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February 15, 2016

I Never Wanted You Demon Child

I was 11 pounds
I was the baby Mother did not want
My mother was forty two when I was born and I was the last child out of a presumed six.  I say presumed because later in life I would learn they had left Denver minus two children, while I had always been told it was minus one child.

Mother never told me that she loved me.  Whenever I asked her if she loved me she always had the same response, "I love all my children."

Being a little girl who needed love and affection from her parents, I was persistent in my quest to hear mother tell me that she loved me.  Mother either got tired of my persistence or it was time to make me pay for causing father to rape my sister.

 Mother always told us that only girls and young women who were whores cut their hair, so I always had very long hair.  Because my hair was very thick she always washed it for me when I took a bath.  It was when she was washing my hair that I again asked her if she loved me.  I needed to hear her tell me she loved me more than before because of being blamed for father hurting Grace.

If she would tell me that she loved me, then I would know that she either forgave me for what happened to Grace, or she didn't really believe what father had done was my fault.

 After a long pause she went on to tell me that she didn't want to have me.  She didn't want the burden of another child.  She had learned that my father was a very evil man and knew that I would be an evil child.  She became obsessed with taking me out of her.

She tried coat hangers.  She took the hottest baths that she could tolerate without burning herself.  She drank as much alcohol as she could tolerate.  She punched her growing belly as hard as she could on a daily basis.  She took over the counter medicines.  She prayed to God to take out the evil growing in her.

Instead of being blessed with a miscarriage or still birth, I was born at almost eleven pounds.  Only a truly evil child could survive everything she had tried to take me out.

Only a truly evil child could inflict all the medical problems she suffered as a result of having me.  A bad back.  High blood pressure.  Diabetes.  Worsening her heart condition.

After I was born she was disgusted by how fat and ugly I was.  I was always crying for more milk.  I wouldn't shut up so she put half a sleeping pill in my formula to shut me up and keep me asleep most of the day.  The sleeping pill was great at not only shutting me up but getting rid of all that fat.

She didn't see any reason to spend too much money on formula for me so she mixed half formula and half coffee and put that in my bottle.  Sometimes she would put vodka in my formula to put me to sleep.

She was curious one day how evil I was.  She put almost an entire bottle of baby aspirin in my formula to see if I would survive.  If I did, it would confirm that I was a demon child.  Apparently, I survived.

She never wanted me.  I was a big mistake that never should have been born.  I was nothing but a reminder of what a horrible mistake she had made coming to America with our father.

I sat in the tub with tears streaming down my face.  She asked me why I was crying.  I was old enough to hear the truth.  Then she told me that instead of crying for myself I should cry for my sister who she couldn't save from our father because of me.

Hearing mother's story of how she didn't want me was more damaging to my mind than being told that father raped my sister because of me playing records.

From that moment on I felt out of place.  I didn't feel comfortable with anything I did or anywhere I went.  I didn't feel comfortable in my own skin or with my own thoughts or dreams.  I wondered if there was any sense dreaming of a future or dreaming of becoming anything if I wasn't supposed to be born.

If my existence was a mistake then I had no purpose.  I stopped praying because I was convinced that God would never listen or help someone that wasn't supposed to be born.  When I did pray, I only prayed that God reverse the mistake that was made and let me die.

When something bad happened mother always told me it was because of me.  As I grew older I felt like I had caused a rip in the universe by being born.  Bad things continued to happen and mother continued to hurt me because I was an abnormality in her life and in the world.

If I hadn't been born maybe they could of saved Grace from our father raping her.  If I hadn't been born maybe mother would be healthy and happy.  Maybe people who were not meant to be born were evil since they were not a gift from God.

Mother always reminded me that I was worthless and stupid.  She reminded me regularly that no one would ever love or want me.  She never hesitated to point out how ugly my body was by constantly reminding me that, "No one in my family had a body like yours."  I accepted these things as true because my existence was never meant to be.

Even as a young adult I felt like an empty shell of a human being floating through life with no purpose or dreams.  When people got upset with me or said bad things to me I felt I deserved their bad behavior toward me because my mistake of an existence could bring nothing good to anyone.

I never doubted what mother had told me because she was my mother.  She would not lie to me.  She would not tell me anything to simply hurt me.  If she hadn't told me the truth, I would have figured it out when I realized that nothing good ever happened when I was around.

It took a long time to accept that my mother had intentionally hurt me.  It was easier to believe that I was worthless and a mistake in the universe than to accept that the woman who was supposed to love and protect me, caused such deep and severe damage to my mind.

Learning to accept that my own mother had intentionally damaged my mind, was nowhere as difficult as accepting that I was created by two monsters.