Chapter 5 - WARNING: THIS BLOG ENTRY MAY CAUSE TRIGGERING AND RELAPSING! CHILD ABUSE, VIOLENCE. CAUTION. "In This Corner, Heavy Weight Champion....."

Oh, the days of hell on Indian School Road, as I commonly refer to them. I thought back to the time I told my mother to go ahead and kill me, as I was dead already. Anger came rushing in like a hot southern wind blowing through the desert. I went to my room and flopping down on the bed I turned my record player on, lifted the needle, set it down on the record and listened to the band Styx. "Tommy Shaw is so cute..." I thought to myself. I wonder who's got some weed was my next thought? Mabey Arlene will know someone or we can ask around. All I know is that I need to get STONED!! My head was full of thoughts of anger and I looked at a piece of paper hanging on my wall. It was a poem I had written for my mother last year for my Spanish class. It read in english, "My mother, the most beautiful mother in the world, she is also the nicest, sweetest, best mother in the world in my eyes" "She is my Sun, my Moon, my Stars in the sky". When I wrote that it had come from my heart. I loved my mother very much "but she sure has a real funny way of showing how much she loves me" I thought to myself as I stretched out on my bed. I wondered what my brother Howard was doing. Probably out getting drugs or getting busted, or overdosing as he did on a regular basis. My brother Rob was in Canada. He moved up when we were living on Indian School Road after our other brother Chess was killed. He hung around in a pit of despair for a year and then left for Canada. Chesley and he were so close and Chess was always sticking up for Rob as my dad had it in for my brother Rob and beat on him whenever he could. I thought to myself as I rolled over on my side, Tommy Shaw's voice singing the songs just for me, "why does my mom hate me? Why does she not want me?" Images from my early days made their way into my head, images and recollections of beatings that took place years before were just as fresh had they happened the week before. I hugged my pillow and went off in a daydream, or I should say a nightmare and remembered the days of hell on earth in the house on Indian School Road.

