Child Abuse Story From Danielle2
by Danielle
(USA)
I am a 23 year old mother of three beautiful children, yet everyday I have to take medicine just to want to stay alive. It's hard to explain. My mother and father divorced when I was five years old. My mom got custody of my older brother and I. She worked two jobs to keep food in our bellies, and we never wanted for anything.
The first memory I have of being abused is when I was 7 or 8. It wasn't anything major. When she would brush my hair, if I started to cry because it hurt, she would smack me in the back of the head. I always felt like I had to walk on egg shells around my mom for fear of the punishment if I said the wrong thing.
My mom was always tired from working such long hours. She and my brother seemed to fight all the time. I was about 9 the first time I saw them have an actual fist fight. My brother was only 13, but he was tired of her crap also. He went to live with our dad, and I saw him every other weekend. It was really hard after he was gone. I was the one that got the spankings, or if you want to call them what they really were: beatings.
I can recall one time my mom told me to go and get some black trash bags from our house and bring them back to my grandma's café. I was a regular 11-year-old kid, and I went home and forgot what I was supposed to be doing and eventually I fell asleep. I was awoken to a sharp stinging pain across my stomach and my mother yelling. "What the hell did I tell you to do!" She continued to hit me with the extension cord. I screamed, "Momma, I'm sorry," but it fell on deaf ears. I had to wear a long-sleeved shirt the next day to cover the bruises so the teachers wouldn't see them. This is how life was for me. If I didn't walk on egg shells I would get punished severely.
The worst time was when I was 14. We lived with my great grandmother. My mom started going back to school and left me to take care of my grandma. I fed her and she didn't like what I gave her. When my mother came home I was outside feeding the ducks and pigeons. My grandma told her I didn't feed her. The next thing I knew I heard my mom yelling my name. I came out of the pigeon house and my mom was in a rage. She asked me why I didn't feed her. I tried to explain that I did, but she had an old fashioned wooden broom and she started hitting me with it. She hit me everywhere from head to toe until finally, after what seemed like forever, the broom broke. I was so thankful.
After it was all over, my mom left and her friend took her to the hospital to get help. She went to a mental health facility. My boyfriend and the girl that lived at my house couldn't believe the sight of me. I was black and blue all over. I could hardly walk and sitting down was too painful. It wasn't reported, and I never told anyone. I didn't want to be taken away from my mom. I felt like I was the only one she had.
These are just a few things. Believe me, there are many more. This isn't the only abuse I have suffered. I have been abuse sexually by some close family members also, but I am not ready to write about them. It is hard for me to let my children venture far from me because I am scared something horrible will happen to them, and I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to them. I find I try to never spank my kids because I never would want to cross that line that was crossed so many times on me as a kid.
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