By SLMorrical
Warning: The author has noted that this contains the highest level of sexual content.
My name is Esme, which means cherished. I don't know why my parents gave me that name. Most of my life I was never really loved or cherished. I was constantly belittled and betrayed by my family. I was considered the black sheep of the family. I was not the perfect little money robot like my brother and sister. I only speak of my name and meaning for people to understand my story and why my family only loathes me, the opposite of cherished.
I was born in the Autumn, under the zodiac sign of Sagittarius, the archer. My mother said to me when I was young, "You were created out of love, and you will change the world." I don't know if she was correct in this assumption, but I was always curious about things and as soon as I could articulate I asked questions. I asked many questions. Individuals born under the sign of Sagittarius are considered to bring a flair to life, and contribute a sense of wonder and whimsy to the lives they touch. Mother said to me when I was five, "Being born in the Autumn, you are gifted with the ability to transform the world we live in." I did transform the world, but just my world, especially when survival was the main agenda. I was the legacy of hope for my family until my parents split up. I was six. This was the time I realized I had the sensitivity and perception that was handed down from my Gypsy ancestors. With this curse or gift as my grandmother called it, I could see and hear things others could not. This made it hard for my mother to raise me and have a life of her own.
A year after my parents split up, my mother married a man I called Mr. Bill. I started to call him daddy/dad when I turned seven and a half. I didn't know it at the time, but she married this man because she was pregnant with his child, my brother. Then two years after my half-brother was born, my half-sister was born. The family was complete with a boy and girl. I was just an addition no one wanted in the family. I wasn't considered family by my half-brother or half-sister, I just didn't know it until I was much older. I believed my mom and stepfather loved and accepted me, but I was wrong about them.
When I was thirteen and hitting puberty, I became an object of my stepfather's desire. I did not understand things at that time, but I was getting what I thought was love and belonging. Being a young child without love and understanding, and only being seen as a sex object regularly, I didn't know what a family was or even where I belonged. This longing for belonging to a family continued into adulthood. What I thought was love was sexual desire distorted as love. I tried to get love and approval from my mother and the only father I ever knew. Family can betray family, but mine just relished in betraying me. It seemed I didn't notice the betrayal until I was an adult and far away from my family, but it was too late for me, or was it?
This was just the start of what was in store for me in the coming years. At this time my family as society calls them were together for seven years and I was calling my stepfather, dad. He was the only father I knew. My mother worked and my father worked and I took care of the house, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and such. Most children/teenagers had chores to do, but not what I had to do.
Most children/teenagers my age were hanging out with friends and such. The times I did hang out with friends were limited because when both my parents were working I had to stay home. I couldn't go anywhere or have anyone over to the house. In addition, I had to make sure the house was clean and dinner was cooked, and laundry was done. This adds to the isolation of a child/teenager, and the continual feeling of not being worthy of anything.
I daydreamed I was Cinderella, and my prince would come and save me. I did like the movie, long into adulthood. I was looking for Prince Charming to come and take me away. Something that later in life I would realize was just a fantasy. This fantasy had me going from one bad relationship to another, which included three marriages. Then one day I thought things were going to change. My brother walked in on me and my dad, as my dad was fulfilling his sexual desires. I was devastated and knew I had to tell my mom about it.
When my mom came home that night from working I followed her into her bedroom and explained what happened and what was happening. I thought for sure she would do something about it. I always thought my mother couldn't betray me at all, and it was I who betrayed her. Boy was I wrong. My mother betrayed me for her image. She asked me in her condescending tone "What do you want me to do, Esme?"
"I don't know mom, maybe call someone. Even if it is me who gets in trouble, call and find out what can be done."
"Honey, do you want all your friends to know you are having sexual relations with your father? Do you want to have that stigma hanging over you? You don't have many friends now, and this would put you alone, with no friends." She always made things sound bad for me when it would have destroyed her image, so nothing was done. The only thing done was for me to decide if I wanted to create problems for myself and everyone else in the house, or keep the peace in the house.
It was a different time, it was the 70's and this type of thing was not put out there in public like it is today. The abuse and betrayal continued, and as I was getting older I keep trying to get it to stop. Every time I would tell him, no, the turbulence in the house was so thick anyone could feel it when they walked in. Therefore, to keep the house from being turned upside down I didn't refuse. I tried on a few occasions to end my life and failed I had to find a way out. Unfortunately, the way out wasn't any better than the environment at home.
The distorted love my step-father gave me had me interfered with many of the relationships I had with men. The sexual craving my father pushed on me continued until I was seventeen and engaged to a man my parents wanted me to marry because he could take care of me. The engagement had nothing to do with love. It had everything to do with escape and freedom, which I never felt until my third marriage. I did find a way out, which adds to the sad story of my life. I was married at eighteen to a man that everyone told me to marry It was a way out of my house and away from my parents. I married a man that was controlling and treated me like a child. I left one bad environment and into another. I left one abusive man for another abusive man.
| Author Notes | When your name means cherished are you cherished? I started writing this years ago, and when this contest came around I decided I would finish this chapter and start the book. I look forward to any and all feedback. |
By SLMorrical
To understand my relationship with Dave, I must tell the story of how we met and also about my first real love. It was my senior year in high school, and over the summer my best friend introduced me to a friend of her brothers. His name was Mike, but everyone called him Mitch because her brother's name was Mike. When I first met Mike I had butterflies in my stomach. I don't believe in love at first sight, but I think that's what it would feel like. I was just sixteen. In retrospect, he was my first love, my soul mate.
