Ripping Off the Bandaid

This was a post that was started last night.

I am having a hard time sleeping still.  I thought that when I ripped the bandaid off that maybe the sleep would find it’s way back.  Not being able to sleep could also be a product of the very thing that I did.

I don’t want any alarm bells to go off in anyone’s head because of this entry.  So… to continue.

I’m thirty years old and I know what it’s like to be tired of watching the days pass.  At 17 years old, I walked down the two-lane highway to my friends house.  I remember telling my friends mom that I couldn’t do it anymore.  I was tired at 17 years old.

I was too scared to tell Jack A. (his pseudo name and everyone else’s will stay as such) that I wanted to move out.  I had no where to go.  My friends mom tried to get me to think and I remember us calling my grandparents.  They lived in Lewisville by the lake.

In my first entry, I spoke of a sanctuary.  These were the same grandparents.  We worked out a possible solution.  I don’t know if I ever truly got up the courage to go back home.  But I did.  I don’t remember walking or if my friend and her mom drove me home.  I walked through the front yard.  The property was on an acre.  Over half of it was the ‘front yard’.  Jack A. was spray painting this old truck that he had acquired.  I walked past him and into the house.  Sat down at the kitchen table and told my mother that I wanted to move out.

She said: “Okay but you’re telling your dad.”  I took a deep breath, walked outside, and told him I wanted to move out.

First words out of his mouth was “Where are you gonna go?”

I got roped into moving in with family friends.  I was a live in baby sitter and house keeper for my mothers best-friend, her husband, and four kids.  I got a job working with my mother at K-Mart in Sherman, Texas.  I worked with my mother got the silent treatment from my step-father and had very little free time because I was always with the four children.
I no longer had my step-father standing over my shoulder telling me what to do every second of every day.  Sadly, I was lost.  After a few months of the silent treatment, the depressing job where my mother watched everything I did I made a decision to try to disappear.  I took off with a friend to El Paso.  My step-father tracked me down and coerced me to come back home.

I didn’t tell the people that I lived with that I was leaving and just disappeared around bedtime.  I know that it was wrong to do it the way that I did and I put a lot of stress on them.  But I had been broken.

The day that Jack A. found me in El Paso, I had gone out to eat at a restaurant with my friend and we had gotten back.  His mom told me the second that we walked in the door that she needed to talk to us and that we needed to sit down.  She began to tell me about the conversation she had on the phone with my stepfather.  He told her that if I didn’t come home, he would come after me.  I was terrified.  I was told by Cierra (my friends mother) that I was supposed to call him back to let him know my decision.  When I did, he put Suzie on the phone and told her to ask:

“Why did you leave?  Was it my fault?”

The part that terrified me was that if he did come after me, I would be stuck in a car for nine hours and fifty-two minutes with a countless number of miles with nothing and no one.  I knew that if he came to get me, I would never make it back to my hometown.  So I said I would come home.

My mother and stepfather purchased a bus ticket for me.  The next day, I was on it and headed back to live under their roof.  I wasn’t aloud to leave the house.  I wasn’t seen in public.  I was made to stay in my room.  I wasn’t aloud to go to the kitchen when/if meals were made.  They made me wait until they were done eating before they brought me food or something to drink.  I didn’t last more than a couple of months before I begged my mother’s parents to let me move in to go to college since my ‘parents’ weren’t allowing me to do anything, go anywhere, or allowing me to function.

It was the pinnacle of my tiredness.

