Beatings and another of my physical child abuse stories

This is one of the physical child abuse stories that has a twist to it. It happened when I was 8 years old and as odd as it may seem in the middle of the beating I got control of my life away from my mother. It didn't stop the beating but I was still in control.

I don't really remember what I had done that pissed her off this time. I do have vague memories of it being about my not vacuuming very well. Considering I was vacuuming the floors on my hands and knees with something about the size of a dirt devil and my age I'm sure it wasn't the greatest job in the world. However the reason for it doesn't really matter.

For whatever reason it happened I remember it quite well as it was truly a vicious thing to do to me and at the same time it was a life changing event. I wouldn't say it changed my life for the better as it did make me a ton of stubborn and I still have that trait to the max today.

It started out with my mother coming home and soon she was yelling at me and working herself into a rage. I knew when she started yelling a beating was coming but I had no idea how bad it was going to be. Obviously I lived through this one too or I wouldn't be writing this but it was going to be my worst beating yet and one of the abuse stories I'll never, ever forget.

After working herself into a rage she took of her belt and told me to pull my pants down. I started crying and was begging her and pleading with her not to hit me with the belt. She got even angrier and pulled my pants and underwear down. When she started hitting me with the belt I was crying and curled up in a ball on the floor to try to protect myself as much as I could.

She grabbed me by the shirt and it tore off while she was trying to make me stand up. Eventually she forced me to stand up and then she started beating me with the belt again. While she was beating me I started getting angrier and angrier. I was still crying and squirming and trying to get her to stop but I was as angry at that point as I'd ever been.

It wasn't fair, it wasn't right and there was nothing I could do. At least that's what I thought. Then something happened in my head, I don't know how to explain what it was but it's like I was watching it happen from the corner of the room and it didn't hurt anymore.

At that point I stopped crying and just stood there with my arms at my sides and waited for her to finish. The fact that I stopped crying made her even more enraged and she started beating me harder and harder and hollering at me to 'cry you little bastard' and calling me names and telling me what a rotten little son-of-a-bitch I was and that she was going to beat me until I cryed.

Damn, I was in control and it happened accidentally. She kept beating me and screaming at me to cry and I wouldn't do it. From there it became a battle of wills and I knew I was going to win or die because I sure wasn't going to cry. No matter what she did I wasn't going to cry.

Still yelling and screaming at me she turned the belt around and started beating me with the buckle end and I just stood there silently and took it. She kept beating me with the buckle end and I just kept standing. She couldn't make me cry and she was determined to make it happen so the beating continued for some time.

Eventually she stopped. Why, I don't know but I didn't start crying again and she stopped. When she was done she told me to go to my room and stay there. Anything to get away from her so I went to my room and crawled into bed and got angrier and angrier and angrier. This was also the day I stopped believing in a god that loved children or in any god at all.

If there was a god and he truly loved children then for him to allow my mother to beat me that way really made me a bad kid or god was a lie. I already thought I was a really bad kid because of the way my mother treated me and didn't want me and god sure wasn't helping me. No one was helping me or protecting me. I also learned that day that the only one I could truly depend on was me.

This one beating turned me into one of the biggest lying, cheating thieving kids in town and it continued for years. Up until then I wasn't a bad kid, a bit unruly like most boys but not a bad kid. When no one likes you, when your mother hates you and when god is no help why not be exactly what you are being beaten for?

Anyway, a while after she had beaten me she came upstairs and asked me if I wanted to go to the movies or for an ice cream cone. I said no and turned over and faced the wall and refused to speak to her so she hit me a few times with her hands and then left me alone.

Despite the pain and wanting to die I eventually fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning I hurt really bad. My back and my butt and the back of my legs hurt so bad I could hardly get out of bed. I managed to get out of bed and that's when I saw that my sheets were all full of blood. I started to get dressed to go to school but I wasn't moving very fast and she was yelling at me to hurry up.

I managed to get my underwear and socks on but I could hardly move to do it. She finally got tired of yelling at me to hurry up and came stomping up the stairs. She took one look at me and told me to go back to bed as I wasn't going to school that day. Turns out I didn't have to go to school for the rest of the week. As it was a Wednesday morning the next day I went to school was 5 days later on Monday. By then I was pretty much back to normal and could move without pain.

She had beaten me so bad she was afraid to send me to school. This was in 1955 and you could pretty much do whatever you wanted to do to a kid and nothing was going to happen to whoever did it. Yet this time she must have stepped way over that line because she was afraid to send me to school.

A side affect of this beating was when I got in fights after that and for the next 30 years I never felt any pain at all during the fight. That made me a very dangerous person for a long time and a lot of people thought I was crazy. Nothing worse than a guy who doesn't care what happens and doesn't feel anything either. Perhaps I was crazy, maybe I still am. I act normal enough nowdays that I evidently pass for sane. ;) I don't know that I am though and I am afraid of letting myself feel rage. However that's a different one of my stories of abuse and I'll tell you it another day.

The physical abuse from my mother continued for another 6 years but never again as bad as this one was. I suspect if it had been much worse I'd have gotten my wish and been dead. However from that point nothing in my life mattered to me except books, my sister and being alone.

I know I haven't conveyed how bad it really was as I tend to minimize things a lot so try to read between the lines a bit. How much do I minimize? Heh, I once tried to pull a 4 inch cut together with two band-aids. 6 hours later I went to the doctor because the damn bleeding wouldn't let the band-aids stick and got 13 stitches. I'm usually very understated also.

I told you she beat me with the buckle end of her belt. What I didn't tell you is it was one of the wide western belts with a huge buckle. Use your own imagination and think about the damage a 30 minute beating with that belt could do to an 8 year old child, then you'll have an idea. Not a good one but you'll be a lot closer than my description.

Is it any wonder I hated that bitch for the rest of my life. Is it any wonder that I turned into a person who didn't give a damn. Is it any wonder I hate people who do violence to children and would use my own kind of violence to stop it when I could. Is it any wonder that for years I thought violence was a way to solve problems?

Want to raise kids to be wonderfully kind, functional adults with great self esteem. I can assure you that beating them to a bloody pulp isn't going to do it. It sure didn't work for me. It took another 30 years for me to figure out I wasn't a bad person.

I feel I got cheated out of about 38 years of life and truly being alive. I'm not the same person now and no longer believe violence is a way to solve problems. It's much more fun to use your mind to solve them but there are some people who only understand and respect violence and with those people I don't have any qualms about using violence if necessary.

As the Whitney Houston song 'Greatest Love of All' says, 'No matter what they take from me they can't take away my dignity'. Lol, what kind of music does a severely depressed and abused person like. Here's the link to my favorites play list at YouTube. It's not all of them but it's a good start. My favorite music

That's it for today and now I'll have to meditate for at least 30 minutes to get this negative crap out of my head.

BTW, I never cryed again when she beat me. I told you, I finally got control. Not a big deal to you but it sure was for me.