In Honor of Child Abuse Prevention Month

The fight started over food.  I was a "fat" little "wetback" who had no business eating this prestigious white man's food.  I remember thinking that I just wanted to go home.  Home to my biological grandparents.  Home, where I was safe and had enough to eat and no one called me names (other than "smart" and "beautiful").  The homesickness combined with the unfamiliar ache of hunger brought tears to my eyes.  They over flowed.

My mom sat there next to me and tried to hug me.  He didn't allow that.  So he hit her.  This was not an uncommon scene with her.  My piece of shit biological father got off on the same kicks.  Her mental illness made her an easy target for wolves in Christian clothing.  And boy did they feast on her weakness.  With the way they both kept lapping it up - it must have been delicious.  This particular blow brought out a pained whimper.  I couldn't stand to see her suffer.  I wanted to kill that son of a bitch.  Being 6 years old didn't hamper my acute awareness of what was going on.  I don't think I have ever been naive.  Not even was I was 3, watching her get her face stomped in.  I knew what that bastard was going to do to her and I knew what this one would do too.  The blood from her lip was bright against her skin.  My instinct was to hug her and when I tried, I got a matching wound.

This man was nothing short of a calculating, sadistic fuck who thoroughly enjoyed his role.  He knew how much it hurt the both of us to watch the other writhe and he used it against us.  I tried to understand what he was thinking.  I asked him why I wasn't allowed to eat.  My insolence led to more slaps.  My crying from said slaps resulted in punches.  My mom would try to comfort me and she'd endure more hits.  You lose a lot of the sense of time when you're sitting there like that.  Really, you have no idea if minutes or days pass.  At the same time, it escalates quickly.  After my final attempt to be with my mom failed, he made sure that I wouldn't try again.  His belt was already off, because nothing drives points home quite like leather, so he wrapped it around my chest and secured me to the spindles of the wooden chair.

He loved to hear himself talk.  I imagine that delivering racial slur filled hate sermons to a little girl was empowering to him.  He soaked up that power and it energized him.  I was so scared.  At this point, pain was really non existent.  You grow numb and callused after a while.  I was more so scared of the unknown.  He could walk away right now and leave me here or he could keep this up all night.  He chose the latter on this particular evening.  Then, when he'd had enough, he went to bed, dragging my mother along.  I stopped crying, maybe that's why he walked away.  But I was left there, alone, in the dark, still attached to the chair.  This was only the introduction.

Those memories are ingrained in my head.  They are like physical scars all over my soul.  Those, and the ones after.  While they are no longer abscesses, they remain present.

Child abuse happens to kids of all walks of life.  It comes in different shapes, colors, textures, and varieties.  If you get to survive, you are rewarded with trust issues where you walk around flinching for years to come, whether there's a threat or not.  You get to carry with you new self esteem issues that you didn't have before or self abuse to put control back into your own hands.  The aftermath is almost harder to endure than the abuse itself.  You grow accustomed to knowing where you stand - on the lowest rung.  You become comfortable with your position - submitting to someone else's sick commands.  You can't fall any lower.  The ground is stable.  It's when you climb out that Phase 2 begins.  The light of Freedom shines and most would think that this is a dream come true.  And it is, just not for a long time.  It freaks you out.  You start to come to grips with what happened to you.  You get to this safe place and after a bit it starts to sink in - what happened is not normal, it's not okay, and now you're really fucked up.  Now you're like a wild animal being tamed.  You bite the ones who are trying to help because you forgot (or were never shown) what good people really are.

Every year for the last 5 years or so, I've used Facebook to educate people of facts of child abuse.  But, after a while, people just scroll on.  It's a bunch of stale % signs and "1 in"'s.  So, I thought I'd share an incident from my life to personalize several facts.  Child Abuse is real.  Child Abuse can be stopped.  Child Abuse doesn't have to be the end of a life.  Child Abuse has consequences (a 1.5 year prison sentence in my case).  Child Abuse has lifetime impacts.  I wish someone would have stopped it that night.  It was a busy apartment complex.  I wish someone would have called someone and spoke for me.  If you know that a child is being abused (physically, emotionally, sexually) and you do nothing - please remember this and : and The Bright Side is Suicide.

If you need help or need to report abuse, please visit one of the links below.

Rainn

Report child abuse

Child Abuse Prevention Month 2015

1 (800) 273-8255

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

Freedom

When I was a little girl.. around 7 or so... my biological mother met a man who would change me.  I was not just your average straight "A" student.  In the 2nd grade I was promoted to 3rd.  I was under evaluation for the gifted programs.  I had a pink bedroom.  I loved to dress up and look pretty.  E.T. lived in my closet.  Riding bikes was my favorite pastime. I loved Little House on the Prairie.  My shoes always had to match my dress.  My hair was brushed every day.  I read my Bible every night.  My "parents" made me feel like the smartest, most beautiful girl in the world.  I'd had my share of rough patches but overall - I was the smart, pretty girl that everyone loved.  And I felt worthy.

This man came along and wooed my (bio) mother.  She hadn't been with anyone since my (bio) father left when I was 3.  She was putty in his hands.  Things moved rather quickly from there.  Dates quickly became an engagement.  The warning signs were there and my parents fought with my (bio) mom.  They noticed hickies on my neck.  Bite marks.  All of a sudden I wasn't an outgoing little girl anymore.  I stopped doing my homework.  I withdrew.  He liked to hit me a lot and call me names that I didn't understand.  But he liked to kiss me too.  I didn't understand those either. 

