Hell's Decorated Door

Everyone has a sob traumatic childhood story. Their own personal hell. All completely valid. Took me 15 odd some years to realize that. That I wasn't alone at all, and I didn't have to go through it alone. Even when I was too embarrassed of my own hell. Maybe my story will help someone.

It's a pretty dull start of a life in 1996, predominate white half racist family. Father a hardcore republic who you guessed it, the racist in the family. He was a truck driver, always gone during the weekdays. Mostly slept when he was home. Mom was the nurse working 12 to 15hr shifts while taking care of 3 kids. I was the youngest, only girl of two boys. I truly hated it. Yet I adored them, followed them literally everywhere. Probably why they started being mean, like hateful mean. I just thought it was normal for all families to be like that.

Boy I was wrong.

It started out as little things, Nathan, the oldest would "accidentally" lighting the kitchen on fire. Josh, the second oldest, he threw our cat Wagner into the dryer and turned it on. He ended up handcuffing the poor cat to one of the fences in our back yard to keep him from running away, putting a blanket on him to keep him warm. That boy seriously had some issues with this cat. Unfortunately, Wagner passed away from jumping down behind our fridge. I to this day think he killed himself to get away from my brother. Hell I tried that when I was 13.

Little things kept going. Josh throwing shoes at my face, busted my lips. He dislocated my elbow, which I still don't remember fully on how, just him pulling me around. I do remember feeling scared. Scared of him. That feeling only amplified as we got older. Getting older, getting stronger and meaner.

Nathan started giving out what we called "dead legs" which was punching someone as hard as you could with your hand in a fist but your thumb between your index finger and middle finger. The idea was to hit the leg, in which started that way but quickly got bored and ended up punching wherever they could hit. Arms, back, head, you get the idea. There would be times where I would show up at school covered in bruises. You'd think the school would call home to ask, but nope. Not once did they ask.

I'm maybe 4 at the time of my parents getting a divorce. Mom caught dad cheating while he was on the road and she finally had enough. But not til she got her hands dirty after an argument. I remember hearing both of them screaming in their room, door wide open with Nathan standing at the doorway crying. He's about 10 at the time, Josh maybe 7 or 8. I followed Josh who was crying, standing next to Nathan. As soon as I walked in, Mom jumped onto my Dad's back just throwing punches. Mind you, my Dad is like 5'5 and Mom is 5'7ish. He held her up as she was hitting him in the head. Nathan grabs both Josh and I out of the room and into the living as Dad carries Mom into the hall towards the living room. Next thing I know, Mom is thrown down the hallway into the living room landing at least 3ft from us. She had dislocated her elbow. later I find out Dad went to jail that night. At that time, all I knew was Dad was gone. He only spent the night in jail since one of his brothers' bailed him out. Only to find out he moved out of the house.

Things got worse from here.

Nathan became more rebellious when Dad moved out. Smoking Cigarettes, got Josh to as well. Mom caught them smoking in the backyard one day, so she had this bright idea to make Nate, eat an entire pack while Josh smoked an entire pack. Funny how now they are heavy smokers. Sadly, Mom caught Nate stealing her cigarettes, they were arguing to the point Nate pulled out a kitchen knife and sliced her forearm pretty good. Cops were called but with Nate being maybe 10, Dad was called to come over and beat Nathan. Mom had made all 3 of us, paddles for getting whoopings. Each had designs for us. Nathan had extra holes in his paddle. Next thing I remember was Dad pulling Nate's pants down as he is bend over the kitchen table and swinging. Hearing smack then a cry, smack and another cry. This went on for a few minutes.

I honestly felt bad for Nathan, yes he hurt Mom, but she was fine. Nate's ass was blacker than the night sky with blood dripping onto the kitchen floor.

Half a year later, not long after court battles of which kid will live with which parent. Soon after none of that mattered. While Mom was still in nursing, Dad was in a wreck while driving one of the Semi's 18ft wheeler. He lost his job even though he wasn't the one driving, lost his insurances, benefits etc. Well, He couldn't afford most of the medications he needed, broken ribs, broken collar bone, 120 staples on his head. Mom decided to take one of the Doctor's prescription pads and write in those medications that he needed. Nothing more. Just those medications. Yet that was enough for the court system to send Mom to 5 years in federal prison. Dad was going to be charged as well but Mom took the full wrap so us kids didn't go to foster care. Sometimes, I was that did happen.

Within those 5 years, I only got to see Mom twice. One court ordered and one when Dad and I went to go pick her up from being released. He loathed her, kept us from seeing her at that time.

