Lol, another thing to add to the list of abuse, stress and depression that I'm not going to count every detail of. Sex happened a lot and unless it was something out of the ordinary, plenty of it was, I'm not going to tell you about everytime.
Of course paying Cherie a quarter for sex was cool with me. The way I look at it you pay for it one way or another. Dating and relationships cost plenty and you might get some sex and you might not. At least paying her a quarter I was guaranteed.
Another nice thing about it was there was no serious feelings involved. Just the greatness of the sex and the way it relieved all of my stress and depression.
We were in Denison for a while after Cherie and I started up. I actually looked forward to seeing her frequently and we had fun together.
Unfortunately after we moved it was quite awhile before I had actual, real sex with another girl. Lol, never ran into any that charged for it for a few years either.
As I said before, I loved the closeness of it and how it made me feel. Unfortunately it was pretty much the same feelings I got when I was molested by my uncles. That I didn't like and yet I liked the feelings.
That's the problem with child molesters. Everytime it happened to me it was a great feeling that someone cared about me. The people who molest play that angle a lot, from what I read about it, later in life.
For a long time I thought I might be gay. It was a really confusing time for me. At least Cherie made some of that go away. It definitely wasn't anything I could talk to anyone about at the time. Hell, I just started talking about it to select people a few years ago.
Another thing I never talk about much is the fact I wet the bed all my life. Didn't really stop until a couple of months after Cherie and I started doing it regularly.
Then we moved back to Sioux City for a few weeks and then to the small town of LeMars, Iowa for the next 5 years or so. LeMars is about 25 miles South of Sioux City, IA on US highway 75. Lots of interesting things happened there.
I suppose some of it was/is considered molestation but it was women and just because they were way older than I was didn't make it feel that way to me. I thought I was one of the luckiest teenagers alive when I got to have sex with those older women.
Actually I was stunned when someone told me the older women were child molesters. Just never thought of it that way and most of it I instigated or mentioned before they did. Yep, I have a double standard where guys and girls are concerned.
I suppose I shouldn't as I've never felt it from the girls side but as a guy I loved it and there wasn't a thing wrong with it. Just because they were older didn't make it bad, at least not to me.
More about LeMars and my life there in future posts.
Showing posts with label beatings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label beatings. Show all posts
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Serious beating and life goes on
The only serious beating I remember from Denison happened while my favorite cousin and her mother were visiting us. This is my aunt who had previously brought her boyfriend in an earlier post.
They visited for a few days to a week. Actually I think my aunt and her husband were having major problems so she came to our place to hide out. She and the bitch who gave birth to me were best friends.
Naturally my aunt also drank a lot so my stepfather, mother and aunt spent a lot of time in the bar downstairs which left us kids upstairs and alone to do whatever we wanted. Mostly we played quietly together but now and then we got a little wild.
Sometimes we went over to the courthouse and played on the big lawn they had and sometimes we played in back in the parking lot with the kids from next door. Nothing amazing at all. Just kids playing and having fun.
As I had said before there was one huge room that was divided by a curtain. This curtain went across the width of the room and was hung on a two inch thick wooden pole. It was set into two c shaped holders on each end and had something hold it up in the middle so it didn't sag. Don't remember exactly what that was but it did allow the pole to lift out.
When the adults were gone we used to jump on the beds, have pillow fights, play tag and hide and seek. We had enough room to do all of that easily.
We were playing tag and running around the curtain and getting caught in it, etc. When I ran under it, with my sister chasing me, it fell down and hit her in the head. The top of her head was bleeding and she said I did it on purpose. I didn't but that wasn't going to matter.
My cousin ran downstairs to get our parents and in the meantime I hid, really well so I couldn't be found. I knew I was going to get a bad beating and because my sister was going to lie and they had been drinking it was going to be very bad.
Heh, just had a thought. I wonder how many concussions I got, as a kid, from the beatings I received.
It took them hours to find me as I had crawled up into the closet on the top shelf and put some of the stuff in front of me. By then they were pretty well sober but I still got beat with fists and kicked and punched by both parents.
