Child Abuse Story From Crybaby

by Name Undisclosed
(Location Undisclosed)

I'm writing this story for all of the people who aren't sure if they can say they are/have been abused. We are so used to hearing only about the most extreme forms of abuse, that many victims are left to feel like their experiences don't really qualify. I have learned to judge my experiences by their effects and my symptoms, and not merely by the acts.

For a long time, I refused to believe I had suffered abuse. I figured that people were being too sensitive when they defined it as abuse. Some of my experiences are humiliating to describe, and some of them are so minor compared to the extremes of abuse that I feel dumb even calling them abuse.

It started in mid-childhood, when my mom's new boyfriend moved in with us. His disciplinary approach was so foreign to me, I was in absolute shock the first time I got in trouble. He was a hothead and very strict. He liked to yell a lot, even when he wasn't really that angry, just to scare us. Most of his discipline consisted of a spanking and a drawn-out lecture, but for some reason, I was always either terrified or filled with rage, or both. If he was really mad, I might be grabbed by the neck, yanked around, shoved, thrown to the ground, stuff like that. Once, my sister started sobbing because she was scared for me, and that backed him right off.

He also played with me really roughly. I would get picked up and spun around so fast I was sure he was gonna lose his grip and send me flying (luckily, when he did throw me, it was on the couch). He was always grabbing me and rough-housing, shoving me around, tickling so hard he left bruises a couple times. The weird thing is, I could tell when he was stressed from his job by how much harder he would grab me and how much meaner and rougher he would be. He would try to whip me with his belt to scare me, anything to make me flinch. If I ever really got hurt, he would apologize, but he never stopped playing with me like that. I hated it, but I was too scared and weak to fight him or say no to him even when I knew he was about to do something mean. Sometimes I could run and lock myself in somewhere, but there was the risk that would make him mad. Oh, and I'm a girl.

Here's how I know beyond a doubt that it constituted abuse. The older I got, the more overwhelming my rage became. As soon as he was done disciplining me, I would take off to my room and self-injure. I especially liked to punch myself in the face. I fantasized about murdering him, and even rehearsed it with a hunting knife and a shotgun. I acted up in school; I was the class-clown that made you groan instead of laugh because I never knew when to stop. In reality, I knew exactly when to stop, but I felt powerless to do so. I made teachers cry and got sent to the principal's office regularly.

I was a big-time loner. I had no social life outside of school, and could not get close to other human beings. Even when I wanted to get close, something inside me would not allow it to happen. I ruined a lot of friendships because of it. I used any drug I could get my hands on. The self-injury meant not dealing with my emotions so I became depressed and suicidal.

All of that was many years ago. I still deal with rage and not trusting people. I don't self-injure anymore, but I have to be careful about my depression because I am prone to choosing suicide, though I do not have symptoms most of the time. The drugs have been a struggle.

Don't worry about what other people think abuse looks like. You know when something has messed you up badly.

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