J
I remember the first time my mother touched me, it was when I got up on a chair to give my dad a hug, he looked so handsome in his postal uniform, I reached up to him, she grabbed me and put me down on the floor, before he could hug me back. I can remember my mother and older sisters laughing at me, making fun of how big my nose was, how big my lips were. how I wasn't like them, They told me I was like the Buckleys, my fathers side. Dad had a sister who lived down the road from us, she was to me a kind woman who gave me pancakes even though she didn't have much for herself, or her own children, I liked being at her house. My mother told us we were not allowed to go there. To my mother she was a low life person who was simple in the head and not all there, and to my mother I was just like her. My mother would call me her name, Joan Buckley. My sisters followed suit. I have no good memories of my childhood. I remember watching men shovel coal in the basement, my mother telling me I was man crazy while driving me away from the window, I was 9 or ten by then. I can remember going in the woods and hoping someone or something would find me and kill me. I was about 11 or 12 when I tried to kill myself by smoking cigerettes until I got really sick and couldn't smoke anymore. A few weeks or months later I took a bottle of pills. I remember my mother giving me mustard and trying to make me throw up. I do not know how I got to the hospital. I remember being forced to stand against the wall while a nurse laughed at me. I felt so dobey.
I will contiinue tomorrow
I will contiinue tomorrow
