Lots of people have child abuse stories and if they are around my age they tolerated it until they either ran away or put a stop to it themselves. They also have a lot of stories of child abuse, just as I have. I told you how I stopped my mother from abusing me and this story will be about how I stopped my stepfather.
I suppose you could call this child abuse vs. discipline but there was no discipline involved. Just anger and child abuse. The emotional child abuse I received from both my mother and stepfather has stuck with me far longer than the physical abuse I received.
While I still have a few scars from my abusive childhood what it affected most was my mind. Beat me, kick me, burn me, lock me away, etc. the physical effects are gone but the mental ones will be with me until I die. As it is with most children.
My alcoholic aunt and uncle were visiting and that always meant trouble so I tried to stay out of their way and out of the house. Because I was relegated to the basement I could get in and out most of the time without being seen. Not this time tho.
I could hear them yelling at each other upstairs and my sister was crying. By then I as 16 so we are skipping ahead a little here but not to far. Anyway when I got upstairs my uncle and my mother were fighting. It was loud enough that I kept expecting the cops to come. Lol, they didn't.
My stepfather was so drunk he was trying to open a bottle of beer with a BBQ tongs. My uncle was yelling so I told him to be quiet. He stood up to grab me and I pushed him away. Then his wife started yelling at me that he only had one lung and I need to be gentle with him. Told her if she didn't want him hurt she better get him sat down and shut up.
She started yelling at me for being disrespectful and I told her to pack their shit and get out and never come back. My uncle took exception and started to get up again and I pushed him back in his chair and told him get out or I was going to kick the shit out of him.
He said something so I pooped him in the mouth and told him again to GET OUT. They decided to leave. Then a fist come flying by my face so I turned to see what was happening now. My stepfather had taken a swing at me and missed. I swung back and didn't miss. He went down and I jumped on him.
I had a ton of rage and now I was going to get it out. I'd taken his fists and feet for 6 years and that was about to be done with too. I didn't care what happened to me and I was going to end it and end it now. I hit him again while he was down and then grabbed his throat and his hair and started choking him and banging his head on the floor.
Meanwhile mu aunt and uncle are screaming at me and my mother grabbed the broom and started beating me with the handle. It had absolutely no affect on me at all. Had I not seen it going up and down I never would have noticed. When my stepfather stopped moving I stood up and grabbed the broom from her and broke it in half.
The other three were still yelling at me and then my stepfather grabbed my leg so I kicked him in the ribs as hard as I could and he let go and stayed down. Then I told all four of them I was leaving and I'd be back in a few hours and that my aunt and uncle had better be gone or I was going to put them out.
As I was taking a step to leave my stepfather grabbed me again so I hit him in the nose as hard as I could and then proceeded to leave. I went down town and spent a little time with the people I hung out with and then went back home. My aunt and uncle were gone, which was a good thing and my parents were in bed.
My sister was still up and she was crying so I just left her alone, grabbed a bowl of cereal and went back down to my basement room.
As child abuse stories go this was not an unexpected ending, at least in my life. I had gotten big enough and brave enough to protect myself. Lol, 16 yrs old and 130 pounds. It wasn't my size nor my age that got me through all of it, it was the rage.
So now I have stopped all of the physical abuse but the mental and emotional abuse continued for another 2o years. I finally put an end to all of that too but it took some time.
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stories. Show all posts
Friday, April 4, 2008
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
A couple of more stories about abuse and depression
I've got tons of stories of my abuse and my depressions but I'm not going to tell you all of them. Well, at least not today. Today is just more about me being a kid and some of the dumber things I did.
When I was 5 and going to school we'd had a rain for about 3 days. This created a huge puddle in a neighbors yard. All the kids were over there wading in the puddle and having fun. I was forbidden to go over and join them. Lol, you know I did anyway.
I didn't want to get my pants wet so I figured by running thru and stomping down hard I'd make a hole in the water and then get my leg out fast enough not to get wet. Nice plan, I got wet. My dad beat me and had me change clothes and go back outside. Naturally I went right back to the puddle. Naturally I got wet again. Yes, I got beat again even worse than the time before.
For some reason I still got to go back outside. You know what happened. Yep, got wet, got beat and then my mother came home and I got in more trouble. I only had 3 pair of school pants and they were all wet. Naturally my sister had about 20 pairs of pants. So my mother beat me for getting all of my school stuff wet.
When I was 7 my cousin was out to the lake. I loved it at the lake as I could go do my own thing and my parents couldn't hurt me if they couldn't find me. They spent their time in the bar or at the dance hall. Me, I ran and played in the woods, fished and did whatever I could to keep me away from my parents.