I'm pretty sure tomorrow will be the last or next to last post about Denison and what happened there. It's really the best thing that happened to me in my first 13 years of life.
Monday, September 24, 2007
BB guns, blackmail and beatings
The BB gun incident is one of the most memorable of all the things that happened in Denison. Not the most memorable but I've never forgotten it. I also learned something very important about myself.
I loved guns when I was a kid and I've owned them most of my life. I also hunted for most of my life and I ate what I killed. Finally gave it up and now all I shoot at is targets. Lol, I still own an air rifle too but it's way more powerful than any BB gun around.
Lol, getting off the track again. I was a good shot and I practiced a lot because I wanted to be the best around. I really hate coming in second. I could hit what I was aiming at or come damn close.
We had a rear exit from the second floor apt and it had a little balcony on the back where the stairs were. Not really a balcony but a large landing with railings around it. I used to go out there and shoot at the sparrows and blackbirds sitting on the wires.
There was also parking back there for the two apts. It was just your normal average graveled parking lot where my stepfather used to park his car. At the time of the incident it was also very hot outside and particularly in the parking lot.
Me and the neighbor kids were out back shooting at birds at other things like beer bottles and junk from the landing. I was shooting at a sparrow on the ground about 20 feet from the car.
Got it lined up in the sights and pulled the trigger. About 1 second later the back window of my stepfathers car shattered. Now you know that the 3 neighbors out there thought I had shot the back window out. I wasn't even aiming anywhere close and I'd never miss by 20 feet. Nor was the car in the line of fire.
Of course a ricochet was possible but it wasn't likely to me that you could shatter the back window of a car with a BB gun. It just didn't have the power to do that but I couldn't think of any other reason for it to happen.
We all hurried back inside and never said a word to anyone. My stepfather discovered it the next morning and he was pissed. He thought someone threw a rock through his rear window but there was no rock in the car. Because I didn't believe I'd done it I never said a word.
He got the rear window replaced and that was supposedly the end of it. I thought so too. Then about a week later the neighbor kids told me if I didn't give them 5 bucks they were going to tell my parents I'd done it. Told them they'd have to wait for me to get the money and they gave me a week.
Blackmailed at 12. I thought about it for awhile and could see that being blackmailed would continue to be an ongoing process and that wasn't going to happen as I wasn't going to let anyone else control me or what I did.
With the deadline coming up fast I had to decide what to do. I didn't have anything good on the neighbor kids so it was either pay or confess and take my beating.
Now not being totally dumb I decided to tell my stepfather so I went to where he worked and told him what had happened and what the neighbor kids were trying to do to me. Hey, at least he couldn't beat me at his job.
That's when he told me the body shop had told him the heat buildup in the car from all the windows and vents being closed was what had caused the window to shatter and that they'd seen it happen on other cars. He'd even asked them if it could have been done by me with my BB gun and they'd told him it wasn't very likely.
Then he told me he was going to talk to the neighbor kids dad about what they'd tried to do to me. He did and they got the beating they thought I was going to get. Nice.
So I learned I'd rather face a beating than be blackmailed and live in fear forever. Really it was a control question and I wasn't going to let anyone be in control of me except for me. One beating and grounded for some time or pay them off every week at least until we moved again.
No brainer to me.
I loved guns when I was a kid and I've owned them most of my life. I also hunted for most of my life and I ate what I killed. Finally gave it up and now all I shoot at is targets. Lol, I still own an air rifle too but it's way more powerful than any BB gun around.
Lol, getting off the track again. I was a good shot and I practiced a lot because I wanted to be the best around. I really hate coming in second. I could hit what I was aiming at or come damn close.
We had a rear exit from the second floor apt and it had a little balcony on the back where the stairs were. Not really a balcony but a large landing with railings around it. I used to go out there and shoot at the sparrows and blackbirds sitting on the wires.
There was also parking back there for the two apts. It was just your normal average graveled parking lot where my stepfather used to park his car. At the time of the incident it was also very hot outside and particularly in the parking lot.
