This I Believe: The Autobiography of Ellen Beacham

This I Believe: The Autobiography of Ellen Beacham This I Believe: The Autobiography of Ellen Beacham

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Memoir

Summary

My name is Ellen Elizabeth Beacham (El for short) and this is, obviously, my story. While it may not be fully considered as rated X, this autobiography may not be appropriate for some. Mine is not a pretty story, though it is completely true to my memory. Critique is most welcome.

Summary

My name is Ellen Elizabeth Beacham (El for short) and this is, obviously, my story. While it may not be fully considered as rated X, this autobiography may not be appropriate for some. Mine is not a pretty story, though it is completely true to my memory. Critique is most welcome.

Chapter3 (v.1) - Motherly Affections

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 27, 2012

Reads: 215

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: November 27, 2012

A A A

A A A

 

My mother is not a bad person. She just does a lot of terrible things and shows no guilt. Alright, so maybe she is a bad person, but I love her to this day. Though, I can honestly say I wish I didn't. I wish I could hate her, or, better yet, hold her in complete indifference. She gave me life and she ruined it. She made me believe things I'm still trying to disprove.  I've already mentioned some of the things my mother did; blaming me for being abused, pressuring me to accept unnecessary responiblities in a religion I didn't believe in, raising me to strive for unreachable goals while being motivated merely by the chance of being better than my peers, and so on. There is so much more, however. So many aspects of my mother that I have yet to even begin to comprehend or come to terms with. I have had many lengthy discussions with my oldest sisters, Rose and Phyllis, regarding my mother and there is too much we don't understand. We know not what drives my mother, nor if she is even capable of real emotions. My mother is an enigma. One that, quite possibly, has no hope of being solved. 

As far as I am aware, all of her children feel the same way I do, unable to completely hate her. There is something about her that is so terrible and unforgivable yet captivates a general love from the children she so badly abused. One would believe that you would automatically hate the person who made you hate yourself, but one would be wrong in this case. No one likes my mother, and I'm not exaggerating. Not a single soul I know of who has my mother likes her whatsoever, but they do fear her. The prophet of her church told me outright he wouldn't help me because of the high chance of getting on the wrong side of my mother's wrath. The man whom my mother followed religiously was so afraid of her that he refused to even admit he was against her in a life or death situation. 

 

Before I was born, when my mother was raising Rose and Phyllis, incest was already a big factor in my family. From what I understand of the story, Stephan molested Rose and Phyllis, and eventually went to jail. According to my other sisters, Stephan "taught" the art of sexual abuse to his oldest sons, Barry and Alma, who followed their father's example by abusing Karen and Cassie (this is not a verified truth seeing as how Karen and Cassie have often made up stories and no one else in our family talks/knows about it). Futhermore, according to Timmy, Karen and Cassie passed the incest down the line to Samuel and Timmy, who then passed it to me. Throughout all this, my mother must have been aware of what was happening, seeing as how she divorced Stephan for his, shall we say, infidelity. Karen and Cassie also accused Barry and Alma and were promptly put in therapy. Alma and Barry were incarcerated when I was still too young to comprehend. However, from what I later learned, the boys were not arrested on the terms of sexual abuse, but the whole matter is greatly confused and twisted, so I may never fully understand what truly happened in my younger years. 

 

When my mother came across the TLC church, she was married to my father, who was uncomfortable with the entire setup. Don also believed my mother was bewitching the older kids into hating him. I once stood outside their door as they were arguing, and hearing Don accuse my mother of witchcraft. Needless to say, Don was not the brightest father or husband one could have, but he ment well. My parents got divorced before my little sister, Hannah, could even be born. My mother soon found and married a weasly little man who had also just discovered the church and, with God's blessing, married. It took them seven years to officially and legally marry, but the remaining kids all took on the last name of Chuck Whicker.  Chuck was an independant guitarist. He was often asked to play at an old folk's home, and made his own CD to have sold in our local grocery store. In the summer, he would bike around with a cooler, selling icecream pops. My mother seemed to adore him. At least, until we didn't have enough money to keep our large property and home, which forced us to move. After that, things seemed tense between my mother and Chuck.

During this time was when the church started to impose dieting rules. It started out with things like abstaining from sugar, and eating according to your blood type. Neither specific diet lasted long, except for the no sugar rule. That is still being taught, I believe. The ever-changing dietary rules added more finacial stress which gradually increased over time. The rules and standards within the church also increased. It didn't help that at least twice a year, the church planned for the world to end. Food storage, emergency prepardness, and, most importantly, spiritual perfection was called for increasingly. Every time a set date for "translation" (the occurance of being saved) passed, more people left. 

I'm not sure exactly what led to Chuck leaving the family. I don't know if it was my mother's decision or his. All that really matters though is that less than a month after my mother legally married him, he left and, eventually, a divorce was filed. He started attempting to court Cassie, saying that he really wanted to be with her instead of my mom. That, coupled with the bad image hegave the church by often being incarcerated for a couple days at a time, led to Chuck being removed from his standing in the church. It didn't take my mother long to find a new prospective husband in John Pratt, owner of Pratt Harps International, member of the Quorum of the Twelve (TLC's equivilant of Jesus Christ's twelve apostles), and current husband of Tammy Pratt. Fortunately for my mother, pologamy was allowed in our church. So, after talking to God, who just happened to agree with the marriage, my mother married John and those of us kids who remained at home moved with her to live with his family.  It was a few months after moving that things with my brother were discovered by John, and you already that part of the story. John rented out a side of the duplex that was conveniently right next door and we moved again. This time, however, there were less kids, the older kids going out into the world, in state custody, or living with another family. All of which left me being the oldest child at home, and the most likely to be punished at a moments notice.

My mother was never terribly abusive during my life, physically anyways. My older siblings often suffered at her hand. However, she was extremely emotionally and verbally abusive to all of her kids, some more than others, and occasionally would use physical force. She even had a handy little stick John carved for her out of pine wood, a half an inch thick, made specifically for spanking. Few things are as embarrassing as being spanked by your mother when you're a teenager. There was a few times in which I was slapped, or pushed, or yanked, etc. Once, while my mother was in the process of recovering from an accident, she hit my leg multiple times with the nearest available weapon, which happened to be a metal stiring spoon. 

Said accident was an incident involving machinery used in the making of harps; the kind of machinery that if you were, say, to be wearing gloves around it, it was more than likely to rip the glove, often taking an appendage with it, which in this case was a middle finger. My mother spent days in the hospital, which left me with household responsiblities. Her finger could not be reattached, and it took her a long time to recover. My mother always did have a habit of recovering ridiculously slow anytime something happened. When she had to have all her teeth removed, she took months to fully regain her ability to command us fully. If she almost tripped over a dog, she had to sit down for a few minutes. She once told me about having a panic attack due to being stuck in a shirt she had just bought (a very nice shirt-dress that I was then given). She was certainly not a very stable individual.  As I said before, I started praying for death when I was 12. Many nights were spend crying into my pillow, sobbing my plea for mercy, though careful of not being overheard. My mother was harsher on me than she ever had been before. Every word she spoke to me seemed filled with hate. I felt I was the most miserable I could possibly be. However, with the help of my mother, I found myself proven wrong.


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