A True Experience About Being Abused: Where Did I Go Wrong?

 A True Experience About Being Abused: Where Did I go Wrong?

 

 

In Mid 1973, my mother became pregnant again. It would be her fourth child. She was afraid to tell my Father, because this pregnancy was unplanned. 

 

But eventually she did. And when she did, I interrupted them, and told Mom, that I specifically wanted a Sister. She had already had me, than two other brothers after. It was unfair. She agreed, and said she would do what she could. I told her, she was NOT to bring home more brothers. 

 

On the evening of April 3^rd, Mom went into labor. I don't exactly remember how she went to the Hospital, if Dad took her, the ambulance or what. All I do remember is sitting on the couch, with my Father, watching the massive amounts of lightening strike yonder. The boys were in bed, and it was storming badly.

Dad and I talked, like adults that night. But I was only nine. I asked him if he thought Mommy was going to be having a little girl, and he told me that he hoped that I would get what I want, but mostly, he wanted it healthy. We watched the lightening, and sat waiting to find out what Mom had had. I don't know when she called, or when she came home. I do know, that we found out later, that a tornado had touched down in Xenia, Ohio on April 3^rd and 4^th.

Mom brought me home exactly what I wanted, a little Sister. I was so glad. And then I asked what she named her, and she told me: Amy Lynn. I asked if those names meant anything, and she said- Amy was from Dads grandmother Amy, and Lynn was part of Moms favorite, and only sister- Linda. She said it sounded better as Lynn, so she made it that way. It really didn't matter me, I got what I wanted- a sister. Now I had my own living and breathing baby doll!

Before Amy went into Kindergarten, I had taught her to cursive her name, not just spell it in print. I liked to work with Amy, teach her, and help her to be a better person. Her Kindergarten teacher complained often, about how advanced Amy was, and Mom always had to explain that Amy had a Sister nine years older than her, and Amy learned all of the stuff she knew, from her.

I made Mom let Amy's hair grow, I wanted to fix it. I would put it up in rollers, brushed it, styled it and played with it. I loved making her look like Mickey Mouse!

We often put on plays for our parents, especially for Christmas. We did this on our own, no scripts, and our parents would actually sit and watch them. When Amy was young, we made her baby Jesus. The older she got, the more we all performed. We would dance to music of my record player-particularly Xanadu, and it was so much fun! Amy often performed on her own, too. She loved the attention, we have many photos of her wearing different clothes, especially my angel winged blouse, dancing and singing for Mom and Dad.

We would also go to parks in the Summer time, and walk paths, and do things, once we were allowed beyond the yard, and side walk. We would play at School play grounds, and in the creek bed, that went all over the city. We would follow it, and swim, and sometimes pack lunches, and make a day of it. We did a lot. We would even make Daddy's lunch and take it to him at work. We kept active.
But still, we managed to always get in trouble somehow, some way. Sometimes I never even understood half of the things we were getting yelled at for, or beat for. Because I was the oldest, I was supposed to be responsible, and for the most part I was.

But there was a time, when Amy wasn't quite three, that she ran away. Everyone was out looking for her. I got into so much trouble for her disappearance, I should have kept a better eye on her, and it was my entire fault. Eventually, Amy had heard us calling out her name, and so had the woman, to who's house she went. Amy stood on her porch; the woman would not let Amy leave, and yelled back at us. We went to her, excited we had found her. The woman told Mom, Amy was out wandering alone by herself, talking to everyone, being as friendly as possible. She claimed to of ask Amy where her family or parents were, and Amy told them she had permission to be out, she was visiting people. Amy never denied anything. I do think Amy, wasn't really sure what was going on, and didn't quite know that she had done anything wrong. She did know, though, that she upset us. Because we all were in trouble for her disappearance, we kept a better eye on Amy, now knowing that she thought she could and should run off anywhere she wanted. We weren't allowed outside for days, because of that, and we were lectured about it often.

