Abuse, it's a word that to this day fills my soul with dread.
Because up until a few months ago, I had no idea what I had endured.
But I did; I endured a never ending nightmare of abuse at the hands of someone I LOVED.
And it has turned me into a complete shell of myself and what I would describe as a Monster.
The worse thing is that I can now remember in explicit detail what happened to me. I can feel every hit, I can feel every stab to the heart with the words that were spoken and I know what this has turned me into.
I am a victim of three types of abuse.
So I'll list them now for you.
And the one that has left the worst impact on my life...
Emotional and Psycological
You'll notice that the first one I mentioned was domestic violence and it's true, because the person that did this to me.
The person I loved and trusted, actually brought me into this world.
I was abused by my mother...
The women who is supposed to love you unconditionally; would on a daily basis. Sometimes even if I hadn't done anything...
If she was having a bad day. Would beat me till I couldn't stand up.
I would be lying on the floor. Of my bedroom...or the bathroom, or the kitchen. Even outside sometimes.
Gasping for air, wondering why the hell I am still breathing; if this is love? I don't want it.
She called it my 'punishment' I had a lot of issues as a kid, I did. I won't lie, but when you're nana is comparing you to your genius uncle every chance she got and putting such a weight on your shoulders. Making you feel like you have to live up to these expectations.
Expectations no child should go through.
Was it really my fault I acted differently?
That I felt like I had to be a certain way.
Did I come across as arrogant, highly likely.
Was never my intention.
But god, I don't think I deserved what I got.
She didn't just hit me once, she would hit me over and over again. In parts of my body she knew I was weak. One day, she hit me with my own wooden hair brush and according to my sister. It sounded like thunder when it hit my back.
I remember screaming and falling to the ground...
I remember thinking, "she's broken something inside me, somethings moving and it shouldn't".
People wondered why I had a temper, because it was the only way to fight through the pain. I refused to run in PE.
I hated running, but it was also because of the pain!
The agonizing pain.
But no one would believe me if I had told them, I was the weird kid. So it made sense that I would make up such fantastical lies.
Eventually my brain convinced me they were lies, my mother couldn't be doing this to me? They were just nightmares.
So I'd sleep in my abusers bed, listening to her sweet lies as she comforted me.
I was six or seven years old.
And she didn't once let up.
As I got older, I tried to fight back, something in me snapped and told me that I couldn't let her do this.
I couldn't let her hurt me anymore.
I was going to fight back.
The ellation I felt kicking her in the face.
Watching her fucking bleed.
Seeing that I could turn the tables, if I just fought back, if I just let go.
But then she said something that cut me more than any abuse she had thrown my way.
"You'll never amount to anything"
It was the start of the emotional abuse, it made me question everything I knew about people, about what it was to be loved.
I'd watch Disney movies, I'd watch cartoons. I'd watch films and see these loving mothers and then look at mine and wonder.
"Why isn't my mummy like that?"
I still called her mummy. I still called her that fond name I had as a child, even though she was slowly becoming an absolute monster.
And there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My anger burned like a flame, I wanted to make her hurt.
But then she threatened someone I cared about...
She threatened my sister.
She threatened MORGAN.
And god how I wish I had, had the strength, to rip her to pieces. To beat her to within an inch of her life, for daring to threaten my sister.
I should have known Morgan wouldn't of allowed it.
But the pyscological scarring had begun.
I was terrified of going home, I started becoming less vocal. Preferring to hide in my room, for fear I was going to antagonize my mother.
That once again I would have to endure the horrors of what she was capable of with just her fists.
But she soon started using objects, my own metal ruler. That out of boredom I had sharpened...
I learnt my lesson.
My hair brush was another good tool she used. It hurt so much. Sometimes I couldn't breathe.
The metal prongs on it...made it perfect for not leaving any marks.
It wasn't until I was sixteen years old, that I started standing up to her, kung fu training had helped me hone my body into a weapon and if I had to I would use it.
But...god I just couldn't.
