I wanted to post a thread that is quite personal in nature. I want to do this as a means of expressing to others that child abuse is wrong. It
doesn’t really matter how you look at it, you can look at it with tinted glasses, you can remain partial, you can be pro or against it but the
outcome still remains…it is wrong.
Some threads recently have highlighted child abuse. There is a huge overwhelming expression of emotion when viewing these and some people feel
compelled to post their feelings…I am one of those. There are others who have never suffered abuse who feel compelled to post and there are those
who have been abused who feel compelled to post, both are within their right.
Some of you who have been abused seem to use that as an excuse as to why it’s OK. Others who have been abused have looked the other way and said
“No, I won’t do that to my child”. I am one of those. The fact remains though that the abuse has had a psychological effect on us and that has
created our views. But the ones who feel it’s OK because they were abused have obviously suffered differently to those who were abused but would
never abuse their child.
I want to share with you a short “life story”, which is my life story, to try and let some people see what it’s like to go through these things
and why I follow my path. Everyone’s path is different, but the love for children should conquer all.
I was born in 1983, into a family of a mother, father, 1 sister and 1 brother. We lived in a fairly inadequate house. My father owned his own
fishing trawlers (2) and my mother was a house wife. My father would be at sea for up to a month at a time. My father would come home and without so
much as looking at his children or communicating with us, he would go straight out to the pub and drink. He’d be gone for days. He would return
home drunk, usually while we were in bed. I’d hear him and my mum arguing, fighting etc. It used to scare me terribly. I’d cry in my bed
knowing that my mum would be getting hurt. In the morning I would see my mum was hurt, she would have bruises on her face, arms etc. Being very
young at the time (about 2-3 years old), I would recognise when my dad was in “one of those moods”, I could sense it with him, but me being a
child I’d just want to play with him. I’d play with my siblings, probably loudly and running about as children do. But my dad wouldn’t
tolerate it. He’d warn us to stop running around but as everyone knows; children will obey for a short time then forget about it. My dad would
take us all upstairs into the bathroom. He’d tell us to take down our trousers and lean over the bath. We knew exactly what was coming, we would
cry so hard before we were even hit. This wasn’t because of fear; this was because of the sight of your brothers and sisters being hurt. I
remember being hit with the belt repeatedly, over and over, then watching my brother and sister getting the same punishment. We’d be sent to our
room afterwards to go to bed. We were threatened that if we cried we’d get beat again. There were occasions where we would stick up for each
other. An example being that I would take the blame for something because I didn’t want my sister or brother getting hurt. Or there would be
occasions where I’d try and pull my brother or sister away from my dad when he was dragging them upstairs. It wasn’t long before my mum and dad
split up; however, what I must stress at this point is that my mum was no angel in this. She would also hit us, just not as frequently as my dad.
She’d abuse us in different ways when my dad want home, such as not make us any meals to eat, let us starve for a day or two, all the while she went
out partying and my alcoholic grandmother looked after us. My grandmother was not fit to look after us. She was a raging alcoholic who told me to
go to a shop on my own when I was 4, across a busy road to get a soother for my “new” younger brother. This action resulted in me being knocked
down and hospitalised with a broken leg and fractured skull. All the while my mum was out with friends, my dad was offshore and my grandmother was
drinking her “extra strength cans of lager”.
Shortly after this my parents split. My mum gave us up to live with our father’s parents, my other grandmother and grandfather. My grandfather was
a gently giant and I love him very much, he never harmed us at all, my grandmother was also very gentle. For the first time in my short life I was
fed and clothed and treated like a child, allowed to push boundaries whilst not living in fear for myself and my siblings. I was glad to be away from
my parents, even though I still missed them, but when I think back, maybe it was the change that made me feel sad. Either way, my life had changed
for the better.
We lived with my grandparents for a couple of years, until I was 6 years old. We would get visits from my mother and father on a weekly basis
(separately) under supervision because the social services were aware of the abuse because they were informed by my grandparents. One Sunday my mum
pulled up to my grandparents’ house whilst we were all playing outside. She put the window down and said “how would you all like to come live
with mum again?” we all said “yes”. As any child would. My mum knew my grandmother was ill in bed and my grandfather was working, she told us
all to go into the house and get some clothes and put them in a bag and meet her round the corner. We all did this and got into the car. She told
us we were going to live with mum and “her new boyfriend”, in a town about 200 miles away. As we drove away I cried for my grandparents.
Although I said I wanted to go, I actually didn’t. I was confused between my mum and my security.
We lived in his “new town” with my mum and her partner for 2 years. During this time we lived in a tenement flat with only 2 bedrooms. My mum
and her boyfriend were in one room and me, my 2 brothers and sister in another room. It wasn’t long into the move that my sister went “away”,
she was taken away by the social services to live with my grandmother again. I was never told why. So now it was only the 3 boys. My mum’s
partner was a nice enough guy, at least I thought so. He would let us use his “computer”, buy us things, play with us etc., but this was all a
seduction technique. He was seducing us for what he wanted to do. My mother by this point in my life (7 years old) was a drug addict; I’d often
see her sniffing glue or smoking cannabis. Her partner also did these things.
His seduction techniques were to lour us into a sense of safety around him. Until he “pounced”. He sexually abused me and my brothers. I
won’t go into the details but this went on for nearly 2 years, I would tell my mum about it but all she would do is tell me I was lying. After 2
years of this form of abuse, we moved back to our original town, this time with only my mum. She had told us that she had split with her partner and
she wanted a life with just us 3. My sister was still living with my grandparents, and I still at that point had no idea why. After a couple of
months of living back “home”. My mum called us into a room. She told us that she wanted a “break” from us. She said that we were going to
go on holiday for a couple of weeks without her but we’d be coming back home soon. She even bought us going away presents. All I could do was
cry.
edit on 2/11/11 by jrmcleod because: (no reason given)
like you take the position that type of violence should come to an end, those cycles should be broken.. 
