I, too, am sorry for all you went through as a child. As a child who went through something quite similar, I can relate to a point -- and I can also tell you that transcending your circumstances is very possible, if not easy.
You asked for those of us who also suffered abuse in our formative years to share their stories, so I will acquiesce to that request.
My mother was an undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. She tended toward violence and was the worst hoarder you can imagine. Actually, I doubt you or anyone else could imagine it. Put it this way: My first husband had heard about it for years, but when he actually saw it for himself, he had nightmares for 3 days. When my mother was younger, it wasn't so bad. But as she hit her early 30s, the disease became much more evident. My earliest childhood memories are filled with scenes of her and my father chasing each other with scissors, knives, whatever was handy. After my father left, that ultra-violent behavior was turned in my direction. I was close to my father, so her hatred of him became centered on me.
I was frequently thrashed with whatever was to hand: Broomsticks, rolling pins, whatever. She was careful to bruise areas that were covered during the day. Thighs and back were favorite targets. She would create reasons to have huge arguments with me, then throw me out of the house in the snow (in bare feet, no less!), then call the authorities to have me hauled off to the local juvenile hall. I don't think she ever realized how glad I was when that happened, because it meant a few nights of peace and safety. They always sent me back to her, though.
My father had moved far away and was not aware of what was going on. I didn't know how to contact him. My mother was fond of verbal abuse as well, and frequently told me I was crazy and "living in Never-Never Land." I took her words onboard. When I was 11, I volunteered myself to the local Community Mental Health center. (How I wish we still had those available for all the people who need them today, but that's another rant for another day!) I was fortunate to encounter a wonderful clinical psychologist who ended up saving my life in every way possible. After nearly 2 years of therapy with him, he finally broke his clinician's demeanor and outright told me I needed to get out of my mother's house -- else she was going to kill me. I brushed off his words, until one day when that nearly happened. Her intent was to acquaint me with the business end of a rake, but I saw her first and just... took off. I called my wonderful shrink, and he came to my rescue, permitted me to stay with him and his family until a more permanent placement could be found.
I bounced around in foster care for nearly 2 years until my father finally got wind of the situation. He immediately imported me to California where he lived at the time. And yada yada yada. My dad meant well, but he was ill-equipped to take on an angry, rebellious self-directed 14-year-old. I moved out when I was 16, never looked back. Best thing I ever did.
I was so very lucky to have encountered my wonderful psychologist. We had weekly one-on-one sessions, and I also attended therapy groups each week. I learned how to live in the moments of my pain, acknowledge them, experience them, put them in perspective -- and let them go. I can't say I forgave my mother so much as I came to understand and accept that her damage was caused by events in her own life, and despite being a miserable parent, she had done the best she could with what she had to work with. (Clearly we can agree it wasn't much!)
I carried on with therapy after I moved to California and found it to be a fantastic tool. I am no longer affected in any significant way by my past. It is what it is and has no control over me. My life is what I choose to make it, and I've done pretty well. When someone asks for a recitation of my upbringing, I can give that with no anger or residual pain over it. It's like reading out a grocery list.
I do have 2 siblings, both younger. They were not subjected to the same physical abuses I was, but they certainly suffered under the same chaotic household dynamic. My brother tends to stuff down his feelings, not dealing with them forthrightly, and to this day, I see evidence of unresolved anger in him over it. I fear my sister suffers from the same paranoid schizophrenia that my mother had. She is 2 years younger than me and on the verge of homelessness. She is unable to form meaningful attachments to anyone. I am sad for her, very sad, but I have come to understand I can't provide her with any useful help. In this, as for all of us, she is on her own.
Min and FFF have given you fantastic advice. If you still suffer pain and anger over your past, it's a good idea to get some help with processing it. You may have to try on a few different shrinks to find one who is a good fit. They are not all created equal. I have found quite a number who go into helping professions simply so they can deny their own damage. So be particular in your quest. But if you connect with a good one, it will change your life -- I promise!
