Painted In Bruises

My mother was the person I looked up too. Going through depression, two teen pregnancies and moving to a  big city with her 3 kids by the age of 21 as a single mom, she is an incredibly strong and passionate person that I aspire to become. But who thought the woman I looked up to would turn into the woman I cant look at?

I remember being about 5 when I moved to the big city of Lexington, Kentucky, from my small town home. We moved into a small 2 bedroom apartment parked between a school and gang battles, the school being my hell and gang battles being my live action news feed day-to-day partnered with its very own coroner's list. We slept on the floor, a bed of old pillows, in front of the bedroom window. I remember that night we moved in, I looked out at the sky, and all I saw was darkness, foreshadowing my future. I saw no stars like back home, just black skies for eternity.

My mother took a few months before meeting her future husband. A man I have grown to have a passionate hatred for over the past 12 years.  Once they married, I believe a strong sensation swept over him of power. Authority and intimidation was worn by him like a cloak. His way of pushing for respect and authority was aggressive. From being threatened to be hung, to becoming an ash tray for his disgusting habits of smoking, to being beaten for watching television after homework on his equipment. Beatings leaving scars and bruises deeper than my skin could hold.

The beatings I took, the battles I lost against him, were almost my breaking points. Every single slap shoved me one foot closer to the edge, but it was his words of discouragement that made me fall. And, boy, did I fall hard. It was bad. I eventually built up a wall around me, but because I was done fighting, I climbed the wall and jumped, dived head first. I was giving up and I was okay with that because I was told so many times that I'm a failure, I was finally just living up to the name.

I swallowed a bottle of pain-killers. I found it ironic. Pain-killers to kill my pain. To kill me. 7 years, of beatings, of drama, of being bullied, I was ready. I wanted to be gone. Rid him and my mother of the burden so graciously named daughter -- by marriage, by love. I said good-bye to my family, my hopes, my dreams that had been shattered.

I survived, I found the help I needed through hospitals and police officers, friends. I moved out of the house made from walls built by Satan. I still struggle, I still cant look in the mirror with out remembering that I am nothing, a failure, painted with bruises, but I am still breathing. I'm happy, with friends. Happy. Lost, then found. Saved, by myself.