Mother Pimped Me
by Breshannon D
I am 42 now. My earliest memories are of 1. The ONE AND ONLY birthday party I was allowed, (my 1st) and 2, the first time my mother sold me to her dealer. I was about 3. My birthday party was magical. My mother dressed up as a rabbit. There were A LOT of kids, but none were friends. At the end, she asked if I had enjoyed my day. "Yes, Mommy, I loved it, thank you", I said as she held me in her right arm. She was sweating, wiping the drops from her brow. "Good. I'm glad, because it's the LAST one you'll EVER HAVE! She kept her word. My birthday was never celebrated again. When an acquaintance asked why one time, she look me dead in the eye, while she answered the lady, "The day SHE was born, was the worst day of my life, why the hell should it be a celebration"? I was around 6 then.
By the time I was 4, she had converted to Jehovah's Witnesses, which provided a more 'suitable' excuse for her to never provide a gift, card or kind word during birthdays or holidays my entire childhood. I learned why, in my 30's.
My Mother loved a man who did not want children, EVER. He told her this. I understand she was a lot younger than he and in a desperate mindset (fearing the loss of the relationship), my mother made an unwise decision: to get pregnant and trap him into becoming a family. It DID NOT WORK. I was born, and he NEVER acknowledged my birth (an announcement was found at the bottom of a box with bold paperwork by his sister) and he never arrived to my 1st birthday party. An invitation was sent but not acknowledged.
His rejection of me, through her, caused my mother to become the most bitter and cruel woman. It was when she made the decision to pimp me out to drug dealers that I began to understand the depths of her hatred towards me.
Clear as day, in a cheap boarding-house-like apartment, I watched from the couch, as Mommy chopped up lines of cocaine. The guy got up from the chair, walked over to her, said something in hushed tones, and they BOTH turned their heads left, looking at me. The man had an oily smile, bad breath and a mustache made of steel wool. Mother walked over to me with a sick half smile, “Come here, this why I brought you, your gonna do it, so I don't have to. Earn your keep, you've cost me enough, time to EARN. Put it in your mouth like this." She told me to go with him and do what he told me, and that she better not hear that I had been disrespectful, or that I cried, cuz if she did, I would disappear. She said, “It's THAT simple. You have no one that cares about you, so there's no one to ask questions.”
I don't remember much, except for a burning sensation between my legs and the sensation of hot tap water running down my throat, trying to get whatever 'it' was, out of my mouth. There were quite a few more after him.
I developed 'Precocious Puberty' at 4 years old. I started having horrible head aches, pain in my legs and growing breasts. My pituitary gland awoke to early, making me (My body) compatible with the stimuli it was experiencing. Do not confuse this with 'pleasure'. Rape is NOT pleasurable. But a body responds to what happens to it, to protect it. I was prescribed Depo-Provera, 100cc's every two weeks for 7 years.
When I was 5ish, she met a guy and married him within a few days of meeting him. Well, Mother also had Krohn's disease, kind of like IBS, on crack. Anyway, she would trick with her gastroenterologist for meds like Percodan and Quaaludes. I stupidly fell asleep at the end of her bed, waiting for her to come home. The stepdad was on the left side, asleep, under the covers. I had footie p.j's on, just like any little girl would. When she came home, saw me at the foot of the bed, she backhanded me awake. I was told to take my 'wh*ring, husband stealing a**' to my own bed, before things got worse. It took me many years to figure out what I'd done wrong and why she was so mad at me. Because I didn't like boys and really didn't like men, because the ones I'd met all wanted to f*** me.
The stepdad was nice at first, then he changed. He never raped me, or touched me. But he kicked me in my stomach, then made me lie about it to my mom. A month, locked in your room is a long time, when you are 5.
One thing that has been constant was Mom's love for animals. Now, it's called hoarding.
When I was 6 1/2, she married another guy, my TRUE father. He adopted me when I was 38 years old. Yes, you CAN adopt an adult, although it's rare.
I grew up having to tend to most of her collection of animals. Although she wanted them, she didn't want to clean up after them. Our household expenses were high. The animals received the BEST of everything. While we ate Hamburger Helper, and Top Ramen. I was allowed ONE box of cereal a month, no more. That was my 'treat'. She kept a large bird collection, 36 in total. They had their own bedroom, and had to be kept spotless. I didn't go to school anymore by then. I was beaten up so badly by bullies that I stopped going in 6th grade, BFORE I had a nervous breakdown. So, at home, I was forced into these duties. Never a day off, even if sick. She created a special diet for these birds, that had to be cooked. One of the ingredients, field corn, had to be soaked in water before being added to the recipe. I forgot to put it in the fridge. 2 days later, there were maggots that had hatched. Mom ladled out a large bowl full of it and forced me to eat it for punishment. I never forgot to put it away again.
I had to watch my mother give her love, kindness and affection to these creatures while nothing nice was said to me. I was forced to lie about my education when asked, saying I was 'homeschooled'. Nothing was further from the truth.
I have more, but I wanted to write this to share. I have 4 kids. Ages 14-24. I didn't raise them for fear of causing harm. It's not an excuse. I was told that I wasn't capable, smart enough and had no right to procreate since I was the biggest mistake ever made. And mistakes shouldn't make more mistakes. Now that I've found the courage to contact the people I've loved the deepest, they choose to hate me. But I have a side to tell. I DESERVE to tell what happened to me. When you have bad parents and you don’t know anything better, you have no way of knowing HOW to be a parent. I made mistakes that I can't take back, but I have more love in my heart than they know, and what they've been told. I do this for you all. I hope and pray that you'll find it in your heart to forgive my mistakes one day.