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Little Boy from Little Town

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By Frank FoxPublished 7 years ago 3 min read
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First years of my life

I don't have an image or a video to put on this. All I have are my memories and even then I don't know how much of it is reliable... You'll understand in a minute.

I spoke about this kind of often but never wrote it to the public. Hopefully, my story will help someone. Actually, if it can help at least one person than I'll be happy. The story I'm about to write isn't a nice story and I don't know if it has a happy ending yet. This story is my story.

As I said at the start, I don't know how much of my memories are reliable and I think it's because I blocked most of it. I have bad memories that might've happened and good memories that were probably made up.

The first thing I remember, or at least the memory I got from when I was youngest was, actually pretty good. Typical childhood stuff — having pets, getting scared of monsters under my bed or in my closet or getting stung by a bee. Those first five years of my life were probably the happiest I had and sadly, I don't remember much of it, or at least not anything important.

I think it's at the age of five that my parents divorced, which again, as sad as it is, it is pretty normal. The really bad parts comes after. My mother moved in with a guy, whom I assume she was cheating on my dad with. At that point I don't remember this next detail but from what I've been told, my mom was already a substance abuser on alcohol and drugs, and the guy she went with was a woman-beater, so as you can imagine, this setup wasn't good for a child and his younger sister. That's where most of my memories fail me but here are the parts I do remember and I have no idea which of them came in which order.

Little fact, my crying stopped the man from beating my mom usually and sadly, I remember the night I stopped crying. I remember my sister and the man's daughter begging me to cry and I just couldn't. I can't remember what I felt but I do imagine that I felt very numb to it, either numb or angry. So that's one of them.

Another memory I got was that time me and my mom were wrestling/playing and by mistake I pushed my mom on the floor and the man picked me up, spun me around a couple of time and finally threw my on the couch that was almost across the room...I did cry that time.

Another one I have is kind of vague but I remember me, my sister, and my mom going to some sort of house or institution for beaten women and even so, my mom kept going back to him because, from what I gathered throughout the years, she couldn't deal with her addictions and he could give her all the substance she needed.

Another memory, and that one I remember very vividly, was the night where, as usual, he was beating my mom. It was the night where I had a Swiss multi-tool that had a pocket knife as one of the tools. I remember wanting to take that knife and go stab him and finish this once and for all. Even when I was in my twenties, someone once asked me if I could relive a moment or change a decision that I did or didn't take, which one would I choose? My answer was that moment. I wish I would've had the guts to go downstairs and stab him until he died and bled out or something...

I know this is a bad place to end it on but I'll continue writing another chapter later because, believe it or not, this isn't easy.

trauma
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