I wish you all the best in your journey to get past your past. There is no more worthwhile endeavor. Hugs to you.
You asked for those of us who also suffered abuse in our formative years to share their stories, so I will acquiesce to that request.
My mother was an undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. She tended toward violence and was the worst hoarder you can imagine. Actually, I doubt you or anyone else could imagine it. Put it this way: My first husband had heard about it for years, but when he actually saw it for himself, he had nightmares for 3 days. When my mother was younger, it wasn't so bad. But as she hit her early 30s, the disease became much more evident. My earliest childhood memories are filled with scenes of her and my father chasing each other with scissors, knives, whatever was handy. After my father left, that ultra-violent behavior was turned in my direction. I was close to my father, so her hatred of him became centered on me.
I was frequently thrashed with whatever was to hand: Broomsticks, rolling pins, whatever. She was careful to bruise areas that were covered during the day. Thighs and back were favorite targets. She would create reasons to have huge arguments with me, then throw me out of the house in the snow (in bare feet, no less!), then call the authorities to have me hauled off to the local juvenile hall. I don't think she ever realized how glad I was when that happened, because it meant a few nights of peace and safety. They always sent me back to her, though.
My father had moved far away and was not aware of what was going on. I didn't know how to contact him. My mother was fond of verbal abuse as well, and frequently told me I was crazy and "living in Never-Never Land." I took her words onboard. When I was 11, I volunteered myself to the local Community Mental Health center. (How I wish we still had those available for all the people who need them today, but that's another rant for another day!) I was fortunate to encounter a wonderful clinical psychologist who ended up saving my life in every way possible. After nearly 2 years of therapy with him, he finally broke his clinician's demeanor and outright told me I needed to get out of my mother's house -- else she was going to kill me. I brushed off his words, until one day when that nearly happened. Her intent was to acquaint me with the business end of a rake, but I saw her first and just... took off. I called my wonderful shrink, and he came to my rescue, permitted me to stay with him and his family until a more permanent placement could be found.
I bounced around in foster care for nearly 2 years until my father finally got wind of the situation. He immediately imported me to California where he lived at the time. And yada yada yada. My dad meant well, but he was ill-equipped to take on an angry, rebellious self-directed 14-year-old. I moved out when I was 16, never looked back. Best thing I ever did.
I was so very lucky to have encountered my wonderful psychologist. We had weekly one-on-one sessions, and I also attended therapy groups each week. I learned how to live in the moments of my pain, acknowledge them, experience them, put them in perspective -- and let them go. I can't say I forgave my mother so much as I came to understand and accept that her damage was caused by events in her own life, and despite being a miserable parent, she had done the best she could with what she had to work with. (Clearly we can agree it wasn't much!)
I carried on with therapy after I moved to California and found it to be a fantastic tool. I am no longer affected in any significant way by my past. It is what it is and has no control over me. My life is what I choose to make it, and I've done pretty well. When someone asks for a recitation of my upbringing, I can give that with no anger or residual pain over it. It's like reading out a grocery list.
I do have 2 siblings, both younger. They were not subjected to the same physical abuses I was, but they certainly suffered under the same chaotic household dynamic. My brother tends to stuff down his feelings, not dealing with them forthrightly, and to this day, I see evidence of unresolved anger in him over it. I fear my sister suffers from the same paranoid schizophrenia that my mother had. She is 2 years younger than me and on the verge of homelessness. She is unable to form meaningful attachments to anyone. I am sad for her, very sad, but I have come to understand I can't provide her with any useful help. In this, as for all of us, she is on her own.
Min and FFF have given you fantastic advice. If you still suffer pain and anger over your past, it's a good idea to get some help with processing it. You may have to try on a few different shrinks to find one who is a good fit. They are not all created equal. I have found quite a number who go into helping professions simply so they can deny their own damage. So be particular in your quest. But if you connect with a good one, it will change your life -- I promise!
I wish you all the best in your journey to get past your past. There is no more worthwhile endeavor. Hugs to you.