Played with some other kids at the lake also. We were all pretty friendly and still are for that matter. All my kid friends parents were at the bar with my parents so it was pretty easy for us to do whatever we wanted to do.
Anyway, one day I was in town, at home, and decided I wanted to go to the lake. As I said before, my cousin was out there. No one would take me so I decided to ride my bike. I knew how to get there and I knew it was a long ways. I also knew there was a big hill.
Now at 7 I had a cast off 26 inch boys bike that I had to ride under the bar because my legs were to short to reach the pedals. If I wore my boots I could sit on the bar and just barely make it work. So I wore my boots.
I headed out for the lake pretty early. Somewhere around 8 AM. As soon as I couldn't see town anymore I got a lot happier about the whole thing. When I went around the S curve I knew the next big deal was going to be the hill. Going down it was going to be one hell of a thrill as I'd never been down a big hell on my bike so I was really looking forward to it.
Going down was as much fun as I expected but getting up the other side was one hell of a long walk pushing a heavy old bike too. I finally made it to the top and continued on my ride. By now I was thirsty, hot and tired and I was just barely half way. I continued on and finally made it to Breezy Point. The guy that owned it knew me so I went in there and got some water.
Then I rode the last two miles to the lake. 10 miles I rode, on a 2 lane, narrow asphalt road, from town to the lake. I was dreading the trip back. Finally found my cousin and her grandparents and we played for a while and messed around. Then they got ready to go back to town. I asked them for a ride because they had an old pickup and could haul my bike.
Yes! A ride back to town. It was another 5 years before I rode to the lake again and the next time it was on a lot better bike and I could pedal a lot faster.
When my dad found out I'd ridden my bike to the lake he took it away and put it up in the rafters of the garage. I never thought of anyone telling my parents what I'd done, never real thought much about making the trip either, just did it. About 10 different people had told my dad they'd either passed me on the bike or had seen me at the lake. Yes, you guessed it. I got beat petty good for that little trip.
No I don't think I should have been beaten for either of these either and I wouldn't do it to a kid but it is what passed for normal in my life. I knew I'd get beaten and I did it anyway. Hey, if ya can't do the time, don't do the crime. The beatings were just the price I paid for being me.
Just another kid who wasn't perfect but still just a kid.
When I was 5 and going to school we'd had a rain for about 3 days. This created a huge puddle in a neighbors yard. All the kids were over there wading in the puddle and having fun. I was forbidden to go over and join them. Lol, you know I did anyway.
I didn't want to get my pants wet so I figured by running thru and stomping down hard I'd make a hole in the water and then get my leg out fast enough not to get wet. Nice plan, I got wet. My dad beat me and had me change clothes and go back outside. Naturally I went right back to the puddle. Naturally I got wet again. Yes, I got beat again even worse than the time before.
For some reason I still got to go back outside. You know what happened. Yep, got wet, got beat and then my mother came home and I got in more trouble. I only had 3 pair of school pants and they were all wet. Naturally my sister had about 20 pairs of pants. So my mother beat me for getting all of my school stuff wet.
When I was 7 my cousin was out to the lake. I loved it at the lake as I could go do my own thing and my parents couldn't hurt me if they couldn't find me. They spent their time in the bar or at the dance hall. Me, I ran and played in the woods, fished and did whatever I could to keep me away from my parents.
Played with some other kids at the lake also. We were all pretty friendly and still are for that matter. All my kid friends parents were at the bar with my parents so it was pretty easy for us to do whatever we wanted to do.
Anyway, one day I was in town, at home, and decided I wanted to go to the lake. As I said before, my cousin was out there. No one would take me so I decided to ride my bike. I knew how to get there and I knew it was a long ways. I also knew there was a big hill.
Now at 7 I had a cast off 26 inch boys bike that I had to ride under the bar because my legs were to short to reach the pedals. If I wore my boots I could sit on the bar and just barely make it work. So I wore my boots.
I headed out for the lake pretty early. Somewhere around 8 AM. As soon as I couldn't see town anymore I got a lot happier about the whole thing. When I went around the S curve I knew the next big deal was going to be the hill. Going down it was going to be one hell of a thrill as I'd never been down a big hell on my bike so I was really looking forward to it.
Going down was as much fun as I expected but getting up the other side was one hell of a long walk pushing a heavy old bike too. I finally made it to the top and continued on my ride. By now I was thirsty, hot and tired and I was just barely half way. I continued on and finally made it to Breezy Point. The guy that owned it knew me so I went in there and got some water.
