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Hey Pandas, Tell Us A Story From Your Childhood That Made You Realize You Had An Abusive Childhood (Closed)
If y'all arent in therapy, please, get some help. Trust me.
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#1
Context: My parents never got along. Screaming, fighting, insults, domestic violence. Then, they'd both take it on me "to calm down". I was constantly yelled at, criticized, humiliated, punished and beaten. But at the time I didn't know this was abuse: I thought it was normal. Bonus: we were struggling financially.
One day (I was about 9 y.o.) my parents came home with some groceries and a salami. I was hungry, so I made a sandwich. After the first bite I realized the salami was altered (had a bad taste and a slightly putrid smell). I told them I could not eat it because it tasted bad. They started screaming at me: "you ungrateful stupid brat, we are making huge sacrifices for you and you don't care, you are an embarrassment, why can't you be a good kid, you don't deserve anything" etc.
I would have done anything to make them happy. Or at least to stop the screams. I took the sandwich with the altered salami and ate it all, making efforts not to throw up. That's how desperately I was trying to be a "good kid". Later they realized I was right, and they threw the salami in the garbage. They never admitted they were wrong, and never apologized for that (or for anything else).
Something died inside of me that day.
Final score:
7points
RELATED:
#2
I can't think of a defining moment exactly, but I do remember when I realized that my dad was never going to help me and my brother. Quick backstory on my dad so some of the things make sense, (as much as is possible anyway). They are manipulative, selfish, and I suppose eccentric is an appropriate word for them. My dad is charismatic, and can convince almost anyone of anything. It's unfortunate because my dad is very talented with a very high IQ. They collected disability for their D.I.D (multiple personalities). I know there are debates on whether that's real or not, but regardless my dad did not have it. My dad was a witch, NOT WICCAN, a 'witch' that was 'empathic', could 'cast spells', all sorts of 'magic'. Because my dad lies all the time, about everything, it's hard to know if it's mental illness or not, I believe they enjoy convincing others of their bulls**t, but whatever. That's the jist, but really doesn't explain everything but this post is already long.
Anyway, my mom's ex husband was abusive to me and my brother. On 2 occasions he tried threatened to kill us, and if my brother and I didn't run out of thd house, he might have. Most of the time it was just 'teasing'. He would publicly make fun of me for wetting the bed, call me ugly. He would pinch me, pull my hair, punch my arm, but 'he's just playing' my mother would say. Real quick, my father damaged her emotionally and was in a bad place for a while. She eventually did leave him, and has made amends. She's great! Anyway, I did not keep it to myself. I told my dad and his wife. All he did was give me condolences and offered to talk about my feelings. So, that wasn't helpful, so being a kid I just thought that's how things went. About 5 traumatic years go by and my moms ex went to prison (arson) and my mom divorced him and left while he was in prison. My father obviously heard about him going to prison and my mom leaving him and he says 'I did that. I cast a spell to get him out of your lives and it worked.' So pleased with himself, but I was 11 and thinking 'damn that spell takes a long time to ferment'. It was when I started to realize, truly realize that my dad could not be a true father. I saw my dad for who they were. That they could only care about themselves and what they want.
There are so many crazy stories about my dad, but what's more important is how great my mother was, and is. As I got older I understood that my father damages people, really mess with people's heads. Yeah, she didn't protect us for a long time. It did hurt, and it was a long road, but she pulled herself together and worked her a** off to provide for me and my 2 brothers. Making sure that we knew we were loved and she cared.
Final score:
5points
#3
Ok, I'm still a minor so this will be fun...
I'm constantly criticized by my stepmom. If I do one thing wrong I'm in trouble with her. She'll scream at me, hit me, and God knows what else. (You don't wanna know) Multiple times she would have slapped me to the point of nosebleeds and strawberries on my face (red dots on the surface of the skin) Bruised lips, and nick marks on my face from where her nail would have hit me. I ended up hurting myself over it (Biting my arms to the point of bruising) and if I did that she would bite my arms, too, claiming: "You bite, I bite" Then claiming it made her sick to her stomach when I hurt myself. Like B****h, that's BS. (Yes, I know it's stupid to bite myself in response, but come on, cutting my wrist isn't any less crazy, and I have an irrational fear of veins, which happen to be very noticeable on my wrist.) Also, my dad doesn't do c**p about it. My mom lives in Texas (I'm in Ga) and when I tell her on the phone she gets all mad at my stepmom and tells me to talk to the counselor, but my mom doesn't actually care. She doesn't do c**p about it, and the counselor hasn't done c**p, either. So I'm lost here XD
Final score:
4points
#4
From age 10-15, my dad decided it was "funny" to burst into my bedroom when I was changing. That eventually turned to him masturbating while we were alone together, either in the living room or the car. I refused to look at him, but I could still hear it. Once he offered to buy me the new alarm clock I'd asked for if I would look at his double hernia scars. I'm sure it's no coincidence that during this period I started pulling out my eyelashes, and a light version of cutting - I was too chicken to use a razor so I used a cuticle cutter to scratch my arms. I can still hear him saying "you can't tell anyone, or they'll put me in jail", like *I* had control over his actions.
It took me a long time to realize how much it had affected me. I don't trust people. I don't let anyone close. I freeze if someone hugs me (a rare occurrence anyway). I've never had a romantic relationship. I have "work friends", but no one I socialize with away from work. Mostly I stay home with my cats, and I'm comfortable that way. It's my safe little rut.
He died 2 years ago and I didn't shed a tear. I hadn't spoken to him in over 15 years. I hadn't spoken to my mom in nearly as long. She died a few month ago. No tears there, either. There is zero doubt in my mind that she knew what was happening and ignored it. Facing it would have disrupted her comfortable life. And, she lurved him.
Final score:
3points
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