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Plotting the Perfect Murder
There are times when words aren’t enough to describe the way someone else’s words have made you feel. Times when you fall head-over-heels in WriterLove for their expressions, their cleverness, their capability, and the wonder of what they create. And when that person turns their words to recount some of the most horrific events of their life…you are transfixed – speared by them as though each sentence were steel, holding you fast against the corkboard edges of your mind. It is my honour to share this piece by Crystal Cook – Lizzi
I came up with my first plot for the perfect murder when I was around seven years old, I never acted on it. My little girl heart had no problem wishing a kind of gruesome death on someone — a certain, oh so deserving someone, but it involved telling a lie and breaking a promise to get it done. I couldn’t bring myself to lie because telling a lie was wrong and promises were simply not meant to be broken.
How’s that for an early childhood milestone? I was just a baby and my God, dear God, I almost made it happen. I could have easily made it happen.
The bikers up the street were bad guys, my mom told me they were. Those bad guys even told me they were, but they also told me if anyone ever tried to hurt me they would deal with it.
My mom took care of their children sometimes, they cared about her. They didn’t know she was being beaten, she didn’t want them to know. I wanted them to know. I was going to tell them he hurt me the next time he hit her, the next time she tumbled down the stairs.
Then they would beat him too, he was a monster and they would beat him, I knew they wouldn’t stop if I said he did things to me, but he hadn’t done those things . . . to me. My mom taught me not to lie so I didn’t. My mom asked me to promise I wouldn’t tell people what he did to her, she must have feared he would find out and I would become victim to his wrath as well, she was trying to protect me like I wanted to protect her so I never did tell.
I planned the second perfect murder before I was nine, again, never followed through. Fate stepped in and I didn’t have to. It was a good plan, no one would have thought the resulting horror was anything but the damages done due to a drug fueled rampage set in motion by my intended target.
I pulled a fork out of her breast, it made a wretched stomach-turning noise when I did. I wiped the blood, I did my best. I hated him. I knew hate was a bad thing so I didn’t say it out loud, but I hated him so much.
I was old enough, I wasn’t really but I had to be, to know where he hid his drugs so I could make sure my baby sister never found them. My mom had to show me and tell me what they would do.
She was taken away one night . . . because of a nasty fall . . . it was going to be the one called acid that ended things. He was knocked out and I was going to give it to him. All of it. That and whatever else I could find and then hide and watch him destroy himself.
Someone came by the house and drove me and my little sister to safety. I didn’t have a chance. My mom stood up and walked away after that. She saved us, she saved her.
I stopped thinking about the perfect murder, or rather, the possibility of needing a plan for a perfect murder, until I was 22. I never had to follow through with that one either. I would have though, damn it if part of me didn’t wish I could have.
I was that little girl again, all grown up and pissed off, scared, and prepared. It would have been self defense to anyone who didn’t know about the black cloud squeezing my broken heart. No question. No one would have known the victim was invited, no one but me and the monster I wanted to end.
I thought he was a friend. He thought he was entitled to more. I had no idea he was pinching and hitting and tormenting with unseen and well hidden torture the one thing I cared about more than anything in life, my son. My little boy couldn’t tell me what was happening, the night it became more than clear, the night I saw him strike my precious child with a fist fueled with the force of rage, the clarity turned my heart to ice.
He stalked me after that. He said and did things I have yet to find a way to speak out loud. I was pregnant with my second son and feared for all of our lives, restraining orders are fuel for a growing fire sometimes and I knew I had to put out the flames.
This second monster of mine would have come over if I’d found a way to invite him without leaving some sort of evidence of it, I knew a way. I had a rifle and I was going to have to use it to protect us when he came through the door and walked down the hall toward my room.
Thank you God for stopping me.
They were good plans, they would have worked if I’d ever set them in motion, but I didn’t. To be honest with you, it was never about murder, not to me. It was about justice and self preservation and survival . . It was about saving someone I loved which just happened to require the loss of someones life. These weren’t people, they were monsters and monsters had to be slain.
