I'm a Survivor
I came into the world fighting for my life after all. Due to the complications of my mother's illness, I was sent off to live my grandfather and my mother's sisters almost a few days after I was born. I did not have much of a say in the matter. Staying with my mother would have ensured that I died an early death. She was strapped for cash and did not have the sources to support a baby who needed constant medical care in order to ensure its survival. That was how I came into the official care of my grandfather and aunts. But just like the fairy tales, my life with them was that required the child to constantly fight for survival at the hands of a cruel aunt whose only mission in life seemed to be to torment, torture, and try to kill the child that came into her care without asking for it. Having been raised in a household where my grandfather spent most of his days running the family business and the other sister of my mother off at work in order to earn her own money meant that I was left to be raised by a woman who would give Joan Crawford a run for her money in terms of cruelty towards children. Perhaps it was because of the fact that I was the product of a relationship that she did not approve of. Perhaps it was because I reminded her of my mother. Perhaps it was because I was a bad child. Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps. How was a child to know why such treatment was being heaped upon his person? All I knew as a child, was that I was constantly afraid and seeking the approval
of this person growing up. I needed the approval because without it, I would be constantly hurt physically, mentally, and emotionally. Sadly, that approval never came. As I matured, the mind games with this cruel woman also escalated. She could have worked for the CIA as an interrogator if you ask me. Yes, in my mind, she was that cruel. Even though I constantly asked her what I did to deserve such a treatment, her only response would be “Just because I want to treat you that way.” Some reason. Unfortunately, my mother was never in a position to defend me from the abuse. I don't think it was because she did not care, but because she was physically incapable of doing so. I bet that if she knew what was happening to me at that house, she would never have sent me back. But just like all cruel people in this world, she eventually had to get sick and move on to another world. I cared for her during her final days alive. Even in her deathbed she was a mean person who turned to verbal abuse in order to keep herself feeling alive. I remember telling myself all that time that I had to hold on. I need to keep myself sane and in charge of my faculties because my suffering would soon come to an end. And the end finally came for her. Her end signaled the start of a new life for me. It was almost like being reborn. I was free of the abuse that constantly hounded me during my early life. I was now free to discover who I was and what I was capable of without fear of repercussions. I finally had the chance to feel that I was alive and not the useless person she wished me to believe I was. I had survived the greatest ordeal of my life. Sometimes, it felt like I would never find happiness in life because she would live forever. I guess that is how evil people are seen sometimes. Almost as if they had the ability to stay alive in order to make sure that they could torment you for what seemed like forever.