It was getting to the point, where my posture was horrendous, I slumped everywhere I walked because my back was on fire.
Morgan had to take the beatings sometimes. Because I couldn't stand up anymore. She started getting more violent, unlike me. Morgan hit back.
And mum couldn't touch her, without a barrage of violence right back at her.
My mum got with my ex boyfriend, which made my fear of home even worse to the point I was being sick on a daily basis. Anorexia...I think was begining to rear it's ugly head.
But the beatings got worse.
Because now mum had an ally, now all she had to do was get the guy she forced me into a relationship with.
Because at her age, she had already lost her virginity and I wasn't normal...for not doing so".
But how can you learn to love, when no love is given?
And that Ally held me down as I screamed, begged and pleaded. I threatened to go to the police one day. And mum told the one who had taken her away from me.
To wait outside.
She closed the door calmly and god...oh god I remember the look in her eyes. The murderous intent.
She had ripped up my carpet floor, exposing the wood beneath it. My room was freezing so I had a oil heater. You know the ones right.
It was on...
My mother grabbed my by the neck, and my shirt; exposing my back. Which needless to say was already messed up from a horse riding accident, but it was about to get a whole lot worse.
Her eyes shone with malice and she picked me up and hurled me into it, with such force that the impact winded me.
The pain exploded almost instantly.
And I will never forget the smell of my flesh burning. I managed to get off it. I have no fucking idea how I did so, I guess I rolled.
And collapsed onto the freezing cold floor, screaming.
She told me to stop being so pathetic.
And left me.
But i'll never forget the look in her eyes. They were dead. There was no 'love' not unless you are talking levels of violence.
because yes then there was LOVE.
And in that moment I hated her, I hated her more than I hated anyone.
Morgan patched me up, made sure I could stand up. But when someone touched my back the next day at school I screamed blue murder.
Thankfully no one payed any heed.
I had been very emotional since the news had gotten out.
But the full horrors...was never going to be told.
Morgan went on heavy drugs to try and forget.
No injections thank goodness.
But stuff that messed her head up enough, to make her forget.
I would literally plead not to go home, I went to homework clinics. But I couldn't focus on work, because all I was thinking about was.
Will she hurt me again.
Will Morgan have to cook.
Is it okay if Pork is pink?
She starved us, we had to learn everything. Some nights Morgan and I were just about eating raw meat.
It made us sick.
We had no idea how to cook, she didn't trust us around anything. I tried cooking rice once and burnt it.
She hurled the pot at my shoulder blades.
I narrowly avoiding cracking my head open on the back door. I was so thankful my reflexes got the better of me. I hit the ground instead.
I never tried cooking again, for fear of angering her.
I never told Morgan about that one, I didn't want her temper to flare.
She was scary on drugs.
She terrified me, but she was also my protector and I don't think I would be here without her.
When we finally got out, when my mother sold my chickens. We left, but the scars remained.
No physical...but mentally.
I was FUCKED.
I know I suffer from PTSD.
Because I have nightmares.
At twenty one years old, I am too scared to fall in love. I refuse to share my bed. I sleep with soft toys and a baby blanket.
And lock my doors and windows.
Petrified that she's going to come back and get me.
But now the fear has gone away and it's place a hatred I cannot describe.
She'll never pay.
That's not the way it works.
There's no proof. Just my word.
Just my panic. Just my fear.
I keep having to ask.
"she can't get me here right"
My dad replies "No love".
But the worst part is that I am still remembering what she did, small snippets that my brain desperately surpressed because they were so traumatic.
too traumatic to deal with, have now come flooding back. And now I feel every wound. I feel every cut, from her words.
When your own mother says, that if she knew what you would have been like she would have "aborted" you...
it's a bloody hard thing to swallow.
But now...now I'm free and that's all that matters.
It's made me a dark person.
My characters show this.
But what didn't kill me. Actually did make me stronger.
I may be traumatized.
But hey at least I am still alive...
And that's all I care about anymore.