by Band Back Together | Jul 22, 2013 | Abandonment, Abuse, Adult Children of Mentally Ill Parents, Adult Survivors of Childhood Sexual Abuse, Alcohol Addiction, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Child Sexual Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Fear, Incest, Parentification, Poverty, Economic Struggles and Hardship, Violence |
A childhood steeped in hatred and abuse can threaten to break us.
And yet, we go on:
I was six months old when I was beaten the first time.
This beating required an Emergency Room visit. When you are beaten from such a young age, you learn that your body has no boundaries, you are not entitled to safety.
I was molested before six years old, my mother witnessed this at bath times…and did nothing. I was raped from six to eight years of age. Mom reminds me, regularly, that she was a victim, too. Therefore, I do not have permission to blame her for these things.
Back then, violence was a multiple days a week occurrence. Dad was quiet most of the time. And then, without rhyme or reason that I could detect (and I tried to identify the cause, to stop it), BLAM! Heaven forbid we did a normal kid thing that was bad.
Nighttime was parent fighting time. From my bed, I could hear the screaming, Mom crying. I could hear bodies tumbling and grunting, from him reaching for her and hitting her. He would rape her. He would break furniture on her.
By the time I was six until I was eight, he stayed in the guest room on a frequent basis. EVERY night he was in that room, I was too. I got to hear graphic details of Vietnam, before the touching and raping.
When Dad moved into his own home, this decreased to weekends.
But then Mom started. She was depressed and suicidal. She couldn’t handle our noise, our needs, or even us asking for permission to do things. She would strike out, smack us with books, knock our knees with her foot, pushing us away in frustration.
When our bodies were dirty, she would bathe us. She washed my vagina so hard, her nails or the edge of the washcloth would leave slices in my labia. She would pinch between my toes, hard enough to hurt. We had to “get the dirt out.”
Dad ran off when I was eight. Counselors had identified that I was suicidal; what he had done to me. He was confronted and fled to avoid prosecution.
By the time I was nine, Mom had started studying the Holocaust. We were made to watch documentaries with gruesome footage of violence. We had to see pictures of the piles of dead bodies.
We went to museums to meet Holocaust survivors, to hear their stories. The same graphic documentary pictures were always hanging on of the walls.
There were never other children to find, to play. We had to stay by Mom’s side, to witness these things.
We were not permitted anger, or to be sad. No tears, no screaming. We could smile. Or, we could be quiet.
When encouraged, we could explore mud puddles or play on the beach and laugh and giggle with Mom. There were the good times.
We’d always been very poor – with Dad around we were poor, but always had food. After he left, we’d have times of hunger. No food, or too little. I would dish out more to my sister first. Then Mom. Sometimes, I would sacrifice my food so that they could get more. I had become the family cook by the time I was nine. I cleaned. I helped with my sister’s homework. I helped with Mom’s college homework. I was an A-student on my own studies.
Mom used a wooden spoon to spank us. She hit so hard, she would crack handles. We had bruises and welts in the perfect shape of a spoon head on our bottoms and thighs. Sitting in a wooden chair at school was uncomfortable.
When she smacked our heads with her open hand, she would hit our ears. The ringing would startle me.
Her verbal abuse was astounding, sharp and biting. She told me that I was so annoying that it drove her to drink. (Subtext: Daddy was an alcoholic because of you, and I drink because of you too.)
All of these things struggled to silence me, shame me, and remove my human dignity. All of these things demonstrated that I had no rights.
And yet, I persist.
by Band Back Together | Dec 9, 2010 | Abuse, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Helping Someone In An Abusive Relationship, Psychological Manipulation, Rape/Sexual Assault |
Duck is my husband. He is the rock in my life. He keeps me tethered to the earth when my mind might otherwise let me float away. But there are some negative things in our relationship. Some negative things in our lives. Things that are starting to break me down. Break his hold on me. I’m starting to get lost in my head again .
When I was a teenager, I was in a severely abusive relationship. He emotionally, physically, and sexually ripped me apart. He destroyed my physical well-being, my sense of self, and my sense of personal safety. He took away my strength. He took away everything I had.
I got out of there. It took years of leaving and returning, but I finally escaped when I was 18 after a near-death experience at his hands. I don’t talk about the years of my life that he stole. I try not to remember them. I try not to think about the fear he put into me. The fear that I thought would never go away.
My Duck, my wonderful wonderful Duck, made me feel safe again. My Duck is teaching me that I have value in the world.
But my life isn’t letting me feel that anymore. Duck’s mother lives with us. She’s going senile. And as she loses her grip on reality, she’s getting mean. Really mean. She uses a tone of voice when she talks to us that is the same as the Abuser used. She calls me names. Makes me feel insignificant.
