Some weeks or a few months ago, the most dispicable member of this forum wrote a reply to one of my posts, stating that if I was beaten more often as a child, I would be "a better person". That kept me thinking for quite a while and recent events here surrounding a scandal in which children were violently abused, I got to think about that subject even more.


My parents actualy did beat me and they did it frequently for a very long time despite it being illegal. Mostly my father, who would use a wooden stick/club, would demand that I pull my pants down. If I wouldnt, he would thrash the thing arround my face until I pulled them down. Occasionaly he would use his hands, but not very often. My mother would just use whatever she could get her hands on. Books, cables, boxes, plastic bottles, whatever. She had a pritty hard punch that was capable of throwing a child off a chair.

The beatings were not always given for " bad things", yet sometimes they were. For example when I sat on my mums glasses once and broke them, or when I jumped into a pool in my clothes at a bbq by friends of my parents or when I started crying in a toy store when I wouldnt get a something that I really wanted. For my parents it was mainly a method that was supposed to "create interrest" and at one point in my life it unfortunatly would be combined and get worse with another sad chapter in my life.

The "creating interrest" part is a rather sad part that most people aswell as I myself cannot grasp and which my parents (a few years ago) appologised for. My parents for example payed for piano lessons when I was 6 or 7, I was not interested, so they started beating me. The beating was supposed to get me "interested" in learning the piano and I will never forget the vicious beating I got when I was kicked out of the piano lessons for "lack of interrest". Yet the beatings would continue, since my parents would give me guitar lessons, flute lessons, french lessons and other of which they thought I could gain interest for by being beaten to the point that I couldnt even sit. My parents were obsessed with the idea of "creating a child" that was overly intelligent. reading, counting and most of the things which were mentioned above had to be learned years before I entered school. Later in my life I came to the conclusion that to them I was more a science project than a son. I know that my father felt bad about it. I know that he absolutly hated what he was doing and that my mother pressured him into doing it. He would later become very depressed about this and was the first one who wanted to talk things through and appologise.

The beating which are connected with a rather tragic chapter of my life stand at the start of a tragedy which made me the fucked up person I am. I was viciously bullied from day one that I entered school at the age of 6. I was forced to eat paper, dead flies, earth worms and other bugs. Forced to lick clean the black board and to lick clean the organic waste bin in the class. I was regularey shoved into an electric fence on the way to school, once ( I remeber very clearly) I entangled myself and it took me five minutes to get out whilest getting shocked every 3 or 5 seconds. It was a jump into a pile of shit. I had known violence before, but never encountered violence on such a collective scale. For a young child looking forward to school, it destrys a part of you. Anyway, I remember one faitfull day in my life: the first parent-teacher confrence and I looked forward to it because I thought my parents would help me.
They came home and beat the living crap out of me. The teacher had told them that I had done all these things because "I wanted attention" and not because I was forced to. To this day I dont know if that was done because she hadn`t noticed or because of whatever other reason. On some occasions, some of the grade school teachers would also give beatings. But important is, it changed my life on a massive scale. From age 6 to age 15 I would be bullied and abused on a scale that I dont feel comfortable writing about here. Things were done to me that gave me nightmares that will probably follow me into my grave. And all the while, whilest I was forced to do horrible things to amuse a bunch of wicked sadists, I had to be scared that my parents would find out. Because no matter what I was found doing. Was it being forced to eat bugs, or much worse, my parents never believed that it was forced. And every conversation between them and a teacher would start with something like "Oh that attention deficite". Way to school - beating, school - beating, way home - beating, home crying and sometimes beating, for 9 years.

At age 15 or 14 my mother smashed a book arround my head while I was writing my homework, the pencil I had was rammed deep into my teethridge. I freaked, grabbed a book and threw it into her face, she fell to her knees, I grabbed a desk lamp lamp and was about to bash it arround her head, but I couldnt. I just could not hurt my mum. I threw it away and ran out of the house crying. I came back later and my parents didn`t say a word. In fact, not many words would be spoken between us for years until I was maybe 18 or 19. They wouldnt have a problem with me dying my hair, doing drugs, drinking or whatever, and I dont know if they did it out of ignorance or recognition of their mistakes.
The bullying though, continued until I was 15, it left the deepest scars I have. Things were done to me which go beyond the usual schoolyard bully and which I have never told anyone. In fact, despite my hands shaking, I had no problem writing down the story of me and my parents and my arms only started shaking when I got to mentioning the bullying. The treatment my parents gave me might be vicious and wrong, but it absolutly nothing compared to what my generation did to me.

