The Lord's Prayer

I'm about to be in the fifth grade, and I don't care. I care for nothing anymore. Now, I try to be bad. I no longer minded her punishments. In fact, I welcomed them. I wanted to die. This life, or whatever you want to call it, it worthless. I'm worthless. I have begun to believe there is no God for me. There can't be. How could God let me suffer like this? I have done nothing but remained strong. All of these years, I kept the Lord close to my heart. I've done nothing but pray for help. He's given my nothing.  If there is a God, I hate him. I realize what else I hate... everything. I hate my mother with a passion. I could only wish death upon her. Sometimes, at night, I would try to calculate how soon she would die, in hopes to gain freedom. I hate my brothers because she didn't beat them and because the just stood by - watching. They were her servants. I hate my coward father for leaving me like this. I hate this madhouse. I hate my life. It was living Hell, and I hated it all. Most of all, I hate myself. I hate myself for not being stronger. For not standing up to her. For being so pathetic. I was cold heartened and knew nothing but hatred before I've even entered the fifth grade. I have come to realize, there is no salvation for me. And even though I have decided God doesn't exist - I still find myself praying to him. Asking. Begging. For anything.

While Father is Away

Even though my father had failed me in the past, I still believed him to be my protector. This was simply because, at the end of the day - things were clearly worse when father is away. Mother is even more cruel, and I get nastier punishments.Unfortunately, father is slowly and slowly drifting away from this madhouse, leaving me in the rear-view mirror. I don't exactly blame him, though. Even when he was home, he was forbidden to spend time with me. Mother said he gave me "too much attention." This sucked every morsel of hope out of me. Father was all that I had, and he had just been ripped away.When he was away, Mother fed me even less. I remember, once, going without food for ten days. She made sure I had no way of stealing it either. Mother liked to mock my misery. She'd lay a big plate of food in front of me, and right before I could dig in - she'd say I was taking too long and snatch the plate away. By now, her punishments got worse. She created a home made gas chamber in our bathroom, just for me. This nearly scared me to death the first time, but I've gotten used to it. Though it does slow down my pace, and if my chores don't get done on time it would mean more punishments. When she didn't feel like punishing me, she'd send me out to do neighbor hood yard work. She liked this for two main reasons. One, It got me out of the house, which gave her a "break." And two, I made money for her. One time, an old woman gave me a sack of lunch. As it never fails, Mother caught me. My punishment was new. She put me in the tub filled with freezing cold water for hours. Then, she'd make me dress myself without drying myself off (this soaked my clothes) and sent me out back to sit id the shade for the remainder of the evening. This was the worst of punishments. I hated it. Towards the end of the summer, Mother stopped this nonsense. She spoke to me with the loving heart I once knew. She said she was sorry and wanted to forget all of the bad things that happened between us. She wanted to end it, and she wanted to apologize. I couldn't believe it. She even told me she loved me! I couldn't tell you how excited I was. I expected it to be over by the morning, but it wasn't. It wasn't until the next day when a nice woman came. She was from Children Services. She asked us a series of questions, and I replied all with a smile. Ever since Mother said she loved me, I'd had a warm spot in my tummy. The woman asked me if Mother ever beat me. Then it hit me. Things aren't really over. This was all a cover up. Mother had tricked me. How could I be so stupid? I told to woman Mother punished me, but only when I was bad. The second she walked out of the door, Mother gave me that look. That "I hate you and I'm about to show you what hate it" look. Which only proved my newly discovered theory. How could I let this happen? I should have known. I should have gone with my gut. I truly hated myself for this one. I then knew that the only thing I could do, is accept my fate. After that, my father moved away. Away, away. Mother and Father separated. I could no longer hope to be saved by him. It was a lost cause. I have feared my life, and half felt relieved that soon enough I'd just be dead. 

