Suffer Please, Repeatedly

*This post was written by Anonymous, who rented my blog for the weekend.*

There were so many things that i got used to as a kid that no kid should ever have to get used to. All because of you. You of all people who should’ve had no impact on my life at all.  Your title was my mother’s boyfriend.  You were a loser working at a gym trying to become a cop.

But instead, I watched you beat my mother with a closed fist. Repeatedly..

I watched you punch holes in our walls. Our house. Repeatedly..

The non-stop rage induced by your constant steroid use.

The verbal abuse.  How many times did I hear the word bitch, whore, slut, fuck, cunt before I was even a teenager?  Did my Mother deserve any of that?  No, she didn’t, but your blood was filled  with evil.

I wonder if you remember the time you held me up by my neck because I was trying to pull you off my Mother who was covered in blood because of your hands.

All of this I learned to live with because my Mother kept taking you back.  She was trapped by your poison because she believed she did not deserve any better.

You caused her to have a mental breakdown at 35 years old.  I had to literally coach my Mother out of bed everyday because you made her believe she was nothing without you. You left me to take care of my sisters because my mother was useless. Broken from your insecure, loser ass.

I learned to live with it.

But then you crossed the line; a line that I have never learned to live with.  Why you chose me as your prey that day I have no idea?  Why did I answer the door that day?  Why did I have to be home sick from school that day?  So  may “why’s” fill my head about this day that will never be answered.

In one big slow moving motion, I found myself pegged to the couch. Feeling your hand over my mouth as you silenced my no’s. Feeling your forearm across my chest to immobilize my arms, and then feeling your free hand trying to rip open my rope all while I felt your nasty breath on my neck telling me to shut the fuck up are memories that still haunt my dreams. Thankfully you must have gotten spooked because it was only your fingers that tried entered me.  Because you released me and ran out of the house.

I was only 13 years old you pig.

I sat and cried for three hours straight until my mother came home.

My tears were wiped up.  I was showered.  I changed my clothes.  My mother never knew.  Nobody did.

My mother thankfully sent your sorry ass packing a few years later.

But what gets me today, is the audacity that you had to stalk me six years later when I was living alone in my own apartment.  How you found me, was easy; you were a fucking cop, after all!

The non-stop harassing phone calls threatening me and saying the most vile things into the phone, but the number could only to be traced to one of your friend’s numbers.  I remember so many nights laying in my apartment wide awake because I was scared to death you would break in during one of your fits of rage.

I finally called the cops when you started the drive-bys.  I had to file a report.  I had to show them evidence, evidence that it was you. The tapes meant nothing to them.  You were one of them, they tried to protect you.

But then, something spooked you because it all stopped. To this day my Mother does not know exactly what a pig you are.  I could never bring myself to put that guilt on her head.

Because that is what she would do, she would blame herself for your sickness.

I am not religious, but I believe in Karma.  I hope that you are faced with the pain you inflicted on me.  Who knows if there are others?  But you are dead in my book.  I just hope you suffer in your life.  Repeatedly.

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