My reality has been a struggle for the last week.
My childhood trauma is cracking through to my reality in current day. I've managed to shove the trauma and pain deep down in my mind, but I'm not winning anymore. It's all coming back. I'm reliving every second of that abuse. I am afraid. I'm not safe in my living environment. Today that became clear to me - more clear than it has ever been.
Ajax threatened my life.
All because he tested covid positive, and I listened and began deep cleaning the house as Dad is older and has a myriad of health issues. Dad cannot get covid. Despite Ajax telling me to just start cleaning and he would tell me what to grab and put outside so he wouldn't have to come in and could go get a hotel. He came in hours later after I'd already been cleaning. Screaming, throwing a fit, full blown tantrum. He said that I said I was going to wait until he got there to grab his stuff so I wouldn't have to clean the same things over. I had just pulled the bedding off from the guest bed and put it in the washing machine, but hadn't gotten a chance to start it yet. He started yelling and calling me stupid because I didn't check the sheets or shake them out. Apparently his girlfriend's glasses were in the sheets, and I retorted that it's stupid to put anything in bedsheets (because honestly anyone that has glasses knows better than to be stupid with them). Ajax said, "If you don't stop running your mouth I'm going to punch you in the face". I said I'd call the cops and he responded, "Cool, I'll make sure I do permanent damage".
That doesn't seem to sound threatening to some people apparently, but most people don't know that he's done it before to another girl. And another. I know how serious Ajax is. I've seen his rage and been on the receiving end of his hate.
God knows Dad didn't seem to take it seriously. That's kind of the whole problem. No one takes my imminent danger seriously so I'm stuck living with the person who's likely to kill me. Once again, my family is telling me that I don't matter. Great.
Here's the thing, though. Those threats aren't a new thing. I've only recently ended my silence. I have been beaten and abused my entire childhood. From my earliest memories throughout my teenaged years my body was riddled with bruises. Ajax was never stupid enough to do permanent damage on me...yet. It was always in places no one would ever see. Slowly I'm remembering more and more - some memories never left: they've been burned into me.
When I was two, Ajax slammed my head into the wrought iron railing to our staircase in our California home. He slammed it a few times. I was crying. I felt betrayed. I remember it like it just happened. Ajax's childhood best friend held me as I cried, but no one said anything. That was how I formed my first crush. He wasn't always nice to me, either, but he was nicer than Ajax and pretty much all I ever knew. Though, there were other sinister things, too.
A lot of the incidents I can't remember exact years, for instance, I remember being handcuffed to our staircase in our parents house. They'd leave to go on dates - Ajax would handcuff me and leave me. He'd hog tie me so I couldn't move my arms or legs and leave me in the middle of the room. There was a kid bull whip my parents got my brother one time and I was on the other end a time or two. My bro had nunchucks one of our family friends made him. He had sighs that he'd hit me with - pure metal against my skin or bones.
One year he got steel toed boots "for work". They might have been for work, but my shins met them much more than anything else. All of seventh and eighth grade my shins were bruised. The other kids at school discovered the fun game of if you kicked my shins I'd make a fun noise and often collapse. Little did they know I was getting kicked over and over at home. The bruises were sore so their game only made it worse. There was the "deer attack" - you'd hold your fists a certain way to look like a hoof and rapidly and repeatedly punched the upper arm. I'd try to fight back and only get hit worse. Every day was a nightmare. I never had an escape at home.
He would punch and kick me all the time at home. My arms and legs were littered in bruises throughout my entire childhood. I was always afraid to show any skin. I was scared that if my teachers or friends saw that they would take me away from my parents. I didn't know anything else but fear. Of course, over the years friends did see. I always said it was from my brother, but would brush it off as no big deal. Enough to make my friends think it was okay. At that point I already knew that if someone told I would just get beat worse the next time I was alone with Ajax. And I was alone with Ajax every day. I tried telling one time... my parents didn't take it seriously, and I got punched and kicked so bad the next day. My parents always talked to Ajax if I tried to tell them anything even if it wasn't about the beatings, and he would deny any claim I made against him and somehow he was always the one they believed.
If you believe Ajax, I was always tattling on him. I deserved everything that he did to me. He never hit me that hard, I'm just a whiner, No one will believe me, I'm a drama queen, I'm a liar, I don't know what I'm talking about, etc. I was taught that I don't matter. I was taught no one will ever believe me. I was taught that I'm worthless. I was taught that I deserve nothing and no one. I was taught I'm lazy and don't do anything.
No matter how hard I worked, no matter how much I take care of everyone, no matter what I do it is never enough.
There's more things that have happened to me, but what good does it do?
Finally at fourteen, I found an empty beer can in the play room. I asked Ajax if it was his, he denied it, I shrugged. I knew Dad's friend had just fixed something in there and forgot about it. Some time later, a half hour or so, I called Mom at work. I think I was trying to get permission to sleep over at a friend's house or returning her call; I don't remember exactly the reason. We always called mom at work. Anyway, Ajax got it in his head I called to tell Mom he was drinking beer and punched me right in the face - hard. I ran away to my friend's house three doors down, but she wasn't home - so I hid in her backyard. The bruise covered my face from brow to lips. I couldn't hide it. I didn't wear much makeup and certainly not good makeup. Dad saw and I hadn't gotten hit since then. Dad thought that was the only time it ever happened... I don't think Dad even remembers that incident.
When I told him everything a couple days ago, he'd said sorry and that he didn't know. I told him I'm afraid for my life. I told him I don't feel safe. He said, "What do you want me to do?"...helpful. I told him about the threat on my life today, Dad just says Ajax won't do anything. I told him about how he's done it before and told him who it was done to... Dad just said "You can't possibly believe that's true". I told Dad he threatened my Fiance's life or to have someone kill him and how he tried getting family members to make me break up with my fiance... He shrugged. He doesn't understand how I'm upset that he doesn't believe me. Dad says that he didn't say he didn't believe me. Though, he certainly isn't taking my safety seriously. He just is convinced Ajax isn't a threat. He tells me I need to calm down. He tells me Ajax and I have to get along.
I'm only here trying to take care of Dad. I'm literally putting my life in danger for him. I sacrifice everything I am for everyone else. I can't even be believed in return. I hope that I don't become another statistic. I'm scared. I'm not safe. I'm doing what I can to take care of myself, but everyone moment might be my last here.
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