The Beginning of Pain
The sun was cresting on the horizon. Hanging low trying to hold on to the last moments of the day before the moon rose into the night’s sky. I was at home under the stars, the infinite glory of distant sun’s from other solar systems shining on through out space and time bright enough to illuminate the sky I was laying under.
This night tears streamed down my face, not so different than others as of late. It was the middle of summer. My father liked to drink when the day was hot and the sun was glaring down on our bare backs as we worked for hours on the landscape and orchards that were on our property. He had been drinking since he got up, the night before last had broken records for highest temperature from several decades. The house had been suffocating, I kept stirring from fitful sleep, in my dreams, my father kept hitting me with his fists, I was bleeding from several open cuts on my face, swollen and bruised. I awoke screaming. I startled my brother, who tried to calm me down before falling back asleep himself. I heard my parents arguing, my mother was pleading with him to stop, I opened my door, prepared to pull his aggravation from her onto myself.
Their bedroom door was open, and the bedside lamp was on but knocked over, a moth was frantically flying against the light shade trying to get to the light. I left their bedroom and continued searching for them. I walked through the house with no lights on until I reached the kitchen, the door to the sun deck was open and the light was on, I walked out into the room, which was surprisingly cooler than the rest of the house. I came to the corner hearing my mother pleading with my father to let her go, he called her a slut and slapped her. I came around the corner, a pit in my stomach, “Dad?” I said as I opened the door to outside. He turned around startled, he had my mother pinned up against the wall his hand wrapped around her throat, she was coughing and choking, tears streaming down her face. “Let her go” I stated calmly, he glared at me before snapping, “Get back inside or you’ll be next”, “I said let her go!” I repeated, my mother turned to me, her eyes wild with fear, “Go back inside sweetie…”, I interrupted, “No!” I said firmly, “Go call the police.” She said, I began to turn to go back into the house, “Get back here now!” my father barked. “You touch that phone and I’ll beat you until you can’t walk”, I looked at him knowing he wasn’t lying, I took a few steps towards my father, “Let her go right now, or I will call the police, you can beat me if you want, but if you don’t let her go this instant, I’ll call the police, and then you can show me how tough you are until they get here” I stated coolly.
His eyes burned with fury. I let go of my mother and she collapsed to her knees choking. I went to go to her side, and my father back handed me with his fist across my cheek, I reeled back from the force, he grabbed me by my hair before I had a chance to recover, and drug me through the door to the sun room, he opened the door to the basement where he punched me in my stomach knocking the wind from my lungs before pushing me down the stairs. Tumbling, hitting my head on the stairs and the cinderblock walls as I rolled down the stairs, I landed with a hard thump, I tried to pull myself up off the floor but my father had rushed down the stairs with me and kicked me in my ribs as I tried to get up, he kept kicking me over and over, until I stopped trying to get up. He grabbed me by my hair and pulled my face to look up at his, with an open palm, he slapped me across my face, “Get up you worthless piece of shit, on your feet!” he barked, weary I climbed to my feet, I glanced past my father, my mother stood at the top of the stairs, my father turned to see what I was looking at. “Haven’t had enough you fucking bitch?!” he said to my mother, he let go of my hair and began to stalk up the stairs, I ran up behind him and grabbed his leg as he was walking up the stairs, he tripped and fell hard on his face, “Go back to bed mom.” I pleaded, she looked at me with pity and gratitude all at the same time, slowly she nodded her head. My father turned to me glaring into my eyes, staring me down, I averted my eyes, and stared at the ground. Without saying a word, he put all his body weight into the punch he threw next, it landed just below my sternum, I let out a “ooooofffhhhh’, before he kicked my legs out from underneath me. He grabbed my throat and squeezed, my vision started to fade to black, my head started to fall down in front of me, he released and back handed me across my face, followed by another open palmed slap across my face. He grabbed me by my throat and began squeezing again, “Had enough?” he snarled, rasping and coughing, trying to catch a breath of air, I looked up at him with a pain in my eyes, “this is all you’ve got?” I gasped, he spit on my face, “Get your ass up to bed you bag of shit, we’ll finish this tomorrow” he let go, I began to stand as he turned away, weary I climbed to my feet, he turned on his heels and laid into my stomach again with another punch, he turned around and walked up the stairs.