In the earliest years of my life, those dark thoughts found the light of day because I was desperately searching for a way to protect my momma, fire with fire, violence with violence. My innocence had already been shattered and the thoughts I thought seemed . . . okay.
When I was older that vileness of thought resurfaced from a need, a desire to stop a runaway train I knew would eventually derail leaving casualty and heartache in its wake. I was the momma bear this time and no fucking way was I going to let someone hurt my babies. That first strike, the one I finally saw, was going be the last. I didn’t have to shed blood, but there was a moment when I wanted to.
Dear reader, you have to know I am a good person. I would never hurt another. Remembering these things, penning them to a page in admittance fills me with a sickness I cannot describe, and yet, I fight a guilt still festering because I can somehow justify what I wanted done. When those monsters pay visit to my thoughts and my dreams I can convince myself the wrongest of things would have been right.
If not, if I don’t justify those long ago desires in the now, what the hell does that make me? A monster too?
No. I am far from a monster. I am a survivor and sometimes survivors break before they realize how strong they really are. Thank God I never completely broke. Little pieces were damaged and I suppose remain damaged, but I am whole. Sometimes I think when those fissures began to heal they were made stronger than they were before.
I am strong. So very strong, fragile still, but unbreakable.
Again dear reader, there is something I want you to understand as I do and did even then — my mother was an innocent, as much as my sister and I were. She took the abuse, so much abuse, to keep him from turning his rage upon us until she could finally find a way out. She was trapped and she was scared and she was tired, and she tried. She never stopped trying.
This monster in disguise came into our lives, a knight in shining armor to rescue our little family when I was little more than six years old. My mother and father had been childhood sweethearts, they made a family and they had love; then schizophrenia stole my father from us and we were alone, until the knight in shining armor appeared.
He was a good man. A church deacon and a provider. It should have been good and it was, at first. The bad started with little things, with words scattered like little seeds which eventually bloomed into thorns without flowers. Damn it, sometimes he was such a good man. It’s hard to reconcile the reality that there is a real Jeckyl and Hyde that exists within some people.
It’s strange the details you remember sometimes. He had a nickname for her, everyone thought it was cute, he called her Poopy. What that nickname really was was a reminder that she was nothing more than a piece of shit. Adorable.
She left him. He found her. She escaped, he captured her. He would wait until the storm clouds dissipated and come swooping in as the knight, bearing the gift of apologies and love, things we were so desperate for, and sometimes we accepted them. I don’t think she knew she had a choice. Such a vicious and cruel cycle abuse is.
My beautiful mother’s childhood was filled with its own emotional abuses and wrongs, and she’d not learned how to be a victor instead of a victim, but when the day finally came, she stood tall like an angel in all of its glory and she was so strong and so brave. She fought back and we survived.
She is my hero and my best friend. Even in the midst of that terrible storm, my mother was a beacon of light and hope for those around her. She helped the needy, she bathed and clothed and fed the homeless. She deserved so much better.
That monster is dead now, his own life cut short in his late 50s by a lifetime of ugliness. He was a bodybuilder when he was young, steroids and other drugs were his companions through most of his wasted life.
He died the same kind of nobody he was when he lived. I didn’t rejoice in hearing of his passing. To be honest, I had prayed for his soul and his salvation over time. I did this maybe more to rescue my own heart than his. I was not going to let him control me by giving him even an ounce of my power by hating him. My mom taught me that.
That other monster I told you of, my heart still hasn’t found that place where I can pray with a perfect sincerity for him, that place where forgiveness and peace reside. I long to reach the point when I can, but so far I am still searching. I have yet to completely forgive myself for not knowing, perhaps when I can do that, I will be rid of what remains of him.
I try not judge myself for those awful things I once thought, those things I once wished for. I do sometimes fear when others learn of them they may lose sight of who I actually am.
My faith, the faith my mom showed me both through example and lesson is strong enough to carry me, but sometimes being human is hard and those ugly memories we wish we could forget just creep up on us and we let ourselves be taken a little by them. It happens.
I refuse to allow myself to be held captive by them. They are a part of me. I couldn’t completely rid myself of those memories if I tried, it just doesn’t work that way. In so many ways the experiences that sometimes haunt and torment me helped create the person I grew to become, and you know what? I kind of think that person is worthy and sometimes even a maybe a little amazing when I really stop to consider it all.
