Part 4

A Teenager's Journey: Overcoming a Childhood of Abuse
by Richard B. Pelzer

(Page 4 of 5)

Once I realized that there would be no answers to my questions in my conversation with God, I felt a sense of sorrow.

Please, please help me.
I don't know what to do.
I'm afraid. I'm lost.
Why are you letting me do this? I cried.

The next few minutes ticked by so slowly. A part of me wanted some sort of divine intervention, yet another part of me wanted confirmation that my decision to take my life was the right one. Neither came as I lay on my back looking at the clouds passing overhead.

Well then, I have nothing to lose, I said.

I stood up and looked back. I could see the tree line and the trails made by the hundreds of us kids as we all walked the same path to school each day. I recalled the years before when I would wander the school grounds looking for an answer, the hours and hours I'd spent sitting in the school bathrooms crying.

All I want is for someone to love me, I thought, as I started to make my way back home.

A few yards farther on I found another place to sit and mull things over. I recalled better times, me sitting on Mom's lap being comforted when I had a fever or banged my knee as a little child-I knew that she was capable of love.

But that was back then, before David left. David was older than me; he was born after Ross, my favorite brother, and before Scott. For as long as I could remember, David had taken the brunt of Mom's venom. He lived in the basement. Often when Mom referred to him she called him "It." Mom made him work till he dropped, and most of the time past that point. She beat him daily, kicked him, cut him, and starved him. More than once she locked him in the

bathroom with a pail of cleaning solutions mixed together to make a toxic gas. She made him eat out of the dog dish under the kitchen table when the rest of the "family" ate in the dining room.

Then when he was thirteen or so, he disappeared. I thought at first that Mom had finally killed him; perhaps he'd failed to do something she'd told him to do. I was terrified. If she actually killed him, who else might she kill? It took me a while to learn that he was actually rescued and that the police had taken him away.

One thing I had known. I'd just felt it and it was as real as those apparitions in the basement that night: Mom needed a victim, and I'd be the next one. It hadn't taken long for my feelings to turn into a frightening reality.

On the one hand, I hated her with every ounce of my body and wished her dead more times than I could count. On the other, I remembered the times I'd wanted her never to leave me, to protect me from all the bad things the world had shown me. In a way I felt sorry for her and wished that I could erase all the pain and embarrassment she must feel inside from the guilt of the horrors she'd committed. I often wondered whether, if I told her I was the reason that she was abusive, perhaps she would let it all go and return to being the "Mommy" I longed for.

I thought about the big dinners she would serve and the games of Tripoli we used to play in earlier years, and the comfort we'd all felt. Trying to make sense of it all was near impossible. When I was small she could comfort me as a mother, while at the same time committing acts against my brother that bordered on attempted murder. That much I understood. She was simply not in control of her actions or her thoughts. I believed that at times she had different personalities. Looking back at my childhood and all the times that I thought were good, those same times when David was going through hell, what was so strange was the realization that she was the same person. She could comfort me while beating him senseless.

I became convinced that she had lost her mind and was truly sick. In an odd sort of way that knowledge comforted me. The understanding gave me satisfaction, some sort of answer.

* * *

With a feeling of strength renewed, I stood up and continued on my way back home. Once I turned the corner onto Crestline Avenue, I saw the house-that dismal, dark, cold house. As I got closer and closer to the front steps I became ever more determined to find the perfect moment and place to take my life. My decision was made. I had no reason to postpone it any longer. I didn't want to just struggle on and on, endlessly questioning myself. I just wanted it over with. Confidently, I walked quietly up the steps and into the front room. Everyone was still asleep. I made it back in time, before anyone had even noticed that I was gone.

Once in my room, I walked over to the black desk and sat down. Through the window, I looked at Josh's house across the street and knew that within a few short hours I would either be on my way to Salt Lake City or in the morgue. Perhaps at last I would be somewhere I would be loved. A place where I could find the answers to the questions I had asked myself so many times as I lay on my back talking to no one-perhaps now I would find out if there was a God or not. I looked forward to the answers. But I struggled with the question of the exact time and place. Where? When? Before everyone got in the car for the ride to Salt Lake City? Perhaps I could do it in the backyard. I had thought about doing it in the backyard for a while now. It seemed almost the right place. Or I could wait until I was in the car and we were all together.

Copyright © 2006 Richard B. Pelzer

About the Author

Richard was born forth of five boys in 1965 in Daly City, California. During his childhood, Richard lived the nightmare and horrors we only hear of - known as child abuse. From his earliest memories, Richard recalls watching his older brother David being abused and was the only witnesses to his mother's attempt to kill her son and Richard's older brother. Once the California authorities learned of the unspeakable acts occurring in a suburban California home, the state removed Richard's brother leaving him and three other boys behind. Throughout his adolescence and teen years, Richard suffered physical, mental and emotional abuse at the hands of his mother.