In Jessica's last blog post she came out with the truth about something so I thought I would give it shot.
I'm not trying to upstage you, Jess. Merely come clean with some family secrets as well.
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When I was roughly 5 years old, 9/11 happened. I understood exactly what was happening and I asked my mom, "Why would adults do that to each other, madre?" *I was learning Spanish so I spoke in English and Spanish when I was younger*
She answered, "I don't know, Ash."
I don't know what happened then but I went on with my life. Until a couple years later when I was about 7 or 8. Things in the house would disappear and reappear only to be broken and dismembered. I never did any of it. My older brother did. But I always took the blame because I just wanted to get the screaming to stop and to get away from my parents. They scared me when I was little. They still do sometimes.
So when Nathan, my older brother, broke or stole something I would get in trouble and I would get spanked. My dad has these pair of flip flops he got in Key West. They're about half an inch thick and they're made of leather. He would take one of those and spank me with it until my eyes dried from tears or if he could see the bruises developing on my ass. If he couldn't find his sandals, he would use a paint stick and use that until it snapped in two. How we always seemed to have paint sticks ready is beyond me.
This was my way of life. It slowed dramatically while I was in the 7th grade. I mostly think it's because my uncle's suicide. And it stopped completely when I was in 8th grade because I started taking martial arts. Nathan used to punch me in the arms until I couldn't move them anymore. I would have bruises that were black and blue from my shoulders to my elbows. They lasted for weeks, as you can imagine. But ever since I learned martial arts, he hasn't touched me. I think it's because he knows I can fight back now and he doesn't want to get his ass kicked. Cause all he knows of fighting is street fighting. I've been trained.
ANYWAYS; When my mom couldn't take all the things happening she would lash out at me and Nathan. She was unpredictable. I remember vividly one time I was in her room because I couldn't be trusted alone anymore, or so they thought it was me and still do, so we were watching television in her room and she shut the t.v. off. Earlier that day, I had gotten into huge trouble and so she was still visibly mad. She got off the bed and walked over to me, I was sitting on the other side of the bed so she had to walk around, and she grabbed the pillow next to me. At first I though nothing of it. She sat next to me and played with the pillow cover saying, "You know I love you, Pumpkin." I responded, "I know."
She slowly put the pillow over my head and shoved me into the bed where she continued to press harder and harder into the pillow, taking away my air. I screamed but no one heard me cause it was just us in the house. I shouted to her, "Mommy! I can't breathe!" Her reply was calm and peaceful, "I know."
She pressed harder and I started clawing at her blindly. The only reason why I am still here is because my father pulled up in the drive. My mother snapped back and put the pillow in place. Picked me up and dragged me to my room before my dad was in the house. Put me in my room and shut the door.
I was still trying to catch my breath and I remember it so perfectly. I remember getting that tunnel vision and very faintly hearing my dad pull into the drive. It hurt to breath for awhile after that and I'm a little fuzzy on what happened for the rest of the week but I know that my own mother tried to kill me.
Whenever she gets as angry as she was, I back away as quickly as possible. It's not in my nature to back away from a fight but when my mother is in that white hot rage, I know what to do. Tuck tail and run. She's never tried to kill me again but she has shouted obscenities at me before. Vial things. The one that has stuck with me the longest is "YOU WERE A MISTAKE! I HATE YOU! GO TO HELL YOU FUCK UP! I. HATE. YOU.!" I still get it shoved in my face when I fuck up and she's getting angry. She doesn't say it out right but it is implied.
My mother and father scare me. My mother the most. Because I know she is capable of cold blooded murder. I am not exaggerating or trying to make this sound more sad. I know for a fact she could have killed me that day if my father hadn't pulled up. We have never spoken of it and I know that my dad and Nathan are completely oblivious to what happened.
I remember for the next 2 years, I couldn't be alone with her. I always had to be with someone else or alone. And even though it has been years since that day, I still feel like she wishes she had finish the job. I know she knows she was close to killing me. I remember my blind kicks and punches were getting weaker. I know I was dying. I thank whoever is up there, watching over me, that they protected me. I have almost died several times in my life but I always seem to get help at the very last second when all hope is lost. I don't know why, but I should have died 4 times in my life already. And those are the time were I didn't try to end my own life.
I feel exposed now but it feels good to have someone know.
Peace
-A
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