I was about 4 or 5 years old, I had on, a white and pink sweater, which had big “pom-poms” at the end to tighten the hood. (I know this because it was my favorite) My mom and I had walked into the house; I have always, for as long as I can remember, had IBS. I had an accident and couldn’t hold it. Mom was washing me off. It was at that moment I realized I LOVED her, I truly loved her, not sure why I remember that.
My father, I remember at that age, he was always trying to keep my sister and I laughing. He used to make “burritos” out of freshly made corn tortillas, he added salt and made donkey noises (burritos mean a baby donkey, in Spanish) I remember being much older, when I realized I loved my father. To describe him is a little contradicting, he’s tough, strict, easy to anger, he’s also gentle, easygoing and he has a laugh that will absorb anyone.
My older siblings may describe both much differently, then my sister Consuelo (Caña) and I. They saw the real struggle, the hunger, the absence from dad, since he had to leave Mexico to earn the almighty U S dollar. They experienced cold with no blankets, hunger with no food, life with a lot of despair, surprisingly from our paternal grandmother, that only they and mom knew, dad either never noticed or turned a blind eye, this was after all, his mother. Dad had worked since before he was 8, born in the late 1930's that was normal, so with working so many years and long hours, there was no time for hurt hearts and family bashing, everyone just put it away deep in their soul. Where in fact before this and all these years later it remained.
My father was the bread winner and was much too often not home. When he was, I’m pretty sure he wanted peace and quiet.
I had to be about 15 or 16 when I noticed, I LOVED my father. I was going through those “glorious” years. Yes, you know the ones. My father believed in me and always had my back. I realized that I loved him for that, and always taking care of us. Most of my friends were from a one parent household. Watching that, I realized just how blessed I was. My mom, on the other hand was always around so she was a lot tougher on Cana and I. She was very strict and firm with us. Controlling and negative to anything we were excited about. She could also see right through my bullshit. Right around that year l also noticed something I had been missing all my life. My father, the “almighty Reyes” (last name meaning kings) was not a robot, not the strongest man in the world, not a magician, and not unbreakable, my father was human.
A family occurrence was going on one day after school, I was in my room planning on how to start living my life as an “only child”. I hear a scream so, horrifying like a sound from a horror movie. My father was outside in the back yard. I ran out of my room, down the hall, into the kitchen out the back door and into the backyard. There it was, a site I never imagined I would ever see, A hero in my eyes, my father…torn, desperate, crying, and screaming.
How could this be I thought. In most families one would embrace maybe say words of hope, I love you dad! No, this is a Reyes household. I quietly just looked at him, ran back to my room and cried. I cried like I never had before, my father’s screams and cries hit me like a million bricks. Sure, we loved each other, but he nor mom were ever able to say it. I also knew I was loved by him.
We would embrace each other on special occasions, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Birthdays. We also heard I love you; this would only come from my eldest sister Lupe. I remember mom being on the phone with her, she was in the convent, she was a nun, a sister of the Franciscan order in the Catholic church. Mom would shout, “Mari, Lupe wants to talk to you!” Often, I would pretend to be asleep or sneak out the back door to avoid the phone call. I must sound like a horrible person, but please understand me, her “I love yous” were like word vomit, they just flew out, I was not physically nor emotionally ready! To me it didn’t count, she was supposed to say that. I most definitely loved her I just didn’t know how to express it, I felt very forced to say I love, the words were getting forced out of my throat and into my tongue, I was about 14 or 15 and I struggled to say I love you?! To go deeper in my soul and why I am the way I am today, let me explain why those 3 huge words are so conflicting to me.