I gripped the margarine tub filled with water tightly, "oooohhh..be careful, do not spill this water...mommy will be mad" I was thinking to myself as I opened the screen door to go out to the back yard. I had my barbie dolls set up out there, it was summer, beautiful blue sky, warm, not a cloud in the sky. The screen door slammed behind me as the rebound self closing attachment was the old fashioned kind, not the air pump kind that closed slowly on it's own. The screen door closed with a "crash" and I could hear my mom yelling at me from inside the house at the top of her lungs..."LAURIE - ANN - SMITH!!!!!" I knew I was in trouble as she always called me like that when I was about to get the beats or the belt. I came into the house and I was a nervous eight year old girl, and as I let go of the screen door it slammed again, looking across the kitchen at her I could see her coming for me, "I told you not to let that door slam didn't I?" "I told you not to wake baby Shannon didn't I?" Baby Shannon was a neighbor's baby girl my mom was looking after for the day.I started to run as I could see her heading for me with the look of anger and hatred mixed in and rolled into one vicious visage. "Come here," she grabbed me by my arm and yanked me down onto my knees. The floor was an uneven stone utility room floor, literally rock hard. My knees cracked on impact. I winced in pain and she grabbed a table leg from a coffee table that had become useless for anything except to use as weapons of war and shouted at me "You NEVER listen!! You NEVER do as you are told!! She began to beat me with the table leg and I cried, of course. I was upset because I was trying to tell her I did not mean it and that I was sorry, but she was not listening. She cursed at me and dragged me outside, dropping me on the ground by the tub of water which was to be my barbie pool. "STAY OUT! YOU HEAR ME??????" I just layed there, fighting back the tears, writhing in pain from the beating she had dished out. Tommy Shaw's song was over and Denis DeYoung took over. He had a great voice. I loved his voice too, I thought as I pondered the question again, "why does she hate me?" I drifted back to the house of hell on earth and remembered a time when I was ten years old. My nephews had been over at our house and were starting to annoy me. They were not all that much younger than myself as my mother and my oldest sister were both pregnant at the same time. My mom was pregnant with me and my sister was having her first child three months after I was brought into the world. "I said leave me alone" I stomped from the back yard into the house. Going straight to my sisters and mine shared room. I slammed the door not once, not twice, but three times, opening it and closing it and each time repeating "Stay out of my room!" My mother heard me slamming my door and I could hear her from the kitchen. "G...dam....YOU!! You STUPID BITCH!" I heard her get up from the kitchen table and thought to myself, "now I'm in trouble..oh oh....." and I stood there kind of snickering to myself. Kathi was sitting on the bed doing her homework. Kathi heard my mom coming too and issued a warning.."you better stop" My mother came into the room and started to curse me, grabbing both of my wrists with her hand, she had one hand free to bitch slap me till the cows came home. At the top of her lungs she yelled at me furiously, shaking me like a rag doll, squeezing my wrist bones together like peanuts, "YOU FU..ING WHORE! YOU G....D....PIECE OF SHIT!!! Each slap coinciding in rythm with each curse word that came out of her mouth. "HOW DARE YOU! YOU G...slap...D...slap...STUPID....slap....WHORE!!!slap......and the blood from my nose splattered on the wall. Her rings were cutting my cheek and the top right side of my lip was busted..I could not even defend myself as she still had a hold on my wrists. I was about ready to pass out when with the last slap, she let go of me and I went sailing to the floor. I stayed down. I dared not even look at her. Blood was pouring from my nose and I had my hand cupped under it trying to catch as much as I could. It was on the wall, the carpet, my clothes, her clothes, and that was just round one. "Clean this mess up..." she grumbled as she left the room. I went to the bathroom and turned the trash can over to see in the mirror. I stepped up onto the trash can and as my face came into view I nearly threw up. My face was completely ravaged. She had literally re-arranged my face! I became angry. I grabbed toilet paper and began to try to get my nose to stop bleeding. By this time blood was all over the sink, the toilet, the floor and the trash can. I leaned over thinking that might help. I leaned back and it flowed down the back of my throat. I could not get it to stop and Kathi came into the bathroom and told me to lean forward and pinch my nose. She was probably in shock from witnessing the event and she did not like the sight of blood and left the bathroom quickly. I started to cry and still holding the tissue on my nose I went into the hallway and yelled at my mother "WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO AHEAD AND KILL ME!!! I'M DEAD ANYWAY", with that I went and sat down on the bathroom floor, nose still bleeding. My mother heard me and was back for round two, this time armed with a belt. The belt whipped through the air, catching my legs, "I'll KILL YOU, YOU ROTTEN SELFISH LITTLE BITCH!! I'LL KILL YOU, MARK MY WORDS! GOD D... YOU TO HELL! YOU F....N' WHORE!!!" my brother Howard came and took the belt from her and convinced her enough was enough. I sat in the bathroom, wondering if my nose would ever stop bleeding.

Prologue and Chapter 1 - "How Many Fingers am I Holding Up?" from Not So Fond Memories, Growing up in an Abusive Home

Written by: Laurie Ann Smith
Prologue: This is my story, some names have been changed until I can reach the persons and obtain their permission to use them in this story. All events are as factual as can be. The contents of this story are in no way a complete history as I am merely presenting facts that represent the clear meaning and motivation for writing this story. If anyone wishes to know more, that is if anyone finds my story interesting enough to care to look a bit deeper, by all means please contact me with your questions. Some of the content is graphic although I did not go into details when mentioning marital rape and molestation. Perhaps I might if absolutely necessary shed some light on what I saw, and what I went through myself regarding sexual abuse. I did not change the "language" to suit a younger audience as I really want the "TRUTH" to be brought to light. I was actually toning it down in most instances as my mother had a whole vocabulary that would make any sailor blush. I have made it a point to not forget what happened to me, as I made it a point to not forget the pain my entire family suffered due to ignorance, a lack of education and the cycle of abuse and poverty that repeats itself, had been passed on to my parents who did not break the cycle but instead perpetuated it. My sister Kathi and I have both agreed that we broke the cycle. She has one daughter. I have no children. It is my hope that someday this compilation of chapters in my life will be made into a book and published as a ray of hope to those who are still in the dark searching for the light.


