My memories of my childhood are hazy and hard to grasp. I have serious issues with my father and mother. At four years old, I can remember my dad explaining to me how my mum was having sex with another man and how much this pained him. I am unable to remember my reaction to his statements. A few months after this incident, when we had moved again, I can remember my father asking me to read off a bit of paper and answering some of his questions. As, the trusting child I was, I did this for him. Unknown to me at the time, he recorded everything I said. He had coached me before hand, and I said exactly what he needed me to say. Another few months, and I had all but forgotten about the discussions my father and I had had.
Nearly a full year later, or so I'm lead to believe, and my parents had their first argument in front of me; perhaps they'd had others before this, but I simply can't remember. Of this argument I don't remember much, just people yelling and screaming, of threats to call the police and a phone being ripped off of the wall. I can distinctly remember my mother yelling at me to go across the road to one of our neighbors and get them to ring the police and then my father screaming at me not to. I don't remember what I did. I think that night dad spent the night in the car.
Since that "first" argument over the next two years there was many more, but none I can remember with any vividness. Also in that same time period there were many nighttime drives with my dad. Mum is, and was then, the district manager for her department and this required a great deal of her time. Often she would need to attend functions and such late into the night, this of course did little to ease my fathers suspicions. My father being around sixty-nine or seventy at that time, and my mother being in her early - mid forties.
My dad would drag me along with him as he drove all over town in search of my mother's car. He would even point out clubs that he was going to go into to check. He also ensured that I knew the ins and outs of STD's (Sexually Transmitted Diseases,) telling me stories about them, and giving lengthy lectures on each and every one that my mother could be contracting as we spoke. This not only led to a fear of sexual intercourse, but also to me having an intimate fear of people and contact. In short, I became paranoid about who I would allow to touch me, and the sight of another's blood would guarantee that I was in the shower scrubbing myself raw within the next five minutes.
It took a while to get over this fear, and I'm not sure I am completely - the idea of sharing a drink with anyone, let alone my mother both sickens me, and shames me. When I was seven, my mother and I left dad and moved into a small flat near the beaches. I changed schools at this time as well. Within a year dad had followed us out there and moved into a flat about five apartments down from ours.
A lot happened between then and the time I was eleven but none I feel compelled to mention here. Though it may be necessary for you to know that, I changed schools again when I was nine, and moved again. At the end of year six, my parents were living together again, for me they said, but not sleeping in the same room. Things were quiet for a while but as was usual for my family things were never peaceful for long.
One day mid year something snapped in my mum and she jumped on top of my father as he bent down to pick up his glasses. Within seconds dad had his hands around her throat and mum was yelling at me to call the police. I didn't know what to do. I can't remember very much of this episode, having a brain that blocks nearly everything out by habit. But I believe I ran next door crying and my friend's mum rang the police. As I said my memories are very disjointed, because I have two memories of what happened next; I can remember my father going to the car, and me driving off with him to the police station. Yet, I also distinctly remember the cops arriving at my house and driving me to the police station; perhaps these were two separate incidences, I don't know. My mother came out on top of the fight though, giving my father several cracked ribs.
Not long after that we moved again in time for the start of year seven. I attended the same school I had in year two and three. Nothing extra- ordinary happened in this time. My father once again followed my mother and me and moved across the road from us. They've had so many fights since then I can barely remember any events of that year at all.
I am fourteen, depressed, suicidal and a self-harmer. I dislike most people intensely as generally they serve only to annoy me. My best friend is just that, my best friend; and possibly the only person on this earth whose phone calls don't arouse my annoyance at being interrupted. I have several friends at school, and to my surprise am liked by quiet a few people. I don't know why, seeing as I have very few likable qualities about me. I find most people amusing, and am extremely good at manipulating them. I can't remember things that happen two days ago with any clarity because, as is routine with my mind, it blocks out things by habit.
And so there we have it. My fragmented recollection of my past.
A/N: This was difficult to write, and doesn't seem to be flow easily in its reading. Your opinion and feedback would be very much appreciated.