Reprobate : Noun

1. A morally unprincipled person.
2. One who is predestined to damnation


I don’t use the word “hate” lightly. I never wish harm upon anyone. Well, almost anyone.

How many people can say they know a person that has no heart whatsoever? Someone so cruel to everyone he meets, even those whom he is supposed to protect?

Sadly, I can.

His name is Wade. He has been around most of my life and I didn’t see him for what he truly was until I was older. I thought I loved him and I thought of him as family for so long. It has been hard to think of him as otherwise, even after I have seen him for the monster that he is.

He got my sister pregnant at 15 years old. He was 27 years old himself. He was an adult who preyed on the weak. Denice was as weak and as innocent as they came. He knew he could control my sister and thus, he seduced her and without my mom knowing, they started seeing one another.

My mom tried getting him out of our life early on, but my sister would lie and deny everything. My mom tried to get him arrested, but nothing ever got done about that. Wade always seems to escape legal trouble, even when he was caught for severe crimes such as armed burglary, assault, carrying a sawed off shotgun and for the production of methamphetamine.

Wade didn’t show his true colors at first though. Abusers never do. They want to come off as a good guy, one that truly respects and cares for the person they are abusing. It didn’t matter that he had two other kids by two different women, both of which he abandoned and wasn’t paying child support for. He seemed like a good guy and had all of us fooled.

It was several years into the relationship before he started showing the first signs of abuse. At first, it was the insults behind our backs. He would be sweet and loving to our faces, but you could hear remarks about how my sister was getting fat or how worthless she was. But you could only hear them if you paid enough attention. Denice was good at denying things and making excuses, but we saw the effects it had on her. She had suffered from an eating disorder, depression and a learning disability all her life. He knew exactly what bothered her the most and would use that against her.

But it got worse. He stopped hiding the insults. He stopped fearing what we would do because once my sister was legal, he knew that we couldn’t do anything. He also knew he had control over her at this point. The comments got worse.

Then came to physical abuse, though Denice never did admit to it. She would have random bruises that she could not explain. She would say she bruised easily and “just woke up with them”. We tried to get her away from him, but she would sneak right back to him every time. She was addicted to him and his cruelty.

Imagine being a child and seeing your sister get punched in the face by a grown man. I was the only witness and again, she denied it. But I saw what I saw. He punched her as hard as he could in the face all because her beloved dog jumped up on him and she didn’t scold the dog fast enough for his liking. I stopped believing her when she said she woke up with the bruises.

There were also the affairs. He would pick the nastiest women and have public affairs, which made Denice feel even worse about herself. She is a beautiful and thin woman, yet he made her feel like she was disgusting. He encouraged her eating disorder and forced her to use drugs to lose weight. He even started having affairs with people close to my sister, including her own aunt, Kim, and her best friend, Becky. He would use this to torment her every chance he could get.

However, the worst experiences have been with his kids.

Samantha is now 17 years old, and was the one who knows her dad the best. She hates the man. She was always screamed at, told to lie to us and would be punished severely if she didn’t lie. He told her she was worthless. At 15, he told his own daughter that was a whore and he was ashamed of her. He berated her over and over again. I remember one instance where he started screaming at her while I was just outside the door. She was in tears, apologizing for telling on him to grandma and he continued telling her how terrible she was. But then I came in the house. I took her away from him, screamed at him and dared him to hit me. I wanted an excuse to press charges because I knew my sister never would. He wasn’t man enough to hit me because I wasn’t weak like my sister. I “kidnapped” Samantha for awhile to keep her safe. But I was only a teen myself and couldn’t do much. All I could do was hold her and promise her that when I was “grown up”, I would take her and her brothers and sisters far away from this horrible man.

Megan is now 12 years old and remembers her dad only a little bit thankfully. At the age of 6 years old, Megan told me how her daddy needed to find a new home far away from her.

Tyler is now 6, but when he was just 3 years old, he would throw his dad’s clothes out the door, crying, telling him to “leave now” because he was tired of his dad yelling all the time.

