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...See more My father was abusive when I was a child. My mother would hide me in the closet while they fought and I'd hear things breaking. I don't know what would happen. I'd sit there trying to play with dolls like my mom said. But afterwards, always, my father came after me. He'd stomp up the stairs into my room and if it wasn't clean I'd be yelled at or spanked. This was at least once a week. I realize now as an adult it is one thing to be spanked- it's supposed to be traumatizing because of the action of it- but he'd spank me much too hard. I'd have bruises on my area and the top of my legs. Sometimes my arms. At school I couldn't concentrate. It was like a dream world away from my home. I got in trouble for not doing homework and they tested me and decided I was ADHD or whatever. My mother refused any treatment. I told them I had a speech deficiency and was tested at school for it but they never helped me. I have dyslexia. I was a poor speller because of it and whenever I got a spelling list my father would say, write out these words right 5 times each and you can go play. Each I got wrong I had to write 5-10 more times. Sometimes I'd have to write words all night. The other kids seemed to sense I was different, though I gave them many other reasons to pick on me. I was always alone. It wasn't until 3rd grade I made a good friend. Finally my mother got in trouble for doing my homework. My mother pulled me out of public school and sent me into a private middle school where they tested me and said I was "post college" intelligence. I learned some coping skills while I was there. The kids there were nerdier than any kids in normal school and if I stood up to them they'd back down. My parents were just starting to react to the fact that I was overweight and put me on diet after diet until I started refusing to go on them. I was frequently ill. The middle-school topped off and I went to a private highschool. My grades there weren't very good. I was still in a dazed condition. Being at school was an outlet for being at home and my mind was stunted somehow. I had only started doing homework reliably. I told my teachers if they punished me by telling my parents things my dad would yell at me. They gave me a break because of this. I made friends. I was a strangely controlling friend. Often I'd say things that made no sense to see what would stick because I didn't know how to talk with others. My mother got cancer. It was around christmas. One thing my family always had was money, but that year I hardly got any christmas presents. I immediately could feel how real it all was. The year before I got a purse filled with make up and tons of toys. That year somebody at my school anonmyously gave me a christmas gift. I made a big deal out of it and shouldn't of, but I was genuinely happy. My mother declined quickly. They said she was better and then after a year she got worse again. The whole period in my mind is fuzzy. Everything was about her. I would play sick to get to stay home with her. I'd lay in her lap when I could. She was one of the only positive forces in my life and she just withered away. By the end of it she couldn't even hold her bladder. Sometimes she'd accidentally defecate on the floor. I made her a salad and she said tearfully, "Who taught you how to do that?" Summer came and my aunts came up and took me on vacation. It was great. Whenever we got back my mother had a metal plate on her head. It is one of the most miserable memories. I realize now they took me away because my mother was having brain surgery. Soon after she lost her ability to talk. She didn't even grunt. I'm not sure how sane she was. She came home to die but maybe two weeks before her death somehow she was lucidly begging to go to the hospital. My father wouldn't take her. He thought she was faking it for meds. I went downstairs and yelled at him until he took her. Nobody else could get through to him. I told my nephew when he said something, "I just like to fight." I was in the room when she died. She'd caught my cold, which is no wonder. She was spitting up mucous and drowned in it. Everyone was standing around crying and I was sitting there tearless. I was thinking, "That's it. I've used up every last tear I have." My brother remarked, "You're so brave." After she'd died a nurse asked if I would attend her sister's wedding. She could see how dead I was. My family declined for me. Afterwards my father left me at my then best friend's house. I sat on the couch. He didn't tell them mom had died. I looked up when he shut the door and said, "She died." Brenda hugged me and let me cry. I went to Casey's room. She was oddly tough. I'd spent so much time there while my mom was sick. I wonder now how much money my father gave them to look after me like that- because that's how he is. But I loved them. I wished they were my real family. It was a month- maybe 2 or 3- before my dad started dating again. It was immediate. There was this older lady with brunette hair who scuba dived, which is something I always wanted to do. Dad signed us up for scuba lessons, which was great. There was a call one night and dad said she had cancer and she said she couldn't do that to us, so we could never be around her again. Not long afterwards dad started dating my now stepmother. She seemed nice. I didn't like her as well as Sharri, but I accepted her. She lived in Wichita falls. I became friends with her skinny grandaughter who was a year younger than me and had the same name as me. My stepmother obviously wanted to like me, but by the time they were married she didn't really. I was a pain. I secretly wished they'd send me to some kind of boarding school to finish highschool. She'd pit my father against me. She'd spy on me. Once she spied on my niece and I in the bathroom while she was showering. My niece said, "Bitch," in reference to her. Stepmother thought it was me and said, "THAT'S IT, TIFFANY. WE'RE GOING TO SEE YOUR FATHER. I'M SICK OF YOU." It was amazing because despite how willful I was I had never actually spoken badly about her, just about her actions. I timidly said, "It was her." I felt very real guilt when her mother belted her. I think about all the things my stepmother has said and done to me. She was much more evil than my father. She'd say things like, you don't deserve to be alive. She called my hair an ugly mop. She said I was trashy. She seemed to be determined to preserve my virtue as well, though I am ASEXUAL and had absolutely no interest in boys. There were soft moments, and then I remember when she'd put glass in my shoes. Went to college. Failed. Failed relationship. Worked. Quit work. Became homeless. Lived with Brenda. Went to dental assistant college so I could live with my parents. They were more abusive than they'd ever been at this time. Slept outside for months. Slept in car. In movie theaters. In parks. Learned nobody could get a job that graduated. Hundreds of students jobless. Quit going. Opted into job corps. Got pregnant, quit job corps. Had spontaneous abortion. Had D/C. Was suicidal. Failed suicide. Committed myself. Got better. Became independant. Went to live with good friend. Best year of my life. Moved to montana to retry college. Couldn't go cause was underage. Moved north and became nanny. Never worked harder. Went back to college- got in- was great--- found out Brenda's daughter Casey was in an abusive relationship. Tried to move mountains to make place for her. She struck out against me. Lost lifetime best friend. Developed horrible depression. Failed school again. Met guy in game I'd been playing. FFXI. Ended relationship and went out with him. Things got better. Dad paid for my living costs. Moved to another state to live with BF. Became Fiance. Got married. Happy with husband. Here I am. Don't feel like I can hold a job. Been sick. Turns out I may have cancer.

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