Accused

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t poison my sister!” was always my plea. Being a young child then and getting accused of poisoning one of the most precious people in my life, had put a toll on my 6-year-old self. Seeing through my father’s hazel eyes, and that scowling look he gave me, made those salty, clear tears fall faster down my pink chipmunk cheeks. It was one of the worst quiet moments ever —silence drifted throughout the house. You could hear the faint pitter-patter of our little dog’s feet, walking on the kitchen tile.

“…How I thought you loved me

How too many times you made it seem true

Like the time I was six

Was the last time I felt your kiss….”

“I didn’t do it, dad,” I sniffled. “Then who did, Elisabeth?” My dad looked disappointed with those hazel eyes, probably wondering what he would do to me, while he had a belt in his hand. “I don’t know,” I had said, in my quiet, shaky voice with my head down. “Then bend over and maybe in a few minutes you would remember!” My dad grabbed me, made me pull my pants down so I could feel the pain more from when the belt hit my butt. I remember screaming and crying, until those salty, clear tears were no more, and my eyes were only wet and red.

*****

“…I remember those Daddy-Daughter dates

I remember them because they were great

It was just me and my dad

Nothing about it was sad…”

One day, I remember my dad took me out to El Polo Loco as a tradition “Daddy-Daughter date. I loved my dad on these days because those kind hazel eyes were not angry or disappointed. They were cheerful. When we finished our food, my dad was surprised. “Wow, Elisabeth! You ate that whole chicken salad. You have the appetite of horse!” He laughed, this kind, cheerful laugh. My dad always told me that, only to be playing around with me. Sometimes I even wonder if I got my appetite from my dad. We always had good times together.

I always respected my dad, even when he was sad from breakups and hard times. After my dad met Lisa, there were no more daddy-daughter dates. A gigantic wall separated us, daddy from daughter. Our relationship was never the same.

*****

“Liz, I want you to meet someone. This is Lisa, my girlfriend,” my dad had said one day, while setting me down on the couch, while this curly, blond-hair, blue-eyed woman sat beside him. “Hi,” I had said, shyly. “Hello Elisabeth. Your dad has told me so much about you!” Lisa said, shaking my hand, warmly. I smiled. I finally had a mother, or a mother like figure.

Months, and years passed. My dad and Lisa were still together, and Lisa and I were getting along perfectly. “Lisa, Lisa! Can you braid my hair?” Lisa, Lisa! Can you help me pick an outfit?” I remember always wanting to do everything with Lisa. I had a second mother, but then there was always something else missing from my life. “Bob, every time Liz goes and visits with Tracy, she gets angry and frustrated and WE have to handle it,” Lisa told my dad one day. “Liz needs to see her mother some time, Lisa,” My dad answered. “Okay, I guess,” Lisa answered back, a little unsure.

“Hi, sweetie,” Tracy said, hugging me one day. “Hi mom,” I answered. “Tracy meet us back here in 2 hours, okay,” my dad said, sternly. The two of us, mother and daughter, would go out to eat, or would go to the mall or other stuff on our monthly-2-hour visits. My mom had problems with prescription medication ever since my dad and my mom were together. He divorced my mom when I was five years old and got custody of me which only allowed for me to get visitations with my mom. Everything turned upside down when my dad and Lisa got married.

“…I never stopped wondering if you were all right,

I realized that from the minute you saw you’re soon to be wife

You never cared about me…”

It would all start in the morning when my dad would go to work for the Orange County Sheriffs’ Department. I would try to pick out an outfit for school, since I was 8 years old, which in my opinion, was old enough. Sometimes Lisa would see the outfit I would put on and laugh. “Elisabeth, go put something else on,” she would say. Tears were spilled and the frustration level was rising in the house at that very moment. Finally, when I found a suitable outfit, I would leave my bedroom for five minutes to do some chores, but when it would be time to leave to go to school, and after going back to my room, I wouldn’t be able to find one of my shoes. I would have to go to school one shoe on, one shoe off. It was physically and mentally draining for me, being only a young little girl.

*****

When my dad and Lisa got married, I remember being so happy. I got a mom that was here for me. Though I wasn’t there at the wedding, I saw a video of it. It was my dad, Lisa and the pastor. I remember being my little 7 or 8-year-old self, sitting close to the T.V., looking up at my new parents on the screen.

Starting a family for my dad and my stepmom was hard, because of certain complications that I don’t remember. I just remember my parents going to doctor’s appointments and then coming back home after several months of trying. Then one day, after one of those doctor’s appointments, they brought with them, a picture of the ultrasound of a little baby. Being an only child myself, I wanted a sibling. I used to kneel at my bed every night and pray to God for a baby brother or sister. I used to see the few friends that I had, have siblings themselves and they seemed to always have fun. I wanted to teach mine everything, take him or her everywhere and comfort him or her when they were sad. I remember being so happy when we found out it was a girl. My dad and my mom, Lisa had named her, Lorielle Faith.

