How can you help?
First, you need to recognize potential signs of abuse. I want to emphasize that these are POTENTIAL signs of abuse. It's usually a combination of these that indicate abuse. For example, one of the signs of abuse I will list pertain to clothing--sometimes, those are just signs of poverty. Although that is a serious issue too, that doesn't always indicate that there is abuse going on (although poverty lifestyles are more likely to breed abuse)

Here are some of the signs:

1. A child who is consistently dirty and having a foul odor. (Although we all know that kids are always GETTING dirty, we know that caring parents clean them up and that they aren't like that the majority of the time)

2. A child whose clothing is always covering them completely, even in Summer, may be hiding bruises or other marks such as cigarette burns, cuts, etc.

3. A child who is afraid to talk to the school nurse or to be uncovered in front of medical examiners may have been told that they are not to allow anyone to uncover them,but not for fear of sexual abuse. This child may have not been told why they shouldn't uncover, or they may have been threatened with consequences if they should.

4. A child who doesn't consistently eat lunch may be going through abuse. A child should either have one from home, have money for one or be on some kind of school lunch program. Lack of money is no excuse to deny a child his or her food.

5. A child who does not associate with anyone on a regular basis, or make strong ties with anyone, or seem to care that others want to have ties with them, may be being abused. Kids like that are loners because they have too much on their minds to bother with human connections, or they may feel like nobody can be trusted.

6. A child who is never allowed to participate in school activities may be being abused. I was not allowed to have anything to do with my peers because of the secrets I was supposed to be keeping and because of my parent's unreasonable religious views that saw all people outside of church as a threat to our salvation. Although parents may be poor and not have money for kids to participate, there are free things to do like after school homework labs or sketch classes or whatever and kids should always be allowed access to these things on a reasonable basis.

7. Children who are raised in fundamentalist religious home may be experiencing abuse. My parents believed that the man controlled the home and that he was responsible for keeping all of us out of Hell when we die, so whatever he said went. This is true of a lot of religions. I am not saying that there is anything wrong with introducing religion to children, but using it as an excuse to beat them and their mother is wrong.

8. Kids who seem to "fall" a lot, or who have mysterious pains that keep them from participation in activities may be being abused. I had "back pain" a lot--sometimes it was from actually being abused, and sometimes it was to avoid changing clothing in front of a gym teacher who might see marks on me.

9. Kids who only get medical care when the school nurse files a report for the state may be being abused. Lack of money isn't an excuse to deny kids medical care, there are plenty of services out there to help if parents don't make a lot of money.

10. Kids who never seem to have fun at anything may be being abused. It is hard to have fun when you have the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Those are some of the more subtle signs. Some of the more overt ones include:

1. Kids who are violent more often than not. It may not be just a behavior issue

2 Kids who come from a home in which illegal drugs are used to the detriment of the children. What I mean by this is that the drug use threatens to have the home seized, or the drug use takes food and clothing and other neccessities away from the kids

3 Kids who come from poverty are generally more susceptible to abuse, since poverty creates stress beyond what is normal and everyday. While not all impoverished kids are abused, they are statistically more likely to be abused

4 Kids who grow up in rough neighborhoods fall into that statistic more often too

There are a lot of things that contribute to abuse, but none of them are valid excuses. These are really meant just to make you aware of what you see, and to embed some curiousity into you about what you see.

There are things you can do to help.

First, know where you would report abuse if you had to. These agencies are usually listed in the front of the phone book. You can also report abuse to the cops, to the superintendent of a school or to a school nurse.

Don't be afraid to approach whomever you suspect of abuse, but do it carefully. NEVER go right in and accuse someone. If you think there is something wrong there, strike up a conversation and see what the vibe is. See how the person reacts to human contact.

If a child is being abused and you just know it but you can't prove it, report it anyway. It gets a file going on these people. While many people complain about our currently overworked child protection service and you may hear horror stories about it, it's what we have and we have to use it.

I lived in an apartment building above an abused child who lived in filth and violence. I made sure I was the nosy neighbor by bringing the family food ("Geez,I can never cook for just too--just too much food here...")because I knew that they "smoked" a good part of the budget. I regularly bought clothing for the little girl, took her away for an hour or two here and there to get away, etc. I did what I could get the family to let me to do, even though we had almost no money. I reported them to a few people and they now have social workers popping in on them at random. Since I was their "friend" they never thought it was me. This may be sneaky but I don't give a shit, that poor little girl should have been taken away from those people. Unfortunately, they have a new baby so it continues. But, for the rest of her life, that little girl will know somebody cares and they will all be under constant scrutiny.

You can make a difference. You may be scared that if you tell, you are putting some kid's life in danger. Well, I can tell you that I get VERY tired of people who knew me growing walking up to me and saying "I felt so sorry for you" and "Your father is a horrible man" and "I should have done something". LISTEN TO ME: I would have been better off in a foster home, dead, ANYTHING than where I was! Kids can't speak for themselves on this, WE MUST!

