Tales of a Stupid

How have I got here? Part 1

Born in 27th May, 2002.
Second and last child of my parents so yeah, some would think I was the prefered child? The priveleged one?

Maybe I was for a bit.
My parents, as I've discovered now, had a big debt that they werent paying either so yeah.
There was food on the table everyday so I can't say we were "poor" though we definetly were on the line.

My mother was working on a fabric factory on this machine that has a big carpet always rolling in and out of the machine. Her work was basically grab pieces of fabric already cutten and overlap them in order so it goes in the machine while on top of the belt carpet and the machine heated gluing the pieces of fabric. She was payied minimum wage even though she worked for that comapany for 30'ish years til she left 2 years ago from when I'm writting this.

My father back then worked in the fields for a company with planted fruits so their work was pick the fruits when the time came, cut the branches in order for the tree to grow better and grow more fruits, water those agricultute lands and plant more trees all year long. After that he had many jobs such as working on a private company that cleaned the ledges of the streets and drainage grids for the sewers, a company that worked with different types of stones to make tombstones and tomb related decorations. He was also a volunteer at the local fireman station. All this jobs actually paid well.

Imagine now you get paid by the beginning of the month. My mother used all her salary to pay all the house expenses, to put food in the table and on, and in the other side of the table, there is this alcoholic man that gets paid way better then your mother, and by the middle of the month, without putting a single coin for the house expenses, is already out of money. All spent in alcohol drinks, packs of cigarettes, spending money at the bars with his friends has if he didn't had neither a wife nor kids at home.

A sister who is always putting herself in trouble and pulling you innit with her. When she was caught, she was always innocent and I was guilty of everything.
She was playing and knocked out a vase with soil and some flowers? It was my fault.

Now you starting to picture the scenario clearly or is this still too clichê?

Well in between this time, my parents sort of "abandoned" me and I went to live with an aunt who raised me til I was 10 years old. This is when life throws a curve ball at me and my life goes messier. My parents wanted me back at their house and since they never gave my custody, I was technically with them so my aunt could do nothing even though she disapproved my parents life decisions.

At this point of my life I was basically the punching bag. My father would often come drunk home and he would become violent and angry, even if not provoked.

I heard him scream many times that he hated me while beating me.

It didn't matter what I did, what I was doing.

It got so bad that I sort of developed an hearing senses so I could distinguish when he was coming up the stairs to come in house.

The moment I heard his footsteps I knew it was only a matter of seconds til he would get mad and I would pay the "price" of his anger.

I would have anxiety attacks, passing out, full on mental breakdowns. Went many times to the hospital due to it, though my country has an old perception of things. What today would be absolute brutality, back then it would be a normal thing of a father teaching his children a lesson. So yeah anything goes. I could be spanked with a belt, get my full body covered in bruises and it would be perceptioned by others as normal. As I kept growing I kinda got used to it to the point that all the phisical scares he left on my body, would be simple scratches while compared with the psicological trauma due to all the insults.
One day, I remember clearly as the sky in a hot sunny day, he came home earlier then usual. It would be expected that he wouldn't be that drunk right? Nah. He was drunker then anything. I was sitting and the dinner table and he sits in the table across from me. He was chatty though, as usual he would soonly get mad at anything and where was his favorite punching bag? Right in front of him. He grabbed me by the wrist and dragged me across my house cursing me and kicking me. I got thrown in my room and there I was all rolled up trying to protect myself while he kept screaming and kicking me. This went for around 20 minutes or so til he stops beating me. He catches his breath, then, while looking me down, he just says : "You aren't my son. The dog, the dog that is laying on the floor in the living room is more of a son to me that you ever will!

Imagine a 13/14 years old listening to this.

That night I went to bed without eating since I was forbidden to leave my room when this sort of stuff happened.
Ah good life I had back. I mean it! I'm not being ironic nor mocking the situation. Even with all this, I was living one of the best times of my life and I had no idea. Things only get worse from here.