I feel like such a weakling right now.
Every single day of my life, whether it's a holiday or a normal day, I wake up and feel nothing but dread. I can hear my mind say "today is just not going to be a good day, just like the last few days." And when I fully wake up, I'm right. People all around me, especially my stepfather, make wrong allegations toward me, falsely accuse me of stuff I had nothing to do with, and in a nutshell just plain looks for something to fight me about.
He gives me two choices: bottle up my rage and let it consume me, or take a merciless beating. I can't just bottle up my feelings, that's never worked out for me, so....
June 13th, 2015. We are staying at the Budgetel on Market Street in Wilmington. A heated argument about a video game my stepdad is playing balloons into a physical bout. Quickly losing, I find myself wrist-pinned to my own bed as he takes his foot and stomps on my stomach as hard as he can, the impact making his foot touch the mattress through my stomach. He does this seven more times till I can't breathe, then lifts me up and wraps his arm around my throat, completely closing it for three whole minutes. During this time I am unable to speak or make any noise with my voice, let alone breathe at all. I hallucinate psychadelic colors around my vision and I can't tell anything that's going on, despite being able to distinguish my environment. Suddenly, as he yells profanities, he gives me five hooks with his fists, before finally blasting my face in with another fist, causing blood to paint my face and pepper the blankets. I can't move any part of my body at this point. He grabs both my feet, pulls me to the bathroom in our hotel room, shoves my upper body into the bath cavity and turns the shower on maximum heat, cleverly remarking "Your ass is dirty as hell, why don't you get a shower, dumbass?!" Pinning my chest and wrists again to the side of the bathtub, I can't do anything except struggle and writhe in place erratically while the scalding hot, magma-like water from the shower head starts to pull my skin off and eat at my flesh through my shirt. I have regained only a handful of strength, just enough to get on my feet, but not before he violently kicks me into the wall of the bathroom, my head striking it real hard as my vision flashes white. Dazed and confused I cannot think clearly nor can I do anything coherent. He gives me one last, colossal punch to the stomach that is so hard you could see the bulge out my back, and now I just pass out, near death.
I wake up the next morning to an ice pack on my forehead along with several bandages all over me, blotched with red blood stains, still dizzy, and two parents fighting to the verbal death over what happened the night before. Nearby paramedics come to check on me, and surprisingly enough I didn't have to go to the hospital because they said I was no longer in any life-threatening danger, but it was mandatory that I stay right where I was in bed and NOT GET UP except to use the bathroom.
To this day, the abuse continues and it only makes my anger burn hotter. If something isn't done to stop this unnecessarily mandatory fighting schedule I may end up seriously hurting someone or even worse murder them. That's not a joke.
Every single day of my life, whether it's a holiday or a normal day, I wake up and feel nothing but dread. I can hear my mind say "today is just not going to be a good day, just like the last few days." And when I fully wake up, I'm right. People all around me, especially my stepfather, make wrong allegations toward me, falsely accuse me of stuff I had nothing to do with, and in a nutshell just plain looks for something to fight me about.
He gives me two choices: bottle up my rage and let it consume me, or take a merciless beating. I can't just bottle up my feelings, that's never worked out for me, so....
June 13th, 2015. We are staying at the Budgetel on Market Street in Wilmington. A heated argument about a video game my stepdad is playing balloons into a physical bout. Quickly losing, I find myself wrist-pinned to my own bed as he takes his foot and stomps on my stomach as hard as he can, the impact making his foot touch the mattress through my stomach. He does this seven more times till I can't breathe, then lifts me up and wraps his arm around my throat, completely closing it for three whole minutes. During this time I am unable to speak or make any noise with my voice, let alone breathe at all. I hallucinate psychadelic colors around my vision and I can't tell anything that's going on, despite being able to distinguish my environment. Suddenly, as he yells profanities, he gives me five hooks with his fists, before finally blasting my face in with another fist, causing blood to paint my face and pepper the blankets. I can't move any part of my body at this point. He grabs both my feet, pulls me to the bathroom in our hotel room, shoves my upper body into the bath cavity and turns the shower on maximum heat, cleverly remarking "Your ass is dirty as hell, why don't you get a shower, dumbass?!" Pinning my chest and wrists again to the side of the bathtub, I can't do anything except struggle and writhe in place erratically while the scalding hot, magma-like water from the shower head starts to pull my skin off and eat at my flesh through my shirt. I have regained only a handful of strength, just enough to get on my feet, but not before he violently kicks me into the wall of the bathroom, my head striking it real hard as my vision flashes white. Dazed and confused I cannot think clearly nor can I do anything coherent. He gives me one last, colossal punch to the stomach that is so hard you could see the bulge out my back, and now I just pass out, near death.
I wake up the next morning to an ice pack on my forehead along with several bandages all over me, blotched with red blood stains, still dizzy, and two parents fighting to the verbal death over what happened the night before. Nearby paramedics come to check on me, and surprisingly enough I didn't have to go to the hospital because they said I was no longer in any life-threatening danger, but it was mandatory that I stay right where I was in bed and NOT GET UP except to use the bathroom.
To this day, the abuse continues and it only makes my anger burn hotter. If something isn't done to stop this unnecessarily mandatory fighting schedule I may end up seriously hurting someone or even worse murder them. That's not a joke.
