Child Abuse Story From Sam'Lee

by Sam'Lee
(Ohio, USA)

Nobody cares except me: 
I am 16 years old. My child abuse began when I first came to America. I was born in the Philippines where apparently they allow child abuse, but now it is banned, but some people still do it.

When I came to America, I was just about 1-2 years old. I didn't know anything because I was a little Filipino girl who only knew how to talk Filipino, not English. I came to America and lived with my aunt because her brother (my father) had been murdered because people in the Philippines, in our neighborhood, were jealous of our family because we had "balik-bayans" which were Filipinos who come from America that visit our home in the Philippines and gave a lot of gifts, money, food, etc.

There are times where I lay on my bed just thinking about my past, but I will never forget the times my mother abused me. Everyone sees me as a happy girl but inside, I was falling apart. I remember when I was very little, when I just started 1st grade. My mom yelled at me because I didn't know how to do 1+1. That's because I couldn't understand English yet, so that's why I didn't understand much when the teacher was explaining. From then on, I never asked my mom to help me with my homework.

Then, I remember a time when I was about 4-5, when my mom slapped my face so hard that she knocked me off my feet and I fell to the ground. There were so many times my mom beat me that I can't remember them all. I just remember the ones that were bad. I even remember when I was little that I saw one of my mom's small perfume bottles and tried some on because that's what little kids do when they're curious. Usually a mom would say, "Don't put that on, you're not old enough" and just laugh. But what my mom did to me will always be on my mind. When she went to tuck me in my bed, she smelled her perfume on me. She freaked out or something, and told my older brother to go get the belt. She whooped me so hard that I screamed at the top of my lungs. She's even taken hangers, or hard shoes, just about anything that is hard, and beat me with them.

There was a time, when I took her phone but technically it was mine, and she yelled at me for taking it. Then, she got so mad that I could feel the flames coming out her mouth like a dragon. I ran upstairs to my room, and locked the door. She came upstairs, and actually kicked, and hit the door so that the door would open. I kept on screaming and screaming to my dad downstairs but he didn't do anything. He just stayed there. Since my dad didn't help, I just finally opened the door. My mom came running at me with a plastic broom. She beat me with it until the plastic broom broke and my legs were bleeding. When the plastic broom broke, she got another one and beat me again.

Another time that I remember was when I was about 4. My mom & I went to the mall. As a kid, I would always want candy, that's what most little kids want. Well, my mom & I were in the store and I saw a 50-cent lollipop or a dollar maybe, and I wanted my mom to buy me one. Eventually I cried while seeing my mom buy her earrings and things for herself. When we got home, she was pissed at me. So, she took me to take a bath. But before I got in the bathtub, I could see steam coming out of the bathtub. I dipped my feet in the water, and it was very hot. My mom forced me into the hot water and dumped the hot water over my head. I cried so loud...it was burning hot.

But there will always be a time in her reign of abuse that I will never forget: The day she smashed my head into the glass table.

My morning started out as a little 3rd-grader day. Take a shower, get ready for school, and ask for my lunch money. After I was done getting ready, my mom was still asleep, so I woke her up, and asked her if there was any breakfast. She told me to go and look on the table. When I went to look, all I saw were the leftovers from the night before. I thought when she meant breakfast, that she already cooked my breakfast. So, I told my mom that there was no breakfast. I have no clue what she got mad at. The fact that I woke her up or the fact that I told her that there was no breakfast. She came downstairs, charging like a bull. She told me to sit down on the chair and to look in front of me, which of course were the leftovers. I told her that it wasn't there because it wasn't breakfast, it was the leftovers. My Lord, she took the hair in the back of my head, took a good grip of it, pulled it back and pushed my head into the table forward as hard as she could. I blacked out for a few seconds and woke up crying, and my head hurting. I went to go look in the mirror, and saw that my forehead had black, blue, green & a violet color because she knocked my head into the side of the glass table.

So many times that she has abused me and not even once has anybody tried to help me.

I called the police one time to say that my mom hit me. A policeman came over (the policeman was actually the guy who arrested my brother about a million times) and did nothing but take my mom's side. From that day on, I never trusted the police ever again. I still remember the policeman's face. And also, from that day on, I always said to myself that I will get back at my mother. Not in a cruel way but put her in jail for doing what she did to me.

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