His older son, Heath, was from a previous marriage. Heath came to live with them for awhile. That ended suddenly when he beat the living crap out of him and told him how much he hated him just because his son wanted him to stop using drugs.

His kids don’t even love him. But he doesn’t deserve their love. He may be their sperm donor, but it takes far more than that to be a dad. He demanded respect, not earned it. He would scream, yell and belittle the ones he should be protecting, loving and caring for. He should be making them feel good about themselves instead of making them feel worthless.

My sister “woke up” about three years ago and called the cops for him stealing her prescription pain medicine and taking it himself. He was released eventually and has been bothering them non- stop. He threatens them, calls constantly and demands things of my sister even though he is halfway across the state. He demands to speak to his kids, even as they refuse to talk to him. They won’t even open cards and letters they get from their dad. I worry my sister will one day take him back. I hope she knows better. If she does, I am now a grown up and will do everything in my power to take those kids away. I promised Samantha that many years ago and I intend to keep my promise if need be.

I cannot possibly explain the pain he has caused all of us, the way he could use his words to hurt more than his fist ever could. He was amazing at manipulation and degradation. He would use those skills to get anything he wanted, regardless of who it hurt. He feels no remorse for anything he says or does, he doesn’t care who he hurts as long as he is happy.

I seriously can’t think of anyone I hate more than him. I don’t wish for people to die, but I do wish he would fall of the face of planet and never be seen again. There are just some people that the world would be better off without. He is certainly one of those people.

ATTENTION, WAYWARD SOULS.

I haven't cleaned out my friendslist in a long time. I've already started deleting journals, so if we never talk or you never write, I may just delete you. If you want me to save you, then just say so and you can keep reading.

This entry will self-destruct in 99 hours (or something).

Next time, Gadget. Next time.

One Touch

It was just too tempting. As a young child of maybe 4 years old, I wasn’t sure how I resisted as long as I had. I just had to touch them. I just needed touch them once, that was all I wanted. And then I could go back to being a normal 4 year old girl.

The objects of my obsession were my grandma’s prized glass cat collection. She had one in particular that always caught my eye: a clear glass cat that resembled our Siamese cat, Chang, so much that I just wanted to pet it. After all, Chang didn’t like kids and I never got away with petting him. He would bite me any time I even tried to touch him.

My mom left me in front of the TV, one of those that looked like it was made before color television even existed. I was watching Scooby Doo I believe. She went into the kitchen for one reason or another and left me alone in the living room with “The Cats”. My grandma’s house was far from kid friendly and they were on a shelf that wasn’t too tall for me to reach.

I quietly walked over and touched the glass cat carefully. It felt smooth and cold. After that one touch, I thought how neat it would be to hold the cat in my hand. After all, I had not done much harm with touching it; I figured holding it would be fine too.

The cat was heavier than I thought it would be, but not too heavy for me to hold in my hands. I was merely looking at it and feeling the smooth glass. I had always loved cats; they were my favorite animal as a kid. To have something so beautiful and tempting in reach of a child was so torture. To make it off-limits made it even more so. I was just about to put the lovely figure back where it belonged, knowing no one ever had to know of my “touching” the forbidden object, when my mom came back into the room.

“Kristen! Put that down right now!”

I had not heard her enter the room and her outburst scared me, causing me to jump and turn really quickly to see her. Without realizing it, the cat slipped from my tiny hands and fell to the floor in slow motion. Being pure and fragile glass, it shattered to pieces. Had my mom not entered the room when she did, I feel the cat would have been put back on the shelf and safe. No one ever would have known. Sadly, this did not please my grandma at all. She was never really fond of kids anyway and this did not help the matter any at all. A week after this event, I bit my grandma and because of breaking her cat and biting her, my mom, sister and I were asked to move out.

All because of just wanting to have one little touch of something forbidden. I was a feisty child and always attracted to forbidden objects. It got me in even more trouble as I grew older and the forbidden objects became dangerous or even illegal. We are always attracted to what is forbidden, but just within our reach.

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