I Will Find You

Ever since I was little, I was told terrible things. Things no little girl should hear from her own mother.

I grew up alone as the only child with just my mother. And she wasn't the best role model to be around. My mom, Silvia, was an alcholic. Plain and simple.

I remember growing up with the noise of smashing bottles sounding through the house at night and early morning when she came back drunk.

I remember her stumbling into my room, yanking me out of my bed by pulling my hair and tossing me on the floor. I never make a sound for that would make her more furious and bring attention to myself. And that would be worse, so I am always quiet and lower my head in a corner of the room to have a false sense of security, to feel safe while she deals out her daily abuse.

Then the yelling would start like every other night this happened. She would say, "why did I ever give birth to a daughter like you?!?! You are only a burden to take care of and a good for nothing fuck up!" She'd take another swig of alcohol she's holding in her hand, swaying on her feet. "The only use I get out of you is child support and government paid money! Once you turn 18, you are no longer my burden and I can get rid of seeing your ugly face that looks so much like your good for nothing father!"

At these outbursts when she would mention my father, who I have never met since my mom raised me alone, I would sit up a little straighter and strain my ears for any details I might learn.

I have never resented my father or hated him for not being there. My mom has said in her drunken rages that the one of the reasons I'm still here is becasue of the child support he sends. She would say how they fought over custody in court, but how stupid my father was for thinking he could win over a court when she was, by all means to the court, the perfect female role model to watch over me. Apparently she won some favor with people of the jury when she told her sob story of being a struggling working mom trying to support her only daughter when my father was always gone and no help was given. And they bought it, my mom would say to me, " those stupid fuckers! Ha! They wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between a dog and a cat. They actually thought I gave a fuck about you and your stupid ass father!!! It's his fault for trying to take you away from me, leaving me so I would have no choice to find another way to earn money!"

Then she would continue to find something else to yell at me about and when she got tired of that, she would throw her bottle at me. Lucky for me in her drunken rage she wasn't a very good shot. So most of the time I would be able to dodge enough to only get some alcohol splashed on me and glass shards that would get embedded in my arms and legs when trying to protect myself.

But other times I wasn't so lucky and it would hit me straight on. Sometimes in the body where I would have bruising or light fractures, or sometimes in the head when I would either black out or have a massive migraine that lasts for days.

And when she was done with that, she would grab my hair again, pulling me to the middle of the room. She would start insulting me again while kicking and punching me in the chest, back and legs. Any place her uncoordinated legs could reach but even drunk she didn't go too far. She knew people would start to get suspiscious and you can only have so many 'accidents' as a child till people start asking questions. So after awhile she developed a way to hit me where it wouldn't be too noticeable and never hit my face.

And one day...she got really drunk. I will never forget. I was seven years old at the time and I was already used to the abuse that started over a year before that. But one day I will always remember. She came into my room like always...but this time was different.

...This time I didn't notice right away that she was there until the floor creaked under her feet. She was quiet, too quiet for when she's usually in a drunken rage. And that's when I knew something was immediately wrong, with my hairs standing on the back of my neck.

I never knew what happened that day to make her do what she did, but I'll never forget.

Silvia spoke softly, "Summer. I know your awake. Can you please face mommy?"

I hesitated, but not for long because I didn't want her to get angry. I turned on my bed and sat up to face her. Slowly I turned my head to look in her direction. And to my surprise she had a smile on her face. And for a flicker of a second I feel hope start to bloom in my chest, thinking that maybe things will get better, things will change and my mom will start to love me.

That hope quickly died. She started to approach me slowly when she saw I was up while still smiling at me, a smile that became more unnerving the closer she got. It looked like something out a horror movie the way the moonlight reflected off her face.

Finally, as she was a couple of feet in front of me, I notice another glint of reflection off of something she is holding in her hand. Before I could get a good look, I feel the air get taken out of my lungs and my back is back on the bed.

