Greetings, it has taken me many years to finally share my tale with the world. I live in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and I am 52 years old. My mother and stepfather have given me a younger brother, and both my mother and father have given me an elder brother. I was born in Isabela, Puerto Rico, in 1972, and that is where my narrative starts. My parents claim that I needed a blood transfusion when I was two weeks old due to an illness, so they relocated to Miami, Florida, where the procedure was performed. According to my mother, the doctor informed her that I would be mentally disabled if I lived to be eighteen. They relocated to Jersey City a year later.
My mother left my father when I was three years old and went to live with my stepfather, who was the largest predator and abuser at the time. Everything was OK until I was six years old. One of the ways this man disciplined me was by sticking my finger in a lamp socket and rapidly turning it on. He liked to beat me and get me wet in the shower with a racquetball paddle. He did this frequently, so I was relieved when the paddle handle broke one day. To my surprise, he then went and purchased a new one. The slaps and yelling at me for pretty much everything continued for years. I once seen him use a machete to strike my mother in the elbow. Praise be to God
It became a daily dose of beating both me and my older brother constantly and daily. He went to jail because at first he was accused of murder, but then it was accessory after the fact. I remember living on 3rd street and seeing his victims cars just parked outside the apartment and he drove them like he owned these cars. He went to jail and was going to court. he made my mother take my brother and me to church. We went to a Catholic Church Named St Bridget's on Montgomery Street. My older brother was in the choir and became an alter boy. Now I cannot blame the church for what happens to me next but as an adult, its about the only thing that makes any sense. I was sexually abused from my brother from the age of 8 until 11. The worst part about this was he told me if i told anyone that God will send me to hell. When it was finally exposed by my little brother making sexual gestures and my stepdad, who was then out of jail, and we weren't allowed to go back to church after he served his time. I saw him sit my brother down at the kitchen; he placed one of those forks you get with a meat carving set, placed it on the stove and watched it until it got hot. I was so scared I finally broke down and told him everything. I was then taken to the hospital (medical center) I was so scared that I thought I was pregnant, This is how screwed up my mind was where I wasn't comprehensibly thinking that boys cannot get pregnant, and that is where I met Lidia Orbis, my caseworker from DHS. My brother was taken to a shelter, and one day my mother, yes mother told me it was my fault he was in the shelter, she said, and I will never forget these words. If you waited this long it must have been that you liked it.( I Still Love and respect her) and she did play a big part of physical abuse and mental as well but I know she went through hell as well, we all did under the grips of my stepdad.
My mother placed my brother on a plane to Puerto Rico after helping him get out of the shelter. The villagers wanted him dead as well because he murdered a pony and did not last more than a month. When he returned to Jersey City, he was arrested by the juvenile service.
In the fifth grade, I skipped so many classes that the school sent me a note to carry home. I delivered my stepdad, who was high on cocaine, the letter informing my parents about my absences from school. I collapsed on the ground after he smacked me out of rage. He barefooted and kicked my face. My left eyelash was torn by his toenail, and I was heavily bleeding from. He covered it with a towel and some sliced lime. He said it was to speed up the healing process. I missed a month of school and was never taken to the hospital. He instructed me to inform the teacher that it was a Black person who had done it because my eye was still black when I went to school. I neglected to explain how racist this Colombian man was. I failed the fifth grade as a result of my absence. In fact, typing this event is hurting my face. These are only a few incidents, and I obviously can not go back to how it was every day when I was a child here since my mother would occasionally hit me—not just with spankings—as well as my older brother and, of course, Satan himself, my stepdad. Please let me know if you would like to hear more, and I will find the guts to write about my adolescence.
Thank You for your time.
Angel Alameda
