Another Unstable Mind Since I was born I have always been a happy and perfect child, according to my mother, anyway. However, the happy and perfect child I was turned into an insecure, paranoid, traumatized, and mentally unstable teen. To put it simply, I grew up way too fast, but my mother was too ignorant to see the wonderful cherry blossoms within my meadow wither away. When I was around four years old, my parents separated and I moved from Maryland to Texas. Of course, it affected me as it would affect any small child, but what made it worse was that my mother did not hesitate to move on. A new man, Santos, flew into our lives faster than a hawk chasing its prey. What a nice gentleman, thought my naïve four-year-old mind. Little did I know that at ten years old my opinion of this man sent from heaven would change drastically. As the years went by, the nice gentleman was slowly forming into a demon, perhaps even worse than that. Santos and my mother both became heavy alcoholics. Our family, including my brother Michael, whom I haven’t mentioned, would go eat dinner at a nice restaurant, but afterwards the nice and loving mother I knew was gone. Both her and Santos turned into raging and violent monkeys, keep in mind, this is no exaggeration. Our cozy home became a hell house, all I could do at the moment in time was go into my room, crawl into a fetal position on my bed, bawl my eyes out, and pray to a “God” that it would all be over soon. That was not the only event that occurred regarding Santos. One day, while I was at home, Santos decided to come and watch TV with me, aw how pleasant. Soon, the sun went down and my mother was still not off work, nor was my brother. Since it was late, I decided I’d go to my room, but Santos wanted to
accompany me. Before I got off the couch to head to my room, he placed his hand on my inner thigh and began to “caress” it while he said, “Lets go watch TV in your room together.” While caressing my inner thigh he went higher, and higher, and higher with his filthy sandpaper like hands. Hands that not even Satan himself possesses. I felt goose bumps rise all over my skin, I began to shiver tremendously, and an unforgettable chill ran down my spine. His disgusting hand was going slowly but kept rising while I sat there, paralyzed, because I could not process what was happening. It was as if I was being chained to the couch and the chains were stealing my breath and the more I struggled to make myself move the more I felt his hand moving. I didn’t think that I would ever be put in a situation where my innocence could have been stolen away from me. This situation led my very soul to explode into a thousand pieces that would never return again. I will never forget the feeling of his demonic hands on my untouched skin, no one has ever touched me the way he did. As soon as I could process my young mind of what was going to happen I looked at this devil and slapped his hand away. He tried telling me, “Oh, no it’s okay, I won’t hurt you I promise. But, you can’t tell your mother okay?” As soon as I heard the word “mother” I resisted immediately and ran to the safety of my room, where I could be alone. The thought of my mother rang a gigantic bell. I would tell her as soon as she returned home. I would tell her how this beast almost erased my purity and how he’s already decreased the chances of me having a childhood. Except, I forgot how my mother was. She wasn’t a beautiful fairy like I hoped she’d be. When she came home, I saw her kiss that animal and he talked to her as if nothing happened. As soon as he saw me peek my head out of my room he glared at me, but it
didn’t feel like a simple glare. It was as if I was staring death in the face, he was mentally warning me of what was to come if I dared to tell my wonderful mommy what happened. She came step by step by step, as she was walking the world behind her was crumbling, but she didn’t notice. She came to my door and gave me a hug and when she did I whispered, “Mommy, Santos was touching me. Make him go away please.” That’s it, it’s all over, mommy will get rid of him and I’ll be safe! No more fighting, no more bad dreams, no more isolation, we can be a happy family again! My thoughts were such pathetic thoughts. No, my thoughts were normal, they were thoughts that any eleven year old would have. Instead of receiving the support of my mother I received, “What the fu-- are you saying? You don’t know what you’re talking about, you are lying, stop being a little bi--- and stop pretending stupid things happen. You’re such a stupid little girl, I’m going to go get the belt and spank you so you never lie again! You worthless piece of sh--!” “No mommy, I’m not lying! Please believe me!” There I was, a hopeless eleven year old staring at the women who was supposed to be my superhero. There she was hitting me, hitting me in every place possible. My face, my neck, my arms, my legs, and lastly my thighs were all imprinted with the formation of the belt buckle. My thighs, the part of my body that had been tortured enough through out the evening. It was a never-ending punishment, I was bleeding from several areas. It was as if I was watching the angels reach their hands out towards me as I began to feel completely numb. The rest of the night was completely erased from memory.
