The Story of My Life...

January 8, 2008
By
The Story of My Life...

I am going to tell you a story. A story of an alcoholic. The story of a child abuser, and the story of my life.

"Mom stop it!" I screamed with terror. My Mother and Father were at it again. You see, My Mother was a raging alcoholic. Sometimes she got so bad, I'm lucky to be breathing today. Sometimes so bad, we were lucky if we only bled. In other words, my life was a living hell. I came home everyday in fear of what I might see next.

We live in NH in a 2 bedroom apartment and were looking for a house in the area. Only a few months later, My parents found the perfect house. It was in Weare, NH, about 20 minutes away from our old house. I distinctly remember my Mother saying "We are moving so far into the sticks, no one will hear you scream." Those words to this day still linger on inside. My Mother is an alcoholic, bi-polar and is flat out, unsuitable to be a Mother. She doesn't to this day, know how to be one. When my parents would fight I would sit, sometimes watch, cry but think that this was a totally normal situation. I thought everyone lived like this. When they fought, I seriously had to pray no one would end up dead. Knifes, forks, candles...anything in her reach she would through at us, at my Father. If you looked at her the wrong way, she'd make you wish you were never born. One day we were in a fight and I ran into the barn to hide. She then followed me outside and locked me in the barn with no food, no water. That was about 8AM on a Monday in summer. I wasn't found until Tuesday night around 6PM when my Father returned from work to feed the horses and goats. He was so upset by this, he brought me inside and put me to bed. He then went into the living room, where he found my Mother drunken as usual on the sofa. I remember peeking around the wall to see what I could. He started screaming at her for the abuse she caused us. She then got up, as much as she could and gave her 100% effort to give a swing, but passed out cold onto the floor. He ignored her, I would have too. He then went into the "sports room" to relax and watch TV, little did he know that my Mother was faking the whole situation. She walked into the bedroom a little later after that with a sludge hammer. She always told us that she was going to bust open his skull when he was asleep with one, so I got very sacred. What do I do? It was the day before my 11th birthday, so I really didn't want to get the police involved. When my Mother fell asleep, I snuck into her bedroom and stole the hammer, then hid it in her closet under boxes and boxes of clothes. She woke up the next morning dazed and didn't even remember that she brought it up there. My father was already at work and my Mother acted like nothing had even happened. Perhaps she didn't remember, I don't know. Either that or played dumb.

I asked her to pick my up a Lemon-Lime Gatorade while she ran out to get cigarettes. She came home with three packs of Newport's, a 30-pack of Budweiser and a Gatorade for me. She told me not to mention the fact that she bought alcohol to my Father, after all, he said if he ever found it in the house again he would leave. I was too afraid of this so I kept quiet. I went upstairs to my room to watch The Lion King 2 when I heard a noise. A huge noise. The noise I was promised I wouldn't hear tonight. I sat on the stairs and I saw my Mother and Father fighting. My Father was sitting on her waist and holding her arms down to try to release the knife from her hand. He succeeded. I screamed with my brother and sister because I didn't know what to do. I reached for the phone and called the only person I knew who could help me. My grandfather. It was about 11 at night and I knew they'd be asleep but I needed them now more than ever. The phone rang about three times and my grandmother picked up. I was screaming I needed help and fast. She asked what was going on and I told her they were fighting again. She hung up and called the police. A few minutes later the police arrive at my house, along with an ambulance. At that time, my Father is holding my Mother down in the tub, after all her greatest fear was water. She kicked him up and again "passed out." I greet the police with a knife and a sobbing boy. I bring them to the bathroom and they are armed with a gun. My Father backed off and my Mother still showed signs of a drunken loser still being aggressive. The police took me aside and asked me what they wanted me to do. I begged for an arrest. They did so, for domestic violence and attempted murder. My Mother was arrested on August 8th 2000, my birthday. I remember sleeping in my Fathers room the night, too afraid shed break in and try to kill us.

I talked to my Father for hours that night about the whole situation and begged him for a divorce. I never wanted to see her again. A Mother is someone who should be loving and caring. That's all I ever wanted. I've learned form this horrific experience that I should never trust her again, because I can't. Shes never given me any reason to. Sure, shes my Mother, but she has never acted like one, or done anything to earn that name. From now on I refer to her as Margi.





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