Look what I found , I think if u are free u must hit an eye here.
My parents were violent people. My mom would use our bodies as an outlet for stress whenever my dad was not around. She would time these “punishments” when my dad would be away for days so he would not see the wounds, bruises, and bite marks. On an almost daily basis, she would get away with hitting and kicking us in areas of our bodies hidden by clothing.
I had a cat then, and she was a real bitch. I attributed this mean behavior of hers to her past, as a stray cat who was used to being neglected and abused on the streets of a local wet market, where i picked her up. Seeing myself in her, I took care of her anyway. An unloved creature needs to know and be shown love despite of itself. She still was a real bitch, though.
One night when i was 8, my mom came home, livid. I knew it’s going to be one of those nights. She wasn’t happy, and i knew she would tell me to lie flat on my stomach so she could hit me on the back or else she would be in pain from the stress that would eventually kill her. She manipulated us like that for so long. I loved her so I willingly obliged. She would hit me so hard that the bruises would bleed, that standing up and sitting would be painful ordeals. Time went by and I realized I was not being punished. I was being abused.
That night, I fought her.
I wanted to protect myself and my sister. She feigned like she was having chest pains and I almost relented, but seeing that it was not effective, she only got angrier. That’s when she grabbed a metal rod that she started beating me up with. I was able to get away and crawl under the stairs but she caught up, dragged me out by my hair. I was on the floor, shielding myself and bracing for the next blow, when i heard my mom scream. I looked up and saw that my cat — my mean, perpetually angry cat who ignored me everyday — shot up and bit her in the arm. My mom shook her off but the cat was aggressive and positioned herself for another attack against my mom. She hissed and placed herself between my mom and I. Now i never cry when my mom hurts me, but that was the time I broke down. I could not wrap my head around the fact that my real asshole of a cat would protect me. Pain was certain, but she risked herself for me. She was my angel that night.
It was selfless. It was love.
For anyone asking for how long the abuse continued, it did until i was old enough to physically fight her.
For my 11th birthday, her “gift” to me was her promise that she would never hurt us again. She did not keep that promise. At 14, I bolted out of the house and ran away but one of my aunts met me along the way and brought me back home. I hid the truth from her that I was running away from home and I was being chased by my mom but got to pretending to have chest pains to gain the sympathy of people. To this day she still asks what happened that night. I got a grade of 86. That was my sin.
Eventually my mom learned to lock the doors and keep my pets away, as two of my dogs were aggressive towards her too whenever she would hurt us. My sister and I survived by padding our clothes when we know we will be alone with her, to lessen the physical trauma. We got bullied at school too because we would turn up the next day with bruises on our faces and arms, and our neighbors who happen to be our peers and classmates would hear us screaming. The ones who cared said they wanted to call 163 (our version of child services) but they never did. I called them myself several times but I was young and did not know better. I end up hanging up everytime. The teachers never spoke about it. They would take me to the Principal’s Office to talk about my behavior at school as i used to isolate myself from the other kids. I did not have friends. I was the lonely, silent kid. I did not know how to connect with kids my age because i lived with so much guilt and shame. I came clean to my homeroom teacher, but she dismissed this as “discipline” and reported it to my mother, which of course would warrant another beating for humiliating her. I do not have a lot of good memories of my childhood. I would consider myself lucky if i live through the night with just bruises and bite marks. When my mom’s out of control, we literally fear for our lives. We have suffered stab wounds on the arms, she broke my arm and my sister’s leg during an episode. One time she hit me so hard on the head with a heavy scissor that it bled. She would kick me in the chest and stomach hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. The worst moment was when my sister was sent to the hospital with her head bleeding profusely. She bled all over the floor, on her shirt and her blood dripping on the streets as we headed to a nearby clinic. We could not tell the nurses about what happened despite their persistent questioning. We knew they were bound to tell the authorities, but we did not want our father to land in jail.
Home was never a safe place, but we cannot choose the family we were born into.
As we grew up, my sister and I despised her more and more. The cruelty permanently damaged our relationship.
What once was fear turned into hate. There are times that my anger would get so intense that it caused her to back off. I wanted to intimidate her, if that was the only way to make her respect us as human beings. One time i threw a pan of hot cooking oil at her. I missed on purpose, but she knew better than to cross me. Another time, I almost stabbed her out of anger. I almost killed my own mother. I hate what i have become, but I have had enough.
I am still working on myself and hope that our relationship gets better. But her treatment of us greatly impacted us as adults and we partly blame her for a lot of things that went wrong in our lives, how trusting and loving people was such a difficult job for us. How difficult it is to make friends and keep people in our lives. The constant fear of turning into her one day when we marry and have children. She is the last person I ever want to be and I do not think i will ever recover from this. I still try everyday, though.
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