Daddy was very angry that day. He had a horrible temper that could not be controlled. I remember that day perfectly. I was nine years old, sitting in the kitchen of our one bedroom apartment writing a story when Mom and Dad began fighting about finances.

“Well, it’s your fault you got laid off! Maybe if you weren’t so self-centered and cared a little more about Amy and I then you would still have a job!” Mom screamed.

Dad shouted back, “I would do anything for Amy, but you deserve nothing! Take one step closer and you’ll be a dead woman! I swear to you, Joanne, I won’t hesitate to kill you!”

Immediately after he said those words I knew Mom would retaliate. I slouched down in my chair, hoping that nothing would happen. A few haunting seconds later, Mom was two steps closer to him. Dad had to prove her wrong by grabbing a razor-sharp knife from the kitchen drawer and jabbing it, ever so brutally, right through Mommy’s chest. She fell to the floor instantly and I ran into the bedroom, planning to never take that blanket off of me. I could not stay under that blanket, but I still keep it safe to this day. It is all I have to remember my mother. That was the last time I saw her.

I hated my father with a passion that burned stronger than the fiery sun. I lost contact with him because I thought of him as a sickening creature that deserved nothing but the absolute worst. He was a vacuum cleaner that inhaled all the importance of my life and everything I ever cared about. The vacuum cleaner chewed up and devoured my whole life with no concern about me. My goal in life was to be nothing like my father in every way that I could possibly imagine. This goal led me to accomplish so much. Thirteen years after the death of my mother, I had completely turned my life around.
I was very satisfied with my accomplishments as graduate from Yale University. With a very swanky two story apartment in the Back Bay of Boston, MA, my life seemed to be going remarkably. This apartment was loaded with beautifully detailed furniture and paintings and it was always kept and perfect shape. There was plenty of room for guests and it was inviting, as well as cozy. My friends would come over my apartment all the time and I would always have parties. Anyone I knew was always welcome to stay the night. In this time of my life, I was a physically fit blonde young woman who had everything going for her.
Being a successful reporter for The Boston Globe for about two years, I was told that if my next report done well enough, I would be given a promotion. The scene I had to go to was in a bad area of South Boston. I parked my car in a hidden ally, assuming nobody would go near there. When I walked out of my car, I began to get more and more frightened. I noticed a number of people smoking marijuana whom I avoided eye contact with. It was a dirty area with trash everywhere and intimidating strangers everywhere I turned. Once I got further down the street I began to feel a little safer.
Soon after that, I could hear my heart pounding. Then, I realized that the pounding was not my heart, but footsteps from a large man that was following me. When I turned around to look at him he threw my body against the wall and began to beat me repeatedly. My clothes were being ripped off of me and one second later, so were his. He threw me o the ground and then I got very dizzy. The man was rough with me and there was nothing I could do about it. The last thing I remember about that torturous sexual assault was the menacing glare in the man’s eyes looking at me. They were a brown color with a hint of red that seemed to intensify into a red fire that overtook my entire body. From that moment on, the image of those eyes haunts me. I woke up on the ground, unclothed with no sign of anyone. The man was gone and I was left alone. Every time I wake up in the morning, I flash back to that moment when the man stared me dead in the eyes. It is a constant reminder that he is always going to be with me, ruining my life.
No one has ever known about that experience. People know that something must have happened to me because of the shape I was in. When my old friend saw me at the grocery store, she stared at me from head to toe and then said, “What happened?” I ignored her and walked out of the store, wishing that I would never see anyone I knew ever again. I did not show up to work for a few weeks after that. The company had no contact with me whatsoever. Then, I began to feel very nauseous. I didn’t feel like myself and I was eating everything I could possibly find. A sudden fear hit me. I was deathly afraid that this rapist may have gotten me pregnant.
When I went to the doctor he said, “Wow! You are definitely pregnant. I’m very happy for you, Amy.”
I could not even think of being happy. This was my worst nightmare. I was carrying the child of a man who ruined my life and now he has left a human being to constantly continue tearing apart my world everyday. As the birth of the child came nearer and nearer, I realized that the child did not deserve the blame and the hatred that I was putting on it. The decision was made that I would care for this child like a set of fine china plates. I would be delicate with the child and give it everything it wanted.
Six months into the pregnancy, I was evicted from my apartment. With no job or income, I had no way to pay for that expensive home. I had to move into a very cheap, crammed one bedroom apartment, much like the one I lived in as a child. I could only bring a limited amount of furniture with me and I sold the rest to make some money. I also had to sell all my fancy clothing and replace them with cheaper outfits. In the apartment, the ceiling tiles were stained from leakage, the faucet was broken, and the tenants were disgusting and rude. I always told myself that I was different than these people and I could not believe they lived this way.
After a few weeks in the apartment, I became one of those bad-mannered, repulsive people. I spent the last three months of my pregnancy sitting on the couch eating potato chips while watching Criminal Minds. I only left the apartment when it was necessary, mostly in the case that I needed more food. I showered and cleaned myself very rarely and my apartment was even dirtier than my body. I never had any of my friends come to my apartment and completely lost contact with all of them. It was an embarrassment to go out in public and even the people working at stores angered me. I had become a rude, lazy woman that hated herself even more than others did. At this point, I realized that my whole life had gone down the drain.
Before I knew it, I had a baby boy named Abel. He was a beautiful baby and I treasured him as he deserved. Abel was such a well-behaved little boy and he listened to everything I said. Like the fast pace of an Olympic runner, the first five years of his life flew by. Abel was five years old and I gave him everything he wanted because I think he deserved it. He was said to be kind in school and very smart. He was such a happy little boy, which made me very happy too. I couldn’t believe what a great person he was becoming at such a young age. This helped me gain some of my confidence back because I was such a proud mother.
Currently, I am thirty-three years old and Abel is eleven. He doesn’t treat me like he used to. He is terribly mean and disrespectful, just as I feared he would be. He knows I only have a part time job at the convenience store and yet he expects so much from me. When he goes to school, I worry that he treats his teachers and the other students the way he treats me. He complains that the blanket that I have from my mother is too dirty and we need a new one. His lack of respect is preposterous I will not stand for it. When I brought Abel home from school today, he started yelling at me again. He said,
“This food is gross, Amy! Go get me a discount at your convenience store and get something that doesn’t taste like cardboard!”
“That is ENOUGH! I have had it with you and your attitude lately, Abel! I work so hard to make a better life for you and this is what I get? Never call me Amy again!” I exploded.
“While you’re out, get me a new blanket for this bed. This old thing jumps off the bed at night so I have nothing to sleep with and I refuse to sleep with it, Amy! GO GET ME A NEW ONE!” He screeched back.
Amy looked deep into Abel’s eyes with rage. She took a knife with a serrated blade from the table behind her. Tears streamed down her face as she said,
“Abel, I never noticed this before; but your eyes are exactly like your father’s were.”
Amy attacked Abel with extreme rage and stabbed him several times until she realized what she did. She fell to the floor, sobbing and clutching the blanket, and bellowed,
“I’M JUST LIKE MY FATHER!”