The other part of my memories is of my fatherís abuse. Constantly being called names and put down by someone who is supposed to love you. Till this day I have never repeated to another person his nicknames for me. Every time he would call me those names I wanted to hide from embarrassment but I did not disobey and answered to them. I will not write or say what he called me; it is still humiliating today at 42 years old. Because of him I have a complex about my looks, my weight and my worth. If you were a stranger looking from the outside you would have thought we were the perfect family. Beautifully decorated house, landscaped yard, always had two new cars, and nice clothes. Even today, strangers would think that we were the perfect family till they got to know him. I remember a day when I was fifteen and forgot to clean the kitchen before I went outside. It was in the summer; my father had been working twelve hour shifts. My job as the oldest of three kids was to make sure the cleaning was done and watch my brother and sister while he and my mom worked.
He called me in the house asked me who was supposed to clean? I told him me, he cursed me out I started washing the dishes. Then for no reason at all he punched me in the face. Just to make it worse my father began to laugh and he watched me as I cried washing the dishes. I never told my mother because she was not going to do anything anyway and she had her own abuse dealing with him. Another level of sick or evil as I call it, after he would beat my mother he would call my sister, brother and me in their bedroom to show us what he did. The whole time laughing at my mother while she lay on the bed crying and bruised. It was like living with a time bomb, you knew it was going to explode but you never quite knew when or how sever it was going to be. Still today he is like that; the only difference is he is too sick to go to extremes anymore. I will admit that every day I keep thinking I will be getting a call that my father shot my mother and himself. He has made that threat and pulled a gun out on us and her on several occasions.
When I was at therapy recently she suggested maybe it is time to see if we can alter or filter some of my memoires out. Instead of being humiliated or embarrassed about them, start by purging them out in a safe place. That way the memories are not controlling you but you are controlling them. In the past my uncle, father and other men had control over my life, body and thoughts. To be honest with myself they are still controlling part of my life. Writing allows me to gain some form of control. I can bring the memories out of my head and onto paper. Feeling a little freer from my memories, I am finally telling secrets I was not allowed to talk about.