Trigger Warning: Memoirs of a Millennial

By H.R.D TRUTH

A riveting coming-of-age tale that will leave you shocked, triggered, and horrified by the events of one millennial's tragic tale as it unfolds in this uniquely written experience. But, be warned. Her tale is one of dark unimaginable abuse not for the faint of heart, however, rewarding to those who find themselves searching for hope in the darkness. You'll find yourself weeping on one page and laughing on the next as this tale takes you on a whirlwind of emotions as our main character comes to terms with her dark past.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9781387873364

Book preview

Prologue

I’m not okay; I’ve never been okay. But somehow, I’m okay with not being okay. After all, nothing and all you will find in this book hold even a single ounce of truth. I’m psychotic, and the horrifying tales you’ll find in this book is nothing more than mere delusions and hallucinations created by the sick and twisted mind of an epileptic. At least that’s what I’m told. That none of this happened, the stories aren’t true. So where else does one publish the falsified horrors that haunt them if not in fiction?

I am just crazy. A loon. Suffering from psychosis and harboring resentment for things that never happened. Evil and vindictive, I’m calculative and planned it all. Just to get revenge for the things that never happened. That’s what I’m told. So, I’ll file it under fiction and publish it under a pseudo name. After all, it never really happened.  They say that the truth will set you free, so maybe it’s my turn for the truth to set me free. Even if my truth is nothing more than psychotic ramblings.

Chapter 1- Chaos of the early years.

They were supposed to protect me, all the adults were supposed to protect and defend me. They all failed. They didn’t just fail to protect me; they did the exact opposite. They caused the pain that they were supposed to protect me from. And now as I sit here, I am expected to watch those same people protect other people’s children as if they would have ever done the same for me without wondering, why not me? Why couldn’t you love me the way you love them? Why are you able to love the children you never had but incapable of loving me? But why not me? Why was I not worth the same devotion and ferocious protection you dedicate to others?

I asked her once, why it was okay to abuse me but never the children she took in, Because it’s different when you adopt a child, she explained, you promise to protect them and give them a better life.. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked her that question, lord knows I wasn’t ready for the answer.

That response cut me to my soul, to the very core of what is me. I just wasn’t worth protecting, I wasn’t worth the extra effort to love. She could beat me, hate me, and disdain me for who I am simply because she gave birth to me.

No one protected me. Not a single adult protected me. I had to protect myself, and I couldn’t even do that because I also had to protect everyone else. Including the adults who should have sworn to protect me. For nearly 32 years I’ve lived on this earth and in all those years I’ve found one thing to be true. I must look out for myself and mine because clearly, no one else is going to.

My story really begins in a small town in the deep south, coffee county Alabama. Born entirely too soon, my birth was nearly a funeral. The nurse told my mother that I had two things going for me, She’s over five pounds and she’s a girl. women come into this world a bitch and we go out it just the same.

I was supposed to die. I wasn’t supposed to make it, but I did. I survived my premature birth only to go home to the very same man who beat and raped my mother, triggering my premature birth and the ailments that came along with it. And so, I began a lifelong game of tag with the Grimm reaper himself.

By the age of ten, I was convinced that the reason I had died so many times is that my soul didn’t want to be there.

I told my mother once, Maybe I just wanted out of the deal after seeing everything I’d have to go through.. I think it hurt her feelings to know that her daughter of only ten was contemplating how much better death would have been in comparison to what life really was.

The truth is, as a child I never really felt loved. I didn’t know what it felt like to be loved because no one really loved me. At least they didn’t treat me like they did. I know that they loved me but in their own ways. In the way that they were taught to love.

My father was an alcoholic, and abusive at that. While he never struck me, out of fear he’d kill me I reckon, I watched on numerous occasions as he tried to kill my mother and brother. Sometimes even being the one thing that stood between them and the finality of death.

I think I might have been six or seven that night. My mother, brother, Branese; the babysitter, and I were all laying in my mom’s room watching gone with the wind on VHS when we heard the sound of his truck pulling in the drive. "

Pretend to be asleep and he’ll leave us alone. My mother warned as we all went limp falling to the mattress as if it were a scene from the toy story Andy’s coming!" if Andy had been an evil abusive prick that tormented his toys.

My older brother was the only person not to collapse, I remember rolling my eyes as he bolted from the bed ignoring my mother’s warning.