I should probably consider it more often. We should all simply stop and consider how amazing we really are. It feels pretty damn good.
Crystal Cook, otherwise known as Qwietpleez here on the interwebs, goes by many names, most notably, Mommy. Proud wife and mother four, she is an Autism Warrior Momma and advocate for those with special needs and their families.
She writes about about life and love, the good and the bad, the serious and the silly over at theqwietmuse.com to retain what is left of her sanity. Sometimes to make some spare change for venti iced coffees, she occasionally writes about other things.
She is new to blogging and socializing, and is a recent and reluctant hashtag user, which she stubbornly maintains should be referred to as an octothorp. Her hobbies include sleeping in and defending the Oxford comma.
Oh wow. This is amazing and haunting and mesmerizing. You have a strength that I admire and a writing talent that makes me envious. Thank you so much for sharing.
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Thank you for being my audience and thank you, thank you for the beautiful compliment.
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Crystal, that was a powerful post, thank you for sharing! Your voice needs to be heard, don’t ever stop breaking the silence that has shrouded domestic abuse for so many years.
You said sometimes you find it hard to forgive yourself for not knowing and getting involved with an abusive man. My blog might be able to give you some answers and help you forgive yourself. I write about my experiences living with a narcissist/psychopath for 10 years. There are so many women out there with your same story who all felt alone and blamed themselves, many of them share their stories and find comfort at my blog. If you want to drop in it is ladywithatruck.com
Your are a very strong woman, and I can relate so well to so much of what you share. My son said to me one time, “He ruined your life mom. I want to kill him.” and my reply was, “He ruined part of my life but I refuse to let him ruin the rest of my life.”
Namaste
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Thank you and I will come and tiptoe around your blog 🙂
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Reblogged this on Ladywithatruck's Blog and commented:
A powerful story shared on Sisterwives
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Thank you so much for sharing this . . .
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Very strong post, I hope you will find the way to forgive yourself for once allowing that monster in your life.
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My thanks . . . I am working on that part, I think I’m there, just have to acknowledge it I suppose.
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Your past thoughts and plans are perfectly understandable. Desperate people will do desperate things. I hope you don’t judge yourself too harshly for the things you almost did. I certainly don’t.
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Thank you Scott. For the most part, it stays safely hidden away in a little box inside of me somewhere and has no hold on me, there are those little moments every now and then though. I think this, and the encouraging and anything but judgmental responses are a phenomenal reminder to me that I needn’t hold these things against myself.
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I am often so full of words and yet many times I visit here and I have none…and again I have none. But I did gain something. I gained strength from the knowledge you survived and you help others survive…and that is everything.
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Hasty,
This – “I gained strength from the knowledge you survived and you help others survive…and that is everything.” Yes, this. I love this comment.
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I miss you Matticus…hope you are doing great.
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I’d be doing better if I still had access to WP from work.
Sites like this one (and a handful of others) I can still get to because “wordpress” isn’t specifically in the url, but my access is limited – hence my missing icon.
Oh well. Just another change to adapt to…
I’m doing okay! Don’t mind my rambling – this probaby isn’t the right place for it anyway.
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You can always email me 🙂
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Sometimes you just have to ramble where you are 🙂 I certainly do!
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Miss Hasty, you made my eyes start leaking . . . thank you so much.
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I think “that person” is worthy and sometimes a little amazing, too. What a brave and clever little girl, and what an equally brave and insightful person to be able to share it here with such clarity. ❤
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Thank you, that reached in and touched my heart . . .
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We are not monsters when we are forced into these positions by others. They are the monsters for hurting us, hurting our loved ones, and leaving us with no alternatives but to plan our escape through whatever means necessary/required/permanent.
You are not a monster and you never were.
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I have a lump building in my throat . . . thank you.
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Chilling and Empowering. You were/are so strong, and you wrote about it beautifully. Thank you for sharing your story here today. I know it will empower someone.