When I turned eighteen, I ran away, fed up with being abused. When I called home, I wasn't allowed to talk to any of my siblings, instead- they were being lied to, and turned against me. I was told everyone hated me, even my own parents. Yet, they wanted me to return, where I would be safe. Eventually I did return, because my life had gone sour, and I knew I wasn't safe. I was told to get a job, so that is what I did. My siblings, didn't want anything to do with me, they owned all of my possessions, my bike, my toys- I was not allowed to have them back either. They made fun of me, and called me the run away, all the time. It became unbearable, and I would walk to work crying, each and every day, being hated was the worst thing I had ever felt. And being called the run away, was not the worst name, I endured being called through my childhood. But, I missed having a relationship with my siblings, although, it was obvious, they preferred hating me over anything else, no matter what I did, to try to prove I was good.

I was still in School, when I ran away, and my Mother, called the School, and told them that I was no longer at home. She told them to kick me out, and they did. So I tried to enroll in other schools, not only did they kick me out, but they expelled me. So I moved out of state, and tried to get an education that way, and was not allowed to. My mother, took away my Senior year from me. Now I was not allowed to have an education, and diploma, like most people. Now I was even more of a failure. The things I loved in life, like Band, and Garfield-were being taken from me, all one by one-to teach me a lesson. But this was far from the worst thing to happen to me.

Because I had been raped while I was a run away, this made me a slut, I had asked for it, and this too-made me a worthless individual. It was thrown in my face constantly. But like I said, I knew I had made a mistake, I knew it. This was how I did in fact, ended up raped. I had stayed with a friend, and that friend had a boy friend. And she had to go to work, and I was still home-with him. I didn't physically ask for it, but because I was there, I had run away, and because I was no good, I did feel as though, I made it happen. When it did, I did call home, crying, and it was the first thing they had told me, "You got what you deserved!" And I was not allowed to talk about it, yet they told my siblings. And they would ask me about it, when they decided to be nice to me, and once I would answer, then they would laugh, and make fun of me some more- the runaway.

During the time of me having a job, one Christmas my parents told us all, there would be far and few presents under the tree, because they couldn't afford to pay Santa this year. I felt bad for the kids. I went to Mom, about it. She said she didn't want my money, if I wanted to buy them something, it was fine, but she didn't want Santa or her to look bad, so I had to wrap the stuff, and write on it-From Santa. And I did. I used my brand new J.C. Penney card, and bought them clothes, and what few toys I could find at Penney's. I also used cash, and bought toys from Wool Worth's, and places like that. The kids had a great Christmas that year, and no one knew I helped, let alone cared. The presents for me, were far and few between, and I was told, it was because I was a run away.

That spring, I had found an old friend from Junior High, and we decided we wanted to go out. I was at the time, dating another guy, a bad guy and I knew it. But I liked this one, I had known him forever, so we went out, and I told him, how I was being treated at home, how I hated it. How I needed to find someone, and get out of there. I told him everything, including how I was beat on. He told me, he had had his eye on me, all through School, and that he knew- I was the one for him! He asked me to marry him, that night. I said yes, but knew we couldn't. After a few dates, I decided to bring him home to meet my family. Everyone hated him, and my sister, sat on ALL of my previous boy friends laps, except for David. She said he was ugly, and she didn't want him. I didn't care; he made me feel safe, and loved.

Eventually, we had sex, and became pregnant. David said it would be the only way, anyone would allow us to get married. My mother, took me to her doctor, told him I was a slut, and that I had sex with anyone and everyone. It was, a lie. But he of course, believed her, or at least-pretended to. When we went home, my mother sat me down, at the kitchen table and told me, my father would be disappointed in me, and would no longer want me to be a part of his family. I cried, and she cried. She pushed the kitchen table into my gut, and held it there, and told me she wanted me to miscarry, she didn't want a grand child, or me. She told me I was the worst thing that ever happened to her and Daddy. She also told me, and I quote: "I hope that when you finally do have children, I hope to God, that they are five times worse than you. This way you know, exactly how you made me and your Father feel!"

She made me tell Daddy, and he sat looking at me with a blank look on his face. I knew I had hurt him. Eventually he asked what David and I intended to do. I didn't answer. That evening, David came over, and asked my Daddy for my hand in marriage. Daddy said, we had no choice. We made our bed; we had to lie in it. He told us we needed to get out acts together, because we were not raising our child in his house.

