I was so young when it happened (TRIGGER WARNING FOR TECHNICAL DOMESTIC VIOLENCE)
When I was maybe seven or eight, an incident happened. It scarred me for the rest of my life, and I need to tell someone. I had this issue with blueberries that had been getting worse for a bit. I hated how squishy they were when they were unfrozen, but my mom made me eat them anyway. When I was maybe seven or eight, my dad went to visit my grandmother, so it was just me, my brother, and my mom. We had this thing, where after dinner, our 'pudding' was fruits. And we were out of grapes, which is what we usually had. So my mom gave me and my brother a bowl of blueberries each, and told us to eat.
I couldn't. The texture was disgusting, and wet, and squishy, and it made me shudder and feel so, so sick. My mother wasn't happy. She tried to be patient at first, but it got out of control. She told me to eat or I would get no screen time for a whole week. As someone who'd been hiding severe depressive and suicidal thoughts even at my age, I had needed television as an escape. So I tried. I really did. But i couldn't. It got worse, and I shoved it away and told her that I just wouldn't watch tv and that it was fine. But she got angrier, went into the kitchen, dumped a load of yogurt onto the blueberries, and told me 'There, now eat.'
Again, I couldn't. The yogurt made it worse. She was furious by that point, and mashed the blueberries into the yogurt so that it turned an off-ish, pastel pink sort of colour. My disgust got worse, and I got up to leave the table, screaming at her that I couldn't eat. At least, i think that's what happened, I don't remember much of it after a certain point. Flashes, really.
TRIGGER WARNING FOR DOMESTIC VIOLENCE
I remember my mother chasing me, and screaming at me with the bowl still in her hand.
I remember my brother on the phone, frantically calling my dad and begging him to come back because our mother had gone insane.
I remember hiding behind the couch, while my mother stormed around, furious and screaming threats. I don't remember what they were.
I remember running up the stairs with her at my heels.
I remember the bowl of yogurt emptying itself onto the white walls and how she roared at me that it was all my fault. Look what I had made her do.
I remember my small, terrified mind thinking of blood, even though the colour looked more like a beige sort of pink. To be honest, it resembled mashed up intestines that had been left in water for a bit too long, yet still held form. Not wet enough to stain the walls, thank god. I don't know how that would've turned out.
I remember locking the bathroom door to keep her away from me.
I remember her threatening something, and gradually getting me to open the door. Or maybe that was my dad. I don't think he made any threats though.
I remember her helping me take off my clothes so I could get into the bathtub to wash, as I stood in a daze, too scared to do anything.
I remember lying in the bathtub, staring up at the ceiling, fading in and out of consciousness and hyperventilating while my brother, mother and father all crowded around, trying to calm me down.
I think my dad might've told my mother to go outside at one point. I don't remember though.
The only thing that was going through my head as I lay there was that I wanted her to stay away from me. She was helping to wash me, she'd helped me take my clothes off and I didn't want her to touch me, because she'd hurt me and I was in danger and I wasn't safe! I didn't feel safe! And they were both letting her near me. I didn't want her near me! I wasn't fair that they did that!
And to think that my brother calls me spoiled. Says I got it good. I DIDN'T GET IT FUCKING GOOD! SHE HURT ME AND HE REMEMBERS THAT AND HE SAYS I'M FUCKING SPOILED. HOW CAN HE SAY THAT? HE WASN'T THE ONE FEARING FOR HIS GODDAMN LIFE WHENM HE WAS SEVEN FUCKING YEARS OLD! I WAS SO SCARED!
To this day I remember those brief flashes. Whenever someone calls my mom nice, or kind, I remember that day. My mom may be a saint to poor people, but she has hurt me and I do not trust her. I've brought it up before, and she acts like she's hurt by me remembering it. Says she hoped it was one of the things I'd be able to let go. How dare she. How dare she say that she acted 'irrationally'. How dare she tell me she hoped I could let it go? How dare she say that we both acted irrationally? I DID THE RIGHT THING! I TOLD HER I COULDN'T EAT! I TOLD HER IT WAS TOO MUCH! I WAS NOT, IN ANY FUCKING WAY, 'IRRATIONAL'. SHE WAS THE ONE WHO COULDN'T HANDLE IT!
I love my mom. But sometimes she's not my mom. Sometimes she's the woman who screamed and shouted at me while I hid behind a sofa, curled into myself, hands over my ears as she stormed around looking for me. That's why I want to leave as soon as I can. She's gotten better. I admit that. She's gotten so much better at controlling her temper. But what she did betrayed the unconditional love I was willing to give. She was supposed to protect me, and she didn't. So I love her, but I want out. As soon as I can, I want my own home where none of the people who are supposed to protect me can hurt me again. Yes, I'm a child. Yes, she looks after me. Yes, I feel safe most of the time. But I can remember hiding behind that sofa.
