This child abuse story from Lizzybeth page was created August 19, 2007 as Installment #1 and was originally posted on August 7, 2007 as story #174.
Installment #2, Installment #3, Installment #4, and Installment #5 follow below.
The following stories have not been edited for grammar, spelling, punctuation,
sentence structure or Internet-eze. Where necessary, I have edited for length
and inappropriate or gratuitously graphic content.
Lizzybeth is from Fort Wayne, Indiana, USA
The following child abuse story from Lizzybeth depicts:
physical abuse, emotional abuse and child neglect
The child abuse effects on Lizzybeth: fear of being hit, feelings of betrayal and abandonment, sadness
Do you want to be heard? Share your story!
Memories I wish
I could Forget
The abuse I have endured, is mild compared to others. When
I was just one years old, I met Aaron, my future baby sister's dad. I also met
my lifelong best friend Marie.
When I was just two, my little sister Gabs was born. I was
so happy to have a little sister. Sadly, she died three months later. She was
taking a nap on her tummy when it happened. She died from Sudden Infant Death
Syndrome. I don't remember much about her, but I sometimes have a dream about
seeing her at the hospital the day she was found dead. For years I had not
realized I was dreaming of my sister.
After Gabs died, her father started his abuse. He would
yell at me when I did not eat all of my dinner. And if I had not finished
everything on my plate, he would pick me up by my arm and started hitting me
hard on the bottom with his hand. Sometimes when he was not in the room, my
older sister, my savior, would take the food off of my plate and put it on her
plate just so I would not get hit.
This continued to go on until I was about six. I suppose he
realized what he was doing was wrong, as I was not his child, and stopped hitting
me altogether. There was only one time where I actually deserved a spanking. My
best friend Marie and I were arguing over something and I pinched her. She bit
me back and told her uncle Aaron. He spanked us both. That was the only time I
deserved it. Every other time was just to take out his anger on me. He was a
drug abuser, so I suppose sometimes that had something to do with how hard he
From the time I was born, my mother was never the good
mother I wanted her to be. She was late to my first birthday party because she
went to see her boyfriend. And after the death of my little sister, I really
never felt her love. She rarely hugged me, said I love you and parked me with
my grandmother when she was working, with a boyfriend or out at a concert with
my older sister. She was not around much was I was growing up and she still
isn't really there for me when I need her. I lived with my grandmother when my
mom and Aaron split when I was eight. (My mom would sometimes tell Aaron that
because I was not his kid, he should not spank me. But it did not stop her from
leaving him. She left after she caught him in the basement with drugs.)
My mom lived with me too, but I don't call her my mom
anymore. After reflecting upon my life, I claim my grandmother as my real
mommy. Although she can be on the mean side, and she yelled at me a lot of the
time, she was always there when I needed her the most. I don't know what I
would do without her.
I have been trying to forget about my physical and
emotional abuse that I had to deal with during my childhood. But it is
sometimes difficult. The only time I can really smile is if I am with Marie, my
older sister, my grandma or with my nephews and nieces. They are the reason I
get up in the morning and I could never live without them.
I am not sure if what I have dealt with over years would be
considered abuse. Most people say spanking is not abuse. I, however, believe it
is. I lived in fear of the man I was tricked into calling my father for six
years. I was always fearful that if I had not eaten all my dinner, I would be
hit again. Which I suppose would explain why I now always finish my plate. I am
still fearful that if I don't, someone will come and hit me. I am learning to
accept the things that happened to me during those years. They happened, and I
can't go back in time and change that. The only thing I can do is try to move
forward and begin to heal.
I am a senior in high school now. And if all goes well this
year, I hope to go to college to become a child psychologist. This way I can
help other kids who endured similar pain or much worse pain. Then they to can
begin the healing process and try to live their lives without pain and without
If I learned anything from my years of abuse, its that no
child ever deserves to live that kind of life. Children deserve to live with
parents who care about them enough to know when to walk away and take their
child away from dangerous situations. When I have children, I hope that I will
realize what is going on if my child is being hit too, and walk away from a
relationship, no matter how hard it might be. Because that child will mean the
world to me and I would not want it to feel the same pain and fear that I felt
as a child.
