Right away he turned me around and started caressing my body up and down. We were home alone at the time and standing in the kitchen. I remember asking him if I could borrow his Walkman, to which he responded ‘Sure, if you let me touch you.’ I wasn’t sure what he meant so I said okay. After a few days of being really nice to me, it began out of nowhere.
I didn’t think much of it, thinking that he just wanted to become closer to his oldest sister. Those were the only happy times I can remember.Īround this time, I started to notice one of my older brothers paying extra attention to me. I loved weekends because that was when my aunt would take me away. Although I hated school and can’t say I was very bright, it was the only time I could get away from my mother. To this day, she still claims he is my father.īut let’s rewind back a few years to when I was about 8 years old. When we took a paternity test, however, the results were negative. Finally, when I was 14, she told me that she found him and was talking to him in court about providing child support. I grew up without my father and repeatedly asked where he was. My mother didn’t have a job until I was a teenager. They just put us in daycare for evenings and returned us for dinner and bedtime. Punching and kicking me she screamed, ‘They are going to take my babies away from me because of you!’ Unfortunately, they didn’t take us away. As soon as the door closed, I got the beating of my life. They called Child Protective Services on my mother.Ī few days later, I came home from school to find official personnel leaving through the doorway. I said that it was my fault and that I had scratched myself too hard, but they knew I was lying. When it began to bleed at school one day, the nurses asked over and over what had happened. The moment she heard me, she pulled my ear so hard that it split open. I have a scar behind my ear from when I was hungry and looking for a snack in the fridge. She asked me to lie and tell my school that my brother hit me with a shovel.
She once took a broom and smacked me so hard in the forehead that it began to gush with blood. I have scars on my face from when I would shrug my shoulders in a response to a question she asked. Other times I had forgotten to wipe the droplets on the toilet seat after jumping out of the water and sitting on it.
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I have images of my hands reaching up from a tub full of water, scratching and pinching at her neck because she was drowning me in front of my little brother for having to potty during bath time. All I can remember is hearing them yell at her over and over ‘Stop mom! You’re going to kill her!’ Courtesy of Lizzett Sariñana My brothers would always have to stop her when she’d grab me by my hair and throw me around our home, hangers and sandals in her hand ready to beat me. When my mother would sit on my stomach and force feed me her crap spaghetti. I cried when I was beaten and forced into corners for hours without food or water because of a bad grade. I cried when I went to school with messy, knotted hair. I cried of rashes when my mother refused to change my diaper. My mother never wanted to take care of me. It wasn’t until I was in my 20s that my aunt told me I was a good child, that the reason I cried and cried was not because I was bad, but because of my mother’s neglect. My mother claimed that I was a terrible child and that this was the reason she was abusive. Sometimes it would get so bad that my grandmother would have to take out the Bible and recite passages in hopes to calm me down. “My mother was the one person in the world that was supposed to protect me no matter what. Disclaimer: this story contains details of child abuse and sexual assault that may be upsetting to some.