Mom became pregnant. Horrible morning sickness left her bedridden. I remember her at the time as an absent figure. When she was present she was weak and submissive to Mike's parental ruling. I hated her weakness, for submitting to a man so completely. A former Marine, Mike ran the house like a boot camp. Punishment came in the form of isolation. We were made to stand facing the wall in the corner or in the basement bathroom stall with the lights off for hours on end. When we felt we were sorry enough we would have to go to him and convince him of our sincere repentant nature. Judgement was then passed down that he did, or more often, did not believe us and sent us back to the corner or the stall. His most creative punishments were saved for the boys. Especially his own sons. His youngest, Tony, in particular. For writing on the wall Tony was made to lick the writing and ask the wall for forgiveness. Unfortunately for the dim-witted boy, he was never able to master a contrite tear-filled plea of sorrow for his wrongdoing and consequently could spend his whole day going back and forth between the corner and begging his dad's forgiveness.
Mike controlled our lives down to how many squares of toilet paper we were allowed to use. This applied to Mom too. His mood was volatile and he would rage for no apparent reason. While Al struck out, Mike would take out his fury on inanimate objects. Throwing canned goods to the floor hard enough to nearly flatten them. For some reason, this was more frightening. It was carried out with more violence. It was always like he was a hair's breadth away from flinging a can at one of our heads. I did not know until years later that his first expression of rage was on their honeymoon where he threw mom across the room. His abuse toward us tended to be more mental and emotional than physical. Demoralizing. Humiliating. Controlling. Oh, how I loathed him. My hatred was compounded by an overall sense of creepiness that exuded from him. He often made crude comments of a sexual nature to me. I was leery of him. His hungry eyes seemed to follow me.
Mom had a boy much to their dismay (read: Mike's). They had been sure it would be a girl. Mike had willed it to be the baby girl he desired. The baby's room was even decorated for a girl. Everything they bought had a feminine theme. I was inwardly delighted that this tiny baby had defied Mike's will.
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The Hole Within
Non-FictionMy soul-searching story of a dark past. Growing up in a strict Mormon household I slowly withdraw into a dark world of my own; self-mutilating, suicide attempts and self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. I go into therapy and discover repressed mem...
