The Permanent Mark On My Heart

Everyone has something in his past that has left a permanent mark on his heart, whether, if be something cruel someone has said or did, or it could have been so bad, a father tells his own daughter she should have never been born and he and her mother should have aborted her long before her birth.

That was what I was told by my father when I was twelve years old after he beat the tar out of me.  He was furious with me for even existing.  I remember all of the words he said to me that day.  They were, “What do we keep you around for.  The two boys, I have no problem with.  They are sharp, alert, smart, and are going places with their life.  They will go very far in life.  But you, what the h— can we do with you?”  He said while grabbing me by the hair, yanking it with one hand, and slapping my face with the other, while breaking all the capillaries of my flesh.  Then, he grabbed a hold of me, lifted me up in the air, threw me across the room.  My body hit the wall of the opposite end of the room.  Then I dropped to the floor face down.  He then grabbed a hold of my hair again, pulled me up to my feet, and hauled me into the kitchen put my face all the way down into the kitchen sink, because he didn’t care for the way I cleaned the house.  Keep in mind I was only 12 years old.

My mother was at work at our family carwash with my aunt.  That cruel, beastly father of mine came home early to make sure I didn’t sneak out anyplace, not that I ever did anyway.  He didn’t trust me.  However, I was as trustworthy as people came.

Anyway, after pounding my face into the sink, kicking me from behind, he took a heavy fry pan and struck me in the legs.  He wanted to make me suffer for ever being born.

Then, he spat in my face, saying, “You are nothing but an ugly piece of sh–.  You’re no good for sh–.  You’ve brought this whole family nothing but bad luck just by being born.  You are a bad omen.”

He’s the one who was crazy.

Years passed after I finally got away from him.  I went through post traumatic stress disorder.  However, throughout my ordeal of torture and the p. t. s. d., I turned to the Lord to confide my troubles to, looking to him for strength and guidance.  Over the years from childhood onward, I’ve grown closer to God.  I’ve always thought of God himself as the Father of all fathers who provide guidance somehow to all his children, especially to those who are in need of him the most.  I believe he sends down his army of angels who are none other than my deceased loved ones who watch over me, especially doing so during the times I had difficulties with my father.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015


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