Chapter
1: My Troubled Childhood
The
first thing I remembered when I came into the world was a bright light like the
sun, the ceiling was a gray blue. The rest was a blur but when I was 3; I
somehow changed. Became different was when the sounds of laughter and other
unexpected noises. It didn’t hurt me physically but it was emotionally
traumatizing. My first ‘trauma’ went like this: I was at the Barney Park,
located in Universal Resort, with my brother Harry and my parents, Valerie and
Oren Donovan. My little brother Jimmy wasn’t even born yet, not until 1999.
Anyways, I remembered seeing a small fountain which mirrored a rainbow prism
from the water. It was such a fascinating sight, I wanted to stay there, in the
park. But I was dragged to the Barney Show. Boy, What a nightmare that was! In the beginning, there was a man with a cap
hat and he wore blue shorts. He wore a blue and white striped shirt with a red
vest. He wore black sandal, he also had a white mustache. I could also see his
bare legs too. The man sang some song, then asked the entire audience if we
were ready for Barney. At that time, he asked all and sundry if he could turn
on the buttons. The audience cheered ‘yes’ and that’s what he did. The next
thing I remembered was him playing those funny sounds, I heard ‘boing’ and other
weird resonances caused a loud laughter from the audience.
I
could hear my father guffawed his nerdy laugh while I cringed into my purple
jacket. I recalled afterwards we entered a dark entrance of the show. I hid
behind a bench as I witnessed Barney & his buddies, BJ and Baby Bop come to
life on the stage. During the show, I was given an autumn leaf and held it in
my hands. The show then closed up with its infamous, sappy ‘I Love You, You
Love Me’ song. Later, I found myself in
a stroller and I heard Dad asking: “You wanna go swimming?” and I heard Harry
said, “Yeah!” And so we did. As I grew up, I was uptight and stubborn. I hate
being part of crowds, I hate watching movies with others. In elementary school,
every time a movie is played; I’d go hiding in the bathroom. There was another
youthful mishap I remember we had a Halloween party, and it was noisy. It was
so bad that I was so upset. My teachers, some of them didn’t get me. It’s
embarrassing for me to admit this but hey! I wasn’t much of a goody-good.
Besides school, home was awful. My parents fought a lot. I just didn’t
understand, I thought both of parents loved with one another. Though, as a kid,
I never comprehend the entire story perspective. Me? I would pick sides any
time one of my parents was ‘mean’ and I’d go to that ‘nice’ one. Yup, some
daughter I was. My father….As a kid; I thought Dad had a tempter. Yeah. Temper.
Sure! He would beat me up. No, he also beats my mother too. But me? If I’d
misbehaved or have a horrible meltdown; I would get sent home early. My father
was angry as he slapped me. He jeers horrible things at me. He told me to go up
in my room.
I begged him, but he spanked me hard on the bottom. I obeyed, crying on my way up the stairs. Throw myself on the bed and begin to kick, scream, and cry so loud until one of my parents told me to cut it out. Anytime I hit a teacher or staff member, throw stuff around, or hurt another student; I’d get my CDS and Barbie dolls taken. My privileges. I wasn’t allowed to have them back until I was a ‘good girl’. In which I complied. Finally, I got my stuff back. My dad wouldn’t just yell or hit at me for the things I did wrong, he’d yell at me for the simple mistakes. Accidents were a big issue for him whenever I did them. Either I spilled a drink or accidentally left the refrigerator door opened, it would be a big deal for him. Most parents would see accidents as not a big deal, they’d be like: ‘Oh, it’s OK.’ and ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you clean it up.’ Oh no, my father would scream at me, I cowered in fear; apologizing. He’d get frustrated, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Dad hollered. I backed away with distress as Dad threatened to hurt me if I didn’t get away from him. Sometimes I tell him that it was an accident. He’d come face to face so close that I could see the anger on his face. With gritted teeth; he’d said that if I didn’t get away and motions with a clap of his hands while saying, “BANG!”