Then I rode the last two miles to the lake. 10 miles I rode, on a 2 lane, narrow asphalt road, from town to the lake. I was dreading the trip back. Finally found my cousin and her grandparents and we played for a while and messed around. Then they got ready to go back to town. I asked them for a ride because they had an old pickup and could haul my bike.
Yes! A ride back to town. It was another 5 years before I rode to the lake again and the next time it was on a lot better bike and I could pedal a lot faster.
When my dad found out I'd ridden my bike to the lake he took it away and put it up in the rafters of the garage. I never thought of anyone telling my parents what I'd done, never real thought much about making the trip either, just did it. About 10 different people had told my dad they'd either passed me on the bike or had seen me at the lake. Yes, you guessed it. I got beat petty good for that little trip.
No I don't think I should have been beaten for either of these either and I wouldn't do it to a kid but it is what passed for normal in my life. I knew I'd get beaten and I did it anyway. Hey, if ya can't do the time, don't do the crime. The beatings were just the price I paid for being me.
Just another kid who wasn't perfect but still just a kid.
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.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Physical child abuse stories
I suppose I could tell my child abuse victims stories for a long time and I'm sure I'll tell you more of them in the future. They happened and that's a fact I can't escape. However child abuse stories get old and a lot of people have their own stories to tell. The problem is they do relate to my depression so there's no real way to get away from them.
While there are no pictures of physical child abuse of me I have seen other peoples pictures and other peoples scars. There were no hidden cameras back then and not to many people were taking pictures or movies of what they were doing to their kids. So no pics for proof, just my word.
One of the things that bothered me all of my life is the fact that people knew I was being abused and no one did anything to stop it. Even the minister at the church knew but back then there was no church child abuse policy nor even a school policy about abuse. Even my teachers knew and looked the other way.
In my mind there are only three different types of child abuse. Physical, mental and sexual. Under those three are all the subcategories of how it was done. Only one of those three types shows and that's the physical. To me the mental abuse is worse than the physical because those effects last a lifetime but I suppose everyone has their own ideas there too. Doesn't matter which is worse though because they are all bad.
Many people wonder why child abuse is so wrong and don't even believe what they are doing is hurting their kids, permanently. If you read some child abuse facts you'll discover that somewhere around 90% of abused children grow up to abuse their own children. There you have the exact reason I never had kids. I was very afraid I would do to them what was done to me and I would rather be dead than do that to any little kids.
Our prisons are full of people who know the effects of physical child abuse and I've been there myself. You can really hear some horror stories in jail or prison about beatings, torture, starvation, being locked in closets, etc. You don't raise beaten children to become truly functional adults but hey, I fake it pretty well most of the time.
Relationships are a huge problem for me because I have a huge fear of abandonment and rejection and need constant reassurance through both words and actions that the person I'm in a relationship with truly does care for me. It always felt to me like no one cared and that in turn caused me to feel that no one could ever possibly like me, care about me or love me. When they say they do I keep doing things I shouldn't to make them prove they do care. Yes, I'd say relationships are a major problem. Just another one of the of child abuse effects I live with. That's enough to depress me by itself.
Heh, I've been diagnosed with everything you can think of including ptsd, adhd, add, odd and many more. Lol, if they were to stick post it note labels on my body there wouldn't be enough room for everything shrinks have said are wrong with me. I'd save on clothes tho. ;) I lost track of how many times I've been arrested and how many times I've been in jail. Did a lot of 30 day sentences for fighting though or disorderly conduct.
About half of those fights were with abusers. I absolutely hate to see women or children abused and I've helped quite a few women who were in that situation. I have no qualms about hurting guys who hurt women. Funny because that's another thing I lived with. My father beat my mother frequently so once again there's the 90% chance I'd do the same. While I've been quite violent on occassion it's never, ever been directed at women or kids.
Matter of fact I've never been arrested for being a thief or anything else. Just some sort of violence. Take no crap and take no prisoners was my attitude. I've been shot, stabbed, cut and beaten to within an inch of my life because I wouldn't quit. I spent a lot of time in jails for doing what I believed was the right thing and I suppose I will again. Just can't seem to keep my nose out of it when I see a guy, I was going to say man but men don't do those things, hurting a woman. The police have never been to my house for a domestic disturbance and they never will be.
While I never physically abused women and was quite proud of that fact I was dismayed to discover that I did mentally abuse them. I never saw the mental thing as being abuse until after a couple of years with my ex wife. I put her and her sons through therapy with a really good therapist. Now and then the therapist and I would talk and she taught me a few things. Between her and my ex I did learn that mentally it's still abuse. I apologize here and now to every woman I ever mentally abused.
