Unpleasant Memories...

I was just a little girl. I have very few memories of my childhood but for some reason I remember this. Maybe it's because I loved my Uncle more than he could ever know or ever will but I remember this.

I was just a little girl. My Uncle Freeland was at our house. I don't know what he was building but he was building something with my dad. They were giving me the little pieces of wood that they didn't need as they cut them off the larger pieces.

I sat there building with them for a very long time. I was so happy. The wood was fun but the happiness came because I felt loved and important. That didn't happen often after that day but for that moment in time it was there. That moment was the best day of my youth. Why? Because I remember it and because my whole family was there.

As I got older, most of the time it was just my mother and I. I was so enamoured of her. I wanted to be her. I wanted to look like her. I thought she was smart and beautiful and perfect. In those early years she was amazing at letting me keep that magic of childhood.

I'm sure that my mom dated while I was little but she was always good about keeping it out of sight. At least until she met Ed. He came in and I remember very little about it but he became my first step-father.

I didn't understand it back then. I didn't understand how my mother nor I could see what he really was. I didn't understand how we could trust someone like him. I didn't understand how we could have loved him.

At first I was excited. I was so happy to have him come into our lives. I thought he would make my mom happy and not so lonely. At first he did, at least I thought he did. I was little. I didn't understand.

I don't remember much but I remember hiding in my closet, listening to them through my wall. Ed screaming at my mother. Ed making her feel small and worthless. I remember this more than just once. I remember going out in the fall, no shoes because I was afraid, and running out to hide with my horse in the horse stall. He found me. He was furious. He carried me inside but I don't remember what happened next.

I remember being afraid all the time toward the end. I don't remember when he actually left but I know he finally did. I was happy. I thought it was over. It wasn't. I was still afraid all the time. That was the year my panic attacks started, the nightmares overtook me, and my first bout with stomach issues began. I was about 9 years old.

I don't remember much but I do remember that Ed didn't give up easy. He showed up at our house a few times to make threats. I was home after school alone one day with my friend Ann and Ed showed up. We locked the doors and hid but he knew I was there. He made threats. He told me he would shoot me if I didn't let him in. I was so afraid. We just kept hiding and hoping he'd go away, he did.

Looking back I think that was a major turning point for me. I don't think I realized it until now but before that I was fearless and I loved everyone in my life. I loved my classmates. I loved myself. I loved my mother. I loved life. After that I was afraid all the time. I hated that fear. That hate turned out onto those I once loved and inward onto myself.

I was just a little girl. I didn't understand abuse. I didn't understand fear. I didn't understand that some people could be so cruel. I learned in a hurry and I became afraid. I became aware of cruelty and I began to see it everywhere.

I think it changed my mother too. She became more protective. She became more concerned about things that often put us at odds. She worried more or maybe I just saw it more. And I think she became afraid.

The older I got, the further apart my mother and I seemed to get. I was powerless and misunderstood at school. I was depressed and not very nice at home. I treated my mother with disrespect and what probably seemed like cruelty on occasion. I was just a kid. I didn't realize her pain, her fear, or her love.

Now that I'm older and I've been through my own forms of hell and difficulties, I look back and realize that she did the best she could. She was more patient with me than I myself might have been.