The Diary ~ December 25th, 1988

It’s fucking Christmas. My parents, my little brother and I have to get dressed and go to a family Christmas party. I have to dress in clothes I hate and pretend to not feel the pain that is coursing through my body. Last night was the worst night in a long time.

My Mother had gone to her charity party and the man that she likes ignored her. My father who was her plus one, scored with a woman and my mother was all alone, to return home. My parents are two people carved out of crème cheese; with the perfect marriage and family. What a fucking joke. My Mother runs her own charity and my Father owns a pet store. They are far from charitable or caring. It is their front, to be able to be the people they really are, monsters.

When my Mother returned home my brother and I were sleeping, but I was awakened by my floor. My Mother threw me out of my bed, face first into the floor. She began to kick me, punch me, and spit on me, the whole time calling me a whore, bitch, and cunt. Screaming; “you think you are better than me? You think you won, you got your prize? You didn’t you bitch, I won, this is more exciting, more entertaining.” My Mother was screaming at my Father. Beating me was more entertaining to her, than being with the man she wanted. I was her release, her gym, her punching bag, stress relief. She made sure to never hit me where marks could be seen. You have to keep up appearances.

My brother was spared this indignity; he was too young and fragile. All he received was the cruel remarks, being called worthless, stupid, and ugly, and a dog. He was very withdrawn and sad. He hardly ever talked to anyone.

My Father returned home and my Mother was asleep. He did not go to their room, he never did. He came to mine and lay beside me and talked of the dog he killed and skinned that day and how during Christmas break he would begin to show me. He talked about how he always wanted to move to people, but was afraid of getting caught. That getting caught would be embarrassing and ruin his reputation; it would be worse than death. Animals were easier; no one cared or missed them. They were just strays and animals.

My Father then slept with me, rolled over and went to sleep. He explained once that this is what a good Father does, he prepares his children for life and for a woman it is to please a man.