Abused??????
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southern yankee
- Posts: 3906
- Joined: Sat Jul 05, 2008 7:38 pm
Abused??????
Now i know this subject has been talked to death here. just want to share something with you all. who are being, have been, or know of someone who is. Male or Female. I was for more then half my life by nuns and men. sounds like a crazy mix. doesn't it?? Not really. the nuns, abused me with their fist, along with the FEAR OF GOD too. which started my downhill journey to self hate and my lack of trust in anyone. including God. This went on from 1965 to 2012:-1. until i had a total melt down. ending up in a mental ward in a TN. hospital. THE BEST THING THAT I COULD HAVE EVER DONE!! was the day i entered the hospital. I want share my story with other abused folks out there. Letting them know. You never deserved it. Plus everyone is WORTHWHILE. i picked this, Gen. Chit Chat. Just thinking MORE may feel it was OK. not a MENTAL ISSUE> but part of a life lession. that could happen to most anyone. from all walks of life. right now, one out of three women are abused in their life time. and one out of 4 men. sexually, phyically, or emotionally. which the emotional, can leave even deeper scars. If not delt with. As i had done. My late husband was the worst. i tried to see his death through rose colored glasses. but he did DISTROY my life. until i WON it back. please feel free to ask questions. if i can help anyone. i am giving back.
Abused??????
The recent local suicide from bullying has caused a lot of people to start talking about the abuse they survived or people they lost to bullying. It's not always other kids doing to the bullying, it comes in many forms, and the internet has opened up relentless 24/7 avenues for those inclined to do such things. Not only is there no hiding place anymore, online bullying leaves permanent material that will never be erased by memory, such as the naked photos and photoshopped joke photos that people are still posting on the dead girl's memorial pages. Those photos will never go away, even after she's dead. For all the hype to teach kids about the wrongs of bullying, they learn it from the adult world. Those kids who don't learn it from adults learn from seeing what happens if the strongest group doesn't approve of you and they don't want to cross paths so join or keep their heads low.
Once bullied or abused, it changes a person. Some people become more anti-social and then people think they "deserve" it when the abuse continues. They can turn to drugs, promiscuity, self harm, looking for some sort of escape or temporary solace. Quite often the result is to become drawn to abusive people who accurately reflect back the treatment you expect to receive. Thinking back, I can see how my current personality was shaped by bullying since I was 4 yrs old. Everyone saw it, no one did anything. My fight or flight kicked in and I chose fight.
There is empowerment in telling your story. You save lives.
Once bullied or abused, it changes a person. Some people become more anti-social and then people think they "deserve" it when the abuse continues. They can turn to drugs, promiscuity, self harm, looking for some sort of escape or temporary solace. Quite often the result is to become drawn to abusive people who accurately reflect back the treatment you expect to receive. Thinking back, I can see how my current personality was shaped by bullying since I was 4 yrs old. Everyone saw it, no one did anything. My fight or flight kicked in and I chose fight.
There is empowerment in telling your story. You save lives.
Abused??????
Every bullying story is important, equally traumatic, and the outcome usually due to chance. There is no "weak" in a victim. They are just a victim. Some survive and some don't. Usually the difference occurs because survivors encounter something that causes a "click" and makes them fight.
The course of my bullying changed when I had the "fight or flight" choice forced upon me. There was a kid who used to tackle me and throw me on the ground making out like we were wrestling. Somehow "wrestling" involved him sitting on my back pulling my pigtails until my body wouldn't bend anymore. The sudden, random, assaults went on for close to two years. Presumably adults could see it since it happened on their front lawns. There were usually a few kids standing around laughing or ignoring it. My younger brother recently mentioned it still bothering him because he thought someone should have done something to help me. "Yep. That's always what I had thought," was my reply. Another kid took up the game and I ended up with a gash across my forehead from being tossed towards a drain pipe. I have a scar from the stitches. Next, one of my female friends decided it was okay to beat me with an umbrella. Finally, I was blacking out one sunny afternoon while the main bully smothered my face and I knew I was going to die. So I bit him. His hand was covering my mouth and it's the only thing I could do since my limbs had been immobilized. I was lectured by him that his mother had wanted to press charges against me and the other kids shook their head at my audacity to bite a kid. I told them in inarticulate child terms "I don't care. I'll bite him again too." At that point they decided I wasn't the easiest kid to pick on.