I am in a way suprised that my parents didnt leave the psychological scares on me that some and I myself expected. My explaination is that other traumatic events in my life simply overshadowed those. But I have to addmit, that when recently telling this a good friend, there was a felling of relief. I have also confronted my parents, who appologised in an earnest way that fixed our releationship to great extent in the last year. So to some extent I dont know why I opened this thread, I have a big issue with writing about my bad expiriences, I am not the kind of person who justifies his actions with such expiriences, and I have absolutly no idea what I could personaly gain through this or what others could gain.
To some extent I honestly have to say that I wanted to show a disgusting person who reveiled that he beats his kids a frankensteins monster. But maybe if you want to share some of your expirences, this could hopefully be more than that.

I would assume the person, whomever it may have been, probably meant saying that as a joke. I often joke that I need to beat the children more. It's been years since I've even spanked them.

My father would use his belt on me. The teachers would use thick wooden paddles. Sometimes they would hit you so hard you almost flew face first into the wall.

But it was all legal. I don't hold any grudges about it.

(September 20, 2013 at 11:05 pm)Rahul Wrote: I don't hold any grudges about it.

I also cant. It just feels wrong to have such massive rage directed against your parents. Honestly, I felt bad writing this. I had some good times with them aswell, there was not just the bad. And in recent time the releation between us has evovled into something very beautifull. So in the back of my head there is a voice screaming:"You ungreatfull fuck!"


Concerning the person: I have no doubts that he beats his kids and maybe even slapped arround a woman or two.

Under the viciousness I grew up with, I may not have any rage towards my parents, but utterly despise people who pray on the weak and hurt those for their own amusement. And the fact that he "bragged" about beating kids for "disciplin", makes him even more of a monster, no matter what his own children may or may not think of it.

Damn, TGAC. I'm glad you feel a sense of relief discussing that. You deserve at least that much.

I had a normal upbringing, believe it or not. Both parents present, no trauma. I have plenty of complaints, but they are first world problems at most. I guess now, thinking about it, my kids really do have it good...the ungrateful bastards!

(September 20, 2013 at 11:21 pm)Captain Colostomy Wrote: Damn, TGAC. I'm glad you feel a sense of relief discussing that. You deserve at least that much.

I had a normal upbringing, believe it or not. Both parents present, no trauma. I have plenty of complaints, but they are first world problems at most. I guess now, thinking about it, my kids really do have it good...the ungrateful bastards!

I am scared of being pittied. Throughout half my life, people tried to force me into being something that I did not want to be. Knowing that I am only who I want me to be, is one of the few things that gave me comfort and kept me from going mad. If I accept pitty, if I talk about my problems for the purpose of helping myself, the people who did this to me have won. They would have succeeded in determening who I am, they would have become an official part of my life, they would have an influence in every single thing I do in my life. They would have created me.
That is the thing I am most affraid of, I do not want to give them that victory. I do not want them to determine who I am. So I do what I always did, I bite my teeth together, I stop crying, I go through it, I endure, I suffer, but I dont give them the pleasure of acknowleging that I suffer to anyone or myself. I walk on and work on being myself without them havin anything to do in what I decide.
I make myself to be what I want to be and no one will ever have a word in what I am going to be again.

In short, yes.

I don't know how much it influenced me. I know I really don't like being around people who'd fly off the handle and get mad out of nowhere and I hate it when people who're arguing with me grab me or try to turn the disagreement to a physical one. I tend to resent it more than other people do. I find it really distasteful to use violence to win an "argument", but oddly enough most of my friends who had the same experience think it's a valid way of educating your children and some even plan to do it to their own children, claiming if you don't, your kids don't turn out right. Personally, I always fought back as a child and I will never put someone in that position where they are so unable to defend themselves.

