Battle Through Trauma pt.3

My mom and dad got into a lot of arguments that lead to physical altercations when I was younger. A few times law enforcement was called. Three specific occasions stick out in my mind. I don't remember the dates, or times, but I remember the moments. One specifically, stands out in my memory. My brother and I were laying in our bump beds, and our parents starting fighting. We could hear loud noises, and yelling. My brother got scared, and climbed up top with me in the bed. We held each other crying. Moments later, police officers came in the room, and flashed bright lights in our faces. They asked us our names, ages, and if we we were alright. We had to put on our shoes, and we were escorted to the brown van to meet our mom. She was crying. We drove down the street to a gas station, and my mom called someone on the pay phone. We couldn't go home that night. We spent the night at a friend of the family's house. She had three daughters. Those girls, are now my adopted sisters.

Another moment was during the daytime. I am not sure what happen, but I know my mom was driving really fast, and my father was driving really fast behind her. It was scary! I remember crying, and too scared to ask mom where we were going. We were in Anderson, SC during both of these incidents. My dad pastored there in a small building he built behind our house. We arrived at the fork of the road, and was parked in front of a gas station. Since being an adult, I have had two opportunties to visit that particular gas station, and I have parked in the same spot my mom did at that time. Sadness overwelhmed me. The police came up to my mothers car, and we had to switch vehicles. Dad wasn't allowed to touch us. My heart was breaking because I loved my daddy, and I couldn't undertatnd what was going on at that time. My mother got away safely, and we met my grandmother and aunt at the mall in Columbia SC. The mall was near the Blue Cross Blue Shield Building. As an adult, I have drove pass that place many times, and I have that memory etched in my brain any time i see it. My mom wasn't safe, and that means we the children were not either. She got us all to safety for the time being. In those times I was elementrary age.

The next time I remember police getting involved was when my dad had beaten me with a belt buckle, and my eye turned black. At this time I was in middle school. I believe I was in 7th or 8th grade at that time. I was living between his home, and his girlfriends home. By this time my mom and dad were divorced. I can not remember why I was getting a beating that day, but I remember his girlfriend saving my life! (His girlfriend at that time, was known as my second mother, and she is the mother to my youngest sister.) I have always been a talker, assertive with my thoughts and feelings, maybe this is why I got into trouble that day. I am unsure. Had she not come in the room at the time she did, maybe I'd be dead today, instead of writing out my memories that haunt me. It is like he blacked out, and became a beast. I was out of breath. The next day at school friends and teachers were asking a lot of questions, and I didn't tell the truth because I was scared of experiencing my fathers wrath again. When they asked what was wrong, I told them that I hit myself with a door. The next weekend during a visit with my mom, some of the scars on my face was still there, but the blackness, and swelling had gone down. I believe my mom called child protective services, and thereafter the police showed up again. By this time, I was in high school. I am unsure which grade. We lived in Bishopville, SC. He was well knownd there for civil rights activism.

Dad had lots of control over me. I was afraid. He warn my brothers and I several times before that he would kill us if we told his business to anyone, and no one would know, nor hear us cry. We lived in the country area, and our house was surrounded by a moat. I believed that he wouldv'e killed us, and I believe no one would've known we were dead simply because of the location of our home. I praise God for life, and a portion of memory. People keep trying to tell me what did, and what did not happen to me. It frutrates me,so now I'll write this blog. One day, I'll finish my book, and have it published. It's important to me that my perspective truth is told. I won't take this pain to my grave.