I often wonder if I was just born this way or if it was the events in my life that shaped me. I am going to say that it was both. If I remember correctly, depression can be hereditary and passed along for generations....lucky you. It can also be triggered by a trauma or stress such as a death or divorce. It can also be brought on with a serious illness. I don't know if it is hereditary since the older females in my family just don't talk about things like that. I am guessing it lurks around in my genes though. I am certain that I had trauma and stress throughout my childhood.
I need to make it perfectly clear that I am hyper-aware that the abuse that I went through pales in comparison to others. It has taken me along time and many therapy sessions to realize that I do have the right to to be hurt by what I experienced and just because others out there have suffered worse things than me does not make it any less painful for me. If two people were in an car accident and one person broke an arm and the other severely bruised there ribs, they are still both injured, they both feel pain and they both need to heal. The person with the bruised ribs isn't expected to 'suck it up' because his injuries aren't as bad as the others. I tried to suck it up for a long, long time because I knew there were people who had endured much worse things than me.
I have very distinct memories of M. (my step-dad) and the things that he did and I remember them as little stories and that is how I would like to tell them. They don't go in a certain order and I don't remember them chronologically, some are mild, some are not and some people may find perfectly acceptable.
The Shower
M wanted me to take a shower with him. I don't remember how old I was, but I remember knowing that I was old enough to feel very uncomfortable showering with him. I did it because I knew I didn't have a choice. He wanted to wash my hair for me and started getting very rough to the point that it hurt. I said "ouch" and he asked me what the hell was wrong and I told him he was hurting me. It was at that point that he grabbed me by my hair and lifted me up off of my feet and held me there while yelling at me and asking me how hard it hurt now. He finally let me go and turned me around and continued washing my hair and washing me and I didn't say another word.
The Boat
M had a boat that he was working on in the garage and he put me up in the boat to keep me out of his way. I had to pee and kept telling him to let me out of the boat so I could go, but he wouldn't let me. This went on for quite some time until I peed in my pants and then froze in fear over what would happen to me. I was screamed at and grabbed at and thrown into the house. I don't remember anything else.
Counting by Fives
M got it into his head one day that I needed to learn to tell time and to count by 5's. I did great but kept getting stuck at the 7 (35). Because I was "stupid" I was put on our basement steps standing with my nose against the wall, the lights were turned off and the door was shut. There I was left in the pitch black until my Mom came home from work and found me.
3 a.m.
M came home one evening at 3am. He woke me up and said that my room was a mess and I needed to clean it right then and there. He stayed there and watched me until my room was cleaned to his liking.
Sex On the Beach
M took us to the beach to camp and proceeded to have sex with his new girlfriend that evening in front of the campfire for all of us to see and hear.
Beer and Chicken Wings
M had huge issues with the way I ate. To him I ate too slow. One afternoon he made a huge pan of chicken wings and sat down in the recliner with a beer to have a little snack. I was still in my pajamas and he wanted me to come sit with him and have some wings. I told him I didn't want to because I didn't want to get in trouble for not eating fast enough. He said I could eat however I wanted and he wouldn't get mad, he promised. I sat on his lap and started to eat some chicken and it was fine...at first. Then he said to have a drink of his beer. I said the same thing to him, that I didn't want to drink it because he would get mad that I didn't drink enough. He said he wouldn't and even had a practice run. He said he would hold the beer and when I wanted him to stop I just needed to put my hand up. I tried it, and he did what he said, so I believed he was going to be nice that day. At some point he started shoving chicken in my mouth, more and more, faster and faster and in the middle of it he shoved a chicken bone in my throat and I started to choke. I somehow managed to force it down and swallow it and started to cough so he, of course, decided I needed to drink more beer. This time when I put my hand up he wouldn't stop. He just kept pouring the beer down my throat and it started to dribble from the sides of my mouth and onto my nightgown. He stopped and looked at the beer that dribbled onto my nightgown and got angry. He told me that if I could keep my clothes clean then I wasn't allowed to wear them. He yanked the nightgown up and over my head and threw it in the laundry room. He did allow me to keep my underwear on.
The Old Metal Lunch Box
I don't remember the reason he got so mad this time. I think he may have been trying to get me to tell time and count by 5's again, but I'm not positive. What I do remember is that his lunch box, a giant, heavy-duty, metal lunch box was sitting on the counter and he got so mad that threw it at me as hard as he could and hit me on my knee. I screamed in pain and started to cry. My Mom was actually home this time and came running to see what happened. M said that his lunch box fell and I got in the way of it.
There were many other things he did on a day to day basis and through the years when we had to visit him after my Mom and him divorced. He was horrific to my brother, his biological child, and many times I got the brunt of things because I was trying to protect him. He would act nasty and sick and then would come bearing gifts and treats to try to make up for it. He would never admit to what he did or that it was wrong, but the gifts would follow whenever he was particularly mean. He also liked to dress me up, put make-up on me and then take pictures.
The Grand Finale
This one could take some time to write out, but I'm not going to because I am tired. I am tired both physically and mentally.
My brother and I were visiting M on one of his weekends. His newest girlfriend was there and I had a friend, J, over to visit. I was in my room hanging out with J and I could hear and argument so I went into the living room to see what was going on. M was screaming at my brother and shaking him as hard as he could, calling him a faggot and a girl. I yelled at him to stop and to pick a fight with a grown man instead of his child. I knew the moment the last word left my tongue that things were going to get bad. I turned to walk away as quickly as I could but he grabbed me by hair and yanked me down, hard. I struggled and tried to fight him off and found myself on my brothers bed with M on top of me choking me. He did all of this in front of my brother, his girlfriend and my friend J (who was cowering on my bed on the opposite side of the room). I fought as hard as I could and his girlfriend was trying to pull him off of me. I somehow got free, grabbed J (and possibly my brother, but I don't honestly remember) and left. M's girlfriend followed me for a while begging me to come back and saying he didn't mean it and that I shouldn't have gotten him so mad. I kept on walking and eventually made it home. To shorten and to summarize, I was bruised everywhere from my neck on down, police were called and pictures were taken. M claims I attacked him and his girlfriend backed him up. Yeah...........
I stopped talking to M when I was 18 and could legally do so. I changed my last name as a way to officiate it and I never looked back. My brother kept trying to have some sort of relationship with M though and I understood because this was his biological Dad. My brother went to visit M and the visit ended with M trying to choke my brother to death. I guess old habits are hard to break. That was the last time my brother talked to M.
My biological Dad was alive and well this whole time and still is today. He gave up his rights to me because according to him, he was young and stupid and didn't want to have to pay child support anymore and because he asked me what I wanted (at the wise old age of 4 or 5) and I told him I wanted M to adopt me (because I thought it would be neat to have a new last name). My bio Dad went on and got a new wife and new kids and managed to ignore me the best he could. He did manage to bestow some wisdom upon my young head during one of his infrequent visits. He said he noticed the ways boys looked at me and that I should use that to my advantage in life. He said that my looks and figure would get me more in life than an ugly person. He urged me to quit my job at McD's and get a job waiting tables because I could make so much money by flirting and dressing 'scantily'.
So did M manage to leave a permanent scar on me in the form of a catalyst to my depression or is it just in my genes? I know why I had 'Daddy' issues, you don't have to help me out on that one.
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