My First Love Saved Me Twice
My soul truly has a mate.
As a 10 year old who was raised in an abusive home, I never comprehended what “normal” meant. For me, normal was drunken parents who argued loudly, and the never ending fear of my Father sneaking into my bedroom in the middle of the night, while my Mother slept off her drunken stupor.
Our house was always filthy, and my older brother and sister were rarely home to care for me, or help me with chores. They were 5 and 6 years my senior, and by the time I was 10, they stayed out of the house as often as they could. I never blamed them for leaving, yet I remember being extremely lonely and scared of being left to my own devices, with our parents.
Because our parents were rarely home, by the time I was 8, I knew how to cook, clean, do my homework and put myself to bed. We lived in a small town, and in the late 70’s there was no such thing as locking doors, or calling Children’s Services when a child was left alone. As much as it was an easier time for many families, for me, it was hell. I had a few friends that I could visit if I snuck out, but I always had to make sure that my parents could find me. Typically I would get the call from the local bar at around 7 PM, to start something for supper. The drunken parent, on the noisy other end of the phone, would tell me what to make.
