Page 22 - Trapped in a Diamond

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Trapped in a Diamond
don’t know anything about anything.” Those words pretty much extin-
guished any freedom of expression or trust in our own inherent wis-
dom. Our biggest conflicts were about political and religious issues, and
about personal freedom to express ourselves. We were forbidden from
making any negative comments about anyone who was a Democrat or
questioning our religious beliefs.
Between my care-giving role and their strict rules governing my so-
cial life, I felt like a prisoner. As for our limited outside activities, we
weren’t allowed to go out with boys, and in my case, not even with
girls. I was the babysitter. I could socialize with my girlfriends only on
the rare occasions when my parents stayed home and only in a very
limited way. The rules we lived by were so strict, I broke them every
chance I got. My spirit had not been completely extinguished, and I
had a rebellious streak.
I got into conflicts with my parents, most of which culminated with a
slap or two from my mother or a full beating from my father. The most
violent beating I ever received was the time my father saw me in a car
with my boyfriend. I had long hair at the time, which he pulled as hard
as he could as he beat me. He kicked me until my internal and external
injuries were impossible to ignore. As the abuse continued, I was re-
minded of my first childhood beating and the confusion I experienced
that terrible day.
The punishments didn’t fit the crimes.
Grasping for an-
swers, I often wondered if I might be adopted. Who was I really? It was
the only way I could justify such violence.
Regaining My Power
Following that last beating from my father, I summoned all the courage
I could muster and threatened to go to the media and the police with