Feeling Excluded from a Group

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As the last child of a mother of three, you would expect to be treated as a baby. Never in a million years would I think my own flesh and blood would ostracize me. Every flashback causes my skin to turn turkey white. Recollection of being abused with no rescue reminds me why I shelter my empathy. I have suffered long enough to the point where I have attempted to take my own life to end it all. Exclusion is the master of dejection. With each step I took, the wooden splintered floors groaned caused my presence to be announced. I roamed the dungeon like halls to get my day started to once again be attacked. Luckily, not physical physically but by glares from my mother and siblings. They moved together like a pack of wolves waiting to prey on their next meal. My stomach churned due to distress and intimidation. I had no choice but to enter the savage’s kingdom to use my one and only shower privilege.

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As I walked in with my head down, chin tucked, and eyes grounded. My composure mimicked a scaredy-cat instead of a champion. I was pathetic and showed no assertiveness. Quickly I undressed myself to reveal the ecchymosis, welted like skin, and petechial torso from my last brutal beat down. I was naked and fingered my dark brown, mid back length, matted hair bracing myself. I introduced my tormented skin to hypothermic water from the shower head jets. The cold temperature was only customized for the demon child, me. The droplets of water always brought me back to feeling like a newbie junkie getting their first high. When I showered it was never pleasant because it consisted of washing away old blood and the water piercing my raw skin. As I was getting ready to wash my hair as footsteps where approaching. As routine I knew trouble was coming and I opted to hair washing another day. Before I could get out of the shower my face was back handed. I stumbled onto the floor into fetal position to protect myself which was pointless because I was near comatose.

The beating just would not stop. “Didn’t I tell you to wash the damn dishes”, my mother hollered. She pounded on me and pulled my hair simultaneously not waiting for me to collect myself and respond. I squealed in agony as I felt my hair ripped from the root in bunches. With all my might I forcefully let out, “Yes, I washed them all!” My head was then shaking like a rag doll and I was being slapped around in the tub. “Just quit lying!” With every word was a parallel head bang to the tub surface. I stopped explaining myself when I realized she would only understand from her perception. She was fixed the ideation that everything I did was wrong and deserved consequences. This had to be the worst beat down I ever endured. I began to have vertigo and saw black spots floating. The pulling and pounding eventually ceased, but I just continued to clutch my stomach. I lived a double life outside of this place. Makeup and winter clothes hid the actual proof of my reality. Anyone outside of this home would think I have it all because of how my perpetrator portrays herself to the public. The next day I was sprawled in the tub covered in bright red blood that crusted over my arms. Quickly, I forced my bruised body upright to make my way out of the bathroom to avoid confrontation. You would think siblings would have sympathy or even try to stop my mother and her barbaric actions, but not my siblings.

In actuality, I was set up by them, I figured. I washed the dishes while she was getting dressed for work. She even saw me in the kitchen with her own eyes but, yet I am the disobedient child! I left the kitchen spotless and even made sure to warn my older siblings to wash any dishes they used. I was sure this was a purposeful plot against me because my siblings despised me. I was always hated by them and it made me want to do deranged things to them and myself. I was on my own and didn’t have no one to pat my back and say, “Everything will be okay. ” It was survival mode every single day. Self -harm was on my to-do list every single day because my own family wanted nothing to do with me.

The beatings began after my dad passed from leukemia in 2010. Every night I would cry myself to sleep, I would see my dad reaching out to grab me behind a set of large gold, white wrought-iron gates in the clouds. “Grit your teeth and let it hurt. Don’t deny it, don’t be overwhelmed by it. It will not last forever. “-Harold Kushner. This was my dad favorite quote to uplift anyone in despair. Fast forward to where I conquered by oppressors. It all began to fall in place after seeking help from the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. I received enough aid, housing, and monthly food stipend to survive. Today I am more than just surviving. Today I am one of the bestselling authors in The New York Times. Today I am a mother of two beautiful twin girls. Today I am a wife. To anyone going through exclusion say to yourself, “You should read history and look at ostracism, persecution, martyrdom, and that kind of thing. They always happen to the best men, you know. “-George Eliot. You’re not alone and should never let others drive you to desolation.

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