This is an addition to what I posted before, just to give ou some perspective on what it took to turn things around for me.

I will start with my first marriage. I thought I loved him, but it turned out, when I was honest with myself, that I married him to get out of the house. That was a nearly fatal mistake.

He came from a violent home too, and to top it off, he's a classic "bad boy". I mistook his tough demeanor for strength and thought of him as protective. What he was was phenominally mean.

Then there was the alcohol. He would often, three or four days a week, have to start drinking at about four oclock in the morning just to get through the day. It wasn't until I started to get help for myself that I realized that this wasn't normal--I thought that everyone grew up that way. His parents were always fighting, physically and verbally.

The further we got into the relationship, the worse it got. I should have known that something was wrong when he came back from a six month tour of duty at sea and he didn't want me to join him and get a place together. I should never have gone, but it seemed like the natural thing to do, to live with your husband.

When we lived near Camp Lejeune in a trailer, the first week was great. Then it all started to go downhill. Suddenly, I wasn't able to do anything right. I tried harder-- I tried cleaning more, cooking more, working more hours to bring in more money--anything to make him happy. It wasn't working.

He saw me walking home with a black co-worker one day, and I paid for that in a tirade that lasted for hours.

A friend of ours who was on the ship with me one day asked me if my husband had been tested for STDs yet. It turns out they were with the same prostitute in Spain, and the friend had contracted an STD from her. My husband turned out negative, and I forgave him.

When his time in the military was up, it was time to head back to Maine. By then the drinking was very heavy, but by no means as bad as it was going to get.

In Maine, he resumed relationships with two women he had been with in the past (two that I can prove, anyway). I stopped having sex with him because I was scared of contracting an STD, so he raped me and tried to snap my neck. I was able to hide a lot of the marks that he made.

As I said in the previous entry, I got some help and I kicked him out. That was the night that he showed me that he had gotten his papers from the military--he was being shipped off to Saudi, or to replace troops that were being shipped off to Saudi. He would know which one when he got back to Camp Lejeune. He put the papers in front of me and said "I want a divorce, c***"

I threw him out that night, I was done playing games. My sister, who had run away from home to live with me, and I left and took shelter that night. The next day, we went and packed what we could and went to the apartment I had secured with help from the town we were living in.

I cried that night and the next day, got up and went to work. I was going to be safe, about one or two minutes from the police station, a five minute walk from work and a little further from a hospital.

I had no money for food and I had a younger sister to feed so I had to ask for welfare from the town. I couldn't afford to heat the place so I just kept it warm enough to keep it from freezing most nights, until I ran out of fuel and had to keep the water running so it wouldn't freeze. My sister moved in with her boyfriend eventually, and her life became a nightmare with him, as I learned later.

I met my current husband at work and we fell in love. My mental problems were becoming unmanageable then, and then I contracted mono. I was in bed for a month and again had to ask for welfare, which added to my stress level.

When he had to go to boot camp and then for a year stint in Korea, I fell apart. My life was a long struggle with working way too many hours and not making enough money, even with the support that he sent to me, and a mental breakdown that was tearing me up.

When he got back, we went to live on Fort Knox.

My nightmares were horrible by then, and I was barely sleeping many nights and crying most of the time. I had a terrible time when I had to leave the house--I always had this feeling that people could look at me and tell that I was "crazy". I was scared of being touched. I still had my old cat and my husband with me, the only two beings on Earth that I could trust. My sister was going through her own horrific problems at the time, one of them being that her husband was intercepting our correspondence so that we couldn't communicate.

One night, when he was to be shipped off to Canada for a 30 day field exercise, I lost it and just couldn't stop crying. He took me to the hospital and the psychiatric nurse looked at me and said "You aren't the only one with problems. The psychiatrist is too busy to see you and if you bother him he will be angry with you" They denied me mental health care right there on the spot.

A worker there witnessed what was going on and he thought it was wrong, so he got me some temporary help. Inge, the lady who kept me going, helped my husband get a discharge so that I could get the intensive care that I needed.

When we got out, we moved to New Hampshire and he and I had jobs in just a few days (we were willing to take anything, just to be working) Unfortunately, we didn't have medical coverage because we couldn't afford it and my mental care wasn't possible.

After a couple of years of dealing with my problems, though, enough was enough. The last suicide attempt was too close, and we went to the hospital, who referred me to a doctor. This "doctor" took me to his office and with the door open, with everyone walking by, began to ask very personal questions of me (I didn't even know him yet and I wasn't going to answer questions in front of everyone anyway) He decided I wasn't cooperating enough and took me back to the waiting room. Right there, in front of other patients, he started telling us that I was to be hospitalized and restrained, that I was a danger,etc. This made me really sour on psychiatry, I tell you what.