Me and the neighbor kids were out back shooting at birds at other things like beer bottles and junk from the landing. I was shooting at a sparrow on the ground about 20 feet from the car.
Got it lined up in the sights and pulled the trigger. About 1 second later the back window of my stepfathers car shattered. Now you know that the 3 neighbors out there thought I had shot the back window out. I wasn't even aiming anywhere close and I'd never miss by 20 feet. Nor was the car in the line of fire.
Of course a ricochet was possible but it wasn't likely to me that you could shatter the back window of a car with a BB gun. It just didn't have the power to do that but I couldn't think of any other reason for it to happen.
We all hurried back inside and never said a word to anyone. My stepfather discovered it the next morning and he was pissed. He thought someone threw a rock through his rear window but there was no rock in the car. Because I didn't believe I'd done it I never said a word.
He got the rear window replaced and that was supposedly the end of it. I thought so too. Then about a week later the neighbor kids told me if I didn't give them 5 bucks they were going to tell my parents I'd done it. Told them they'd have to wait for me to get the money and they gave me a week.
Blackmailed at 12. I thought about it for awhile and could see that being blackmailed would continue to be an ongoing process and that wasn't going to happen as I wasn't going to let anyone else control me or what I did.
With the deadline coming up fast I had to decide what to do. I didn't have anything good on the neighbor kids so it was either pay or confess and take my beating.
Now not being totally dumb I decided to tell my stepfather so I went to where he worked and told him what had happened and what the neighbor kids were trying to do to me. Hey, at least he couldn't beat me at his job.
That's when he told me the body shop had told him the heat buildup in the car from all the windows and vents being closed was what had caused the window to shatter and that they'd seen it happen on other cars. He'd even asked them if it could have been done by me with my BB gun and they'd told him it wasn't very likely.
Then he told me he was going to talk to the neighbor kids dad about what they'd tried to do to me. He did and they got the beating they thought I was going to get. Nice.
So I learned I'd rather face a beating than be blackmailed and live in fear forever. Really it was a control question and I wasn't going to let anyone be in control of me except for me. One beating and grounded for some time or pay them off every week at least until we moved again.
No brainer to me.
Monday, July 16, 2007
Still stealing but I tell someone about it
I continued to take money from the managers office at the bus depot for months more. Finally I heard the manager bitching to the assistant manager that he just couldn't figure out who was stealing all the money.
The made plans to trap the person or persons doing it. As they were in the managers office I overheard the whole conversation and it wasn't going to be a problem. Lol, they even got around to asking me if I ever saw anyone strange around the area.
Naturally I hadn't and I told them all I'd seen was the usual kids and people when I was there but I did tell them I'd let them know if I did. Yeah, right.
At least there were no electronics around back then that could trip me up. No hidden surveillance cameras, nothing. The stuff just didn't exist. You had to actually be caught in the act and that was sometimes very hard to do.
The manager had started locking the door again and this time he wasn't forgetting to lock it. That sucked but I still had enough tucked way to last a kid for a couple of years. I missed the adrenaline rushes tho. Heh, even started collecting from people on my paper route so I didn't have to get into my stash.
Then I met another guy with a paper route and he and I became friends and hung around together quite a bit. We both liked the same things and got along pretty well. Bowling, fishing, pinball we had in common. He wasn't quite as good at any of them as I was but still better than most people.
One day we were talking about our paper routes and how we hated to collect. He finally told me he hardly ever collected and I asked him how he managed that. He told me he found a way to steal money from the paper office and no one could ever figure out who was doing it.
Once a week he'd steal enough to pay his paper bill and that was it. I asked him to tell me how to do it and he wouldn't. Irritated the hell out of me so I proposed a trade of information. I'd tell him where I was stealing from if he'd tell me how to do the paper office.
He agreed so I told him about the bus depot. He thought that was cool and he told me how to steal money from the newspaper office. So I traded a piece of worthless info for some currently good info. He was a bit irritated when he found out we couldn't take any money from the bus depot.