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I hope so Beth . . . Our experiences mean nothing if we don’t use them for some sort of good. Thank you new friend 🙂
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It’s these kinds of posts that leave me breathless… to think you have endured this kind of abuse and survived the battles of such a war torn life, to rise higher and prevail with not only incredible strength, but faith- is absolutely amazing.
This reminds me that each precious person has a story… a powerful timeline of events and circumstances that create who they are. I hate that you had these monsters in your life, especially your baby boy’s. I cannot even imagine. How would anyone recover from such atrocities as this?
You have found a way. Praying for peace in your heart to conquer that guilt. Peace in knowing you did the ABSOLUTE BEST, with what you knew. NONE of this is your fault.
Carry on, warrior. Carry on…
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Ugh. Christine! Now my eyes are really leaking! God is good and I had an amazing mother to help me navigate through the broken pieces, two lighthouses showing each other the safe passages . . .
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I don’t think that you should be harsh with yourself about what you considered doing. You were in a tough place and were doing the best you could as a child. Thanks for sharing your powerful, compelling story.
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Thank you for reading and taking the time share your words of encouragement. It only sneaks up and surprises me once in a great while, I am blessed to have had all of you here when it did this time.
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Pingback: Plotting the Perfect Murder | kdwilsonauthorblog
Many of us in your shoes would have had the same thoughts and “plans”. When a loved one is in danger, our instinct to protect takes over. I am in awe that you were able to stop yourself from carrying those thoughts out, that shows incredible strength! Thanks for sharing your story.
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It’s funny, what could have grown into my greatest weakness actually filled me with strength. I chose to make good what others had set out to destroy. learned that from my momma 🙂 Thank you . . .
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I hate it when I can’t find words to express how moved I am… thank you…
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Now this I take straight to my heart, you are a man I imagine is rarely without words 🙂 Thank you Art . . .
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I really am… it shocked me too… good job
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You are incredibly strong and amazing, Crystal. Your story is powerful as are you. I cried for that little girl and your young son. Monsters. Your story will help many women in abusive situations see that there is a way. HOPE. ❤
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Thank you. If even one woman finds an ounce of strength or realizes there is hope, I know I will have done something of worth, knowing something beautiful bloomed out of something so ugly would be a sweet gift.
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The responsibility that little girl felt to protect her mother and sister… wow. That’s a hefty burden for any soul to bear. I feel your fighting spirit when I read this. I see someone who refuses to be a victim but doesn’t deny what happened and what she went through. THAT is strength. THAT is inspiring… brave. And nothing short of amazing.
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Hugged by your kind words, thank you. It’s a good thing I had some tissues handy when I sat down here to read these amazing replies 🙂
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I know. Isn’t this place great? *hugs* indeed…
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Feeling just a little verclempt from all the kind comments . . . I was beginning to respond, I am so grateful for everyone taking the time of offer such beautiful encouragement, but I will have to return in a bit to continue . . . For now, my thanks is yours for taking the time to visit this little ledge on my iceberg 🙂
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*hugs* This post matters. You matter. Thank you for it, SO much.
Additional thought – thoughts have no moral value. They just *are*
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This is the kind of post that I know takes an enormous amount of courage to post.
Thank you so much for trusting us with this.
I wish you peace.
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I am thankful and blessed I was given a safe place to share, filled with wonderful readers to bless me with their thoughts. Thank you . . .
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I heard this post was astounding and it most certainly is. I had to stop today and read it. I don’t know you but if this is any indication of the strength, power,and goodness you possess then I can’t wait to know you better. I happen to think you quietly brave and extremely talented. As for ‘that person’…..far, far more than a little amazing and most definitely worthy.
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Leaking like a sieve . . . I have not felt this blessed and warmed by the hearts of others in a long while. it’s nice, quite nice 🙂 Thank you.
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Absolutely stunning. Please, if you must judge yourself, let it only be as infinitely worthy and totally amazing!
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Tonight, I feel no judgments, not from myself, nor anyone else. Simply acceptance, understanding and compassion, and it is beautiful. Thank you . . .
