<span style='font-size:8pt;line-height:100%'>I was pretty taken-back to hear your stories, not only because of what you've all been through but because they're so similar to my story. Growing up for me was kind of a struggle, it still is. I'm sixteen years old, and feel about sixty.
You see, when I was born I was literally almost dead, I wasn't breathing and had no pulse. I had been without oxygen for a few minutes, for anyone who doesn't know how serious that is, I THINK 3 minutes leaves permanent brain damage and at 5 minutes your brain dead. Anyway, it’s a long story so I’ll shorten it. Basically it’s left me with some learning difficulties (for example it takes me longer to learn things) but fortunately I can still do all the normal things everyone else does.
As I’m sure you can appreciate it wasn't easy growing up,
My first memory from my early childhood was me running away, from people, from something scary, I don't know. I just remember running.
At the age of four or five I had been called practically every hurtful word I can think of today. Stupid, waste of time, useless, pathetic, unworthy etc. (you get the idea)
When my younger siblings came along it got worse, because now it wasn’t just me, I had to stand back and watch them take it too. It wasn’t as bad for them, but it still hurt to watch. Ever since I can remember there were financial issues, for example to this day (even though money isn't that big of an issue anymore) I don't even ask for money for a drink when I’m out with my mother. Why? Because I already know the answer.
Existentialist,
When I read that your mum used to hit you with a wooden spoon my heart sank and past memories came flooding back to my mind because I remember when it happened to me. I don't think I got through a week without kneeling down beside my bed a praying to whoever might be listening for a angel to take me away. (Keep in mind I was pretty young still)
Whenever I went to school I would cover up my pain and hurt with a smile, so nobody could see. When my family went out in public, it was just as bad, accept instead of yelling at us when we placed one foot wrong my mother would just stare and give us a scary glad or look, letting us know that when we got home we were in big trouble. My parents never got on, so they would take it out on us, especially me. Why? I don't know, I still don't to this day. Maybe because I let them, or because I was there at the time. While constantly struggling with school, I was expected to keep an eye at all times on my brothers. For example, when they played I had to make sure they didn't get hurt, or they didn't fight over a toy while my mum was on the phone (or something like that) if I failed to do this I was yelled at and reminded how stupid and useless I was. Never mind that I was just a kid too. My mothers was, is a controlling perfectionist everything had to be her way or not at all. From the number of times I brushed my hair each morning to the colour of the clips in my hair, to the way I held a pencil. Everything was controlled. And I was always wrong. No matter how hard I tried, I was always wrong. My life became about following orders to the letter, all I’ve ever wanted to do in life was have people notice me, to have my parents look at me and not see pity reflect in their eye's. I wanted to prove to my parents that I was worth the trouble.
Every wish or dream I’ve ever shared with my mother, she's found a way to discourage me and tell me how pathetic and wrong my idea was. To this day I often do extra things around the house or on birthday spend ridiculous amount of money on presents or anything I can do to get noticed. It never works, at sixteen I find myself waking up each morning, looking at myself in the mirror and have not the slightest clue of who this stranger is staring back at me.
I'm really not sure if any of this classifies as any sort of abuse, I’m not writing this to complain, but rather as a message to anyone and everyone who's ever been physically, emotionally or psychologically abused or put down in anyway. Don’t let them drown you out, if you have to hide who you are, then so be it, just don't EVER forget who you are. I feel for all of you.
I was and still am angry that this had to happen to me. My mother for all of what I’ve said and my father for sitting back and watching it play out. Still, at the end of the day I really can’t blame them because I know that under the circumstance of who they are and the position they were in they probably did the best job they knew how to.
So, to everyone out there with parents who love, respect and accept you for who you are go home and hug them and tell them what they really mean to you. I know some of you will read that last part a probably laugh, and that's ok, because I know for a fact that some people really don't know the value of the people they have in their lives until you contemplate life without them.
I know it’s long, SORRY but I felt compelled to write it.
Thank-you.</span>
You see, when I was born I was literally almost dead, I wasn't breathing and had no pulse. I had been without oxygen for a few minutes, for anyone who doesn't know how serious that is, I THINK 3 minutes leaves permanent brain damage and at 5 minutes your brain dead. Anyway, it’s a long story so I’ll shorten it. Basically it’s left me with some learning difficulties (for example it takes me longer to learn things) but fortunately I can still do all the normal things everyone else does.
As I’m sure you can appreciate it wasn't easy growing up,
My first memory from my early childhood was me running away, from people, from something scary, I don't know. I just remember running.
At the age of four or five I had been called practically every hurtful word I can think of today. Stupid, waste of time, useless, pathetic, unworthy etc. (you get the idea)
When my younger siblings came along it got worse, because now it wasn’t just me, I had to stand back and watch them take it too. It wasn’t as bad for them, but it still hurt to watch. Ever since I can remember there were financial issues, for example to this day (even though money isn't that big of an issue anymore) I don't even ask for money for a drink when I’m out with my mother. Why? Because I already know the answer.
Existentialist,
When I read that your mum used to hit you with a wooden spoon my heart sank and past memories came flooding back to my mind because I remember when it happened to me. I don't think I got through a week without kneeling down beside my bed a praying to whoever might be listening for a angel to take me away. (Keep in mind I was pretty young still)
Whenever I went to school I would cover up my pain and hurt with a smile, so nobody could see. When my family went out in public, it was just as bad, accept instead of yelling at us when we placed one foot wrong my mother would just stare and give us a scary glad or look, letting us know that when we got home we were in big trouble. My parents never got on, so they would take it out on us, especially me. Why? I don't know, I still don't to this day. Maybe because I let them, or because I was there at the time. While constantly struggling with school, I was expected to keep an eye at all times on my brothers. For example, when they played I had to make sure they didn't get hurt, or they didn't fight over a toy while my mum was on the phone (or something like that) if I failed to do this I was yelled at and reminded how stupid and useless I was. Never mind that I was just a kid too. My mothers was, is a controlling perfectionist everything had to be her way or not at all. From the number of times I brushed my hair each morning to the colour of the clips in my hair, to the way I held a pencil. Everything was controlled. And I was always wrong. No matter how hard I tried, I was always wrong. My life became about following orders to the letter, all I’ve ever wanted to do in life was have people notice me, to have my parents look at me and not see pity reflect in their eye's. I wanted to prove to my parents that I was worth the trouble.
Every wish or dream I’ve ever shared with my mother, she's found a way to discourage me and tell me how pathetic and wrong my idea was. To this day I often do extra things around the house or on birthday spend ridiculous amount of money on presents or anything I can do to get noticed. It never works, at sixteen I find myself waking up each morning, looking at myself in the mirror and have not the slightest clue of who this stranger is staring back at me.
I'm really not sure if any of this classifies as any sort of abuse, I’m not writing this to complain, but rather as a message to anyone and everyone who's ever been physically, emotionally or psychologically abused or put down in anyway. Don’t let them drown you out, if you have to hide who you are, then so be it, just don't EVER forget who you are. I feel for all of you.
I was and still am angry that this had to happen to me. My mother for all of what I’ve said and my father for sitting back and watching it play out. Still, at the end of the day I really can’t blame them because I know that under the circumstance of who they are and the position they were in they probably did the best job they knew how to.
So, to everyone out there with parents who love, respect and accept you for who you are go home and hug them and tell them what they really mean to you. I know some of you will read that last part a probably laugh, and that's ok, because I know for a fact that some people really don't know the value of the people they have in their lives until you contemplate life without them.
I know it’s long, SORRY but I felt compelled to write it.
Thank-you.</span>