The Day She Wounded My Soul
A tragic, horrific day that ultimately brought peace
Have you ever thought about what unconditional love means? I always thought this kind of love had to be with blood relatives but I was wrong.
It was a crisp fall day in November and the sun was shining. I was up early and ready for school, which was my happy place because it meant I wasn’t at home.
The yelling had already started and it was only 7:30 in the morning. I couldn’t wait to get out the front door and off to the bus stop.
Out the front door, I went running down the hill to the school bus stop. I met my friend Melissa on the way. Hand in hand, we boarded the bus and I asked her to do my makeup.
My mom was so strict, that I wasn’t allowed to wear makeup in the 7th grade. Looking back, I guess I can see where she was coming from, but she was also an alcoholic/drug addict so, at the time, I didn’t accept her reasoning.
Melissa and I passed notes back and forth every day at school. Oh, the old days of passing notes and no smartphones. I collected tons of little notes in my backpack, sometimes forgetting to throw away the bad ones.
When I say bad notes, I mean the notes that I wrote about how terrible my mom was, or about kissing a boy at school. That, in fact, did happen in 7th grade.
When I got home from school, all hell was breaking loose. My 1-year-old brother was crying, my mom was screaming and my step-dad was trying to calm her down. I walked in the door, and she charged up to me, with red bloodshot eyes that almost looked like they would pop out of her head at any given moment.
As she snatched my backpack off my shoulder, I crumbled inside. I knew what was inside, so I ran up to my room crying.
The shrieking and blood-curling noise coming from downstairs sent me into a complete panic. I had nowhere to run to and was stuck in the corner of my room sobbing.
I knew what was coming next because of what always happened when her anger was out of control. My 100-pound mother stomped up the stairs and if you didn’t know it was her, you would think it was a 300-pound man.
Cowering in the corner, with my head between my hands and legs, I closed my eyes hoping that it would all just stop.
But, here she came rushing into the room, same bulging eyes and red face. I was terrified.
She had my backpack in her hands, throwing it straight at me, books and papers flying all over my room.
The first thing she said was, “HOW DARE YOU!!!” This was something she said all the time. How dare I roll my eyes at her. How dare I mess up her clean house and perfectly smoothed carpet. She would vacuum frantically every day to make perfect lines in the carpet and we weren’t allowed to step on it.
Mind you, I was a straight-A student, just sweet as can be, that didn’t do anything wrong besides doing my makeup on the bus and kissing a boy once. Two things she didn’t even know about anyway!
But, the dreaded note! The note to my friend Melissa, that she wrote a reply on, and gave it back to me said:
“My mom was in such a bad mood this morning. She’s on drugs and I hate it. I don’t know how she will be when I get home and I am scared. Do you think I could come over later if I need to?”
The next thing she said was (word for word):
“Get the fuck out of my house! I’m calling your Dad to come and pick you up. Pack your shit!”
Then, she smacked me like she always did. I was pretty much anesthetized to the abuse, at 11 years old. Gosh, I want to go back and hug that little girl and tell her it’s all going to be alright.
Thankfully, she went back downstairs to call my Dad. The screaming and insanity didn’t stop until he arrived. She always tried to calm down in front of my Dad but the mood was so tense on this day in November.
The rest of the memories are somewhat fuzzy but I know that I didn’t have much time to get all of my things, so I grabbed all the important things and headed out the door.
I was so ready for the hour drive home to my Dad and Step-mom’s house. I felt guilty for being relieved.
So many emotions flooded me that day and for the next few months. Because of one note, she just threw me away, like I should have done with the note after Melissa gave it back to me.
She didn’t want me anymore. She wanted the drugs and alcohol more. I didn’t understand the magnitude of her use until much later. It was just so hard to understand why she wanted a substance that made her act insane.
She kept calling me for weeks. During one phone call, everything was my fault and she didn’t seem to recall that she did anything wrong. The next call was her crying and telling me to come home. She’d sent me packing to my Dads before, but not at this level of chaos.
I was done being the punching bag and stood up for myself. I told her I was going to stay with my Dad and continue the 7th grade near his house.
Then, the screaming started again and she was livid. Again, she blamed me for our troubled relationship because she didn’t get her way. I was traumatized and this tragedy kept interfering with my self-esteem.
The thoughts that continued to circle in my brain were that I wasn’t good enough, maybe it was my fault, and maybe I should go back to make her happy.
My wonderful step-mom came to the rescue and began to show me what real love was. She comforted me and told me that I didn’t have to do what my mother wanted.
She said I could choose where I wanted to live. Even if it meant going to court to testify, she said she would have my back.
So, a few weeks following that horrific day, I chose to stay. And, that ended my relationship with my birth mother and started my new relationship with the mother who wanted me.