But then, it happened. A referral service at work ( a free 800 number) told me about United Way, and how to contact them for help. Eventually, they found me a wonderful counselor named Pam and she started me on daily therapy for several months, letting me run up a bill and pay it as I could. She suggested disability for my mental condition, since by that time the crying, the agoraphobia, the nightmares, etc. were actually interferring so badly with my sleep and nutrition that I was losing my hair, I was getting sores on my body, etc.

I got disability and that paid up my bills. I continued seeing her until she moved away, and then I started seeing another counselor at the agency.

Then, the agency changed hands and I was told that she was no longer going to be able to help me because they were assigning her to another department and they left me high and dry. The psych who dispenses my meds helped me to find the person I see for therapy now.

It's an ongoing process. I will probably be on meds my entire life, and I will probably be in counseling my entire life. I still feel guilty sometimes that when I was thrown into the parental role in my house , that I wasn't able to do better for my brother and sister. On occasion, I have nightmares and I still cry every so often.

However, I am happy way more often than I am not happy now. I drive, I take care of a house and husband and animals, I go to school, I look forward to things now, I can leave the house 99% of the time without fear.

As for my father, he no longer acknowledges me and that is just fine. He had many affairs in his life, and the woman he officially left my mother for eventually died of cancer. During her death, he threw away all of her things, refused to let any of her children see her and moved in his latest tramp (my sister had a brief attempt at a relationship with him, so she was able to relate all of this to me) He continues to terrorize family members by poisoning their animals, getting into violent fights, etc. He bilked my grandmother out of her 50 acre farm before her Alzheimers took her over, and then he sold it. It was the only place in my childhood where I remembered being happy most of the time and now it belongs to strangers. I hope he rots in Hell, and I hope that someday he knows what it's like to continually get a belt buckle to the head and to feel a gun barrel to his forehead when he is scared.

My mother married another abusive man and lives in squalor, drinking most of her welfare money. She to this day doesn't recognize her role in all of this. She hasn't sent me a birthday card in about 20 years, doesn't wish me Merry Christmas, etc. I hear from her when she needs something.

My brother is developmentally challenged (moderate retardation) and has been and still is involved in drug and other crime activity. He has a wife and a kid and he abuses them both. He isnt talking to me because I have interferred and now social workers are on his butt all the time. They live in filth and drink and smoke most of their welfare away as far as I know--I have been trying to find him to check up on the baby. I will not hesitate to interfere as much as I need to.

My sister lives next door to me and we are best friends. Currently, she, my hubby and myself are all in school (she's going to be a dental hygienist, hubby is bacheloring in mech/manu engineering in design discipline and I am becoming a computer nerd) Her hubby doesn't need to go to school because he is highly skilled in carpentry, plumbing and electrical, but he wants to go to school too because we all want to be good examples to the children in our lives, even tho we don't have any human babies of our own. We both got some help, pulled ourselves up and moved on and we have great hubbies, great kitty-children and a great life.

You can do it too, or someone you know can do it. I will do all that I can to help anyone who needs it.

This is mostly for the ladies at the Xchange, but anyone is welcome to read it. This isn't being written to generate pity for me, but to inspire anyone who is going through a hard time to keep going.

It doesn't start out nicely. My mother was pregnant with me when my parents were married, and that was at a time and place when that just wasn't done. My father never wanted me and resented me my whole life. He took every opportunity to tell me that and show me that. I was the reason he was trapped in a marriage that he never wanted. He had left other women with his children but for some reason he didn't get away with it this time.

We started out dirt poor and for most of our lives we lived like that. I remember having to help steal food for us--nothing like midnight raids in a frosty potatoe field.

My father couldn't hold a job because of his temper and laziness, so we were always being thrown out of somewhere. Many times we lived in whatever vehicle we had at the time.

The poverty didn't abate, but our family grew as my sister was born. My father was prepared for my sister and therefore he didn't resent her, and it was obvious to everyone that he wasn't as unhappy about her. He still abused us both , but for some reason he felt sorry for beating on her and not for beating on me.

When my little brother was concieved, the shit really hit the fan. He was originally part of a pair of twins. My father threw my mother down the basement stairs when he found out that she was pregnant again, and killed the other fetus. At that time, laws for domestic violence, especially in Central Maine, were not agressive and he was never charged.

This is the basic setting for a life that was miserable from the start. My father was, and probably still is somewhere, fanatically religious, and we all had to live like that. Our house was ruled with an iron fist. He was the man of the house and what he said was what went.

I remember that he wouldn't take us to the doctor because we were always covered with bruises. Do you remember that kid in your class who was always dressed in ratty clothes, often inappropriate for the season, always dirty and smelly? That was me. We had to wear clothes that covered us at all times. We were forbidden to wear shorts in gym class or short sleeved shirts. Bathing was difficult because we lived in a cold water house, and our father wanted us to bathe in the kitchen in front of him.

