Child Abuse

Finally! Little Miss has fallen into a nap...in my arms, no less, but at least she is asleep. I desperately needed some quiet time. For reasons I can't figure out, she has fussed since she woke up. Teething, maybe?

I don't know.

I've disabled my FB app and yesterday I didn't visit the site at all. Instead, I sewed the nursing cover that has been sitting on the work table for about a week. I also watched The Pianist, a movie I have been wanting to see since it came out years ago. It did not disappoint and I actually watched it again when K got home. He loved it as well.

It is seldom that I truly love a movie. It takes a lot to make me laugh, cry, or otherwise respond to a film. This film made me respond. It was phenomenal.

I am now watching The Hours. When I watch this movie, I can't help but envy Virginia. It's completely dreadful to say such a thing, but it is quite true and I'm making a point to be true to myself these days. I'm not entirely sure what I'm attracted to in her. I think perhaps her guts. Or is it "guts" that enables one to do It?

Guts or fear?

I do not desire to follow her...to bear the stones, so to speak, but I cannot help but wonder about it.

I've surrounded myself with melancholy the last week. I think I hope that if I do this, then I'll sicken of it and replace it with things more alive. I'm practically wallowing in it, but separate from it, observing and examining it like a spectator, rather than participating in it. I feel I must allow it, examine every part of it, and then let it go. I believe this is an important part of my spiritual growth.

I am not afraid.

I had a thought yesterday, that the most unprotected people in all the world are children. It makes me ache inside and fills me with dread so completely that my heart feels heavy like lead.

I watched the scene in The Pianist where the German soldier beats Szpillman for dropping the bricks and I thought, "at least it is someone he knows hates him. There are children in this world who are treated that way by their own parents...parents who should be devoting their lives to loving and protecting them at all costs."

Why are such hideous thoughts invading my mind? Since realizing my "nightmares" about my dad were in fact memories long buried by my mind to protect my spirit (it is amazing what the mind can do), other things have come up.

That scene reminded me of my father beating my brothers with a belt. It was very similar to what the officer did. I remember he came into the room because the boys were giggling before going to sleep. He warned them a couple of times to be quiet. They continued to giggle, because sometimes as kids, you simply get the giggles.

He came in with the belt. The boys protested, as he pulled them from the bed, with their hands at their backsides, trying to block the coming onslaught of random smacks.

Something strange happens to a child that is used to being hit by their parents. I have wondered about it for a long time, since sitting in family counseling, laughing about the past wrongs we children endured, while everyone else cried.

Yes, something happens to abused children, and it has taken me to yesterday to figure it out.

When my dad would hit us, he would scream at us to stop crying. When finished (and crying, of course...welps hurt), he would say "You stop that crying or I'll give you something to cry about." Sometimes he did, and the cycle continued.

What happened from this was we, but mostly the boys, who were treated far worse than the girls (at least pertaining to beatings), would begin laughing nervously when being hit with the belt. This would always, ALWAYS backfire though, because my father seemed to see this as a direct challenge to his authority. He would retaliate by hitting longer and even harder to make the laughing stop. This always led to crying, of course, which again led to the, " If you don't stop that crying, I'll give you something to cry about!"

What happens to children is their minds protect their spirit through the giggles, through the amnesia, through the repression of traumatic events brought down on them by those who should be protecting them.

There was a differentiation of treatment between the boys and girls in the house, but all were abused. I've already talked about what he did to me, when he made me sleep in his bed. The strange thing is, as horrible as that was, what was even worse was having to watch him beat my brothers and being powerless to stop it. I'd lay in bed and cry myself to sleep after he'd beat them. I never understood.

Dealing with memories of my father has been difficult for me since realizing that my dreams were actual memories. Childhood memories I used to look back on fondly are now marred with reality. I don't know how to handle memories of him. I am thankful that I was not made aware of the reality until this point in my life, as I don't believe I'd have been able to handle it at all, before now.

My mind was protecting my spirit.

It all makes so much sense now...me not eating and being happy to fit in my sister's pants (she is 5 years younger than me). I wanted to be a little girl again.
My anger.
My protective instincts regarding my siblings.
My sexual knowledge at a young age.
My fears about having a daughter.
My paranoia around men and believing they all just want sex.
My self-loathing.

My father may not think twice about what he did. He certainly has never apologized for any of it, or acknowledged any wrong doing. He sits in his recliner each day, playing the arm chair preacher, telling everyone else how to be saved and get to heaven. He affected my life so deeply and so negatively that I have no desire to be around him. He sent a Christmas card this year and I wrote "return to sender" on it, but ended up just throwing it away. I don't care to acknowledge him in any way.

I wish someone had noticed what was happening to us. It was a different time and people didn't interfere with other parents then. Parents could do what they wanted to their children. Children had no rights. They weren't even considered full people in most households. At least not in many I knew of.

There is an African proverb that says, "It takes a village to raise a child," and I find this to be very true.

Children should be protected.
Children should be loved.

Over-stressed parents should be offered help.

Abuse effects people's lives, not just their day, or their week. Abuse causes deep, wounds and leaves permanent scars. A person may get past it, but they are forever affected.

If you see or suspect child abuse, please speak up and speak out about it.

I once yelled at a father for punching his son on top of the head while I was getting my boys ready to go into the doctor's office. I wanted that child to know that what his father was doing wasn't right and I wanted the father to know what a fucking asshole he was. I was still heated when I went inside. The receptionist asked me what was wrong. I told her. She thanked me and said the children has suspicious marks on their bodies.

Because I spoke up, they could investigate further.

Children are precious. They are not your property. This is not a "they're your kids, do what you want" situation. They deserve the best. If you're not the best for them, get help, or even give them up for adoption.

Please don't ruin their lives because you suck as a parent.