No, and neither would I ever hit a child. During my upbrining I was thought to discuss and use words in order to express my feelings rather than violence and I intend to pass that on to the next generation.

Wow, TGaC. I would give You another rep point if I could. I do not have a similar (violent) childhood but I understand your feelings and reactions quite personally. I have sincere empathy of your accord and I do wish the best for You from now moving forward. I suppose I could recall what this reminds me of in my youth.

Ever since I was a school-goer (kindergarten), I had daddy issues. Not physically violent issues like yourself, but more psychological abuse than anything. Whenever I made a mistake, and it angered my father, He would notify me with disgust: "you have a brain, use it", "did you just break that?!", "be more useful"...

Things like that. I could have spilled juice at breakfast and He would have freaked out. Even in front of everyone, deeply embarrassing me. I could have played outside without any footwear, and He would go nuts even if I did not bring dirt into the house. Sometimes his reactions would make me feel sad or useless, and his response if He knew would be to tell me to "grow up" or "stop pouting like a baby". He was never 1 for compassion. No, He was too macho and cold to show compassion like any close person would. He himself lacked a father figure. His father would smoke and drink and his mother would get bothered by his habits, divorcing them. What pisses me off is wondering why that had to rub off onto me considering if He learned anything from that experience. As in: why do I have to feel the brokenness from his generation, should He not be able or want to make improvements for when He had children? No, myself and my sisters had to put up with his snarling shit.

Anyways, He would not be able to deal with my downfalls and my mood in effect of those downfalls, so I would drift away from him, and everyone in my family really. I just wanted to be to myself, a situation that guaranteed that no one would confront me for what I do, because only I understand myself. My mother is practically the polar opposite of my father, kindness meets hatred. I would be happy around my mother, even if She did annoy me severely. I am not sure why but at this point in my writing I am dripping a tear thinking about it. The 1 thing about my mother that really bothered me is her lack of strength. She could always be there for me for healing, but never confronted my father about his ways and what strain He pushed onto his children.

I never really thought about it much, but I feel really awful for my sisters even though they bother me to valhalla. To think that they are still living in the same house as him, putting up with his shit. It sort of feels like I left them in the mud, not being there to experience the same rage and stress. They showed me a different side when they wished me a farewell when I left for college. Oh, that is another thing. I really wanted to get into university. I really wanted to give myself the highest standards into the future. I passed all of my high school courses without doing any homework, no studying and no practice. I was surprised to get a mid 70 mark in my last year of math. Anyways, I continued to lack interest in school as the years passed. I lacked the spark that made me happy. Eventually my face became that of a frown. A hateful frown. Even now I look into the mirror and see the scars of my youth. I still lack drive. Except for the few things in my life that provided me with experience. Friends whenever We hung out, observing nature in my backyards, some TV shows, and my video games. Those things made me feel different. Happy. I would isolate myself in my room and grind away at my video games, giving me the feeling of accomplishment.

I would have visited friends more often if my mood were better. I never wanted to rub off a bad feeling onto my friends. It would have ruined the experience of playing together. I was a bit of an odd 1 in my elementary school. I always seemed to drift about between groups of friends. 1 week I would be playing with the large group of kids, the next I would be playing with the dorky kids, and the next I would be playing with my small group of best friends. I never understood why. I should mention that I was playing hockey since kindergarten and quit at 11. I quit at 11 because I was losing interest in the sport while the others would always be enthused by hockey. I realized that I never wanted to play hockey. My father did. He got me to play hockey... his favourite sport. He would sit in the basement about every night watching tonight's game. He would get me to watch with him. After a short amount of time, I did not watch to watch anymore, and left. I returned to my video games. At age 10, We moved cities because of a better job opportunity for my father. That, was 1 of my worst times. I lacked the skills required for smooth transition into a strange new place. I left everything behind in my old town. Everything. I had to adapt. When it came to the first day of school in my new city, I struggled. On the very first minutes of the day, it was recess. What does a new kid plunged into recess do? I wanted to have friends, but I lacked the drive and courage to do so. So, I sort of walked into the middle of the yard, and could not help but cry silently to myself. I asked to stay inside for recess. On the next day though, I was so happy that a group of friends, my new elementary and highschool best friends, approached me and asked me to hang out with them. I nervously, yet happily agreed. But even then, We would visit each other and hang out outside of school. But I was slowly losing the drive to hang out with them. It began to halt for me.

