Читать книгу Dared To Survive - Olya Mancuso - Страница 8

When mother beat me at home I bit my lips and tried not to scream. I didn’t want anyone to hear. I was ashamed to let the scream out, to let others see my pain or suffering. In time, this grew into an adult habit.

Everyone outside always heard mother screaming and calling me names. Other kids stood below our balcony and laughed at what they heard. This was an unbearable humiliation. I hated to show my face outside because everyone would mock me, using the words they heard mother calling me.

As soon as I went outside, children threw stones at me. Sometimes, they threw eggs; sometimes they’d throw rotten tomatoes. Mother made sure that no punishment went on without other people listening or watching. She made sure I was humiliated and degraded publicly, and then she was satisfied.

Mother shamed me to people to turn them away from me. She claimed it was so I could become a better girl. She said that if I was, people would accept me. She said «evil» must be exposed and therefore she «revealed me» to others so parents they could protect their children from me.

I had given up trying to make friends because I knew that, sooner or later, mother would make sure no one would hang around with me, the «evil child», unworthy to have friends.

My mother humiliated me everywhere to «protect» other «good» children and keep them away from the «evil girl»: ME.

She humiliated me on the bus, at the school, in the shops – anywhere outside in front of people. She said she was trying to save the mass of people from ME…. She said that people needed to know as much as possible about my inadequacies. I had so many. I bed wet. I smelled. I was dirty and ugly.

She never washed me, so I stank. She had no time for my personal hygiene because she needed to be there for her son who was always walking on the edge of jail time. She was busy with him as he needed lots of money to dress well and afford a lifestyle most Soviet people cannot afford and are not allowed to have. Mother, therefore, was too busy for anything else or anyone else. She had to make as much money as possible to be able to let my brother have what he wanted so he could enjoy his life. She said he needed to be happy as he was the misfortunate one in our family – due to her divorce with his father.

For my mother, my brother was and is the centre of the universe and the sole meaning of her life. Her life and ours revolved around him. Moreover, she believed that was the way things should be. Her mind focused mainly upon him and whatever he wanted. To her, my brother is her number one priority, the yardstick that measures her life, the reason for breathing.

In her mind, my brother’s crimes, his deceptions of innocent people in order to gain money was not «criminal». It was just a sign of his unhappiness. We were all supposed to acknowledge this and feel sorry for him and help him to be happy.

She made us all do everything possible to make Zhenya happy. In fact, she forced us all to make him happy. She was so pre-occupied settling his life, happiness, and crimes with police that she often forgot I even existed.

This is why I always smelled so bad. She never had time for me… «You are in the way,» she’d yell ....in her way to be there for Zhenya. She called me «IT». That was because, she’d insist. «It is not a human being. It is less than that. It is a worm,» mother said to me. «People need to squash IT,» Mother would threaten. She told me that I didn’t deserve to be around normal people and I should be kept in a cage.

My mother always forbade my friendships with anyone. She always made sure I was alone, having only my own company and my home chores.

«You are a yaki,» she’d shout at me. «A shameful creature that turns people off,» she’d shout. «Therefore, you don’t need to have friends.»

Loneliness was the bitter reality of my existence and I accepted it. I learned to make something out of it. I read books and talked to myself, pretending I was a princess or someone else, acting in front of the mirror, when I was alone at home.

Acting can be a refuge for those who are emotionally broken. You can act like you want and no one can judge you. Once in a rare while, when I was lucky, I’d get outside to play. It didn’t happen often.

However outside was a dangerous place for me as well. All the neighbours and children around avoided me because mother had instructed everyone she could to keep rejecting me. For some reason, everyone shunned me in order not to mess with my Mom.

At home, if the balcony door was open when mother beat me, I tried not to scream. I held it in to retain a sliver of dignity. I couldn’t stop my eyes from watering up with the pain. But, I found that, if I just clenched my teeth and stared at my mother, I could stop myself from crying.

In fact, it made the beatings worse because it drove mother mad. She thought the punishment was not working and should be increased to teach me a lesson. She, therefore, kept on going with the belt or invented something more «effective».

Her methods varied, fuelled to heights of cruelty by her imagination. I never know what to expect next. Every day was unpredictable. All I knew for sure was that every punishment and every day of my life was a painful battle to survive. Mother never ran out of energy and new ideas for how to punish me «effectively».

