Eugenia Mental

I was transferred here by ambulance from the hospital directly. I remember the ambulance guy strapping me down to the bed and I asked why and he said it’s a standard procedure. So I dealt with the hour drive and walked into a place that looked like a 1st floor mansion with high chain link fences everywhere. Adult were separate from the juveniles here, so I was walked to a door and buzzed in to a large room with a small lounge. In that lounge I had to write down my story of the night, I couldn’t put much, not much to say. My psychologist was named Dr. Kron. He asked me so many things. It was the first time someone listened, and believed me. Someone was glad I made it, someone really cared. I asked him if I was crazy I remember him saying your not crazy, your whole family is nuts. It made me laugh at least.

My schooling also had a turn for the better. The teacher in the ward was nice enough to pass me out of 8th grade and into 9th.Sent me out with all A’s. I didn’t have to do much, just show up and not throw a fit.

Something also drastically changed with my mother. She suddenly gave to much of a shit. My stepfather came to one or two family counseling sessions. He sat in the far corner and didn’t say a word. Neither did I when he was there. My mother would hold me like a baby, stroke my hair. Cry on me. She spent a lot of time screaming at my stepfather, still he was silent. So was 1.1 just couldn’t get over what happened to my mother. 2 years ago she gave 2 shits. Now she was June cleaver on steroids. I was asked if I needed anything I said sure, a carton of Marlboro red. I was to this point an inhaler, but not a heavy smoker. I sure as fuck was when I left this place, just bored out of my mind, so we sat at the tables and smoked all day. Well, to my surprise, she bought me one. So I was covered there at least.

I was also visited on my birthday, my brothers made homemade cards and they asked where I was the answer was I was on vacation. I was visited again at Christmas but I don’t remember much of it. I didn’t really need or want to see them.

Rec room had a pool table, basketball court outside. Fuck going out it was cold as shit. We had separate rooms with punching bags to vent aggression. Nice thing was whenever you were angry just had to ask and they’d take you to the heavy bag. The staff was nice, The cafeteria food was ok, but wow did I meet some people. For the first time, I met people like me. There was my roomie john, he was a good guy. Used to help me sneak over to the girls side of the ward. I also for the first time met a different kind of girl. Her name was Janelle. She was beautiful, she was curvy in a good way, just a really cool bitch with a tough

attitude. Puerto Rican. She got in fight with 3 gals who were looking at me or chatting me up. Really protective, I loved it at that time. She kept me safe, she demanded me. It made me feel like I had some self worth. We did everything together, always sat close. I wasn’t alone anymore, I was in a safe place, and I was healing.

The main room had a tv and a VCR with 2 movies. Lean on me and grease. Wow… watch those twice a day for like 3 months.. That alone will keep you crazy. The record player actually had a lot of music and some of it wasn’t half bad. So we always had a DJ for the say because for some reason all the records were 45 singles. I remember it snowing once, we went sledding on the side of the building, at night. Nellie would hold me so tight on the way down, it was amazing to feel. Just someone holding me. That’s all it took.

I cut myself 2 times more while admitted. Sometimes the shit I talked about was just too much. The last thing I can remember between all the evaluations and drugs they gave me was this one therapy session. Our whole group was sat down at this huge table, We were each given these large pieces of white construction paper and a box of crayons. We were asked to make the cards like us. What was on the outside of us and what was on the inside.

I left the outside blank, completely white. For I felt like a stone. I showed nothing, I revealed nothing. I was just a product of my surroundings at that point. When people were happy, I was too and the same with sad or mad. Little did I know then how much this would be my undoing all through life. This was my wall, it was a fortress it was impenetrable. It was my protection. It was Vincent. As I folded the page in half and made the inside I colored the entire inside black. Empty, evil, dark, black. In the center of the page was a small table, on it a small candle. The candle was burning but didn’t put out any light. The therapist asked me what the candle was for because it didn’t put out any light… I said the light is hope, and someday it will light up this room again. It was the brick and mortar me blocked in my cell deep in the darkness. I stayed alive because I had hope. The flame was never extinguished. I was to also find out all through my life, No one ever could despite how hard they tried. All through my journeys, it felt a lot of the time it was finally snuffed.

But every now and again, like riding down the sled with nell, or feeling the sun on my face in her arms, The best of me would poke it’s head out to enjoy the warmth too.  ^

Judgment Day

For the life of me as hard as I try I cannot remember what I did on this day to catch my beating, but it was in the dining room and I was on the floor. Kicking me around like a hockey puck. I remember he used to try and grab me to stand up so he could punch me, when I’d start to fall back down he’d punch me along the way. He never took head shots anymore he knew better. I felt so cold and dead inside

when he was done. All I had to do now was hold it together until he left, it was my parents wedding anniversary and they went out every year. I’d have the peace and the time to come down and come back somewhat, best I could.

