Child Abuse Story From
Christine

Christine is from Akron, Ohio, USA

The following child abuse story from Christine depicts extreme emotional abuse at the hands of her mother.

The child abuse effects on Christine: flashbacks, nightmares, low self-esteem and feelings of worthlessness.

I am 40 years old and I still fight vigorously to overcome a potpourri of mental disturbances that plague me. This is a result of being raised by a manipulative, psychologically abusive mother. To this very day she has not given up her mission to destroy any scrap of self-worth she suspects I may have.

For the past several years I have gone for long periods of time without speaking to her. I would regain my strength and self-confidence, then what would I do? I would march full force back into the dragon's lair. No matter how much I proclaimed that I found acceptance--there was always an ember of hope that my mother would love me one day. That is a normal human instinct--and right.

I have flashbacks, nightmares and memories so real they feel like an internal movie playing in my head. Sans the popcorn.

Psychological abuse is not just random verbal attacks or lack of attention--it is the methodical destruction of the essence of a human life. I felt like a "thing" with one purpose--to absorb all of my mother's venomous torment and sear it into my soul. The obvious premeditation of her assaults wouldn't have hurt any less if she had torn out a handful of my flesh with her bare hands. She would turn me into a cowering, broken creature then berate my emotions with foul disgust. My mind would disconnect from the shock, and at times I felt that I would not survive. I go right back to that place today when I cannot stop memories from flooding in.

She was the ringleader of an intensely dysfunctional family, and I was her chosen target. My father was raised with extreme physical abuse, so by design, a perfect mate for my mother. She had control over everything and hid her behavior so well, my father was unaware of what was happening.

As I got older, she stepped up the abuse and gave my sister power over me as well. I have two sisters, but one is highly favored; my mother used her as a weapon to inflict even more pain on me. She would flaunt her love and attention on my sister in a manner that was obviously planned for my discomfort. There were times that I would catch my mother watching me intently for my reaction to this. My blood would turn cold when I recognized a veiled look of satisfaction on her face.

The most insane making aspect of it all--then and now--is my mother's ability to convince anyone she can that I am the problem. I have been portrayed as emotionally disturbed (ya think), disrespectful, overly sensitive, I take things the wrong way, etc., etc., ad nauseum. She is calculated in her role as the concerned, loving mother who is just misunderstood. Along with a few trumped-up tears, my clueless father and a sister that corroborates her version of events--I am left in a Technicolor nightmare that never ends.

Psychological abuse is a phantom destroyer--there is not a shred of tangible proof to expose the horrible secret behind the smoke and mirrors. I have to be content to know the truth because I carry it with me every day.

The triumph in all of this is that I let go of believing that I am weak and worthless. I realize that I am strong and made it through without compromising who I am--I am still the loving, compassionate and affectionate person I was born to be.

The following child abuse story from Christine was posted as a 2nd installment to this page on June 1, 2007, and was originally posted to my Stories page on May 17, 2007 as Stories #121.

I have previously submitted a story. I wanted to share a particularly damaging trait that my abusive mother had.

This is a case of no matter what I did it was the wrong thing. Being the victim of emotional abuse, I had a very low self-esteem and felt worthless most of the time.

I tried to be a perfectionist, even later on in my adult life. I believed that if I was extremely careful in everything that I said and did, my mother would not find a reason to attack me.

My house was always organized and spotless. I was a devoted and adoring mother when I had children. I would always try to see ahead of time what my mother would criticize me on and change it. It never worked. There was always something. Why didn’t I put a belt on my daughter? Where is her jacket? I always had elaborate birthday parties for my children, and it never failed. Why don’t you have olives? Why don’t you have your video camera out? You should have done this or that. Ad nauseum.

I would try to look nice too. I would do my hair, nails make-up, etc. This is something that is especially painful, because I did all this so that she wouldn’t bring me low with her venomous words. If I looked too nice, this was a problem too. She would say, "Who do you think you are-some kind of model or something?" "You think you are something special, don’t you?" "Do you think men are looking at how cute you are?"

I would look at her in bafflement. "No, Mom," I would say, obviously hurt by her words.

"What is the matter with you? What is wrong with what I said?" is how she would reply.

My brain would turn into a scrambled egg at the crazy-making.