My (bio) mother stopped letting me see my parents due to these fights.  They fought for custody.  Instead it ended with visitation every other weekend.  Then my (bio) mom just stopped picking me up.  One day during the summer of 1986 I was outside playing with my friends.  I hadn't seen (bio) mom in a long time.  Felt like ages when you are that little.  I looked up and saw her smiling face.  And I ran to her with no shoes on.  Then she ran with me.  He was in a car around the corner waiting with his green teeth and his crooked smile that made my stomach turn.  I cried but it didn't matter.  He made it very clear what would happen to me if my "wetback" mouth didn't shut up.  I cried for hours anyway.  He tied me to a chair in the living room of my mom's apartment that night.  He beat me so badly that I stopped crying.  Just so it would end.  I don't know how long I was in that chair.  My mom came home later and got me out.

Lots of days were like this.  I was able to go home a few times.  There were lots of fights.  My parents - him - my (bio) mom - him - police..... It didn't matter.  Nothing saved me.  By this time I had a baby sister, Bean.  She was beautiful.  And squirmy.  And I didn't know what to do with her but mom would have to work.  So I took care of her.  Our parents would send us toys and he'd sell them.  They would call and he'd hang up.  They'd come to see me at school but I wasn't there anymore.  Angie was left in my arms a majority of the time.  Looking back I can't remember how I did it.  There are lots of memories there.  None of which I think I can share.  But I was smart enough to try to get help.  Unfortunately, my voice wasn't heard in time.  My sisters suffered.  I suffered.

Several years later he served time in prison for what he did.  A year.  Seems rather short for stealing the innocence of 3 little girls.  The damage was done.  I shut down.  I had nightmares where he was trying to rape me again.  If I had a boyfriend I'd have flashbacks and get confused as to who was kissing me.  Killing myself seemed like the only way out.  I tried.  My parents couldn't help.  He came to our house once.  He called often.  In response I'd cut my arms.  He stole my self confidence.  He robbed me of my self esteem, my self worth.  Even now - 25 years later- the damage is still at the surface.  I still feel it.  He got his karmic repercussions quite a bit over the last few years but nothing in comparison. 

Have you ever taken a narcotic pain killer - for a toothache or some such malady - and actually felt the pain leave your body?  You know, that instant that the pain you had is gone?  That's what I felt when I read his name in the obituary section of today's paper.  I'll never get back what was taken.  But I'll sleep better knowing I no longer share oxygen with him.  He will never lay eyes on my sisters, my (bio) mom, my kids - anything again.  I may put on a pretty dress, make a nice dinner and pour a glass of wine and toast to FREEDOM.

A Raw Nerve

Over the last few days I have noticed a FB phenomenon going around wherein  FB users are encouraged to change their profile picture to a cartoon character in support of Child Abuse Prevention.  Seems like a decent thing to do.  I mean, who doesn't want to stand up and speak out against Child Abuse?  No parent that I know would ever condone child abuse in any way, shape or form.  If they do - well, I will report it if I am aware of it.  So it's best not to call your child "retarded", "stupid", "moron" or any other derogatory name in my presence.  Also, hitting (short of spanking which I equally consider deplorable) any part of a child's body other than a patoot with any other object or body part other than an open hand will also find you on the end of a phone call to the authorities.  Why?  Because I'm a bitch like that.  I digress... I'm thrilled that for several days my friends etc. raise awareness of this crime.  Kids are innocent little people that learn from us behavior that will carry them through life.  In turn, our legacy lives on and on and on.  Changing your pic isn't enough. (but a good start!)

I joke that I had 2 childhoods.  One was a blessing from God.  The other was a hellish nightmare that has plagued me in all aspects of my life since I was 7.  Without going into great detail I am the victim of severe child abuse.  Tied to chairs, denied food, belts, punches, neglect, demeaning/degrading, sexual abuse... It wasn't anything like Trudy Chase or Dave Pelzer but it did result in a prison sentence for 1 man, the removal of my sisters and I from the custody of our biological mother, physical and emotional scars and my adoption at the age of 14 by my maternal grandparents.  All could have been prevented had a little work been done.  Don't just change your profile pic.  Educate yourself on this subject.  Get to know signs.  Parents going through difficult times are likely to take things out on their kids.  If you know someone going through a major stressor (divorce, unemployment etc) and they have kids - check up on them.  Better those parents vent on you then on the children.

So please, in addition to changing your profile pic take 10 minutes to look at this: http://www.childwelfare.gov/preventing/preventionmonth/ and http://www.rainn.org/.  Also, check your local sheriff's department's website for links to the sex offender registry.  Know who is looking at your kids at home, at grandma's, at daddy's, at their best friends house.  Don't post pics of the outside of your house online and be picky about what pics you post of the inside.  Or mention where your children go to school.  Or what parks you frequent.  Know who you and your kids friend online.  It's amazing what you can get in a few clicks of a mouse.  Sometimes I know I sound like an overprotective freak.  That's okay with me though because my kids are worth it.  So are yours.