Hi, My name is Momma, but the name from people who are not my children....Tonya (or Toni, depending on who you are). I want to tell you about my present day happenings, but before that, let me just tell you about my past. To let you get an idea about who I am and why I am.
I was born in a small town in Arkansas. I have two brothers who are older than I by 6.5yrs & 8yrs. My parents were not high school graduates and neither had much of an education at that. My father was a crop farmer, my mother had a variety of jobs (mostly cleaning), and so we were a pretty poor family. They did make sure that my brothers and I had our needs met. We ate a lot of beans and cornbread, which oddly enough I still like to this day. The majority of our clothes came from yard sales and the same could be said for our toys. The times we got new stuff was for Christmas. We didn't get all of our wants, but we tried to not to want for a lot. My parents did their best with what they had.
My parents were "spare the rod, spoil the child" when it came to discipline. Yes, I do understand the meaning of "get a switch", and the horrifying feeling of trying to pick one. My mother we didn't fear much, as her bark was worse than her bite. I had seen her throws silverware at my brothers though, always missing them, though she did break a tiny window in our front door once. She had a temper, but kept it in check when it came to us. My father on the other hand, well, I do believe he crossed the line from punishment into abuse a few times. He had a mean back swing when it came to the hand, belt, switch, broom handle..etc. You didn't cross my dad, he wasn't a nice person when he was upset, and I truly feared the man. Looking back though, my dad worked long, hard hours. He was up at the crack of dawn and home by almost bedtime. The stress he had on him to make sure we what we needed couldn't have been good. I am not making an excuse for how he did, but I do understand we had to push him past his breaking point many times for him to get the way he was.
My parents were "spare the rod, spoil the child" when it came to discipline. Yes, I do understand the meaning of "get a switch", and the horrifying feeling of trying to pick one. My mother we didn't fear much, as her bark was worse than her bite. I had seen her throws silverware at my brothers though, always missing them, though she did break a tiny window in our front door once. She had a temper, but kept it in check when it came to us. My father on the other hand, well, I do believe he crossed the line from punishment into abuse a few times. He had a mean back swing when it came to the hand, belt, switch, broom handle..etc. You didn't cross my dad, he wasn't a nice person when he was upset, and I truly feared the man. Looking back though, my dad worked long, hard hours. He was up at the crack of dawn and home by almost bedtime. The stress he had on him to make sure we what we needed couldn't have been good. I am not making an excuse for how he did, but I do understand we had to push him past his breaking point many times for him to get the way he was.
I was sick a lot it seemed as a kid and saw so many doctors for being sick. I also had sores on my body that I would pick at, so I'd see docs for that too. I always had a sore as a kid, whether my face or my legs...there was one on me. I knew why I did it...but couldn't control it. It is because of this when I usually got the belt. Its sad really, a lot of my painful memories account for something I couldn't control. Heck, I am an adult and still find myself doing it. Its a texture issue, I can't handle the feeling of a scab and unless I psych myself up for it, if I feel it, it has to come off. I do this in my sleep, I do this subconsciously when I'm awake. I'll be doing something on the computer and realize that one hand is trying to remove a scab from my other arm. Its frustrating, though as I age I am much able to stop myself.
I had another issue as a child of banging my head on things. I was told I did this a small tot, though I don't remember that, but I guess I wouldn't after all the concussions I caused myself. I would bang my head against the wall/couch/ground/anything hard..etc and I would do this anytime I became upset. As I got older I changed from banging my head to biting myself. It became a way to control my anger, a way to calm me down since I was usually at a point of wanting to hurt someone else. Inflicting pain upon myself helped me focus and think of the consequences of what would happen if I did what I truly wanted to. It wasn't uncommon to see bite marks on my hands or arms, but usually no one ever noticed, so I didn't care. I did it up until my teenage years till one day I bit so hard I think I screwed up a few nerves in my hand. I had lost feeling in my thumb and finger for a very, very long time. It was the time I realized that if I didn't stop, I was going to end up doing some major damage. I learned to refocus my anger, though I still haven't been able to get myself to calm as fast as biting did it. I don't know why I just told ya'll that...I guess because it was apart of me.
I grew up wearing dresses/skirts. My mother became a member of the Pentecostal church when I was about 2, from that point on till I was 16, I was forced to attend church with her anytime she found an open door at one. I was never allowed to wear pants or shorts and the only time I ever got to wear them is if I so happen to at a relatives/friends house and they snuck some on me. I do remember being allowed to wear a one piece swimsuit till I was about 7/8 and then after that I was allowed to wear shorts to go swimming in. Yay for the fact that my mom realized swimming in skirts was a lil restricting and ridiculous. Do to being pentecostal I also had extremely long hair to go along with my long dresses. I also remember being made fun of a lot in school for my clothes...being poor and pentecostal just made me one hell of a target it seemed.
I didn't have many friends in school. I dealt with being made fun of a lot. It didn't really start until first grade and I blame my teacher for that. You see back then I shared a room with one of my brothers and he let our dog sleep in bed with us.....plus I'd play with that dog all the time. So at school one day my teacher called me to the front of the class and berated me that I smelled like a dog. So from that day on the other students in the class wouldn't talk to me and called me names. They told me I was smelly like a dog and ugly like one too. Even when we didn't have that dog anymore, I still was told the same stuff over and over again. I became an outcast, the low kid on the totem pole, and kids didn't want to be around me. It was hard dealing with it all, so many days I wanted to hurt them like they were hurting me....they were just lucky I bit myself instead of beating the snot out of them. The only true friends I had back then were the ones who knew me outside of the school, or they were outcasted from the rest. I had the same tiny group of friends until 10th grade, till my group of friends opened up just a small smidge. Its amazing how some people can change their point of view about someone when they are forced to be around them more.
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