So we went to David's family, and they tried to talk us out of marriage, and only wanted us to live together, in sin. We didn't want that, we firmly believed in marriage. And we actually, believed in marriage before sex, what we did, we knew we did wrong, but we did it, like I said, on purpose. David was trying to rescue me from the hell in which I lived.

Eventually, David's parents agreed, we were doing what we wanted, and they would help us, and take us in, and help us to get started.

The moral to this, is that-when I ran away, I lost the only thing in the World I ever wanted and loved- my siblings. My parents turned them against me, and made them hate me, and nothing was ever the same. Even to this day, my siblings hate me, because of my past. They cannot move on, they cannot and will not forgive, every time I do something wrong, this is brought up to my face, and thrown up all over again. How I hurt them, and wronged them. I am never allowed to speak up, and tell the truth. This is me, telling it now.

I never meant to hurt anyone. I loved my parents, even though they were abusive, and over killed on the punishments. And I especially loved my sister, she was my favorite. I wanted her, and I always felt, that I wanted her, even more than my own parents did. And that- to me was fine.

I think that my mother must have known, just how much my siblings and I loved one another. Maybe, and I can almost guarantee it, my siblings cried when I ran away. My sister, has told me, SHE and she alone, took over for my abuse, that they beat on her more frequently for and because of me. She told me, she didn't have to do anything wrong, that they would just beat her, and call her Deneale. I don't know if it is or was true. I know, she thinks-even to this day, that I did it to HER. And it is not a fact. At eighteen, you are supposed to be allowed to leave home, and make a life of your own. Apparently my family didn't think so, because they did make police reports against me.

So since I am not listened to, and no one seems to care what I have to say, I decided to write it down like this, at least before I die- this way-it is known that I did none of this, out of hatred, and to make other peoples lives a living hell.

To this day, I am proudly married to the same man, David and we have five children. We are in love, and have a wonderful and faithful marriage of over 22 years now. I have since returned to School, and even furthered my education. My children, just like me-are drug free. They are good and descent children, and I am proud of them.

Although, I was a failure as a teen. I am not a failure as an adult, even though my siblings think I am. I did what I had to, to survive and succeed. My only regrets are that you-my siblings were lied to. And for that I apologize.

Clo

Child Abuse: From the Eyes of a Survivor

 Child Abuse: From the Eyes of a Survivor

 

Since I was once a child, and am now a parent; I decided to to write something from personal experience: Child Abuse. 

 

However, that is not the only reason I have chosen this as my subject matter. 

 

The other reason is because I am a child abuse survivor. 

 

And before I even start, and before you even judge-allow me to say this: Child abuse IS a chain and a cycle. My mother was abused, as was her Mother, and so on it goes down the line. I have made it my goal in life, to make the buck stop with me. I've chosen and worked on this task alone and with the help of my husband. No guidance, no counseling, just the love and understanding of one's spouse who knew exactly what I went through in my life. 

 

My personal experiences with swats, belts, shoes, hot wheels racetracks and other weapons have made me very much on guard and in fear. They still haunt me to this day! I was so paranoid, that when I wed my husband at the young age of eighteen; when he would pull off his belt by the buckle and yank it through his pants; it would cause me to scream and cry. It wasn't long before my husband learned to leave the belt in his pants when he undressed.

Now mind you, I have no problem smacking the hand of a toddler and saying "No." It's when they get older and need their butts beat, that I encountered problems. For starters, I swing the belt, only to hit myself in the back. Not good. When nosey neighbors and family report you to the Child Welfare Agencies, you tell the agency you were abused and the caseworkers respond with, "Aaahhh......I get it." Immediate assumptions are made, and I'm labeled.

As the kids grow older more bad things are done that require punishments. I did the stand in the corner thing, the bar of soap for lying and cussing, grounding, time out, and removal of toys. But the only thing that ever accomplishes anything, I'm sorry to admit, is a swat. And I did a lousy job at giving them, and my kids made fun of me. I was told, "It felt like a cotton ball." That's fine, we'll wait until Daddy gets home. (Not too fair, it puts it off until he gets home and makes him the bad guy).

Anyway, Daddy takes off his belt, I cringe and he swats. By Jove, they feel his swats! They scream and tell us that they hate us. Mind you, only one swat, no over kill like I received. But none the less, my husband finds me in the bathroom crying. I can't take it. I physically see my siblings and I. And you would think after years of retraining and physically not seeing my siblings and I getting abused, that it would get easier. That I would adjust. But it just wasn't and isn't that easy.

