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The house was dark. Everyone was sleeping. Little Tina was just seven. She had nightmares all the time. The nights were filled with horrors of the mind as Tina slept. By day in school, the teacher was talking about what to do if the house is on fire.
The teacher brought a fireman to class to talk to the students. The theme of that presentation was STOP, DROP, AND ROLL. It was a safety campaign. The year was 1974.
The fireman told the class what to do in case you catch on fire and he also spoke of what to do in case your house catches on fire. They even sent home information for all the parents. Little Tina’s Mommy came up with a plan in case of another house fire.
If the house is on fire, the entire family was supposed to meet at the giant tree in the front yard. It was a good plan and mommy got all the kids together and told them the plan.
That winter, with so much violence in the home, Tina met yet another moment of Trauma along with the regular abuse. The family was living in Delaware now and it was cold. Snow patches were still on the ground.
There were some issues happening that little Tina didn’t understand. Brenda ran away and mom and dad weren’t concerned or doing anything about it.
Big brother Mark took issue with that and protested. There was an altercation in front of Mark’s friends. Being a young teenager he responded with force. He had enough of the abuse and came up with a plan of his own…
That night, Tina was awakened by commotion and excitement. Something was happening. Smoke was billowing into the girls’ room as the grownups entered. The door was quickly shut. The house was on fire! It wasn’t a dream.
Tina remembered what the fireman said. She went over to Mary and pulled her down to the ground. Get down she yelled. We have to get below the smoke. Mary protested and tried to get back up but Little Tina tried to keep her safely under the smoke.
There was so much going on. Tina just tried to watch out for Mary. Mommy pushed the window out, frame and all. Tina heard the glass crash as it hit the ground two floors below. Then Mommy and Robin tied some of the sheets together. Mommy held the sheets as the kids escaped. Little Tina climbed down the rope made of sheets like a pro then ran to the tree.
Brenda came down, then Robin hooked her feet into the walls around the hole where the window used to be. She lowered Mary down to Brenda. They threw the poodle out the window and Brenda caught her below.
Soon the entire family was out of the house. Daddy tried to go back into the house to get Mark and almost died. Mark almost succeeded. Mark went to prison, the Landlord got his insurance, and Tina and her family had to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives once again.
Picking up the pieces
The family was separated. Mark was in trouble and being charged with arson. Robin and Brenda went to live with separate relatives and Mary and I stayed with Mom and Dad.
When I asked my brother why he did it, his response was killing the family was just casualties of War. He was at war with my father for all the abuse and we were just the casualties in the way. I can see that he has some regrets but would do it again and at the same time, wishes he would have found another way.
I feel bad for my brother for the shitty hand he was given but we were all dealt shitty hands in my family. It seems to be a cultural thing. You know, the cycle continues.
My parents had to put their lives back together. My parents had to pick up the pieces several times during my lifetime. My parent’s abuse led to their 13-year-old daughter running away and their 17-year-old son went to prison for trying to kill the family. I have to be fair. Both of my parents are a product of the abuse and poverty they endured growing up. I often wonder if my dad had CPTSD among other things.
I’m not making excuses for them. I am, however, giving a reason to have compassion for them. My brother and the rest of us, are a product of our experiences and our understanding of those experiences. We also filter all these things through the lens of our personality traits. At least that’s the way I see it.
Getting back to normal
We were all shuffled around as my parents worked toward getting a place to live and to get the family back together. My parents salvaged what they could. They brought some things home. The beds smelled heavily of smoke. They did what they could to get it out but that smell never left.
I was back in school. The same school. They did a drive to get me some clothes. One of the little girls was so excited to see me wearing her favorite outfit. I felt horrible. I lost a library book in the house fire. I felt bad I couldn’t return it. I fretted about that for a long time.
I experienced a little trauma around this housefire but because my family spoke of it openly and everyone shared their experiences repeatedly over the years, I don’t feel I have much to work out with this one. Yes, I have trauma from it but most of it has been worked out.
That near-death part and the part of someone getting hurt was hard for me. My father’s nostrils, tips of his ears, and his hands were burned severely when he thought Mark was in the home.
My parents sometimes cared and sometimes were monsters. It was confusing to me as I was growing up. But it was obvious that they cared in their own way. They sucked as parents in some ways and good as parents in others.
We never went without food. We never went without a bath, or someplace warm to sleep. We weren’t neglected at all. We were just living with this craziness. With the violence and abuse.
My father worked hard my mother kept the house clean. But there were the things that made life miserable for us all. Sexual abuse was still going on in the background. The verbal assaults. Witnessing Brenda being treated horribly. I witnessed her abuse and I was affected by it.
I witnessed Mark’s abuse too. I don’t think I witnessed Robin’s abuse or Mary’s but I did Mark and Brenda’s. I don’t hate my brother for setting the house on fire or that he tried to kill us all. I don’t hate my brother at all. I don’t hate my parents either.
I will stay No Contact with them all. I can’t have them in my life but I don’t have to hate them either. Coming to these realizations have helped me overcome a lot of that anger I had. I still feel angry from time to time but now, it’s infrequent and short-lived.
Making sense of it
When I was 7, I didn’t know what was going on and I didn’t know what was really happening. I liked living with Pete and Evelyn. I remember the deer head on the wall and Pete’s smelly feet.
It was quiet for a while. It makes me sad when I think about the PTSD symptoms I was already having before I turned 7. I believe, that when I told my mother about the sexual abuse if my mother had leaned down and given me a hug and said I will have a talk with him then kicked him out of the house I wouldn’t have been as traumatized.
Sometimes I think things like Maybe if she took us and left or at least got a job and moved out or something to protect me I wouldn’t have Complex PTSD. If my family talked to me and validated me as a child when I was learning about the world through abuse, I would not have been traumatized nearly as young or as severe as I am.
Because the house fire was life and death. It was a frightening experience. However, having the freedom to discuss it and tell it over and over how the housefire went and to have the whole family in agreement and telling their story as well as healing that trauma together wasn’t as traumatizing as it could have been.
The most traumatizing events for me were all the violence and emotionally hurtful ones that I wasn’t allowed to talk about and everyone denied it to cover it up. I wasn’t allowed to discuss it at any time with anyone. Those were the traumatic ones for me. Unfortunately for me, it was a regular occurrence. Just part of a normal day.
