When I look into each one of my children’s eyes, the first feeling I Feel is love. As a mother it is my job to protect them, and to the best of my ability. To always let them know how special each one is. That they are smart, funny and worth everything life has to offer them. Always making sure they know that they are perfect just the way they are. Reminding them often that they each have individual talents that fit them perfectly. After all, isn’t this what a mother should do. Love each child unconditionally for who they are. Build up self-esteem and confidence. Preparing them for the world so they can thrive.

Unfortunately for me, I never had that as a child. My mother always made a point to let me know that I was “nothing special” she would do her best to make me feel inferior, less than, and worthless. My father didn’t want me, almost everything I did was wrong, pissed her off and was cause for an ass beating with or without the mental abuse session.  This is just one of the many times I was abused.

I was around seven or eight years old. The age is hard to recall but what happened most definitely isn’t. My mother was in one of her moods. She couldn’t find what she needed and that ment I needed to find it and fast. If I didn’t I would face her rath. It always seemed to be a bill she has misplaced. I would scurry around looking for it, my heart would race I could feel my cheeks warming up, that same sensation you get before throwing up. The louder she got the faster my heart would beat, my breathing would get faster.  “I can’t find it.” I would say. “Well you better find it now!” she replied.

I didn’t move it for shits sake im a child, I never touched the bills. The most I did was get the mail everyday because I was told to. So, the bill can’t be found she then yells at me “What are you fucking stupid, I didn’t move it so where did it go Shannon!”.

I say, “I don’t know I cant find it.” Her temper escalates. She gets so mad that she begins hitting me in the back, over, over and over again. I crouch down into my normal position, holding my head bending into my knees. I am crying like always. And not because it hurts, I am use to the physical pain, but because I don’t know why she hates me so much.  After my traditional beating the mental abuse continued.  My mom would say how she couldn’t put up with me, I always caused her problems. Why does she always have to end up hitting me in order for me to listen. The whole time all I am doing is saying how sorry I am and crying. The funny thing is she never slapped me, her physical punishment was a closed fist to the back ALWAYS.

This time I open my mouth without thinking and I scream, “I hate it here! I want to live with my dad!”. Well that was something she didn’t want to hear. “You wanna live with your dad so much, go pack your shit and go. Heres the phone call him! He don’t want you. He don’t even get you on visitation!” I sat there crying in shock that I just blurted that out. I knew it would make her fume like volcano. “You wanna go?” she said. “let’s go heres trash bags pack your shit and get out.”. She then continued. “NO I don’t wanna go I didn’t mean it.” I cries. She continued yelling, “No you wanna fuckin go, you’re going I don’t need to put up with this shit. It will be better on me if your gone. You cause me stress all the time. Pack your shit your gone.” as I am crying uncontrollably I start to pack my cloths in a trash bag. That’s all I was allowed to pack. She made the point to let me know she didn’t even have to let me take my clothes because she bought them. She could choose to send me with nothing, the same way I came into the world.

After the black trash bag was packed I was forced to sit there, she continued the mental abuse untill my then, step dad, John Griswold came home. He was the one that was going to get rid of me. She couldn’t be bothered with it. I waited begging her not to get rid of me, saying how sorry I was that I loved her so much. “You don’t love me” she said. If you did you wouldn’t act like this. Finally my step dad walks in, he’s home from work. My mom tells him he needs to take me, that I want to leave so my bag is packed. He said ok, let’s go. I drag my trash bag into the car he begins driving. I’m crying begging him not to do this. Pleading that I don’t wanna go I’m sorry ill be good I promise. He says ” sorry but I can’t bring you back, your moms making my favorite for dinner spaghetti and meatballs I have to get back, dinners almost ready. He drives into the woods and on the dirt roads in Pennsylvania, (we are in Ohio on the line, it’s about a 15 min drive) he drives down a few dirt roads, still crying I beg him not to leave me.

We are driving, “I don’t know where to go” I say. “Well you have to find somewhere I need to get back.”. He stops on one of the roads deeper in the woods. He gets out, grabs my bag, opens my door and says come on let’s go. I continue crying, he gets in his car as im begging him, pleading with him to not leave me there. He drives away.

I stand there alone, crying in the middle of the woods, on a dirt road, it seemed like hours. Most likely it was 15 to 20 minuets but as a child it felt like hours. With snot running down my face,and eyes swelled up, I sob. I wonder where will I go what can I do? I look into the woods, should I go in there? I can hide. I start walking down the dirt road, scared, alone. Why does she hate me so much, I thought. Why was I born, no one loves me. Just as I start to walk into the woods my step dad came back. He says “your mom told me to get you, but only if you learned your lesson”.  “Yes” I said. ” I’ll be good im sorry i didn’t mean it”. I got in the car, he put the trash bag in as well and we went home.

Once we got there, he carried my cloths in for me, I was still crying. She spoke, “so you still wanna leave? Because that’s the only place you have to go. I wouldn’t have to do this if you listened to me Shannon”.  “I’m sorry”I said. “I promise ill be good I didn’t mean it. I want to be here, I don’t wanna go anywhere else I love you mom.”.  She replied, “well maybe next time you’ll think before opening your mouth. Dinners out on the table go eat.”. I couldn’t eat that much, I was so sick from crying and the panic attacks ( I now know I suffered a lot of anxiety and panic attacks as a child as well as depression) after dinner I was told to wash all the dishes, so I did. Then I went to my room and sat untill she called me down for my next chore.

 

My blog is going to be very day by day. It’s about my current life, childhood, abuse, depression, anxiety, ADHD and everyday life. Though I am a silly, honest, loving person and I have a smartass sick sence of humor. Well, my scars are deep, they will forever remain a part of me. Mental abuse is not like a broken bone, it never heals. It’s a tatoo within your life.  You never fully heal, it’s a forever mark on your soul. The trick is, a good shrink, some therapy, and to finally realize you are not the blame. It was never me, It was always her.

Have a beautiful day everyone and my quote for this post is,

“Barns burnt down, now I can see the moon.”

-Masahide

If you would like to donate so I can keep blogging, work on my book I would appriciate it.  paypal.me/shannoncreatively