Child Abuse Story From Cassy B

by Cassy B.
(Tennessee, USA)

My "father" was a big ole man. My brother and I? not so big. My brother, Malakii, is two years older than me. When I was three I was put in the hospital for 5 days due to loss of blood, then SENT BACK HOME. My father had this thing about "you will earn your keep". At the age of 5 you can't do a whole lot to earn your keep. So two days after my 5th birthday, Malakii and I started hitch hiking to town where we would find a bench to stand on and belt out a few dozen Patsy Cline or Hank tunes. People thought we were cute so they would give us quarters. This went on until I was 15. My father found out that we had money and started charging us to eat. Pretty soon we started running out of money and our weights dropped alarmingly. At the age of 6, I was rather tall and just under 40 lbs.

THE PHYSICAL ABUSE: My parents would use ANYTHING and everything to hit us with: sticks, electric cords, two by fours, frying pans, rose bush switches, spoons, railing from the stairs that we got slammed into and broke, shovels, belts, like I said, anything.

I remember one night. My father got very angry and beat the daylights out of me. I went to school the next day with a swollen chest, two of my ribs were broken and my shoulder was displaced. My father would tie us out in the yard with a collar around our neck and a rope tied to a post for several days, only giving us enough food to give us enough energy to let us try and fight when he beat us. Other times he would tie our hands behind our backs and literally THROW us across the room, resulting in broken bones and concussions. He would take knives and cut our arms and stomachs. He would make us stand on broken glass while he whipped us with a two by four or a belt, every movement would slice your feet.

He also liked to tie our hands and feet and throw us in the pool and leave us just long enough to "fade" then he'd jerk us out of the water and whip us. This punishment usually followed not being able to "pay for our living arrangements" or spilling a drink.

I constantly stunk because the flesh on my back was rotting. I had gashes deep enough to see my ribs and I had to go to school that way. I cried every time I sat down, but no one noticed.

My father was never sexually abusive, but I think he enjoyed seeing us naked because when he came home from a hard day at work he would make us undress and he would give us a lash with his belt for each year we lived, times 3. So at the age of 6, I would regularly have to take 18 lashes on my bare skin.

I remember on several occasions taking up to 100 licks with a ping pong paddle for being disrespectful. My backside stayed BLACK for years and I kind of got used to the pain. My eyes were blue so often that the teachers didn't seem to notice. My ribs stuck out to the point that I could open the refrigerator with my rib cage. My spine could be seen as clearly as if it didn't even have skin on it.

The abuse got even worse as I grew older, and the age of 12, I was hospitalized for two months because of one of my dad's episodes. I had 10 broken ribs, a broken shin, one side of my face was crushed and both arms were broken in different places. Three weeks after being released out of the hospital, my dad forced me to go to school. I just told every one I got in a crash. Each day I came home, my dad would pin me to the wall and scream, "Who did you tell! Who did you tell!" and smack my face until blood seeped from under the skin.

We lived on a large "farm" so there were little caves and such on the backside of the property. On nights that my dad came home drunk, Malakii and I would head for the woods. Over time we would sneak blankets and food out to our hiding place. Often we would be caught off guard and start running with our dad shooting at us from the front yard. I still have one or two of the shirts I wore when I was younger that have bullet holes through them. The weird thing is that a bullet never went through me although the holes would often be through the middle of the shirt. We would spend 5 days at times in our little "cave", sleeping on rocks with blankets. It was fun to sleep outside. The stars always seemed to comfort us.

Our "father" worried that we would run away so he tied our arms down to planks and branded the inside of our upper arm. That way if we ever tried to run, he would be able to find us, and make us pay.

When I turned 15, Malakii and I made a run for it permanently. We went to live with our aunt and uncle. After being attacked by our dad who had a gun with him, we got a restraining order. Our ordeal was over, or at least physically it was. I still have mental scars and even visible scars.

Although both Malakii and I had a terrible childhood, we are both now happy and healthy.

Malakii is in college and I am raising a family. I married the most wonderful man imaginable at the age of 18. We now have 4 kids and one the way. My kids know that Mommy had a mean daddy and that if she cries, that is why. I am so thankful to say that just because my dad was abusive to us, I am not abusive to my kids. I praise god that I was able to move on and he has blessed me greatly.

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