Defining Moments... Story one of Sunshine

Story 0

Most defining experience and the lesson received.

I had my son at 15 years old. I had low self esteem prior to my knowledge of having my son. I was sent to live with my father when I was in 1st grade, so I’d say about 7 and I lived there up until I was 12. During my stay there I endured physical, mental, and emotional abuse from my father’s girlfriend at the time. I experienced much confusion in that space because at that time she seemed to be my main provider and supporter; in company she sang praises to my name, good grades, talent, after projects, how pretty I was, how long my hair was. However, in private, it seemed as if she hated me, she didn’t like my father, his family, or my mother. I didn’t innerstand it. I tried to make going to my dad’s side of the family houses as a safe haven, she would get in the way of that with putting me “on punishment” from my family. I tried to make school my safe haven, signing up and qualifying for as many after school programs as possible so that I would not be home. She would make me quit after school programs just so I could be in the house with her. In my mind I was confused because if I was such a nuisance to have around, why was she trying so hard to have me around. I would sit in my room and escape through my art, reading, and writing. I remember her telling me how much it bothered her that she couldn’t put me on punishment from books. Dave Pelzer, ‘A Child Called It’ and ‘A Man Named Dave’, ‘The 5 people you meet in heaven’, ‘Indian in the Cupboard’ those were books I remember the most. They gave me hope. Then when Harry Potter came out, oh my God!!! A kid that escapes his abuse and finds out he has powers, then he goes back to his abusers and they treat him different, somewhat better because he stepped into his power?? Yes please. James and the Giant Peach and Matilda were my fave movies for the same reason, seeing kids escape that energy was a big deal to me, it meant I could leave too.

But the energy with this woman got to the point that everytime she was around I would panic. What needed to be done? What did I forget to clean? Did I do everything right? Was she going to hit me? I would duck and dodge before she would swing. That would make her mad too, and when my dad wasn’t around that too was a reason to hit me. I would get hit for being scared, I would get hit for letting my little sister hit on me, I would get hit for being clumsy and falling over myself or my sister, I would get hit for tattling when my sister hit me. She enjoyed reenacting fights she had in high school on me. Telling me to stand up so she can show me how she knocked my mom down the one time they fought at the job they shared. She would push me to show me how my mom started the fight. She would get mad when my mom bought me stuff because she felt I cherished it more than the items she bought. She would make me feel bad, or guilty. I’d sleep uncomfortably in my bed with like ten dolls just so she wouldn’t be mad. I really wanted to just sleep with the one my mom bought me. She would walk me around the house and show me all the items she bought me vs what my mom and dad paid for.

My mom would write me letters, they’d already be opened with the money missing out of them. My dad and his girlfriend would read my letters and say sarcastic things to me to make me feel guilty about being excited to read them. It made me sad when my dad was aligned with his girlfriend cause I hated her. And the more I’d see him allow her to treat me the way she did, the more I started to hate him, but I still liked it when he was around because she wouldn’t hit me. She would walk past me and brush against me hard or give me death stares that said she couldn't wait until my dad wasn't home though.

I had a habit of sleeping with my glasses and tv on. To be honest, I was scared to sleep, I’d try to stay up as long as possible. When I would finally sleep she’d pull me out of bed and punch on me or push me to the floor until I made it to the tv to turn it off and take my glasses off and put them next to the tv, then I’d get pushed back to the bed. One night she did that and I fell on my shoulder. For two days I held my shoulder, she and my dad wouldn’t take me to the hospital. They claimed I was being extra, exaggerating. Then the next night I was woken up out of my sleep, dragged down the stairs by my hurt arm. Everytime I held my arm she would hit me, tell me to stop, ‘aint nothing wrong with you, you making me look bad.’ She made me get on the floor while she sat on top of me, she shoved a sock in my mouth so I wouldn't scream and wake everyone up and she pulled on my arm. I don’t know what made her stop after a while, but she did and I went back to bed. Then the next day I was still holding my arm so my dad told her to take me to the hospital. My left shoulder was fractured. The doctor said it didn’t look too bad. She told me it was because she stretched it out for me. She did me a favor that night and made it better. Then she made herself cry when she told my dad what happened and that she felt bad.

