got so bad I would have bruises for weeks. My stepmother had family in the school system. When a school nurse noticed the bruises I was sent off to an alternative school. Once I came back the punishments went back to being more mentally straining. I went through things such as eating nothing but unflavored oatmeal for all meals. Having choices was looked at as a luxury and "bad" children lost their choices in our household. That meant not dressing myself, eating unsavory meals different than the rest of the family, not being allowed to leave the house, not being allowed to watch TV, not being allowed to talk on the phone, and any free time I had had to be spent cleaning the house or yard. It got to the point where she even put a stop to my brother and I going to see our mother during the summer once I spoke up about what was going on.

I had a hard enough time dealing with all of this as it was, but once I was no longer allowed to have contact with my mother it crushed me almost to the point of no return. By this time I was in seventh grade and about 14 years old. This was when I started my sessions in and out of therapy. I remember telling different therapist what I was going through. My stepmother finally found someone that would medicate me rather talking to my parents about what was going on.

This was my life up until I ran away at 18. I was still in high school when I left my home. My parents called the school to let them know I had ran away, but at 18 there wasn't much that could be done. I had one semester left before graduation. My stepmother had already switched my classes to knock me out of my advance diploma, refused to allow me to test for early college classes after scoring highly on my state tests, and was now working to get me punished by the school for leaving home. By law, there was nothing they could do to force me back into my parents' home. I moved in with my step mother's sister when I left my family home. However, by law I also could not attend a public school while not living with my legal guardian. It would be possible for me to drop out and get my GED, but after working so hard to pass my classes I wanted to walk with the rest of my class at graduation.

Once living with my step aunt my grades improved drastically. My mind an attitude started to return to as normal as it could now that I was in a healthy environment. I still had responsibilities. I was still expected to follow rules. She showed me a genuine love which made doing anything for her to feel like favors rather than chores. If I did anything wrong I would still have consequences. I got myself into trouble a few times but never felt threatened. She showed me respect and love, even when she was upset. I hated disappointing her for that reason alone.

My aunt helped me balance back out as much as possible after being through the world of hell I had been in. Everything prepared me in some way for a very special mindset. In the end I was able to take my experiences and utilize them as life lessons. There is still much I had to learn as a young adult. It would be an entirely different journey, but nothing quite like having my childhood taken when I was too helpless to do anything about it.

Now I do what I can to be a positive influence in the lives of others. I want to make sure they know they're not alone. To show them that no matter how terrible life may seem there is a way to overcome it.