To know where I’m going, you have to know where I’ve been. I’ve been so many places, mentally, emotionally, physically, and psychologically. If this isn’t hell that I’ve been living, what is?
When I was 8, my mom and stepdad were arguing in the car. We were on our way from Rome, Georgia to Birmingham, Alabama. I can still hear my mother’s blood curdling cackle as she mocked my stepdad, Richard. She constantly taunted him, looking for a fight. We were going so fast down the interstate, and as I looked up, my mother had spit a complete mouthful of water in his face. He swerved the car violently and I screamed. After he regained control, I was inconsolably crying. I begged my mother to pull over and let me out somewhere because I didn’t want to die because she chose to act like a child. She actually made Richard pull the car over. I remember the exit. It was the Trussville, Alabama exit off the interstate. We pulled over at a McDonalds. She let me out with a few of my personal belongings and I sat in the McDonalds Play Place for what seemed like forever. This was the very first time I really felt alone, even though this wasn’t the first or last time I would be.
I saw some headlights coming in the parking lot. There hadn’t been any cars come through yet. This petite, older lady came inside, and walked straight to me. She said, “Are you Casi?” I looked up to her and said yes ma’am. She took me home with her and took care of me. I remember her giving me a lot of blankets because it was so cold outside. I was so comfortably terrified. I had no clue who this lady was, or why she had me. Eventually, I found out this lady’s name was Sue, and she was a ‘friend’ of my mother. She was called to come and get me that night, and so it was. Scared me to the core.
There were so many incidents, like this one, where I wasn’t sure what would happens to me or my sister, Leah. Leah is 18 months younger than me, and it felt as though I had to protect her from my mom and her rages.
One Sunday afternoon after eating at a local restaurant, Leah and I were walking out of the restaurant towards the car. We saw some hand railings and it looked like fun to swing around them and play as we waited on my mom and Richard to catch up. When she walked outside, she jerked us up so fast and threw us into the car. Luckily, we were about five minutes from home because she screamed and yelled at us the entire time. Richard never said a word when she would get in this rage. We got home, got our stuff out of the car, and began to walk inside our apartment. Our mother was dead silent from the car until we got inside, then she stripped both of us naked. She immediately grabbed a belt, held it at the buckle, and beat my sister and I with all of her strength. I remember laying in front of Leah, because she was so much smaller, taking the belt instead of her. At first, I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t start crying until she hit us so hard I couldn’t bear the pain. The crying just came like a waterfall. After she finished, and seemed accomplished, she would look at us both laying there naked and inconsolable, and began to laugh. Finally, she left the room, I grabbed the peroxide I kept in my room, and started to clean my and Leah’s injuries.
To this day, laughing triggers me. Not regular, social laughter, but taunting laughter cause me, as an adult, to go into a rage, almost like she did. Am I like her? Will I be like her? Is this who I will become? For so long I thought so, and I didn’t think there was anything I could do to change it. She was my mother. I was destined to inherit some of her traits. Was I this evil? All I could do in my 8 year-old mind was hope and pray I wasn’t.
The Casi Nicole Chronicles 
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