ABUSE 

If you’ve never been abused in any manner you won’t be able to relate to the fear and sadness. If you have, then you can relate to my words and to the pix below.  And those are the only pix that didn’t disappear…there are scars, both physical and emotional that never heal.

I never asked to be abused…EVER. It seems though abuse was to be a way of life for me. Starting as a child. I’m not claiming to be an angel, but I wasn’t, nor am I, the bitch some believe me to be.

My mother blamed me for everything that went wrong in her life. My fault I was born a girl. My fault my father left. My fault I didn’t stop his marriage to my step-mother. I’ve had more wooden spoons & Avon white hairbrushes broken across my backside than I can count. Add to that the emotional abuse & verbal abuse.

What mother tells her daughter “yes, you were my first born, but I never really loved you. But I truly love your brother.” What mother tells her daughter, after being told she’s been sexually abused by her father, “Why would you want to besmirch a good mans reputation?” What mother says to her daughter “what are my friends going to think of me?” when told by her unmarried daughter that she’s pregnant?

What kind of mother lies to her entire family that her daughter has a major drug problem, knowing the truth lay in her daughters actual physical medical issues? Knowing that lie can be proved false to EVERYONE with just a few sheets of a medical record.

The abuse at the hands of my father? That started when I started to bud. Part of the blame lies of course with mother. Part of the blame lies with him. Part of the blame lies with me NOT knowing that “this is how all daddies show their love for their daughters” was a lie.

I’m NOT going to be explicit here…just that IT happened. Not once, not twice, but several times. At the lake when looking for a ski. At home with my mother in the next room.

I finally got an explanation from my father later in life, along with an apology, that it had to do with mothers inability to forward thinking as to sex; not merely a means to procreate. In other wards she was a prude. The guys would talk at work, he wanted to check it out, she wouldn’t “experiment”…so I became the “guinea pig”.

Not a great way to grow up.

Then come those who abused their power. A couple of military officers. A fellow seaman beating me in my barracks room. Being told by my commander “this is the mans Navy, buck up and take it like a man”.

Then come the “love ’em & leave ’ems”. Those professing their undying love, they’ll never hurt you types. Yeah right! Liars, cheaters, abusers! Lies about where they are, who they’re with and shoving you across the room when question them.

For those of you unaware…when a man moves you to an area where you know no one, have no job prospects and limits your contact with out-of-area family and friends…RUN!! Run fast; run far!!

For those of you who think you can help a man clean up…get off drugs and alcohol. STOP THINKING…they have to REALLY REALLY want the help. Otherwise your merely banging your head against a brick wall. Or else they are.

After being put in a chokehold


Hair that was RIPPED from my head


Stabbed in the Heart…Heart tattoo that is


A NOT SO FUNNY SMILEY


The last black eye I’ll EVER have