So this is where it started...

WARNING:  THE FOLLOWING JOURNAL ENTRY CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE AND INCLUDES STRONG LANGUAGE FOR ACCURACY. I am writing it here at 4am as I truly feel that this is a breakthrough.  My counselors have all suggested PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder), and after I really started looking at the symptoms, I can remember feeling them pretty much my entire teenage and adult life.  I couldn't remember when it started until tonight.  While lying in bed I had a vivid flashback, but this time it was not about my wife's affair (which every other one has been about).  It was about an event that occurred 12 years ago, when I was a teenage kid, and my parents were still in the thick of battling out the aftermath of their divorce. When I was about 15, I went for my normal bi-weekly visitation with my dad.  It was sunday night, and he dropped me back off at my mother's (Herein referred to as "Linda") house.  I walked in the door, and as usual, her and my stepfather ("Mike") were standing in the kitchen waiting in ambush.  It was their typical routine to harshly interrogate me when I walked through the door. "What the fuck were you and your asshole father scheming about this weekend?" Linda said. I of course responded "nothing."  She was paranoid all the time that all my dad and I did was sit around all weekend and talk about her behind her back.  In actuality, I had spent the weekend hanging out with old friends because Linda never let me out of the house. Then they started in on my clothes.  I got caught smoking marijauna about a year before, and when that happened, Linda threw out all my clothes, and dressed me like fool (on top of grounding me for an entire year)...  No loose jeans anymore, only shirts she approved of, etc.  She picked everything out...  Nuthuggers and Big Lots t-shirts mostly.  I am sure it was more an act to ridicule me in from of my friends than anything.  She used to laugh when I got made fun of, and tell me that is what I get for being a burnout. Anyways, my dad was a lot more laid back.  I wasn't doing drugs anymore, and in fact, had only tried marijuana a few times when I got caught.  It wasn't habitual in any case, and my dad gave me a bit more freedom.  Getting back on track, I forgot to change my clothes before I went back to Linda's house, and she was FURIOUS.  Her and Mike were screaming at me about everything.  Tonight was much worse than normal for some reason.  Linda was irrational, paranoid.  Then one of them grabbed my pants and damn near tore them off of me.  I had enough, and told them I was taking a walk to calm down. "Fuck you and you are!" Linda said. I started towards the door, which at that time was through a garage that had been converted to a family room.  Someone grabbed my arm and I pushed them away.  I needed to get out of there.  I needed to escape and call my dad.  Someone grabbed the back of my shirt and pulled so hard they actually ripped it off.  It hung off of me in shreds.  I kept going for the door.  I wanted to make it across the street so I could call my dad and have him come get me. So I make it to the "family room" (converted garage) and someone tries to tackle me from behind.  I keep going for the door with them in tow.  Then someone else tries to tackle me, and I go to the floor.  I'm scared, really scared, and struggling to get away.  Linda and Mike were both corrections officers, and used to handling adult prisoners.  I was a tall kid (6'2" at the time) but skinny...  maybe 150 lbs.  Linda is a big girl, probably 180+, and Mike was shorter than me, but about my weight. Anyways, I am now face down on the floor.  Linda grabs my arms and Mike grabs my legs and they flip me over onto my back and try to hold me down.  Now I am in a panic, and desperately trying to get away.  I'm terrified, and struggling like a mad man.  Linda has my arms pinned, and Mike is sitting on my legs.  I'm cornered.  Linda punches me in the face to try and get me to stop struggling, and punches me again.  I get an arm free and hit her back...  I need to get up and make it to the door.  I have to get away. Linda pins my arms again straddles my chest, putting one knee on each bicep.  I am totally pinned now with no way of escape.  Adrenaline takes over.  I am fighting for my life.  Linda punches me again.  I laugh at her this time, as I have gone numb, and can't feel the pain.  This enrages her more.  She hits me again. "Try harder you cunt!" I scream.  I am sobbing uncontrollably now, not because of pain, but in panic and rage.  I am still trying with all my might to get Linda and Mike off of me so I can make it to the door and run.  I almost do get them off... almost. Linda loses it at the sound of her "favorite word."  She grabs my head with both hands and pulls it upwards towards her off the floor.  My arms are pinned.  I am helpless.  She starts to force my head downward again as hard as she can.  She is going to smash my head on the concrete floor!  It is all slow motion, and I brace for the impact, expecting serious pain.  I feel my head hit the floor, hear the dull thud it makes, but surprisingly, no pain at all! "Fuck you!" I say. "Stop," Linda replies, very professionally like I was just another unruly prisoner. She bounces my head off the floor again. "Fuck you!" "Stop" BAM!  Head hits the floor again. And so it goes.  Again and again and again my head is slammed against the floor with all the force she can muster.  