Have you ever been child abuse? Verbally? Mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually? Physically? I would like to tell you my story about child abuse if it makes it easier: When I was little (I was born being slightly diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome and mild anxiety disorder) and got into trouble for my explosive behavior; My father would get so mad at me for it that he would hit me either my face or my rear end, telling me harshly 'You're not sorry, you'll do it again!'. Or sometimes over the smallest things such as juice spills, he would be like 'You spilled the juice, what is wrong with you? You should know better!' or 'How could you do something like that? You are so worthless!'. He was very scary and he sometimes hits me whenever I talked back to him in one of argument, mentioning howe I was lucky to not have been raised by my father's dad because he used to hit him back then.
I begged him, but he spanked me hard on the bottom. I obeyed, crying on my way up the stairs. Throw myself on the bed and begin to kick, scream, and cry so loud until one of my parents told me to cut it out. Anytime I hit a teacher or staff member, throw stuff around, or hurt another student; I’d get my CDS and Barbie dolls taken. My privileges. I wasn’t allowed to have them back until I was a ‘good girl’. In which I complied. Finally, I got my stuff back. My dad wouldn’t just yell or hit at me for the things I did wrong, he’d yell at me for the simple mistakes. Accidents were a big issue for him whenever I did them. Either I spilled a drink or accidentally left the refrigerator door opened, it would be a big deal for him. Most parents would see accidents as not a big deal, they’d be like: ‘Oh, it’s OK.’ and ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help you clean it up.’ Oh no, my father would scream at me, I cowered in fear; apologizing. He’d get frustrated, “GET AWAY FROM ME!” Dad hollered. I backed away with distress as Dad threatened to hurt me if I didn’t get away from him. Sometimes I tell him that it was an accident. He’d come face to face so close that I could see the anger on his face. With gritted teeth; he’d said that if I didn’t get away and motions with a clap of his hands while saying, “BANG!”
Have you ever been child abuse? Verbally? Mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually? Physically? I would like to tell you my story about child abuse if it makes it easier: When I was little (I was born being slightly diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome and mild anxiety disorder) and got into trouble for my explosive behavior; My father would get so mad at me for it that he would hit me either my face or my rear end, telling me harshly 'You're not sorry, you'll do it again!'. Or sometimes over the smallest things such as juice spills, he would be like 'You spilled the juice, what is wrong with you? You should know better!' or 'How could you do something like that? You are so worthless!'. He was very scary and he sometimes hits me whenever I talked back to him in one of argument, mentioning howe I was lucky to not have been raised by my father's dad because he used to hit him back then.
I
always weep as I went and told my mother everything. Every time my parents
fought and wouldn’t speak to one another. It was unbearable!
Not just me: My older brother, Harry, was verbally abusive as well as my younger brother, Jimmy. It was the hardest thing to suffer for all of us--including my mother, she had been physically harmed by him once after throwing car keys that slashed her cheek. My father never blamed himself for his actions, he blamed others for his own doing: Blamed my mother for pulling the strings of this 'little game' but Dad did not get the picture: He was wearing his 'blindfold' and in denial. I always forgive him for lashing out at me but there was one that truly hurt me: One day after school (I was in middle school and taking medication for my behavior but the side effects left me overweighted), My dad picked me up and surprise me with French fries and he knew I loved French fries. While he drove; I was eating the fries, I was so hungry that I couldn't help myself (The medication I took made me hungry and more fatter as well as less active)
Dad told me a few times to stop, I try the best I could--I really did--but he said something that left me upset: He said, 'Stop stuffing yourself with you fat face!' When I heard that; I stopped eating the fries, I was so upset after hearing that. I thought I was going to burst into tears--That really hurt me a lot! It was so bad..Back then; I was chubby because of that stupid medication (Luckily I don't take that crap anymore!) The abuse I suffered from him was excruciating: I had a meltdown and was feeling like crap so I cut myself. Dad saw this as he says in a fierce voice that if I was trying to slit my wrists, he said I would go to Hell. I actually cried uncontrollably: First of all; I wasn't trying to kill myself and second, he doesn't know my suffering--That bastard made things a hell lot worse for me and I hate it so much. Right now, Dad is begging to see us and if we do not respond, then he does that pitiful: "Oh you don't want to see me." crap.....Ha! Right, right, like that's suppose to work--As least that's what he thinks. I couldn't face him, I had a lot to do to boost my confidence.
