Nothing Like Family

I can recall hitting my brothers with everything from massive bricks out of the rock garden to throwing hot grease in their faces and do you know why? Because I refused to be their punching simply because they were older and male. My oldest brother jumped on me while pregnant with my 2 oldest children and while I jumped back, it was something I would have rather not dealt with. The sorry ass women in my family would always protect these animalistic males by bailing them out of jail to lying to the police once they arrived about what happened. I often felt alone and would even run away and seek refuge within other families because of reckless my family was. There really was no sanctuary for young children and women within my bloodline.

While neither of my brothers are beyond beating on women, my eldest brother beat a woman almost to death while my cousins, my mother's Sister, and her mother looked on. He did all of this while her 8 year old son looked on and screamed hysterically. He left his boot prints on her body, hit her with family size canned fruit till he split her skin, and then this 300+lb gorilla held both her hands in one of his, then proceeded to punch her unconscious with his free hand. Once he saw that she was lifeless, he then dragged her down the stairs of the front porch and once she was to the walkway, he proceeded to smack her face repeatedly in an effort to awaken her. Yeah, that's how you awaken a woman you just beat unconscious. you take your gorilla paws and slap her further into it.

Someone had the decency to call the police. He then jumped over the banister of the porch, took his shirt off alongside of the house, and ran off. When the woman's son tried to tell the police what happened, including trying to tell them about other times which included him busting the child's mouth open as he tried to help his mother, my grandmother told him to shut up, told the police he was lying and the whole 9. Needless to say, my aunt, the same aunt who had her teeth knocked out by him as well, opted not to speak up on this unconscious woman's behalf.

Once I got over the initial shock of my grandmother's death, I realized that I wanted her to die. She died a slow and horrible death, too. She would call my name each and everyday when she stayed with us. The night she died, my aunt said she kept calling my name, all the way up until she left. While I don't know how true that is, I hoped she saw my face before she took her last breath. I hope she recalled all her betrayal of women in general, the times she allowed my grandfather to beat her senselessly in front of her children, not realizing how it would damage them later on in life. My mother had a deep seated hatred for my grandmother, her mother, for not leaving him. My aunt, because she was his favored child, can't seem to recall any of the abuse. She just remembers them sleeping in the car while parked in the lot of the train station.

As a women's activist, I laugh when people talk about my hatred of men. "Oh, she must have been hurt, or dumped, and had her heart broken." Yeah, while all that sounds good, here's the real story. My initial pains all come at the hands of women. It comes at the hands of women who were supposed to love and protect me, rather than allow me to be ravaged while they stood by and said nothing. Each and every woman in my immediate family has done this. I mean from lying to the police to protecting the savage males who seem to be birthed from our family tree. I'm talking stories ranging from my uncle having shot the mother of his children and her friend right in his mother's, my grandmother's living room, to the physical assault of pregnant women, I've got a lifetime worth of horrifying tales to tell.

Well, I plan to tell those stories. I have every right to tell those stories. Far too many women are told to protect their families by keeping their mouths shut and those stories eat them from the inside out. Personally, I don't give a fuck about the a family name. I'll speak until my soul bleeds truth and my wings get lighter and I'm able to fly minus the regret of not killing these people myself. Everyday I wish I had forgiven less, stood up more and defended my own honor. I allowed people to hug me and say that they were sorry far too many times while later, doing the same thing. Today, I've got relatives who refuse to step in my presence because they know it's the equivalent to stepping on a landmine. Some smile and even pretend not to remember some of the atrocities that took place. Well, I remember. I remember it all like it were yesterday. My children can tell by the look on my face when I'm thinking about it. They'll say,"What are you thinking about and are you cussing to yourself?" Yeah, that's how I know it's time for me to get it out.

Don't remain silent for the sake of protecting anyone's image. Your mental health trumps reputation each and every time.