I remember thinking to myself "This should hurt, but it doesn't.  How odd."  I don't know if it goes on for 10 minutes or an hour, but every bounce of my head is followed by a "fuck you." Finally I run out of strength.  I can't struggle anymore physically.  I am exhausted from trying to force 330 lbs. of flesh off of me.  My mind is still fighting though.  I'm sobbing from rage.  I still can't feel a thing.  Linda hits my head on the floor again.  This time I follow it with "Fuck you bitch.  If I get up, I'll kill you in your sleep."  I say it calmly.  I knew she wasn't going to stop until I gave in.  I didn't care. Mike gets off of my legs.  "Linda, lets just restrain him."  The head bashing continues.  Mike leaves the room.  Things for me start to get blurry. Linda either gets up, or is pulled off by Mike.  I can't remember.  She is still hitting my head on the floor. I'm somehow pulled over to a steel support pole (you know, like the kind that are used in basements...  typically painted red).  Handcuffs come out...  my arms are forced behind me on either side of the pole and handcuffed.  I am slumped against the pole, and nearly naked at this time from the struggle.  My pants have one leg ripped off, and my shirt is gone.  Someone throws a bathrobe over me as I sit there.  I start to regain my strength a bit, and grit my teeth and try with all my strength to break the handcuffs and escape.  My wrists start to bleed.  Someone says "Are you done yet?" "Fuck you" I sob. And then it all goes fuzzy...  I don't remember the handcuffs coming off, or the conversation that ensued (though I know there was one).  I don't remember going to bed, or going to school the next morning.  The next thing I remember is lunch time.  I went to the library instead of the cafeteria to use the computers there. The librarian walks over to me and asks a question.  I try to hide my face, but not good enough.  I have massive bruising on the back of my head (my head is shaved), and significant swelling.  Both wrists have deep cuts across them.  My exposed arms are covered in bruises from Linda kneeling on them.  I look at the librarian.  The whites of one eye have completely turned a deep shade of red because the blunt force trauma broke blood vessels.  The other eye is about a third red in the same way.  If you have never seen this, it is hard to picture, so check this link.  http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/medical/IM03228.  Mine were a lot worse.  5 years later I have head x-rays while having my wisdom teeth pulled.  I didn't know it at the time, but my skull has multiple fractures around the back from being smashed on the floor over and over. The librarian asks what happens. "I got in a fight over the weekend." I respond. "Are you sure there is nothing you want to talk about?" she replies. "No.  I'm fine."  I said. She walks away with a concerned look.  It is the last I hear about it from anyone official.  Me...  I feel like a ghost that day.  I remember feeling like I wasn't really there...  That I was somehow imagining what is occurring, like I am living inside a dream somehow.  Nothing feels real.  The next day I feel the same way.  People ask me what happened.  It is no big deal I respond always. ... And so it went for 12 years.  It was no big deal.  I knew that it happened, but when I talked about it, I almost felt like I was lying...  That I was blowing a minor event out of proportion.  Stuff like that happens to everyone. Fast forward to tonight.  It is 2am and I am lying in bed.  Something triggers the memory of this happening.  This time it is different though.  It is like I am actually there...  like it is happening again.  I am having a flashback.  I can see details of the event that I never remembered...  things that I didn't even remember the next day, and yet tonight I see them like it just occurred earlier in the evening.  My heart pounds.  I feel adrenaline flood my system.  My breathing speeds up.  I am nauseous. I see something that I never saw before...  The look on Linda's face...  Murderous, inhuman rage.  It scares me.  I see her muscles strain as she tries to hit my head against the floor harder.  She is going to show dominance over me, and I am too far gone to even realize whats occurring.  She is going to shut me up or kill me trying...  I see the determination.  I could have, and probably should have, died.  This was a new revalation (thus my writing about it all of the sudden). I always hated Mike for getting the handcuffs.  Now I know why he did it.  Linda was going to beat me into submission, and I was not going to submit.  Something was going very very wrong. There is more to the story...  I lived with Linda for another year and a half until she dropped me on my dad's treelawn with everything packed in garbage bags and I will recount all of that somewhere down the road in my journal I am sure.  She never touched me again after that day though... So why do I feel good?  Honestly I don't know.  At first the memories scared me.  I saw things tonight that I had forgotten about microseconds after they happened.  Somewhere that night I crawled into a hole and hid, and have been looking out at life like a racoon in a storm drain at night ever since.  Tonight, I think for the first time in 12 years, I stuck my head out and looked around.  For some reason I thought that was important, and just had to write about it.