My Mother was a beautiful and charming woman. However, many people would have been surprised to know what went on at our house. Her parenting ranged from neglectful, leaving me to care for myself from the age of three, to abusive, both physically and emotionally. Like all children, I thought it was my fault, that I was a “bad” kid, and that I should have never been born. I took refuge in books and my art, quiet activities that wouldn't make her angry by making noise. It didn't matter if I got straight A's and was in a gifted program; I was in a growing state of misery and belief that I was worthless. By the time I was in 7th grade, I was suicidal. After a particularly brutal beating from my mother I began researching how to kill myself. Each day I would increase the amount of aspirin I took to see what it would do. I realized I needed a lot more than some aspirin, so the next time my Mom beat me and left me alone, I took every pill in the house--including my Mom's supply of cross tops and pink hearts. I was in my room watching the ceiling ripple and float away when she came home, pounding on my door, threatening to beat me if I didn't open it. My fear was so ingrained; I wobbled to the door and opened it. She could tell something was wrong. She beat me for a while then took me to the ER. She pretended to be a caring Mother while the nurses treated me like a selfish child who put a nice pretty lady through such a nightmare.
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