Читать книгу Dared To Survive - Olya Mancuso - Страница 9

I remember, one day, my mother decided that I should go to kindergarten by myself. «You are not a queen and I am not your slave,» said my mother. «From now on, you must go to kindergarten by yourself. Grow up and be independent. Other children are independent and so you must be, too.»

Mother explained how to get to the school and warned me to lie to the teacher. «Tell her I dropped you off, but I did not want to go inside,» she instructed me.

I was petrified to walk on my own. I did not want to lie for my mother. But, mother made it clear that, if I didn’t do the right thing by her, I would pay the price for my disobedience.

I cried bitterly, asking what would happen to me if I got lost.

«If you get lost,» replied mother, «then you are one dumb fucking bitch and you deserve to get lost.»

When I protested, she said, «The kindergarten is very close by. Only a stupid dumb bitch like you could ever get lost. If you do get lost, then a maniac serial killer will kidnap you and kill you. He will chop you into pieces and then drop your remains to rot in the dark forest,» mother threatened.

Terrified of the outcome and picturing the scenario mother had so clearly painted, I was determined not to get lost. I kept walking fast, sweating with intensive fear. Paying God to save me from the serial killer, I walked the route mother had explained.

I was petrified to get lost and very determined to find my way to the kindergarten. In my mind, I kept picturing the maniac who would kidnap me and cut me into pieces.

The pedestrians passing by seemed to me one potential hidden killer after another, waiting for me to get lost, so they could catch me and take me to the forest. Walking in the fear, trying to find my way I noticed that my pants were wet. The humiliation and guilt were burning inside me. But, I had to keep walking towards my destination.

The journey seemed interminably long to me. But, in reality, the kindergarten was only ten minutes walking distance from home. I had to cross at one set of traffic light and then turn left and right and the next street was my kindergarten.

With the relief and happiness, I found my way. I stood for a while smiling to myself, thanking God for keeping me safe. I felt uncomfortable because of my wet clothes. I decided to wait behind the tree until the other children, with their moms, went inside so they didn’t see me there by myself and suspect something was wrong.

I tried to «protect» my mother so no one knew that I was alone. Following with my eyes, I watched moms who kissed and cuddled their kids. I tried to battle my jealousy.

When it was safe to go inside, I opened the door and walked into the centre. I told my story exactly the way mother had instructed me to say it. Nobody noticed the suffering and fear on my face. Nobody even knew that, on that day at age five, I had made my way to the kindergarten, all by myself.

The day in the kinder ended up, as usual, with new trouble. I got myself into trouble for bashing and hurting those kids – the ones I had observed in the morning near the gate whose Moms were making a fuss over them, kissing and cuddling them.

I hit them because I wanted to see them hurt. I was longing for the love they had. I wanted to be loved, too.

The teachers separated me from the group. I was placed in the isolation room for «bad» kids. My teacher, Zinaida Ivanovna, protested my being placed in that room on my own. But those days, the Russian Communist system did not make adjustments for troubled kids. The kids were to adjust to adults and their system. The children were to be seen, not to be spoken to. But we were to listen!!!

And I did not listen. It seemed like the rules were against me or I was the one against the rules. I rebelled and opposed everything and everyone around me: rules, people, teachers, kids, activities and even toys. At home, I was evil. In the kindergarten classroom, I was evil too.

At kindergarten, I was often smacked and put in the isolation room. These punishments were like a holiday for me compared to the punishments at home. It should come as no surprise that punishments at kindergarten never worked on me. They never taught me anything. Instead, I continued bashing the kids, breaking things, and creating a nightmare for the teachers who wanted to run away. They hated me for making their job a living hell and impossible to cope.

At the end of the day, when all the kids were collected by their parents, I was the only one left. The teacher was trying to call my mother but no one at home picked up the phone.

I suddenly got frightened. I imagined that my mother had decided to leave me here forever as a punishment for my evil soul and spirit. My terror grew stronger. I was picturing Dad. I was scared that I would never see him again. The tears were rolling down my face with the thoughts that I would never see my dad again.

My fear of being abandoned grew into a panic attack. I jumped out the window. This time, I knew the way back home. I had come to the kindergarten in the morning all by myself and logically I worked out the way back home.

Without thinking twice, I ran towards my house. I crossed the busy, dangerous road safely. When I came home, the door was closed. I tried to reach the bell, but it was too high. I tried to bang on the wall with my feet. But my quarrelling parents were so loud that they could not hear me banging the door.