Shit! my mother winced as he bolted from the bed far too fast for her to catch. For a moment my mom, Branese, and I just stared at each other in concern for my brother who carelessly raced into the living room excitedly greeting our father. I can’t fault my brother for wanting his dad, we hadn’t seen him in days and little boys are all about their daddies, no matter how abusive they may be.

Hey buddy! my father happily called out to my brother as the pitter-patter of his feet disappeared. I could tell Stuart had picked him up. We had no choice; our cover was blown. My father might have been drunk but he wasn’t stupid. He would have known my mother was awake simply because my brother was. She would have never fallen asleep and just left us to our own devices in such away. So, we did the only thing we could in that situation. We groaned and moaned as we stood to our feet to meet the problem head-on. My drunken father being the problem that is.

As I reached the living room I could tell this was a happy manic drunk dad. The type of manic drunk that turns from extremely happy to extremely dangerous the moment you don’t meet his manic energy. The type of manic drunk that makes mistakes and then becomes overly defensive if you attempt to intervene.

By the time I reached the living room he had begun roughhousing with my brother. It was all fun and play until someone gets hurt, which they did. My father had this thing he would do to us when we were little, he would grab our little feet and say Imma get them toes as he pulled them to his mouth and playfully pretended to bite off our toes. Normally something that made us laugh because of how silly and how much it tickled. But he messed up, he accidentally bit down on my brother’s toe in his drunken state which caused my brother to yell out in pain.

Amongst all the chaos my mom was trying to calm my father down Stuart, calm down you gotta stop. She tried to say calmly over and over again.

Oh, he’s not hurt! my father began to defend himself against what he perceived as a personal attack as tears welled up in my brother’s eyes. Did daddy hurt you, buddy? Oh, daddy didn’t mean it He tried to apologize and make it all better but too little too late as he was beginning to get frustrated with my mother who scolded him for coming home is such a state.

The next few moments are a blur. He started throwing furniture as Branese and my brother fled the house, retreating to the car for safety leaving my mother and I behind.

I stood there watching as my father snatched my mother up from the floor by the throat, slamming her against the wall. Her feet dangled and she gasped for breath as he tightened his grip around her throat. She tried to fight him, she held onto his right arm that held her pinned several feet from the floor in an attempt to hold herself up so she could breathe.

For a moment I was frozen, I didn’t know what to do. My mom had said to run, but if I run, she might die. And if I don’t, I may be watching my mother take her last breaths. Before I knew what I was doing the phone was in my hand the number had been dialed, and a woman answered the line, Help. My daddy is trying to kill my mommy, I said to the 911 operator as I glared at my father who now turned his attention to me.

Baby girl? He said as he turned his head to me, still holding my mother against the wall, feet kicking and gasping for air.

He’s killing her, she can’t breathe. I continued talking to the dispatcher as I now glared into my father’s eyes as he stood there, still strangling my mother, and yet somehow a look of shock that I called 911 covered his face.

THUD my mother’s nearly lifeless body crashed to the floor as the giant of a man turned his entire attention towards me.

He’s wearing dark blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a blue flannel shirt with a silver boat necklace, I gave the dispatcher a nearly perfect description while locked into a stare with my father as I stood barefoot on the dining room floor.

He began to walk toward me slowly as my mother coughed and gasped for air on the floor behind him, Baby girl?, he said through a smile as he attempted to approach me. You called the cops on your daddy? he said as he tried to pull at some level of loyalty from me as his smile grew softer.

Yes. I responded harshly as I continued to stare into his blue eyes as I continued to hold the phone to my ear. Harshening my glare into his eyes I continued to give the dispatch operator his description, He has long blond hair and blue eyes I cocked my head to the side and cut my eyes as if to silently say Do it, hit me, I dare you.

My mother still lay on the floor coughing and gasping, trying to move toward me, trying to stop him from getting to me.

How are you gonna call the cops on your daddy baby girl? He passively questioned me as I continued to glare at him. Locked in a battle of the wills I bought my mother the time she needed to catch her breath and as she gained her footing I smiled at my father as I handed him the phone.

He was screwed, the cops would be there any second.

Quickly and without looking back my mother bolted passed my father snagging me by the arm and dragging me out the door behind her as we rushed to the safety of the car.

Once in the car, I sat in the front seat staring at the crystal birthstone angels that dangled from the rearview mirror above me. The police removed my father from the home, but they didn’t take him to jail. They just dropped him off several miles away, knowing that by the time he reached the house, if he reached it, he would have walked off the liquor that coursed through his veins.

I wish I