The dark places

I am in such a dark place right now, this doesn't include the fact that I'm sitting alone in my dark living room. You know that space where you aren't quite asleep and aren't really awake, well living in that space was some memories that I didn't really want to think about. Memories that should have stayed buried far back in my mind. We all know that mentally I'm not quite right and there are so many reasons behind that so many unimaginable terrible reasons behind that. I'm not one to bare my whole soul to anyone much less blog about it but it just seems like maybe this is the only way to get it out of my head this evening so maybe I can get some rest. I started thinking about how messed up I was as a teenager and then realized that it's really strange that no one got me the "help" that I needed. I was abused pretty severely as a child. Not in the broken bones " oh she must have fallen off her bike" way that always seems so common when you read about abused children but in the manner that I was verbally abused day in and day out from age 6 or so on up. I was hit with coat hangers if things didn't go the way my moms current boyfriend wanted. The welts on my back were enough to have the cops called at school but not enough to do anything about it. I was hit, I watched my mother get hit and called things like "cunt" and "whore" I once saw her get her nose broken. I can't begin to tell you the countless times that we (my sister, mother and I) had to hide in a locked bathroom hoping that her boyfriend would leave the room or even the apartment long enough to get the phone from the bedroom or living room depending on which bathroom we had locked ourselves into. Legs pushed against the counter so he couldn't break down the door and get to us. The tons of times the cops were called and again would do nothing but say things like " a mans home is his castle, we can only keep him over night" The countless times I felt my heart drop as I knew he was going to come home and pretend that he was sorry and everything would be ok only to have him spin off in a rage two nights later. It amazes me how co dependent my mom really was and how often she soaked herself in alcohol just to numb herself from what was going on and how much pain and abuse she had taken and how she did so little to protect her kids from those kinds of horrors. I can tell you about the time that we were moving and her current boyfriend at the time was drunk and high and made about something and threw the bunk beds off the deck of our second story apartment only to watch them shatter to pieces on the ground and turn around and come after my mom who I though for once was going to take a stand as she picked up a ratchet handle and hit him her hardest on his head which only made him even more mad as he turned around and grabbed my by the throat and wiped the blood coming from his head on my face and the wall behind me. How when I finally had the nerve to tell her that I had been sexually abused when I was 13 she called me a liar and how sure I am that there was earlier abuse, sexual abuse because of thinking about my behavior as a child. How far into denial my mom was and I think still is even though she doesn't soak herself in alcohol to pretend it didn't' happen. She used to get wasted and tell us she was an asshole and you know what, I've never really sat and thought about it I always felt the need to tell her she was wrong and she was a good mom and I know it sounds funny that this is all coming out of me now but I've always told myself it was in the past and should stay there and not touch me ever again. I guess I was wrong. I am so troubled by the fact that there was no talk of having my sister and I go see a therapist or a child psychologist so that we could deal with almost 10 years of abuse. I always took it stride and told people that no matter what happened it was behind me and I survived and that's what mattered. I'm starting to wonder who I would be right now if I had been offered some sort of help instead of being blown off and made to feel like a freak because I couldn't fit into "normal" like my mom wanted me to. You would have thought that the abuse would have ended when my grandparent and aunt and uncle stepped in and made my mom move us back to catalina away from the abusive boyfriends. It didn't , it was just a new chapter of abuse. She would get drunk probably from trying to not deal with the earlier years and would tell me I was a freak and an idiot and why couldn't I just fit in. She'd call me a slut or whatever else she could think of and then draw me back in by saying she was a bad parent wanting to hear from me that she wasn't and everything was ok. The yelling and the drinking was unbearable sometimes. Other times it just made it easy to sneak out and escape from everything. It shouldn't have come to a shock to any one when I started lying about staying at my friends house and then staying out all night. Funny thing was, I never was out getting into any real trouble except breaking curfew for the first couple of years. I would go walk around with my friend. Neither of us did any drugs or drank, we just walked around and talked and listened to music. But then I'd get home and she would have found out that I lied and ground me for a month or two. One of the last good fights we got in ,I'm not even sure what it was about now looking back on it, she was drunk and made , I think because I snagged her cigarettes but she took a swing at me and gave me a black eye and tried to rip my nose ring out. I didn't hit her back though it was really tempting, I just pushed her down on her ass and left the house. I didn't know she had it in her to actually hit me that hard. Slapping and kicking and throwing stuff was one thing, taking a swing and actually making contact, it really threw me off. I left the island shortly after that to move 2000 miles away. She quit drinking when my sister had Ashlyn which is good. I'm glad she's not trying to slowly kill herself anymore. I guess I just wish she didn't seem so surprised when I explained to her that I had anxiety issues and needed anti depressants and I am pretty ocd (not in the locks and handwashing kind of way its more subtle) It's amazing to me that I don't have trust issues and I've been smart enough to stay out of abusive relationships and have no urges to abuse my kids. They say that it's pretty common for someone who was abused to repeat the cycle. It ends with me. My kids will NEVER know the things that I have written in this blog or the horrible events in my life, they will never have to hide in bathrooms afraid or know what it feels like to be degraded by the people who are supposed to love them and protect them. I may not be the perfect parent but I can't fathom the idea of ever EVER exposing my children to what I was. I'm sure I have years of therapy to go through before this stuff will be buried where it needs to be. The medication helps a lot, even if I'm not on it right now, I have 17 weeks before I'm back on it again, actually 13, my therapist wants me back on a month before my due date and i'm starting to think that's not such a bad idea. The last few weeks I've been really depressed. I hide it really well from Rex and the kids because I have to. I don't want them to worry and really there isn't any reason to worry. I'm not suicidal, I value my life and would never be so selfish to put my loved ones through that type of pain. Self preservation is an amazing thing. But I have been depressed. Hopefully I'll be able to tell my therapist about that on wednesday instead of putting on my happy act that I've become so accustom to doing. Put your best face forward right?