So, you wanna know what I did? I wrote forged notes to make it look like either one wanted forgiveness. But my parents were both furious with me. I was only trying to help but oh well! It was long ago, so yesterday! No worries. If you thought my bad behavior was bad, let me tell you about the Sunday school fiasco. I hate going to church. Don’t get the wrong idea! It wasn’t the preaching of God. It was the microphone of the priests and the laughter of people any time the priest’s witty anecdotes. I didn’t want to go to church because of its loudness. But both of my parents wanted me to cope with the sounds. After church was Sunday school; my parents were teachers there. I was once friends with a girl who was sturdy. She had golden blonde hair that made her look like an angel and her face was rosy but her smile was bright. White, cleaned. My teachers, I fully remembered their appearances and the memories that I shamed of what I did to them. One was a blonde hair, the style was cut short. She wore glasses, and had a rosy purple-pink lipstick with a buck tooth. Her daughter was the same. Instead, she had blonde hair short in a bouncy curled bob and looked so nice. Both of them were fair skin.
Not just me: My older brother, Harry, was verbally abusive as well as my younger brother, Jimmy. It was the hardest thing to suffer for all of us--including my mother, she had been physically harmed by him once after throwing car keys that slashed her cheek. My father never blamed himself for his actions, he blamed others for his own doing: Blamed my mother for pulling the strings of this 'little game' but Dad did not get the picture: He was wearing his 'blindfold' and in denial. I always forgive him for lashing out at me but there was one that truly hurt me: One day after school (I was in middle school and taking medication for my behavior but the side effects left me overweighted), My dad picked me up and surprise me with French fries and he knew I loved French fries. While he drove; I was eating the fries, I was so hungry that I couldn't help myself (The medication I took made me hungry and more fatter as well as less active)
Dad told me a few times to stop, I try the best I could--I really did--but he said something that left me upset: He said, 'Stop stuffing yourself with you fat face!' When I heard that; I stopped eating the fries, I was so upset after hearing that. I thought I was going to burst into tears--That really hurt me a lot! It was so bad..Back then; I was chubby because of that stupid medication (Luckily I don't take that crap anymore!) The abuse I suffered from him was excruciating: I had a meltdown and was feeling like crap so I cut myself. Dad saw this as he says in a fierce voice that if I was trying to slit my wrists, he said I would go to Hell. I actually cried uncontrollably: First of all; I wasn't trying to kill myself and second, he doesn't know my suffering--That bastard made things a hell lot worse for me and I hate it so much. Right now, Dad is begging to see us and if we do not respond, then he does that pitiful: "Oh you don't want to see me." crap.....Ha! Right, right, like that's suppose to work--As least that's what he thinks. I couldn't face him, I had a lot to do to boost my confidence.
So, you wanna know what I did? I wrote forged notes to make it look like either one wanted forgiveness. But my parents were both furious with me. I was only trying to help but oh well! It was long ago, so yesterday! No worries. If you thought my bad behavior was bad, let me tell you about the Sunday school fiasco. I hate going to church. Don’t get the wrong idea! It wasn’t the preaching of God. It was the microphone of the priests and the laughter of people any time the priest’s witty anecdotes. I didn’t want to go to church because of its loudness. But both of my parents wanted me to cope with the sounds. After church was Sunday school; my parents were teachers there. I was once friends with a girl who was sturdy. She had golden blonde hair that made her look like an angel and her face was rosy but her smile was bright. White, cleaned. My teachers, I fully remembered their appearances and the memories that I shamed of what I did to them. One was a blonde hair, the style was cut short. She wore glasses, and had a rosy purple-pink lipstick with a buck tooth. Her daughter was the same. Instead, she had blonde hair short in a bouncy curled bob and looked so nice. Both of them were fair skin.
I’m
not proud of the awful things that I did to them. I was a bad girl in a Sunday School
of God. All the tantrums. All the evil things I’d done. I got in trouble for
that too, one good hit from my father later and getting scolded at by him. I
managed to reunite with those people at my little brother’s first communion. Ever
since my meltdowns, I no longer had a lot of friends like I used to. I was
kicked out of elementary school and was home-schooled by my mom. I hated it. Finally,
I was overjoy to hear that I was going to middle school. This was a perfect way
for me to start over and make new friends. If you thought my childhood was bad,
you should take a look at my teen years. How my saccharine-self became a skeptical,
experienced persona that had dark points.
