ya know ~ part three

I need to backtrack a bit here.

My parents married when I was 5. My biological father was my mom’s first husband and she married him on her 20th birthday. By the time I was born, he was no where to be found apparently. My dad (the man I call ‘Dad’) was my mom’s 4th husband. They married when my mom was 26 and he adopted me when I was 7. I don’t know where I got the idea that my mom and my biological father were divorced but somehow that’s what I ‘knew’. I don’t remember him being spoken of much and I don’t remember ever asking any questions about him either. I don’t really understand how I never asked a question but, given what I know about my childhood, my guess would be either I asked and was told not to talk about it or I was too afraid to ask in the first place.

While I remember being glad I had a “Daddy”, I also remember being scared of him. I know he was strict and I think I remember trying not to attract his attention. I vaguely recall feeling angry with him but since anger wasn’t allowed and showing it earned a beating, I’m quite sure it was stuffed deep down inside me so I didn’t risk getting in more trouble than necessary. He had the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen in anyone other than his brothers. It was never good to have that stare aimed in your direction. When I hear anyone use the expression their “blood ran cold” I get the same chill I remember when my dad’s stare was directed at me.

Once my parents began studying with the Witnesses, that stare was even scarier. Now, my dad had the bible and Jehovah backing him up so not only was it going to get ugly, it was going to be connected with displeasing god as well. Once when I was around 12 I think, my dad told me that when he and my mom hooked up I was a ‘difficult’ child. He informed me that he’d seen a psychiatrist about the issues he had with me (I remember exactly NONE of the issues he spoke of) and the shrink told him that he’d gotten me too late to fix me. If he’d got me before I was 5, he may have been able to make some changes but since I was already 5, there was no help for me. No help for me. NO. HELP. FOR. ME.  My dad didn’t enter into the equation according to him. Imagine saying those words to a child. Even typing those words creates anxiety and triggers tears. I still don’t feel the anger I know I have inside me. I see glimpses of it at times but not often. Anger is never safe.

We lived in a tiny white house when my parents married. That was the house the Witnesses first came to. When I turned 7 we moved into a big old house across the river from there. It seemed big at the time. I’ve been by there as an adult and it’s not really very big. But it seemed cavernous to my little girl self. This house had two stories and acres of land surrounding it. We had two barns, a huge hay field and another huge field that was literally covered in black berries. We had pigs, horses, chickens, a goat or two and an apple orchard. There was always something to see and stuff to do. When I think about all the stuff my brother and I did there, it astounds me. We had mini bikes, beebee guns, a swimming pool and dogs too. Looking back, I really think it was so good outside because it was so hard inside. My mom struggled with depression among other things and there were days she never got out of bed. I don’t know if this is true or not but I think I remember her going to doctors alot.

When we first moved into this house, I had to sleep upstairs alone. My brother wouldn’t move in with us for another 4 years or so and I was the only kid there. I was quite literally terrified upstairs and I’m pretty sure I didn’t even last one night up there. I could be wrong however I think the next day my dad built some temporary walls at the end of the living room and that was my bedroom for quite a long time. I remember waking up alot in the night scared. It was dark and I could hear things outside my room. I swore there were people in the kitchen and the water faucets would turn on and off and it sounded like doors opening and closing. I would get out of bed when I was too afraid to stay in bed anymore and go into my parents room. I just wanted my mommy. I don’t know how many nights this went on but one night my dad got so angry that he dragged me back to bed and quite literally beat me to sleep. I can still see his face so close to mine as he told me I’d better never get out of bed again or it would be worse the next time.

My parents talked with the couple who were studying with them about my night time difficulties and it was decided that since I was the littlest person in the house and the weakest person spiritually that demons were attacking me at night time. My parents were instructed to get rid of some furniture we’d gotten recently and see what happened. I have no idea what happened after that, if I still heard things or not. I do know that I never got out of bed in the night again. For all I know I could simply have blocked it all out after that. Sheer terror will do that I think.

to be continued

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4 responses to this post.

  1. “…since I was the littlest person in the house and the weakest person spiritually, that demons were attacking me at night time…”

    This sounds like something my mother would have come up with.

    Being beaten in your bed with that cruel ugly face right up close and threatening you like that… that happened to me, too. I was so scared.

    I’m sorry this happened to you, Traci.

    {{{{{{{{Traci}}}}}}}}

    Reply

  2. Oh honey… I don’t understand how it happens, I really don’t. But it should never have happened to you. I popped over to wish you a happy Mother’s Day, and I still do wish that for you. But I also wish so much more. Hugs!

    Reply

  3. Reading this, I was reminded of that video with Pearl, the landlord. Specifically, the part where little Pearl says to the grownup, “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE!” That’s what I say to your “dad.”

    Reply

  4. Ooh, eclectic was posting while I did. And I came back to also say, Happy Mother’s Day. xxx

    Reply

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