I remember when my stepmom was pregnant very well because it was the time that I got accused of trying to stab her while she was pregnant. One day, I was looking in my closet; trying to decide what to wear I remember looking at this pink blouse and wondered, “Maybe I could wear this shirt with those overalls.”

I was about to take the top from the hanger when I heard the loudest scream ever! I thought, “What in the world!” I looked over to my bedroom door, but I didn’t see anyone. I walked to the edge of the doorway, and I almost stepped on the object that was on the floor. I looked down and saw one of those sharp utensils you use for grilling. I see my dad once in a great while using it to grill steaks or hotdogs outside, but to see it lying on the floor, I was in complete shock! What was going to happen to me? I honestly don’t remember how that thing got there on MY floor. I just went back, minding my own business, trying to get back to what I was going to wear. Then I heard thump, thump of someone’s big, heavy shoes walking towards my room. I turned my head towards the big shadow towering over me and saw those angry, yet disappointed hazel eyes again. My dad yelled, “What did you do, Elisabeth! Lisa came in crying and said you tried to stab her!” I stood my ground, but I could feel hot tears about to burst, “I didn’t DO ANYTHING!!” He told me that there was evidence that I did do something. I looked down in his hand and saw the sharp object. I just remember not being able to get through to my dad. I was heartbroken that he didn’t believe me.

**** *

I remember when Lorielle was born; I saw her tiny face and just felt in awe of her. I finally had a sister! Then after a while, those accusations followed me. I couldn’t even hold Lorielle because of the accusation of me trying to poison her happened. My dad and Lisa didn’t trust me.

It was Halloween. Lorielle was a year old. Lisa had put her daughter in a red Elmo chair with a bright orange pumpkin in front of her. “Liz, come here,” Lisa, yelled. I walked slowly down the hall, not wanting to face whatever my stepmom wanted. “Yeah, Lisa?” I asked, quietly. “I want to take a picture and give it to my parents. Go and sit NEXT to Lorielle,” Lisa commanded. I turned around, and walked slowly to the sister that I loved, but couldn’t touch. I sat down, and Lorielle looked up at me and for that moment, I wanted to just hug and kiss that little girl all over, but Lisa might hit me, again so I just kept my hands in my lap and stayed quiet. “Put your arm around her at least,” Lisa said, a little too bossy.

*****

The feeling of being accused is horrible. I feel like Lisa didn’t even love me in the first place. I feel like she was only after my dad. Thinking about it now, I feel like Lisa wanted to be in control. She only wanted a family of her own. She didn’t want any “leftovers” and I was my mom’s child, the dreadful leftover from a previous marriage. The only question I have, is why would someone brainwash a person to be in control? Did Lisa really love me, like I was her own daughter, or was she just playing a part in her little game of “Let’s Get Rid of Elisabeth?” I never thought a person could have such a hard heart for a 10-year-old little girl.

“…I had been pushed around, neglected, abused

You saw nothing wrong with me being accused…”

“We punish you because we love you, Elisabeth. We want you to learn from your mistakes, “Lisa said as she was in my room checking her emails on the computer. ‘Bull crap!’ I thought, as I sat on my bed, the only sanctuary that I had, and Lisa was ruining it, ruining everything. I loved that room. I remember when, on a good day, Lisa and I went to the store and bought a new bed set, and Lisa even painted a shelf blue with yellow flowers on it that matched my bed. I used to put figurines or little books on that shelf. I even had those little angel and precious moments figurines all over my bedroom and I even liked to read, but all I could do now was sit on that bed because I was ALWAYS grounded.

The moment that changed my life was the moment my dad came in to join Lisa in his child’s bedroom. “I put Lorielle to bed,” my dad told his wife. “Okay. Are you going to tell Liz, Bob?” Lisa asked. I stared at my father who (arms crossed) was looking at the blue, soft, crunchy carpet. “Do you know why you are doing this, all of this, Elisabeth?” He asked, dark circles around his eyes; a little tired of going through the same thing repeatedly. “No. I didn’t do anything,” I said quietly. “Who did? It wasn’t me, it wasn’t Lisa, and it wasn’t Lorielle. I have grown tired of playing this game, Elisabeth,” my dad had said. “You know I can just take you to Juvenile Hall. With what you are doing to yourself, and to this family, it’s terrifying! I am afraid that you are going to seriously hurt someone. After debating on it for a while, I have finally decided to take you to a psychotic hospital,” my cold-hearted dad finally finished. “No! No! No! Please dad! I didn’t do anything! Please! Don’t send me away,” I cried. “Lisa, please don’t let him send me away,” I begged my stepmom. “You brought this on yourself, Elisabeth,” Lisa answered.

