Author Archives: Amy Herdy

By Brent Brents

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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.

By Brent Brents

Read Part 1
Read Part 3
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

1969-1975

These first five and a half years were to me very good. Full of the fun a child should have. I adored my mom and idolized my dad.

My earliest memories, well they were all good accept a few accidents of my own doing. Grabbing the tail pipe of a motorcycle and badly burning my hand. Stepping on a broken bottle cutting my foot badly.

The good was living with my parents who never stayed in the same place long enough to establish a life. For a child i got to see so many beautiful places in the western u.s. I got to see wildlife that most people only see on tv or in books. I played with snakes, worms, fish and bugs like any normal boy. I climbed pine trees and still remember the fragrant smell of tall pine forests and the rotting of the forest floor. I built forts out of cushions and under trees and even a front porch. I played hide and go seek. I was an active independent child i suppose even though I tried to follow my dad everywhere. My best memories of him were of me and him and an ugly old orange pickup and our adventures in it. My favorite was me barely three feet tall and trying to follow in his footsteps (something i now regret) in sixteen inches of snow. What was a child’s dogged determination to be where his dad was and to impress, quickly turned to frustration and fear he would leave me behind. But that giant man came back and carried me. I idolized him. Six foot five-three hundred pounds plus of muscle. The giant who always smelled good, smiled a lot, and whos giant arms were always a safe haven for a small little boy when he needed it. Cledith Ronnie Brents. That man was my hero but like many things in life change happens.

My Dad and Mom both told me years ago that first of all my Dad’s father beat him and molested him when he was a kid. My Mom said her father raped and so did her brothers.

So they did it to me. I wonder if it’s genetic.

My mom was so very beautiful in those days. Long dark hair. Beautiful smile and happy.

I had no understanding of our first sexual encounter when i was just four. But i remember being impatient and wanting to run up the road to where my dad was and see him. Even that first encounter couldnt obscure that little boys zest for life. Besides if its mom its ok, right?

Well as I said he travelled a lot and it was fun. Then in 1975 we end up in Hauchuca City Arizona . And for me 1975 was the year the Gates of hell opened up and swallowed me whole.

I know we were poor, really poor. We were starving, my shoes had holes. But when I turned six one day it was like a light switch went on and i became a sex toy for the two of them. My brother (Brandy) was just an infant. But they found plenty of time for sex with me. The first time he raped me i passed out from the pain. The beatings soon followed. Along with the harsh words. Your worthless, your to small, your weak. Your dumb, you stink. Your draining us. I’ll cut you. I’ll shoot you, you’ll die. Run you little piece of shit. Broken, bloodied and destroyed, each day i became these things and more. The next five years I became what i knew.

By Brent Brents

Read Part 2
Read Part 3
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

I could easily be Bundy –i think he had the same fucked up brain the release was never Achievable. What realy hurts me deep is that there are a few things and people I can sincerely care for and love and would never hurt but the rest of Gods Green earth is fair Game. I am truly a fucked up dangerous person and were the opportunities to present themselves I would act. It hurts me to admit this. I am sorry for hurting all those other people, Truly but how can i be any kind of Good or decent if i cant stop my mind from Working Like it does. I look back to when i was a kid and i realy think i went crazy. Death is the only solution to this.

My body is breaking down. The weight gain is destroying my knees. The pain from arthritis is worsening. Breathing difficulties. The headaches-they are brutal my head literaly burns inside, my eyes hurt, my ears ache, my neck hurts. I smell and taste copper. The worst part is I get angry and frustrated. They put me on these meds for things that are wrong with me. It’s like Karma. Like a part of me is paying for each deed. I want to give up so bad but I know that no matter how lonely I get or how bad my body and mind deteriorate that justice served with an honest heart is what those I hurt deserve. I’m sure some of those I hurt would like to see me butchered, beaten and murdered and maybe that would satisfy them. But what they don’t know is that vengeance is not as sweet as it sounds.

I know.

So I can look at the person in the mirror, he was handsome and young once, but I didn’t know him. He was scared, cowardly, ashamed of so much. Now he’s old, no longer fears the truth and I respect my heart. Even if it costs me. So here I am alone, yet not selfish. Not this time. I have always taken the easy way out. This time I will do it no matter how hard it is.

I was and I am solely responsible for the actions I took. However people need to see how I was made. Then realize there are thousands of me out there and more still being made and do something about it. Something besides the “systems” answer.

It’s not just feeling the surface pain, It’s feeling and sharing what comes after and how they deal with it. Its Like trying to plug a crumbling dam, you plug one hole and another appears leaking your sanity. Plug it and one appears Leaking your sense of safety. Plug that one and another appears Leaking self confidence or self love. To many holes and not enough hands. Yes the empathy is real. I just don’t know how to stop the problem from starting in the first place.