The Accident

The school year seemed to go by pretty fast. Which most kids like... but not me. Unlike everyone else - summer does not bring me friends, vacations, late nights watching movies or the summer skies. Summer brings me Hell. All day, stuck at home being Mother's slave. By now, I'm used to her punishments. But, I try to be as obedient as possible, because I know it wouldn't take long for her to whip up some new, dreadful, punishments. Just as the school year passed, so were my days of stealing food. During the summer, I'm hardly ever given the chance to eat. If I'm lucky, I'll get a couple nibbles every couple days. On one particular day, she -as usual- called me up after dinner to clean the kitchen. She seemed angry, and started screaming at me. For some strange reason, I knew something was off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it though, so I just continued to listen to her. Screaming and screaming at me. She even raised a knife to threaten me, but I didn't too scared. I know how her games work now. Finally, she commanded eye contact. I slowly raised my head to meet her eyes. And I knew instantly what was off. It was Mother, herself! I could tell by the look in her eyes. She began to wobble, and I froze. Do I ask if she's okay? Do I try to help stabilize her? Just as reality hit me, I saw something coming at me from the corner of my eye. Suddenly, I felt a horribly sharp pain just above my stomach. I couldn't believe my eyes... she stabbed me. I hurled over to the floor and everything went black. I woke up in the bath room. Mother was by my side, trying to stop the bleeding and clean me up. Though she practiced to be a nurse, I knew this was too much for her to handle. In a matter of seconds, I realized this very well could be the end! She'll have to take me to the hospital now. And no lie, no matter how great, can get her out of this. They'll catch her this time. I'll finally escape this living Hell. But, to my surprise, she just sat there. Cleaning my up - dressing my wound. She had determination in her eyes. Then, I knew she intended to keep this our little secret. There was no hospital in my future. No salvation. My shirt was completely and utterly soaked with my, now cold, blood. After I could stand, I still had to finish the kitchen. I found it nearly impossible to stand, walk, and even breathe. Mother did give me a glass of water and a few bites of food. Then she let me go out with my brothers and light sparklers. I soaked up the suns warmth, just before watching it set. I couldn't believe it. And I even woke up to her giving my cold cloths during the night. She told me I had a fever, but I already knew that much. I wouldn't dare ask for an advil. Mother even slept in my brothers basement room, so she was closer to me. This made me feel safe. I couldn't help but to think... could this really be the end? Will I be part of the family again? In the morning, I came to realize nothing had changed. I woke up to her telling me to clean the kitchen. Before I did so, I checked my wound. I hurt so bad, still. And as soon as I looked at it, I could tell why. It was swollen with puss and looked like something out of a horror movie. I managed to clean myself up - even though I wanted to puke from how bad it hurt. I thought 'Superman can do it, so can I,' and I did! I cleaned myself pretty well. I couldn't really show or even feel proud to the fullest, for how horribly bad I still ached. But, I am alive, am I not? I then knew I truly could survive anything.

