The People Behind My Eyes

I write about my Independence Day every February 2nd because for me, this is the day I began living. I was born August 28th but I began living on February 2nd, 1992. Of this day I once said,“So, February 2, 2005 is the anniversary of my independence day.
I don’t know if I am going to plan to do anything or if I’m going to let it be just another day ya know? I may acknowledge it but I’m not going to celebrate anything. I don’t celebrate holidays at all so I’m thinking that in accordance with those beliefs I’ll keep every day equal save the annual memorial of Christ’s death. I think I’d like to write a few details about that day and how I felt the essence of myself only once in my life.”

Let me start from the beginning. I grew up with that woman thinking that today would be the day she’d kill me. I’ve been backed into a window and threatened with being thrown off from 6 stories up. I’ve had a knife to my throat too many times to count. The threats she never went through with paled in significance to those she carried out. I always thought I’d die under the dowel rods. I’m not sure why I didn’t. Sometimes I wish I had. It seems like it would have been more merciful to died than to have survived. One thing that just would not die was my spirit. She always said I was the favorite because she knew she couldn’t break me. She said I was a challenge for her. Yeah, okay.

Around the early 1990’s the song Fast Car by Tracy Chapman had grown in popularity. Since I liked her a lot I took on her hair cut, but I added a bit of shocking pink to mark the cut as my own. The words that I kept hearing so loudly in my head were, “Leave tonight or live and die this way.” Those words just kept going through my head.

February 2nd, 1992, 10:30PM was like every other night because the mother was off her rocker. She was sitting on the sofa with a slip up to her underarms and no underclothes beneath it. She always sat with her legs open. This night was no different. What was different was me. She called me out to the living room and said, “Did you steel some of my peanut butter?” I said to her, “If you’re looking for an answer I’ll give one, but if you just want to argue I’m going back to my room.” She didn’t like that too much. I’d come up with answers like that before. It seemed like there were times when I could get up in her face and yell and walk away unscathed but I could also sit on the sofa doing nothing and be accused of everything. This day topped all of that. When she repeated the question I turned and walked back to my room. She came in the room and told me to get back out there in the living room. I went back out there. We exchanged a few words. The subject of abuse came up. She told me she wanted me to do something I wasn’t going to do anymore. She told me I could either do it or get out of her house. I shocked the hell out of her when I turned and walked back into my bedroom and put my shoes on and walked out of her door.

We lived on the 6th floor in a beautiful apartment. Man it was gorgeous. I loved the woodwork and the cathedral ceilings. The thing I hated was the service elevator. It looked like a cage and it seemed to take forever to get to the 6th floor. Well, when I started walking to the door the mother came running after me. I took off running for this stupid elevator. I pushed the button and then said to myself, “Why are you waiting for the elevator?” Before I could get the door to the stairs open the mother yelled to me, “Go on! Hurt yourself!” I have no idea what that meant. I haven’t asked. I have a feeling she thought I was going to end up on the street and that I’d come begging for forgiveness and a warm place to sleep. What she never expected was for me to pull from resources that she had no prior knowledge of. I did not sleep on the street that night. I didn’t leave with just the clothing on my back and no money. I walked out with what I had on but I also walked out with a full time job, health insurance and a nice nest egg. The day that she kicked me out I shocked the hell out of her. She saw me stand on my own two feet and survive without her. She expected me to fall. I went to a hotel and slept. I got up the next morning and went to work as if nothing happened. After work I went to a friend’s house to tell her what happened. She let me stay until I found another place. It only took a few weeks before I found my first apartment. I was there shortly and then I started school. I got into student housing within walking distance of the campus. I wasn’t going to Brown University like she wanted me to. I wasn’t studying Law or Economics like she wanted me to. I was going to school to be a Chef, something I knew I needed to be when I was about 8 years old. Oh, yes, and she didn’t pay a dime of it.

On the day of my independence the words “Leave tonight or live and die this way,” never seemed more true. I couldn’t live under her roof one more second. I was 20 years old and still being abused by her. Enough was enough! I still smile when I think of that day because I’ve never again felt more whole. I just walked/ran out. I never went back. I have never moved back home and I will never go there again. She knows I’m not coming back. She knows life without her is possible. She knows that the little girl she raised to fear her showed strength and spirit, the very things she worked so damn hard to kill. So on February 2nd, 1992 at 10:30 PM her little girl became a woman and refused to live like that anymore. She kicked me out at 10:30PM. What kind of crap is that?

I later talked to my then therapist and told him what happened. He said, “You can eat crow and go home or you can make a go of it and make a life for yourself.” I said, “Dr. So-in-so, I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat crow.” (I was a vegetarian then so the statement made sense.) He laughed. It was a proud laugh though. I never went back. God, I never went back and that is the strongest statement I could have ever made to her. HOW YA LIKE ME NOW??!!!

She was right about some things. I did hurt myself. I hurt myself the same way that other people did that just started out on their own. I made poor decisions. I took unnecessary risks. In other words, I was young and free and didn’t calculate my steps before I took them. I didn’t do anything others haven’t done. There are mistakes I made with lasting consequences. Some of the times I was homeless as an adult were my fault because I chose to do something else with rent money. That’s on me, not her. I was young and foolish. So yeah, I hurt myself but I didn’t destroy myself and I didn’t go crawling back to her.

My sister hasn’t been off her knees since before I was born. She has no place to crawl back to because at age 36 she’s still at home with the mother. I look forward to celebrating her independence day. I look forward to the time when I read about it online. When she sits behind a keyboard and screen and smiles and cheers for herself. When she sips a cup of coffee and smiles in her heart because even though life is still hard, it’s less of a burden than under the thumb of the mother. I want her to feel this. I want her to be able to taste it because once you get a taste of freedom you can never, ever go back to slavery.

This isn’t where the fireworks go off or where people start singing Free At Last and We Shall Overcome. This is where I log off and go on with the rest of my life like the plan was when I walked out her door. This is the part where I value the time I have away from her. It’s when I renew my resolution to not squander opportunities, break relationships, burn bridges or destroy myself. This is where I continue to be the woman I was supposed to be.

Until again,
Me

When The Clock Strikes Precisely
-see also-

Independence Day
Wednesday, February 01, 2006
Midnight