The physical abuse had finally ended when I was six, but the sexual abuse began shortly after. Older kids had moved in across the street and created a new kind of game. When I protested, I was told I had to do what they said or they'd tell my parents terrible things about me. My older brother was in on the game so I had no one to protect me. I don't know how life would have gone if my family hadn't decided to move to a very distant city. I was also punched in the face by my "best friend" because I wasn't allowed to go trick or treating with her as they were going much further from our neighbourhood. A teacher sent us to the office after asking why I was crying and the principle scolded me for "telling on" my friend. When another friend got punched at school I started giggling uncontrollably when everyone was crowded around her very concerned and trying to make sure justice was served on her attacker. All I could hear was her hitching sobs and everything else was so surreal I couldn't make sense of it. No one cared when I got hit. I got in trouble for giggling. I was good at something though... I could run. You might imagine why. Nevertheless, even that was taken away. One of the girls who was always competing with me because we both got sent to the school for smart kids every other Thursday, tried out for the track team. We had to run the qualifying race three times because she complained that I had cut her off on the field. Her brother yelled "You cut my sister off one more time, Davison, and I'll rip your face off!!" Needless to say, I ran slower and more carefully and didn't place in the top 5 the third time. Lo! An adult finally paid attention. The track teacher let me qualify the next day in a timed run. The girl who blamed her loss on me didn't make the team even when I was out of the race. This teacher was like a bearded angel to me. He's the only person I look back on with respect from my childhood. He pretty much saved my life. I loved to run. Running was only thing I was good at.
I made a decision that when we moved my life would start from the first day in the new house and my choice of amnesia was successful. To this day my memories of my years prior to age 9 are fuzzy. I know what happened only because I remembered when I was 16 and struggling to figure out why I was the way I was. I worked really hard to get back what I do remember and my younger brother is the one person who was willing and able to validate it all for me.
So that takes me up to 9 yrs old. There's more but the post is too long already.
The course of my bullying changed when I had the "fight or flight" choice forced upon me. There was a kid who used to tackle me and throw me on the ground making out like we were wrestling. Somehow "wrestling" involved him sitting on my back pulling my pigtails until my body wouldn't bend anymore. The sudden, random, assaults went on for close to two years. Presumably adults could see it since it happened on their front lawns. There were usually a few kids standing around laughing or ignoring it. My younger brother recently mentioned it still bothering him because he thought someone should have done something to help me. "Yep. That's always what I had thought," was my reply. Another kid took up the game and I ended up with a gash across my forehead from being tossed towards a drain pipe. I have a scar from the stitches. Next, one of my female friends decided it was okay to beat me with an umbrella. Finally, I was blacking out one sunny afternoon while the main bully smothered my face and I knew I was going to die. So I bit him. His hand was covering my mouth and it's the only thing I could do since my limbs had been immobilized. I was lectured by him that his mother had wanted to press charges against me and the other kids shook their head at my audacity to bite a kid. I told them in inarticulate child terms "I don't care. I'll bite him again too." At that point they decided I wasn't the easiest kid to pick on.
The physical abuse had finally ended when I was six, but the sexual abuse began shortly after. Older kids had moved in across the street and created a new kind of game. When I protested, I was told I had to do what they said or they'd tell my parents terrible things about me. My older brother was in on the game so I had no one to protect me. I don't know how life would have gone if my family hadn't decided to move to a very distant city. I was also punched in the face by my "best friend" because I wasn't allowed to go trick or treating with her as they were going much further from our neighbourhood. A teacher sent us to the office after asking why I was crying and the principle scolded me for "telling on" my friend. When another friend got punched at school I started giggling uncontrollably when everyone was crowded around her very concerned and trying to make sure justice was served on her attacker. All I could hear was her hitching sobs and everything else was so surreal I couldn't make sense of it. No one cared when I got hit. I got in trouble for giggling. I was good at something though... I could run. You might imagine why. Nevertheless, even that was taken away. One of the girls who was always competing with me because we both got sent to the school for smart kids every other Thursday, tried out for the track team. We had to run the qualifying race three times because she complained that I had cut her off on the field. Her brother yelled "You cut my sister off one more time, Davison, and I'll rip your face off!!" Needless to say, I ran slower and more carefully and didn't place in the top 5 the third time. Lo! An adult finally paid attention. The track teacher let me qualify the next day in a timed run. The girl who blamed her loss on me didn't make the team even when I was out of the race. This teacher was like a bearded angel to me. He's the only person I look back on with respect from my childhood. He pretty much saved my life. I loved to run. Running was only thing I was good at.