My sister Abbie opened her bedroom door crying, in between gasps for air she kept asking me if I was ok, “I’m fine. Go back to bed, everything is alright”, I said. She came over and helped me to my feet. She threw her arms around me, giving me a hug. I wanted to hug her back, it felt like my skin was on fire, having her hug me felt so very painful. I pulled away from her, “Go back to bed, you need to sleep.” I turned and walked back up the stairs. I walked through the house to my bedroom, I climbed back into my bed, tossing and turning, trying to find a spot I could sleep that didn’t hurt to lay on. I laid there sobbing quietly before falling asleep.
The next day after school, I came home, ready for whatever my father was going to dish out, I was relieved to see that his truck wasn’t in the drive way as I walked down the driveway before cutting through the orchard. I walked into the house and went to my room, my brother, sister, and mother were waiting for me there. They were huddled together my mother and sister had tears streaming down their faces. I looked to each of them, my mother reached out to me with her hand, I looked at her hand before pulling mine out of her reach, my brother would not meet my gaze, my sister had a shocked look on her face, my mother was glaring, I thought they were making those faces at me, I could barely stand anyone to touch me, but at those looks, it broke down the barriers I had built up around my heart, “I’m sorry…” I trailed off, “Not yet you’re not!” my father said, I turned to look at him, he whipped me in the face with his belt, it caught me in my eye, he grabbed my hair and drug me from my room into his own, my mother was right behind us, he slammed the door in her face and locked the door behind him, she was banging on the door, pleading with him to stop, he wildly started swinging his belt at me, I tried to put my hands up in defense, but no matter where I tried to cover up, I left some other place unguarded, he paused as he ripped my shirt off my back and resumed whipping me, welts and red marks immediately began rising to the surface, I eventually stopped putting my hands up, and just let him come at me completely unguarded, he stopped after what seemed like forever. “Get out of my sight you bag of shit!” he gasped out of breath.
I got up and walked painfully to his bedroom door, I unlocked it and opened the door. My brother, sister and mother stood waiting for me in the hall, all of them crying. My mother reached out and put her hand on my back. I winced at the pain, but kept walking down the hall to my bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I opened my dresser drawer and got out another shirt, long sleeve, I didn’t want anyone to see the welts on my arms. I opened my window and jumped out. I ran down the length of the yard, and into the orchards, where I hid until night fall. I rocked back and forth crying, I knew I had to get out of this, I knew I couldn’t go on living this way. I knew that if he didn’t end up killing me, I would end up killing him. On many different occasions, I had gotten into his dresser drawers and looked at his gun. I threw that thought from my mind. This was the moment when my long obsession with death began, a few days later was the first time I attempted suicide at age 12.
This night tears streamed down my face, not so different than others as of late. It was the middle of summer. My father liked to drink when the day was hot and the sun was glaring down on our bare backs as we worked for hours on the landscape and orchards that were on our property. He had been drinking since he got up, the night before last had broken records for highest temperature from several decades. The house had been suffocating, I kept stirring from fitful sleep, in my dreams, my father kept hitting me with his fists, I was bleeding from several open cuts on my face, swollen and bruised. I awoke screaming. I startled my brother, who tried to calm me down before falling back asleep himself. I heard my parents arguing, my mother was pleading with him to stop, I opened my door, prepared to pull his aggravation from her onto myself.
Their bedroom door was open, and the bedside lamp was on but knocked over, a moth was frantically flying against the light shade trying to get to the light. I left their bedroom and continued searching for them. I walked through the house with no lights on until I reached the kitchen, the door to the sun deck was open and the light was on, I walked out into the room, which was surprisingly cooler than the rest of the house. I came to the corner hearing my mother pleading with my father to let her go, he called her a slut and slapped her. I came around the corner, a pit in my stomach, “Dad?” I said as I opened the door to outside. He turned around startled, he had my mother pinned up against the wall his hand wrapped around her throat, she was coughing and choking, tears streaming down her face. “Let her go” I stated calmly, he glared at me before snapping, “Get back inside or you’ll be next”, “I said let her go!” I repeated, my mother turned to me, her eyes wild with fear, “Go back inside sweetie…”, I interrupted, “No!” I said firmly, “Go call the police.” She said, I began to turn to go back into the house, “Get back here now!” my father barked. “You touch that phone and I’ll beat you until you can’t walk”, I looked at him knowing he wasn’t lying, I took a few steps towards my father, “Let her go right now, or I will call the police, you can beat me if you want, but if you don’t let her go this instant, I’ll call the police, and then you can show me how tough you are until they get here” I stated coolly.