I would stand for hours and hours listening to her talk about her job, high school, how she didnt like my family, how she didnt like her friends. She told me everyone knew how she was treating me and no one cared. They were allowing her to treat me that way cause they didn’t want to deal with me. They weren’t going to take me. My dad was too busy, my mom didn’t want me that’s why she kept my siblings and left me here with a brown paper shop rite bag of clothes. She would tell me about her parents, how she didn’t like her dad, she loved her mom, but she passed, both her parents passed, and her aunt raised her and was hard on her. I didn’t give a fuck about her woes. When she would say things like that I’d be glad, and glad it still hurt her and she cried when she told these stories. I was happy inside. I wanted her to feel the pain I felt and it made me feel good she did. She would tell me my mom was overweight and make fun of the fact that if I hugged her my hands wouldn't touch each other, then she would make me hug her so she can show me what she meant. She would have my little sister chime in. My sister would giggle, co-sign, remind me who bought all the toys and what my mom bought or didn't buy. One time I was getting a lecture on how small her engagement ring was compared to her sister’s and for that reason she wouldn’t marry my dad, she couldn't stand my nana or my aunt lizzy. My sister walked up and said she didn’t want to be a Patterson anymore, she wanted her last name changed. ‘Nah, you keep your last name, it just won't be me. I don’t want it.’ So smug. But always on the phone ‘Hey Ms Joanne!’ She was so phoney to me. I wished someone could see the fakeness I saw, no one would see it. No one would save me. Maybe she was right, everybody knew and nobody cared.

After a while, my fear turned into anger.

I stopped listening to her and started replaying songs, movies, and book scenes in my head during her lectures. My sol was tired of it. I wanted out, I started telling my friends and hinting to my teachers. I was trying to manifest an escape without getting myself in hot water if it didn’t work and I was stuck again. I began to hate my dad. I no longer felt comfort in his presence. When I was younger, I made all of our time together cement in my memory, because that’s the time she wouldn’t hit me, as I got older I wondered why he never stopped it and his presence no longer felt safe. He looked weak to me, like she ran him too. And because she ran him, she could keep hitting me. She would run my friends away, disrespecting their parents, and making them feel uncomfortable, she embarrassed me in front of friends, punishing me in front of them, insulting me about my hygiene or not knowing my phone number, anything, she didn’t care and she went through great lengths to make sure I was embarrassed. My cousins didn’t want to come over anymore either. She would yell when she answered the phone, so my friends didn’t like calling. I didn’t like being on the phone there anyway, she was always listening somewhere. She chased away every haven I attempted to create for myself. It was like we were playing chess and she kept taking my pieces.

My sister knew I passed notes in school, she saw me write them and put them in my bag. I kept all my notes like I kept all my letters my mother wrote me. So one morning getting ready for school, she dry snitches on me. Her mom sees all my letters and makes me read them out loud. Of course I was punished, especially because some notes were from a boy. In my eyes, my first boyfriend. He would write wanting to be sexual, but I didn’t and I would tell him I wasn’t interested in that. I was excited just to hold hands and peck kiss at the bus. That was enough for me. But to her, I was a whore just like my mother, I’d be a teen mom just like my mother. I’m just good for laying on my back anyway. Why would a boy want to get to know me or do nice things for me. Being a Patterson, being from my mother, I was just to be used sexually. Later on that night she made me watch porn with her as a way of scaring and shaming me. Then she sent me to bed.

So the summer of 2002, I’m 12 years old, I spent the summer at my mom’s and I reeeeallly didn’t want to go back to my dad’s. The times they would allow me to see my mother (I didn’t find out til later, my mom would come to see me like she said she would in her letters and they would turn her away and say I was on punishment, then tell me my mom aint come cause she didnt care), my mom would take photos of my bruises. Id tell people I was skating and fell because thats what my dad’s girlfriend wanted me to say, and she would say my dad wanted me to say that as well. That solidified the love/hate for my dad. He wanted me to lie for her too? Fuck this bitch.

So back to this summer, my mom had all the info and photos she needed to go to family court and get custody of me. I dream about this moment often, even today. Being in the judge’s chambers watching this big clock. They wouldnt let me sit in the court room. After a while a police officer walked in and I was so scared, I thought he was gonna make me go back to my dad’s. But he was like ‘there you are!’. I found out later, they forgot where they put me, and everyone was looking for me, they thought I ran away. I didn’t even think to run away. Why did I never think to run away? So, the judge comes in and apologizes, he explains that he understands that I’m not in a safe space, and he commended me on my grades. Remember when I said school was my haven? I stayed a straight A student, as many accolades, certificates, awards, ceremonies, as humanly possible, I was going for all of them. It was what made me feel good, feel like I deserved respect. Because of this, the judge was giving me the opportunity to have a say so in my case.

He asked me if I could live anywhere, where would it be and why? I said with my mom, I miss her, and I love being with my brother and sister, I don’t want to leave. I told him I didn’t feel safe at my dad’s, everybody down there was letting that woman mistreat me. I was scared. I told him about my arm, the bruises, my chipped tooth. He told me I was telling him really serious stuff, and it could get her in alot of trouble. What do I think they should do? I told them I didnt want anything to happen to her, because she was my sister’s mother. My sister should have her mom, and I needed mine. At 12 years old, I couldve sent her away, and my sol still took the high road. Why am I like this?