*****

“…I’m going through change after change

Me, my life — I tried to blame

Of remembering this shame

Of loving a father

Who doesn’t love his daughter…”

I didn’t mean to bring it on myself. It wasn’t my fault. I was being set up. I know I am not crazy, but the thought that a parent thinks you are, changed my life. A psychotic hospital is for people with mental illnesses and who needs to take medication for their behaviors. I don’t remember being in the hospital or what the doctors said to me, but I do remember my dad leaving me, and not looking back. I remember eating breakfast one morning and someone calling my name to get my blood drawn, and sitting in the cold chair, in a somewhat dark room, with this elastic band around my arm. I remember seeing my red, disgusting, gooey blood dripping down through the pipe into the bag and then nothing. I remember waking up from someone shaking me; telling me that I had fainted. Well what did they expect? Did they expect me to sit patiently and perfectly still? I felt like I was one of those rats that scientists test on for different studies. I felt like I had a serious disease, and no one wanted to touch me.

Then, after a week or so, one day I remember getting a knock on the bedroom door, letting me know my dad was here to take me to my mom’s.

*****

“I am only doing this because I love you. I want what is best for you.” I need to protect my family.” ‘Bull crap! Stop lying dad! I thought, looking out the window, wondering why my life was like this. ‘Bakersfield is coming around the corner, and so is my mom. I was leaving Riverside [rich] county. I was leaving my dad and my sister to live with that woman,’ I thought, sinking deep into my seat, getting frustrated because of the stupid seat belt putting a hurtful, red mark on my neck. We finally got to downtown Bakersfield after the three-hour drive of torture, and when we pulled up to the parking lot of my mom’s neighborhood, there was my mom waiting for us.

“I just need her to stay with you for a little while, Tracy, “Bob told his ex-wife. “Okay, that’s fine. Come one, Elisabeth,” Tracy said, comforting her daughter with a tight squeeze of the hand. I looked back to say bye to my dad, but he was already gone, seeing the back of the white van driving away. I turned back to where my mom lived, and to my surprise, it was a motel.

Months flew by and I am still with my mom, but we moved from motel to motel, to apartment, back to motel throughout the years. One day, in one the few apartments, I walked to the fridge and opened the door. “Mom, I’m hungry. There is no food in the fridge,” I said, but noticing that I was talking to my half asleep mother. She always slept. I looked over to the kitchen table and saw pill bottles and wondered if she was abusing her medications again. I walked over to the rocker where my mom was asleep and shook her. “Mom. Wake up!” My mom woke with a jump. “Don’t scare me like that!” “Sorry mom. I’m just worried about you,” I answered back to her.

*****

Living with my mom was sometimes scary and dangerous. My mom told me one day that she got rapped when I was back living with my dad. She had given birth to a girl, my second sister, Rebekah. Before I could be happy about a new sister, it was scary that day. My mom and my sister almost died. Some bleeding occurred inside of my mom, and Rebekah swallowed too much blood. Thankfully, God didn’t take either one of them.

Another scary moment was when my mom almost died, again. It happened when we were sitting in front of the television, and Rebekah was sleeping in a car seat. (My mom didn’t have enough money for a crib, so someone got her a car seat for my sister). I don’t remember what we were watching, but I do remember my green eyes were glued to the screen. My mom heard a knock on the front door to our apartment. I guess because some of my friends, the two little boys next door would play tricks on me and cover the peephole, my mom thought it was them. She opened the door and realized it was Rebekah’s dad, Chris. “I want my baby!” He yelled, trying to push against the door.

I heard my mom tried to reason with him, but I remember it didn’t do much good. I became worried and grabbed the phone that was on the table next to me. I was afraid for our lives, and I didn’t want him to get mad even more, so I tried to be discreet, but the worst possible noise came from behind me. I saw Chris’ hand clutched around my mom’s brittle, dark brown hair and he was banging her head against the wall. I just stood there, shocked for five minutes, it felt like. I realized after a while what was happening, I grabbed my sister, put her in my mom’s bedroom and closed the door. I ran passed Chris, all the way to get our friend, so we can call 911; only because my poor, helpless mom told me or else I would have jumped on Chris and hurt him for hurting my mom.

When I went back to the apartment with our friend, I saw my mom. Chris was gone, but in his place was this broken, bruised, and confused woman. I felt like I couldn’t recognize her, but she WAS my mom. Her face was a light shade of purple and had greenish and yellowish spots all over her pale face. The feeling I had from seeing my mom in this helpless state, made me sick. I felt pain for her and this wave of nausea in my stomach. I know that she might think I am a hero, but I’m not. I don’t feel like it. All I did was tried to save her from a monster. I should have been able to do more for her. I realized that I needed to grow up. I needed to put away childish things and watch over my mom.

