Abuse

Why is that people who were abused as children often grow up to be in abusive relationships? I ask myself this question every time after I’ve been run through a washing machine, and told that I’m nothing but a piece of trash that can’t find a waste basket to be thrown into. I am a ‘nobody’ and I always will be, and God only knows I can’t do anything right, I’m a total fuck up. At least that’s what I’ve been told again and again.
I hear different voices in my head telling me what I should and should not do; it’s just so hard to know which one to listen too.

One voice calmly and sadly states that he’ll change and things will be better. It’ll never happen again. Plus in a few days everything will be forgotten and things will be wonderful……for a little while.

Yet another voice reminds me of the children and how breaking up may effect them. He really loves them and would never hurt them, it’s just when he gets mad he takes it out on me. They need a father figure in their lives to make sure they don’t go down the wrong roads. He’s the one who pays for the things they need. I don’t think I can raise them alone.

Then in the very far reaches of my brain I hear this little voice squeaking out phrases like… He’ll do it again, and next time it’s going to be worse. Get the hell out while you can. Remember when he hit you so hard in the back of your head you couldn’t even think straight for over a week? You were so dizzy after he hit you 7 or 8 times with his fist that you almost blacked out, and you had a severe headache for over a week? And you want to go back to him. Get the hell out now!!!
I sometimes want to leave, especially after he hits me. He knows where to hit so that it doesn’t leave any marks, because if the police come he doesn’t want them see where he could no longer control his aggressions. That happened a few times, and that’s what made him smarter. If the police can’t see any signs of abusive then it’s his word against mine. The police have now come so many times, that I don’t think they take it serious. Why do I say that? Because the other day when he and I got into a really big fight and he threaten once more to take my life I ran to call 911. He jerked the phone out of my hand and slammed it down, as I took off running into another room. I stood with my back into a corner expecting him to break down the door at any second and begin to beat me until the blood flowed. My heart was beating so hard in my chest as I waited for the police to come and stop him from possibly taking my life.

I heard the phone ringing, and then came his heavy footsteps walking quickly back down the hall towards the phone, cussing loudly as he did. I stepped over towards the bedroom door and I could hear him speaking to someone from the police.

“No there’s no problem here. Everything is fine.” He said in a voice that was calmer than I had ever heard before. “Sorry but 911 was on speed dial and I accidentally hit it. Sorry, it won’t happen again.” He hung up and then I heard him coming down the hallway again.

No Rescue.

“Why in fuck do you always have to call the fucking cops? You know you can’t stand the son-of-bitches and their not going to come to your rescue. You stupid bitch!”
With one big giant push he broke the door jam and stormed into the room and directly at me with such force that when he hit me the first time I passed out.

My older brother gets shot by my half-brother.

It was a very humid summer day in July, 1977. Richard and Wally were checking out their new bow and arrows that Dad had recently brought for them. They decided to go to the pond to swim and practice shooting. Richard wasn’t doing very well because 2 days before he had been stung by a bumblebee just above his right eye. It was swollen shut and his left eye was open just enough for him to see where he was going. My sister's and younger brother Dustin stayed home doing chores, playing, and watching TV. . They had been gone for a little over an hour, when suddenly Wally came running into the house, falling down onto the floor he shouted, “Richard’s hurt at the pond".

A look of terror came across Mom's face, "what happened? What's wrong?” she said grabbing him.

"I shot Richard in the side with an arrow".
"Oh God, where is he at?”
"At the pond."
"Okay, show me where," Mom said, and then she quickly ran out the front door.

We had no phone to call for help, because Dad had refused to let Mom get one, so it was up to mom to get him to the hospital in Nowata County. Mom drove madly through the fields until she made it to the pond bank. They managed to get him in the truck and into town within an hour. From there he was taken to a hospital in Bartlesville where he could get better care.

I found out later Richard and Wally had been shooting arrows back and forth across the pond. Wally shot one and Richard looked up, but couldn't see it because of the bee sting and the sun in his eyes. He had lifted his left arm up to block out the sun, and when he did, the arrow that was a straight tip, went deep into his side, puncturing his left lung. He stayed in the hospital for 2 week's. Mom stayed several night's at the hospital, leaving us alone with dad.

It made me feel uneasy, because all that day Dad had been sitting around naked in his recliner. He often did this, even when Mom was around. After getting home from work, he would strip totally naked in the living room, sit back in his recliner and begin rubbing his genitals, not caring if anyone saw him or not. One day 2 women from the church stopped by unexpectedly, instead of making a mad dash to get dressed, he refused to get dressed and answered the door naked. It made them feel as uncomfortable as I was feeling that night. Unsure of what to think.

Exhibitionism
It was late and my sister's were already asleep in their beds. I could hear him in the bathroom and I could tell he was peeking at us through the crack in the door. I was scared thinking he would come and get me, so I hid my head under the cover and laid very still. I could hear the cracking of the floor as he stepped lightly into our bedroom. My heart was racing and I started to sweat. I laid there motionless, afraid to even breathe. When I heard the creaking of the bathroom door shutting, I eased the blanket down from my eyes just enough to take a peek around. I let out a sigh of relief when I didn't see him there. I then looked over at my sister's beds, my little sister Suzy was sound asleep, but my half-sister April was gone. He had taken her into his bedroom. I covered my head and tried to sleep not wanting to think about what might be happening.

Richard got out of hospital and life went on as usual. Nothing was ever brought up about what happened that night. April never said a word. After that, I figured that was just the way it was suppose to be. You could do ‘things’, but you couldn't tell anyone about it. Little did I know, but it would just be another thing that I couldn't tell; it was another bad summer.

Impact of Child Sexual Abuse

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