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« on: February 12, 2017, 07:55:08 AM »
This is long, and may be triggering for some. I am just getting it all down somewhere.
I timed her once--my stepmom. Three hours. Three hours spent in red-faced, spit-flying, vein-popping "lecture" for something I'd presumably done, I don't remember what now, it was almost always a manufactured ambush anyway. I was fourteen. I'd been kneeling on the floor without moving for so long my legs were useless dead things beneath me, but I didn't dare move because to even look at her invited even more crazed screaming and pacing.
It was ten p.m., and the house had gone dark as everyone else had fled to their rooms hours prior and my stepmom hadn't stopped yelling long enough to turn the lights on. My Dad was there somewhere, along with stepmom's three teenage kids, my older sister, and three young foster kids. Eight witnesses to this particular tirade, and not so much as a look of acknowledgement the next day. The house was small, and she had screamed until her voice broke, like she always did. But everyone always pretended it hadn't happened, even though it was a daily occurrence for me. She never yelled at her own kids, but I'm pretty sure the foster kids also caught it regularly. I often felt sorry for them that they had to live with her full-time while I could escape periodically between visits.
Of course, "escape" is a relative term, as I was going back to my stepfather and grandfather. But that's another blog.
She had this way of setting upon you that you could never foresee or avoid. If you walked through the room demurely, she'd accuse you of pouting. If you walked brightly she'd want to know where the attitude came from. There was no winning. She'd find something wrong or broken in the house, or you'd get scapegoated by one of the other kids, or you'd have a need and simply have to ask her a question--and she'd start questioning you in short, sharp barks: Who do you think you are? Do you do this at home? You are going to ACT like PART OF THIS FAMILY! And show me some RESPECT! Then it was on, and the spittle was flying.
When I was very young, around four, I'd break down and cry during these episodes (you were required to stand at attention in front of her). I tried not to. But this would send her over the edge. Then I was throwing a TEMPER TANTRUM! Don't turn on the tears, Gentian, that doesn't work HERE! AND STOP GIVING ME DIRTY LOOKS!
The irony of her "temper tantrum" accusation is not lost on me. And I tried so hard to wipe my face clean of any expression whatsoever; to this day, I do not know what the "dirty looks" accusation was even about. I like to think it was because I knew that what she was doing was wrong, and I was too young to keep it from my eyes, and she couldn't stand it.
One of her favorite interrogations was WHY DID YOU DO IT? ANSWER ME! Of course, because I hadn't actually done anything, I had no idea how to answer, plus I was literally scared stupid. Without an answer, she'd go on, and on, and on...in a moment of inspiration one night I squeaked out "Because...I wanted to?" And this admission of my rotten character seemed to satisfy her. "GO TO YOUR ROOM!" She bellowed, and I scurried away in such relief. Shortly thereafter, I heard the foster kids using my line during lectures to successfully purchase their own release, so I know they heard every word. It's one of the ways I knew there were witnesses.