- Feb 20, 2008
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I've been abused in several different ways in my life.
My parents got divorced when I was 2. Then, by the time I was 4, my mom got pregnant, and then got married again. The man she married was nice at first, but it didnt take long for him to get very mean. He would come home drunk and beat the pulp out of my mother and I. I remember, specifically, one day he came home and started hitting my mother...then he turned around and started smacking me. My mom tried to call the police, but he ran over and jerked the line out of the wall, and the phone...he jerked it so hard that it broke the phone.
Through her depression, my mom would drink and sleep all day. So I was a 7 and 8 year old, who was raising my baby sister (3 and 4 yrs old). Naturall,y even when doing my best, I still wasn't able to do certain things..even though I successfully potty trained my sister, I didn't know how to empty the little toilet..and several times I dropped food on myself and it burnt my arms...the days that I DID cook. Some days I didn't even eat because I had no food in the house that I knew how to cook. And on the days that my stepfather worked, and my mom slept all day, there was no way for my to get to school unless I woke myself up and caught the bus on my own.
Finally, my dad and his girlfriend got me out of there. the house was infested with lice, mold, bacteria, and my mothers empty beer bottles. My dad took pictures of my bruises from my stepfather and took them to court with us. It got me to his house.
About a year and a half went by that was great. My dad married his girlfriend...she was alright..that was for the first year or so. After that she discovered that she could hit me and convince me not to tell my father.
Honestly, even though the situation with my stepfather sounds worse, the years with my stepmother were the most frightening of my life. She hit me...she had strange ways of punishing. For example, if she was frustrated with me, she would grab my hands and twist my fingers until they were jammed out of place. Several times she would step on my feet, place all of her weight on that foot, and grind down...
if I tried to grow out my nails without her knowing, she would take me to the bathroom and cut them all past the quick. Mind you....some of these punishments sound silly...but it is very painful....and I never knew how to explain it to people.
One summer, there was a little girl that my stepmother would babysit (one of her daughters friends). I was about 12 or 13, and her daughter was about 6 or 7. If I wouldn't play with them...such as dolls or barbies...she would drag me to my room by my hair, strip me down, and beat me with a leather belt from my shoulders to my ankles.
A couple of weeks after one specific time, I went to a friends house (sort of an aunt) and we went swimming....naturally she saw my bruises..she got very angry and called my dad...she warned him that if it didnt stop, she would make sure that my stepmother and my dad were arrested for child abuse. It stopped for a time...and we started seeing a shrink.
Not long after that, things only got worse...but this time it was more subtle...yet more terrifying. After a beating, or being dragged to my room by my hair, she would look at me with more hate in her eyes than I've ever seen...it still makes my stomach churn to think about..to this day, I swear I saw the devil in her eyes...and I feared for my life every time I saw it...
while she would beat me, she would make sure that I didn't make any noise...because if i did, she only made it worse. I learned to stay silent while being hit...and I taught myself to stay down when she was kicking me in my stomach or my back.
But the looks she gave me....and the control she maintained was the scariest part. Not being able to live and be myself...heck...even not to know myself felt worse than dying. It caused a lot of confusion on my part....I would try out different personalities when I could, to find the coolest and most accepted type. Yet, when I was still regected, i became suicidal. I didn't see how there could be a God...and if there was, I wanted no part of one.
This lasted until one day, I had had enough. She could only do so much....right? I prayed to God, that day. I asked Him if He was there, to please help me out of this. I knew that my dad wouldnt do anything...so if I was going to get out, it would have to be up to me sticking up for myself. After I prayed, I felt more strength than I ever have in my whole life.
I moved out the last day of my sophomore year. That whole summer I jumped around from house to house, until I finally ended up living with my grandmother, which was where I wanted to be all along. I thank God for all that He has done. He has made miraculous changes in my life.
But, honestly...to this day I still have trouble thinking about my past life. I try to remember good times before I really knew God, which was that summer, but I simply can't. I am much much better now, it simply feels better to talk about it.
Feel free to make any comments...I would appreciate anyones input or information they can give me on this matter.