I met Dave a month or two later when I went to work at a local fast-food place. He was nice and it was obvious he had a thing for me. He was controlling and authoritative, but as usual, I didn't pick up on it until later on. There wouldn't have been a later on if I had stayed with Mike, but it was not in the cards, and being only a nave child I only knew about life through my family and that was very distorted.
When my father realized how I felt about Mike my life became even more complicated and confusing. I wanted to be a veterinarian, but my parents couldn't afford college and my grades were not good enough for a scholarship, and back then it was still a male-dominated world. My father offered to find the money so I could go to school, and become a veterinarian, but only if I would stop dating Mike. I was not going to do that. The trouble with seeing him was not just my father, but also his mother, who didn't like me and didn't think I was good enough for her son.
On my seventeenth birthday, Mike gave me a pair of beautiful rose earrings which I never took off, until they broke years later. He sent seventeen roses to my house and took me out to a beautiful romantic restaurant for dinner. I felt like a princess who had found her knight in shining armor. At last, it was not to be and I ended up breaking up with him because I couldn't take the stress with my father and his mother. Of course, on the rebound, I started to date Dave. My mother just loved him, or should I say his status. He came from money, not rich, but well enough off to go to the college in our town that diplomats' kids and kids from overseas whose parents were considered rich in their country sent their kinds in this country.
My parents pushed me to go out with him even though I didn't want to. I stood the man up at least twice. Dave took me to my senior prom and asked my dad if he could marry me. There was no getting on one knee and asking me. I never had that with any of my marriages. He gave me a heart-shaped locket necklace with a heart-shaped dime in the locket. Dave said if I didn't want to see him anymore to send him the dime. Funny, somehow I don't know how the dime disappeared, and I never wore the locket. Therefore, I couldn't return it to him. In a way, I believed it meant I was to marry him. I also married the man because he took my virginity, which made my father cry. He wanted to be the one to take it.
Dave and I had a big wedding, even though I didn't want one. My mom wanted me to have it. I guess it was because she didn't have one. I moved through the planning and getting everything ready like a zombie. I sometimes wonder if I was even completely conscious. I don't remember much of it or the honeymoon. I look at pictures and I remember some of my experiences. Unfortunately, it isn't the happy moments, but the bad moments that I remember.
I remember being kidded at the rehearsal dinner because when I was supposed to say I will I said it as a question. I remember my mom trying to get the wedding done in the church we belonged to and was told we couldn't because it was in March and it was at the time of advent, or something like that. My mom told me she even went to the bishop to try and get it approved, but it wasn't. Of course, later on in life, I learned my mother was a habitual liar. We were married in a Presbyterian church. I was excommunicated from our church because of being married in the other church and marrying an atheist. I took this as a betrayal from God, and of course, didn't go back to church except when a friend would ask me to come with them. I was not only lost in my mind but in my spirituality, and would be for many years.
The following morning, when I woke up, I looked around me. I was in a hotel room with Dave sleeping beside to me. My gut was in turmoil, which I learned later in life to listen to, I thought "What did I do? I'm 18 years old and married with no experience in life or anything," Dave took full advantage of this with his authoritarian way. This continued the loss of myself and who I should be, for I continued to be with someone who like my father did not look at me as an individual, but as his property.
A month later I learned I was pregnant. I wanted a baby, but I was scared and naive about life and giving birth. It didn't help that I had a husband who believed I was stupid and needed to learn what he felt I should learn. Two months before my son was born my blood pressure was rising and the doctor told me I needed to stay off my feet, I told Dave and he didn't believe me so I was still taking the laundry to the laundry mat in the apartment complex still cooking and cleaning. Still on my feet more than I should have been, and at the next doctor's appointment the doctor put me in the hospital because my blood pressure was too high.
The doctor explained to Dave that I was being non-compliant being on my feet too much. He also told me that depending on my blood pressure will depend on if and when I go home on bed rest. Looking back now I believe I would have been fine if Dave had listened to me about staying off my feet. I did go home on complete bed rest. My son was born two months later. I was a little scared about taking care of a baby but my instinct kicked right in. Four months after my son was born, Dave packed us up and we moved. I still remember what I said to my mother the last day before I left on a plane with my son in my arms. I said, "Mom, I don't think this is a good idea for me to move all those miles away." I just had a bad feeling this was not the thing to do. I wish I had listened to my gut, and not moved.
Things completely changed once Dave and I were in a place with our son, and I was alone. I was completely isolated from anyone. I didn't have any friends or family. We would have people over that of course Dave knew, but since he always felt I was beneath him, they did also. My gut was right about moving because I was losing myself and treated like a child or a possession. My life wasn't great before, but it was going to get even worse, and with that bad feeling I had I should have listened.
| Author Notes | I started this book with a contest of writing the first chapter and I went from there. I look forward to any feedback. The feedback I have received on FanStory has been wonderful and so helpful with my writing, |
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| © Copyright 2015 SLMorrical All rights reserved. SLMorrical has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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