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17 thoughts on “Ripping Off the Bandaid

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  1. Hi Mary,
    I can understand your worries about publishing Ripping off the Bandaid.
    It’s a big step to reveal yourself to the world, but once again your strength has empowered you to do so.
    I can’t imagine how you must have felt when you got that phone call, to go back and face what you must have known was going to happen took some guts.
    It’s terrible that just the threat of him coming to get you was powerful enough to make you go home 😦

    I hope you get some rest soon, perhaps as things progress and your book gets published, you will be able to put your worries away.
    Take care Mary,
    love n hugs
    Nick xxx

    1. Abusers are notorious for making their victims depend on them. And as much as I would like to say I wasn’t… it had become so ingrained into my fibers that I didn’t think about how that would really play out. If he had come to get me, I could have resisted and he wouldn’t have been able to touch me. All I would have had to do was tell the policeman that he’d hurt me and I feared for my life. Victim’s don’t think that way. Seventeen in Texas is legal age with a parents consent to move out. I already had their consent.

  2. YOU are not alone! There is help out there, lovely people who would like to surround you, wrap their arms around you, and guide you through this! I should know 🙂
    something my therapist once told me “you can’t let him win! don’t let him steal your present and future joy. He has stolen enough of your past for the both of you.”

    1. I want to than you for reading and I do know that. That’s why I write about my life. It helps in getting the poison out of my body. The poison of my memories. To date, I haven’t been able to talk about the sexual abuse I experienced and posted my first entry yesterday. I have a lot of worse memories that I haven’t touched on that I will eventually get to.
      I want to thank you for reading and for your support. Sharing with each other is like Aloe for the soul.

      Respectfully,
      Phoenix

  3. I’m moved by your honesty and look forward to reading more from you. I was especially touched by your confession of feeling bad for leaving the family friends “around bedtime” without saying anything. You were so young, and had been through so much; I can relate. That feeling of needing to apologize for trying to meet your own needs can be a real trap!

  4. Its no wonder you felt so tired. You tried to get away and even then you could not get free. Its so painful and risky but to share is so important. I hope you get a ton of support from readers on here. I have PTSD from other events so I know how hard those sleepless nights can be. I hope with writing you will be able to expel the poison. And I pray you are surrounded by some love now.

    1. I had a revelation a few weeks ago. I would pray that I wouldn’t wake up the next morning. That God would just take me away from the pain and the hell that I lived in.

      I know why I never attempted suicide. If there was a possibility of hell, I already lived there and I couldn’t take the chance that I would spend an eternity there. Repeating the same daily abuse forever. I was never careful in what I did. I was never careful with myself because IF I had an accident that ended my life, then I would be okay with that.

      I am actually doing very well. I am happy and well-adjusted. For the traumas that I experienced, I already know that my survival was a miracle.
      I have three beautiful daughters, a very supportive and wonderful husband, and the best support I could ever ask for.

      Thank you for your support and such kind words.
      Respectfully,
      Phoenix

      1. I think you are amazing to have come through the darkest of times and have such strength and courage. I am so glad that you have found someone to support you as you deserve and your daughters must be just lovely and so lucky to have such a special Mum. I am sure what you are writing will help others who may be still struggling to know they can come through abuse and not just survive but thrive. Deborah

      2. Thank you again Deborah. My husband was the one that put my broken pieces back together again and he gave me the courage to start the healing process.
        My girls are my inspiration.

        Respectfully,
        Phoenix

  5. Such an important and brave post. I left home at 17 due to verbal and emotional abuse. I was tired too. This really hit my heart. Thank you for sharing your story.

    1. You are very welcome. I also left at 17. I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s sad but soothing to know others have experienced similar things. We can find solace in sharing.

      With much respect,
      Phoenix

  6. I’m mesmorized. I am going back through your back door reading. For years I wanted to write my story though like I told you, mine was a different kind of abuse from a boyfriend… but it is all about not having a choice for so long or a voice and finally having it. Aren’t these journal things therapeutic?? I started writing mine as part of my book writing project Trying to go back right when it all was happening and write about it as if it were that day.

    1. It takes time and journaling is one of the best ways to expel the poison from our soul. When I write, I block all thoughts from my head and let it go. I don’t actually know what I’ve written until I’m proofing it prior to clicking the publish button. I read out loud and usually end up crying because the emotions come back.

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