I was maybe 12 or 13 when one of my sisters, for reasons unclear to this day, just quit speaking to our family. It was as if she just snapped her fingers and removed herself right out of our lives. I still remember thinking “why is she just gone, why doesn’t she speak to us? Could it have something to do with what her significant other did to me years earlier? That was another hard hit that I had to endure at the time. I thought maybe he grew some and told her the bullshit he did to me, and he asked her not to speak to us again. I had no idea, because this household swept and kept on going. I decided to write her a letter since she wasn’t taking calls from her former family. I cannot recall details; I wish I made a copy. I do remember something very specific, I asked her. I wrote “Do you not love me anymore?” I couldn’t tell you what the response was to this day. Years went by and she slowly became part of the family again. I remember being confused about that but very excited at the same time. That moment was one of those where words should have been spoken, I missed you, I love you, but no, you guessed it. This was the Reyes Duran household.
With my sister coming back into our lives., we got to see more of my nieces and nephew. I was going on 16 at that time; I met someone. I thought of course he loves me. He wants to spend time with me and listens and talks to me, until I found out it was me and several other girls.
I was 18 when I met the other “man” I thought loved me, we were together for total of Four years let me give you a glimpse of those years that now seemed like a lifetime. A place of loneliness, depression, heartache, and hunger. I turned 21. I wanted to get myself a drink because after all I was of legal age September 25th, I walked across the street to get me a wine cooler walked back to the Cliff Maus apartments in Corpus Christi, Texas, where we temporarily lived with his parents. I had my son ‘s grandmother watch him. He was two months old at the time. I walked in, started to drink my wine cooler, only to be met by yell and torture.
The signs were there years before, but it never happened. Please recall I love you were the words I didn’t hear at home. I had no idea those three huge words were this powerful, the words would come right after being beaten, broken bones, broken jaw, fractured, ribs, arm, pulled out of socket, hospital trip after hospital trip.
If you thought it was a describing an exaggeration, you are incorrect, I am describing what’s in my memory bank of those horrible years that haunt me daily.
These were the small things I endured. I still recall, I was the only one working, I had a car but not able to use it. I had to walk to work. I walked to the bus station at times when I had enough change to get to work, this was daily. How dare I ask him to take me to work while he was sleeping.
I can hear it now those reading that haven’t the slightest clue of how manipulation works “just leave him or her” they may shout, “she, or he must like to get beat or degraded” “I wouldn’t put up with that shit” let me stop, because I’ve heard it all before.
I worked to keep gas in my car that he used, clothes on his back, roof over his head. I would stand in the kitchen eating my 8-month-old son’s, baby cereal. Yes, the powder ready to eat mix and honestly it wasn’t that bad if you think about it, mix all that shit up with juice and it kept me going for hours.
My son had to be one of those special kids that had a sensitive stomach. He was allergic to all the milk that was provided by WIC, I had to purchase something called Alimentum by Similac, one can cost $10 and it would feed him twice a day, so with me working for Walmart I hate to put this out there but there were plenty of times that I didn’t pay, I couldn’t pay for his formula. I recall at times I would often go into the office of the Armada projects in Corpus Christi Texas, where we moved to and would ask for an extension to pay my rent. Let me tell you the backstory before I continue.
Growing up, I seriously thought we were rich my parents got us everything we asked for our eldest siblings may not agree to the statement, but we had everything we needed and everything we asked for, leaving home and going to live in the projects, not having food every day or the privilege to buy whatever I wanted or needed I was shocked and disbelief.
I had to go in with my head hung low, because not only was I tired, hungry, beat up and broken but I was broke too. I couldn’t pay my rent which was $17 a month!
I had neighbors to the right and to the left. If I knew that he would be upset that I was either crunching my cereal too loud or walking too fast down the stairs he was going to lose his mind. I would go to either the dining room area, or the living room, so that I can have quick access to my walls the neighbors were Hispanic, and I learned quickly that we are the type of people “que no se meten” meaning don’t get involved, but also wouldn’t let someone just get beat up. I was advised that as soon as he started in, I was too bang on the wall. One time. This meant my neighbors husband would come over and “talk” to him too huge bangs men call the cops and break down the door…This motherfucker is about to kill me, the system worked.
I did have a cell phone but couldn’t use it often, this was the late 90s and the cell phone service was extremely expensive! I had to get it to answer mom’s calls. The constant lies that I had to tell. Yes, we’re doing great. Yes, he’s working, the baby, yes, he’s fine we are all doing fantastic. Lies compiled on top of lies. This became dangerously easy for me.
