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It has not once in last four years been a easy day.
I often drift back to a place in Northern Minnesota. I moved out of my parents house not even a year after leaving and being gone for 6 months. I took off at 16 right before my 17th birthday after by dad beat the crap out of me. I still remember combing my hair that night as the clumps of hair that was loosened by his grip. I still often feel the weakness and strength as I laid there on the cold gravel ground, looking at his feet from the corner of my eyes peaking through my hands just asking him to calm down. Hoping with every breath to caught the rational side before he lost it. He already had pushed me down, and there I laid as he kicked the ground right behind my back just making me flinch. The song by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus Face Down just kept running through my head. As he backed away, I picked myself up and repeated to myself this doesnít hurt. This doesnít hurt. I began walking back throws the house Asking him to please calm down, that I knew my behavior called for punishment but not to be beat. I kept pleading please just sleep on it, so we could talk about it in the morning. He kept trying to kept me from going in to the home, was yelling and screaming with so much hatred. Dad please, just talk to me about it in the morning. You can ground me, take away the car, just donít do something youíll regret as I am no longer the same 14 year old girl, nor like my mother who took your rage. I you hit me once just raise your fist again, just do it, and youíll never see me again this I swear, with every fiber of my being.
When I was 14 I began ďgoing outĒ, in the community between the ages of 12-16 was when we usually started drinking. IT was our social norm. We never really had to worry about getting raped, at least not with these Russian boys, they where good men, even if they still held dogmatic views of women, but rape was not something they did, nor disrespecting a women in this manor. I think there where still a few, it was more common with in the marriage, like the 1940's and 50's of American culture, even if it did happen you never spoke about it. There was once a claim someone trying to drug rape someone but as the drunk was confronted it came out and we made sure to keep the girl away from anyone, knowing she was intoxicated and something might have happened, but we all found out before something happened at least to the best of my knowledge. Most of these men did still hold a bigger fear of God, in which held their moral character. Also the reason why drinking with them at such a young age didnít seem like that big of deal hanging out with 17-24 year old guys which even when drunk still respected or tried to respect this boundary even though I happened to date one that was another story. I donít know if it was the bad boy attitude that I liked, it was more the thought that I could change or save him. He often told me when we were alone that he was the devil, and I didnít want to believe that as I saw a side that was kind or could be kind.
I once was in a bad mood and was back talking to my mother. She told my dad who just got even more pissed off. He took a belt and just starting beating me with it. The more he hit me the more he got upset and in that moment I knew he wasn't beating me for what I said or how I behaved but his own anger and frustration of life and the day began being unleashed on me a 14 year old, who had begin sexually abuse by an uncle and sexually assaulted for the second time.. yes sometime I was in a bad mood, especially after the bulimia began again. I needed love not to be beat and didn't know how to ask for it from these people as I only got it when I acted a certain way. Often feeling like it wasn't even who I was, like I lived a double life. My mother even came in the room after and said "you did deserve to be beat, but not that hard"... I had bruises on my back.. and just kept wondering why I was so unlovable and counting down the days until I was 18.
I had once gotten to drunk, I began drinking more after getting sexually assaulted by this guy who was 17. I continued to date him because I was told by another girl in the community not to say anything, that Americans already thought so badly about us, it would only make things worse. We were drinking at his house and after it had happened one Sunday, all I wanted to do was drink as it made me feel better, I didn't care and just felt like I could be myself without thinking about what had happened. I was 14 at the time. I remember just getting drunk and feeling numb, and like I could fly or do or accomplish anything. I never drank alone, and only on holidays or Sundays, but I definitely drank to get drunk. One of the times I had gotten really wasted, one of the Sundays and couldnít find a ride home. I called my dad and asked him to ask he always promised he would. He did come and pick me up. I was to intoxicated. I just got mad at him as we drove home and all I could do is ask him why he beat on my mother all those years. Why heíd get so mad and all the mean things he said. He back handed me so fast, I had nothing to say after we just drove home in silence. The next morning I woke up to a bruised lip backed under neath and I felt thankful in that I could go to school and no one would see it.
I drank like this until I was 15, 16 where I didn't want to any more. I could handle the hang overs, and still can't to this day.
The place I had moved into a one bedroom apartment with a guy I had no sexual attraction too. I was too scared to have sex at the time, with anyone but my "boyfriend" who was more of a friends with benefits even though I always wanted more, but he wasn't who I was living with.
It was a small apartment in which over looked the small town of 1800 people. There was a gas station across the street and it was on the only corner with a traffic single until Bagley which was 30 minutes away. I started as I remember the depression that consumed my life. I realized I would never get married the Russian way and that my childhood dreams of Carrying and being part of that tradition wasn't going to be my future as much as I wanted it. I wasn't a virgin, and didn't want to marry a guy who thought I belong whipping his feet and doing everything to make him happy, as if the marriage would never have been equal. It still often gives me a sinking feeling as I look at my cousins and their families, my friends I grew up with, and the people from the village of my childhood, most of them my age that I knew and older are all married with at least one child. I feel like the same girl often who never fit in high school, not part of any click.
Like everything about my life was leading me in a different direction. I knew then it was going to be hard and even remind myself of what I was doing and that leaving meant leaving no turning back. That it meant, letting go of that dream, even if I knew it would never make me happy, and even if I did get it I wouldn't still be happy. My heart called for so much more then to be a domesticate house wife. I wanted to travel, and have many romances, (even with that I still promised myself I would at least love all those I ever did sleep with and that they would be single too, this was my proclamation to my self and even God as I swear, I would only do as it asked and as it lead me). I often just thought that God would forgive me and understand, the abuse... As often it was the thoughts of God as a child that maybe saved me. Even knowing that it was sorry to for the free will given, and for the monster doing what he was doing)... I often hear a voice, just telling me to be strong and that it would eventually come through. I often dreamed of just going to school thinking some how this would save me. That it would give me what I needed in meeting the right people. After I moved out I remember feeling like college would be impossible. Like it would never be something that I'd been given a chance for, I had to work and take care of myself and could even do that remotely well, who was I going to go to school. and its not like it than that you could just pull out your phone and Google information. I don't think I ever tried. I often was jealous of those talking about it knowing they had their parents help or finances and just thought it was just not fair. I was thinking about survival, and they where talking about living their life. My parents didn't make that kind of money no matter how much I prayed about. And they weren't materialist people. My mother also did go to college for two years. After leaving my father for seven years with 2 kids before I was ever born. She got back together with him, thinking he had changed and the pressure from the community. She ended up taking him back and never going back to school. She even said once that he was the same old self just a couple months after he hadn't had change and never was going to, even though he has mellowed with age according to my mother.
And it never once accrued to that after leaving, that the world would be so cruel. I thought life was suppose to get better. I thought things would go things would change and that life its self would get better. and here I am expressing all this with nothing to do with the last four years of why its been so hard. Just the recollections of memories and too many things that are triggering.