What are your thoughts on Child Abuse?
I suppose by modern standards I should say, I was an abused Child. I would rather say I was a destroyed Child.
When I was rescued by my family, there was no help, no therapy, no treatment for what i went through. That is not to say, I was not loved and cared for. But love is not enough, when a Child needs answers about what was done to them, and help recovering.
Now there is considerable awareness, and help available. But there is also a "Gestapo like" line of B.S. going on. Where people will turn each other in to Child Protective Services merely because they don't like each other, or agree with the others method of raising children.
While it warms my heart that Abused Children don't have to go it alone, like I did. It disgusts me that people honestly can't tell the difference between a spanking, and honest to God abuse!
I have the scars to prove I was physically abused, but it seems to me, and from my own personal experience. That the emotional scars of verbal abuse cut much deeper, and leave much longer lasting effects.
If a parent daily assaults a child's being with attacks on their person, their personality, their friends, their life. It can destroy a child.
In my own experience, as soon as my physical wounds heal'd, they turned into scars, and were no longer much of a concern. But the pain of the emotional wounds was and is something I have had to deal with all my life.
I do not say any of this, for a pity party, or to say, "Oh woe is me." I have a life, and I have fought hard to get here, but in the end. I had to stop fighting myself, and the B.S. that was planted in my mind, and that was a damn hard lesson!
It is my wish, that the idiot's who go around screaming, "Child Abuse!" Would stop looking for the child with a bruise, or a black eye.
And instead, look for the Child that watches your feet, always looking for the next blow. The Child that holds their head low, that screams in fear and rage, that flinches when you move, that tears their finger/toe nails to bloody stubs, that tears out their hair, that says nothing good about themselves, and everything good about their parents, that when you look into their eyes you can see nothing but FEAR. Because that is a Child being Abused!
When I was rescued by my family, there was no help, no therapy, no treatment for what i went through. That is not to say, I was not loved and cared for. But love is not enough, when a Child needs answers about what was done to them, and help recovering.
Now there is considerable awareness, and help available. But there is also a "Gestapo like" line of B.S. going on. Where people will turn each other in to Child Protective Services merely because they don't like each other, or agree with the others method of raising children.
While it warms my heart that Abused Children don't have to go it alone, like I did. It disgusts me that people honestly can't tell the difference between a spanking, and honest to God abuse!
I have the scars to prove I was physically abused, but it seems to me, and from my own personal experience. That the emotional scars of verbal abuse cut much deeper, and leave much longer lasting effects.
If a parent daily assaults a child's being with attacks on their person, their personality, their friends, their life. It can destroy a child.
In my own experience, as soon as my physical wounds heal'd, they turned into scars, and were no longer much of a concern. But the pain of the emotional wounds was and is something I have had to deal with all my life.
I do not say any of this, for a pity party, or to say, "Oh woe is me." I have a life, and I have fought hard to get here, but in the end. I had to stop fighting myself, and the B.S. that was planted in my mind, and that was a damn hard lesson!
It is my wish, that the idiot's who go around screaming, "Child Abuse!" Would stop looking for the child with a bruise, or a black eye.
And instead, look for the Child that watches your feet, always looking for the next blow. The Child that holds their head low, that screams in fear and rage, that flinches when you move, that tears their finger/toe nails to bloody stubs, that tears out their hair, that says nothing good about themselves, and everything good about their parents, that when you look into their eyes you can see nothing but FEAR. Because that is a Child being Abused!
Anonymous
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Yeah...been there man. What's the saying? "Put your own house in order." I would say, there is no help for those who don't want it. It's not for me to judge, or compare.
But it seems to me there are plenty of people that claim to be abused, for attention. In my experience. Those who are abused, don't claim anything. They just stand bye silently, and pass like ghosts along the river of life.
I'm not saying I'm right, and your wrong. I'm just saying I've tried like hell to save people, and couldn't. Because they didn't want to be saved. I can't say who is abused, and who isn't, but I will say those who have been, don't believe they deserve help.
