[b]<font color="green">Last night dreamt about being made to wash the dishes for my mother -- a week’s worth of dishes. I don't know what I had done this time, it didn't matter; she didn't have to do them. Anything didn’t meet her expectations was put back into the dishwater. Whenever she felt I was dawdling or not working or not fast or thorough enough. She would use the belt to urge me on. I couldn't run away from her there. The sink was next to a corner and I would be trapped. I think I filled that sink with tears as much as with hot soapy water.

It felt like she saved the dishes and laundry up to use for my punishments. I hated the dishes. I hated housework. I hated me.

She started controlling my emotions or the expressions on my face around this time too. ‘Wipe that look off your face!’ ‘Who do you think you are to look at me like that?’ she would hit me then, usually knocking me to the ground. I remember trying to roll away from her, I thought she was going to kick me, but she never did that. She did use that belt sometimes. She might grab my arm or my hair and ‘help’ me to get up. She would stand there her face in mine screaming at me. I wanted to gag cos her breathe was so bad. If the slightest frown or grimace crossed my face, she would slap me. If I was smiling, you hit me. I don’t know what you wanted from me but you accepted deadpan.

More than 30 years later, I can feel the terror sweep over me just thinking about you back then. I can feel the blows and smell your breathe. I can feel the headaches and the ache in my legs from standing there being scolded. Was I really that bad?

I remember trying to talk to you about an allowance or being paid for doing dishes regularly. Why were you so insulted? I watched the boys; I cleaned up their diapers that you left to soak in the toilet, most of the time. When I didn’t and just peed next to them, or moved one just enough that I could use the toilet and not rinse it you got so mad. It was so nasty rinsing and wringing out those diapers. I didn’t poop in them nor was I the mother of those babies. Why should I have had to clean up that mess?

I don’t have a childhood and I wasn’t allowed to just be a sister to my brothers. You made me into a ‘spare’ mother so that you could work and not have to pay anyone. After all, you were putting food on the table for me and a roof over my head and clothes on my back. I should have been grateful and thrilled to help any way I could. Never mind that my father had done that for all those years and would have continued to care for us. However, you had to have that other man. Well I wish you well of him. I wish I felt I could tell you what he did, what he said how I felt. I was afraid you would lose your mind and the beatings would be worse than ever before.
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