Original post 6/2014
It’s interesting the events our mind suppresses until memories spring back like yesterday. I have no emotion talking about the physical and emotional abuse at the hands of my mother and step father. I have disassociated memories of sexual abuse by my father. I know it. My therapist and I have talked about it, she doesn’t push and knows if the door opens I’ll talk. What I will not do is force my mind and body to endure pain it’s not ready for. I have a good perspective on what I’ve survived and the methods our mind uses to deal with our deepest pain. I’m not sure if this particular memory was forgotten or suppressed. I had no emotion as my therapist was almost brought to tears.
I saw a news story about a 8-year-old girl tortured by parents, beaten, starved and chained to a column on porch left for dead. The imagine seared into my mind and did not let go. I sat down in the Therapist lobby and the memory of the little girl crossed my mind. As we walk to her office, I ask if she had heard the story then adding my thoughts. I started to cry which I do easily for others in pain. As we talked about what type of parent would do that, a childhood memory flooded over me. The tears dried as if was talking about someone else. When I was 8 years old, I was having terrible side pain and daycare called my mother. She didn’t take off early and it was maybe 3 hours later when she arrives. At that point I could barely walk and could not walk and breath at same time. The supervisor thought I had an appendicitis attack and should get to the hospital right away. It was Halloween night and I didn’t want to miss out on the candy but pain was taking over my small body. My mother was angry for ruining things for my brother, nothing new about that. I guess we did not have insurance since the first hospital turned us away.
It’s early 1970’s. She drove to the county hospital, I waited on a bed in emergency room, until the people bleeding and dying received treatment. Halloween night is one of the busiest nights of the year with more shootings than normal. The emergency room was full, I was outside a mans curtain to wait my turn. During this time my mother left to take my brother to trick or treat. I didn’t realize until a nurse asked where she was. I said she talked to a nurse and went home. She was a big woman and I knew nobody gave her any shit. Asking why in the hell my mother would leave me there. My answer did not set well with her.
The county hospital is in the one of the worst areas of Dallas. This is not a place an adult would feel comfortable let alone a child. I waited in emergency room, laying on my side crying in pain. I saw the man thru the curtain. He was an older man and he had what looked like wires coming out of several places on both arms. My eyes caught his, I ask does that hurt. He was a kind man saying not as bad as my pain and where was my mother. I told him how upset I was that my brother would not share his candy with me. He looked shocked my mother would leave me there. My mother eventually came back in the greatest of moods and was raising her voice at the big nurse. I wanted the nurse to punch my mother in the mouth or grab her by the neck. I have no doubt it happened many times getting drunks under control.
The doctor didn’t think I needed surgery, just to stay overnight for observation. For a second I was glad until rolled to my room. The hospital was so overcrowded I had to sleep in a baby bed. That is the last thing a kid (big girl) wants to hear. I cram myself in the bed and they pull the side up. It was so dark in there I thought I was alone until babies started crying. Which made it much worse for me. Not only did I have to sleep with my legs pulled up, babies are crying and my mother is home in her comfortable bed.
You would think at this point in the story I would feel some emotion but my mind switches back to the little girl. My mind turned a switch, my story was over, no big deal, that was my mother, that was my life. I couldn’t help but cry for the other girl. How can people do that to their children. As I’m talking to my therapist my story and pain never crosses my mind again. That was several years ago, it’s buried and popped back up last week.
Xx M aka Warrior