But it seems to me there are plenty of people that claim to be abused, for attention. In my experience. Those who are abused, don't claim anything. They just stand bye silently, and pass like ghosts along the river of life.
I'm not saying I'm right, and your wrong. I'm just saying I've tried like hell to save people, and couldn't. Because they didn't want to be saved. I can't say who is abused, and who isn't, but I will say those who have been, don't believe they deserve help.
Anonymous
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But please. Don't let my thoughts stop your work. Even when it seem hopeless, it still does good. I was in that dark place, all I could think of was all the wrong done to me.
Now as I am older, I remember the kindness done to me, the caring words, the actions of friendship, and brotherhood. When I lost nearly my entire childhood of memories. It was the good that was done to me, that I remembered, not the bad.
I remember walking through a field of ragweed, when i was 10. I was asthmatic, and for some reason. The allergic reaction nearly killed me. I lay in bed for weeks, fighting like Hell just to breathe. While my Father would not take me to the Hospital, or offer his help beyond and old bottle of old benadryl.
My two friends Chris and Adam stood by my bedside, and wondered if I would die. Chris was 8, and Adam was 9. Those two boys, went out and leveled a 10 acre field of ragweed, because that shit hurt their friend. That is 1 of the few things I never forgot, even in my blindness. While madness, and the dark pulled at me, that was 1 of the things that pulled me back into the light.
So never forget, acts of kindness may be ignored, but they are NEVER forgotten, even when time takes the rest of it away.
Now as I am older, I remember the kindness done to me, the caring words, the actions of friendship, and brotherhood. When I lost nearly my entire childhood of memories. It was the good that was done to me, that I remembered, not the bad.
I remember walking through a field of ragweed, when i was 10. I was asthmatic, and for some reason. The allergic reaction nearly killed me. I lay in bed for weeks, fighting like Hell just to breathe. While my Father would not take me to the Hospital, or offer his help beyond and old bottle of old benadryl.
My two friends Chris and Adam stood by my bedside, and wondered if I would die. Chris was 8, and Adam was 9. Those two boys, went out and leveled a 10 acre field of ragweed, because that shit hurt their friend. That is 1 of the few things I never forgot, even in my blindness. While madness, and the dark pulled at me, that was 1 of the things that pulled me back into the light.
So never forget, acts of kindness may be ignored, but they are NEVER forgotten, even when time takes the rest of it away.
Anonymous
The statistics on it are fucking startling....usually, the perpetrators are a close family member or a relative or a friend of the family or a teacher or a boss or a scout leader or a politician or a carpenter or a plumber or a maid(that could be interesting) or a judge or a cop or a grandfather or a grandmother or a class mate & the fucking list of who does it and what they do for a living goes on and on. The behavior is usually passed on from generation to generation. Back in the day, the statistics were much lower. Because if person was ever discovered perpetrating, the community took care of them in their own special way--like they cut off a nose or a dick or just outright lynched them. Nowadays, it's out of control. We're worried about fucking with each other in the underground & we ought to be heading up an International poetic foundation against child abuse....no shite!
Anonymous
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Yeah. I was there. I thought Hell if i could get there, I could help others do the same. So I judged, I compared, I reasoned, I fought, did every damn thing I could think of, but still i lost.
I watched a man I called Brother, a man I loved as a brother fall into drugs and booze. I watched him evaporate. Watched my brother die by inches until he was gone. And some womanizing self-concerned junky piece of shit stood in front of me, and called me brother. My brother died, and whatever lives in his husk now, still walks around.
There was nothing I could do to help, nothing I tried for decades worked. Because all he wanted to do, was get fucked up every day, so he wouldn't have to feel the pain any more, and he didn't want my help. He just wanted me to stand bye, get fucked up with him, and keep him in line, so he wouldn't kill someone when he blacked out. I got to the point, where I couldn't do it anymore, so I turned my back.
