Warning, this post contains violence against children and should not be read by those who are extra sensitive to child abuse.
This is part 2 of 2, so if you have not read part one, please do so.
I was 12, going to miss 7th grade, lose all my friends, again. Isolation and being stuck with a psychopath for a year was very damaging. I was only aloud out of the house once in a while. “What makes you think you can go out every weekend?” My dad yelled at me once. Uh, because I sit at home and do nothing ALL day. My dad convinced my mom we needed a computer for schooling. This was 1997, the internet was new and still jacked into the phone line.
Here is how homeschooling that whole year went; my mom would go to school in the morning and as soon as she left we were sent to our rooms while he did nothing but look at porn and smoke weed. Fuck him. Even typing this makes me feel sick. I remember sitting in my room, knowing what he was doing and feeling revolted.
I was tested by the state to see how dumb I was. Fuck you again. Scored 12 grade graduate level on reading comprehension and science….. but 3rd grad level in math and punctuation. I got to go back to school the next year. But if you think sitting around doing nothing for a year is super great to prepare you for 8th grade, you are WRONG. It’s already awkward, but I was isolated, poor and was NOT popular or pretty. I was a target. I loved school because it wasnt home. But I never did a damn thing. It was all to fast and confusing for me. I looked at boys, I made good friends and had normal drama for an 8th grader. But going home was always the worst. My parents snooped in my room all the time. I came home to all of my Marilyn Manson CDs spread out. My dad screamed about what a sick fuck he was and took them to the garage and broke them with a hammer. I re-bought them all. Friends burned me copies.
And then after a very awkward year of trying to find my tribe, I made a group of best friends. We were all going to highschool together, we were going to have the greatest time!
And then my mom got the call that her father had been diagnosed with cancer. My aunt called my mom, my dad was already pissed. He hated my aunt, how long my mom would talk to her and how loud she would laugh. We only had one corded phone. When my aunt called my mom was silent and then burst into tears. “God-fucking-damnit, now what?” I vividly remember my dad saying. My poor mom.
After she got off the phone, she said the worst 5 things I could have heard. “We are moving to
From the PNW to the deep fucking south. At least I whould get one more summer with my friends. Or so I Thought.
That summer, I decided I would lose my virginity to my boyfriend. We had dated the summer between 6th and 7th grade before his mom got transfer to another state. We talked on the phone for the whole year I was “homeschooled” and 8th grade. He was coming home to visit his grandma for the summer. I was dating someone else at the time. . But told him as soon as my real boyfriend is in town, you are out. He took it very well and we stayed friends for a long time.
We had it all planned out. We whould meet at the skating rink and then sneak out the back to fool around. Then I would ask him to take my virginity. But it didnt work that way… my ride for the skating rink was 2 hours late. We didnt have cell phones then. He thought I wasnt coming so by the time I got there he had left. Then a girl I’ll call Sarah, who I went to school with told me she had to tell me something. That my bestfriend, I will call her Beth, slept with him.. 2 days ago. I was devastated. I knew she had no rules at her house and people spent the night all the time, smoking week and drinking. I wasn’t aloud to spend the night, every time I came home I smelled like smoke and my parents hated it. He had even called me that day to let me know he went to her house to party and ended up sleeping over, but NOTHING happened. I was so in love with him and trusting of her, I literally didbt think ANYTHING about this. When Sarah told me this, I died in side. I called Beth, she admitted everything. I never spoke to her again.
I confronted him, he blamed it on the alcohol and weed, I myself had never done either yet, so I believed him when he told me he loved me so much and she meant nothing. A week later an opportunity to escape my home and meet up with him arose. I lost my virginity and it want anything magical. It hurt, I knew he was not a virgin and it kinda was the end of us. I never saw him again. We talked on the phone for years after, and wrote letters, but that magic of “first love” was gone.
I stupidly wrote this in my diary, which unannounced to me, my mom had been reading. I guess if you just pull hard enough, the lock pops open.
My mom was picking me up from the boys and girls club, on our bikes as usual. She was seething. I knew I was fucked. She told me she red my diary and I was grounded for a year. A YEAR!!!!! My whole last summer with my friends GONE! Now I was trapped at home, subject to outbursts from my extreamly stressed out mother (I didn’t consider her struggle of her father’s cancer, us moving, my psycho dad, and her out of control daughter)
My dad, surprisingly, had nothing to say about it. He did not ask a single question, or ever mention it to me.
Everywhere we went for the next few months, before moving to hell, I had to be right next to my mom. Even when we were at an event and i saw my friends. I couldn’t talk to them.
We packed and shipped all of our things to my aunt who put it in storage for us… the storage unit was not temp controlled and the south is hot, so a ton of things got ruined. Had I known this I would have saved my parents the money and thrown the stuff away.
Finally, the week before we moved my mom let a small group of friends come over to say good buy.
The night before we moved I considered running away, fucking up the whole moving plan. But I chickened out.
So we moved. Again. This time 3000 miles away from our Blue libral state, to a Red Conservative, bible belt state. The heat and culture shock were immediate.
We stayed in a tent by the week motel until our apartment was ready. It was one room and had a partition separating the queen bed room the rest of the place. Zero privacy. I cried for that whole week.
Then we moved…again… to our appartment. It was the 1st 3 bedroom we ever lived in. It was fancy to us. My mom had graduated college and was making decent money. We could shop at the regular department store, instead of the thrift shop, the only place I got clothes from for 14 years. We could ask for outlandish food, like hot pockets and toaster strudels, because we were no longer on food stamps, and we has some extra cash.
We were in a gigantic apartment complex, with 2 pools and a work out center. Something I has never seen in my hometown. I was new, I was immediately a target. I was also still grounded for a year, so I couldn’t make friends anyway. And to make matters worse, I failed 8th grade and had to repeat it instead of starting high school.
Things at home were a little different. My mom told my dad no drugs. She made him get a job and give all of his money to her. She socked that money away, and secretly bought a house with it.
She sat my brother and I down at the table and told us she bought a house, did we want our dad to come with us? Or were we ready to leave him. I had been ready from day one. My dad had a different relationship with my dad, because he was a boy. But even then we were all done. We told her everything he had ever done to us that she didnt know about. The things he lied about and how much we loved him, but couldn’t live with him any more. And that was that. We moved again. We pack our belongings while he sobbed that no one loved him, he couldn’t believe we chose this. Really dude? You are a monster.
The first night in our new home, with all of my moms friends from work helping her move, felt magical. Like a blackness had been removed. It felt right.
*After note. I left out one move in the 1st post. It was only for 2 months while we lived in extream poverty and my mom had to borrow food stamps from a friend at work. It was just terrible. If you were keeping count I was moved 13 times by age 14. This created a terrible sence of impermanence, and instability. I didnt know the background damage it was doing and how it would affect me as an adult. Moving causes extream anxiety and panic for me. I what my kids to have stability and feel secure. I will probably elaborate on this more in another post. But I’m honestly emotionally spent after these two posts. I feel like sobbing and taking a nap, but I have to Mom Up and take care of my kids.
Thank you for reading, please like, or comment with feed back so I know this isnt just going into the void ♡