So we have already been over ‘Mommy and me’ in Part 1, so I will move on quickly to the end of that sad saga….My mother became steadily worse and we moved twice, landing in another state to be with her family. Unfortunately we moved into her brother’s house which was another dysfunctional place. My mother did not go out, Ever except Once when I took her to the mall. She had a blast but was afraid I would see one of my friends with her being in a wheelchair. I could have cared less, and none of my friends would have cared either. My mother slowly declined because she Refused All Medical Treatment. She eventually moved into my grandmother’s house, about ten miles away Without Telling Me. I wanted to go with her but my grandfather said there was no room. He had four bedrooms, used only two, so forgive me for not understanding That. So I was left to live with my uncle and aunt and my two girl cousins. My uncle was a funny guy and very successful but lost his job. He became a great House Husband, he truly was. I was Cinderella. I cleaned the entire house every weekend, did laundry, helped cook, did dishes, watched my cousins, and did everything I could to Please Them.
My Aunt, however, was an abuser. I could spot ‘them’ by this time, as I was 12. She would beat her eldest daughter with whatever was available to her. I have no idea why she did this. On top of that, my cousin Hated Me. Probably because I did everything, (she certainly got out of many of Her chores so I don’t know why she Hated me but she did)…and her parents were Happy that I did Everything and she did Nothing…who knows? .When my Aunt would beat her with a clothes rod, a rolling pin, a belt, or whatever was at hand, I would come running when I heard my cousin screaming and crying. Even though I was Terrified, I screamed and hollered at my Aunt, and stood in front of my cousin, more times than I can count. I was there two years. Most of the time, I would take the youngest in her room, put a record on her Barbie record player, and run to rescue my older cousin. I would throw her on the floor, I was very small, but I usually dived for her legs to knock her down, grabbed her and Pulled her in her room and faced her Mother, My Aunt. I would tell her to quit hitting the girl, what is wrong with you? This went on for two years. My Aunt hated me. My cousin hated me. My uncle was in such a deep depression, he just drank.
I would visit my mother in the next town when someone would Give me a Ride and sometimes I would ride my bike. I told her what was going on and it was hard for her to believe it. She found I was telling the truth through her father, my grandfather, who Knew What Was Going On… She had mellowed much by this time. I told her I was going to write a false letter to the Bastard, my father, to come and get me. My plan was to go to my beloved Grandparents. I got there, but not soon enough. My mother agreed.
I then spent the next six years visiting my mother by bus, whenever I could save the money and spoke with her on the phone.
Point: Anxiety and Fear Every Day of my Life. No Joke.
No wonder I loved school!!