Sara said 9 years, 1 month ago:
The earliest memory I can recall about my Mother, was her backing me into the corner and slamming my head against the wall. I cannot recall what I did to make her angry.
I was two years old….
Now, when I was a child, sure enough, I was disciplined. As most children are when they have done something wrong.
My Father was usually the one who dealt out the punishments. But it was never anything more than a smack on the bum, or a smack over my head.
When I was old enough to attend public school, I would often beg my parents not to take me. As when I was younger, and into my early teens, my half sibling would sexually assault me. And when I was at school, well, I’m sure you can put two and two together.
While no one else knew about the abuse from my half sibling, I always felt that my Mother knew about it. While this may or may not be true, no one else can be certain for sure.
And when my Father went off to work early in the morning, my Mother was usually the one that took me to school. And for reasons listed as above, I refused to want to go.
My Mother would often drag me out of the door by the hair, while I was still in my pyjamas, and throw me into the car.
She would often say that she was under a lot of stress. From what?
She hardly worked, so it could not be from work load. She did not cook, she did not clean. She had a mental illness, and would lie in bed all day feeling sorry for herself.
Sometimes she would just take her anger out on me, Seeing as I was the youngest child, and I could not fight back.
She was a very manipulative, very conniving individual.
When my Father was at work, she would often take one of his leather belts and chase me around the house with it, threatening to beat me.
She would publicly humiliate me by pulling my pants down in a local shopping centre, and drag me by the hair kicking and screaming. No one did anything to help me. It was as though no body cared…
This had gone on for many years. Never once has she acknowledged what she has done, nor has she apologized for it.
She would often victimise herself, and would always find some sort of excuse, or something to complain about.
She never spent any time with me. She was always busy with one of my other siblings. It seemed as though there was always something more important.
She never sat down and read me a story, teach me how to ride a bike, tuck me into bed.
No, it was always Dad.
And though my Father was an alcoholic at the time, he always seemed to make time for me. Dad would pick me up after school, and take me to either the park, or down by the creek so we could go swimming.
He taught me how to ride a bike, and he even built me a cubby house with his bare hands.
But where was my Mother in all of this?
I am a grown woman now, and still have relationship issues with her.
Just recently last year, my Father had decided that he had enough, and divorced her. She is still trying to get money off him…
Again, something was always more important…
The only way I can have a relationship with this woman, is if I excuse everything she does/has done. Which, is no relationship at all.
I hope she realises how much she has missed out on. And that she can never get back the years that she was absent. I hope one day that it will hit her like a stack of bricks. But by then, it will be too late…
If you have experienced domestic violence, don’t make the same mistake I did and keep it a secret…
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