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I hate it when my coworkers and managers talk to me. I don't know why but, for the past few weeks I have found myself beginning to hate it when the people I work for talk to me and I wish that they would not speak to me at all. Every time I'm at work and they speak to me, I feel myself getting angry and want to tell them to shut up. I have no problem talking to other people. Customers, employees from other business, my own family. But, when a manager or coworker talks to me, I get angry and fight back the urge to either tell them to not talk to me or outright tell them to shut up. The worst part is, I fear that one day I might suddenly snap and scream at them, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
I’m DEADPOOL. That’s right, I’m the real Deadpool. No I’m not crazy. I’ll leave a secret code that only those who really know me could figure it out. WMHRSNSCARDCESCAECKAGCFLFWAHACLJ. Only the few who really know me could decipher that.
I started making up characters as a kid. Deadpool started in the 70’s. That’s right. Your getting the real origin of Deadpool.
I had some old comics. In one of them the Shadow fought a Ninja dressed in Red on a sub. My favorites were Cap & the Avengers, & Batman. But I liked this red ninja. So I made me as a super hero named “Red Ninja” when I was really little. In time the character got a much better name.
Over time he got cooler names. I won’t tell you his real name. My real character he became in my 20’s is very similar to Deadpool. I like mine better.
When I nearly died recently I destroyed all my 1,000’s of characters & their back stories. Old drawings. I’d hoped to one day draw my own comics, or let my children. But I’m near death so it’s not going to happen. No one wanted them. So I shredded them. I had to move into a tiny place. I had some way cool stuff though.
Starting in the early to mid 80’s I sent some of my worst characters & some ideas to Marvel Comics. I was going to use the good ones for my own comics. I’m pretty sure I saw one of my characters vaguely in a comic. Very vaguely. Either way I got some No Prizes. Empty envelops. The first one I wrote & said I didn’t get a prize. The prize was no prize, an empty envelope. You just give them ideas for characters; stories. But it becomes their property. You give it away.
Well; somewhere around 1990 or so; while in college, I decided to send Marvel one of my mediocre characters. I kept the best to myself. I was offered an art scholarship, but pursued other stuff.
Please realize I “gave” them the character. Just a rough idea. I did not give them my real character. I honestly don’t even remember what all I wrote in the letter.
In no way am I claiming anything beyond a rough idea. They apparently took a vague idea & made something cool out of it. So the character is completely theirs. I merely gave them a seed to plant & grow. Im not even certain they used my idea. The visual; mannerisms, & name make me convinced they did. Either way; I gave it away for fun, so who cares.
Around this time I was still collecting comics; but I stopped. That’s why I mailed this to them. My life was fixing to change dramatically. No more time for childish things. No more collecting comics. So since I doubted I’d ever pursue my comic ideas; I gave Deadpool (not my characters real name) away as a joke. I wanted to see if “I” could live on in the comic books, in case I died on a battle field. I loved Marvel. If they thought him/me worthy of being a super hero/villain, then it would mean my much better characters would be cool if I ever made my own comics. I had 100’s better than Deadpool.
Well I forgot all about it. No more kids stuff for me. My kids got into all the super hero stuff many years later. One day my daughter said dad. You have got to watch this movie called “Deadpool”. He’s just like you. I scratched my head. Realize my character has a different name. But I’m pretty sure I called the alternate less fleshed out version of red ninja; the bad “punisher” like pretend version of me, “Deadpool”. The one I mailed Marvel.
She said he’s just like you. The guy who plays him looks a lot like you (not really. But I am attractive. And I married a beautiful woman). He talks endless trash. Is always trying to be funny. Uses two swords and guns at once. Wears a red ninja outfit. Never shuts up. Cusses. Can do all that ninja gymnastics stuff like you. He’s you. Huh? That did sound like me.
So I watched the movie; remembered sending the idea to Marvel, & laughed my butt off. She asked what was funny. I said that is me. That’s really me as a super hero. I mailed that idea to Marvel before I married your mom way back in college. I didn’t know they made it into a super hero. Of course she didn’t believe me.
Now let’s be clear. I’m not taking credit for the character or anything. I can’t even remember what I mailed them. I had been drawing characters since age 7 or so. Red Ninja had been me since the 70’s.
