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The Car Door Punishment

11 years is an eternity when you're 7 years old

By J.D. BradleyPublished 2 years ago 3 min read
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My life has apparently been a string of experiences that most people cannot relate to, and on occasion, I come across incredulous individuals, who, in their naivete, question my honesty. I offer no apologies for my experiences. I lived through them and they did not. I don't lie. At least it’s very rare for me and when I do it’s usually to save someone’s feelings. That trait takes a great deal of cultivation...that being said...

My father had married this horrible woman, Sharon, and she resented both my, and my sister's, existence. I'll leave my sister's shit out of this; I'm very sorry for the fact that she never got over our childhood but am unable to heal her and have given up.

I was in 2nd grade. How old is that? I think maybe 7 years old. School was out; probably 3:30 in the afternoon, and I was watching "Battle of the Planets" on television. Sharon was out running errands with her son, James, my stepbrother. Bless his heart, he had left his bicycle in the driveway in his excitement to go with his mother. I didn't know that. Whatever. He might have been high now that I think about it. When she drove the station wagon (from what I gather) into the driveway, she ran it over. I was in the living room. It sure did suck that I existed. It may as well have been my fault. She came in screaming at me and beat my motherfucking ass, for, "Putting James's bicycle in the driveway so I'd run over it!" Imagine my complete criminal mastermind self, at 7 years old, no less, pulling that shit off. I got pulled out by my hair, getting beat with the other hand the whole way. When we finally got to the scene of the alleged crime, she had an inspiration. Cars have doors that slam shut and are capable of causing a great deal of pain. She opened the car door. Picture this: With her left arm, she held my small left hand into the proper position. With her right arm, she slammed the car door completely closed onto my hand, and left it closed for approximately, by my best estimate, a minute. I was crying and in shock, of course, the whole time. When she finally opened the door, my immediate response was to look at my hand. Children's bones are incredibly pliable. My left hand was shaped like the space that exists between the door and the car. I wish I had a picture of it. That cunt beat me some more for freaking out at the look of my hand. It simply looked grotesque.

Now, at this point, I was just sure that my psycho father would defend me and stop her abuse when he got home. Fuck that asshole; years and years later, I literally pissed on his grave. When he got home, they had an argument about how bad it sucked that I existed and then he came into our (the many siblings') room. I was so full of hope that he would remove me from this horrific situation! He was the strongest man in the world!... I thought. He came into the room, got down on his knees, slapped me off from my feet and left.

When I came to, I realized how horrible my life was going to be until I turned 18 and could take care of myself and 11 years is an eternity to a 7 year old. Things were better after I got to move out. Everything important, emotionally, is simply in our minds. She didn’t realize it, and it wasn’t her intention, but she started the process of making my mind damned near indestructible. I have processed so much.

coping
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About the Creator

J.D. Bradley

I've had a very different kind of experience.

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