Tracey Anne Hallberg is my Monday Guest Contributor. She is a survivor of Family Crisis, and proof positive that there is light on the other side. She shares from her heart, leaving very little to the imagination.
Her story is valid, important, and needs to be shared. My personal journey is very different from hers, but on my journey, I have come upon many...many...who have had to live through horrors similar to the upbringing Tracey was forced to endure.
Tracey is one of the most courageous women I have had the privilege to know, and I am honored to share Wings Like Eagles with her every Monday.
Tracey's account is graphic and raw, and is not suitable for young or sensitive readers. I give her posts a strong PG-13 rating.
I was born when my sister, Dana, was 5. Oct. 3rd, 1974.
As I grew up, I always thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world. She had long, straight, chestnut brown hair, a little tiny face, nose, and big muskadine dark brown eyes. I looked up to her.
She used to dress me up and drag me around the house. Daddy was with us at this time. Our lives were perfect. We would play together, listen to music, go for rides.
I remember a game Dana and I used to play. When the weather was bad, we would take off the cushions of our red velvet couch with black flowered stitching, and put them in the middle of the floor. Pretend they were boats in the river. We would get strings, tie them on sticks, put a safety pin on the end, wrap up some socks, and go fishing. It was so fun. She was my best friend.
I remember we had bunk beds as I got older. We were inseparable.
As time went on, Mama and Daddy got into knock down, drag out fights. Mama would come home from work, complaining that Daddy didn't go look for work. She would get drunk and belligerent, hit him, yell at him, telling him he was a no good sorry account of a man.
Daddy was jest a teenager when I was born. I don't know what my Mama was thinking. She came home in the middle of the day once. Sat on the couch beside Daddy, watching TV. He said, "Why are you home early?" She said, "I thought the Price Is Right looked so good, so I quit my job."
I heard this story, so many times. She would tell me how low he was. Sometimes when I would get out of the bath, with my hair wet and slicked back, she would rustle my hair up and say, "Don't do your hair like that. You look jest like your FATHER." Daddy left when I was 3.
When we started school, Dana and I used to walk hand in hand together. Down the sidewalks, through the large cat tail fields, to our school. She would kiss me and hug me goodbye, tell me to have a good day. Every time I see a cattail field, those memories come rushing back to me. Beautiful memories. Makes me cry. Every time.
When Daddy left, things started to get really bad. Mama would drink more, cry more, attempt suicide. Many times, Dana would find her passed out here and there. Picking her up, say to her, "Mama, it's gonna be OK." Sometimes Mama would respond. Sometimes she would be so passed out, incoherent. They were best friends. But Dana was the mother. She was MY mother. And my sister. I looked to Dana for comfort. She was always so strong. She never cried. She always said to me, "It's gonna be OK."
As time went on, things jest kept getting worse. Mama got laid off. The men started hangin' around. I was seven when things got really bad. I wrote about it in previous columns. It is difficult to repeat. Unspeakable things started to happen to me and my sister.
For Dana, it was worse, cuz she was older. She would go out to the bars with Mama, and bring men home.
I would be alone most of my days. Nothing but my radio. I am addicted to music to this day. I can't go without music. I get stuck in my head, thoughts rolling. Too many thoughts. Terrible sometimes.
When I was 6 yrs old, Mama's brother, my Uncle Neal, killed himself. Put a gun to his head. He was 22. Headaches, they said. Depression. Their father was a horrible man. The abuse was intolerable. This devastated my mother. And my sister. She was very close to Uncle Neal.
The death of Uncle Neal was the turning point for Mama. Lost in grief, she gave up altogether, and Dana would become the adult. She was twelve.
We moved from town to town, city to city. Always in Louisiana. Never the same school, always the new kids.
Dana was popular. She was beautiful. She was outgoing, and friendly. I was the little weirdo. Chasing her around. She would eventually come to realize how uncool it was to have a little mutt following her around. She started saying, "Get away from me, freak." I was heartbroken. I had no friends. Devastated. I told myself I was crap. Unloved, and ugly. This would carry out for half my adult life.
We had to leave all of our cousins after losing Uncle Neal. After Mama's umpteenth suicide attempt. We were living in an apartment in Baton Rouge. I woke up to blood curdling screams. It was Dana. She was throwing folded clothes out of a white laundry basket, all over the room. Screaming bloody murder, ripping her hair out of her head. I heard the most God awful cries outside. Mama was in the parking lot, running around with a butcher knife. There was blood everywhere. A friend of the family, Junior, was trying to chase her and get the knife away from her. He tackled her down, took it away and rushed her to the hospital.
I remember when Mama got home that night, she was angry. Babbling about how "Uncle Harold," a married boyfriend of hers, broke up with her.
Three weeks after she was home from the hospital, I woke to a strong taste of metal in my mouth. It was sickening. I walked into the living room. Mama was laid out, twisted about the floor, gashes in her arms. Blood. There was so much blood. Me and Dana were on our own.
MORE NEXT WEEK
No comments:
Post a Comment