Child Abuse Story From Amanda G
by Amanda G
(California, USA)
I survived child abuse. It was only by the love of teachers who observed and took a stance for my life that I was saved.
My mother had me in her twenties. She met my father at the local fair, and within a year she found out she was pregnant with me. My father was around until I was four when my mom didn't want my dad around anymore, so he left. My mother was an alcoholic and a drug user. Even though it was mostly marajuana, I was not a priority.
Soon after my dad left, my mother was dating again, someone she already knew from high school, but he was also into drinking and using drugs. I don't know exactly what drugs, for that is something 24 years later that my grandmother won't share with me because she doesn't know everything that was going on either. But my dad never came back to get me, my mother kicked him out and he stayed away.
I lived with my mother at my grandma's house, which is my mother's mom. We lived there until my mother got tired of hearing my grandma complain about her new boyfriend, the guy she went to high school with. But before we moved out, my life was different. Because of the events that took place, I don't remember much because I have blocked the memories out. I remember my grandma telling me how I met the neighbors, and how I knew where my mother went to party and I would take off out the gate to find her. But the events that happened do come back to me now, but as nightmares.
I lived with my mom for about 6 months until she found out she was pregnant with my sister when I was 6 1/2 years old. We lived close to my grandma, but being a stepchild, I didn't know that my grandma's house was going to be the safe place to be. My mom's boyfriend drank all the time when he was awake and home from work. I would ask to go to stay at my grandma's and only went to visit. But I had friends I could play with on the street we lived on. No one knew what was going on at home because I was such a tomboy and always got hurt that you couldn't tell what bruise came from what.
Household chores became a reason to not want to be at home. If there was one spot on one spoon, then all the dishes would come to the floor. If the dog pooped in the house, then I would get thrown to the floor and told to cleanup the mess, even after I landed in the mess. My mother always said the reason why my stepdad expected everything to be so neat was because his dad was in the military and he was treating me the same he was treated growing up. But if I was good, then I got to do things with everyone as a family. Still, no one knew what happened in the house. No one knew what my bruises were from.
There were people involved in my life that knew what was going on, but in the 80's, it was easy to report, but no one wanted to really be involved. So not everything was reported. Some people were afraid to get involved and tried to put it aside. Those who got involved just got yelled at but it didn't mean it would stop the pain and help my situation.
The teachers that got involved were made aware of the situation when I switched schools and it was before I was to start second grade when I would miss the first part of school. Everyone thought I had the stomach flu, but didn't know that my appendix had ruptured. No one knew that I was so sick, was caused from being hit in the stomach for I don't know how long. My grandma had to fill the school in on the information because it was court ordered that my mother and stepdad were not allowed to come to the school to see me and I needed to see a counselor. I didn't understand why I had to see the counselor, but I loved getting to draw pictures, and talking to someone all day when I needed. My teachers became my family when it was time to celebrate mother's day, which I also celebrated with my grandma, father's day, and when I didn't have a father to bring to the father's day lunch, the principal came as my guest.
I don't know what happened in almost all of my childhood before 5th grade. I blocked everything out. Most people can remember their childhood, and I remember mine in dreams. The good memories come in good dreams, and the bad memories come in nightmares. I am always told by my grandma that I don't want to remember what my childhood was like even if there was good memories because there isn't enough good memories to make up for the bad ones. But when I do remember something, because my grandma took me in when no one could get a hold of my dad when I was in the hospital for almost a month, she is always there to help me remember what my life has become.
Now these days, I always think of what has happened to me, hearing the stories from family, trying to figure out why I have so many health problems: loss of an ovary and still unable to get pregnant, constant headaches, aches in one area of the skull, hearing loss and etc. But then I am also scared of my mental well being. I never have dealt with the child abuse as an adult, I have never talked to a therapist about what I have been through, how I have dealt with everything. Will I ever have a moment when too much will be too much and will I do something wrong.
And then yet, how is it that anyone I meet in public wants to tell me what is going on in their lives, they want to have advice from me, a stranger they meet once and may not ever see again. How is it that I can help others with ways of grieving, getting rid of pain when they can't stop thinking of something, and know just the right things to say to make a bad day good. How is it that I can help someone understand what is going on with them and why they will be okay. Why is it my life experience has taught me how to be strong and to survive, so that is the only thing I can give back is recommendations.
I don't know how I can do it, but I don't want to know either. I guess not knowing is what has made me who I am, even though it scares me to know that at any moment, something could change that with a single thought. I work with mental health patients, and I help them while they try and get back on their own. But I can't manage my own life.
I just don't know....
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