Moving in with my mother was such a relief, yet alot to adjust to. Being allowed to be outside, and breathe, sleep without fear. I was angry when I found out in my absence my dad and his girlfriend has another child. It felt like he didn’t care what she did to me, he still loved her. He still laid with her. My dad came and picked me up once, I don’t know the background information, but we went to eat at KFC, and he pissed me off. It was like he was blaming me for my abuse. I allowed it. Why didnt I tell him? Why didnt I let him know? My mom called the cops, said he kidnapped me. The cops picked us up from KFC, seeing my dad and siblings in police car hurt my heart. I felt like that was my fault. I was angry at my mom. Above everything, I just always peace, I always believed, or wanted to believe peace could occur. That’s all I ever fucking wanted. I wanted answers, I wanted apologies, I wanted sincerity, and I wanted a relationship. My dad stopped coming around for a while. I didnt blame him.

When I finally went to his house, I got this weak ass apology 'Im sorry I was hard on you, I dont hit my kids anymore.' Bitch, you barely ever hit your kids. I dont care. But on the outside, to avoid confrontation I just smiled and nodded, gave a fake ass hug. I learned to be phoney to avoid confrontation. What hurt me the most, was all of my photos, certificates, awards, my toys had been removed. It was like I never lived there. I never existed. That implanted something in me. A mindset. That I was an outsider to my dad, I dont see myself as one of his children. However, I am grateful for the bond he has created with my son. That's very important to me. I recognize that he is in his own journey of healing, and I pity him a bit. I just want to see him live his dreams in his art. That's why I go so hard for mine. Read recently thats the goal for the Leo Risings, wow. How aligned have I always been. In a more recent conversation he said he took the certificate down so she wouldnt destroy them, I wanted to ask about my mothers letters I kept in a shoe box, but I have feeling they no longer exist.

Moreover, I began taking pills to sleep, writing sad poems and songs, I cut myself sometimes. It didn’t make me feel better. So I just kept doing it thinking maybe, eventually it would. Even being at my mom’s I started to feel alone. My mom worked alot, my siblings had their dad, and sometimes he’d pick me up too. He and my mom were together when I first moved in with my dad, so he was familiar. He just used to make me feel bad and uncomfortable with his humor. I don’t think people realize how I sensitive I was/am. I put alot of effort in keeping things locked and tight. Falling apart is a weakness to me. I learned that crying and begging is what the abuser wants to see, you hold that shit in, you got the power. I told myself no one would ever put me in the space that woman put me in ever again. I became mean to my siblings as I became territorial over my energy and my belongings, I had to realize they werent my dads daughter, they weren’t even like her. And it wasn’t even my sister’s fault she was like that. She was way younger than me.

I had to learn how to be social in urban settings, going from a small school to a big one. The boys were still the same, they still just wanted sex, and now I had the freedom to give it to them in exchange for attention. Affirmations that I deserved love. I thought sex and love was the same thing in those types of relationships. With that comes the drama, rumors, I was put in a few crazy positions. I was in an abusive situation. I had a friend that liked to sneak out and date older guys, and since I was the church girl friend, I was the one she said she was with. I was introduced to this older guy through her. He would clock my mothers car outside and pull up with his friends and make me have sex with them. He would hit me, threaten me. In my mind, it was like, maybe my dad’s girlfriend was right, maybe I’m only good for being on my back. This all they want, they don’t care about me. Making fun of me at school for being smart, or a slut. I couldn’t win. I kept taking sleeping meds, and I kept cutting and burning myself. I didnt tell anyone what the guy was doing because I felt like if they didn’t care about my dad’s girlfriend hitting on me, why would they care about this man. Id go along with it sometimes so he wouldnt hit me, so it wouldnt hurt when the guys were having sex with me. Id cry by myself later. Once I cried while they were surrounding me, and I was so embarrassed, some of them were laughing. I told myself I would never cry in front of people ever again, nobody cares about my tears. Cry for what? I tried harder to bottle my shit. Id have consensual sex to “balance” the rape, to make me feel like I was in power sometimes. Those encounters were the ones I gave power to, the ones I journaled about and wrote poems about, those boys wouldnt love me though. I remember asking one if he would ever make me his girlfriend, ‘I would never date a bucket.’

Eventually I had a reputation and parents didnt want their daughters around me. My mom thought about me going to a therapist or psychologist, and I was actually excited about it. Someone to talk to about whats going on in my head that can help me. Then one day my dad picked me up ‘You wanna go to school to be a psychologist, your mom want you to go to one.’ Like he was trying to embarrass me. So I never went to that doctor. I never got that help. Fuck it, I’ll learn and heal myself. I’ll figure it out or find a good comfort zone to survive in.