I went into the kitchen and started doing the dishes. I never turned around. I just remember hearing the creaks in the floor and the doors opening and closing. He was gone, it was quiet. I walked upstairs to the bathroom, this time I needed something else. The point of the serrated knifes and the slashes just were not enough tonight. I couldn’t come back. I always had this fascination with his shaver, he shaved with disposable double edge razor blades. So I opened his shaver, something I never was allowed to even go near let alone touch. There was something in the idea of my blood on his blade, his blade on his face. All my damage seeping in to his skin that made me smile. I held the blade in my left hand. I pushed it as hard as i could into the top center of my right forearm. I looked in the mirror and i remember screaming fuck you with my teeth gnashed and foaming at the mouth. After the first slash I remembered all that was done, the staring at me while I changed, the beatings, him coming in my room at night and touching me while I pretended to be asleep. The beatings, the lies, the rejection, the hate. I could remember it all in a split second but I still felt nothing.

The second slash brought me back, my thoughts were returning to functional, my shaking stopped. I was in a daze though. I was so dazed and out of it. I put the razor back blood covered, I wrapped some toilet paper around the cuts and almost floated back down to the kitchen sink. It’s like I was me again but I wasn’t me. I was watching myself in a dream. I continued to do the dishes, in the dark. Out of nowhere I hear the door… it was opening. Just him not my mother. What was wrong, did he forget something?

What I didn’t know what I never put together until years later is I lost track of dates. All dates. All Holidays, all birthdays, any important personal holiday sometimes ages of people. I don’t know why or when but that’s the first time I remember it happening. To this day I still have trouble with birthdays, dates. Event dates. This order of events of my life even, it becomes jumbled and so confusing I have to look for landmarks and force the timeline into place. I ask my mother friends of when things happened, then I have a better idea of when they took place. My parents anniversary was not to be tonight, tonight was date of judgment day from the terminator movie I saw the week before. I lost all my marbles, I was falling apart. Battle fatigue, burnout, shock. Call it what you like.

I was lost in a darkness that enveloped me, drowned me. The person so long ago that wanted nothing more than to love and be loved, be accepted, be normal, feel again. Feel the warmth of the sun, smell the beauty of a flower, play with the children. He was bricked up in a room with no doors room with brick and mortar.

This game had no need for him anymore. All that was left was Vincent. My protector and my destroyer.

He was walking around the house I heard him start walking up the steps and then he stopped. I knew he didn’t make it to the top I didn’t hear the hall creaking in the floorboards. I then heard him coming down the steps. He stopped in the dining room, he yelled for me to come out, so I did. He saw the wrap on my arm and asked me what it was. I said I bumped my arm on a sharp corner of the stereo.

He said he wanted to see it and at that point I just said its fine I took care of it. He demanded again to see it and I said why it’s fine and he said because there was blood all over the floor. I looked down at my bandage and saw the top side, it looked fine. Then I lifted my arm. There was a trail of blood running from the underside off my little finger. I just know it, I couldn’t feel it. There was a trail of blood from the second floor bathroom all the way to the kitchen and I didn’t know it. At this point I didn’t have much choice.. He grabbed my arm and lifted the bandage of toilet paper and scotch tape and his face, for the first time in my life… It wasn’t blood red with that vein popping out of his forehead, It was white.

He said oh my god what have you done and drug me by my arm out into the kitchen. He started to run water over it from the kitchen sink. His next words were just what did you do, what did you do. I was drug into the car and rushed to the emergency room. I remember laying in bed and the man came in and asked me what I did this with, I said a razor blade. Then he asked me if I was trying to kill myself I said no. He then began to explain to me how he would appreciate if next time i made my cuts straighter because when they are curved like this from bending the razor blade they are harder to stitch up. 6 stitches in each slash, I cut to the bone.

I didn’t quite know what was going to happen from here. I could go home, I could go to children and youth, I could maybe get arrested. I just didn’t know. My family doctor came in. My parents did not. He asked me if I wanted to die. I said no. He asked me what happened, it’s not like I could make anything up. I told him I cut myself, he asked why? I said because it lets me feel something again. He said I know he’s hitting you. I said so what? Nobody can help me. Every time someone gets involved it gets worse, and I can’t take anymore. He said if I told him he promised to God he would never hit me again. So I said yes, he’s been beating me for years. No one cares.

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Well he did. Because on this day, I was never hit by him ever again.