Child Abuse Story From Lindsay
by Lindsay
(San Antonio, Texas, USA)
Am I Worth It?
I can remember abuse all the way back to my very first memory of being in this world. I've suffered through physical and verbal abuse my entire life. I've only just turned 18, and I, unfortunately, am still suffering through it. My parents divorced when I was young; maybe 2 years old. My mom leaving is one of the most vivid memories I have to this day. I didn't understand. Why? How? Where did she go? Is it my fault? What did I do wrong? Little did I know, she was running away from someone who would inflict the same amount of damage on my brother and I as he did her. My dad. To this day, my dad calls it "discipline". I beg to differ. Now that I am finally old enough to know better, I look back on my childhood situations and realize, it wasn't "normal". When my mom left, I was given the only available room in my grandparents' house. It was unfamiliar to me, so my first night was nothing short of terrifying. The trees casting shadows on the walls, and the branches hitting my window because of the strong wind. I was only three years old. I wanted my daddy. I screamed for him because I was hearing things that probably weren't even there. He came in angry, and frustrated. He started yelling "WHAT?! SHUT UP, I HAVE TO BE AT WORK TOMORROW! GO BACK TO SLEEP, LINDSAY!". I simply pleaded that I just wanted to sleep in his bed with him because I was scared. He continued to say no. Nine more times I cried for him. Every. Single. Time. He came back to my room with a solid wooden paddle that had a bible verse on it that talked about "disciplining" your children. I screamed. He hit me wherever he could. Ass. Legs. Arms. Back. Whatever got in his way was hit. Nine times. It was the first time I ever experienced it, and it wasn't going to be the last. This continued throughout my entire childhood up to about the 4th or 5th grade. After that, he finally stopped the physical abuse, and proceeded to inflict emotional damage on me. My brother, inherited this behavior. My middle school years were filled with physical abuse from my brother and the verbal abuse from both him and my dad. Somehow, it was always MY fault. When i got to high school, it got worse. My sophomore year, my brother was arrested for domestic violence. He got a Class A misdemeanor. He gave me a black eye, and a cut that gushed blood down my face. When the police showed up, they didn't even hesitate when they saw my face all bloody and swollen. Justice was served, right? No. When my dad got home it was MY fault, of course. He bailed my brother out of jail, and brought him back into my life. Thankfully, he joined the military, and realized that domestic abuse could land him in federal prison. He hasn't touched me since. My dad, however, still verbally assaults me. He goes for the WORST thing he can possibly think of. A real "christian" thing to do. The neglect pushed me to do drugs, which inevitably got me put on probation for most of my junior year. Recently, we got into an arguement where he called me a "fat ass" and told me to "go f**king kill" myself because nobody cared about me. I got so upset, I punched three holes in the wall. He called the cops on me, and kicked me out. A few weeks later, I moved back in because things fell through for me. Everything's back to the way it was, and he doesn't think he has anything to do with my mental state. I'm not eating anymore. My peers constantly tell me that I'm not even close to being fat. But my dad called me fat, and that's what matters to me. I don't know why, but it just does. He really has no clue that he's destroying my well-being. Part of me thinks it's "normal", because that's what I've been told my entire life. I think I'm finally giving in to the abuse, and letting it consume me.
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