At the end of my last post, I had been convinced by my mother to escape my father’s basement and meet up with her and her new husband.
Welcome to the Family!
When I was back at her house, I was given alcohol, and her new husband attempted to get me to watch pornography with him. He stopped when I told him I didn’t want to, but this was only the beginning.
Early the next morning, I was driven about half an hour away to a seedy hotel. I was tired and disoriented and my mother’s husband, “Tony”, decided that he would instruct me on what to do in case I was accosted by the police. I was going to be considered a runaway, and should be on my guard at all times. He was trying to make me paranoid by saying that I was going to be in trouble, and that I was going to go to jail. I didn’t know this at the time, but they had orchestrated and planned this whole thing without me knowing. I, who was led away by people I was supposed to trust, and if caught, I was made to believe that I would be the one in trouble.
When we arrived, at some unknown hour, although I believe it was early in the morning because Tony told me he wanted to get an early start, he got me up to my room.
He said that he paid off the hotel employee to “erase our names from the records”.
He flashed a big wad of cash at me, as if to confirm this. My hair was then dyed blonde, (which, by the way looked horrible, as I naturally have very dark hair) cut haphazardly, and I was instructed to stay in the room during the day while my mother and he went to “conduct business” and make it seem that I was just a runaway. In order to further disguise me, and to make me appear older, perhaps, Tony told me that he would take my braces off himself (thankfully he never did!), and get me a fake ID so that I could work at a strip-club to earn enough money to be sent to Australia. This threat loomed over me the entirety of the two weeks of my stay at the hotel. It seemed more like two lifetimes to me and I was terrified. I can’t begin to describe how helpless I felt, when they were discussing their big plans of me making money and finally them shipping me off to Australia, to be rid of me for good.
To keep me in the room during the day I was given an abundant supply of drugs and alcohol. He hid knives and told me to carve an X into the wall if there was trouble. I don’t know why I didn’t escape. I know the time I was there was about two weeks, but the only distinction that broke up the time was night and day. Days were listless and boring hazes of drugs, alcohol, and shitty television, interrupted by drug-fueled naps, and endless boredom. I was left alone, scared, and bored, but that paled in comparison to the nights. Nights were the most troublesome, because despite my pleas to my mother, she would always leave me there with him to make it seem like everything was normal. During those times he would sexually abuse me. I remember vividly one night my mother was actually in the bed when he was trying to molest me, and all she could say was “leave her alone”. She continued to leave me alone with him even after this.
The day this hotel drama ended was unusual. Tony took me out during the day, which he didn’t do while I was staying in the hotel. The cops were behind him, about to pull him over. He told me to jump out of the car when they did pull him over, and I did. I remember skinning my hands and being taken into the police station and finger printed. I wasn’t under arrest, I don’t think, but they took my prints and I was on my way to a group home, then foster care, and finally Red Rock Canyon School in Utah.
You see, I didn’t see my mom or Tony for awhile because I was in foster care, and there I told the authorities what happened to me in the hotel. I believe my mom sent me away to that place in Utah, residential treatment facility for wayward teens to attempt to take some of the blame off herself, and put it onto me because I was taught that I was the problem in the program. Although I got therapy in there I was told to focus on my issues and my behavior. The confrontational behavior modification “therapy” that was the modality in Utah became all too familiar to me later on.
In my following posts, I will talk about my various institutionalizations, first in Utah, and then in S.A.F.E.
Did you know MSbP moms often wrongly accuse others of sexually abusing their victims?
Read about it here.