 Eventually, as parents the kids get older, and fortunately for everyone involved- there are no needs for swats- not that they even ever received as many as you might even be thinking. My kids swats were far and few between, and they will tell you that! And again, only one to two! And yes, I am of course defending myself, because there are people out ther in this World who believe they should spare the rod!

And to top it off, the Child Welfare agencies do not make it an easier. The nosey neighbors, the School that tries to protect, the friends of the family, and most of all the family- always assume the worst, rather then ask how they can help. And then of course you have the School enforcing and instructing the Children "Mommy and Daddy can't beat you. If they do, you call this number." A child of most ages doesn't realize the word beat has many meanings and can be taken many different ways. Child Services doesn't say beat as in "bloody to a pulp." And the School doesn't say, beat as in "to death." They just say beat, and of course abuse.

Now don't get me wrong. I am not saying that there isn't a need for this agency, and I'm not saying that there aren't child abusers. Because I know darn good and well that there are. And the sad part is there are so many complaints, that the agencies cannot handle them all accordingly. Mind you, if Child Services could have a more reasonable way to deter the prank and bogus calls, I think it could get somewhere. A friend of mine, and myself came up with the following plan:

If you call in a complaint to the Child Welfare Agencies, and it is found out to be bogus, after the second or third call, your name and info, ALL of it, is given directly to the person that you made the call about. There will be no need to go through an Attorney or any legal maneuver to find out who did it. This way, the accused can approach the accuser, and ask why. I feel, yes, for some this could be a bad idea. I know there are people who think violence is the answer to everything. But for those of us who managed to irritate or offend our in-laws to have them call out of anger, to make your life miserable, then this would and could put a stop to it. Or at the very least, slow it down. It would also allow Child Services to focus on the real problems, rather than waste their time on the phony calls. While they are wasting their time on the bogus calls they received, someone could die. But like I said, this was something my friend and I thought up on our own. Yes, I know this is the real world, and nothing like this will ever happen. But it was a clever idea, now wasn't it?!

One thing that I insist with Child Welfare agencies, is that the caseworker should have children of their own, should have siblings and have studied Criminal Justice. This allows the caseworker to be familiar with sibling rivalry, parenting, and of course crime and criminals. This would also help in the inspection process when reports are made, rather they are fact or fiction, this would seemingly help a great deal.

So lets get point blank and personal-you want to know how I was abused? I have been asked this a number of times, to which I do have siblings witnesses, although the swat total, is different between the four of us....

I once had a very bad report card. I was told that I would get a certain figure of swats per "F." Prior to this incident, I had had surgery on my deviated septum, and was out of School for a period of time. My Parents didn't go to the School and pick up my make up home work. Therefore I had a bad report card, because the time frame didn't allow me time to get in my work, I was "supposed" to be doing it, while out of School, and at home. I brought home a straight "F" report card, even in Band and Art! I counted twenty four swats. Yes 24 was what you read. One of my siblings says 22, the other says 28. I do know that my butt, I am not kidding- did bleed. And my parents, oh I loved this: "This hurts me, more than it hurts you!"

When I went back to School the next day, my gym teacher asked if I would be dressing for gym class. I told her no. She wanted to know why. I SHOWED her why. My gym teacher reported my parents, my counselor reported my parents. Child Welfare agency investigated, and the case was closed, because I got what I was promised, and what I had ...um...allegedly asked for! This is one of y worst experiences, and trust me there are others.

My worst mental anguish came from my father, always hearing this all of my life: "I chose your Mother, not you." Those words have never ever left my head, and haunt me to this day. I have never said it to my Children, and neither has my husband. WE wanted our Children. WE chose to have them, each and every one of them! Children do not chose to be brought into this World! This is why I always say, watch what you say.

And I'd like to close with an eye opening poem that was emailed to me. The author of the poem, is given credit, as the author desired. That is all I have on the writer of this poem. But trust me, it will put a smile on your face!

I close with: Love your Children. You brought them into this World. YOU should love, adore them, nuture them, and be thankful that God has given you this blessing!