Turns out I got very lucky and a few weeks after we exchanged information his dad got a job in a different town and he was moving in a couple of weeks. As far as I know he never mentioned to anyone else that I had been stealing from the depot and him from the paper office.
At least no one ever watched me any closer than they ever did. Makes me wonder now if people even kept very good track of their money back then. Of course almost everyone back in the late 50's was much more trustworthy than people are now.
I kept playing pinball and watching the office door to see if it was open. It took a while but the manager did start leaving it unlocked again. Naturally I just kept waiting for my next opportunity.
It was summertime and nothing much else was going on. My uncle had managed to get invited to our house and molested me again a couple of times. I got the usual beatings for things I did and for things I didn't do. Whatever. None of it mattered as it was just life as usual for me.
I still spent as little time at home as was possible and snuck out frequently after my parents went to the bar or went to bed. I had to wait for my sister to go to sleep but she always went to bed when she was supposed to so I was free to go do what I wanted.
The made plans to trap the person or persons doing it. As they were in the managers office I overheard the whole conversation and it wasn't going to be a problem. Lol, they even got around to asking me if I ever saw anyone strange around the area.
Naturally I hadn't and I told them all I'd seen was the usual kids and people when I was there but I did tell them I'd let them know if I did. Yeah, right.
At least there were no electronics around back then that could trip me up. No hidden surveillance cameras, nothing. The stuff just didn't exist. You had to actually be caught in the act and that was sometimes very hard to do.
The manager had started locking the door again and this time he wasn't forgetting to lock it. That sucked but I still had enough tucked way to last a kid for a couple of years. I missed the adrenaline rushes tho. Heh, even started collecting from people on my paper route so I didn't have to get into my stash.
Then I met another guy with a paper route and he and I became friends and hung around together quite a bit. We both liked the same things and got along pretty well. Bowling, fishing, pinball we had in common. He wasn't quite as good at any of them as I was but still better than most people.
One day we were talking about our paper routes and how we hated to collect. He finally told me he hardly ever collected and I asked him how he managed that. He told me he found a way to steal money from the paper office and no one could ever figure out who was doing it.
Once a week he'd steal enough to pay his paper bill and that was it. I asked him to tell me how to do it and he wouldn't. Irritated the hell out of me so I proposed a trade of information. I'd tell him where I was stealing from if he'd tell me how to do the paper office.
He agreed so I told him about the bus depot. He thought that was cool and he told me how to steal money from the newspaper office. So I traded a piece of worthless info for some currently good info. He was a bit irritated when he found out we couldn't take any money from the bus depot.
Turns out I got very lucky and a few weeks after we exchanged information his dad got a job in a different town and he was moving in a couple of weeks. As far as I know he never mentioned to anyone else that I had been stealing from the depot and him from the paper office.
At least no one ever watched me any closer than they ever did. Makes me wonder now if people even kept very good track of their money back then. Of course almost everyone back in the late 50's was much more trustworthy than people are now.
I kept playing pinball and watching the office door to see if it was open. It took a while but the manager did start leaving it unlocked again. Naturally I just kept waiting for my next opportunity.
It was summertime and nothing much else was going on. My uncle had managed to get invited to our house and molested me again a couple of times. I got the usual beatings for things I did and for things I didn't do. Whatever. None of it mattered as it was just life as usual for me.
I still spent as little time at home as was possible and snuck out frequently after my parents went to the bar or went to bed. I had to wait for my sister to go to sleep but she always went to bed when she was supposed to so I was free to go do what I wanted.
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, March 26, 2007
My life and why child abuse is so wrong
Child abuse is so wrong because it causes people like me. It hurts people it causes chronic depression and major depression, it causes low self esteem and much more.
One of my jobs at the house I was born in was to haul water from my grandma's house back to my house in a 5 gallon bucket. Damn bucket was almost as big as I was. I was really glad when we moved out of that house.
We moved and finally had running water and a bathroom, inside no less. No more freezing your balls off in the winter. My sister and I finally didn't have to sleep in the same room with our parents. Didn't make it much better because she and I still slept in one room upstairs. Lol, the only room upstairs. Basically and attic with floorboards. Hotter than hell in the summer, colder than hell in the winter.
