Child Abuse Story From Lisa3

by Lisa
(United Kingdom)

Evil mother: 
I am writing this, as at the moment, it seems to be the only thing on my mind. Funnily enough, writing essays for college always seems to be a stumbling block for me as I feel like my mind is numb, probably due to the fact that I have so many things that I have locked away in there and don't want to let out.

Where to start...

My mum and I have only started to get along in the past 6 or so years, this was probably after my stepfather left her and she had no one else to listen to her. That's one good thing I've been told I am, a good listener, which is funny as a lot of people confide in me but I can never confide in them.

Basically, from as young as I remember I was told I was unwanted, I was ugly just like my father. My mum met my stepfather when I was 2 and a half, he took me on just as his own. We moved into a larger house when she fell pregnant with my little brother, whom I love with all my heart.

I remember that this house we lived in had to be spotless, like a show house. Two to three times a week we had to help my mum clean the house top to bottom. We had to go around with a bucket of diluted disinfectant and clean every skirting board in the house, as well as polish and Hoover, then she would inspect it to make sure we hadn't missed any. If we missed any, I would have to start again.

I believe children should have chores but looking back, the extremes she used to go to was ridiculous. During school holidays we would have to clear out our bedroom cupboards. Everything had to be put away again immaculately I.e. school books had to be perfectly straight, clothes would have to be hung tidily, and if there was too many clothes she would pick ones to throw out. As my brother and I shared a cupboard this would sometimes take a whole day (a lot for a 4- and 9-year-old) and she would come and inspect afterwards. If it wasn't to her standard she would pull everything out of the cupboard and make us start again. I remember sometimes being there until 8-9pm and crying my heart out. To make matters worse, as this was during the school holidays, my friends would come to the door and ask if I could come out to play and my mum would make me go down and tell them I couldn't.

On occasion as I got older I would sometimes get so agitated with her for making us do it over and over again that I would answer her back. Bad idea. She would just say to me ok, you're grounded and if I said no, that's unfair she would add another week on and so on. Or she would grab me by the hair and drag me out into the hall. I remember that feeling so well, it felt like pins and needles and eventually I got used to it and couldn't feel her or anyone pulling my hair. Once she got me in the hall I would shout 'no Mum' but she would just hit and kick me until she was almost out of breath or satisfied. Another thing she would do would be to pretend she was calling the children's home to ask them to take me away as she couldn't cope with me any longer and she would come off and say even they didn't want an evil girl like me.

As I got older she started using things like her slipper or umbrella, and once even some contraption she had bought to do sit ups. I think the slipper was probably the worst as that had a really bad sting to it. As she was hitting me she would tell me how much she hated me and how evil I was and like my father and how he left her because she was pregnant with me and it was going to be my fault if my stepfather left as I would drive him away with all of the fighting.

I used to sit in my room sobbing for hours after and thinking how I would be better off dead and that I was ruining their family. My 'dad' (stepdad) would come and see me and ask why I was in my room as he would've been working while this was going on. When he did, my mum would shout that I had been cheeky again and that I would stay there. Then a little while later she would come in and give me a cuddle and ask if I wanted to join the family for dinner and tell me that I had to behave better.

Through the years I resumed contact with my real dad, and some weekends he would turn up to collect me, and others he wouldn't; and when he did he would say I was his girl and give me lots of affection and buy me nice things and 'politely' remind me that he was my dad. Then when I went home again, my mum would scorn me if I called him Dad, as she would make me call him by his name instead.

One Christmas my real dad, who hadn't been in touch for a few months called me and asked me what I would like for my Christmas. He said I could have anything I wanted, and I told him what I wanted. When I came off the phone my mum told me that she thought I should tell him I didn't want anything for Christmas and as he hadn't contacted me, that maybe I should tell him I didn't want to see him anymore as there was no point in just contacting me now and again and after all my stepdad was my dad now and had been more of a dad to me anyway, so I did so and didn't see him for many years after.

Throughout my childhood the same rituals went on during holidays or when my mum was off her work, but it was the day-to-day ones that were the worst. I almost felt like I was in the army, and I used to love being at school and used to dread going home at night. The house had to be spotless for her coming home from work, and after dinner the dishes had to be done and no one was allowed back in the kitchen. Some nights I went to bed so hungry.

Another thing my mum did, and still does to this day, is comment on everyone else's children, how well they would do. Her friend's daughter got a certificate at school, how come you don't or they looked so pretty at the party. I don't think once did she ever tell me I was pretty or that she was proud of me.

One thing I didn't go without was clothes or toys, we would always go shopping once a month and get new clothes and at Christmas we would get plenty of toys but now I look back, that's not what I wanted, I wanted to be loved.

I tried to run away a few times. I didn't get far. One time my friends came in for me and my mum told them that I was grounded as I was bad again. I could hear this as it was summertime and my window was ajar. Once she closed the door, I called down to them and my friend told me I could sleep in her garden shed. To a 10-year-old that hated home, it sounded so appealing; anything was better than this, so I packed a bag, sneaked through to my parents' room and stole some change from my mum's purse and climbed out the window onto the porch and tried to hang down and jump, but my legs were too short and I just dangled there with my feet tapping off of the window. My mum heard the noise and she, my dad and their friends came rushing out and my dad lifted me down. They asked what I was doing, and I burst out crying and told them I was running away. They told me to come in and stop being silly and their friends looked on as if they thought it was cute.

One thing my dad never did was raise a hand to me. As I got older, after my mum and I had fought, he would come and see if I was ok and ask me not to wind her up. I used to tell him I didn't mean to. He would cuddle me and say I know, but sometimes I would tell him I hated him and that he wasn't my real dad so why did he care.

I felt sorry for him too, as over the years and even on their wedding night my mum would get so drunk that she would taunt him to hit her. Sometimes she would scream and say he had hit her when he hadn't, and she would come into my room when I was sleeping and tell me to call the police on him, and if I didn't she would start hitting me. This got worse over the years and on some occasions I'm sure my dad did hit her, only because she pushed him so far.

When I was a teenager I would sometimes come home on a Saturday evening and my mum would be slumped at the kitchen table, as she had been drinking most of the day. I would try and wake her up. A few times I had to drag her upstairs to her bed. Sometimes I would just leave her there and steal one of her cigarettes and smoke it there, all the time on edge in case she woke up. On a few occasions I had friends stay over at the weekend and she got into that state or fought with my dad. I was so embarrassed that I would stop asking them to stay and go stay at their house all weekend. This was when I realised my life wasn't normal; I prayed that I could have a normal mum, but it never happened.

This only goes up to when I was a teenager. I am now in my late twenties. It would take me even longer to get to that stage, and as I've been typing this, more and more has been coming back to me so I will try and finish at a later date.

Sorry for it being so long.

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