Don’t give up – Part 2

By Anonymous

My mom picked up drinking around this time, so she was always wasted. That’s when the abuse from her started. Her abuse was strictly mental and physical. She would get drunk off of a Gallon and a half a day. She drank so much I honestly don’t know how she lived. Well, things just got real bad real fast. She would be super drunk by the time I would get off the bus from school. My everyday life from the ages of 11 to 14 consisted of me getting off the bus from school and walking into her being drunk. She would start picking at me the second I’d walk in the door. She’d tell me how much of an ungrateful bi*ch I was, how stupid I was, how worthless I was, how she wish she never had me, and how I owe her for just being alive, How embarrassed she was to have a daughter who was a ‘nut’. Eventually I got tired of it and started saying stuff back and that is when it became physical. It was an everyday occurrence, but I just tell you the most key memories I have.

I remember one time I got home from school and she was mad about something that had happened earlier that day. I walk in to do my daily routine of checking on my little sister who was only 3 at the time. I’d change her, feed her and kiss her. Then I would go to the kitchen to start to cook some dinner, all the while mom is in there yelling at me telling me how much of a b*tch I am, how worthless I am etc. This particular day, I had already started dinner and I was cleaning the house because it was a huge mess. I mean think about it, a messy drunk woman and a toddler had been there all day. I was cleaning the house and I remember her saying something mean to me and I just lost it and said some smart mouth reply back and that is when I got one of the worst beatings I can remember. Worse then the daily beatings. She took a broom and beat me over the back so hard she snapped it into two. She picked up a slow cooker that was in the kitchen and threw it and it hit me in the face and busted my lip.

Eventually, she calmed down and passed out. I remember feeling scared, hurt (mentally and psychically) angry and embarrassed, but being the compassionate girl I am I always made sure to turn her on her side so if she got sick she wouldn’t choke on her own vomit and die.

Another time I remember running with my baby sister in my arms to my room because she was on a rampage again. I shut and locked my door because I was so scared. She ripped the door off the hinges came in and went to hit my 3 year old sister because she was the one who originally pissed mom off and I stood up to her in her face and said, ‘If you’re going to hit someone, hit me. Don’t touch my sister!’ Things like this happened on a daily basis.

Other key events that occurred was her getting drunk and coming to my school parent teacher meetings and embarrassing me by fighting with me in the hallway, as she stumbled holding on the the wall screaming my name yelling mean things at me. I remember feeling so embarrassed because all of the kids I went to school with had their parents with them and they were all happy and clean and talking about how they were so proud of them and how they were going to go out to eat after they left the school. Then there is my mom stumbling down the hallway drunk, dirty and mean. I knew all that I was getting after this was a beating and to go to bed hungry. I was so hungry.

I remember getting outside the school and having to drive us home. I know that sounds strange, wondering how I managed to drive us home without wrecking. The truth is that I started driving when I was 11. I would drive my uncle to work (He had a DWI and lost his licences) I would drive my mom to the liquor store, to get food, I was the one who went grocery shopping. She used to drive us around drunk but I started getting scared so I took it upon myself to learn the rules of the road so we could get home safe. My mom was a mess. I remember another time, my little sister was in the hospital and mom took her up there, drunk of course and ended up getting into a fight with the nurses and got kicked out and got CPS called on us. CPS later closed the case.

Around the age of 14 I got tired of all of it and broke down and told my mom what had happened to me, about the being molested and I tried to kill myself that night.

Continue to Part 3 here




  1. […] give up – Part 3Don’t give up – Part 2Don’t give up – Part 1This is not the beginning, the middle, or the […]

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