I was finally giving up buying & collecting comics. No more drawing & expanding characters. I was putting all of that away & growing up. Time to leave college & start life. I never thought of that stuff again till she made me watch the movie. She was right though; that was me, especially back in the late 80’s & early 90’s.
I won’t bore you with the whole story & details. Nor can I remember what all I actually even mailed them. But either way; I gave it to them. Looks like they used it. I was hoping someone would turn it into a character. That if I died I’d still be alive in a sense as a super hero. Just a private joke. So in my mind anyways; I pulled one on Marvel, got them to turn me into a super hero of sorts.
So since I have no clue what I mailed them I’ll show why my daughter saw the similarities. She had seen me training with two swords at once. And two knives. She’d seen me throw weapons & shoot guns with both hands. I’m an expert marksman with near any weapon, with both hands.
I do know martial arts. I have easily beaten multiple black belts with my mixed fighting style in training. I have extremely fast reflexes. Makes me really hard to fight. When I sent it in I had finally managed to slim my muscular body down from 275 lbs to under 250. To para jump or slide down ropes out of copters you must weigh under 250. I was so lean and low fat I had cuts & veins everywhere. I thought Deadpool having healing powers like Wolverine would be great. Instead of claws he’d use two swords & pistols like me. He’d have my agility; athletic ability; super strength (I was a power lifter). Only magnified for comics of course. I’m the lame real life version.
I was very conceited about my appearance & abilities. I talked endless trash. Cussed none stop. I never shut up. I still have a constant smile. I try to be funny and constantly try to make people smile & laugh. A crowd once watched me fight several men. They say I was turning flips. Doing crazy moves. Like Deadpool. And the whole time I was telling jokes and talking trash. That’s true. Like Deadpool.
I used to run track. I could nearly touch the top of a basketball backboard. Great at long jumping.
I was being trained by an ex special forces relative & was intending to join the military soon, which is why I mailed off the idea for Deadpool to Marvel. Letting go of my childish ways. Would be no more time for that. After I mailed it off o bought no more comics. Drew no more characters. I was done.
I had a relative of sorts who used to work with me some. He was impressed by my marksmanship. He had been a soldier & then soldier for hire. Mercenary. I was a great marksman so he thought I should try that after the military.
Well in high school & college I found myself living in this high crime gang controlled inner city. At night it was a war zone. Cops were afraid to come in there at night. So if you got caught up in something you were on your on. Like the fight I just talked about.
Starting as a little kid I used to fight to protect others. I slowly learned to mostly be quiet & passive in school. Until I moved into the gang area. Sometimes I’d fight to protect others. But not in front of teachers. At school I had fought to protect any weak loner. I don’t care what color you are. Religion. Gay. I would protect anyone. In my eyes we are all the same.
Well; those of you who work & goto school full time know, your rarely home. At night I’d wake up to gang activity. Screaming. Gun fire. Fights. People buying & selling drugs. Drug dealers are the root problem in these neighborhoods.
I’ve fought and been chased by gangs in high school. Been shot at just for walking home. Kids on those streets know what I’m talking about. I learned to mind my own business. But a few times I had to go out into the dark night. Batman.
Ninja movies were getting popular. I always trained with two knives & pistols at this time. So now I added two ninja swords.
So around the time I sent this to Marvel I’d snuck out at night & stopped a few crimes when I heard screaming. Usually only for a woman or child. Not dressed as a ninja. I’m the real guy.
I’ll give one example. I heard a woman yelling for help. I went running out. A very large man was trying to attack her with an ax handle. Trying to break thru her window. She was protecting her child. So I fought & disarmed him. Made him run away. Then I had to talk to the cops. Witnesses confirmed my story & I got off. People would watch. But not interfere. I’m lucky people liked me enough to speak up for me a couple of times. Had it been gangs they probably would not have. No one calls the cops on drug dealing gangs. They will do drive byes & stuff. Unlike Deadpool, I can’t magically heal.
I only did these things a few times. Real life isn’t a movie. But my friends had saw me in action. My wife had told my kids those stories & about the time she watched me fight & save another woman. And of course talk to the cops yet again.
In real life once you save the day; you then get to talk to cops; teachers, bosses. You get kicked out of school; paddled; almost arrested; fired. Real life isn’t a movie.
