Through My Eyes (eBook)

Subject: (no subject)

Date: 3/15/2006 9:20:49 A.M. Eastern Standard Time

From: xxxxxxxx

To: xxxxxx

Mom,

You have not entered my conscious mind for a long time. Sure, people would volunteer information, tell me how you were, ask me questions, but I would disregard those thoughts. Personally, I did not care if you were having a hard time. I did not care if you were getting better. I did not want to have anything to do with you.

This arrangement has been wonderful for me, up until now that is. Because up until this point I have not had to really face what you did, I have not had to think about what you put me through, and I have not really been able to admit that I have missed having a mother.

I remember you mom. I remember your cooking, your art. I remember how you smelled, and the makeup you used. I remember your smile. That was when you were truly beautiful, when you were happy.

Come to think of it, I don't remember you being happy all that much. There were moments when you would smile. Or when I would do something you actually liked. But those moments were fleeting and often gone before I had the chance to really see.

I mostly remember you when you were mad. I remember your face. I remember how you looked when you yelled at me, or when I did something that you did not like, or when I disappointed you. I remember how it sounded when you yelled, how I wanted to run away. I remember hiding, holding my breath, hoping you would go away, that maybe if I did not move, you would forget that you were looking for me.

I remember that my head always hurt. I always upset you. You would punish me. You would pull my hair. You would make my neck hurt so I could not turn my head. You would pull my hair so much that I could not even lay my head on my pillow. I remember sitting up in bed with my eyes closed. I did not brush my hair because I was scared that it would all fall out. I used to be amazed at the amount of hair that could come off of my head without leaving bald patches. I once sat for hours, searching for the bald spot that I knew was there. It had to be. But, I never found it. It was like you knew just the right moment to stop. The moment between letting other people find out what you were doing, or keeping it hidden.

Hidden is what it was. We were all embarrassed of you. We did not want anyone knowing what our mother did. But they all knew. They all saw your face. They all heard you scream. Maybe that is why they stayed away. Could you be the reason I did not have many friends? Is that why I told doctor Sheinberg that I fell when he gave me stitches?

I never understood what was so bad about me. I was always doing so much for you. I would clean the house all by myself. That would make you happy for a little while. When you wanted food, I would go to the store to buy you something. I would keep everyone quiet so that you could sleep. I made sure that the lunches were made for everyone, everyday. What else could I have done? Why were you so mean? How could you do what you did?

There are so many things I don't understand. I don't understand why you never hugged me. I try to remember a time when you hugged me, but I can't. I remember once being sick, and you told me to go to bed. You were downstairs. You were watching a movie with my sisters. I went downstairs dripping with sweat. Everything was spinning, and I simply said, “help.” You just said to go to bed, and I listen to you. I went back upstairs. I went to school the next day. I slept in the nurse's office because you did not want to pick me up. You were mad when you had to take me to the doctor. I could not defend myself because I was so sick. I just lay there while you hit me with that bat you always used. You told me that I did it on purpose. That you hated our Dr. That we were “in it” together. I said no, you hit me more. I decided not to say anything so that you would stop faster. You finally did stop, you pulled me in the car, and we went to the doctor. You acted like a concerned parent. I wanted to say something. I wanted to tell Dr. Sheinberg what you did. But, I decided not to. How could he believe me? How could he think that you would do something like that? Everyone would think that I was the one that was crazy.

There was the time at Grandpa’s when you hit me with a belt. It was something that you just found lying around. I don't remember what I did wrong. But, I do remember running into the van that was parked on the side of Grandpa’s house. I was so embarrassed. I laid in the back and cried. No one cared. No one came. Except for your sister, after a long time laying in that hot car, crying my eyes out. She told me that you were mad, but that you still loved me. That I should not hold this against you. That conversation made me understand that no one would help. Because what you were doing was not all that bad or wrong.

I used to wish that someone would hear me cry. I would pray to die. I did not want to live. I had to grow up alone. You did not tell me anything about life, or being a girl, or saving money. You did not show me how to put on makeup, shave my legs, or do my hair. You never took me shopping. I remember that you used to hide the tampons so we could not use the ones that you bought. How come? You never told me about my period. I had to learn to do all of that stuff on my own. Boy am I lucky that the boxes come with instructions. Why didn't you tell me any of that? Do you know how embarrassing it was for me? I had to call the 1 800 number on the box because I didn't understand how the tampons worked. Who has to do that? What kind of parent forgets to tell their daughter about their body changing?

I remember one time when us kids were fighting in the basement. You are upstairs on the phone. We were arguing about what to watch. I had the remote and threw it across the room. It broke. The buttons were everywhere. I knew that you were going to be mad. So did everyone else. We turned on the light and all looked for the pieces together. I tried to put the remote back together. I tried to make it look like we had never broken it. But, I was missing too many pieces. The seven and the nine were gone. I remember walking upstairs, holding the remote, shaking. I knew what was going to happen. Everyone else was waiting. They knew they were going to get hit too. I felt bad, I knew that it was all my fault. I did not want them to be punished.

I stood in front of you while you were on the phone. I waited until you were done. You looked at me like you hated me, and I showed you what I did. You just turned away. What happened that day? Why didn't you hit me? What was different?

I remember the end. When I was finally thrown away. You thought that I was poisoning you. You thought that I had people following you. Why would I do that? You hated me. Every time you saw me you said something bad. You thought that I was too fat, and stupid. I remember one time I asked you why you thought I was stupid and you told me that you never said that. The funny thing is that I believed you. I believed that you never said that, even though I knew you did. I was no good to you, “useless, all I did was eat.”

It was my senior year in high school. You told me that someone was following you. I said you were crazy. I actually said that... I was so proud of myself. Something snapped in my head. You were so mad. You came at me and I pushed you away. That made you more mad. You pulled my hair. I remember thinking, “no, not the hair again, anything but the hair.” I hate it when you pulled my hair. It hurt for so long after. I ran away. I picked up the phone, and I called the police. But just as quickly as my newfound fearlessness emerged, it was gone. I could not tell them what you did, what you were doing. They called back, and you picked up the phone. You told them that I was the bad one. But I was the one that was hitting you. You made my sister agree with you. The police did not believe me. They made me leave. I was so young. I had nowhere to go. I was alone and there was no one for me. You made everyone think that you were a loving parent, that you could do no wrong, and that I was the evil abuser. You did a great job. They believed you. They made me leave.

You took everything. My car (that I paid for), my clothes, my books, my special things. Everything that I loved was gone. I slept outside in the park under the boat that all the little kids climbed on. I went to school to use the shower. My friends brought me clothes to change into. I had to sneak into the basement of Sarah's house so that I would be warm at night. Her parents thought I was bad too. You made sure of that.

I slept in the old clunker car that Papa gave me. I snuck into the house when you were sleeping and took some of my clothes. I slept at my boyfriends, (if you can even call him that). I was so hungry sometimes that I took food from my work. They never knew. I hated myself for stealing. But, I had no money.

The family stepped in when papa decided to help me. I was going to live at our Aunt's house. I took some papers to you. Custody papers. You signed them like they were nothing. I could barely stand straight while you signed your name. I was hurt. I was sad. I wanted to cry and tell you not to do it. I wanted you to throw down the pen and hug me, and tell me that you wanted me. But you didn't. You just gave me away. Another problem, gone. I stood straight that day. I was proud of myself. I showed no emotion. I made you think that I didn't care either. I did well. I learned from you.

Mom, remember when Auntie kicked me out, when again, I had nowhere to go. I was staying at my “boyfriend's”...