I was standing in front of the TV when it
happened.
I was just standing there.
I wasn’t doing anything. I should say I didn’t feel like I was doing anything because while I wasn't actively doing anything I was passively interfering with someone else’s viewing
pleasure. I was blocking the view of the tennis match on
TV. I didn’t mean to be doing it.
I wasn’t even thinking.
I was just standing there.
Object lessons are effective lessons. After my
dad hit me with the wire handle of the fly swatter I never stood in front of the
TV again. To this day I do not watch
TV. There’s nothing bad or wrong with
TV, I just choose not to watch it. Growing up in an
abusive household is tough. That may sound obvious but there are implications beyond the U-shaped welt on your leg.
Neither of my parents are big
drinkers and that makes the
abuse harder for me to understand. Both of my parents have serious rage issues. I turned my mother in for
child abuse when I was in grade school. It was not long after the fly swatter incident. I was supposed to be practicing the
piano but I was fooling around instead. The
social worker took pictures of my
bruises and the police paid my mother a visit at work.
She was crying about it when I got home. She told me that she loved me but I didn’t believe her. I still don’t believe her because
the screams of my sisters echo in my ears. When you’re a child you don’t run as fast as adults do no matter how terrified you are. The
terror recedes as you age but it haunts you late at night in the form of
dreams and
nightmares. You grow up but you don’t get over
it. You don’t trust people easily. You’re always afraid of what people are going to do to
hurt you.
Counseling helps but it doesn’t erase the
memories and you still see your parents. You still live with them. They pay your bills. You eat their food. You depend on them for survival and you still
love them. You don’t understand it and you keep on
loving them merely because they’re your
parents. You don’t have anyone else to take care of you and you want so desperately to believe that somehow someday something you do will be good enough for them to stop hitting
you.
I'm not sure what about the trip to
California brought this to the surface and I'm sorry
mom but I would rather see
people than things so perhaps it's best if
we don't take trips together in the future.
P.S. You wouldn’t have to ask whether
I write about you or not if you ever took the time to read things I’ve written. This one is for you.