There was this one time I was outside with some friends, I went home and realized I didnt have my phone, so I went back to the area I was at. One of the older guys thats usually around was outside. He walked up to me and begged me to have sex with him. Its the middle of the night, he's drunk, and its just us outside. Do i fight? Fuck it, I’ll cry about it later. So we went into his house and had sex, and I went home and cried. A couple of days later the other guy came over with his friends again and hit me and they took their turns. Surrouding these events were random consensual encounters to take my power back. Then there was this guy at school I really liked, we both had alot in common. He was actually smart and didnt smoke or drink. I liked him. He felt easy, and safe. I felt like I was in a safe space with him. He didnt want sex, my mind was enough. He was on the football team with the guys that would take advantage of me. One day he told me he couldnt talk to me anymore because he was being made fun of for liking me. I took a bunch of Nyquil.

Slept for a while and was sick for a week or so…

When I finally went to the doctor’s the doctor told me I was 4 weeks pregnant. I had wrote poems and stories about this moment. Having a baby to leave a piece of me behind on earth. I was gonna give life and kill myself. At least that’s how it went in the poems. But that moment, the dr looked at me, I was scared of how everyone else would react. But I was happy for myself. I could make love. I could have someone love me no matter what. I could deserve love. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad, and no one could understand that so I kept it to myself. I was angry as everyone attacked and blamed my mom. Told me to get an abortion. My mom even made me an appt but it didnt work. My Ezekiel was meant to be here.

This year my sun turns 16. This year marks the year I will be a mother longer than I’ve not been a mom. When I look at him I see light and love. I dont see any of that pain that led him to me. I deal with alot of criticism because his biological dad isn’t around, I won’t point him out. I cry by myself about that because I don’t think anyone would get it. I cry by myself because even at 31 I don’t know how to get help, I just know how to hide my shit. Help is embarrassing, help is I can’t do it by myself so it shouldn’t be done.

Ezekiel is the catalyst in my life because I felt so dark for so long, and he just came with this big ass light and he just made everything worth it. If I didnt go through all that stuff, he wouldnt be here, and then who would I be? Would I have survived? I dont think so. So much energy from people in social services, school teachers, babysitters, family, friends, WIC office, pediatricians went towards shaming me and embarrassing me, but they couldnt do it. You cant shame me about being that boy’s mother. He is the air I breathe when I take a dragon breath. Im grateful that I didnt turn into my dads girlfriend or even my dad with him. Im grateful that I kept my ability to love just for him.

I remember when my dad found out, he was mad, everyone was, my mom stopped speaking to me. I was a ghost in the house. My dad’s girlfriend used to do that to me. Spend weeks acting like I didnt exist in the house until she wanted to hit on me or lecture me, so my mom doing that hit different. But when my dad came and we talked, I tried to communicate without opening up. Maybe that wasnt the right approach. I tried to speak on the sexual abuse from my grandfather when I was younger, the abuse from his girlfriend. ‘You cant use your childhood as an excuse to this, Val was abused when she was a kid. So she did what she knew.’ That response rings in my fucking ears regularly. Everytime I try to get close to him I hear it and I hesitate and get quiet again. I was 16 when he said that to me. And when my son was a baby he would let his girlfriend watch my son, she would call me, practically bragging that he was with her. That shit made my soul itch, Im getting angry thinking about it.

Working at Burger King, taking care of my son, and going to school. I graduated with high honors, top 10% of my class, a 1460 SAT score, scholarships, a full ride to one school, National Spanish Honors Society, you name it I fucking did it. Why? Cause that’s where my pride lies. Thats where I show and prove myself that I deserve. I went to college with my baby. I did shit statistics said I would NEVER do. I struggle with accepting help as I see how my mother was treated when she asked for my father’s help in raising me. I struggle with asking for help because I see how “family” throws it in my parents’ faces when the time is right. I remember how my dad’s girlfriend would throw in my face what she bought and how much it cost. I struggle with toxic independence cause I don’t wanna need anybody. I don’t want anyone helping me with my goals or my kids cause I like saying I did that shit by myself.

I didnt do it by myself though....

Im grateful for my mother and my maternal grandmother for allowing me to go to college, for making space for me and my son. Im grateful for my father for taking my son in and supporting me going to college. Im grateful to the members of the church I grew up in with my mother for throwing me a baby shower, being present, taking me out to eat, buying items for my son, making space for me in love instead of treating me like a sinner. Im so blessed and thankful, my gratitude is infinite, and Im still healing. Im still learning how to have boundaries, how to stop being so hard on myself. Im learning how to trust and respect men again. Im learning that I am allowed to receive love and kindness, that I am good enough. I forgot why I got panic attacks or why messes bother me so much. I forgot why I dont sleep well or why every little thing wakes me up. I forgot why I bottle up shit so much, or why I dont like having sex. I forgot my whys so I was just out here feeling. I don’t know what it looks like to be completely healed, but I do know that me having this level of transparency in this moment is a big deal.

Thank you for making space and reading my story.