The boys' behavior got worse for example, Josh wanted to play a game, we called Rocket ship. He laid on his back, feet in the air, I would lay on my stomach on his feet and he would kick me up in the air. This time, he wanted me to put my feet on his feet so I would go higher. I told him no, either we play the original game or no game. He said he would agree. He lied. Since I was on my stomach he decided to kick even harder. He kicked me across the room, I hit the floor to ceiling bookshelf, as it's full weight landed on top of me when I hit the ground. I broke all ribs of my left side

Josh and Nate got worse as Dad remarried to the woman he was cheating on Mom with. I hated her. She always was blowing smoke in my face and drink Mt. Dew all day everyday. What I hated most, was her second child. Her son, Chris. You see Dad decided to move them into our 3 bedroom house. My brother's were already sharing a room. You'd think common sense would be to room Chris in with Nathan and Josh but no. His bright idea was moving Chris, a teenage boy 15 maybe at the time, into my room, With his dusty futon and one old-spice smelling pillow. That very first night, I held so much resentment and hatred towards my Dad. And Chris. Honestly, everyone who didn't listen to my cries.

You see, Chris was a disgusting teenager. The very first night, was the first time I was molested. And every night for about 6 to 8 years it never stopped. At the age of 6 I knew fully what a penis looked like, what it did. And what I had to do to make it work. I knew what my vagina was and how it was suppose to work. He would show me what he was going to do to me with my barbie dolls whenever he got a chance. Dad was working none stop, Glenda my stop Mom, for the love of god I still don't know what she did for work but it seemed like she was always home. Yet never really there to see what her son was doing to me. Hell even my brother didn't notice.

It got to be the point of normalcy. I knew I didn't like it but he would say, "this is what step brothers do to step sisters since we aren't blood related" but when I'd get aggressive to make him stop, that's when he started threatening to hurt my brother's. 4

We moved maybe 3 times. The most memorable house was at Warfield. It had a large basement. Big back yard. We even had a swimming pool and a blue swing set. My room was on the first floor in the back next to the bathroom and my Dad's room. My window was connected to the backyard. Just short enough for me to jump out safely for when I would hide from Chris. Upstairs, Josh had a room and Chris had a room but he had to walk through Josh's room to get to his room. While Nathan wanted the basement.

At this time, I was in 5th grade, Josh was in ending Middle school starting High school, while Nathan was in Juvie for calling in a bomb threat, normal white boy wanna be crap. I know Chris went to a different school due to Josh and Him were never on the same bus. Anyway, everyone would get home at different times. Josh always later since he would be off hanging out with friends, Nate in Juvie, my friends either lived too far or were in a strict house hold that never let them come over. I'm glad they didn't. Didn't get to experience this hell. Since the basement was free except from laundry and the void of Nate's belongings. Chris would take me down the basement and do whatever he wanted.

What blew my mind, was when he'd keep me in the basement on the weekends without my family noticing me gone. He would say I was staying at a friends out. The fact that they believed it bothers me. He would do their laundry so no one would bother coming down stairs. Bring me meals and let me up to use the bathroom. He had this old stained twin mattress underneath the stairs for me to sleep on. I made friends with the darkness by then. I remember the smell of wet musky concrete and mold coming from the walls. The white painting chipping off. The floors were this light blue concrete. It was always so damn cold down there. So many spiders and Crickets. Some baby Gardner snakes I was feed and play with. They were my friends. Sadly, they kept me company. One I tried to actually keep but when Chris got scared and killed my little friend. I even named him Fred.

One night, we were down stairs once again, this was when he was trying to fully penetrate me. He would usually just touch me, make me stroke him or blow him til he came but this night he wanted more. He already failed at entering me anally but here. He wanted to try. Luckily he was too big and while it was painful for me, it sounded uncomfortable for him as well. I started to bleed, which freaked him out. With in minutes, we heard the basement door open. His hand grips tight to hold my mouth shut. Josh yells down "Have you seen my sister?" in which he replies "a few hours ago, she went to Aylin's house". Josh accepted the answer and told him he was going to play basketball at the end of the street. They said their byes. I didn't know I was holding my breath til he let go of my mouth and I took a deep breath. He whispered "good sweet girl for keeping quite."

It freaked Chris out when Josh almost caught him, he pulled away. Never have I ever been thankful for Josh. Weeks went by, school bullies were terrorizing me, the boy were still using me as a punching bag. Nathan would be in and out of juvie. It was a normal I was okay with.