You might think life got better but it didn't. Now besides taking care of my sister I had to do all the chores around the house. Vacuuming, dishes, garbage and everything else that needed done. I was 6 or so and some of it was just beyond my capabilities. Didn't matter tho because if I didn't do it perfect I got beaten.
So not much had really changed except location. I was still responsible for my sister, I was still being beaten and I was still being sexually abused by my uncle.
One time my parents had been gone for three days, naturally we were left alone, and my sister who was just over three was crying because she was hungry. I'd cooked everything available and there was no food left in the house, not even milk. Hell of a thing when a six yr old is cooking for a three yr old.
We were always given strict instructions when my parents would leave us, that we were to stay in the house, not go anywhere and not tell anyone they were gone. The punishment for committing any of those crimes was to be severly beaten.
My sister was crying so much I didn't see any choice but taking her to my grandma's house so she could eat. Me, I'd be fine but she had to eat. I also knew what the punishment was going to be and I knew it was going to be very, very bad but what was I going to do? Just let her cry until they came home. What if it was a few more days?
It was about 8 blocks to my grandma's house and she couldn't walk that far so I decided screw the punishment and I put her in the old wagon I had. I knew I was going to be hurt but I did it anyway. I pulled her in the wagon all the way to granma's house and told her what was wrong.
She was so mad at my parents if they'd been there she might have killed both of them. Anyway, she fed us and as it was late put us to bed on her big couch. At least my sister wasn't crying and we both had full bellies so life was good at the moment.
Thoe horror was yet to come. A couple of hours later my grandma woke us up and our parents were there. She raised hell with them about leaving us alone and hungry and then we left. I knew as soon as we turned the corner at the end of the alley it was going to start.
I was right! Soon as we turned my mother turned around and slapped me as hard as she could and started calling me names. Then she just kept hitting me until we got home. Once we got into the house my dad started beating me with his belt and I was crying very hard. So once again they beat me until they both got tired of it and I was sent to bed. Once again I tried to kill myself.
I'm so angry writing this I'm shaking. What was I supposed to do? I protected my sister and got the hell beat out of me for it. I suppose to this day it's why I'll always do the right thing no matter what the consequences are to me. That doing the right thing crap has cost me more than a few trips to jail or physical and mental pain or money.
That part doesn't matter though as I still do the right thing, not always the legal thing BUT the right thing. It still costs me and it's costing me today. No big deal though as I can handle it. Heh, there isn't anything I can't handle. I still protect women and kids from others and I guess I always will.
Most good people don't think I'm a very nice person but they don't have a clue. The people that I've helped during my life think I'm the greatest person they ever met. What do I think? Lol, not much as I did what I had to do at the time and that's just how I am. I can live with who and what I am.
Bottom line why child abuse is so wrong is because you end up with people like me who just don't give a damn if they live or die or what happens to them. Prisons are full of people just like me who were abused and just don't care. Society pays for it in the end and thats how that is.
One of my jobs at the house I was born in was to haul water from my grandma's house back to my house in a 5 gallon bucket. Damn bucket was almost as big as I was. I was really glad when we moved out of that house.
We moved and finally had running water and a bathroom, inside no less. No more freezing your balls off in the winter. My sister and I finally didn't have to sleep in the same room with our parents. Didn't make it much better because she and I still slept in one room upstairs. Lol, the only room upstairs. Basically and attic with floorboards. Hotter than hell in the summer, colder than hell in the winter.
You might think life got better but it didn't. Now besides taking care of my sister I had to do all the chores around the house. Vacuuming, dishes, garbage and everything else that needed done. I was 6 or so and some of it was just beyond my capabilities. Didn't matter tho because if I didn't do it perfect I got beaten.
So not much had really changed except location. I was still responsible for my sister, I was still being beaten and I was still being sexually abused by my uncle.
One time my parents had been gone for three days, naturally we were left alone, and my sister who was just over three was crying because she was hungry. I'd cooked everything available and there was no food left in the house, not even milk. Hell of a thing when a six yr old is cooking for a three yr old.
