I don�t remember arriving to the courthouse. I don�t remember what the exterior looked like. My first memory of that day was the long, echoic hallway. The hallway was bright, with the hundreds of lights that gleamed off the beige tile floor. There were flyers posted to the walls. I didn�t look to see what any of them were for. I was 3 and more interested in the colors of the papers, not their content. I remember walking tall and feeling proud in my little dress and my blond (my hair was naturally blond until I reached 10, then it turned dark) curls up in neat pigtails, my grandparents on either side of me. I remember the big, heavy door in which we entered. I remember the layout of that particular room. Not that I had ever really seen the interior of a courtroom, but this one looked more like the setup of a church. The judge�s bench was at the head of the room, and row after row of dark brown wooden benches lined either side of the room with a narrow walkway separating the sides. My grandparents and I were seated to the right of the room next to a big window. It was sunny that day. The air was chilly and crisp; the sky was bright and blue. I turned to look around the room. 2 rows behind us and to the left of the room, sat my mother and �father�. I held their gaze because I felt so safe and confident. I was taken aback when they both smiled and waved. If this had been any other time, I would have been thrilled. They actually showed me some sort of emotion that was something other than rage. I hated them for smiling at me like that. Right then and there I felt how deep my hatred was. It was never hatred before- just fear. I shook my head and thought to myself how fake they can be when it may benefit them. I knew it was a show for anyone who may have candidly been watching. I remember turning back to my grandparents and saying, �They smiled and waved to me. They never smiled at me before. Why are they trying to be nice now? Are they pretending so they don�t look so bad to the judge?� My grandparents turned me forward and told me that I never have to worry about what they�re doing again. I kept my fingers crossed that they were right. I don�t remember much of the court proceeding once it began. I just sat there. I had no clue what all the legal terms meant. I remember the judge chastising my parents, I remember the sound of the gavel hanging in the air and I remember my grandparents crying and holding me, but they were smiling. I remember walking out of the courtroom. We walked by my parents who remained seated. I looked right at them. Their heads were hung and they had a weird look on their face. It was almost as if they were sad. Were they sad because they lost me or just because they lost? I was almost convinced that they knew they did wrong and now regretted it. I think they really were sad. When we got outside, it hit me like a ton of bricks that I was now free. From here on out, I would be living with my grandparents. I would never have to worry about my parents hurting me again. They could never come like thieves in the night and kidnap me while everyone was asleep. They could never again threaten to have my grandmother arrested because she had hidden me to protect me. Never again would my body be cut and bruised because I ate something or played too much or made a noise. My tummy would never again have to ache from emptiness. I would never have to find shelter in that tiny bathroom and watch out the window for hours, praying that my grandparents were on their way to get me. I was free. I was safe. I was happy. 3 years of abuse were finally over. I could finally go home now. I could float on my grandpa�s belly in the pool without wondering if it was time to go back to hell. I could float all day. I had all the time in the world to play and talk and make friends without having to watch the front door for their arrival. I could go to bed and sleep and dream. I didn�t have to sleep with one eye open to watch for them to slip through the window. I had all the time in the world to hang out in the garage with my uncle, aunt and their friends while they laughed and talked and played pool and whatever else they wanted to do. I was always welcomed there. Someone was always hugging on me or kissing me. Human contact didn�t have to hurt. I had my own stuff and I had clothes. I had a record player and I was allowed to sit there and sing along to my favorite songs; those same songs that would bring tears to my eyes when I heard them being played in my parents� home because they reminded me of times with my grandparents. I had all my pets to play with and to love. I had birthdays and holidays that were full of family and friends and love. I had it all. Everything a child could ever hope for was now mine and no one could ever take it from me again.
To be Continued...
My Life brought to you by �Down With the Sickness� by Disturbed
No mommy don't hit me/ Why did you have to hit me like that?/Don't do it! You're hurting me/ Why did you have to be such a bitch?/ Why don't you�/ Why don't you fuck off and die?/ Why can't you just fuck off and die?/ Why can't you just leave here and die?/ Never stick your hand in my face again bitch/ Fuck you/ I don't need this shit/ You stupid, sadistic, abusive fucking whore/ How would you like to see how it feels mommy?