Is Your Heart Broken?

A lot of us feel a broken heart is between a couple. I think we are overlooking the other kind of broken heart. For instance the broken hearts over family relationships. There has got to be a lot of people out there who suffer from separation in broken families.

As for me, I grew up in a violent household. Everyone was violent. Father, Mother, sisters everyone was violent.

If you can imagine father and mother fighting all night almost every night. Children sitting in stress and fearing that the night would turn a sunny day into a hellish nightmare. There were fights in the day time too. Mostly it would be the sisters fighting each other physically. Screaming, yelling, punching, beating.

There was no peace in my life. I can’t speak for them. It seems to me it is violence they needed because it never quit. The odd time they would all be out and that was heaven to me.

I found times of peace when I would go out into the muddy dirt yard and make cookies using the mud. I would place them all along the fence to dry in the sun. And perfection was taking those mud cookies one at a time off the fence without breaking them. Those were my finest times. The best of accomplishments. No I didn’t eat them; nor did I feed them to anyone. I can still find that peace in making cookies today.

Finally I have managed to sever all relationships with them as they have been cruel and violent to me all my life. But the pain of being the outsider just will never go away.

I watched as my mother rub my sisters faces into their pissy beds. What a disgusting way to treat your children. I cannot imagine ever doing that to a child. I have done it to a doggie and I am ashamed of that. I will never do that again.

Can I say my poor mother was a victim too. Yes I can. But I cannot excuse her behaviour towards her children. Fortunately I did not wet my bed. Or I would not have been the favoured child. I did not make my mother angry by staying out late or becoming pregnant before marriage. I would never break her heart that way. I had learned from the experience of my sisters. They did it all.

My younger sister would pee her bed in the night and then climb into my bed because she was cold I guess. And then she would pee in my bed. I must have gone to school smelling of pee a lot. I remember laying there and feeling this warm surge come over me. And then I would feel the wet. It angered me too. I would push her outta my bed and it was all too late. She hated me for that. And I never hated her for anything.

Mom would not let us shower and we were not encouraged to bathe. We were stinky kids. She moaned about the amount of water and the shower being a waste of water. It went on and on.