We were always given strict instructions when my parents would leave us, that we were to stay in the house, not go anywhere and not tell anyone they were gone. The punishment for committing any of those crimes was to be severly beaten.
My sister was crying so much I didn't see any choice but taking her to my grandma's house so she could eat. Me, I'd be fine but she had to eat. I also knew what the punishment was going to be and I knew it was going to be very, very bad but what was I going to do? Just let her cry until they came home. What if it was a few more days?
It was about 8 blocks to my grandma's house and she couldn't walk that far so I decided screw the punishment and I put her in the old wagon I had. I knew I was going to be hurt but I did it anyway. I pulled her in the wagon all the way to granma's house and told her what was wrong.
She was so mad at my parents if they'd been there she might have killed both of them. Anyway, she fed us and as it was late put us to bed on her big couch. At least my sister wasn't crying and we both had full bellies so life was good at the moment.
Thoe horror was yet to come. A couple of hours later my grandma woke us up and our parents were there. She raised hell with them about leaving us alone and hungry and then we left. I knew as soon as we turned the corner at the end of the alley it was going to start.
I was right! Soon as we turned my mother turned around and slapped me as hard as she could and started calling me names. Then she just kept hitting me until we got home. Once we got into the house my dad started beating me with his belt and I was crying very hard. So once again they beat me until they both got tired of it and I was sent to bed. Once again I tried to kill myself.
I'm so angry writing this I'm shaking. What was I supposed to do? I protected my sister and got the hell beat out of me for it. I suppose to this day it's why I'll always do the right thing no matter what the consequences are to me. That doing the right thing crap has cost me more than a few trips to jail or physical and mental pain or money.
That part doesn't matter though as I still do the right thing, not always the legal thing BUT the right thing. It still costs me and it's costing me today. No big deal though as I can handle it. Heh, there isn't anything I can't handle. I still protect women and kids from others and I guess I always will.
Most good people don't think I'm a very nice person but they don't have a clue. The people that I've helped during my life think I'm the greatest person they ever met. What do I think? Lol, not much as I did what I had to do at the time and that's just how I am. I can live with who and what I am.
Bottom line why child abuse is so wrong is because you end up with people like me who just don't give a damn if they live or die or what happens to them. Prisons are full of people just like me who were abused and just don't care. Society pays for it in the end and thats how that is.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
What happened if I lost a fight
Nothing much of note happened at school for a while. As I said they tested me and discovered I was more intelligent than the rest of my class. However I still got the shaft because there were no classes for gifted people. Come to think of it there were no classes for those with learning disabilities.
Sheesh, that learning disabilities phrase I had to think about. I'm not to politically correct so I had to think of that one for a minute. Argh, I could go off on a political correctness rant but I won't.
Really offends me to this day that there aren't more programs for the gifted or highly intelligent. Being on the right and on the flat side of the bell curve can really suck. I'm old but I hang with a lot of younger people as older people are to damn much living in the past. Besides, I'm lucky as it's part of one of my jobs. I know lots of smart girls and a few boys who quit school because schools were so boring and no challenge. I know one girl of 20 who quit school and is educating herself in what she wants to know and do. Carries around a computer, 5 thick books and two notebooks and studies whenever she has a spare moment.
Anyway, me and school. When I was in first grade I got into a fight with another kid. Wow, imagine that, it took me a year of school to get into a fight. Amazing huh? I even remember why. A bigger kid was picking on a girl from my class and she started crying so I smacked him in the mouth. Lol, he totally kicked my ass and I lost.
When I got home my dad asked me how my shirt got torn and I told him I got in a fight. He asked me if I won or lost and I told him I lost. He asked if the other kid knocked me out or what and I said no, I gave up. Then he got very angry.
He took off his belt and started beating me with it and told me if I ever gave up he was going to beat me, if I ever lost he was going to beat me and if I ever took any crap from anyone and didn't fight he was going to beat me.
