When I was 17, I deliberately destroyed thousands of dollars worth of my parents’ property before leaving home. I cut up their new carpets with scissors, pulled sections of carpet loose, stained expensive rugs with marker ink, destroyed belongings, ruined food, and even hid food under my bed hoping to attract roaches.
I did all of it intentionally. I wanted to hurt them financially and emotionally. I wanted them to walk into my empty room and see the damage I’d left behind. I wanted them to feel even a fraction of the pain they’d caused me.
At the time, I felt absolutely no remorse. But now, at 20, I’m rebuilding my relationship with my mother, and I feel incredibly guilty about what I did.
I’ve never told anyone the full extent of this except my husband. Since this is anonymous, I finally want to get it off my chest.
Here’s why I did it.
I grew up in an extremely abusive household. Physical abuse, emotional abuse, constant yelling, belittling, threats, and control. My mother’s longtime boyfriend was also violent and threatened to kill her and all of us. I remember the abuse going back to when I was 3 or 4, and my grandmother has told me stories about having to physically stand between my mother and me to protect me.
The sad thing is, I thought it was normal.
My mother was always struggling emotionally, and from a very young age, I convinced myself that if I could just make her happy, everything would be okay. I’d surprise her by cleaning the house and her bedroom, decorate for holidays, make her breakfast in bed, and take care of my younger siblings. I genuinely wanted to make her life easier.
Eventually, those things stopped being appreciated and became expectations. I felt like I had to earn her love, and nothing I did was ever enough. Even achievements like graduating high school two years early and receiving a scholarship were barely acknowledged.
Things got significantly worse when my mother got married for the first time.
My stepfather was extremely controlling. At 17, he removed my bedroom door because he didn’t like me closing it while sleeping or changing. One night, my sister closed it while I was asleep, and he came home furious, trying to rip it off the wall before grabbing a screwdriver to remove it.
My mother did something similar to the bathroom door. I was on my period, vomiting and barely able to stand, and she demanded that I come out and clean. When I refused, she removed the doorknob and hinges. It was our only usable bathroom, and afterward, there was a large hole in the door. Whenever I tried covering it with a towel for privacy, they’d remove it.
I wasn’t even allowed basic privacy.
Eventually, I was only allowed one meal a day, sometimes as little as a small baked potato with salt. And the worst part was, it wasn’t because we couldn’t afford food.
My stepfather made more than enough money for everyone in the house to eat. He regularly had huge, elaborate dinners with several different dishes, practically five-course meals, while I was expected to survive on whatever small portion I was given. My younger siblings weren’t being treated this way either.
One night, after being given nothing but a small baked potato for dinner, I was still starving. While cleaning the kitchen, I ate some of my stepfather’s chicken.
As punishment, I had to wake up around 5 a.m. to prepare his tea and lunch, then spend hours completing chores. I wasn’t allowed to go back to sleep. I was also responsible for taking care of their dog throughout the night, constantly waking up to let him outside and cleaning up any accidents.
I was exhausted, hungry, and miserable. And what made it worse was knowing that the food was there. They just weren’t allowing me to have it.
I actually ran away once because I couldn’t take it anymore. My grandmother was going to take me back with her, but my parents involved the police. Despite me begging not to be returned to them, I was sent back.
Afterward, they asked what they could do to improve things, and I asked to get a job. I was 16, and I wanted to buy my own food.
I started working nights, but I wasn’t allowed to have a phone, so I depended entirely on my parents to pick me up.
One night, they never came.
My boss dropped me off around midnight, and I waited outside our locked house until approximately 2 a.m. We lived in an unsafe neighborhood near the woods, and we’d recently heard gunshots behind our house. I was terrified.
I’d secretly bought myself a phone, but I was afraid to call anyone because I knew I’d be punished if they discovered it.
When my parents finally arrived, they walked straight inside without looking for me. I deliberately stayed hidden for a few extra minutes, hoping they’d notice I was missing.
They didn’t.
When I finally knocked, they let me in without a second thought. I still had to finish my chores before sleeping and wake up early the next morning.
Toward the end, the restrictions became even more extreme. A couple of weeks before I left, my mother told me I wasn’t even allowed to drink the household water anymore because I apparently drank too much.
I was already buying my own groceries with my small paychecks, and now I was expected to provide my own drinking water, too.