Child Abuse Story From Marie1 Part 1

by Marie
(USA)

I never really thought of myself as an abused child. But in that getting to know you phase with friends I'd receive shocked and horrified reactions to certain things I said. I wasn't really beaten. Not excessively. Now and then I'd get one or two quick flicks of my dad's belt on my buttocks. My mom spanked me once with a tree branch because I wandered off with the mailman. He was Japanese. That was fascinating to a five year old me. But after therapy for various problems with anxiety I've begun to realize I wasn't treated quite right. I know my parents love me, but they certainly did a few things very wrong.

I don't speak much. I have Social Anxiety Disorder which I guess you can just call extreme shyness. This tends to make things I write make up for the "selective mutism" so I apologize in advance. This might get out of control.

One of the first things I remember is learning to write my name and hating the sight of it. I don't know if this is real or imagined, it was too early, but when I recited the ABC's to my father and faltered he'd hit me with his belt. His thought was that I was just acting up and he wasn't standing for it. I guess. Maybe he just liked beating on toddlers.

As I grew a little older I became plagued with night terrors, nightmares, and what really seem like outright hallucinations. Maybe from lack of sleep. My kindergarten class photo shows a skinny five year old with dark circles. Eventually my father had enough of me screaming my head off at 1AM every day. His solution? Threaten to beat me with a belt if I woke him again. I remember having had a nightmare, my parents coming in. My bed had been wet. Apparently that was the last straw. I was informed my father had to work in the morning. If this happened again he was going to beat me. He hung his belt on my doorknob in case I forgot about the consequences. And as my mom changed my sheets he informed me he "should put a cork in it." I'm a bit embarrassed to say, but my bed-wetting problem followed me into puberty and "I should jam a cork up there" or many variations thereof were heard by me more times than can be counted. I was so afraid of my parents' reaction that I literally slept in my own urine stained bed clothes for weeks. I did so until my parents left me alone long enough to launder everything and remake the bed. I also extended the same courtesy to my brother. He also had the bed-wetting problem. I was in charge of him, so in the space between my parents leaving for week and it being time for us to go to school I'd throw his stuff in the washer. Stuff it in the dryer before we left and hope to god we got home before our parents so I could remake his bed.

At around age 11 I started to get a little heavy. My father enjoyed teasing me about my weight and once told me that I had four stomachs. He was referring to my rolls. He also announced in front of me to my mother "isn't her butt getting kind of big?" Whenever I exercised I was teased. "If you ever did anything besides sit on your ass you wouldn't need to do that. Don't you have any friends?" I had friends...for awhile. At my tenth birthday I had a pool party. My dad told me no one actually liked me. They just wanted to go swimming. I believed him to the point that I returned a present to the girl across the street. That ended that friendship. And things I'd internalized prevented and/or ended many others thereafter.

Note from Darlene: I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of commenting on visitor submissions to the degree I have in the past, as I am currently writing a book on healing from child abuse. I ask that you please read my post of June 24, 2009 titled Announcement Regarding my Comments for a complete explanation. I welcome you to follow my progress on my Facebook page at Healing from Child Abuse. When you get there, don't forget to click onto the Become a Fan link. I do hope to hear from you there.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Marie1 Part 2

by Marie
(USA)

I used to want to be a doctor. That was the only thing I knew I wanted. I talked about it constantly. I read the old set of medical encyclopedias my mom had bought. I looked over sections in the other encyclopedias over and over if they were about internal organs. I drew diagrams of the heart. I was really into the whole thing. One day for whatever reason my dad just goes, "Stop your daydreaming. You're too stupid to be a doctor." Then he just kept doing what he was doing. Like nothing happened. I was still interested in scientific things. I was perplexed by his outburst. Despite what I've written, I was a "Daddy's Girl" and it made the weird attacks hurt all that much more. They were confusing.

In high school I only got a 25 on the ACT and none of the schools I wanted to attend would accept such a low score. I suppose I could have gotten some sort of tutor, and tried again, but I decided my dad was right. I was too stupid. I grieved as though I'd lost a loved one. Then dropped all my science classes and waited out senior year.

One day in high school I walked home with my jacket open. It was a nice fall day. Not too cold. My dad drove down the street, on his way home from work, saw me and stopped. He yelled at me to zip up my coat because it was cold. I told him I wasn't cold and kept walking. When I got home, all hell broke loose. I was told that if he told me "to squat in the middle of the street and shit" that I was to do it. I laughed. I certainly would do no such thing. He told me to zip up my coat. I was in the house. Was he nuts? I took it off. Then he grabbed the coat, grabbed me, and tried to force it back on me. At this point I fell backwards to the floor. I remembered how his knees hurt him. I went for it. I kicked him in the shin. At the last second I felt guilty for intentionally targeting his weak spot and held back the force of my blow and redirected it. His bum knee was spared. My ten-year-old brother sat on the couch watching the whole thing, yelling for him to leave me alone and saying my mom would divorce him. They're still married. I'm 33.

There are two other instances that I can remember where I hit my father. One I had been belted earlier in the day. He was napping on the couch. I just filled up with this rage and punched him in the mouth. He awoke to a bleeding lip. "I must have had a bad dream," he said. I just stared at him. Another time I had been talking about girls I hung out with at school. He told me that they didn't exist, that I was lying, that he heard something on the radio about if people talk about something that much they're making it up. I started getting angry and crying. I was just trying to talk to my parents. He noticed I was upset and said, "The truth hurts doesn't it?" I launched myself across the room and tried to punch him in the face. Both my mother and father thought the whole thing was just hilarious.

