back to this

what i know, what i remember.

young or old, girl or boy? whoever wants to read, comprehend, this is the authors thoughts, feelings and what i hear and see.
youll just be reading my history and present.
i dont know how to explain to you. not yet at least.
the very beginning of my life is not something i remember clearly. i only remember moments when i cried. i dont understand why it was only when i cried. i want to remember good things too.

growing up, an alcoholic father, overworked mother, trouble making brothers.
i always thought, maybe they would come around some day. only my brothers and mother did. what i call a ¨father¨ isnt really my father.
yes he is my birth father, i just dont feel like he is my dad because of his behavior, a dad is caring, loving, thoughtful, considerate,fun and they want to share their life with those who are important to him, his kid/s and his wife. thats not what he was.

my perspective: my dad was hard working, i would visit him at work, but there was a point in my life where i had to visit him in jail. that was very difficult as a kid. seeing my dad in hand cuffs, not being able to hug him, that hurt me. i dont think he was hurt at all. he put himself there. he was an alcoholic since he was young, i mean around 17. he married my mom at 23, 22? i have no clue. i was the first child. thats later on. anyways. he´s also the violent one, so you probably guessed right, abuser. he hurt my mother since they got married, in front of his parents. i would love my grandma to death if it werent so hard, she also has fault in this. she saw what happened in her house, yet she let it happen, he hurt her right in front of my grandmothers face what she said ¨do that outside not here¨ so thats what he did. now years have past, he took her virginity and whatever. she wasnt aware that she was pregnant. my mom was working at the moment and she had pains in her stomach that thought that were abnormal. my dad didnt take her to the hospital. my aunt did. when they got there, they said she was pregnant. a week or 2 later something happened. she felt this un natural feeling again, she ended up going to the hospital again to find out that, she was having twins.
see, everything was fine up til a few weeks later, the one day she had a check up, she was told, one didnt make it. so now im here.
8 months later, i was born, my dad, 2 aunts, 2 uncles, 2 cousins came to visit me. my mom chose the name, my dad was going to name me esmeralda.
no thank you.
i was given the name lizbeth. i shorten it to liz. just because i dont like when people mispronounce my name.
i was born may 21 2003. im not so old, im 15 currently.
anyway, months later, my mom was working the night shift im assuming, my dad stayed home with me, ew, i was put in my crib and he was in living room, he invited another woman into our home. my mom knew. she didnt want to raise me alone. so she kept her mouth shut, she wasnt the only one, my uncle saw it too, i wish he did something.
we moved from there to another house, i still have the images in my mind, the swing set, the slide, my tent. i lived there for 4 years, the second year i lived there, my brother was born, then the last brother was born. we moved somewhere bigger. bigger than what we lived in. i didnt know that i was going to be stuck here for the majority of my life.
these years i lived in this same house, have been traumatizing for me.
i have a heart as delicate as glass and a mind like a hard stone. i think i was just 6 when i first witnessed my dad in a drunk state.
5 beers werent enough, neither was 20, i think he had about 35 or so, and had tequila. his friends werent any better either when they were drunk.  theyre great people when sober, not my dad. his just the worst, sober or drunk.
we went back home after this baby shower, i know, drunk dudes at a baby shower?
she just had to let my dad drive. he was intoxicated. he surpassed the speed limit, never looked both ways, and would stop randomly at times.
that night, my brothers and i thought we were going straight to sleep, well my mom came into our room and layed in mine specifcally. she was scared, i walked over to the kitchen when i was told not to, he was putting a knife into his shoe. hiding it, covering it with the bottom of the pants, i knew he was going to do something.  so i walked quietly to the room, what i heard ¨i know youve been doing shit, youre not as inoccent as you think you are.¨ thats what he said. he kept talking to himself. my mom obviously crying by now, he walked unevenly into the room, he couldnt keep his balance. he pulled my mom by the wrist and she resisted.  she didnt want to go with him. he took her anyways, me and my brothers, yelling at him.
¨stop, dont touch her anymore!¨
those who dont know. i put others first instead of myself. meaning others are more important than me.
she was gone.
out of the room. when he took her i heard every hit. i closed my eyes and waited til it was over, my brothers were crying i comforted them and i thought that this wasnt going to be forgotten.
when the crying and sobbing stopped, we heard it stopped. the yelling, screaming in fear stopped, it was silent. faint cries coming from the bathroom.
he pulled her hair out, and had cuts against her chest and side of her face. this wasnt the last time she got hurt. this lasted a while. things got harder and harder. life wasnt treating me fairly.
i wanted to change everything.
i couldnt, i didnt know how, i just knew how to cry. 
how to fall apart.
that was just the beginning of the suffering.