What were your parents or guardians like when you were growing up? Particularly, I'm interested in hearing from people who were neglected or abused. Did you have any siblings? Did they experience the same treatment?
On the surface, it seemed like I had a perfect suburban life. I had a mother, father, and brother who loved me. But I also had a biological father I had to visit every other week who was emotionally abusive and psychological manipulative - not just to me, but to everyone, especially women. It was like I was the only one who could see him for the monster he really was - everyone else thought he didn't mean to be so evil.
I used to be furious with my mother for letting me go with him every other weekend. I knew that the law demanded that he got his visitation, but I didn't see why we couldn't just escape to Mexico or something. I was five.
I tried to think up every possible solution, but I always came back to three possibilities: catching him in the act of physical abuse (by wearing a camera on my person), killing myself, and killing him. I figured if I had video evidence that he beat me, and if I had bruises and possibly even broken bones, that would be enough for him to lose visitation rights and go to jail. But that idea scared me because I knew eventually he could get out and when he got out, he might be angry at me. I also didn't know if I was strong enough to testify against him in court. I wasn't afraid for myself, I was afraid of what he might do to my friends or family to get to me. He threatened everyone I cared about all the time. I never told him my friends' last names. Anyway, that solution was not permanent, so I didn't like it.
The reason why I didn't attempt to kill myself was simply that I did not want to leave my brother alone in the world to fend for himself. He was always really sensitive and that scared me for him. Some days I also did not want to leave my mother, but again, I was angry with her for putting me in this situation in the first place. I thought my friends would probably be sad but get along okay without me.
That left killing him. I thought about it all the time. Since he had cancer in his final days, he was weakened and I could have done it easily. I could have made him swallow too many pills or smothered him with a pillow. However, I always imagined setting him on fire while he was asleep and then chopping him up into bits and feeding him to the dog. That seemed like the most satisfying way to end him. If he had lived long enough, I may have gotten up the courage to actually execute one of these plans, and I would have ended up either in juvie or in prison, and I still wouldn't have regretted doing it. Cancer got to him first, though, and because cancer is slow and painful, it was the most fitting death of all.
If he had not died when I was eight, like I said, I may have ended up in juvie or prison, or on the street, possibly a junkie. I was going nowhere good with his influence on my life. As it is, I have difficulty in relationships because I don't trust easily. Or maybe at all. And a part of me wants to keep replaying the same scene over and over and fix it, so I choose to be with people who are abusive towards me. My biological father would be so pleased that I couldn't totally shake him off and erase his influence from my life. He'd be thrilled to have scarred me so.
Oh, and by the way, I'm not going to forgive him for what he did to me and to everyone I care about, ever. I give people what they deserve, and he does not deserve forgiveness. So please don't post suggesting that.
On the surface, it seemed like I had a perfect suburban life. I had a mother, father, and brother who loved me. But I also had a biological father I had to visit every other week who was emotionally abusive and psychological manipulative - not just to me, but to everyone, especially women. It was like I was the only one who could see him for the monster he really was - everyone else thought he didn't mean to be so evil.
I used to be furious with my mother for letting me go with him every other weekend. I knew that the law demanded that he got his visitation, but I didn't see why we couldn't just escape to Mexico or something. I was five.
I tried to think up every possible solution, but I always came back to three possibilities: catching him in the act of physical abuse (by wearing a camera on my person), killing myself, and killing him. I figured if I had video evidence that he beat me, and if I had bruises and possibly even broken bones, that would be enough for him to lose visitation rights and go to jail. But that idea scared me because I knew eventually he could get out and when he got out, he might be angry at me. I also didn't know if I was strong enough to testify against him in court. I wasn't afraid for myself, I was afraid of what he might do to my friends or family to get to me. He threatened everyone I cared about all the time. I never told him my friends' last names. Anyway, that solution was not permanent, so I didn't like it.
The reason why I didn't attempt to kill myself was simply that I did not want to leave my brother alone in the world to fend for himself. He was always really sensitive and that scared me for him. Some days I also did not want to leave my mother, but again, I was angry with her for putting me in this situation in the first place. I thought my friends would probably be sad but get along okay without me.
That left killing him. I thought about it all the time. Since he had cancer in his final days, he was weakened and I could have done it easily. I could have made him swallow too many pills or smothered him with a pillow. However, I always imagined setting him on fire while he was asleep and then chopping him up into bits and feeding him to the dog. That seemed like the most satisfying way to end him. If he had lived long enough, I may have gotten up the courage to actually execute one of these plans, and I would have ended up either in juvie or in prison, and I still wouldn't have regretted doing it. Cancer got to him first, though, and because cancer is slow and painful, it was the most fitting death of all.
If he had not died when I was eight, like I said, I may have ended up in juvie or prison, or on the street, possibly a junkie. I was going nowhere good with his influence on my life. As it is, I have difficulty in relationships because I don't trust easily. Or maybe at all. And a part of me wants to keep replaying the same scene over and over and fix it, so I choose to be with people who are abusive towards me. My biological father would be so pleased that I couldn't totally shake him off and erase his influence from my life. He'd be thrilled to have scarred me so.
Oh, and by the way, I'm not going to forgive him for what he did to me and to everyone I care about, ever. I give people what they deserve, and he does not deserve forgiveness. So please don't post suggesting that.