I still, to this day have probelms driving when someone else is in the car because it reminds me so much of the stuff that he used to do to me when he would take me out for "driving lessons" I didn't get my license until he was gone. I remember many nights waking up screaming with night terrors, and having him come into my room and put a gun barrel to my head--he would say "If you wont shut up, I will shut you up" I remember him going to preach in church and then come home and do something like get us out of bed at two oclock in the morning to wash every dish in the house, or stack wood out in the yard, or wash the car. I remember for a long time he would spank us every single day because he knew that we were sinfull and we were going to do something bad--this way, we would have had our punishment already.

He didn't work much of the time so I worked as far back as I can remember. He was often at another house with one of his girlfriends, my mother was almost always in bed, and they were both addicts. If my father found out that I had earned money and bought food with it, he would take it to his other household so I had to dig a place out in the dirt basement and hide it so that I would have something to feed the kids. At one time, I was cleaning houses, wallpapering and painting, doing yardwork and working in a factory to keep the house going. He finally left the house, and at 18 there I was, feeding my mom, my cousin who moved in for a couple of months,and my brother and sister. The house was three months in arrears and almost ready for foreclosure, we had no working car and no health insurance for anyone except me.

People would find out along the way what our father was putting us through and would tell him that they were going to turn him in, which lead to even more moving around. I have moved over 100 times--our shortest stay was one night in an apartment when someone he knew caught up to him.

We we also migrant farm workers, going from farm to farm harvesting crops or tending to animals. I missed a lot of school but the animals kept me together.

Somehow, my constant companion was my cat Tuffy. He and I always found a way to stay together. When he died at the age of 21, I was devastated.

Now, top this all off with mental illness. It runs in my family, and I am no exception. I have been depressed ever since I was a little girl. My parents were sure it was demon possession (I am serious with you here) Whenever I would retreat and cry for days, they would try to exorcise the demons from me. When that didn't work I was "Not right with God" and until I was, I wasn't going to be able to get rid of the "demons". Same for puking, the shits,fever,etc. Same thing applied when my brother pushed my sister into a steaming hot bucket of mop water--no hospital, just a prayer circle.

My mother is not blameless in any of this. Whenever my father wanted to sniff my underwear, it was somehow my fault. When my father ripped apart my brother's bed to look for a snow boot, that was my fault. When my father was perverted toward me, it was my fault.

Just skimming over my first marriage--I married him to get out of the house even though I though at the time that I loved him. He was just another re-creation of my father and he abused me just at much.

I started to get some help with my problems, and finally I kicked him out to go home to live with his mom or the assortment of whores he was pumping while we were married.

I married Larry. When I was married to my first husband, we were apart for 18 months of our three year marriage due to military. I was apart from Larry for the first 17 months of our marriage. My mental state deteriorated until I was at the point of losing my job and apartment, crying all the time, losing days at a time that way.

When we moved to Fort Knox, the nightmares were becoming unbearable and I was falling apart fast. We decided not to have kids and I went through a battery of mental testing--it was, in the opinion of my surgeon, best for me not to reproduce.

I am skimming to this part now, where I am healthy. I can tell you stories, but I will make this brief. I went through years of going to the hospital to prevent my suicide, thorugh daily counseling for months, through twice almost losing my husband due to a deadly illness and a horrible car accident. Yes, there is a LOT more to tell, but I won't do that here, unless you want me to.

My point is this--today I am alive! I got the help I needed. I am not that "ugly little kid" my father was always calling me. I am just shy of an A average in school (I gave up my place in school to take care of my family when I was a teenager). I have a house and we each have a car, I am not living in squalor. I am a year away from graduation. I am vibrant and vital and loving. I still have my down days, but now I can recover from them.

Bottom line:

1. If you or someone you know is being abused, no matter who is doing the abusing, it is wrong. People are often afraid to tell on an abuser because of circumstances. There were many adults in my life and they all come to me now and say that they wish they had said something but they were afraid. Afraid of what? Whatever happens, even death, can't be as bad as what the victim is going through. TELL TELL TELL!

2. Nothing in life has to hold you back from doing good for yourself. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, and with help, anybody can. You don't have to go it alone, there are lots of free or low-cost help options for you--contact any mental health facility, even if can't afford it. They will help you find someone you can afford.

3. Parents have an obligation to their children to see that they are happy, healthy, well-socialized and balanced and safe. If your child isn't that way, you are not doing your best. While I realize there are some mental illnesses that cannot be easily rectified, they will not get better if you just let them "Grow out of it" or whatever. Take care of your kids, and don't let anyone abuse them.

4. You can be happy and okay. There is a way to do it, you just have to find out how!