Now my little brother, wanted to be a motorcycle mechanic, and went to school for it. He was never the most street wise, and his roommates were tweekers. He came back, detoxed, and has been drowning in his own fears and alcohol ever since. But I swore i wouldn't lose another brother.
So I learned the hardest lesson of my life. I had to stop trying to help him. So i could see, and really listen. I removed myself from the situation. And finally I could help. It took a damn decade, but I brought my little brother back into himself, and reminded him, of who he was. Until he became the man he once was, again. Now he is happy, and his family is at peace. As stupid as it sounds, I helped him, by not helping, but by praying, by letting God work in is own time. But my little brother wanted help, he wanted to regain himself.
I watched a man I called Brother, a man I loved as a brother fall into drugs and booze. I watched him evaporate. Watched my brother die by inches until he was gone. And some womanizing self-concerned junky piece of shit stood in front of me, and called me brother. My brother died, and whatever lives in his husk now, still walks around.
There was nothing I could do to help, nothing I tried for decades worked. Because all he wanted to do, was get fucked up every day, so he wouldn't have to feel the pain any more, and he didn't want my help. He just wanted me to stand bye, get fucked up with him, and keep him in line, so he wouldn't kill someone when he blacked out. I got to the point, where I couldn't do it anymore, so I turned my back.
Now my little brother, wanted to be a motorcycle mechanic, and went to school for it. He was never the most street wise, and his roommates were tweekers. He came back, detoxed, and has been drowning in his own fears and alcohol ever since. But I swore i wouldn't lose another brother.
So I learned the hardest lesson of my life. I had to stop trying to help him. So i could see, and really listen. I removed myself from the situation. And finally I could help. It took a damn decade, but I brought my little brother back into himself, and reminded him, of who he was. Until he became the man he once was, again. Now he is happy, and his family is at peace. As stupid as it sounds, I helped him, by not helping, but by praying, by letting God work in is own time. But my little brother wanted help, he wanted to regain himself.
Anonymous
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Wish I had the answer man. But I can't, and have never figured out, how to help those that don't want it, and wont even help themselves. Some wounds never heal. Because long after they were inflicted, the actual victim, keep opening them
Anonymous
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I don't think even today. There is a cure for the abused. It is wounds that make monsters. People like us graduated from Monsters High, long before it was a movie.
All I see are better methods of preventing abuse. It is not in my power, as a man, or a human being, to stop people from abusing themselves. That is the great lie, that was told to us over and over, until it became part of our core. That we aren't worth it, and no one cares.
I don't have a clue, how to stop someone from doing that to themselves. But that is what a victim of a abuse is, someone who cant let the wounds close, and scar over. Someone who now views themselves, as the monster, and punishes themselves for it.
I am no longer a victim, but I don't know why. Except that people did care, and tried their damndest to help. Even when it caused more harm than good.
All I see are better methods of preventing abuse. It is not in my power, as a man, or a human being, to stop people from abusing themselves. That is the great lie, that was told to us over and over, until it became part of our core. That we aren't worth it, and no one cares.
I don't have a clue, how to stop someone from doing that to themselves. But that is what a victim of a abuse is, someone who cant let the wounds close, and scar over. Someone who now views themselves, as the monster, and punishes themselves for it.
I am no longer a victim, but I don't know why. Except that people did care, and tried their damndest to help. Even when it caused more harm than good.
Anonymous
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m39DWVFK-Bw
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRtvqT_wMeY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmWBrN7QV6Y
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmWBrN7QV6Y
a world of abusers....
'til it happens to you, it's not real.
It fucking happens to guys, too, 1 in 5,
1 in 3, girls have it fucking rougher....
how does anyone really know how any of us feel....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NRtvqT_wMeY
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmWBrN7QV6Y
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmWBrN7QV6Y
a world of abusers....
'til it happens to you, it's not real.
It fucking happens to guys, too, 1 in 5,
1 in 3, girls have it fucking rougher....
how does anyone really know how any of us feel....
Anonymous
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