Chapter 1 – “How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?”

“No No No” I cried, in three quick successions and in a defensive block with my arms tried to ward off the blows. A familiar voice spoke loudly and my eyes opened to see a hand in front of my face and the voice asking “how many fingers am I holding up?” I looked but did not see any fingers, just the whole hand, a bit blurry, fuzzy looking and I had to look again, “three?” “Good” she said. “Go back to sleep now” and this would repeat itself through the night, always a different question, “what day is it?”, ”what is your name”, “how old are you?”and each time I would drift off into a fitful sleep and dream the nightmare again. The next morning it would all make more sense, as I remembered that I had my head cracked by my mother again. This time was the worst and I was so glad to be safe for the moment at my friend’s house. They had been up all through the night, my friend and her mother, taking turns to watch over me while I slept and to wake me up every hour on the hour just to be sure I was not going into a coma or shock from the beating I had taken at home that day. I do not recall why it went the way it did, sometimes I had a smart mouth, sometimes I said things I should not have said but this was just way over the top, it almost felt like it was planned and that my mother had set the whole thing up as she knew I did not like to eat a particular soup she would make, stewed tomatoes and milk, which the milk would curdle and I just did not like the combination. I probably said something about it as she called me for lunch. The scene replayed in my mind as I explained to my friend Deserie what exactly had happened. I sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the soup and said something my mother did not want to hear.


Fists pounded the kitchen table as my mother stood up out of her chair. She was almost six feet tall and she weighed about 260 pounds. Her ominous figure towered over me and I knew this was not going to be good. I braced myself as the back of her hand caught me on my right cheek, my whole body went backwards to the left, including the chair and I cried out in pain as my left temple caught the side of the clothes dryer that was situated right behind me. I was stunned but I knew I better get out of the house or it was going to be a bad day for me. I started to run, and while I was moving around the table my mother was cursing me like a banshee “you god damn piece of shit! You no good rotten whore! I’ll take your G..D… head off” she screamed and shoved the table into my side so that I was trapped. She reached me and by this time I knew the routine, so I just tried to protect my head by curling up on my stomach to ward off some of the blows with my back. "Crack, Thud, Thud," was the sound the heavy homemade wooden rolling pen made as it hit my back, my shoulders and caught the back of my head. My mother was in a rage at this point, beyond even knowing what she was doing, “YOU WANT SOME MORE???!!!!!!!” she screamed, kicked my legs and bent over grabbing my hair and pulling me up, I was whimpering and saying no, that I did not want any more, and she screamed into my ear “I SAID!!!!! DO - YOU – WANT – SOME – MORE???” I could feel the rolling pen hit my head again and again and I was protecting my head as best as I could with my hands when a blow hit my hand and I brought it down, “aaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiyyyyyyyyy, not my head” I said “no, please…..”

I cried and pleaded and crack, the rolling pen connected with the back of my head and I could feel the blood pour down my neck and curl around my ear onto my face and onto the floor. That was not the first time my mother had spilled my blood, but it would be the last time that she would ever beat me like that again. She grew tired and in her exhaustion could only muster up some cussing, I got up and was heading out through the living room, only a few steps as the house was very small, she spun me around and spit in my face “GET OUT YOU F..KING SLUT! YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” I was crying and I could feel the tears running from my eyes, I am sure I said something back to her but I do not remember what it was. Probably how much I hated her. She shoved me to the front door and slammed it behind me. I was dizzy and shaking and extremely pissed off. I went down the driveway and onto the street I grew up on, and made my way down a few houses, I looked to see if my best friend Arlene's car was in the driveway, but she was working. She was a year older than me, I was half way to 14 years old that summer. I walked down the block to my friend Deserie's house. She had moved there with her family the year before and we had become good friends. Her parents were nice and I could think of no other place to go.