Although the abuse I suffered was difficult there is a continuum to this. Many suffered less than me of course but, in reading others’ blogs, I’ve come to the realization… there are plenty of people out there who, as children, suffered a great deal more than I did.
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My parents should never have become parents… because they sucked at it. Dad thought himself a good father; mom… a good parent as well.
Both parents beat us. Mom used hairbrushes and hangers but this didn’t frighten me the way dad did. Dad was petrifying. Especially for me, the physical violence at his hand was intensely ruthless. There were rules… lots of rules which would change without my knowledge. Dad would start the sickening scenario of violence by asking me questions regarding his self-proclaimed ‘belief system’ he was indoctrinating us kids into (see Part-5 for more explanation about this). I don’t remember what these questions were, but I do remember that in trying to answer them I’d say something that broke a rule. Several times a week I’d say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and be dragged to the living room.
It was instantaneous. Without warning, he’d jump out of his kitchen chair (where he always sat) and rush at me… 6 foot 2… all muscle… I knew what I was in for. He’d grab me by the arm and drag me into the living room. There was lots of open space in the living room. He’d do ‘whirl and punch’ with me. It was to “Knock the devil out of you” he’d say. He’d jerk me around in a circle… beat me… scream things at me. What these things were (though I’m sure they’re still in my sub-conscious) have long since faded from consciousness.
I was sure he’d kill me in a fit of rage. The jerking was furious. It wouldn’t have been on purpose, but that he’d break my neck by accident. I saw death many times before my 16th birthday when the beatings abruptly ended. At one time, when I was 16, he was choking me on my bed. I accidentally kneed him in the balls… that ended the beatings.
Sometimes dad threw chairs… to drive home in the importance of his point. All of the kitchen chairs had wire holding them together. He’d say to me; “How can you be so god damned dumb!!” and “You’re nothing but an ignoramus!!” and “That’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard!” I heard these withering remarks a hundred thousand times in my young life and came to believe them. Even now I still see myself as a dumb-ass.
The beatings happened several times a week. With the out-of-control fury surrounding me, I lived in fear and grew up to suffer constant anxiety and complex-PTSD hyper-alertness. But, during a restoration process in 2010… much of this anxiety was miraculously removed so that I am relieved of 90% of it today.
One time a neighbor called the cops. A policeman came to our door and asked dad if everything was all right. He told the cop everything was fine and the guy left. I prayed with all my might… for rescue… but nothing came of it. There was no ‘God’ to speak of in my family but… out of shear necessity… I would pray. I would pray with all I had in me… for rescue. But none ever came. This is why I still have a hard time believing that praying actually does anything to change situations… the way Christians keep saying it does.
While dad was beating us (he beat all his kids) mom would disappear… physically and mentally. Hers was a sin of omission. There was a wolf-ness to her character, shown by her inaction during these beatings. By not interfering, nor leaving her husband, she sacrificed her children. She was an artist and sacrificed the children in order to not have to go to work… so she could do her artwork. Human mothers wouldn’t do this. Animals… wolves… would. Only in the last years of her life did mom come to dimly realize how insane her husband was with us.
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