I can't remember how old I was, maybe 14. I was banned to the kitchen to do dishes after dinner. My sister and her then husband were in the living room. It had been a particularly rough week if memory serves me correct. I had finished cleaning all the plates and glasses, now working on the cutlery, as I lifted the butcher knife from the water to clean it. The sides glistened and it was so shiny. I stood there for a moment, mesmerized by the knife, wondering...how quickly would this gash through my wrists?
Let me tell you how I got to this point in my life. My parents lived in Saudi Arabia and I chose to stay with my Sister after having lived in Saudi myself for two years. We were very close even though there was a nine year gap. She took care of me when my Mum couldn't.
I liked my brother-in-law when I met him. He was funny and friendly. He was much better than her last boyfriend! I stayed with them the summer of 1982 and when fall approached I started school. The moment it was decided that I was to stay with my sister, his demeanor changed towards me. He was no longer funny or friendly, he was physically abusive.
I recall the first time he slapped me in the face. We were living on Bell St N in a two bedroom apartment/duplex and I am almost positive they had friends over. I must have said something wrong because the next thing I knew the right side of my face was hit so hard I didn't have time to react for the hand that was ready to lay down on the left side. "That's what you get for talking back!" Talking back??? I always talked like this. What is talking back???
My Father never spanked me. I did one time get a swat on the mouth but I knew why, I was yelling like a crazy maniac because Angelique wouldn't let me roller skate with her and she stole my friend. I was 11 years old. My Father cried so hard over that and hugged me so tight I couldn't breathe. Yes, I was shocked when it happened but I understand why he did it.
I still don't understand, though, why my sisters ex-husband did it. I really was not a bad kid, spoiled yes, but not bad. For three years I was subjected to this and it became worse as I got older. He dragged me by my hair upstairs to my bedroom one time and then proceeded to rip it apart. Another time he slammed me up against a wall in the hallway and attempted to strangle me. Good thing I knew how to fight back, took him a while to stand up straight after that. And don't ever tell anyone where your sensitive spot is because that is where a person will aim for first. In this instance before I gave him the obligatory knee in the crotch, I hit him in his jaw, which was his sensitive spot due to many surgeries and ridicules from childhood tormentors because it used to stick out and made him look "like a lizard". This was the hit that loosened the grip around my neck.
They always had boarders. Some of them were nice, others were crazy. There are two boarders in particular that must have decided for themselves that if my ex brother-in-law was hitting me, they could too. The first time I was 13. His name was Tim. My friend Elizabeth was staying night and we really wanted to watch television but he was playing his guitar in the family room. He had a friend come over so we seized the opportunity to watch a program. When he returned about an hour later he lost it!! He grabbed me by my arm and dragged me towards my bedroom where he threw me into the closed door, which promptly opened upon impact. He then shoved me in the back, towards my bed, where my toe caught the leg. Nice......I now have a broken toe. I called my other brother-in-law, he came over to get us and brought us to Elizabeth's house where I stayed all weekend until my sister and her other half returned from a weekend away. The second time I was 14. Her name was Penny. I am not too sure what set her off, I just remember she grabbed my face and dug her false finger nails into my cheeks and mouth. I was standing on the first level of the stairs where I had a height advantage over her. I lifted my right leg up placed my foot square in the middle of her chest and kicked her off of me. I supported my self with the banister because I really need to get this crazy bitch off of me and leg power was the way to go. I am surprised I didn't stop her heart from beating. She moved out shortly after that happened.
My ex brother-in-law was a master manipulator and lair. He told my parents that he was doing the best he could with me but that I was out of control. I freaked out and started yelling at my parents over the phone and with much frustration hung up!! Yes, this call was placed all the way to Saudi Arabia, before those lovely phone plans, and I am sure cost a pretty fortune seeing how I did it twice in the same night.
I detest the kitchen table and do not eat there. I own one but that is about it. My ex brother-in-law loved to talk at the kitchen table. Here he would proceed to tell me that I was a looser, I was going to become a drug addict and alcoholic like my Mum and other sister. I was going to amount to nothing, I was a failure. No one cares about you, why do you think they dumped you here. Therefor, I eat on my couch at the coffee table. Mark Harmon doesn't seem to care either and keeps me entertained. Screw the family table, I can talk to my daughter about her day in the comfort of my family room.
I survived this abuse for three years. When I was 15 my parents sent me to Military School. I returned home for summer break and moved out when I was 16. I have pretty much been on my own since then. I did return home for my grade 12 year but found myself moving out again promptly for my grade 13 year. (No, I did not fail, there was a grade 13)
As the light flickered on the blade of this huge butcher's knife and I held it to my wrist, getting ready to slash my skin upwards, I thought of the mess I could potentially create. I also feared someone walking in behind me, scaring me, and the cut being ruined. I didn't want to be institutionalized, I am sure he would have loved that!!
When I was 27 years old, my friend Heather took me to the pharmacy to get my daughter some medication. As I was walking down the aisle I noticed him. Oh Lord, please don't let him have seen me. I attempted to dodge him but he caught me. He approached me and said Hello, I responded the same. For some reason, with my friend standing next to me, he proceeded to tell me that for whatever it was worth he was sorry for what he did to me. Whatever it was worth? He was wrong, his premonitions of how I was going to turn out did not transpire. I had a wonderful seven year old daughter, I graduated from High School and College, was working in the medical field and was living happily in the east end of Ottawa. Is this why he attempted to apologize because he was wrong? Whatever it was worth? Odd. "Do you forgive me?" I wasn't stunned or taken aback.
My response was "No."
I looked straight into his eyes and didn't quiver. He however, looked to the ground and shook his head with what seemed like sadness. With that, I bid him good afternoon and walked away.
Forgive? Never.
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