My Story of Abuse, Perfection and Pain

WARNING: The following may be triggering material. Please proceed with caution and leave this page if you feel like hurting yourself. You can just click on this link Home or Safe Haven .

Abuse

Abuse…what a word. Who would have thought that five little letters could form such a devastating word. Add words before it like, physical, emotional, sexual…and that word becomes even more powerful, even more detrimental.

I was abused. Physically, emotionally…even sexually. It tore my life apart. Five little letters…five little letters transformed my life into what is it is now. Five little letters almost destroyed me. Five letters forced me to choose between life…or death. Five little letters still cause me so much pain even to this day.

My Story

This is my story. I’ve rewritten it more times than I can count. When I first had my story up here on my website, I talked about what a bastard my father and brother was and how great my life should be with my mother and step father and adorable little brothers. I thought there was something inherently wrong with me- that I was so fucked up because I couldn’t be happy in a seemingly perfect family. What a bunch of bull shit. I was so blind I didn’t see any of it.

That is until a counselor took a chance on me and began to open a whole new world for me. Slowly, but surely she began to peel away the layers of my life. No easy task, as every defense mechanism in the books- I employed. It takes an incredible woman to take on a person like me. I was so walled up in the prison I called my head, that I was willing to die for the secrets I kept in my head. Willing to die, for the secrets I kept in my head. What a phrase…and what a truth, because in reality that is what it came down to. Luckily, I realized that no secret was worth dying for. So I admitted- yeah my parents both physically and emotionally abused me and my brother physically abused me.

Physical...

I will just give a brief synopsis, as it’s painful to talk about. My parents used a belt (and my mom favored a wooden spoon) and spanked me- I call it spanking, but most people would call it a beating. I'm still dealing with the extent of the beatings, so I guess by calling it spanking, I'm still trying to minimize this. Especially if you throw in that I sometimes was hit with a bare bottom…which I always found something inherently wrong with that, but just left it at the back of my mind. My mom was also known to slap me…up until I was an early teenager. She'd also hit me in the arm and shoulder with the spoon. And then my brother…we didn’t horse around like normal siblings. No- that is supposed to be two way, and no one is supposed to get seriously injured. I would cry out no again and again, yet he’d still come after me. I would say most of the time he would do something to smother me. Let me tell you- being smothered is not a pleasant experience- you are completely and utterly helpless. I detest…despise that feeling more than any other. He'd also wrestle me to the ground and get me in a hold that hurt...really hurt. And even when I did complain to my family time and again, my calls for help went unnoticed. Which brings me to emotional abuse.

Emotional...

I lived in a war zone, so already that in itself lends itself to emotional abuse. My brother was the quintessential screw-up and I was the successful child. But because of that I got lost in the shuffle. I was pushed harder and held to a double standard. When the divorce came and I lived with my mom, things were even worse. When we moved to Virginia, to a harder school system and stuck up people, I had a hard time adjusting. But I worked my butt off and still made not so good grades for a while. And no matter what I did, I couldn’t make friends easily because everyone stuck their nose up. But night after night my parents, well my mom, would yell at me for my grades, for not studying hard enough, for not having friends. It was so very hard and left me feeling so worthless. Thus, from age thirteen on, I began feeling suicidal. I went to bed every night dreaming of ways to do the deed. It was a miserable way to live. And it never let up, even to this day I face that, despite my mom’s repeated sayings that she learned from that and trusts me that I am doing my best. Bull shit. I could make straight A’s and she’d still find fault.

Add to that- they never listened to me or believed me. When my brother came to visit- he could do no wrong- which meant if he did beat me up, no one cared. And then my brother would make jokes about me in front of everyone and they would laugh- I told them it wasn’t funny, that it hurt my feelings. You know what they said? “Lighten up, you’re too serious.” I still can’t believe that…and still get that to this day. Also, my parents think my having any problems is taboo and not spoken of. And if I should happen to need to go to the hospital (I’ve racked up five visits so far), I get yelled at. Yelled at! For wanting to get help!! I still don’t understand that. I’m about to loose my life and all my mom can think about it how it affects her and not me. Can we say narcisstic? But, I digress. I can write a book just on her uncaringness for her own children.

Sexual...

And finally…the dreaded sexual abuse…derived by my cousin. I refuse to talk about that here, but I finally have talked about it in therapy and it is still a source of great pain for me. If I were to rate the abuse, physical would be third, emotional and then sexual, as far as how much pain it causes. And then there's the nagging feeling that somewhere in my past before my cousin, I was abused. I have fractured memories that I just can't put together...But I have such a strong feeling that something happened and I just can't pull it together in my mind. But hell, remember what my cousin did is enough pain for a lifetime...I think I'd rather not remember what else happened.

Father...

And so that’s a little history on me. Those that have followed my story know that for about six years I didn’t speak to my father, but we have regained contact and are really making a strong bond. I do love him, never stopped- but in my world, I had a choice to make and unfortunately for my health, for my well-being, for a better chance at living instead of dying, I had to choose to take him out of my life for a while. I don’t regret that decision, because I think for that time period, that is what was needed. He needed time to grow up and I needed time to see past the lies told to me.

Lies...

Much of my life’s foundation was built upon lies. It has now been my responsibility with my counselor as my guide, to uncover these lies, to move past them and all the pain that surrounds them. And that is my story. My story of beating the odds against me. And they are stacked.

Disorders...

Along with the abuse, I began abusing my body with self injury. Plus, it appears my mind is being ravaged with both Bipolar and ADD…both detrimental to me as well. So I get to deal with all of this while going to school and working with children with autism. It’s quite a world I live in and I’m still not quite sure how I do it, but I do. I guess it’s a way of saying- I won’t let them win.

And that is where I’ll stop my update. The following is my thoughts on cutting- when it began…when my downfall began…when the lies finally caught up to me and I had to stop running and stay and face the demons inside. It’s been a long journey already, and part of me is still at the beginning…but at least I’m fighting. At least I’m still here, living, breathing and succeeding. I won’t let them win. I am stronger than that and I have so much to offer this world. So here I am, take me as I am- that is all I ask of this world.