His eyes burned with fury. I let go of my mother and she collapsed to her knees choking. I went to go to her side, and my father back handed me with his fist across my cheek, I reeled back from the force, he grabbed me by my hair before I had a chance to recover, and drug me through the door to the sun room, he opened the door to the basement where he punched me in my stomach knocking the wind from my lungs before pushing me down the stairs. Tumbling, hitting my head on the stairs and the cinderblock walls as I rolled down the stairs, I landed with a hard thump, I tried to pull myself up off the floor but my father had rushed down the stairs with me and kicked me in my ribs as I tried to get up, he kept kicking me over and over, until I stopped trying to get up. He grabbed me by my hair and pulled my face to look up at his, with an open palm, he slapped me across my face, “Get up you worthless piece of shit, on your feet!” he barked, weary I climbed to my feet, I glanced past my father, my mother stood at the top of the stairs, my father turned to see what I was looking at. “Haven’t had enough you fucking bitch?!” he said to my mother, he let go of my hair and began to stalk up the stairs, I ran up behind him and grabbed his leg as he was walking up the stairs, he tripped and fell hard on his face, “Go back to bed mom.” I pleaded, she looked at me with pity and gratitude all at the same time, slowly she nodded her head. My father turned to me glaring into my eyes, staring me down, I averted my eyes, and stared at the ground. Without saying a word, he put all his body weight into the punch he threw next, it landed just below my sternum, I let out a “ooooofffhhhh’, before he kicked my legs out from underneath me. He grabbed my throat and squeezed, my vision started to fade to black, my head started to fall down in front of me, he released and back handed me across my face, followed by another open palmed slap across my face. He grabbed me by my throat and began squeezing again, “Had enough?” he snarled, rasping and coughing, trying to catch a breath of air, I looked up at him with a pain in my eyes, “this is all you’ve got?” I gasped, he spit on my face, “Get your ass up to bed you bag of shit, we’ll finish this tomorrow” he let go, I began to stand as he turned away, weary I climbed to my feet, he turned on his heels and laid into my stomach again with another punch, he turned around and walked up the stairs.
My sister Abbie opened her bedroom door crying, in between gasps for air she kept asking me if I was ok, “I’m fine. Go back to bed, everything is alright”, I said. She came over and helped me to my feet. She threw her arms around me, giving me a hug. I wanted to hug her back, it felt like my skin was on fire, having her hug me felt so very painful. I pulled away from her, “Go back to bed, you need to sleep.” I turned and walked back up the stairs. I walked through the house to my bedroom, I climbed back into my bed, tossing and turning, trying to find a spot I could sleep that didn’t hurt to lay on. I laid there sobbing quietly before falling asleep.
The next day after school, I came home, ready for whatever my father was going to dish out, I was relieved to see that his truck wasn’t in the drive way as I walked down the driveway before cutting through the orchard. I walked into the house and went to my room, my brother, sister, and mother were waiting for me there. They were huddled together my mother and sister had tears streaming down their faces. I looked to each of them, my mother reached out to me with her hand, I looked at her hand before pulling mine out of her reach, my brother would not meet my gaze, my sister had a shocked look on her face, my mother was glaring, I thought they were making those faces at me, I could barely stand anyone to touch me, but at those looks, it broke down the barriers I had built up around my heart, “I’m sorry…” I trailed off, “Not yet you’re not!” my father said, I turned to look at him, he whipped me in the face with his belt, it caught me in my eye, he grabbed my hair and drug me from my room into his own, my mother was right behind us, he slammed the door in her face and locked the door behind him, she was banging on the door, pleading with him to stop, he wildly started swinging his belt at me, I tried to put my hands up in defense, but no matter where I tried to cover up, I left some other place unguarded, he paused as he ripped my shirt off my back and resumed whipping me, welts and red marks immediately began rising to the surface, I eventually stopped putting my hands up, and just let him come at me completely unguarded, he stopped after what seemed like forever. “Get out of my sight you bag of shit!” he gasped out of breath.
I got up and walked painfully to his bedroom door, I unlocked it and opened the door. My brother, sister and mother stood waiting for me in the hall, all of them crying. My mother reached out and put her hand on my back. I winced at the pain, but kept walking down the hall to my bedroom, I shut the door behind me. I opened my dresser drawer and got out another shirt, long sleeve, I didn’t want anyone to see the welts on my arms. I opened my window and jumped out. I ran down the length of the yard, and into the orchards, where I hid until night fall. I rocked back and forth crying, I knew I had to get out of this, I knew I couldn’t go on living this way. I knew that if he didn’t end up killing me, I would end up killing him. On many different occasions, I had gotten into his dresser drawers and looked at his gun. I threw that thought from my mind. This was the moment when my long obsession with death began, a few days later was the first time I attempted suicide at age 12.