Some of my crimes led to a repetition of punishments. I could be punished – for instance – a few days in a row for the crime I did previously. My bike was an example of this.

«Your bike MUST BE found, you little scum,» mother yelled the morning after it had been stolen. She grabbed me by my hair and yelled in my ear. “ You need to find the fucking bike, scum shit,» she shouted. «Don’t you get it? It costs fucking money!» My mother’s spit sprinkled on my face.

«Find the f…..ing bike!» she yelled. «Find it…!!!!»

«I will!» I cried. «Just let me go.»

«Let you go? You rotten bitch… You’ll have to be punished!!!» mother

yelled, twisting my ear as roughly as she could.

Tears blurred my vision and blood spurted out my nose.

Mother grabbed the belt. «THIS» will teach you to look after your toys…»

My whole body writhed in pain. I crawled away, trying to escape. But she grabbed me tightly by my hair. The agony of pain burned my body. Mother kept on striking me with the belt. The pain was unbearable. «I must hold in my tears of pain. I must not scream,» I told myself. I kept on biting my lips.

«Just hold on in there,» I kept repeating to myself. «Just don’t scream. The windows were open deliberately so other kids could hear and laugh. And this was exactly what mother wanted. She wanted people to laugh at me. She wanted me to feel degraded…

«I must NOT SCREAM…» I kept repeating in my mind. «I MUST NOT SCREAM………»

«Scream, louder, louder,» begged my mother hysterically while hitting me with the belt. «When are you going to scream???? You are a fucking dirty bitch,» my mother repeated screaming in my ear.

«Scream so everyone could laugh at you!» she continued.

I kept silent, still biting my lips and wiggling like a worm under her massive body. She had me pinned against her to keep me still while she struck me with the belt.

I felt no air circulating. The pressure was unbearable. I was in an agony of pain. I couldn’t stand it another instant. Suddenly, I let go the scream of pain. It came from the depths of my soul. I sounded like a wild animal, dying in the agony of pain…

That night Dad did not come home. Mother whipped me brutally with the plug from the stereo. After the punishment, I went to bed, praying that it was over and the night would hide me from my mother. Darkness was my shelter.

In bed, I could not find myself a comfortable spot. My whole body was aching, burning, and stinging. I closed my eyes praying God would hear my pain and end my life.

Could He really hear me «the child from hell»? The «monster child» whom my mother said deserved this life? Could He really hear my suffering??

Suddenly, I thought to myself: How lucky am I now? I am still alive and in bed. I felt relieved that the punishment was over.

«Thanks, God,» I said. Today is one day less for me to live on this planet, I thought. Today is over.

In my cold and dark room, I cried silently, making sure no sobbing or sounds came out…

Mother suddenly opened the door and jumped on my bed, grabbed me by the hair and slapped me across the face with indescribable strength… It was not over. My relief had been premature.

The blood gushed from my mouth as well as from my nose.

«Listen you,» she hissed. «You have made my life a living hell,» she sneered. «You are making me suffer. Now, it is my turn to show you what hell is like.»

Mother dragged me to the bathroom by my hair. «Spiders and rats are here,» mother indicated. «So, stay here with them till the morning. No light. Understood?» she threatened «This will teach you a lesson to take care of your toys.

«It’s too bad,» my mother grimaced, «your drunken old fool of a father is not here to help you.» She laughed. «And guess what? He does not give a fuck. If he did, he would be here to save you.»

With that, she shut off the lights and slammed the door. Inky darkness descended.

«It’s too dark,» I protested… «I am petrified!» I cried.

«Well get used to it. This is what your life will always be like,» my mother yelled through the door. «Dark and gloomy. You deserve it. Your life will be a long dark road of hell and torment. Nobody who will save you. No one wants you. You turn people off. You are less than a worm. You are IT, the child from Hell. The daughter of the Devil. You are possessed by Satan. I am an unfortunate mother. God punished me with a child like you. What have I done to deserve you?» My mother started to cry….

«Do not think you can escape me? I wish someone would take you off my shoulders… But nobody will ever even marry you, you dirty SHIT… It means I am stuck with YOU forever. YOU DON’T deserve anything good children have. Can you hear me??? Repeat this!» she ordered.

«Yes, mother!» I cried. «I deserve this. I am the child from hell, the child from the Devil. Nobody can LOVE me. I will stay here and learn my lesson…»

«Good,» my mother replied, «THEN LEARN! We will repeat the punishment tomorrow.» She left the bathroom door locked.