The Fight for Food

A while after the burn incident, school became my only hope of escape. I knew at school, I would be free from mother - even if it were only for eight hours. September came fast and the new school year was about to start. I was sooo happy. Mother, surprisingly, bought me a nice new clothes and a very shiny lunch pail. However, since I had to wear the close week after week, they quickly became weathered, torn, and smelly. I was normally covered in bruises - but when asked, without thought, mother's brainwashed excuses fled my mouth. More than often, she would "forget" to feed me dinner. Breakfast wasn't much hope either. It was hard to sleep at night, with my stomach begging for food. "Maybe tomorrow," I would comfort my belly. When sleep finally came, I would dream of divine feasts prepared for me, specially. My mouth would soon water and my empty stomach would pout. I became smart enough to start stealing snacks out of my classmate's lunch bags. They soon traced the evidence to me, and my classmate's hated me even more. Of course, they called home. That meant double punishment when I came home. By now, I was "the Boy." No more David. Since I was such a bad boy at school, the principle called in Mother for a meeting. She dressed up and played the part, making it  seem like I hurt myself for attention. She brought in my new baby brother, and showed the loving mother side that I no longer knew. So, satisfied, my principle thanked her and walked her out. That summer, we made our last trip even to the Russian river - my favorite place in the world. Fed up with my starvation, mother made me eat my baby brothers dirty diaper. I tried everything to escape it. Even stalling until Father and my brother returned. But I failed, unluckily. I tasted and smelt the diaper for days. I had no dignity.When I returned to school, I was still "Pelzer-Smellzer," and my hunger remained. One day, I had an idea. At recess, I had to stand alone - so no one really noticed me. My plan was to sneak to the store and steal food, but return by the end of recess and act like I never left. It took weeks to make this plan fool-proof. Even when it was finished to perfection, I was to scared to go. One day,  went for it. I got to the store quicker that scheduled - so I had time to browse. I finally got nervous, took the first thing I saw (which happened to be crackers) and run. I hid them in the boys bathroom trash, and when I returned to eat them, I couldn't believe what I saw, the janitor had already come and emptied the trash. All of my planning...down the drain. It wasn't over, though. Then next day, I returned. And It became a weekly thing. As always, I got caught. Mother punished me and things went back to normal.Then I started stealing bits of food from the school cafeteria's freezer. Mother made me puke it up though. After she made me eat my puke, I laid off stealing food for a while. I knew I made Mother very mad, because she then informed me that I was no longer 'privileged' enough to sleep in the house. She threw me down to the garage, and from that point on, I slept out there on an old army cot. The after school "vomit test" became an every day thing. But I figured If I somehow got food in the morning, it would be digested by the time I got home. So, I began begging for food from houses on my way to school. This was successful until I accidentally went to a house of Mother's acquaintance. Her punishment... a spoonful of ammonia? Finally, a punishment I could take easily. If I could eat a dirty diaper, I sure as heck could swallow a little bit of liquid. As soon It hit my throat,  I couldn't breathe. I tried and tried and tried, but nothing happened. I began to panic. I was going to die, I knew it. But, with Mother's slap, I burped - and I could breathe again. he repeated this punishment the next night as well. My tongue was blistered and peeling and hurt a lot. Since then, I have had to swallow Clorox and Mother's favorite - soap. I took a time or two before I figured out how to no actually swallow the soap. I was very proud! Yet again, Mother did not win!

Bad Boy

The relationship between my mother and me changed drastically in a very short amount of time. There was a fast transition from discipline to punishment. I was very unlucky and always got caught acting up or being a bad boy. At first, I was just sent to the corner of my room. This became an every day thing. My mother had two sides now. The drunken/hungover side that only wore a bathrobe and never left the couch unless it was to grab a snack or another drink. The the side that still got dolled up for father. Wearing nice clothes an make up. I quickly learned which side meant more punishment and less privilege. After too many 'bathrobe' days, she decided the corner treatment wasn't enough. She then started smashing my head against the bathroom mirror, leaving behind oils from my face and tear streaks. I would then have to stair into my reflection repeating "I'm a bad boy! I'm a bad boy!" Sometimes I would be left in there for hours, becoming my own enemy. Why was I so bad? Why couldn't I just be a good boy for Mother?  Every couple minutes, I would prepare myself for re-entry - only when I heard the television, which I was forbidden to ever watch again, switch to commercial break. When I wasn't stuck in the bathroom, I was looking for little things Mother may or may not have misplaced... creating a never ending search. Everyday it was a different item. I always failed though. Sometimes, I would imagine myself finding what she asked me to. I would hold it high and walk confidently towards her. And she would welcome me with open arms and hold and kiss me. And I would feel, once again, that special warmth grow in my tummy. Knowing I didn't disappoint her. I regret to inform you, this was never the case. Eventually, I learned that I did have a safe spot. A shield. My father. When he was home, I knew I would be okay.There were even times, when Father made Mother look so happy, I though my 'bad' days were over. I was always wrong through - they were only just beginning. While Father was my only shield, he wasn't always around to help me out. I hated him for it to. Especially on one occasion, when mother held my arm over the burning stove top... where moments later, she ordered me to lay on top of the burners so she could watch me burn to death. Boy, was she ever so serious. I was sure my life would end that night. Father didn't save me that night... my brother did - only upon his entry. Mother wouldn't dare be that horrible if we weren't alone. Would she?