What's the cause of child abuse? Well according to all of the shrinks I've talked to it's because the abusers were abused. Most of the time anyway. Some people say there is a correlation between child abuse and homelessness but I'm not sure of that because I don't know many homeless people. I've been homeless before but it didn't have anything to do with my being raised by abusive parents. Unless I'm deep in denial about that it was more of a case of wrong place and bad times. It didn't last long as I'm to damn independent to be homeless and ask others for help.
That's enough of this for today. I'm sure anyone who reads these is tired of it by the end of what I have to say. All I can tell you is don't abuse your kids and don't abuse your woman if you want them to be good people. Besides, if I see you doing it I'm liable to hurt you as much as I can.
Funny, I've never seen myself as a victim.
While there are no pictures of physical child abuse of me I have seen other peoples pictures and other peoples scars. There were no hidden cameras back then and not to many people were taking pictures or movies of what they were doing to their kids. So no pics for proof, just my word.
One of the things that bothered me all of my life is the fact that people knew I was being abused and no one did anything to stop it. Even the minister at the church knew but back then there was no church child abuse policy nor even a school policy about abuse. Even my teachers knew and looked the other way.
In my mind there are only three different types of child abuse. Physical, mental and sexual. Under those three are all the subcategories of how it was done. Only one of those three types shows and that's the physical. To me the mental abuse is worse than the physical because those effects last a lifetime but I suppose everyone has their own ideas there too. Doesn't matter which is worse though because they are all bad.
Many people wonder why child abuse is so wrong and don't even believe what they are doing is hurting their kids, permanently. If you read some child abuse facts you'll discover that somewhere around 90% of abused children grow up to abuse their own children. There you have the exact reason I never had kids. I was very afraid I would do to them what was done to me and I would rather be dead than do that to any little kids.
Our prisons are full of people who know the effects of physical child abuse and I've been there myself. You can really hear some horror stories in jail or prison about beatings, torture, starvation, being locked in closets, etc. You don't raise beaten children to become truly functional adults but hey, I fake it pretty well most of the time.
Relationships are a huge problem for me because I have a huge fear of abandonment and rejection and need constant reassurance through both words and actions that the person I'm in a relationship with truly does care for me. It always felt to me like no one cared and that in turn caused me to feel that no one could ever possibly like me, care about me or love me. When they say they do I keep doing things I shouldn't to make them prove they do care. Yes, I'd say relationships are a major problem. Just another one of the of child abuse effects I live with. That's enough to depress me by itself.
Heh, I've been diagnosed with everything you can think of including ptsd, adhd, add, odd and many more. Lol, if they were to stick post it note labels on my body there wouldn't be enough room for everything shrinks have said are wrong with me. I'd save on clothes tho. ;) I lost track of how many times I've been arrested and how many times I've been in jail. Did a lot of 30 day sentences for fighting though or disorderly conduct.
About half of those fights were with abusers. I absolutely hate to see women or children abused and I've helped quite a few women who were in that situation. I have no qualms about hurting guys who hurt women. Funny because that's another thing I lived with. My father beat my mother frequently so once again there's the 90% chance I'd do the same. While I've been quite violent on occassion it's never, ever been directed at women or kids.
Matter of fact I've never been arrested for being a thief or anything else. Just some sort of violence. Take no crap and take no prisoners was my attitude. I've been shot, stabbed, cut and beaten to within an inch of my life because I wouldn't quit. I spent a lot of time in jails for doing what I believed was the right thing and I suppose I will again. Just can't seem to keep my nose out of it when I see a guy, I was going to say man but men don't do those things, hurting a woman. The police have never been to my house for a domestic disturbance and they never will be.
While I never physically abused women and was quite proud of that fact I was dismayed to discover that I did mentally abuse them. I never saw the mental thing as being abuse until after a couple of years with my ex wife. I put her and her sons through therapy with a really good therapist. Now and then the therapist and I would talk and she taught me a few things. Between her and my ex I did learn that mentally it's still abuse. I apologize here and now to every woman I ever mentally abused.
What's the cause of child abuse? Well according to all of the shrinks I've talked to it's because the abusers were abused. Most of the time anyway. Some people say there is a correlation between child abuse and homelessness but I'm not sure of that because I don't know many homeless people. I've been homeless before but it didn't have anything to do with my being raised by abusive parents. Unless I'm deep in denial about that it was more of a case of wrong place and bad times. It didn't last long as I'm to damn independent to be homeless and ask others for help.
That's enough of this for today. I'm sure anyone who reads these is tired of it by the end of what I have to say. All I can tell you is don't abuse your kids and don't abuse your woman if you want them to be good people. Besides, if I see you doing it I'm liable to hurt you as much as I can.
Funny, I've never seen myself as a victim.
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