Then one day, we had this school activity about families, I ended up telling my truth even after trying to tell my dad before we got to Warfield. The school called the same day Chris was forcing me to play Barbies with him, lucky for him, his Mom answered since Dad was at work. I planned on showing Dad the paper the teacher gave to give to him. Hours went by Chris and him Mom were no where to be seen. Dad gets home, gets comfy on the couch, I sit next to him. Minutes go by as I get the courage to say something, afraid he won't listen once again. We hear the crash in the kitchen, the stair that go up the boys room, turns out Chris "slipped" down the steps injuring his ankle. His Mom scoops him up and head to the ER.

Couple of days later, all of their stuff are out of the house. With a confused heartbroken Dad, more angry brothers and a terrified little girl.

I realized my life will never be normal like in those Disney Princesses books. But I could make the outside look pretty like the covers of those books. I started coloring on everything. Doodling. Painting. On walls, my shoes. My binders for school. I thought if I could make things look pretty, it would hide the ugly that was inside of me. That ugly turned into darkness and deep deep anger. I became so depressed. Mom was already home, working to jobs. The boys were off living their own lives, causing trouble dealing with their own ugly in their own ways. Dad moved to Florida after a third failed Marriage. I was left alone yet again to deal with my self.

As I got older, I hid in my room. It became my safe haven. I had a few friends, weird like me. I started coloring my hair, going gothic and scene. I was getting fatter, heavier which didn't help the depression and the bullying. Started cutting myself, at the moment it was to just feel something other than just pure anger. Mom was always drinking, functionally drinking but never paid attention to the extreme changes in my style. It was easy to get a butcher knife and hid it in my room. It was easy to find a gun laying in the street corner. ( we lived in a very bad neighborhood) It was easy to get bullets through class mates. Once I got the gun, ending my life became more surreal.

At 13, I got so depressed, I would write suicide letters to anyone who would find my body. I planned it to the detail. Yet never went through with it. Until I got into a fight with a former friend at school, she said I lied about my abuse and I took it to heart. I went home, swallowed a shit ton of pills, only to just find out it was Benadryl. I grabbed the gun I hid underneath my bed, loaded it up and put the damn thing in my mouth. Took a couple a breaths and pulled the trigger. It jammed. Turns out the gun didn't have a spring or something it to allow the bullet to hit the chamber. I got so scared. Balling my eyes out, I knew then I didn't want to die. Just not be here, wherever this hell was.

So I kept moving forward.

The boy's and I were always getting into physical fights. As we got older, I got bigger and stronger. Able to take a punch and give them out too. Josh and Nathan didn't like it. Josh slowly pulled away from hurting me as he discovered weed and was more into that than me. Thank goodness in that. Nathan on the other hand. He was hooked on harder stuff. Years later I found out he was on Heroin, Meth and Crack sometimes altogether. I was always home which ended up with me being the target of his sudden mood changes, withdraws, etc. Nathan has always had anger issues and mental issues, doing drugs amplified them. I still loved my brother because no matter how much he hurt me, it was never the kind of hurt Chris did to me.

Not til I was in my 20's I realized Nathan was hurting as well. Dealing with his own hell. Still not an excuse for his actions but I have an understanding to a point where I can forgive so I can heal as well as he can heal. I even forgave our biggest fight. It was on Mother's day. He was on edge coming down from a high. I asked him to go outside so I can clean the house. I grabbed the TV remote to shut the TV off. He was triggered by that action and grabbed me by the throat. He choked me and tried to smother me with the couch cushion. I was able to kick him in the balls and run into the kitchen for me cell phone. He ran after to me shoving me into the wall underneath our microwave that is sitting in a cabinet. With a very sharp wooden corner. He bashed my head into the corner. Josh walks in from hanging out with friends, rushes to pull Nathan off of me and drag him outside. I spent the night in the ER while Nathan from the cops.

When I finally forgave Nathan, I felt this huge weight lifted off my shoulders. I saw the same relief hit his face as well. That forgiveness was a decoration I'd used.

Each trauma, each painful memory I had, I make a metaphoric decoration and turn it into some kind of artwork. Whether it was, a painting, photograph, a piece of writing. I would somehow get it out, release it from me to see it on full frontal. I saw I had so much darkness, turning it to something from ugly to beautiful.

I'm 26 now, going through my entire life. Skipping some parts that didn't seem to be right for this story. Maybe I write an entire book. All I know is, I am still walking in and out of hell and most likely will forever be opening and closing that door to hell. May not be exactly my childhood hell, or a new kind of hell. I am damn sure I'm walking in style and making that door looking good for the next person. Hopefully, someone will see how pretty cool the door of hell looks, they won't be so scared to continue but to walk with confidence and not much struggle like I did.

Always leave it better than going in.