So i'ma just going to lay it down on the table. I have a mental disorder which may have been caused by the result of my brutal upbringing. I also suffer from short term memory loss which doctors have concluded was from a traumatic brain injury I acquired when I was 11.

A lot of the past was blurry, only sporadic memories appear out of order, and it has taken more than 2 years for me to even think about some of the things i witnessed. I've found hospital bills and talked with my brother and sisters about what they remember, a lot I think has been lost or blocked out but this is what I know and have finally come to terms with:

I was born in in Kilkenny Ireland. My family belonged to a community of travelers and I spend much of my early life in squat houses and illegal campgrounds. My dad was a drinker and a fighter. He would beat on my mother and my brother and sisters almost every night after spending all his day labor wages at the pub. I remember being woken by him coming through the kitchen door. i woul pull the covers up and pretend to be asleep. He would come upstairs yelling and drag us out of bed at all hours of the night. If we cried we would get beaten so badly. I would deliberately push him down and run away down the stairs to get him as far away from my sisters as possible. Most nights I would wake up from unconsciousness under the kitchen table. I don't really remember the beatings, but I remember the fear and the dispear. My brother got it the worst most nights. His arms would get broken and dad would wrap him in a sling and write "Clutz" across it in marker.

We went to a school where nobody really asked questions about bruised cheekbones and broken noses. We weren't the only kids. I still remember feeling ashamed though. We were made fun of constantly.
Dad was sent to jail when I was about 8 for theft. I knew it wouldn't be for long but there was a general sigh of relief when he was gone.

Al lot of stuff is a blurr but I know when he got out we moved again. I remember once getting beat really bad for being home late from school after a gang of kids stole my bike. I was about 11. I ended up in hospital with a collapsed trachea, 2 broken ribs, and bleeding on my brain. My dad told them I had been bucked off a horse. After that he moved us all to America. Brooklyn was a whole new world from what I knew. it was hard having no friends and family around. i felt completely isolated.

The beatings got worse as I grew older. It made me sick to my stomach with anger being there but there was nothing I could do. I tried running away countless times but I would always be found by a neighbor or the cops and they would take me home. I wanted to scream out no! But I thought somehow it would be worse if I told. I was hollow and alone inside.

As I grew older I started getting in fights and in trouble with the cops. My dad would lock me in the boiler cupboard for days (3 was the longest I think) in pitch darkness. I would get beaten within an inch of my life. I would never want to go home but I knew when I did it would be hell to pay. I knew as soon as I walked in the door I would have to sprint down the basement stairs to my room and lock the door.

Once when I was 15 I remember i was really late home and dad had waited up for me- drinking himself into a rage. He had me up the wall and he just kept punching me repeatedly in the stomach probably about 6 or 8 times. I tried to just check out and let it happen but I couldn't. He threw me down on the ground and kicked my head across the floor, cussing and spitting. I got up stumbled on the stairs and tripped face first down them.

I woke up in pitch black covered in blood and vomit a few hours later. That I remember was the breaker for me. I got real sick after that an I vomited blood for 2 days. My face had gotten pretty jacked and I couldn't move my right arm.
After a few days I remember a teacher asking me why I couldn't write an I told her I had hurt my arm, an she insisted I went to the nurse who told me right away that I had broken my clavicle . Long story short I told the nurse about what had happened and she had us all removed from the house. I spent 2 years in the foster system and at 17 I finally ran away and started a new
Life in Saint Lois MO. To be continued....

bodymodsoul bodymodsoul
22-25, F
Dec 3, 2012