When I got to highschool, I was like a rock. What I mean, is that I was about as emotionless as 1. Whenever things happened, other people would react sharply. I would not. People would laugh together, get in fights, smile, act tough, etc... I would not. I drew myself in to a solitary life. I had friends but I would disconnect from them. I eventually left them by myself and the library would become my home at my school. I sat there, by myself, browsing the internet, researching things. I would just feel empty, and I needed something to preoccupy me. Eventually I would become paranoid of other people, anxious of what others would do in the presence of a "loner". I was never bullied in high school. I think that this is because of me being a larger person. Intimidating. To sum, my highschool life was shit.

Now, back to my personal life. From my elementary years, I would develop as a person in a very strange way. At about age 8 to 10, I would really reflect on myself after I experienced the wrath of my father. I would go to my room in solemnity. I would think about how many other people in the world were feeling the same way I did. People that would relate to each other. I wanted to do good for the world of my own desires. I wanted to provide, somehow, someway when I got older so that other people would live better, happier lives. I made a pact with myself, and I still live with it today. I always feel for people when I see them hurt. And I always feel angry at people who do harm to those people. I stood in defence of some of my friends when someone else was harassing them. When someone stole my friend's baseball cap, I confronted that person. When someone was picking on 1 of my lankier friends, I pushed them to the ground. I always felt remorse from having to do these things, though, and it made my pact stronger. I was about as mature as an adult at age 10, and people respected that. They never knew how empty I felt about living, though. 1 day, I was tired after school, and my dad as usual was aggressing everyone and He came after me with accusations and such of the stupidest things. I was not putting up with any shit that day, so I got frustrated. I confronted him with more than double the anger He ever showed. He was intimidated by that, probably because I have so much reserve that I bottled all of that anger from a long period of time. I felt good about that.

My problem with him, is that He never changes, never learns. I do not have any hope that He will improve as a person up to his deathbed, upon which I will feel so much relief. I have confronted him about his attitude, but nothing is ever accomplished. He just goes back to spouting off his negativity and cruelty. I am glad to have moved out. I skipped some more important parts, but I do not want to write anymore.

That is an awful story, Germans. I think I understand your fear of pity- is it that being the object of pity puts you in the position of being a permanent victim of the abuse?

I pity the small child you were (it should go without saying that you deserved far better), but I have a lot of respect for how it appears you have dealt/are dealing with it as an adult.

My parents never hit me, but they neglected me, and I was bullied terribly at school until about 5th grade. The other girls didn't hit me, but their words cut me deeply- I think I might have preferred a punch. I was a weird, lonely kid with no one to turn to about it, and very depressed for years until my first real friend helped me gain some social and emotional intelligence and that, along with a change of school, ended the bullying.

Sometimes I think we should send our tween girls to the battlefield instead of young men- they would make the enemy feel so bad about themselves that the war would end with weeping enemy soldiers who forever after would feel fat, ugly, dumb, and unlovable.

Well, I used to get a beating from my old man when I did fuck up real seriously. And well, it could get rough sometimes, but I don't really remember ever having a broken bone. Lashes with a belt or a few slaps on the face don't really hurt no one, I didn't even cry after I got 10 years old. I don't remember me old man beating on me after I hit 16 though, at that time I was already like a grown man, towering over my old man, not that I ever thought of hitting him back, I would never show such a disrespect, but I guess he thought that its kinda weird to beat up on a young man who can be talked and reasoned with. Children can't be reasoned with most of the time, so it all comes down on actually letting them know that something is bad by administrating some pain from time to time, so that they don't fuck up as I did, and even if they did, they actually know that they did fuck up and apologize, and avoid that kind of behavior in the future.