When I was seven years old, I witnessed my dad beat my mother because she wouldn’t have sex with him. It was the first time I stayed in a women’s shelter.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
My sister and I used to go on long country rides with our parents. They were drinking all the while. My father would frequently try to sexually assault my mom in the front seat.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
On one of those rides, with both parents drunk, we spun out into a cornfield during a snowstorm. We thought it was the ride of our lives.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
We dumpster dove as children. We thought we were bonding with our father.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
Eventually, my parents, sister and grandparents moved into a house together. I felt safe. Our grandparents protected us.
Unfortunately, my grandpa passed in 2008. My parents unraveled. My grandma was ridden with cancer while grieving the death of her soulmate. My uncle decided to move my grandma from the toxic environment into her own home where she could heal. I went to visit my grandma one day and came back to a nightmare. My mom was sitting on the neighbors porch with bruises and blood everywhere. When my mom was able to get free and the police arrived, my father locked himself in the bedroom and SWAT opened with five guns pointed at him. He laughs about it now, but it wasn’t very comical then. My mom wouldn’t stop drinking. One sip was all it took. I couldn’t take it anymore. She begged me to stay, but I left. I moved in with my grandma.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
Years later, my grandma’s house is full with everyone there. Both parents are still drinking. One morning, just a few days after Christmas, my sister was irate. She had a gymnastics meet and both parents were drunk in morning. I went downstairs and confronted both of them. Little did I know the events that would quickly come after. I began walking away and my father came out of his room full of rage. He attacked me from behind and my eyebrow and teeth were the first to hit the cold, concrete floor. He turned me over and was on top of me. My sister ran downstairs and I yelled for help and to call the police, but she just stared and ran upstairs. Nobody helped me. My parents ran to some motel. When winter break ended, the family begged me not to say anything. I was in British Literature class and, naively, participated. The teacher noticed immediately. It’s hard to hide a bloody scrape above your eyebrow and a black eye. Next thing I knew, I was in the office with the principal, counselor and police officer. My dad was arrested soon after. I was alone. Everyone in the family was upset with me. I was just a kid. My great aunt even pleaded to write a letter to the judge. I was just a kid! My father was sentenced to four years for domestic violence.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
I continued to live with my grandma. One afternoon, my sister called me upset because my mom was extremely drunk. I lost my temper. I drove there. I put a cigarette out on my mom’s arm. I physically fought and kicked her while she was down. It took three guys to pull me out of the house.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
My mom and sister were evicted and my grandma was paying for their cheap downtown motel. My grandma gave an ultimatum to my mother. If she didn’t stop drinking, she’d be on the streets. She stopped! Eventually I moved to Columbus for college.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
We reconciled, but just three years later all hell broke loose. My mother was sober, but father was intoxicated and said something so nasty to my mother that I had to intervene. He stood up and began walking upstairs with a can of beer in his hand. I walked behind him, snatched it, tossed it down the sink and prepared for the mayhem that was about to ensue. He walked back towards me and I knew then that I had to fight, whether I was ready or not, I had to fight my father. We broke chairs, vases, etc. he was underneath me squeezing the life from my ribs when I reached up and grabbed a massive wrench. I could have killed him with the force I was holding the wrench with.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
In 2016 I became addicted to adderall, so much so that I binged and decided to drop out of college, break my lease and join the military. The same day we cleaned out my apartment and I moved back to my hometown before enlisting, we got a call that my grandma was taken by siren ambulance to hospital. We raced to my hometown and I went straight to the hospital. There she was. My grandma. The woman that raised me. Laying there afraid and alone. The very next day, I was sitting by her side and she finally had a bowel movement, but it wasn’t bowel. It was blood. I can still remember the smell. I ran out to the nurses and asked if that was bad. They told me I needed to start calling family. I was only twenty two years old. I tried to stay calm as I called family members. They tried an operation. It failed. My cousins and I stayed with her overnight. My grandma needed pain relief, but anymore would cease any opportunity for future operations. The three of us had to make the decision. We just wanted her comfortable. The next several days were the worst of my life. I will never forget my uncle waking me up from a nap to tell me that it’s time. We all sat on the bed with her as she took her last breath.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
I couldn’t stop drinking when she passed. I drank in the morning, afternoon, evening and night. My sister and I ended up fighting. She told me if I laid a hand on her that she’d call the cops, so I basically let her kick the hell out of me and give me a bloody nose. My dad came downstairs and slapped her into the wall. I had scratches on my neck and drove to my uncles for the night. I hate that I did, but I drank before the funeral. I had to speak. My excuse was liquid courage. Directly after the funeral, I drove back to Columbus. When I arrived, I met a friend and found a serving job on Craigslist. Just two months later, two weeks prior to enlisting, I got my second OVI. My grandma told me to stop drinking before she passed. I was a fool.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
I went to jail. I moved back to Canton not long after. Military dreams were gone. I began drinking more and doing heavier drugs. I don’t think there’s a drug I didn’t try when I was in my hometown. Later that same year, a doctor prescribed me with a medication. I couldn’t take the emotional pain anymore, so I took nine of the pills. When I couldn’t get them back up, I called my best friend in the city. She saved my life. My heart rate dropped to 30 and I spent three days in ICU. Catheters aren’t fun. I kept doing drugs. I once justified smoking crack cocaine over drinking alcohol. I dropped to 107lbs.
I didn’t know then that it would affect me years later.
I moved back to Columbus in April 2017, approximately seven months after being in hometown. Since then, I’ve become sober. By no means was it easy. I made the conscious decision to break those generational curses to have a better quality of life. I’ve found EMDR, which has been a godsend, but sobriety has only given me the strength to begin that healing. I’ve been in EMDR for three years and going on five years sober.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, you can’t make it can’t make it through life unscathed. If you do, you’re not doing it right. We continue to face these trials and tribulations in order to evolve as humans. Comfortability embeds stagnancy. I believe we’re meant to experience pain so that we know what true beauty and love is. Without the bad, how would we know what the good is?
I didn’t know.
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