The backstory, part 3

By Brent Brents

Read Part 1
Read Part 2
Please know that unless otherwise noted, these entries are exactly as Brents wrote them, including any punctuation or spelling errors. Many of the details he provides are corroborated by medical and psychological reports of his history (see “records“).

-Amy Herdy

4 July 1976, my head is spinning I’m sweating, sick to my stomach and drunk for the first time in my life. Hell everyone’s drunk. We live in a little town just off base of Ft. Huachuca. I’m laying on my back in the weeds there’s really not a lot of grass around. Teresa is holding my hand. The fireworks are not really memorable. Hell Teresa is with me. This was our first childhood feeling of love. This was probably the most honest innocent and happiest time of my life. We stole a bottle of Wild Turkey and got drunk and sick. My Dad got even drunker. But for once he did not try anything hurtful he just passed out in another field. Teresa’s mom came and got us pretty late. Ok lovebirds she said time for bed. I remember thinking on the walk back to the trailer how my dad was going to kick my ass. I was scared. The next morning I only remember Dad saying bye and going to work.

I know shortly after the 4th Teresa’s mom got sick. And they moved to Tucson. It would be 2 years before I would see Teresa and her mom again. I never stopped thinking about her.

Then my mom told me Teresa’s mom is dying and we went to Tucson. It hurt when she died. Teresa’s grandparents took her in and I know she was happy for a while. She was older than me…We moved to a little area and bought a store in the country. I missed her terribly but I found another girlfriend. Then her grandparents moved to the same little river valley just up the hill from us. First thing Teresa did was beat up my girlfriend and reclaim her man. Ah Life was grand. For some reason my dad was on a beat and rape break during this time. When they owned the store we actually got along and life was pretty happy.

Then the world caved in. My mom came out while I was feeding our goats and chickens…She told me Teresa died. Now I know it was a lie. But I can tell you no physical pain ever hurt as bad. I’ve never known anything like what Teresa and I had….I mourned for her. I mourned for years. But my mom was jealous.
I know I wasn’t a good kid after that either. I didn’t get outright bitter but I lost something inside. Between Teresa and my Dad’s wrath I changed mentally and it went downhill. The worse my Dad got the worse I got. I always felt ashamed at not having been stronger and demanded someone make him stop hurting me and my brother and sister and Mom. I’ve always felt I had some of the blame.

I had the chance to shoot him one night. I had the gun to his head. She begged and pleaded with me. Please baby don’t kill him he’s all me and your sister have. Over and over she kept saying that. I thought what about me you bitch. Don’t I count for shit. What will happen to your sister she says. Looking back hell maybe it couldn’t have been any worse.

Anyway my Dad began raping me in this trailer park in this tiny little trailer (in Ft. Huachuca) and not long after the beatings began in earnest. I did not wet the bed until this time either. After he began raping me I started to wet the bed and have a hard time controlling my bladder and bowel movements. Which led to problems in school. I started having problems sleeping because I was scared to wet the bed for fear of getting hurt. I was afraid to go to the bathroom for fear of being screwed or forced to perform orally on him. So I would lye awake until I could not keep my eyes open and then it would happen. Either I would wake up or he would wake me up and sure as shit I would have wet the bed. He would drag me to the bathroom by my hair my throat an arm or leg he did not care. He would slap me, hit me, push my head in the toilet. Call me a pussy, a baby, lots of shit.

Of course in the beginning in school I did not do well. Some behavioral problems but mostly being too tired to consentrate or in pain or fearing rape or beating when I got home. I did not realize it until years later that I never told for the same reasons no one ever confronted him. He was huge, scary as hell and he was a smooth talkin manipulator. He was intimidating to everyone he met and involved in everything. He was screwing men out of money and there wives sexually. He owned a chuck wagon and did that job in the mornings and his security job at night. He drank to excess did uppers and downers. Beat my Mom ruthlessly and I tried to help her and got my head beat on for interfearing. Sometimes I got beat for no reason at all and then sometimes for realy stoopid reasons. Once I cut my foot in a mint patch I accidentally stepped in. He took me to the doctor got my foot sewed up. Then beat the piss out of me for being clumsy. My Mom started molesting me (again) in Ft. Huachuca too. It felt ok so I didn’t complain. That’s how it began and went for 7 years.

Mom and I became realy realy entence, sexually and emotionally. It was weird. Like she and I were the husband and wife, Dad was furniture. Dad worked and stayed out and she would let me skip school to be with her. We’d hold hands talk, play. I would go to leave and she’d say don’t not a command but like begging.

You know I always was selfish., thinking no one would understand what I went through as a child, or how I felt. …feeling like people could look at me and see the ugliness and fear. Know I was screwing my mom or that i was a rapist or that i found love in cheap meaningless ways. Waking up in the night. Living 24 hours a day wondering why i have to be who i am. The reality that i am a sociopath and only truly care for a few people really sucks.

Sure theres a good guy in here. One whose kind and sensitive, Caring, understanding Outgoing athletic, funny. A Man Who Loves Life. An man who enjoys the beauty of the world, Art, history, places, people. Yet I can’t get past my brain.

Like I said Karma is a motherfucker and Its Lookin me full in the face.

Now I only have one true regret. I never gave anyone the chance to love the real me. Had I done that and been courageous years ago maybe Just maybe Tiffany would have found an empty appartment. And the countless others would never have suffered my destruction.

1 Comment

Filed under Childhood

One response to “The backstory, part 3

  1. Teresa

    I am the Teresa he is talking about. My family remembers his family & there was abuse & neglect. I was young and do not know the extent but I do believe his dad was a predator to his own children. At this time his brother was removed from the home for being locked in his room. They were malnutritioned & locked in their rooms. My aunt remembers more details than I but we both can see how his life might have turned out this way. I also feel it is very sad he has caused so much pain to so many people but I do think he is a product of his upbringing.

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