We lived on the second floor. The bell was too high to reach. I quickly went outside and collected brick after brick. I carried them up the second floor until I made myself a trampoline to stand on higher to reach the bell. I then reached the bell and rang it. The screaming of my parents suddenly stopped. Maybe they thought that it was police but when they opened the door their jaws dropped.

Mother panicked straight away. «Oh my God!» she yelled. «This bitch is going to get me into trouble. Who the hell gave you the right to leave the kindergarten class and come home by yourself??»

The next day, mother took me to kinder and brought presents and «bribes» to the kinder teacher begging her not to blow the incident out of proportion.

While my mother was talking to the teacher, I noticed a young boy sitting at the table sobbing. His Mom was wiping his tears, kissing him all over his wet face.

I went to sit at the table with them, fascinated by his Mom. As I sat there I noticed how young and beautiful she looked. There was so much kindness and warmth on her face. Her bright energy was lighting the place where she was sitting. She had long, black hair. Her head was bent toward her son. She was smiling and hugging and kissing this boy. I kept looking at her in admiration. She kept his hand in hers. Her voice was so soft and enchanting. She noticed how I looked at her and gave me a hug too, asking if I wanted to play with her son.

I told her, «I will look after your son.» She gave me another hug and kissed me on the forehead. Then, she took her head band off and gave it to me.

«Here,» she said, «you can keep it.»

I took her hand and kissed it. She looked a bit shocked. I guess she could not understand why I was so affectionate to her for something so small. Maybe, in her eyes, it was small. But, for me to have affection from a woman, from someone else’s mom, was a miracle. I longed for this with all my heart. I will never forget how this kindness, so small, made me feel. I felt like I had suddenly grown two wings and I could fly. I felt like I was in seventh heaven. This feeling was so foreign to me. I was filled with so much happiness. It was a beautiful feeling I would never forget.

As I kissed her hand, I felt like I wanted to kiss her more and more. So, I tried to cling to her. She looked more lost and confused. She tried to free her hand from mine. But I was determined to cling to her, and hug her that I grabbed her arm and started pushing myself onto her, trying to hold her as tight as I could. I started crying and raving like a wild animal.

At that moment, the teachers and my mother too saw the scene. They all came to «rescue» this boy’s Mom from me. Mother grabbed me by the hair trying to pull myself from this young beautiful mother of that boy whom I did not want to let go. Mother tried to drag me out from the scene, yelling into my ear, «Let go of her. Let go I said. Let her go, you piece of disgusting shit. Let go of her, monster child.»

After this incident, mother took me home and beat me soundly with the belt for «embarrassing» her in front of others. I was whipped and sent to my room without dinner.

That night I wet my bed again. As usual, I was belted for that crime and punished for two weeks by being forbidden to go outside.

I always craved love and attention. This is not to say that I accepted love willingly – quite the opposite, in fact. If someone decided to like or even love me, they would have to pass through an obstacle course, being pushed pulled and tested at every corner. Only then, upon arrival at the finish line, would they gain my acceptance. This eliminated a number of potential friends and partners. I often found myself lonely and disappointed.

My inability to accept love easily stems back to my childhood. Growing up with my mother telling me that she hated me and felt no love and was ashamed of me made me desperate to be the perfect daughter. I would go to any length to prove myself worthy, even following her to see my brother in jail with her as a way of connecting.

I disguised my pain with unruly behaviour at school and everywhere else I went. My life continued like this for many years. I hated myself. I was terrified of letting anyone in. I wanted to have a chance at life, to meet someone and have my own children that I could love and be proud of.

I realized, then, that this would only happen if I stopped treating myself the same way my mother had. Instead of testing people in my life, I let go and granted people access. I decided that, even if someone let me down, I could handle it. I also decided to be open with new people who came into my life. I didn’t scare them off at the first encounter.

As relationships began to develop, I would explain how my past affected me, and how I’d chosen to move on and be happy. Almost everyone I opened to was completely supportive. Openness became a two-way street. I learned that most people had experienced their own struggles. Our confessions strengthened these new relationships.

I also learned that not everyone was someone I could open up to. But, the more I did it, the better instincts I had about who to let into my life. Taking risks with people is essential for happiness. After all, it is better to have experienced at least some loving friendships than to sit alone, fearing heartache. By loving myself, I allowed others to love me.

I love myself because I am still here. I can see my life changing around me. When I have moments of insecurity, I read through my journals, speak to friends, or throw myself into tasks I enjoy, like singing. Since changing my outlook, I have formed a number of great friendships.

The only thing I can give my mother credit for was making me courageous and independent. She didn’t intend to do this but because of my resilience I became a risk taker, willing to reach out to others in spite of the way she treated me.