Apathetic to the Beatings

The fists of a man 27 years older than me didn’t ever really scare me.
At first I was too young to understand how they could bring pain.
Shit, when you’re 7 that concept doesn’t exactly fucking “just register” in.

And besides, I was too busy learning what wickedness was anyway.
One concept at a time.

As I got older and had weathered a few full blows to the jaw, I learned
that getting slugged in the face by someone 200 lbs heavier than you
doesn’t hurt as much as the emotional pain it brings. Hell I don’t know.
I was a small child. Maybe he just didn’t punch my face that hard.

On the bright side, it felt damn good to be desperately angry. Even though I couldn’t really do anything about it. I wasn’t completely unafraid. I was afraid, for my baby brother and my mother.

He could’ve beat me all fucking day but when I watched him tear my mother and only brother down, that’s when shit got fucking scary. I didn’t want to lose them in any matter, but most definitely I didn’t want to lose them to him.

This entry was posted on March 12, 2010 at 4:11 am and is filed under thought with tags 27, abuse, afraid, age, anger, angry, anxiety, bastard, battered woman syndrome, brother, child, child abuse, childhood, conscious, coping, dad, daddy, damaged, death, deception, desperate, distress, distressed, distressing, domestic abuse, emotion, evil, family, fat, father, fear, fist, hard, hate, hatred, heavy, hit, hopeless, hurt, hurts, kid, life, lose, man, mental health, mom, mother, non-fiction, numb, older, pain, painful, people, post traumatic stress disorder, PTSD, punch, punched, relationships, remember, scare, shit, strong, survivor, trauma, trouble, trust, twenties, unpleasant, watch, watching, wicked, wickedness, women. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.

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Jenny Greenteeth