I was all alone in the darkness. I was so scared. «Please God, dear God, please,» I cried on my knees on the cold floor in the bathroom. «Why can’t you take me away or kill me or do something to end my suffering?» I begged.

«What have I, a child, done to you that You gave me this kind of life?

What have I done, God?» I pleaded, sobbing.

I banged my fists on the door, trying to break it down. But it was too strong. I could not break it.

Amid my sobs, I heard mother’s laugh echoing from far away. «Suffer, you little shit, DIE if you want. Just let my life be. Set me free,» mother kept on yelling form the corridor.

«Do you want me to give you a knife?» Mother asked behind the locked door

«What for?» I cried.

«To kill yourself, you dumb bitch. Cut your wrists,» mother suggested.

I dropped my exhausted body on the floor, shaking and trembling with fear. I cried and cried. But she didn’t care.

«You don’t deserve to live,» she jeered. «Life is only for good kids who deserve it.»

When Dad came home, I was rescued. He put me in bed, kissed me and told me he loved me. I saw the tears in his eyes. For a moment, I thought how lucky I was. But, I could not sleep. The punishment was all over for the night. My whole body was aching from being beaten. My father was there. But the next day he’d be gone and there would be no one to protect me from my mother’s beatings.

I could hear Dad fighting with mother. He threatened to break her arms if she touched me again. I was not heartened. You see: Dad made these same threats every single time mother punished me. But mother never took them seriously. Dad was always trying to stop mother from punishing me and every day he was saying the same thing all over again. He threatened to put her in hospital. My Dad always pleaded mother to treat me better. He begged her to stop beating me. But unfortunately, his efforts only made things worse for me the next day when he was at work.

Every effort Dad made to help me always led to a grandiose argument between mother and him. They ended up breaking dishes. Then, mother physically abused Dad. He had no choice but to slap her across the face or push her hard. Mother called this PHYSICAL ASSAULT.

She ran out on the balcony and yelled to attract neighbours, «Somebody help!» she cried. «Save my life. My husband is killing me.»

Her goal was to ridicule and get revenge on my Dad for «interfering» in her child-rearing practices.

One-night, Dad tried to get mother to change her mind about the methods of her child rearing practices by making «deals» with her. He tried to bribe her with promises such as holidays, more money for Zhenya.

But all his attempts were useless. Mother was as solid as rock. She kept on singing sarcastically: «You can kiss my ass, you old fucking fool,» she jeered. «The child is your ugly mini version. Two fucking monsters. You are nothing but pathetic shits. I am too strong to defeat. I am too strong to convince. I am a rock. I am iron. We Russian women never give up… None of you are worth dirt.»

She kept on singing the put downs over his voice ignoring his pleas about me. I know he was trying his best to improve my life at home. But, if anything, his interfering always made it worse for me the next day when he left to work. After that, I always had to pay the price for «making parents fight against each other and poisoning their relationship.»

My mother never lost a fight. She would never give in to Dad’s pleas to stop punishing me. Every night, they’d fight about the same issue «ME or my brother Zhenya. Every time, mother won the fight. They fought whenever they were together.

My Dad accused my mother of exhausting their finances by letting Zhenya have everything he wanted, by paying out his debts to people to stop them from reporting him to the police. Dad said mother did not leave any money to feed us because she spent everything on my brother and his desires.

My brother didn’t want to work. He never worried about money. He has always lived off my parents’ money avoiding terrific jobs. He spent years conning people who came to our house to demand their money. They threatened to go to police if we didn’t pay. Mother always paid them out to keep Zhenya away from jail.

Zhenya refused to take any job that he considers beneath him. He had no interest in becoming financially independent. He believed every job was beneath him.

This was why mother and father fought every day. Dad did not want to take part in financing my brother.

But he could never win with my mother. Mother refused to let Zhenya suffer by being responsible for himself. Zhenya’s girlfriends were also supported financially by my parents. My mother insisted we needed to help Zhenya hold on and keep relationships with females.

Zhenya liked drugs and partying. He yelled at my mother and blackmailed her if she did not give him enough money. So, in the end she always relented. Dad begged her to stop enabling my brother and his destructive behaviours, crimes and spending.

