It was bound to happen in one form or another. Nearly all kids act up eventually, sometimes very badly. An abused kid can be worse. I was… I don’t know, but I did stand up once. It planted a seed in me. Too bad it grew in poison, it could have saved me sooner.
When I was about 13 I had my first rebellion. I had gotten used to the short hair, boy clothes, clipped nails and boots. I never liked it though. I hated it. I hated the bullying and taunting I suffered from other kids. I honestly can’t remember what it was that finally made me snap, but one day I did.
Grandma came at me with the scissors. It was time to cut my hair again. Something in me boiled up and I acted in a way that I didn’t even know I was capable of. I can still see my room, white walls, the closet door, and her face. I hit her. Hard. Hard enough that she staggered and hit the closet door. I grabbed the scissors and pushed them against her throat. Now, I was 5 feet tall and barely over 90 pounds, she was 5’ 6” and at least 180. I didn’t care. I was filled with rage.
I pressed the tips of those scissors into the wrinkled, sagging flesh of her neck and saw the panic in her eyes. I told her that if she ever came near me again I’d kill her. If she ever tried to touch my body again, I would watch the blood flow out of her in joy. I meant it. She could tell. It was a long time before she ever put her hands on me again.
I’d already plotted her murder in great detail in the past. That moment could have ended with her dead. I think I actually got lucky that she didn’t overpower me and either beat me senseless or kill me. I actually scared her. I wish that strength had stayed, but after so much mental abuse, it didn’t hold. It lingered in some way, but took years to mature.
I did manage to grow my hair and nails. I got some girl clothes from my cousin AMB. I never cut my hair or nails short after that. I still have hair down below my waist. It makes me sad that my health keeps my nails from growing anymore. I held to those signs of femininity for a long time. I think that was a big part of it. What with hormones and all, I was confused, frustrated, and knew I was supposed to be a girl. I couldn’t live that lie anymore.
Some people aren’t as lucky as grandma was. Some kids do kill their guardians. Some kids shoot up schools or burn houses full of people. One kid I went to school with used to microwave small animals to deal with his abuse. Another bullied everyone in school to deal with hers. A couple kids I knew committed suicide. We need to keep our eyes open to the suffering of the children. Some of them will kill themselves or others if they don’t get help in time. Some become lost to the violence. I actually had quite a battle myself keeping my hate and anger in check. But I was one of the few who could. They’re not all as strong as I was.