So Deadpool wasn’t really me. He was like an alter me. A bad version of me. He would go off into the military for special forces like I was planning. Be a Merc like I was contemplating. But he’d be half nuts. He’d decide to take out drug dealers and criminals to stop crime at the source. You know that voice in your head that you ignore. Hey go do this. You know better from listening to that voice as a kid. Don’t listen to that crazy voice.
That is the real problem in these neighborhoods. Drugs fuel the gangs. Addiction destroys people. Gangs strike fear in neighborhoods. Everyone is afraid to call or speak to cops. Cops are afraid to come there at night. They arrive way too late & in large numbers. By the time they do it’s usually too late.
So the goofy one in the movies does act a lot like me. Obvi I’m no nutt super hero. I’m the real guy. I based the character off me. I like what they did with it. Totally different from me. As I said; I mailed in a very vague idea. They appear to have developed it into something cool. But I can’t take credit for any of that. But the behavior & general description are so much like me that my daughter realized it when she watched the movie. They’ve all seen me get right up in the face of would be tough guys and talk trash; joke, & cuss just like Deadpool. They’ve seen me lift up very heavy weight. Shoot two pistols at once. Train with two swords. On & on. I have that endless grin on my face. Im the real Deadpool.
So where did the name Deadpool come from? As a child I was an amazing marksman. I never missed. Some vets nicknamed me Eagle eye & Deadeye. I liked Clint Eastwood. So I called the bad; drug dealer pretend version of me Deadpool. Pretty sure I sent that name in with the idea. But it’s not important.
There was a real Hollywood game. People tried to predict who would die. Then bet money (a pool). So this Deadpool version of me would instead pick which deadly criminals should die. He’d take their drug dealing money. That would be his income. His “pool” of money. Plus; Eastwood had a movie out around that time, “the Deadpool”. I think I was watching it on VHS when I wrote the letter.
Clint Eastwood played a vigilante in Dirty Harry movies. I preferred the spaghetti westerns.
So since I don’t think I’ll be alive much longer I thought I’d secretly confess that I’m convinced I’m the basis for Deadpool. I don’t care if anyone believes me. I did specifically tell them they could have the idea. I did ask them to turn it into a character for Marvel comics. I didn’t send them the real character. He was much more complex and pure. Instead I sent them something I thought people would want to watch & read. This was in the rap anti establishment days. No one liked Cap anymore. I’m a whole lot more like Cap. But no kidding. As I type this there are ninja swords hanging above my bed. There are two pistols on a nightstand by two knives. As I said; Im the real Deadpool. Well; sort of.
What do I look like? Well I’m very sick now. But I’m very lean. Weigh about 255. Very muscular. I was born with blond hair & blue eyes. People say I’m attractive. And I act “a lot” like the character in the movie still to this day. That’s why when my kids first saw the first Deadpool movie they ran in there saying dad, your in a movie, you’ve got to come see this. And yes; I am really that cocky. I’m convinced no one can beat me. I did learn to shut up at times. But I talk endless crap. I crack endless jokes. I never shut up. I have a crap eating grin non stop. I did not go into the special forces for a very good reason. Nor did I become a mercenary. I’m afraid the real me isn’t overly impressive.
I am no kidding wearing a shirt that’s blue with stars on the top. Alternating red and white vertical stripes on the bottom. I just realized that when I looked down. My kids had them made for me I guess. They look like one offs.
OK kids of mine. There it is. Let’s see if you can figure out my code. No one else ever will. I’ll give one of you a clue. See if you can surf the web and find this. Decipher the code. Prove I wrote it. You asked me to tell someone I invented Deadpool. That would be wrong. You can’t give something away. Ask someone to make something of it. Then try to take credit. So here it is. No name or proof. But my admission. One more joke. If you find this and read this have a good life. Now you know where I got the idea. From an old The Shadow comic I owned. Why did I like the red ninja? He was better than the shadow. That’s why when I sent the character to Marvel. Instead of sending them the real character that red ninja became; which I will not reveal here, I gave them a meaner version. A “Punisher” like version. A soldier for hire who didn’t just cross the line; he became a criminal of sorts. Much like Wolverine was in a comic or two. Dark. The opposite of me. Like alternate Superman.
