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Haunted Childhood

    My father was loving, funny, and kind to me rarely. He'd allow other adults to talk him into hitting me or being mean, acting as though the nice treatment had been a form of me taking advantage of him.? Often he  was kind of "wising up" and treating me lousy emotionally, physically, and mentally, which was what i really deserved. the nice treatment had been him being weak and "too nice". 

   I am 26 now, female. My mother played no role in my life before I turned 18. She contacted me and convinced me to meet her. Upon doing so, I met a drugged up, washed up, alcoholic, 41 year old teenage girl. She subsequently committed suicide. i didn't go to either parent's funeral. i was brought up overly strictly in general and my father  was a rage-a-holic who would get so "nerved up" by me that he would slap me all the time, on the face, head, arms, back, legs, anywhere he could reach in rage. My hair was pulled or he'd pinch the back of my neck hard.  I was made to kneel on raw cornmeal grits for hours into the night as punishment. Or stand with my nose in the corner for hours in high school as punishment for a bad grade. 

    Children had no rights in the world i grew up in and i was laughed at derisively all the time. my father was a sadistic abusive alcoholic jerk who loved to bait and torment his girlfriends emotionally, then would hit me for being inadequate. their constant fighting, drug use, and my father's rages when he left for work every morning, and came home in the evenings, from as early as i can remember, kept me in a constant state of fear. When i heard his truck pull into the driveway i instantly ran to my room and hid. adults and other kids would make fun of me for being so "nervous" - a child was supposed to be happy and carefree all the time. 

    He would throw around pots and pans very violently most mornings, sometimes at me, which was terrifying. he would laugh scornfully at me when I cried or showed signs that I was hurting. He threw things and screamed so hard that he would lose his voice some days. as a tiny toddler i was supposed to not have any reaction to this. sometimes he would lock me out so he could rage in peace, if that makes any sense. He would continue raging till he was exhausted, then take a nap and act like nothing had happened. i remember walking up and down the street while being terrified that i was locked out and that he  was out of his mind back at home. 

    I felt utterly alone. finally one night when i was 16, i just ran away and went to a friend's house. I was so afraid of him finding me.. But he never came searching. my friend, who had witnessed my father's rage when she came over sometimes, immediately knew why i had shown up at her door, and i was terribly embarrassed by her pity. i tend to go off on tangents so i will now skip to the present for a moment. 

I suffer from depression and anxiety and am on no medication. i've been in therapy but there's something about the rigid mindset i was raised in that keeps making me think i have no right to "complain" about anything that happened to me because other kids had it so much worse.  which is true, but i'm suffering so much, and have all my life.

     In my teen years, the abuse had been plenty bad enough to bring me to the brink of suicide. I used to sit on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night and quietly slash my arms and legs up. Or hold my breath til I got dizzy.  i started developing physically way too young and would get leers from the men in my neighborhood as my 7 year old self walked down the street.
 
    One night, when i was around 13, my father was so angry (drunk) that he picked me up off the ground with one hand, his huge fist around my tiny neck,  and effortlessly tossed me across the room. I landed far away on the dining room table, and rolled onto the floor. I was always made to clean my own blood off the carpet.  if you asked my dad, he would say i had a very wholesome upbringing with wholesome people around. anyone who was catholic like us was to be trusted implicitly. 

     In actuality, we were so poor (i wasn't allowed to refer to us as poor) that our neighborhood was very borderline as far as being safe. We sometimes had no electricity or running water. My father would spend all his winnings (prize-fighting) on drugs, and force me to go with him to steal food. 

    I would walk to school a long way, sometimes i don't think it was light out yet, wearing a thin little skirt, inadequate coat, and cheap knee socks that would fall down to my ankles after the first washing. i could have been grabbed or murdered a hundred times over on my way to school but my father had  this huge denial system going on. He had to believe i was safe in the environment he could afford.  i was just a tiny child with no rights about what was being done to me, so I remained a silent shell of a girl. Being picked up by the throat by a raging, spitting, monster can really stay with a person. 
TWrex TWrex 26-30, F 3 Responses Oct 9, 2012

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My childhood was gravy compared to yours. Sometimes I feel like I am stupid for not just being happy. my mind was always somewhere else. In all reality, maybe my recent emotional problems are because I was never accustomed to being let down. I didn't know how do to the lose gracefully thing when you lose someone. I also struggle with forgiveness. I tried therapy, but I couldn't bring myself to open myself up to a prim and proper kind of person. I am suppose to be on anti-depressants and all kind of other medications. But the pills made me suicidal, I stopped taking all of them. I am doing better. I also can relate to what you said of pity. I would rather anything than to be pitied. It is a messed up world.

You were lucky that your father locked you out of the house when he went into rages.My father would never have done that because then he would have no one to take out his anger on!

I was lucky? He most certainly did take it out on me on me. He beat the shiz out of me on a regular basis. I've said that. But when I was locked out, I certainly didn't feel thankful. I was alone and scared. He would also lock me out when he was doing his drugs.

My father was addicted to Heroin.He shot up in the kitchen with my three siblings and me in the living room less than 10 feet away.My father is a big man.He stands 6'6" tall and is strong as an ox. Think that mattered to him? Hell no! He beat me with his fists like he was beating a grown man.I had my collar bone broken twice.My arm got broke in three places from one of his punches.The man threw me,HIS OWN DAUGHTER at age 13 down a flight of stairs.It was a "good" day if he only threw me against a wall.Your father was no saint,but you should come spend a day with my old man and see how you like it!

Im very sorry that all happened to you as well. Im very glad that this website exists for those of us who have experienced the horrors of child abuse.. But this isn't a comparison. Im sure our fathers would have had a lot in common. Besides, I have written a few other stories on here if you'd care to read a more detailed description of my own "upbringing".

Kids are so incredibly tough. My childhood was not unlike yours; brief and intense. It made me wise beyond my years as a child but immature and under-developed emotionally as an adult. It left me with a lot of unhappy memories I cannot hope to forget. I can only try to bury them under new, happier memories and better relationships. I hope you can too. Thanks for sharing.