Good Times

I remember the good times, and I miss them. You see, things weren't always this bad. Mother used to love me and treat me good. She used to care about our family. A great wife and a great mommy. I remember how beautiful she looked, how warm she felt. In distant time, before the abuse started, I felt loved. Believe it or not, I used to be a good boy. Back when we had a 'magazine family' similar to The Brady Bunch. We were perfect. We lived in a modest home which sat in "the good" neighborhood. My father was a fireman. He was perfect in every aspect, and I remember that warm/special feeling when he winked at me and called me "Tiger." My mother was a woman who glowed with love for her family. She was very determined. She used to drive us around town just to tell stories of important landmarks. Pouring her knowledge into us about the culture and its history. We were fascinated, always. We had dinner, and family time... but most importantly, we had love. Mother always kept the house spotless and fresh. A room was never left untouched - even the flower garden! I swear, everything my mother toughed turned to gold. It doesn't even stop there. She was a lovely cook and every meal was a fantastic one. I remember feeling happy and fulfilled. Our home was normally filled with beautiful tunes that danced through the halls and filled each room. Home could never be more alive - until the holidays came! Every room had a different theme and holiday dinners were even more divine. I remember the way Christmas felt. At Christmas, there was no such thing as over decorating. Our Christmas tree never stood an inch under eight feet and never lacked TLC. Lights draped the poor thing. Ornaments jammed in every nook and cranny, though it never looked bad! As fast as Christmas came, it left. But the spring to come was nevertheless magical. Mother and father would hauled us into the station wagon along with bags and suitcases and other miscellaneous items. Where were we going, you may ask? My favorite place in the world... the Russian River! We used to have a lot of family adventures, and I remember all of them. I remember never feeling so safe and warm!

The Rescue

For an eventful morning, I seem rather pleased with myself. Although I was behind schedule and hadn't finished the dishes in time for mother's liking, I did receive breakfast! The wonderful remains of my brothers cereal bowl, which only contained a few bits of Lucky Charm, but was great considering I wasn't allowed to eat dinner last night. And apart from my morning punishment (for her catching me with my hand out of the soapy dish water) I put on an Oscar winning act for mother - helpless and defeated. I knew she felt accomplished, because she left the kitchen with an utmost satisfied look on her face. But as soon as she left the, my body relieved itself. She may beat me all she desires, but she will never take away my will to somehow survive... And that means way more than any old bruise or scar. Mother can have all the battles, it's the war that's MINE! Unfortunately, I was a little late for school. You might be thing "unfortunately?!," but I really like school. It gives me time away from mother. Time away from life. Even though I don't have any friends... My mom, as a form of humiliation, only allows me only one outfit. And over two years, my shirt, pants, and shoes have all worn down - a lot. Plus, I guess I kinda smell bad. Not too bad, though, because I got used to it. They haven't. My classmates never let me forget, either. When I finally arrive at school, I'm quite late. So I have to go to the office. As I sit and wait, the nurse comes out and pulls me into her office. She routinely checks my body, and today I guess my new marks drew attention. She asks me what happened to my eye. I know better than to tell the truth. That I was a bad boy this morning, so mother slammed my head into the kitchen counter. No... I tell her I accidentally ran into the door. The accidental part, is most important... After thinking, she pulls out her clip board. She surprises me "Look here, David. You said that last week -" I quickly change my story. "I was playing baseball, and I accidentally got hit with the bat." I don't think she believes me though. However, she releases me to class. I have a test today, and I'm not properly prepared. Just as I sit down, though, a police officer pulls me right back out of class. Uhh ohh. I just know I'm going to jail. He knows I'm a bad boy, and by the looks of it - so do my classmates. I deserve to be in jail though, so maybe this is best. To my surprise, he takes me into a room with all of my teachers. They make me tell the officer the truth. I hesitate. Too many people know, already. I fold though, and spill my guts to them. An emotional wave hits the room, and one of my teachers have to leave the room, crying. The police man then takes me to his car, and I know we're about to go downtown. To jail... He does take me downtown, but he doesn't lock me up. He does, however, call my mom. I would have rather been locked in prison. I just know I'll get it this time. Way worse that this morning. Worse than anything she's ever done. He tells her I'll be spending the night in  jail. I happy that she can't get to me tonight, at least. Then he puts me back and the car, and we drive towards the highway? We head out of town...and I'm so confused. Where are we going? What's he going to do? Then he tells me I'm free. What does that mean? Free?