Dr. Kirt Gonzales - The Chauncey Street Monster

DR. KIRT GONZALES

THE

CHAUNCEY

STREET

MONSTER

Copyright 2022 by Dr. Kirt Gonzales

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Printed in the United States of America

ISBN:Softcover 978-1-63871-858-1

eBook978-1-63871-859-8

Republished by: PageTurner Press and Media LLC

Publication Date: 01/06/2022

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THE CHAUNCEY

STREET MONSTER

DOMESTIC VIOLENCE IS A WORLDWIDE
EPIDEMIC THAT HAS TO END

The Chauncey Street Monster

Dr. Kirt Gonzales

This book is dedicated to my mother, Ursula Gonzales , who has stood with me in everything I did in my life and has been my biggest supporter. I also dedicate this to my beau tiful sister, Sellis Gonzales , who I loved dearly and now miss so very much.

Contents

INTRODUCTION

Six years of terrifying screams! Six years of torment! Six years of unrelenting abuse! Six bullets that snuffed out the life of a precious soul!

She was the mother of three wonderful childrenone son and two daughters. All she wanted was to be left alone to revere her God and raise and love her kids and family, but now she is gone! Gone, way too soon, because of that monster next door! How could this monster do this to a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend? I have seen many monsters in my lifetime, but this was the deadliest of them all.

When we were teenagers, my sister and I made a deal to always protect each other in any and every situation. We had seen all the abuse that our mother had undergone, but we were too young then to protect her from those monsters. My sister knew she could always count on me to be there for her. I never wanted her to experience any type of pain or abuse. And for most of her life, I was the one who protected her from many harmful situations. At six years old, she got into an altercation with a girl from her class and ran over to my school, which was right around the corner, to ask me to fight the little girl who had troubled her. Even though we were only one year apart, a big brother is supposed to protect his little sister from monsters and from anyone who tries to hurt her. But unfortunately I was unable to protect her from the monster who ultimately took her life.

My sisters death has left a void, an emptiness, a pain that fills the heart of three children, a mother, a brother, and close friends. Only a monster would want to hurt and destroy the life of someone he claimed to love.

Domestic violence is a far too common predicament that plagues the lives of so many people. It is when one partner in an intimate relationship abuses the other. The abuser exerts power and control over a partner. This behavior is learned behavior, and it leaves lasting scars and wounds that, for many, are irreparable. Disagreements are a normal part of health relationships; however, violence and abuse is an entirely different thing, creating an imbalance of power in the relationship.

Abuse is not only physical but also verbal, mental, emotional, sexual, and even spiritual. In emotional abuse, the abuser constantly humiliates and puts down the victim. Emotional abuse includes but is not limited to verbal insults, threats, control of physical activity, control of economic decisions, and social isolation from friends and family. Very often, victims of abuse keep quiet because of embarrassment.

These abusers are sick people who need help. They oftentimes cause their victims to feel helpless, guilty, afraid, and incapable of being kind to themselves. They must be stopped and dealt with severely. Domestic violence knows no race, age, cultural background, economic class, educational level, or even gender. It is an epidemic that has plagued our cultures for centuries, and with every passing decade, the onslaught of abuse seems to be getting worse. Women cry in silence and are made to hide with embarrassment. Children live with deep wounded scars. Families are torn apart. But yet, the epidemic continues.

THE EARLY YEARS

I was born on the island of Trinidad. My father left our country when I was about two months old. As time went by, my mother met someone else and ended up moving in with him. Because of the fact that I was another mans child, my mothers boyfriend did not like me very much.

We lived in a small one-bedroom apartment. A narrow hallway led from the living room down to the kitchen. In this small dwelling place, I endured a lot of physical abuse; I remember it like it was yesterday. As a child, I was terrified of my mothers boyfriend. I did not want to be around him because every time I got close to him, he would throw me against the wall or kick me in my stomach or throw me on the floor, hurting me really badly. For most of the abuse, my mother was never around. He always waited until she was away from home to begin his acts.

A few months into that relationship, my mother became pregnant by him, and subsequently, my beautiful sister was born. Unlike me, he treated her like a princess. She was loved, cared for, and cherished by her father. She was given everything she wanted. Of course, I loved my sister; but as a child, I could not understand why I was treated differently from her.

On the other hand, my mother adored me. I knew I was loved by her, but I often wondered in my little mind, what was wrong with me that her boyfriend would treat me the way he did? For whatever reason, I never mentioned the unpleasant incidences to my mother. Maybe because it was the innocence of my childhood or maybe I thought it was the way I was supposed to be treated by a stepfather.

Many times when my mother left to go out on errands, her boyfriend would put my sister and me to take a nap. However, my sister was put to sleep on the bed while I had to sleep on the floor. But before my mother would come back home, I was put on the bed. I did not know what it was to be loved, hugged, or played with by this monster. There were times when my mother was not around that he would allow another woman to come to the house. That strange woman did not have much interaction with me either.

When my mother was at home, I felt safe and secure. I was ever so unhappy and would cry a lot whenever she had to leave for any reason, and I knew that as soon as she left, I would be properly flogged for crying after her.

The end of living with this first monster came when I was five years old. My mother had gone out to do some shopping, and I was at home watching television. My sister was in the bedroom playing. I remember being grabbed by my neck and thrown to the ground. While I was on the ground crying, I was picked up and thrown against the wall.

Unbelievably, at the same time when I was being kicked in my stomach that day, the front door of our house opened, and my mother walked in. To her horror, she saw me writhing in pain. I was screaming at the top of my lungs. She dropped the bag she had and ran to my defense. She tried to fight with her boyfriend to defend her precious son. I was curled up in a corner, crying in pain. My sister came out running from the bedroom to me, and we both held on to each other for dear life. That coward monster raced to the kitchen and came back with a long knife that we call a cutlass in the Caribbean and started to beat my mother with it. I was a tiny helpless five-year-oldscreaming in a corner, hugging my sister, and watching my mother being beaten. It was a miracle that my mother was not severely injured. Right after that horrible event took place, my mother packed our belongings and moved out with my sister and me.