I am very proud of you that you saw me in the way Deadpool acted. You even pointed out how I used to pull your legs & claim I could block bullets with my swords. That’s obvi a lie. But I’m still pretty good for a real person.
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I am sick of magda bugging me everywhere I go. and her son to nick eed. just stop it. I can't love him. please stop the abuse you even are on the tv at the hospital and its making me feel like I am not welcome there without the evils of ken's torture and its got to stop. you are selfish.
I am not sure how to go about this. I have seen patterns of events everywhere I have been. Since past few years friends and colleagues have asked me questions (although in a very calm manner) about many personal and not so personal things of which I have no idea about. Later I have ended up something bad happening to me about the thing I talked to them about. Very bad politics in office. I read on the internet that it is a part of gangstalking. I don't know if that is a reality.
I stalk some strange girl on facebook. Currently I'm living in Germany but I'm from Wales. She's a German girl and one of the stupid ones. I could watch her profile on Facebook all day long because she's posting such bullshits, it's quite funny.
I sent her a friend request, she accepted it and now I can stalk her all day long.
So this confession isn't exactly a confession. But I want to write anonymously about how I've been hurt and how I've had nightmares over this for almost 7 years. And the minor PTSD I have learned to live with. Some may relate or you might think this isn't so bad and some have had it worst. But here it goes. I was 15 years old. I was still just a girl and at JHS where there was this boy who had just become a man. Someone who had changed my entire aspect of life and I wouldn't even realize it yet. This guy, we will call him Mason, was the first guy I tried to be serious with. Now at 15, and as a girl, you think that relationships are supposed to be like fairy tales and rainbows, but this was far from it. The beginning was magical. I was only allowed to go outside my house once a month, because my parents said that is only how many times girls should be allowed out. With Mason, I decided to sneak out and go out more than once a month. I sneaked out quite often at the time, actually. When I thought everything was going great, Mason gave me a cool looking ring. This Gothic-rustic looking ring that he told me his great-great grandmother once worn and it was sweet. And I wore it, of course. It wasn't till a month after sweet-nothings, late road trips around the town, and holding hand-in-hand together that something was the worst thing. He cheated on me with my best friend.
Now I say this was the worst thing, but being 15 and having nothing harm you or hurt you, being completely over protected from the world, this did seem like the worst thing. But what you are about to read isn't something I recommend for you to read. If you want to stay cheery and read all of the funny confessions, then just scroll on. Just don't read the rest. It's okay to not read on. After all, no one cared to hear me out for 7 years.
I screamed at him. I was furious. I had never felt such a feeling before. I was angry, I wanted to strangle him, I wanted to cry, and I wanted to run. I even yelled at her, my own friend. How could someone betray someone so terribly? But later on I found out that this had been going on for a few weeks and it wasn't just her; there were 4 other girls at this high school he had been cheating on and I wasn't even the original girlfriend.
He said that if I had sex with him, he would break it off with her and all of his other girlfriends. I was a virgin, I was emotional, I thought "If this will make the pain away, then sure." And so I agreed. In the backyard of my parent's house while my family was gone. It was painful and raw. It burned from the friction and there was no enjoyment out of it. I hated myself in the middle of this and I hated myself for too long after this.
Out of no where, I heard my mom's car pull into the drive way. I freaked out and told Mason that he has to leave. But with the garage right next to the exit of the back yard, there was no way to make a quiet escape. So we tried to stay quiet and hide against the wall, but then my mother caught us red handed. She wasn't yelling, though, she was surprisingly calm about it and seemed to not really care. But she said she was going to call my father, and that was probably why. She told Mason to get out asap and so he did.
It wasn't till I saw my father that I knew what true fear could be.
Let me stop for a second. This might have seem like a story where the boyfriend cheating on me would have also been the guy who physically or mentally abused me. But Mason looks like a super hero for what happened later was much more terrifying.
He was in the dark. Just standing there silent with his chest puffed like he was ready to strangle someone. He asked what had happened in such a dark voice that the hairs on the back of my neck immediately stood. I explained that I had sex with Mason. And I don't remember much what happened after that night. It's still very blurry. I remember screaming and running from my dad. I remember him pushing me and grabbing his belt to be used more than for spankings. I remember my mom..