My Advice to others: "Be not who you wish others to see you as. But be who you are and live your life to the fullest. Everyday is a new day."
It started with my grandma. I was trying on a pair of my favorite pants to see
if they still fit. They didn't. My grandma said that if I wasn't so fat they
time was at my twelfth birthday party. I complained that I didn't want any
little kids at my party. She got mad, took the kids, called me a selfish,
spoiled brat and left. Since then my birthdays have all sucked.
my second year of middle school, I suffered through the worst school year of my
life. A boy sitting behind me in Science class constantly called me fatso every
time I saw him. I tried my best to ignore him and pay attention to the teacher,
but it was hard. I was in an orchestra class as well, my second year of playing
the violin. I was a few people away from being the last chair. Each month or
two our teacher held auditions for the class to try and be placed in a
different spot for concerts. It was my turn to play and I nailed it. I barely
slipped, but I was nervous the whole time. At the end of class, the teacher
announced the arrangements, and I found out I was going to be in the sixth
chair. This was a huge deal for any violin player. It was my biggest
accomplishment yet and my fellow violin playing friends were excited and happy
for me. But others didn't see it that way. I had bumped a girl who was sixth
into the seventh chair. She was not happy about it. She complained to her
friends that I had cheated. Which is impossible when playing the violin.
day during practice, the girl ahead of me, she was a friend of the seventh
chair girl, she complained to the teacher that she could not hear me playing
during the practice. The teacher said not to worry about other people. The
teacher said nothing to me, but that comment left me shocked. There were other
players in her ear playing their instruments so it was impossible to tell if I
was playing loud enough. I burst into to tears as everyone was packing up the
instruments. Some of my friends came over and asked what was wrong. I said
nothing but looked over at the girls who made fun of me all the time, and
immediately, all of my friends knew what was the matter. I don't know if they
told the teacher, but after that, the girls never said another bad word about
my high school years I had only one bully. She was a junior when it started.
She called me Stinky. We shared the same history class the next year and she
commented again about my body odor. She was the only one laughing. Everyone
around me told her off and she left. A couple of the girls joked that I should
hit her. I would never do that though. When the teacher walked in, one of the
girls, Amy, said she was going to tell, I didn't stop her. After she told, the
teacher took the bully out into the hallway. She was made to go down to ISS.
Later, the bully had to apologize. I said nothing. She expected me to forgive
her, I couldn't and I never will. Gladly, she graduated this year, so I don't
have to be bullied by her or anyone anymore.
Should anyone who has been bullied reads this, don't stay silent. Throughout my bullying I stayed quiet, I didn't want to be a tattletale. I sometimes regret that I kept quiet over the years. If you or someone you know is being bullied, you need to tell someone. Amy saved me when she told and I will be ever so grateful for the rest of my life that she told on the bully. Since then, no one has picked on me. I am not sure if anyone outside the history class knows about what the bully did, but no one has ever made fun of me again. If you know someone who is being bullied, do what Amy did and tell. Don't worry about being called a tattletale. You could save someone a lot of heartache.
When I was 14, my mom and I moved to a quiet town that I still hate three years later.
When I was 15, we were living in a house and I had a few chores to do. I had to wash dishes and take out the trash. Sometimes I would forget to do the dishes and by the time I remembered, I had to go to bed because I had school, so I just reasoned I could do them the next day.
Once during the summer, I had my best friend Marie over for a few days. It was late and I needed sleep, so I left the dishes unwashed for the next day and went to bed. My mom's husband came home and noticed the dishes. He asked Marie where I was, and she said I was asleep. He slammed the door open and screamed at me.
Then after that he left to go change out of his work clothes. I put my glasses on and went out to wash the dishes. He came out and was still angry about the dishes, but said nothing else to me and went down in the basement to watch t.v. as usual. Marie got up from the chair she was in and helped me wash the dishes. She kept saying it was going to be okay. I kept crying even as she was saying this. I knew in my heart the only time I was ever going to be okay was when I finally moved away.
