C1 My mom has psychosis

When SARS broke out in 2003, my family was not involved in the epidemic, but it welcomed my parents' fiercest quarrel.

Because my father came home from work in the middle of the night for several days in a row, my mother, who had been silent for a long time and reeked of alcohol, finally broke out on the summer night of 2003. That day, my father opened the door with the stench of alcohol in his mouth.

My father fell down on the spot, blood flowing profusely on his head. I screamed out loud, but it didn't wake my crazy mother. Instead, it was my father who swayed on his feet, covered in blood, and grabbed my mother's long yellow hair, cursing my mother for being crazy, a crazy woman, a bitch, and a son of a bitch.

My mother went completely crazy, her sharp nails scratching at my father's face, my mother punched and kicked, and in her panic she found the vase beside her, and she didn't even look at it as my father grabbed my mother's right arm by the hair and threw it at her. I rushed at my father desperately, throwing my back to my mother in front of my father.

The vase smashed into my back and head, I was stunned, the vase tore at my skin, I felt the liquid flowing down my head, I don't know if it was my dad or my mom that pushed me, I hit the cabinet next to me, I was lying on the side powerlessly, my mouth opened to stop my parents from hitting me, but they were all immersed in their argument, no one cared about me.

If my brother hadn't woken up in the middle of the night and seen me covered in blood, he would have carried me to the hospital and I would have died that night from excessive bleeding.

The five stitches on my head didn't stop my parents from stopping, but instead exacerbated the family conflict. My parents argued more and more, they fought, and at the most serious moment, my mother even picked up a kitchen knife and waved it at my father, scaring my father out of the house. It was also that night that my brother and I saw my mother banging her head against the wall of our house, crying as she asked where my father had gone to.

Dong dong dong. This is a nightmare that I can't get rid of in my head.

When I saw the blood on the wall, my brother and I were so scared that we rushed over to hug my mother and tell her not to die.

She stopped banging against the wall and hugged me and my brother and cried. I was so glad I'd left my mother that night, and it was also the beginning of my nightmare.

From that day on, my mom became nervous and stayed by the phone every day. She would call my dad at regular intervals after work, and if my dad answered the phone, it would be fine, but if my dad didn't, then I would become my mom's punching bag. She would grab whatever nearby she could hit, smash on me, and say that I was my dad's accomplice.

When there was nothing around, my mother would pinch me with her hand, grab me, pinch my ear, and scold me for thinking she was a lunatic too, covered in bruises from head to toe from being pinched by my mother, even when I called my mother my fault. I didn't dare to stop when she wanted to hit me, no matter what I begged her to do.

Sometimes, when my luck is good and my brother happens to be home from school, he would hug my small body and take a beating for me.

Every time my mother beats us up, she will fall asleep, and when she wakes up, she won't remember anything at all. She will also curse my brother for bullying me, and then start a new round of beatings, only this time, it was specifically the beatings for my brother. Even when I was crying and yelling that my brother didn't bully me, my mother couldn't hear anything.

After being beaten day after day, my brother and I recovered from our injuries and kept repeating ourselves until one day, my mother went back to my parents' house. When my father came back in the middle of the night, he brought back a beautiful woman.

Seeing my father naked from head to toe, tied up in a weird way by that beautiful woman, on the sofa in the living room, whipped by that beautiful woman, and my father screaming at the top of his lungs, his face also flushed red, I was about to rush out to stop that woman from hitting my father when my brother hugged me and covered my mouth to stop me from going out.

My brother whispered in my ear that our mother was hiding in the kitchen instead of going to my grandmother's house, watching my father and the beautiful young woman through the crack in the door like we did.

I didn't know why my brother had stopped me from saving my father, or why my mother hadn't returned, until I learned that my father's shouting was a kind of joy, that he was so immersed in the beating of that beautiful young woman that he knew my mother had deliberately let my father think she was away and come back with her.

My brother covered my mouth tightly, not letting me make any sound. My mother, who was hiding in the kitchen, also didn't come out to stop the woman from hitting my father.

It was as if nothing had happened, as if no one in the family had mentioned it, or even my mother and my father no longer argued hysterically, as if our family had really become harmonious.

Until the morning of the 28th of December, 2003, when my father was naked, as I had seen him that night, tied up in a strange way by a rope, the only difference being that my father was now covered in blood.

My father's body was covered in wounds of all sizes, be it deep or shallow, and there was not a single part of his body that was intact. My father's body was covered with wounds of all sizes, some deep and some shallow, and some completely undamaged, and everything was a mess of flesh and blood.

I was standing in the doorway when I saw this, screaming and staring, and I woke my mother when my brother told me not to go in. My mother, she said, stepping toward us with the kitchen knife in her hand and saying, Let us stay together.

My brother reacted quickly by carrying me, who was screaming and crying, and running out of the house. In the cold snow, I was carried by my brother and ran through the snow, shivering from the cold, because of my mother's crazy actions, we didn't dare to go home, so we hid in the park together to keep warm. Later, the police who were on patrol that night found out that my father had died miserably when they sent us home, so they took my mother away and sent her to a mental hospital.

My grandparents were old and not in good spirits. My aunts treated me and my brother as a burden and refused to take us in. My brother and I, who had no other relatives, were sent to an orphanage in the city on the first day of 2004.

That year, when I was nine and my brother was fourteen, we lived together in an orphanage.

The orphanage was huge, and there were a lot of teachers. The men and women treated us very well, giving us a place to live, food, and warm, thick clothes, and not hitting me and my brother like my mom did.

But when we went in that day, the teachers of the orphanage wanted to separate me from my brother. They said that I was a girl and my brother was a boy, so we couldn't live together.

At that time, the principal and auntie appeared in front of us. She was very gentle, not like the other teachers who didn't let me and my brother stay together, and instead gave my brother and I a room to continue living together.

Because of this difference in treatment, the other children in the orphanage rejected me and refused to play with me. They even used a stone to hit me, calling my brother shameless, saying that my brother slept with the principal and auntie treated us so well.

I didn't believe what they said and just started fighting with them. I alone pressed down the boy who was speaking ill of my brother and the dean and auntie onto the ground and beat him up. Later on, those kids came to find the teacher and pulled me away.

At that time, my brother also came over. After seeing that the boy's body was covered in my scratches, he had always been protecting my brother. He walked up to me and slapped me in front of everyone.

I don't understand why my brother would hit me. It was clearly that person that insulted my brother first. I was helping my brother, but my brother hit me instead.

My brother gave me a very heavy slap. I covered my face and looked at my brother with a sad look. After calling him a bad brother, I ran back to my room. Even though my brother called me from behind, I didn't pay any attention to him.

Lying on the bed, I cry under the covers. After a long time, I hear footsteps coming from the door.

This room itself only has my brother and me. I pursed my lips and tightly wrapped the blanket even tighter, secretly telling myself, even if my brother says something nice, I won't forgive him that easily.

My brother never pulled on my blanket like this before, just like how my brother never hit me before. Thinking about this made me even more sad, my dad died and my mom disappeared, but now even my brother didn't like me anymore. Thinking about this, I wrapped the blanket even tighter and started to cry.

It was at that moment that I heard my brother's voice, almost over his shoulder. Teacher! What are you doing!