My dad was my abuser. Physical, emotional, mental, and sexual.
My dad was my abuser. Physical, emotional, mental, and sexual. If you have a family that calls you, wants you around, remembers your birthday and buys you gifts, you are blessed. I wish my family loved me. Because in spite of it all, I still love them.
My older brother was a big baby. After a c-section, the doctors told my mom “no more babies for at least 2 years.” Two months later, she was pregnant with me. I was a problem, and unwanted by my family from the very start. My dad is a drinker, and mean. He’s just a generally unfriendly, angry person. 
I remember someone telling me great advice when I was pregnant with my own son: The word discipline comes from the word disciple, it means to teach. Punishment is ment to inflict pain on a guilty person. Remember the difference. That bit of advice has always stuck with me. It reminds me of how I should handle my child, and it’s a bitter reminder that my father was never about discipline.
My father favored punishment. He hates me, and it’s hard because he’s still around and it’s hard to see my mom. My earliest memory is being 4, standing in the kitchen and my dad snapped. He jerked me up by one arm, beat me and screamed “GET OUT OF THE F*CKING KITCHEN.” The physical abuse continued into my teens. The sexual abuse, I wasn’t even aware of until I was in therapy in my late 20s.
I remember someone telling me great advice when I was pregnant with my own son: The word discipline comes from the word disciple, it means to teach. Punishment is ment to inflict pain on a guilty person. Remember the difference. That bit of advice has always stuck with me. It reminds me of how I should handle my child, and it’s a bitter reminder that my father was never about discipline. My father favored punishment. He hates me, and it’s hard because he’s still around and it’s hard to see my mom. My earliest memory is being 4, standing in the kitchen and my dad snapped. He jerked me up by one arm, beat me and screamed “GET OUT OF THE F*CKING KITCHEN.” The physical abuse continued into my teens. The sexual abuse, I wasn’t even aware of until I was in therapy in my late 20s.Pornography played constantly, on the tv in my house. I had probably seen more porn by the time I was 9, than most of you have seen in your life. He was great at telling me everything I couldn’t do, because I was a girl. He made me hate my gender. Cant play guitar. Cant do math. Can’t walk alone anywhere. Can’t think for yourself. Can’t travel. I cried a lot as a kid and when I was 8, my dad looked at me with hate and said “you’re a f*cking c*nt, and I wish you weren’t mine.” As a teenager, I was big into music. I taught myself to play guitar anyway despite his ridicule, and I collected posters. Rare expensive posters. 
No Doubt, Green Day Deftones Tool 311, I had 27 special posters. I came home one day and every single one was ripped to pieces, and stuffed in a garbage bag in my room. Punishment for forgetting to do the dishes. I’ve never bought another poster since. I cried for a week. I struggle with addiction, I cant get close to people and I’m afraid of success. I have panic attacks. I cry for no reason. And he still hates me. He still tells me he hates me. I spend every holiday alone. I’ve never gotten a phone call on my birthday. He’s never said I love you, or I’m proud of you. And I hurt.
No Doubt, Green Day Deftones Tool 311, I had 27 special posters. I came home one day and every single one was ripped to pieces, and stuffed in a garbage bag in my room. Punishment for forgetting to do the dishes. I’ve never bought another poster since. I cried for a week. I struggle with addiction, I cant get close to people and I’m afraid of success. I have panic attacks. I cry for no reason. And he still hates me. He still tells me he hates me. I spend every holiday alone. I’ve never gotten a phone call on my birthday. He’s never said I love you, or I’m proud of you. And I hurt.