This next story I am going to tell still messes with my head.
My mom, sister and I have lived with my grandma from the age of 8 until I was 14. [When] I was 12 or 13 years old, my mom came home from work and was in an angry mood. I was on the couch watching t.v. when I heard her come in and slam the door. I knew that when she gets in these kinds of moods that I should leave her alone, so I didn't dare move. She was in the kitchen for a long time, so I got up off the couch to see if she was okay. I got couple feet away from couch and could see her standing by the sink, with a steak knife in her hand. She was cutting the part of your hand that is at the end of your thumb on the top side. She noticed me in the living room and looked over. When she did, I acted as if I didn't see anything and laid back on the couch. She walked through the living room and upstairs to her room. She never looked at me or said anything to me. The next day I asked her what was wrong, she said grandma made her mad again. I never asked her about the cut and she and I never talked about that day again.
Fights and Pain
First off, let me just say that although I have endured abuse most of my life, I have had some happy times. Like when I was four years old, I taught myself how to read. I was so happy that I could read. And when I was six, my aunt taught me how to tie my shoes. I perfected it by learning how to double knot. Also when I was six, I learned how to ride a bike, on my own. Most of the things I have learned over the years, were self taught, as I said in my past story, no one was around much when I was growing up.
One sunny afternoon, I was making myself lunch because my grandma was out shopping or something and I had to make it myself. I put a bowl of chicken noodle soup in the microwave and turned it on. After a minute, I heard yelling. My mom and sister were fighting over something. I still have no idea what the fight was over. They were screaming so much. I sunk down to the floor, covered my head and started to cry.
After the fight, I got up and looked around the kitchen. No one had even notice I was back by the microwave. The only person in the room was my one year old nephew. My poor little nephew witnessed the whole thing. Luckily, it had no effect over him.
Another fight I had witnessed was between my mom and grandma. My mom came home one day and told my gammy that she had just bought a car. Gammy started yelling that she didn't need to waste money on a car. My mom yelled back saying she needed her own ride to work. They yelled back and forth. It came out of my mom's mouth that she and I had been planning to move out, and that made grandma even more upset. Before the fighting, I was in the kitchen playing pretend school with my cousins and my nephews. During the fighting, I hid back by the microwave and trash can that was by the basement door. The four kids migrated over to see me crying. My mom kept saying for me to go upstairs to my room. She knew I hated fighting, and just kept telling me to go, but I couldn't. I was frozen in fear. And I couldn't leave the kids downstairs. After the fight was over, my mom went to work.
Me and mom moved out a month later and things have gotten better between her and grandma, but nothing good has really happened since we moved. I had to switch schools and had to move in with her new stupid husband. He yells at me when I do the slightest thing wrong. I have gone through great lengths to avoid him. I stay locked in my room until he goes to work. And I go to bed before he gets home. For years my mom has been telling me that it would be better for us if we moved out of my grandma's house. We moved out, but nothing is really better.
I spend most of my time alone. My mom rarely
lets me out of the house because she always thinks I will be kidnapped. I used
to hate being alone, I have now come to like it and prefer to stay alone. I
make breakfast, lunch and dinner for myself, I clean up after myself and even
though I have said I spend most of my time alone and like it, there are some
days where I really need help from my mom. There's no one to talk to except the
cats. If someone should rob the house and shoot me or stab me, I most likely
will bleed to death. All I really need is to talk to someone and a hug every
now and then. I feel so alone a lot of the time, and I sometimes even cry
myself to sleep. I feel totally isolated, cut off from the world. I am just
glad that I graduate in June of 2008, that way I can finally move out and go
back to my hometown.
Thank you for all this site has done. I feel better now that I have told someone about everything that has happened in my life. This should be my last story.
NOTE: Information pages on this site were based on material from the
Canadian Red Cross RespectED Training Program. Written permission was obtained to use their copyrighted material on this site.
Child abuse story from Lizzybeth was re-formatted June 3, 2015
From Victim to Victory
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