I woke the next morning with confusion because how and when did I fall asleep? I ignored my confusion and went into the living room. There he was, there was that disgusting and foul human being and next to him? My kind and loving mother who would rather believe Satan than her own flesh and blood. I stared at them for quite a while, remaining unnoticed, until that devil turned and looked at me. He glared at me with such hatred and fury that my body tensed up and my mind crawled into a bomb and self-destructed. In the back of my head, I was still hoping that last night was just a terrible nightmare. I was hoping that the events would die, hoping that I could live a normal life. However, it never did end, it happened for nine years without pause. During those nine years, I also had to deal with evil goblins and colossal titans at school. I was the odd one out, the “girl who always smiled, yet wore black nail polish and always dressed in black.” I had maybe two or three friends, which remain with me today. I would enter the school’s hazardous doors and be consumed by questions and statements such as, “Are you Emo? No, you’re just attention seeking. You should kill yourself! Maybe then you could stop wearing black. No, that probably wouldn’t even help, you’re worthless, you have a big nose, elf ears, and you’re a stupid waste of air, seriously though, kill yourself.” What did I do to receive such comments? Nothing. Not one little thing was ever done by me to deserve these remarks. Soon, there words lit a fire in my brain. A fire consisting of insecurities, vulnerability, regrets, and anguishes. I tried to extinguish the uncontrollable flames, but the attempt ignited a bigger, more heated fire. This led to thoughts that no one should ever endure. I often thought, maybe I should listen to them, maybe the world really would be better. No one cares about me anyways, so where’s the
problem? The world would go on, earth wouldn’t jump off its axis because a worthless person is gone. My mom has Santos and they’re too busy fighting to care for my existence. Michael will be fine he has his girlfriend. I should just leave the world now, but I’m a coward. I managed to let my sanity slip away from me completely. I began to self-harm, believing that the physical pain could take my mind away from the mental pain of a dysfunctional family and bullies. I always managed to think that everything was my fault and that if I ceased my existence all would be well again. Thoughts of suicide spread throughout my mind like wildfire. Those thoughts and actions gripped the once fun and out-going person I was and threw me into a never-ending abyss. In the abyss, I somehow fell into the center of unbreakable, bulletproof, stainless steel walls that could never perish. I felt safe for once, it was a relief, but that didn’t stop my mind’s racing. Eventually, ninth grade came around, Santos was gone and life was slowly shifting into place again. I was still mentally unstable, but I could control myself more. This is the time where my mom’s ignorance popped into place, always thinking that I was this happy teenager, who sometimes exploded, but that was just my teenager phase. All she had to do was shrug it off and everything was totally fine. However, one morning, I woke up with a wonderful case of chicken pox. She automatically said, “Let me spread this crème on your legs and arms.” I immediately hesitated due to the scars all over my body, not only scars, but two-week-old cuts on my thighs. I put it off for as long as I could, refusing to have her put the crème on me, telling her I could do it myself, but it happened. She found out. Anyone under these circumstances would expect kind words such as, “Why do you do this, are you okay? What’s going on? Don’t do this to yourself.
Your body is a temple.” Instead, I received, “What the hell are you doing this for? You’re so stupid, you have no problems, and your life is perfect! You don’t pay bills, you’re not stressed, are your friends telling you to pull of this retarded charade because it’s supposed to be cool or something?” What she said hit me like a huge kick in my gut. All I could think of were questions. Questions such as, Does she not remember what that demon did? Does she not realize how that affected me? Does she not realize that I was forced to pretend like I had a father figure? Does she remember how she beat me mentally and physically for telling her the truth? Does she know what it feels like to be trampled on at school because you’re different? Is it that she fails to remember, or that she really doesn’t care? I was speechless, but after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence I spilled my thoughts out without even thinking, talk about ironic. I told her how suicidal I was, how I was bullied, how I felt ugly, ashamed, stupid, worthless, and broken. What was her response? To call my father who was hardly ever there, a diminishing silhouette in the picture of my life, but all the sudden he places himself back into it. According to my father, I was a problem. “Your mother is already stressed as it is, you cannot cause problems like this, saying you want to kill yourself and cutting yourself. You have to remember that you cannot worry your mother when she is in an unstable position. You have to act right and not say dumb things like this. You need to help her remain healthy and be grateful. You don’t care about us do you? You can’t do this, you’re too young to know what real life struggles are. Get over it. ”
Wow. What lovely parents, their kind words make me feel so much better. What lovely parents I have. What was my brother doing? Being as clueless as ever. He was too busy smoking pot to have a clue of what was taking place. Soon, sophomore year came around. I never received treatment for my “stupid acts,” but I managed to cling onto a piece of thread in the abyss and pull myself to the surface and even though the surface has not proven to be full of cherry blossoms like it was in the beginning I still cling onto this strengthening thread. Since I didn’t receive any form of comfort from people, I managed to face reality with my own strength and will power. I also found my escape from reality and comfort in video games, anime, and music, which remains one of the key factors that keep me sane today. The thoughts may still run through my head from time to time, but I’m much more stable than before. I have always hated attention, so I never seek help. I remain isolated and depend on video games, anime, and music to make the thoughts expel themselves. I will say, these key factors may not seem to be the best resources to rely on, but they allow me to fly to a fantasy world and escape from the horrendous reality and society of the world.