Child Abuse Story From Kay

by Kay
(United Kingdom)

I don't really know if what I went through was child abuse or not. But it was horrible and it still effects how I react to people, even though the worst of it ended a few years ago. It wasn't very frequent, but one of my earliest memories is of being about six and my dad picking me up by my shoulders and smacking me into the wall. I confronted him about it before and he said that, "It just proves that you (meaning me) have been doing bad things since then" or something along those lines. There were other incidences though.

I would get thrown into closet doors, punched on the arms, legs and face. He would always say he felt guilty afterwards and tell me he was only doing it because he cared about me. He'd tell me I was stupid and crazy, he'd call me psycho and tell me I needed to be put in a mental institution because I was a crazy kid. He would also tell me that the problems him and Mum had were basically all my fault, and would tell me that he was exhausted from staying up all night discussing what to do about me. It just made me feel like a huge burden on everyone. I really didn't understand. I think I've always been a powerful character, but getting hit and then being told I was hit because I was cared for screwed me up a bit.

I remember one time, I was really upset because some artwork I was doing went wrong. I was probably about thirteen, so I screwed it up, and he got really mad at me because my mum had liked the picture and he just went crazy on me. I was in the little cubby hole under my bed and he swiped all the books and my wooden deer off the shelf so they hit me, then just started hitting me and hitting me. He smashed up a wooden painting frame and held it to my throat and strangled me with his hands, placing a fist on my head. Then he smashed a glass and pressed it into his neck so he bled and was like, "You want to see what blood is like, I'll show you what it's like" and waved the glass at me. Then he tried to drag me to the stairs and I fought back because I was really afraid that he would throw me downstairs and I didn't want him to kill me. I forget how I ended up downstairs but I did and he kept hitting me. He threw me onto the floor and smashed a chair down right beside me. Then he got the phone and told me to call 999 or CPS, but whenever I tried to get the phone he would push me back down. Then he got his machete and held it to my head and told me he could kill me and that he was "this" close to slicing me open. I don't really remember what happened after that but it hasn't been that bad since. He still gets in rages with me.

There was another incident where I had done something wrong and he threw me up against the window and actually ripped one of the panels off of my door to throw at me. It left an indent right beside my head and it's still there reminding me.

Mostly it's cooled off now. Recently, we got into an argument and I told him to f**k off and he smashed me in the face with a kettle. It's ok though. I'm ok. I tried to commit suicide before and I remember him making fun of me for being a coward even though he'd made his own suicide attempt previously.

So now, I'm 17. I still live with him and Mum. I used to really resent Mum for staying with him, and I thought she was only doing it because it was me getting hit not her, but I found out he would hit her too, so now I feel guilty for not being there for her.

It's f**ked me up though.

When me and my boyfriend have an argument I feel the need to be hurt afterwards to make up for things, and I self harm. I don't cut very often but I do other things like punching at my hand and legs or hitting myself with hairbrushes or whatever. It's just really hard for me to feel anything at all unless it's an extreme. Unfortunately, those extremes are usually sadness or self-hate. Still, I lived through it.

I talked to my dad about the machete incident recently. He told me he never did it. But I kind of know he did. I think he might be kidding himself that he didn't because he feels bad about it or because he wants me to forget and not let anyone know. He said to me, after I tried to talk to him about it, that I'll "never let (him) forget about it" but I don't see how he should be allowed to forget about it when I feel sick about it each time I look at him and when, to be honest, I'll never forget. I know he's my dad, and other children have forgiven their parents for much worse, but I hate him. I'll always hate him. He was a huge failure as a father, and I'll die before I'm anything like him.

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