The big ass cell phone I had of course he kept it all day while I was working so he can pretend to be the shit he never was the banging on the walls and my neighbors would have to be enough. Trips to the hospital became the normal, doctors and nurses started noticing I fell more times than they could count. I finally lost my mind.
I moved in with his cousin after all I was completely alone and far from all family members. She took me in knowing everything I was going through and I must say his sister was also by my side. Imagine you having a sibling that beats the shit out of their girlfriend or boyfriend? Now imagine what you would do if that’s not a rock and a hard place nonetheless, I moved in.
His cousin’s husband that we will call Charlie was an angel, this man worked. Graveyard shifts, came home, took me to work across town and then went back home to watch my eight-month-old baby, while his wife and I worked. Charlie did so much for me, I owe him so much. We lost Charlie years later. I’m thankful to have met him. His death was and still hard for me.
Sitting in the kitchen one night, I was waiting for his Lucy, Charlie’s wife to get home. Lucy and I would go out every chance we could while his sister, will call Sonia watched my baby, Sonia had five kids of her own and she rarely went out. Lucy would normally come home about 8 PM so by 7:45 pm I would walk my baby to Sonia ‘s house which was in the same complex about three buildings over. It would take me about four minutes to get there. I got back to Lucy ‘s apartment closes the door, and I would say about five minutes later a knock, did you forget your key again Lucy, I giggled as I opened the door, it was him I knew he was unsteady. This man never drank alcohol, didn’t use any type of drug, not even headache medicine he was mentally unstable.
We began to shout, understand that at this point I had announced that I was tired of getting beat up, tired of broken bones, having my jaw wired shut for eight weeks for God’s sake! He didn’t take the announcement to well. He didn’t say anything, he walked into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, opened his mouth to say, “if I can’t have you no one will.” Those words have never left my memory. He took the knife and stabbed it right through my stomach.
I have witnessed plenty of miracles in my lifetime. If I told you some, you wouldn’t believe me, so I’ll go on without inserting those parts of my life.
I watched and felt the knife in my belly. I fully believed a miracle would happen. I just didn’t know how. We were here with his rage and I with my life flashing before my eyes, I never had an idea what it would come from, the worst part when I would die?
I want to take this time, first not to make excuses, but explain a glimpse of his rage. I can’t say that was love the only love I really knew was how I loved my parents and the miracles I had witnessed, that had to be love.This was mental illness, and the illness that gets undiagnosed that goes unspoken. This is schizophrenia, a thought disorder that impairs judgment behavior, and the ability to miss, interpret reality. This horrible illness attacks those with high levels of dopamine and abnormal levels of serotonin.
I was literally living in a bubble before all of this. You cannot begin to imagine what a 21-year-old feels like with so much change and trauma in a span of 4 years. I share this because we are so quick to judge without fully knowing the core of the problem, again, I say no excuse, but when you’re not mentally stable, change will come, change did, and it came with a roar like a starving lion. I knew nothing about this mental illness unless about domestic violence, I was embarrassed. I knew it wasn’t me nor anything I did, and the fucked-up part is that at the same time, I felt like it was me! I don’t know how it happened. All I knew that his illness was affecting me my mind, body and soul, I was done.
The knife, my right hand to heaven, bent like a soft plastic object. I looked at him. He looked at me, and the rage in his mind began to seep to his eyes. He ran to the door. How I wished to see Lucy or Charlie Walks into the apartment, but no one was there. I ran to his sister Sonia ‘s apartment this was called Cliff Moss, Village, Apartments on Westpoint and Green Oaks in Corpus Christi Texas, in the same complex that lived in.
Fun, unrelated fact, a scene from the Selena movies was filmed at the Greenwood Park next to the apartment complex. It was the candle vigil scene.
I got to his sister’s apartment and almost kicked the door down. She had the hard task of having to call the police on her own brother. He was hospitalized in the mental unit, and I made my final escape, a special woman was there to pick up what was left of my soul, my mother.