Surprised, I look up wide-eyed at my smiling mother above me, and I'm paralyzed to the core from the pure hatred and disgust I see in her eyes while looking at me. The first thing I notice is the clarity in her eyes and that she is not drunk. One hand, I notice, is holding me down on the middle of my chest. The second has the mysterious object I was trying to observe earlier. Now I get a close up view.

She brings the knife close up to my face, only a few inches away, and my breathing halts; completely taken by surprise. My mind is trying to understand what is happening, but I don't have to wonder for long for she starts to speak.

She whispers, "My dear daughter Summer. You know mommy has tried very hard in her life to take care of you, can't you see that?" A sharp grin appears on her face as the knife inches closer to my body and the mockery builds in her voice. "I think in order for you to understand how much mommy cares for you, you need a reminder of mommy's love everyday. Wouldn't you like that?" She tilts her head like she is asking me an innocent and genuine question, and her teeth start to look like a sharks with the way they are glinting and sharpening in the shadows the more she speaks. Her hand that was holding me down on my chest lets up as she slowly starts to bring it down to the bottom of my shirt, almost caressing me lovingly but it's making my pulse quicken in panic and pure terror. My breath quickens now with my chest moving up and down fast, but still I stay quiet and still.

...I'm afraid. This is nothing new, but there's a difference this time. I'm afraid to die. I only realize now that I have never had anyone care for me my whole life, and the one hope I've ever had of getting it from my mother is extinguished in that moment. For now I know, that despite my hopes, it's clear that this woman never held any love or care for me. She only ever saw me as a means to an end, a thought I ignored in a desperate attempt to salvage something in my fucked up life.

She lifts my shirt up slowly bringing it up to my breasts and exposing my stomach. The knife is inched closer to my stomach, almost touching my senstive flesh. I look between the knife and her face wondering if this was going to be when I die.

Silvia leans closer, her face inches away from mine, I can feel her breath on me. She says, "Mommy wants you to be able to remember that she is always there for you and that nothing will be able to take you away from me." She leans back up, this time her face isn't trying to hide the cruel intent behind it. "Don't make any noise or move, you don't want to make mommy angry...do you?"

I shake my head quick, hoping to do anything at this point to ensure that she doesn't get angrier then she is. Her grin widens beyond what it should be able to, and says, "good girl!"

I see the knife lower to the top of my right breast and I try my hardest to not move. Trying to prepare myself for whatever is about to happen.

The knife reaches my skin and it's cold to the touch. It presses down harder and harder until it finally breaks skin. And when it does, my heart is slowly dying along with the progress of the knife. At some point I realize I'm having an out of body experience, the moment I realize that I start to feel less pain. The physical pain is becoming numb to me the more she carves into my skin; however the pain in my heart grows. It grows and grows until it becomes almost a physical sensation, but it's the most painful thing I have ever felt in my life. Darkness is closing in on my eyes, my heart and chest are painfully tight where it's becoming hard to breathe. I feel like I am dying inside. I feel...I feel...

I feel like I'm dying. But is this not worse than death?

Wouldn't death be better than feeling unloved and unwanted all my life?

Wouldn't dying be better then being a burden to someone who doesn't even want you?

As my feelings slowly die, she finally finishes carving my flesh. As she's leaving the room with veiled threats of never telling anyone about this. As my blood is pooling around my still body. I realize that there is a little spark of hope to be found in this dying heart.

The hope that I might still have a father out there who still cared for me. Who supposedly tried to fight for me.

And a first time in a long time, when I can't even remember...I smile. Even as I lay in my blood and the pain starts to return...I still smile. It's a small smile, barely recognizable if not looking closely, but it's there.

I think as I lay there, that there is someone. who cares for me. Even though I have no one here with me now, I do have someone out there who wanted me.

And even if only a little bit of that is true, than there is something to live for after all. The smallest chance that I could have someone who can love me and care for me.

Well then I couldn't give up now.

One day...one day I will find him.

...I will find my daddy.