Surrounded by Insects
A Journey Through an Awakening of Past Abuse.
An Autobiography By Wendi Bear
“I am going to kill someone over that damn door! It will be the beginning of the end for me, I sware it!” I threatened my co-worker in a humorous manner, after another passerby had left the broken door to the salon partially open not a minute after I just had gotten up to close it, once again. Our small nail area had suddenly been bombarded with the disruptive sounds of blow dryers and loud voices talking over each other from the adjoining hair salon.
As soon as the words came out of my mouth I instantly regretted them. Though my co-workers did nothing more than chuckle at my comment and return to their previous conversations I was suddenly filled with fear. Anxiety overwhelmed me, after all what if somebody thought I was serious? They could call the police and have me arrested for a murder conspiracy. Suddenly I was jerked back in time to something that happened when I was only 14 years old.
I was lying on my water bed in my old bedroom. My mother was standing above me, her eyes were bulging out of her skull as she screamed her threats.
“I’m going to send you away, you little twat! This is my house and you are to obey my rules! Do you understand me?”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong!” I protested.
“I told you that you were not allowed to hang out with that boy, Joe! You disobeyed me and went over there anyway! What did you expect would happen?”
“I didn’t go over there!”
“Your brother saw you go. He told me he followed you over there,” she insisted, smiling to herself with the enjoyment to be catching me in what she considered to be a lie. As usual, I was not lying. I have always been honest to a fault. My mother knew this yet chose to project her bad traits onto me. I was her emotional punching bag, her scapegoat, and though I had no idea then, destined to become the scapegoat of our entire extended family as well.
Under her control of course.
“Well then he’s lying!” I proclaimed my innocence.
“You are the Liar, Wendi. We all know what a little liar you are,” she whispered with a sudden cool tone to her voice, much different than the yelling that had occurred only seconds before. It was amazing how she could switch emotions so fast, like she was on a stage giving the performance of her life.
“I am not a liar!” I insisted, but she wasn’t listening.
“If you can’t admit the truth, you can just spend the next month alone in your room.”
“I hate this house!” I screamed as I watched her make her grand exit out of my room, “I would rather be dead then live here!”
“Oh? We will see about that that,” she promised as she slammed shut the door to my room.
I pressed my head into the pillow and began to sob. I continued until I had cried myself to sleep.
No sooner had I fallen into a dream was I forced out of it.
“Get up Wendi!” My mothers voice called out.
“No, get out of my room! Leave me alone!” I demanded.
“Get out of bed now you little bitch! Pack a fucking bag! NOW!” she continued to shout while simultaneously grabbing my arm and forcing me out of bed and onto the hard floor. “Pack your bag, you are out of here!”
“No! I just want to be left alone!” I begged once more, but it was too late.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, my mother’s demeanor completely changed and she began to let out tears of her own. Instead of the child abuser she was, she transformed into a victim.
Just then a man in uniform made his way inside my room. “Do as your mother says,” the strange man demanded.
My heart began to pound a million miles an hour as shock and fear consumed me. I was still only a child, my mother was supposed to be my protector. I certainly hadn’t done anything to deserve the treatment she was bestowing upon me. Why wouldn’t she just hug me or tell me she loved me? I couldn’t yet grasp why she hated me.
“Who are you? Why are you here?” I desperately asked the man in uniform, feeling only about an inch tall.
“You told your mother you were going to kill yourself, so she asked us to come and help you. Now, pack your bag or you won’t have anything to wear while in our care.”
Trembling, I hesitated.
“The police are outside next to the ambulance should you give us any trouble,” he warned.
With my head down, I had no choice but to follow their orders. My little brothers watched as I was handcuffed and led to the curb and into the waiting vehicle that would have me temporarily committed.
- It’s frightening how ones innocent words can be twisted and used against them. It’s even more frightening the affects a trauma can have on a person 21 years after the actual abuse occurred. Though I’ll bet the wounds are a little deeper having had the same sort of abuse repeated by my ex husband much more recently, something I will go into depth about that later on.
Now, I am not a licensed therapist and I would never want to be. I do not buy into what society tells me to believe. I am experienced in life, I am self taught and self educated through my own research. In my life I have come to learn that there are two types of people on this planet, those who feel empathy and those who don’t. You can label those lacking the ability to feel empathy what ever you like, be it sociopath, narcissist, psychopath etc. To me they are all the same, pure evil.
You may not understand what I mean just yet, but stay with me through this literary journey and you may eventually understand.
A note to my long time fans…
I am asked on a regular basis, if “It’s Not My Fault.” is a memoir and I continually reply, NO it’s not. Though the original blog & book stories are based around parts of my life as the author, they are embellished, pulled out of my ass and some even completely out of thin air.
This new project, “Surrounded by Insects” will in fact remain autobiographical. Through this series of events you will finally see the real truth behind all the inappropriate jokes and toilet humor I’ve been so lovingly known for.
Stay tuned, it’s about to get messy! Hopefully not like my new computer did after my foster dog peed on it.
Wendi Bear © 2016