Usually, when my parents were home no matter what the issue that would start the fight, I would soon be the object of their battle. Mother’s hatred of me was so powerful that it made her illusions real. In her own sick mind tormenting and torturing her spirit, Mother had always believed I was evil that I should change.

Often, when Dad was not home if I passed her she’d start sobbing. Knowing that I would never ignore her tears, she’d start yelling for no reason, talking to herself and begging God to «change» me.

I would sit down near her on the bed while she sobbed and sulked. She would lean toward me, her lips close to my ear and hiss how much I had fucked up her life «Everything was good until you came into this family. I could sense you were from Satan,» she would sob, «You and your father are the reason your brother went on drugs. You both adore each other. But, my son lost his own father. You bitch have taken the whole lot. You have a natural father, but my son’s father abandoned him. My son is better than you,» she’d accuse. «He was too good too kind. He became bad because you were born, and all the attention was given to you by your elderly fool of a father who was blinded by his love towards you. My son was neglected because you took it all. I married your father and he adopted your brother and promised to be there for him. We all were so happy up until that day when you devil was conceived and then born. Your father stopped loving us. He switched to you and became obsessed with the love for you. You took it all from us. Zhenya became unimportant for him. He would not leave your cot. He would not show you to anybody up until you were two months old. He cherished you. He adored and admired everything about you. Nobody else mattered to him. He would sleep sitting at your cot. He was very possessive about your care. It was as if you were born to her majesty royalty „Romanovs“. At that time, he stopped loving me and your brother. All the love and affection were given to you, bitch… You were the centre of your father’s thoughts, life, and love. Since you little bitch were born, I lost my son and husband. You always demanded too much attention. You were always sick, always cruel to me. Poor Zhenya was left to himself. Everyone was too busy with you. Zhenya was left behind to grow on his own. And now my boy is on drugs and on the street. I am a broken-hearted mother. You took my son. Then, my husband. Then everything else I loved and enjoyed. You bitch! You ruined me and my whole life,» mother finished, wiping her tears.

I watched my mother’s tears and pain, devastated. My guilt was overwhelming. My heart was broken for her I asked what is that I could do to make her happier.

«You are so ugly. Oh God. You are so pathetic. You are evil! Do you understand that if you don’t change, you will never be able to have a family and be happy? With the character like yours you will never be amount to anything good in life. You will never marry. You will never have any relationship. You will never be respected by anyone. The universe never accepts people like you. You are just like your Dad,» she accused. «Evil, pathetic, ridiculous, stupid, smelly, messy, dumb, yucky and ugly. You and your Dad turn people off. People are disgusted by you. It’s all about people, Olya,» mother continued. «They hate and despise you and your Dad. You must become like, so everyone could like you and respect you. If you become like your Dad you will inherit his karma and bad luck.»

She went on, «People talk about him behind his back and disrespect him. You and your father have so many things in common. You both have nothing to be respected for. Olya, answer and chose who are you going to be like HIM or me? The older you become, the more inadequate, bad qualities I see in you which are identical like your Dad’s.»

«I have these conversations with you every day and, you bitch. You still don’t want to change,» she’d lament.

I tried to tell her I’d change. «CHANGE,» she said. «I BEG YOU, mother cried and threw herself on the floor banging her fists. «Let God cast out the evil spirits from my daughter. Give me a good daughter instead of the evil one.»

I ran to my room, tears are running down my face. I couldn’t breathe. There was not enough air for me to inhale…. I took the knife and cut my wrists.

I cut to block the pain out. I cut to punish myself. I hated myself. As I watched my blood running, I looked at my reflection in the mirror and yelled out loud, «I hate you!»

I believed I hated myself all my life without even realizing it. Where I got the courage to go on in the face of these daily verbal and physical attacks.

When I was a child, my mother never liked anything about me. She would slap me across the face. My laugh, she claimed «sounded demonic». She believed I was evil and it was her responsibility «to cast the evil spirit out» of me.

Even today at forty-two, I am criticized for my laugh by my mother. Mother still gets very disturbed and inconsolable when she hears my laugh – while many others find it charming.

I think the worst and most difficult thing for me is to block those ingrained feelings of inadequacy and the feeling that I am «BAD», unworthy, unlovable. This was always a challenge that was so hard to overcome. I’m not sure that I’ve ever really believed I was worthy. Too many years of abuse have done their job on my sense of self-worth. But they’ve never broken my spirit. I had the courage to continue in spite of little hope of a brighter future.