My mom. I remember that she saved me from that one incident. She said "It's just sex, what's the big deal? You lost your virginity at 12." And I hadn't even realized that it was over my losing my virginity.
Somehow she managed to calm him down, but they took my phone away and said I was grounded for 3 months or until further notice (meaning it could last longer).
The groundings I had were awful. They weren't little kid groundings or spoiled kid groundings where they kept their games and computers. Nah, I wasn't allowed to talk to friends, my computer was taken, my television was taken, my books were taken. I was just given a bed and if my parents were in a good mood, I would be allowed to join them for food. Otherwise, I would eat alone. I was allowed to only read the Bible, (and let's be honest, that's not the most entertaining book to read) and I did my homework. Most of the time I just read math books or science books just to switch it up. My brother got amazing groundings.. He kept his TV, his phone, his XBox... His groundings were just him in his room...
I digress.. Anyways. So I stopped talking to Mason since he didn't keep his promise (go figure) and tried to move on. I showed up to school without my school ID, and at JHS, that's immediate detention. So I had to have detention right after school ended. I didn't want my parents to worry about picking me up since my mom was out of state for work and my father was at work, so I asked some friends for a ride (I also had no way of contacting my parents since I didn't have a phone still). Everyone I knew said that their parent's weren't picking them up until 6 pm and it was 3:30 pm, so it looked like I was walking home. I didn't live too far. Just a couple of miles, it would take me like an hour or two worth of walking, so it would have been fine. I start heading out and out of no where, my father pulled up to me and screaming at me. He said that I was trying to catch a ride with Mason to take me home. I was sort of stunned, because I hadn't even talked to Mason in about a week, and I was trying to figure out how this assumption was just made.
He whipped out my phone and showed me a text directly from Mason saying "Hey, I heard you needed a ride home. If you want, I can give you a ride."
I didn't have my phone on me so it wasn't as if I could have known about this text and Mason wasn't anywhere near me where my father found me, so there was no need to freak out. But he screamed at me to get in the car, and as a good little daughter, I did.
And I sure wish I didn't... Maybe I wouldn't have so many nightmares and paranoid thoughts...
He was driving so fast. It was only 65 MPH on the highways but it felt much faster. Maybe it was all the screaming and questions he was asking me.
Father said, "Why did you ask Mason for a ride?!"
"I didn't! I asked some other friends, I didn't even see Mason there!" I exclaimed.
"LIAR!" He yelled. Slamming his fist on the steering wheel, "Why lie?! I already caught you! Just admit it! JUST TELL ME THE TRUTH!"
But I had. I didn't know how else to get him to believe me. I just kept telling him the truth over and over and over again but it wasn't the right answer.
We got home. I was even more scared now the car ride ended. He got out of the car, ran over to my door before I could even get out, grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the car.
This wasn't my father. This wasn't the same guy that helped me scratch off "owies" or the same guy that taught me to ride a bike. I had no idea who this guy was. His eyes.. They were so cold and dead. They were so evil.
My arm. It hurt so bad. I got a bruise from how hard he grabbed me. He shoved me into the house and started yelling "TELL ME THE TRUTH! TELL ME THE TRUTH!" over and over again. I told him the full story and it wasn't enough. He somehow couldn't believe it. I was somehow lying and that my honesty was not real.
He got quiet. He looked over and saw a full load of laundry in the laundry basket all neatly folded and slightly over-spilling. And I was so curious as of why he was eyeballing it so often.. He grabbed the full loaded basket and threw it at me like pitching a baseball.
Now you may think "oh, just a laundry basket?" But this laundry basket weighed a good 10 pounds (easily more). And if something being thrown at you going at such a speed, it can feel harder than what it actually is.
For example, a baseball on average weighs about 5.25 oz, and the average potato weighs 5.3 oz and a large potato can weigh 8 oz. My father took a large potato and threw it at my mother's shoulder like a baseball... It dislocated her shoulder from how close he was to her and how fast he threw it.. She was left with a huge bruise for so weeks.
With someone that can throw that hard, I don't feel too embarrassed by saying that I got a big bruise from a full loaded laundry basket.