I woke up in the middle of the night one night in our many motel rooms, to find my mom having a seizure from abusing the prescription medications. After the police and ambulance came, the police took me the next day, to this place called Jamison Center. It was a home for kids’ whose parents had problems mentally and emotionally. It is a place where kids could either go back to their parents or end up in foster care. I was in and out of the Jamison Center before ending up in a foster home that changed my life.

*****

After that dangerous situation with my mom almost getting killed by her ex-boyfriend, Rebekah and I had to go live with my grandma, Carolyn. I loved my grandma so much. I think I was the one that was attached to her more. I remember it was only her that I wanted to talk to her on the phone if I wasn’t there, or just to sit and talk to her if I was. It was hard on her and my aunt Wendy to take care of me and my autistic sister, though. It was emotionally draining on all of us, but my grandma did it. She was there for all of us.

*****

I was 14 ½ years old when my foster mom, Ida picked me up from the Jamison Center. My foster parents, Ida and Bobby had to teach me to be a kid again. I needed to learn that what a kid does is different then what an adult is. A kid doesn’t take care of an adult. The grownups take care of the kids. On the way over to my new home to Delano [a small town near Bakersfield], the only noise was the little boy, Efren, being rambunctious in the backseat. I was too scared, wondering on where this family was taking me. It was new for me. Through the couple of months being at the home, I wouldn’t talk to anyone or show any emotion to anyone. I would only cry in the corner of my bedroom all by myself. My foster mom, Ida was excited to have a girl in the house and my foster dad was surprised with the news, but both parents had to get used to a quiet, confused, and abused young girl.

Through the years of bitterness and angry days, there was good times too. Like going shopping or going out to Hometown Buffet as a tradition for getting a new kid in the family. When I finally got introduced to the high school, I realized that being in the home was going to be a while, so I stopped feeling sorry for myself, and started talking. Throughout my teen years of being in my foster home, I have been questioning my life and why it turned out the way it did. My foster mom, a wonderful and beautiful angel, helped through my messy life by telling what God’s intentions were. She helped me understand that everything happens for a reason because God was showing me to be strong in such a tough time and how he would get me out of it.

Being in a foster home, has helped me be stronger and independent. My foster mom has taught me to be myself and to not care about what others think about me throughout the years. My foster dad has been there for me like a dad should be telling me to focus on school, teaching me how to drive (thank God for his patience for that), and just being a Dad. They tell me everyday, “Don’t worry about your dad. He lost his chance to be in your life.” Their words of inspiration have strengthened me through the years to do what I can to live it.

After years of therapy, and through words of poetry, I became a new person. I wrote everything that happened to me. Writing helped me find a place inside of my soul. My poetry helped me bring peace about my past. I got better each day and I started a new childhood at the age of 15.

*****

The last time I saw my family, was when my grandma was dying from cancer in 2010. I had been in my foster home for about a year and a half. I saw my grandma lying lifelessly in her bed, seeing the color draining from her cheeks. When she died a couple of weeks later, my family fell apart. My grandpa slowly became depressed and grew older faster. My aunt, Wendy and my uncle, David and my mom grew farther apart through the years as well. With my grandma’s dying wish, my aunt became Rebekah’s guardian. After a fallout between my families, I haven’t been in contact with them for these past few years.

I still remember visits and phone calls with my mom, and I still talk to her today. She still struggles every day and she still lives in Bakersfield, but she doesn’t always stay in the same place. Rebekah is still living with my aunt and sometimes I see their life posted on Facebook.

I remember my father. I know he isn’t in my life right now. I haven’t seen or heard from my dad in over 10 years. He has his own family to worry about. The last time I saw my sister Lorielle, she was 3 years old. I found out that I have a step brother too, but I never even met him. “Since you want to live with your mom, you are not a part of this family. Lorielle and Logan will never be your brother and sister,” Lisa told me one day while my dad was talking to my mom’s boyfriend Kerry. This family didn’t want me.

I have seen pictures of this family on Facebook and Instagram. They seem so happy. I would have been the odd one out. They don’t even notice that I’m gone. I remember my dad’s harsh words, “You are going to end up like your mother. No car, no job and no place to live. You are worthless.” Sometimes I wish I could have him with me or there are times when something good happens to me, like graduating from high school or going to college. I wanted him to be there for me, but I know now that is never going to happen.

My time now is to focus on myself mentally and physically. Maybe in the future my dad will want to be in my life, but then it would be too late. He did have a chance for a relationship with me. He chose a different path, but it’s okay. Everything happens for a reason.

“…Even when I keep telling myself over and over again

“Loving an absent father is not a sin”

I will always love you, Dad

Even though I’m the daughter

You know, but

Wish you never had.”

******