My parents got divorced when I was 2. Then, by the time I was 4, my mom got pregnant, and then got married again. The man she married was nice at first, but it didnt take long for him to get very mean. He would come home drunk and beat the pulp out of my mother and I. I remember, specifically, one day he came home and started hitting my mother...then he turned around and started smacking me. My mom tried to call the police, but he ran over and jerked the line out of the wall, and the phone...he jerked it so hard that it broke the phone.
Through her depression, my mom would drink and sleep all day. So I was a 7 and 8 year old, who was raising my baby sister (3 and 4 yrs old). Naturall,y even when doing my best, I still wasn't able to do certain things..even though I successfully potty trained my sister, I didn't know how to empty the little toilet..and several times I dropped food on myself and it burnt my arms...the days that I DID cook. Some days I didn't even eat because I had no food in the house that I knew how to cook. And on the days that my stepfather worked, and my mom slept all day, there was no way for my to get to school unless I woke myself up and caught the bus on my own.
Finally, my dad and his girlfriend got me out of there. the house was infested with lice, mold, bacteria, and my mothers empty beer bottles. My dad took pictures of my bruises from my stepfather and took them to court with us. It got me to his house.
About a year and a half went by that was great. My dad married his girlfriend...she was alright..that was for the first year or so. After that she discovered that she could hit me and convince me not to tell my father.
Honestly, even though the situation with my stepfather sounds worse, the years with my stepmother were the most frightening of my life. She hit me...she had strange ways of punishing. For example, if she was frustrated with me, she would grab my hands and twist my fingers until they were jammed out of place. Several times she would step on my feet, place all of her weight on that foot, and grind down...
if I tried to grow out my nails without her knowing, she would take me to the bathroom and cut them all past the quick. Mind you....some of these punishments sound silly...but it is very painful....and I never knew how to explain it to people.
One summer, there was a little girl that my stepmother would babysit (one of her daughters friends). I was about 12 or 13, and her daughter was about 6 or 7. If I wouldn't play with them...such as dolls or barbies...she would drag me to my room by my hair, strip me down, and beat me with a leather belt from my shoulders to my ankles.
A couple of weeks after one specific time, I went to a friends house (sort of an aunt) and we went swimming....naturally she saw my bruises..she got very angry and called my dad...she warned him that if it didnt stop, she would make sure that my stepmother and my dad were arrested for child abuse. It stopped for a time...and we started seeing a shrink.
Not long after that, things only got worse...but this time it was more subtle...yet more terrifying. After a beating, or being dragged to my room by my hair, she would look at me with more hate in her eyes than I've ever seen...it still makes my stomach churn to think about..to this day, I swear I saw the devil in her eyes...and I feared for my life every time I saw it...
while she would beat me, she would make sure that I didn't make any noise...because if i did, she only made it worse. I learned to stay silent while being hit...and I taught myself to stay down when she was kicking me in my stomach or my back.
But the looks she gave me....and the control she maintained was the scariest part. Not being able to live and be myself...heck...even not to know myself felt worse than dying. It caused a lot of confusion on my part....I would try out different personalities when I could, to find the coolest and most accepted type. Yet, when I was still regected, i became suicidal. I didn't see how there could be a God...and if there was, I wanted no part of one.
This lasted until one day, I had had enough. She could only do so much....right? I prayed to God, that day. I asked Him if He was there, to please help me out of this. I knew that my dad wouldnt do anything...so if I was going to get out, it would have to be up to me sticking up for myself. After I prayed, I felt more strength than I ever have in my whole life.
I moved out the last day of my sophomore year. That whole summer I jumped around from house to house, until I finally ended up living with my grandmother, which was where I wanted to be all along. I thank God for all that He has done. He has made miraculous changes in my life.
But, honestly...to this day I still have trouble thinking about my past life. I try to remember good times before I really knew God, which was that summer, but I simply can't. I am much much better now, it simply feels better to talk about it.
Feel free to make any comments...I would appreciate anyones input or information they can give me on this matter.