I fell. I tried to gather myself up, but he knocked me back on the ground anyways. He stood over my legs so I knew not to try to get back up and I watched him take his belt off. He doesn't just use his belt for spankings...
He started yelling at me again to tell him the truth, and I gave him the same answer, 'cause I couldn't think of a lie on the spot, and it wasn't the right answer.
Why could it not be the right answer? It was the truth! He wanted the truth! I gave it to him! I told him! I yelled it to him! I screamed and yelled the truth! And it was NEVER the right answer!
It gave me a flashback from when I was a little girl, only 4 years old, and my parents said that "as long as you tell us the truth, you will never be in trouble." And it was that exact flash back that made me feel.. It made me give up.
I screamed. I cried. He hit my leg! MY LEG! My left leg was more blue than my actual skin color. I hadn't seen such a big bruise in my life.
"WHY? WHY ARE YOU HITTING MY LEG?" I screamed. He just kept hitting me.
I screamed more and more and he said "Because you lied!"
"But I didn't!" I started sobbing and screaming "I didn't!" and he was about to hit me again and I yelled "I WANT MOM!"
And he stopped. For just a second I could breathe. I was allowed to breathe for just.. a second... I was thinking 'maybe I can call mom! She'll save me! She won't let him kill me!'
It was quiet for too long. One second too long.
And he finally spoke "Oh, Sara.. Your mother isn't here to save you this time! I am so tired of you getting away with so much bull sh** and when I try to punish you it's always your mom that saves you! Oh but not this time, Sara dear! You're finally getting what you deserve!"
My hope was shattered..
And he went at it again.. It continued for way too long.. I still have nightmares about this night. I remember exactly what he was wearing... How his hair looked. Which direction I was thrown. I can point out the exact location from the high school where he picked me up.
He was wearing dark brown shoes. The same ones he wore to work everyday cause they look nice with every outfit he wore. His shirt was a polo striped shirt. Brown and tan stripes.. And Khakis... And that belt.
I worked at night shifts Wal-Mart one summer to stalk the shelves and I couldn't stalk the men's department. Specifically the belts. When I touched one, I cried. I didn't even realize I was crying. It was just the touch of it..
The dark brown belt. It was so smooth. It had a nice brass buckle on it that looked nice but didn't feel nice when it hit you, too.
My brother arrived from school.. I screamed to him "CALL THE POLICE! CALL THE POLICE! DAD IS TRYING TO KILL ME!"
But my brother was just as scared of him as I was. My brother just went into his room and hid. He was only 12, but I hated him for it for a long time..
My father had convinced him to stay out of it and when my father decided to catch his breath, I decided to try to make my escape. I wasn't sure where yet, but I had to at least get out of his reach. The door to the outside was too close, that he would easily stop me. I ran to the bathroom, to try to lock the door. It was far enough that maybe he wouldn't reach me in time for me to lock the door.
He turned his back. That was my chance! I got up and ran right into the bathroom before he did!
My hands were so shaky and my legs were so beaten on that I could hardly run as fast as I normally could.
I didn't close the door fast enough. I tried to just use my body as a weight to keeping the door closed but he was three times my size and weight. It didn't matter. He got inside the bathroom and told me to go to my room.
I ran inside my room and tried to close the door but he came in anyways.. And it happened again. He took his belt and hit my arms, my legs, my side. He hit my face. He was physically on top of me so I couldn't run away this time.
When fight or flight comes to play, and you aren't allowed to flight, you have no other option but to instinctively fight back. I never wanted to hurt my father. I used to cry when a cute butterfly died or if I accidentally hurt a frog. I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I didn't have control of myself at this point. I was just screaming and crying and I used what I had - my nails.
I clawed at my dad so often that I drew blood on him. I scratched his face, his arms, anywhere I could in hopes that it would get him off me so I could run away.
And after so many hours of being hit.. It finally happened. He got off of me and stopped hitting me. I waited to hear a sink running and I ran out the front door. I still had my shoes on and I didn't have a phone but I ran anyways.
The neighborhood was pretty open, there weren't many places to hide, but as long as I was in a public place, he wouldn't touch me. He would put on his "I am the fun sporty coach of a dad!" act. He found me not so long of me running. I was so exhausted from being hit in the legs, my legs were already throbbing without me needing to try to run on them. He asked me where I was going and I told him my friend's house.
