Child Abuse Story From Lyn-Dee

by Lyn-Dee
(Canada)

From as far back as I can remember, which is not that far at all, I have suffered severe verbal, emotional and some physical abuse by my mother. She used to belittle me constantly. Has made me hate myself by pointing out my physical features that she hates about me, and the fact that I have learning disabilities.

My father left us when I was 2 years old and my mother I feel had took it out on me. The loss of her freedom and the fact that I am a spitting image of my father.

I was constantly yelled at and picked on for any and everything you can imagine. I recall one incident when I was yelled at and interrogated for blinking my eyes too much. When I was a baby my mother said that I was not a happy baby and that I didn't like to be held. Well no wonder!

This is really awful and obscene to reveal but when I was about eight or nine I did something that displeased her and she told me, "When your father was getting me he slipped and got me in the ass so that's why we call you shit." She seemed so proud about that remark.

Once when my sixth grade teacher told my mother that she has to help me with my math homework, and she did try to help me, and here is where my learning disabilities come into play, she told my visibly stunned teacher that if he makes her try to teach me math ever again she would kill us both. Once I remember that I did something she didn't like and she pinned me up against the wall with my throat clutched in her hands and she squeezed hard enough to make me wheeze. I spent my whole childhood hiding in my bedroom with my radio playing C.K.L.W and my true crime books. I often question sexual abuse too because of my distaste at my grandfather grabbing my bottom as I went up the stairs before the age of 5. All I remember was that it was funny at first and I laughed but as time went on and he didn't stop I refused to climb stairs in front of him anymore. There is a lot of my childhood that is blank. I must have blocked out a good portion of my life. My grandmother used to take me in a baby stroller to the neighborhood bar and drink the afternoon away. She always went and bought me a few toys first to keep me amused. I was all of two or three and I knew all the bar flies there. Wonder if I was sexually abused there.

I would give anything to be able to remember my babyhood and childhood up to of eight.

I held my grandmother's gun to my head in front of her bedroom mirror at the age of twelve because I couldn't take it anymore. But I said eff this, I'm gonna live and make your life a living hell like you do me.

But of course I did no such thing.

When I was 15 I quit school and moved out. I never lived in my mother's house ever again except for one month at age nineteen when my apartment wasn't ready yet and I was a new mom myself. And can you guess what happened when I was there? She came at me one day after I had the audacity to drip water from the bottom of my glass on her precious rug. She came after me and I pushed her away, the first time I ever lifted a hand to her and I told her, "I am a mother now and I will not let you abuse me anymore." She seemed shocked but kept her distance.

At the age of 36 I moved to Canada and never seen or talked to her again. She passed on in 2005 and I read her obituary in the paper and I felt absolutely nothing.

This was an abridged version of my story. There is much more to tell. Among the funniest is when I was five and in kindergarten, all the kids had to tell about there pets. I told my stunned class my dogs name was Satan. Yes, my mother worshiped the devil and had an altar in one of our closets.

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