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WHEW! You all have wrapped me in the warmth of your words and I am feeling blessed. I am not much of a hugger, but this cyber snuggly feeling I have at the moment is pretty good 🙂
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We have a wonderful audience at Sisterwives – they are a community of support and empathy and overflowing compassion. I knew this would do well here, and am so thankful that you’re feeling okay about it 🙂 Cyber-snuggly is a lovely thing to feel 🙂
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I, for one, am glad he’s dead. You ARE brave, just like everyone says.
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Thank you . . . I felt brave sharing this with you all!!
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I walked with you and wished I could hug you close, both the little girl you and the adult you. The perfect murder? Yeah, I have planned a few of those of my own.
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Thank you . . . I’m not usually much of a hugger, but I would hug ya right back 🙂
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Reblogged this on World4Justice : NOW! Lobby Forum..
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Thank you for sharing . . .
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Pingback: Ten Things of Thankful #85 | Considerings
Thank you so much for having the courage to share what no child or woman should ever endure. In the battle to survive and protect your family and yourself it is hardly surprising that such thought would cross your mind and was probably some kind of defense mechanism. I really like this quote:
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.- Kahlil Gibran
I live with a severe, life-threatening disease and I have been perplexed for some time trying to understand how I could ski and play my violin and yet there have been other simpler tasks which I struggle with such as running on time. It’s taken me some time to nut this out but it’s about living with contradiction and the paradox. Bad stuff happens but good stuff happens too and you can be in a very bad place and still have moments of joy, fun and laugh. I actually find that my sense of humour sharpens whenever my health nose dives. It’s a great coping mechanism.
I pray that you continue to experience ongoing healing of these scars and that through your wirting you will continue to touch and comfort and inform others.
You might be interested to know that the Australian of the Year 2015 is a domestic violence campaigner whose son who I think was Luke Batty was murdered by his father at his cricket match in Melbourne. She has really helped make a difference.
xx Rowena
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I understand . . . I battle through life with chronic illness, diabetes and fibro, I have found some of my greatest triumphs in the midst of the pain they cause, other times, I walk around for five minutes looking for shoes that are actually already on my feet 🙂 I will certainly look up the Australian of the Year . . . thank you for sharing with me.
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I can relate to the shoe experience. I get brain fog too. Ouch!!! I am quite intrued by what people going through often quite severe adversity can do, particularly when you look at lack of initiative by the supposedly “fine” .population
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I feel the same . . . So many people take for granted the things some of us often struggle with. The fog can be so thick some days – at least I can write of it? I’ve lost bits of my words when I speak them aloud, forget the right ones or exchange them with new. Just yesterday curtains were window clothes because the right word escaped me, but when I sit to write I command them. I am so thankful for that, and so many other things of course 😉
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I read this last week and couldn’t find the words to leave here. First, thank you for sharing it here. Thank you for trusting this part of your soul to our safe place. I’m with Sandy. I heard this piece was outstanding, but I had no idea it would sink as deep in me as it did.
“I am strong. So very strong, fragile still, but unbreakable.” This…yes. Yes you are, and what a beautiful and haunting line: fragile still, but unbreakable. Unbreakable, a survivor, and a damn awesome one if you ask me.
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Thank you kindly and so very much 🙂 It did my heart good to share this, It was hard to condense so much into what really is only a few words of a much larger tale, but this was a good thing, such a very good thing. I’ve not felt so embraced is quite some time. Thank you . . . again.
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Oh my…..this story caused so many emotions to surface! Emotions that I try so very hard to keep under cover and deeply hidden.
I felt as though I were walking along with you throughout your childhood, as I went through this myself.
I am the youngest of 6 children and witnessed some horrific physical abuse from my father on my mother. Alcohol was usually the culprit however, not always. I was fortunate enough to be the youngest, in that by the time I was 10 or so, the beatings stopped. The emotional and mental abuse continued. From both sides.
My stomach is in knots, just as it would get as a child, when I knew there was an impending fight on the way.
My hat is off to you, my dear. You wrote your story with so much emotion spilling out onto the page….Ican only hope one day I am able to do the same.
With much respect, ….I wish you, and all those that have gone through this ugliness in their lives, much love, peace and happiness.
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