Instead, I went to the closest restaurant and asked for their phone. I called Mason (I know, it wasn't a good idea, but he was the only one with a car that I knew) and asked him to take me to the police station, cause my father had seriously bruised me everywhere.
When I got there, I filed a report. I called my mom and told her everything and my first thought was "Finally! My mom! She can save me! She'll listen to me and we can make dad go away forever!"
She called my aunt and uncle to have them pick me up and then my father showed up at the police station to write out his side of the story.
He had quite the advantage. The odds that adults are going to listen to a 15 year old *girl*. I didn't realize it then, but the odds were stacked quite against me.
He lied to police. He told them that I was just a delusional 15 year old girl with teenage girl hormones that made me over exaggerate what was happening. The police and every adult ever bought his story. I showed the police my bruises and they asked him to explain it.. He said that "Well she was just disobeying and I had to discipline her, but she wouldn't stay still." And all my chances of being free from this wicked man were gone... He was a snake.. He had everyone around his finger. He called my mom and told her the same lie, so my mom stopped believing anything I said. He even added "Since she is so delusional, maybe we should take her to Laureate." Laureate is the psych ward in town. He had managed to take everything I said that was true about him and twist it into what made him look like the good guy and made me sound like an over dramatic teenager.
For years my mother looked at me like I was "not all there" and my brother decided to add onto my father's lie, because he was so scared of him, himself.
Two years after the incident, my parents got a divorce. My mom caught my father cheating on her.
My whole family still looking at me funny and still not talking to me.
For 4 years my mother didn't believe a single small thing I would even say, even after the divorce and her catching all of his lies. No one believed my warnings for four years.
Until it happened again.
My brother... I would never wish that kind of abuse on anyone.
After four long years of being silenced, of being treated like I was insane, of being treated like I was less than a person. For FOUR YEARS of not talking to anyone because my father told my friends at school and the school principle and anyone I ever knew.
For four years.. I can't even count how many times I got close to suicide over this. But I was too scared to actually do it myself. I tried to put myself in dangerous situations so maybe someone else would have done it for me. Maybe someone would be drunk and drive into me. Maybe I would fall asleep at the wheel. Nothing worked though. I stopped trying when I got to college.. I was safe there.. I think that's all I wanted..
For four years... My brother still was too scared to tell anyone what happened to me...
Four years after the incident, it happened again.. Almost the same exact word-for-word story I told my mom...
I got a phone call while I was in my dorm watching some tv and my mom told me the most great and horrendous news. "Sara, I.. I am so sorry. I should have listened to you all those years ago." I immediately sat up, wondering if she meant... "You were right. What happened to you, I should have listened. I am so sorry. I had no idea that your father actually did that to you, and I am so sorry that I didn't listen to you."
I immediately cried. I couldn't help it. Having your own mother think you are insane or like there is something wrong with you hurts so much... And it was like a weight was lifted off that I started sobbing. My next thought was, 'wait... why is she believing me now out of all these years?' so I asked "Wait, what happened? Why do you believe me now?"
I was hoping for more of a "Your father confessed" kind of thing, but I suppose that was hopeful.
"Sara.. I am so sorry. But your brother.. he was just beaten by your father and what he told me is almost exactly what had happened to you..."
I sank. I cried even more. My brother?! I had refused to see my father after the divorce, and still refuse, but maybe if I had gone to see him. Maybe if I kept him in my life it wouldn't have been my brother. I would much rather it be me.
My father stalked me, tested me, hit me, and did everything to keep me always on my toes.. I still get nightmares till this day and when I am having a normal day, I swear I can see him watching me. It's like I see his actual physical self right there, but when I look again he isn't there. I hate that my brother had those nightmares to share and he feels paranoid still that father is around somewhere..
I feel like I see him so often. On a bus.. In the car in front of me, in the truck behind me.
When I see his name, I immediately think back to the incident..
I can hardly live like this... I am about to graduate from college with a BSCS and I am still scared.. He facebook messaged me asking to go to my graduation, but I can't. I can't do it. People think I am being some selfish child that won't see her father, but I can't. I can't do it, and for my own mental health, I refuse..
#physical #mental #abuse #stalk #stalking #scared #ptsd #emotional
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