Tough Love

In a desperate moment I would call the cops to make it stop, knowing that would make it worse.
I think I was 8 when our parents brought in a counselor from DCFS. This was a threat to my sister and I. They were not interested in the bruises or how many times the cops had been called for disturbances. They were there to explain that my sister and I would be put into the system, most likely be moved from foster home to foster home and we of course would be separated. We didn't realize parents had that much power. They can kick you out of their house but make it so you can't stay in the same town. They can actually force you to leave town.
This was the era when “Tough Love” was so popular.
Oh and we were classic examples.

Signs of a troubled teen:
Your child becomes more secretive, and it seems like more than a desire for greater privacy

True. All we ever did was hide up in our room reading or writing. We lost our bedroom door so there was less secrecy.

Your teen has regular, sudden outbursts of anger that are clearly unreasonable and out of proportion to whatever has caused the anger

Clearly screaming crying jags are inappropriate as your room and all your worldly possessions litter the backyard to be thrown out and given away.

Your teenager has suddenly changed his or her peer group and hasn't made an effort to let you meet these new friends. The new group has led to a distinct change in appearance (clothing, jewelry) and change in attitude (more sullen, defiant, hostile).

We were sullen, we occasionally kicked the crap out of each other, we didn’t have friends. And the one friend we found to play with in the neighborhood our mother screamed at for leaving the back gate open. She never came back

Your adolescent has stolen money from your purse on regular occasions.

Totally. All the time. We wanted popsicles, ice creams and candy like the other kids. And we didn’t ask, because we weren’t allowed sweets.

Your adolescent has extreme mood swings, from depression to elation, and seems to sleep a lot more than usual at times.

True. All it took to crush our mood was our mother in a bad mood.

So we really had no defense. We didn’t tell people. I mean how embarrassing to admit we were so horrible that our parents couldn’t stand us. So we sat there sullen and scared, for no matter how my sister and I fought we were the only thing we had.

Stand off

I keep thinking things will get better. I just keep thinking if we do what they want. But it never seems to matter. Sometimes I don't even know what sets the powder keg off. Suddenly everyone is screaming at everyone. I think momma found some chocolate in Kendall's stuff and ("She's not supposed to have it, it makes you crazy. What right do you have going thru my stuff? You little Bitch. Leave me alone.") suddenly Kendall is pinned to the floor, her arm twisted hard behind her back, screaming bloody murder which will only incense our mother more. I want to run from the room. There is nothing I can do but cry. Maybe the neighbors will call the cops. Maybe the cops will arrive at the plate glass door to the scene of 180lb mother sitting on her 11 year old daughter with a gangsters 1/2 nelson pushing her arm up so much she could scratch the top of her own head. but I can't run. If she notices me will I be next for screaming at her to stop it? I back into the living room as Kendall flails and thrashes. Suddenly she rolls and pushes and is free. Running for the front door. Her face is red and puffy from crying and screaming, her arm hangs limp and she uses the other to open the door. She's gonna make it. If she can just get away this can deescalate. But the limp arm flaps behind her and the nails bite into the upper arm and she is yanked back yowling she crumples to the floor a tiny ball kicked to the side as the front door shuts. But she leaves her there. Suddenly it has stopped. Kendall uncurls a bit and I creep over to her as our mother retreats down the hall. We both keep looking, listening for any telltale sound. The dialing of a phone. Is she calling our father, the cops, DCFS? Kendall's hand flexes and tho' sore she seems unbroken.
Next will come the hours of yelling and lectures. Even if they're not directed at me I will have to stay and listen. Maybe we will break for dinner, maybe there will be no dinner, maybe she'll stop so we can go to bed, maybe she'll yell at us for nodding off after 11. I look for a comfortable spot on the hardwood floor to wait it out terrified to mention I have homework.

The details of my life are inconsequential

When you have to attend to the reality of things, the mere incidents of surface existence, the depth fades into the mysterious stillness beneath. Exhaustion seeps into every nerve of my body. My mind slows to a stop and confusion is temporarily subdued. Why does it all seem so pointless? The empty numbness seething inside me beckons for relief, for feeling and knowledge but my mind can not accommodate those desires with locked gears.
Then one day
The pain of remaining a bud
became more unbearable than the pain of blossoming.
The painful anxt of becoming mad.