Note from Darlene: I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of commenting on visitor submissions to the degree I have in the past, as I am currently writing a book on healing from child abuse. I ask that you please read my post of June 24, 2009 titled Announcement Regarding my Comments for a complete explanation. I welcome you to follow my progress on my Facebook page at Healing from Child Abuse. When you get there, don't forget to click onto the Become a Fan link. I do hope to hear from you there.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Marie1 Part 3

by Marie
(USA)

I was harassed and teased in school. By my teens it was really wearing down on me. I tried to confide in my mother about it. She just told me that she wasn't surprised. What did I expect with the attitude I had, and she said no more about it. Often growing up whenever I began to shed tears my mom would get really annoyed and go "What are you crying about now?" Crying meant that I needed to toughen up. Nothing was done to make me feel better.

When my dog had puppies there was one I really wanted to keep. I could have it if I would let them put my dog to sleep. I said no of course. Every now and then my father would threaten to kill my dog or to give it away. If we didn't keep the yard clean of its feces, or if he was just annoyed in some way.

One time when I was maybe 15 I was told to wash the dishes. Me and my brother were lazy and needed chores. Why they waited until we were 10 and 15 to start assigning chores I don't know. I tried to make it fun for my brother. I was laughing and smiling. My dad came into the kitchen and asked what was so funny. I said something like work is easier if you can make it fun. This for reasons I'm still completely unaware of caused him to start screaming about how work isn't fun. It's called work for a reason. Then I ended up slammed up against the kitchen wall, his hands around my throat.

From being very young until I moved out at 20 I heard the following phrases probably hundreds of times: you have no ambition, you have no motivation, you're going to end up a drug addict, that's what's wrong with you, can't you do anything besides read and draw all the time?

I remember participating in one of those grade school read as many books as you can to win free pizzas type things. As I sat on the couch with my stack of books I was accused of pretending to read. It was suggested there was no way I could comprehend those books. And I was told that I wasn't as cute or as smart as I thought I was.

When my report card said I was belligerent and lacked confidence my parents found the belligerent part very funny. My dad told me that I needed confidence. I asked what confidence was and how could I get some. He said if I didn't know what it was there was no way he could help me. I was 6 years old. He just demanded that my next report card not say I lacked confidence. What?

When I was maybe 9-10 years old my father took to watching pornography in front of me and my brother. He'd show me Playboy magazines. If a woman was engaged in sexual activity I was told "That's what you're for" and that I needed to know how this stuff worked. He would rent pornography and show it to me and my friends. He never touched us, but did once say something very weird in my opinion. We were watching a show where someone molested a child. "If I ever do that to you, shoot me in my sleep." One day my mom came home early from work to find me and my friends watching a porn with a vampire theme. Having been molested as a child she promptly freaked out. Everyone was sent home. My dad was told it was illegal to expose children to pornography. And she accused him of being a child molester and asked me later if he'd done anything. I don't even want to think much about this event. It sounds like he was grooming.

When I was about 23 I decided to demand an explanation and an apology for my treatment. I told him to stop treating my brother the way he was. Whenever I visited my brother was very upset. After my father said anything a little bit negative to him he'd tell me how he hated himself, how he was worthless, how he sucked. He'd sometimes punch himself over and over. And go "stupid stupid stupid". I obviously found this disturbing. I confronted my father. Told him to stop verbally abusing my brother and asked him why he did it to me? He did not apologize. He in fact laughed and said "It isn't my fault if you're stupid enough to believe everything I say." He seemed very proud of himself.

My brother still lives there. Is 28 years old. Has never had a job besides a childhood paper route. Never had a girlfriend that I know of and as far as I can tell does nothing but play online RPGs all day and night. I tell my mom get him counseling, make him get a job, take him into the world. He wants help. Nothing is done. Whenever I talk to my brother about it he gets angry and attacks me. I don't know what to do. It's really upsetting.

I've only ever had dead-end jobs. I'm 33 and have never made more than $12 per hour. I have no friends. I literally do not have one friend. I don't really trust anyone. I've had Cognitive Behavioral Therapy though and it's helped me able to leave my apartment and answer the phone, both of which still do cause me anxiety. I work because I have to, but if I were wealthy (from a massive lottery win for example) it would be quite easy for me to never leave my home again. When in public if I hear people laugh I feel like they are laughing at me. People look malicious. Like those commercials when PAXIL first came out, where everyone looked angry, hostile, and distorted like the reflection in a fun house mirror...that is how people often look to me. It's a real chore to interact with people and I need to recover from the exertion whenever I attend family functions or somehow get dragged to a party or bar.

I have a lot of rage in me. It's mellowed out over the years. I tell myself my father didn't know any better. I try to forgive him. But something is obviously still bothering me. Someone accidentally bumping into me in the supermarket doesn't call for me wanting to punch them in the face. Not that I have. Just get the impulse. After reading other stories on here, this might not sound like much. But it really impacted me quite a bit.

I've written these events all out of order. I'm married now with a baby of my own. I will never treat her the way I was treated. I guess I do have one friend. My husband.

Note from Darlene: I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of commenting on visitor submissions to the degree I have in the past, as I am currently writing a book on healing from child abuse. I ask that you please read my post of June 24, 2009 titled Announcement Regarding my Comments for a complete explanation. I welcome you to follow my progress on my Facebook page at Healing from Child Abuse. When you get there, don't forget to click onto the Become a Fan link. I do hope to hear from you there.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.