How do I keep my fragile sense of self from breaking when I’m surrounded by the same sounds as broke me in the first place?
by Band Back Together | Dec 3, 2010 | Abuse, Anger, Child Abuse, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Guilt, Loneliness, Sadness |
I picked up the key – my key – to the apartment my son and I would soon call home.
I tried to figure out just what I could take. If I took too much – or the wrong things – I feared the price we’d pay.
I made the reservation for a U-Haul, knowing that I didn’t have the money to pay for it, but that it was the only option.
I learned that my son had been suspended from school, on moving day – inappropriate language. I was hoping to protect him from the process of moving but now he would have to help.
I had $74.87 in my checking account that had to cover the U-Haul, gas, food, laundry and basic needs for the two of us for six days.
I was terrified.
I grieved the life I thought we’d have. The family I so desperately wanted.
I was convinced that he would see his abuse was the problem. That he’d seek help. That he would change. That we would be the family I knew we could be.
364 days ago …
The emotional damage I allowed him to inflict on my son became vividly clear within days of the move.The realization of just how damaged I had become would materialize much later.
It hasn’t been easy. Not a single day. I’ve tried to make the impact on my son minimal, but he has often had to do without.
I’ve had to apply for financial assistance to help offset the cost for him to attend church camp and youth fall retreat, sharing very personal information with complete strangers so that they could judge if we were worthy of their money.
I’ve had to file for bankruptcy, facing the public embarrassment of admitting I could not meet my financial obligations.
I’ve had to get food from a food bank, more than once – waiting in line for hours with those people – hoping I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, but never being quite that lucky. Feeling waves of humiliation and shame each time and never telling my son.
Many days I’ve felt like a charity case – a project for someone – not quite human.
Although we remain married, I suspect he will eventually find someone else who is prettier – smarter – more concerned with the image and the things so important to him. When that day comes, I’ll be faced with the reality I’ve been avoiding – even denying. The reality that confirms I wasn’t enough for him, and will never be enough for anyone – just like he told me years ago.
364 days ago …
It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. But I’m ashamed to admit I didn’t do it for myself. If it weren’t for my son I’d have never left. I still believe that I don’t deserve any better. That settling is my only option to combat a life of loneliness. But my son? My son? He deserves better.
I wish I could have done it for me.
by Band Back Together | Dec 1, 2010 | Abortion, Abortion Recovery, Abuse, Anxiety Disorders, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Infidelity, Major Depressive Disorder |
I can’t believe it has been 15 years since I meet him. There are days it feel like it was just yesterday. I knew his past – his Dad killed himself when he was young and he rebelled. He still did things that you would expect a troubled youth to do, but that stuffed seemed to stop once we started dating.
I can’t really complain about the first year and a half of the 3 years we were together. We were a normal, young couple in love. Everyone thought we were a happy couple. Then I got pregnant. It wasn’t planned, but I was young and “thought” I was in love.
That’s when you started telling me how worthless I was. It’s also when you started to hit me. A punch in the arm here. A shove there. Then you started with my stomach. Told me I was stupid and I wasn’t going to have this baby. You forced me to have an abortion, which in hindsight I am glad I did, mainly because I think if I had carried this baby longer, You would have made sure it didn’t survive.
I was no longer allowed to see my friends. I feel into a deep depression and was heart-broken when you broke up with me. What to do with all of this new found freedom? Take a trip with my BFF of course! Well, once you got wind of that, you had to have me back. Could it be the rumor that I was planning on moving with her to Florida, start a new life? Foolishly I agreed to meet you for lunch. I let you make me think you were truly sorry and wanted me back.
Things only got worse. I had a curfew, had to sneak out to be with my friends, could only do what you wanted me to do. The beatings and verbal abuse got much worse the second time around. I remember the time I picked you up from work at one in the morning in the city and you beat me in my own car because I was listening to a mix tape of songs that my favorite cover band played. A stranger came up to the window as you were banging my head into the car window. He said he was calling the cops and told me to get out of the car, that he’d help me. You stopped hitting me long enough for me to drive away, only to start punching me in the legs the whole ride home.
If I loved you enough, you’d stop, I told myself. You told me how much you loved me.
You were only doing this because it’s what your Dad did to your Mom.
I started sneaking out to go out with one of my BFFs. I started having fun again, feeling like myself again. I cheated on you. I found a great guy, at my favorite hangout, who I had known since high school. He worshiped me. He told me how smart, beautiful and fun I was. It gave me my confidence back.
I got the nerve to leave you. I made sure to do it when everyone was home at your Mom’s house.You proposed to me, told me you’d already asked your Mom for her engagement ring your Dad had given her. I took all my stuff out of her house and moved right in with my new boyfriend. I lived 10 minutes from you for 3 years and you never knew.