I made a decision that when we moved my life would start from the first day in the new house and my choice of amnesia was successful. To this day my memories of my years prior to age 9 are fuzzy. I know what happened only because I remembered when I was 16 and struggling to figure out why I was the way I was. I worked really hard to get back what I do remember and my younger brother is the one person who was willing and able to validate it all for me.
So that takes me up to 9 yrs old. There's more but the post is too long already.
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southern yankee
- Posts: 3906
- Joined: Sat Jul 05, 2008 7:38 pm
Abused??????
in was a only child who went to school in the 60's to mid 70's. i had a hell of time in school. due to the abuse of teachers nuns, mostly. but even back then. the CLICK girls and guys were very crule and hurtful to me. i was sent by my school, 1968 (catholic) school was sent to see if I was applying my self or not. to the heart break of my mother. she was bluntly told i was RETIRED and needed to be PUT AWAY. This spread to the nuns and parents, and then my piers. which made school. a living hell.I was laughted at, beaten, pushed down flights of stairs. because i was LABLED. This was done by nuns and piers. this was 1st through 8th. would to hearfrom anyone how their journey of distruction started. i do relize I AM NOT THE LONE RANGER. many out there have a lot more horrible stories then this one. just a note: where were my parents, u may all say???? i was told by the NUNS tell your parents, u will then get it MUCH WORSE.
Please remember most of this took place in the mid to late 60's
Please remember most of this took place in the mid to late 60'sAbused??????
southern yankee;1408295 wrote: in was a only child who went to school in the 60's to mid 70's. i had a hell of time in school. due to the abuse of teachers nuns, mostly. but even back then. the CLICK girls and guys were very crule and hurtful to me. i was sent by my school, 1968 (catholic) school was sent to see if I was applying my self or not. to the heart break of my mother. she was bluntly told i was RETIRED and needed to be PUT AWAY. This spread to the nuns and parents, and then my piers. which made school. a living hell.I was laughted at, beaten, pushed down flights of stairs. because i was LABLED. This was done by nuns and piers. this was 1st through 8th. would to hearfrom anyone how their journey of distruction started. i do relize I AM NOT THE LONE RANGER. many out there have a lot more horrible stories then this one. just a note: where were my parents, u may all say???? i was told by the NUNS tell your parents, u will then get it MUCH WORSE. Please remember most of this took place in the mid to late 60's
There are no "more horrible" stories. Each person's trauma is unique and equally disturbing.
I know a girl who lost her mother to cancer when she was quite young. Nobody helped her to cope with her loss and she became withdrawn so she was labelled as low IQ. To this day she believes she is stupid. I know it isn't true. She is stunningly beautiful so she got by in life without having any intellectual self esteem, but it could have been so much better. Who knows what the world lost.
Please remember most of this took place in the mid to late 60'sThere are no "more horrible" stories. Each person's trauma is unique and equally disturbing.
I know a girl who lost her mother to cancer when she was quite young. Nobody helped her to cope with her loss and she became withdrawn so she was labelled as low IQ. To this day she believes she is stupid. I know it isn't true. She is stunningly beautiful so she got by in life without having any intellectual self esteem, but it could have been so much better. Who knows what the world lost.
Abused??????
Sometimes I think everyone must have been abused growing up. to different degrees, sure.
I can't think of any of my friends who weren't abused or bullied in some manner. I know my sisters and I were. I know my brothers were. And that's just by our own parents.
Human beings just aren't very kind to each other, it seems.
I can't think of any of my friends who weren't abused or bullied in some manner. I know my sisters and I were. I know my brothers were. And that's just by our own parents.
Human beings just aren't very kind to each other, it seems.
I expressly forbid the use of any of my posts anywhere outside of FG (with the exception of the incredibly witty 'get a room already' )posted recently.
Folks who'd like to copy my intellectual work should expect to pay me for it.:-6
Folks who'd like to copy my intellectual work should expect to pay me for it.:-6
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AnneBoleyn
- Posts: 6632
- Joined: Sun Dec 11, 2011 3:17 pm
Abused??????
When I was a kid, bullying was called 'teasing'. My sister was 'teased' a lot. We were told to suck it up or answer back, which is where my big mouth comes from. We also had something called 'rank-out' where the one with the biggest mouth (Maxine was her name) reigned supreme. Had to be real quick with one-liners. Like Don Rickles as a bully, that was Maxine. There was no physical violence.