Now understand my grandfather was the toughest guy in town and then my father. To them I had let the family honor down by giving up and taking the ass kicking. I was in first grade, what did I know about any of that. I soon learned tho.
In that year I fought more and lost a few and everytime I lost the beatings got worse. I soon learned that it ws better to suffer in the fight, take whatever was dished out and keep fighting until I won because if I lost whatever happened at home was going to be far worse than what happened in the fight.
Believe it or not I considered this normal too. It's just how it was. I wonder how many things I still consider normal today that were really child abuse. I have no clue but every now and then something comes up and I'll mention that happened to me and they'll go wow, that was child abuse. For me it was normal and worse yet expected.
By the time I was in third grade I didn't lose fights anymore. I could kick 5th grade butt and most guys were afraid of me. I wasn't a bully or anything like that I just would not let people intimidate me, put me down or hurt girls. Lol, teachers couldn't even intimidate me because they couldn't do anything near as bad to me as what was happening at home. Detention, who cared, it kept me from having to go home where I didn't want to be anyway. It was quiet in detention and I could read to my hearts content. I was pretty much a loner even back then.
So I'm depressed. Whoopee. Tons of people are for more reasons than I have but there are even tons and tons more who don't have any reason at all. At least not that I can see. I still want to know what comes first, the change in brain chemicals and that causes depression or does depression cause the change in brain chemicals.
Sheesh, that learning disabilities phrase I had to think about. I'm not to politically correct so I had to think of that one for a minute. Argh, I could go off on a political correctness rant but I won't.
Really offends me to this day that there aren't more programs for the gifted or highly intelligent. Being on the right and on the flat side of the bell curve can really suck. I'm old but I hang with a lot of younger people as older people are to damn much living in the past. Besides, I'm lucky as it's part of one of my jobs. I know lots of smart girls and a few boys who quit school because schools were so boring and no challenge. I know one girl of 20 who quit school and is educating herself in what she wants to know and do. Carries around a computer, 5 thick books and two notebooks and studies whenever she has a spare moment.
Anyway, me and school. When I was in first grade I got into a fight with another kid. Wow, imagine that, it took me a year of school to get into a fight. Amazing huh? I even remember why. A bigger kid was picking on a girl from my class and she started crying so I smacked him in the mouth. Lol, he totally kicked my ass and I lost.
When I got home my dad asked me how my shirt got torn and I told him I got in a fight. He asked me if I won or lost and I told him I lost. He asked if the other kid knocked me out or what and I said no, I gave up. Then he got very angry.
He took off his belt and started beating me with it and told me if I ever gave up he was going to beat me, if I ever lost he was going to beat me and if I ever took any crap from anyone and didn't fight he was going to beat me.
Now understand my grandfather was the toughest guy in town and then my father. To them I had let the family honor down by giving up and taking the ass kicking. I was in first grade, what did I know about any of that. I soon learned tho.
In that year I fought more and lost a few and everytime I lost the beatings got worse. I soon learned that it ws better to suffer in the fight, take whatever was dished out and keep fighting until I won because if I lost whatever happened at home was going to be far worse than what happened in the fight.
Believe it or not I considered this normal too. It's just how it was. I wonder how many things I still consider normal today that were really child abuse. I have no clue but every now and then something comes up and I'll mention that happened to me and they'll go wow, that was child abuse. For me it was normal and worse yet expected.
By the time I was in third grade I didn't lose fights anymore. I could kick 5th grade butt and most guys were afraid of me. I wasn't a bully or anything like that I just would not let people intimidate me, put me down or hurt girls. Lol, teachers couldn't even intimidate me because they couldn't do anything near as bad to me as what was happening at home. Detention, who cared, it kept me from having to go home where I didn't want to be anyway. It was quiet in detention and I could read to my hearts content. I was pretty much a loner even back then.
So I'm depressed. Whoopee. Tons of people are for more reasons than I have but there are even tons and tons more who don't have any reason at all. At least not that I can see. I still want to know what comes first, the change in brain chemicals and that causes depression or does depression cause the change in brain chemicals.
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