To this day I live with the scars you left me, physically and emotionally. I have been on and off anti-depressants for 10 years. I have panic attacks when I am reminded of a bad beating. I freak out when my husband tries to kiss me (like if I am leaning up against the counter & he blocks my way out). I feel trapped, yet I know he would NEVER lay a hand on me.
Luckily I found REAL love with my husband. I told him EVERYTHING you did to me and he still loves me. I am damaged goods, but he loves me anyway. You told me if I left you NO ONE would want me. I can count on one hand the number of people who know what you did to me, but I need to get it all out.
I was a silly, young girl who believed I could change you. I now know, that you were the one who changed me. Not because you loved me, because what we had WASN’T love.
You made me stronger, no I made me stronger.
I survived the hell you put me through.
by Band Back Together | Nov 29, 2010 | Abuse, Addiction, Alcohol Addiction, Coping With Domestic Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Economic Abuse, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault |
You beat me mercilessly and I learned to be gentle with my own kids.
You said hateful things to me and I learned to weigh the consequences of my words carefully.
You sexually abused me and I learned that I could survive pure evil.
You were a raging alcoholic and I learned to watch my alcohol consumption, lest I become you.
You thought only of yourself and I learned to think of others.
You were angry and cruel and I learned that being kind is worth the effort it sometimes take.
You were a judgemental bigot and I learned to be accepting.
You were a horrible parent and I learned what kind of parent I never wanted to be.
You were a horrible husband and I learned to look for a loving heart before appearance, wealth or status.
You always found someone else to blame for your problems and I learned to accept responsibility for my actions.
You would jump to conclusions and accuse and I learned to listen.
You preyed on the weak and I learned to fight for the underdog.
You lied and cheated to get what you wanted and I learned to be honest and trustworthy.
You told me I was worthless and I learned to find my worth from within.
You tried to break me and I learned I have a strength I never knew was possible.
You showed me who you were and I learned exactly what I did NOT want to be.
You tried to kill my spirit and, in the end, all I had learned, set my spirit free.
by Band Back Together | Nov 24, 2010 | Domestic Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Rape/Sexual Assault |
It’s been 11 years.
Today, I’m a married step-mom/grandma who has a very comfortable relationship. Today, you are….what exactly? In public, you’re a poet who worships women. Back then I was dying for someone to love me. Back then you were a predator who wanted someone to bend to your will.
Today we’re “friends” on Facebook. It’s really not as big of a deal as I was afraid it would be. You’re trying to portray yourself as someone who is spiritual someone who adores women. I know that to bash me would really kill your whole “women are to be worshiped and adored vibe.” Plus, if you ever tried to hurt me again, not only would I turn you into the police…again…but my wheelchair-bound husband could still kick your butt.
Because let’s face it…your prey of choice is those who can’t fight back.
But I read the things you write and it takes everything I have not to call “bullshit” on it.
You talk about sexually worshiping women, but the only person you’ve ever worshiped is yourself. You couldn’t bring yourself to have intercourse with me because you “didn’t like it” and it was “too much work” so you insisted all we ever do was oral. Then, when you got what you wanted, you would begin to criticize everything I did. You could have physically punched me in the stomach and it would have hurt less.
What would your little followers who think you are light and love think about that?
I won’t tell them. I know how it would make me look and I know that it would start a war against me that I don’t want to deal with.
Because the fact of the matter is, I am who I am because of you. I took your list and tried to make myself into that person. I didn’t clean house enough, so I got up at 5:30 and cleaned before work. When I started gaining weight, I got up at 4:30 and exercised before I cleaned house. Then, when I didn’t help enough with the “business,” I would get home and work on the business until 9 or 10 PM. Then it was the sex. We weren’t having enough. So then I’d stay up until 11 or so and get sexually abused by you until I was either in tears or you had decided it was enough for the night.
I was wound so tightly that when I left the house I would fall asleep wherever I was. Not a good idea at work. I’d lost so much weight that people were offering to feed me. Then we had the fight and you said that you couldn’t see where I had done anything differently over the previous weeks. Then you pushed me physically. Which just happened to be a mental push as well.
Since then, no man has been allowed to abuse me. The husband is your complete opposite. You quit your job and left me to support you because you didn’t like your boss. The husband hasn’t missed but two days of work due to his own illnesses in the last 10 years and he’s in a damn wheelchair! You criticized anything and everything. He criticizes nothing. You’d tell me you love me only to follow it up by a verbal drop-kick. He doesn’t tell me he loves me very often, but he would never do anything to hurt me.
Now I read your posts and I roll my eyes because I know the truth. You lie.
You are not who these women believe you to be. Not even close. And if they get something out of reading how women are supposed to be worshiped and adored, great. Maybe they need that. Maybe that’s your purpose.
But if they ever meet the real you, then they’ll know the truth, too.
