The Memories of Child Abuse

I was five years old when I first remember what it was like to be afraid of someone. My mom just got married to my stepdad and they just got into a huge arguement. I was eating some apple slices watching my favorite cartoon. Then, I looked over and watched, this supposed to be my new father figure, hit my mom in the face. Of course, I started crying because this was something that scared me. I was scared for my mom and I was scared of him. That's when he turned around and said to me, " You better stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about." These are the words that haunt me for the rest of my life and I will explain why.

So, as time went on and as I got older the abuse started happening to me instead of my mom. Yes, she tried to stop him many times but I think she was afraid of him just as much as I was. I was constantly getting abused. There was nothing that I could do. I was a child and I was helpless, well that's what I thought. Let me put it in a better picture for you what it was like in my household. I'm not talking about a smack or whopping on the behind when I'm being bad. No... this was nothing like that. I still remember this one time, like it was yesterday, even though I'm 29 years old. I was about 12 years old and in middle school. It was winter break and I was doing the dishes. I just got finished when he walked into the kitchen and saw that there were fingerprints on the glasses that I just washed. Let me stop there and ask you. What would you have done?

Well, I'll tell you how he handled it. He freaked out because of those fingerprints. He started punching me in the face over and over again. I slowly slid to the floor and had my back against the cabinet. I was trying to block my face. It was hurting so bad. He then said those words to me, "You better stop crying or I will give you something else to cry about." So, I tried to stop. I really did but I was in pain and hurt. That's when he dragged me through the kitchen, through the living room, and to the steps heading upstairs. He was dragging me by my hair. I can still feel the sting on my scalp. He let go and told me to go upstairs to my room. As I was trying to rush and get up the stairs, he grabbed me one last time. This time by the neck. He held me up in the air against the wall by my throat, as I'm gasping for air," I can't breathe." He let go and I fell to the floor. I hurried and ran up to my room and cried for the rest of the night away alone.

The next day, I came downstairs and those words that my mom asked still haunt me to this day. "What happened to your eye," she asked? I was in the uttermost shock because she was there. Did she turn a blind eye? Did she only want to see what she wanted to see? I still don't understand how she asked that. I whispered," he did that". My eye was so black and blue that it wouldn't even open. I also remember seeing my grandparents once during this time that my eye was healing and my mom told them that she accidentally elbowed me in the eye while trying to get the boogies from my little brother's nose. I was in disbelief that they didn't ask any other questions and that she can lie about what really happened.

The abuse like this happened over and over again until I was 18 and moved out. Of course, I can go on and on and tell you about several times that this happened to me. There would be a whole book on this if I kept going. After each time, he would say, "I'm sorry, you know that I love you."

It wasn't just physical abuse either. It was emotional abuse as well. He would call me fat, my butt's too big, ugly, I looked like a slut like my mom, and so much more. So, my whole life I was made to believe all of these lies that he infused in my brain. He made me believe that love is supposed to hurt physically and emotionally. I moved out of that house when I was 18. I now know that love isn't supposed to hurt. If someone loves and cares for you then they wouldn't do those things to you. I know now that he was just a sick individual that kept repeating a cycle that his family passed down to him. I am a survivor and I will make it. I don't want any kids to feel the pain that I went through. The cries of needing help but I felt like there was no one there to help. There are people that are there to help if you reach out. Even if you are scared to ask for help. Please just ask for help because the faster you can get out of the toxic situation that you are in the faster you can start the healing process.

The healing process will last a lifetime but over time it gets easier. There are days that I wake up and no longer think about what I went through. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Speak up and tell your story. I am a survivor. We are survivers.