No More Broken Wings
3/23/10
Creative title for "About Me"?
I am trying to come up with a creative title that says "About Me", but am hitting a roadblock.
No matter, I will simply type what comes into my brain tonight. I have posted a few music videos and given roundabout introductions of myself and my daughter. So I guess it is time for formal introductions.
My name is Annie* and I am an abuse survivor for over 4 decades. Yes you read that right, four decades. I plan to share my story and the story of my children on here as well when I have time. I also will use music which was my sole respite during the abusive episodes.
I started this blog for several reasons. Many years have passed since I left my abusive husband. Yet he still attempts to control not only our child but myself as well. He resorts to terrorist tactics among the few things he will do in order to continue to exert his control. He can no longer assault me, so this is what we are left with.
So I created this blog as kind of a journal of sorts (albeit a very public one) in order to release the tension I feel when his terror reign comes full circle yet once again. I also created it in order to document and show how much I have changed in this journey to be a divorced battered woman. And finally, we have a child who is stuck in the middle. The child you met in my post Why Did I Leave?. It was in this post that I brought you into my life a little and introduced Emily* to all of you. Emily has lived a very long life in her few short years. She sees good men at school, her best friends have a good dad, Emily has a wonderful big brother, many awesome uncles, and I have several decent male friends. But all the men in the world cannot make up for the fact that her father hates me more than he loves her.
So while she has seen the abuse he has inflicted and has no doubt in her young mind that this abuse is wrong, she has no where to take this. She loves her father but hates his actions. I will not tell her the truth while she is young (unlike her father as I will share as this blog moves along) but I will document it for her to see when she is mature and old enough to handle seeing the truth.
Some may fault me for that, but this is not an attempt to tear down her father. I want to show her what bad behavior looks like (and that just so happens to be his behavior) and on the same token share what good behavior looks like (my boyfriend, the father of her best friends, her uncles, her brother and other male friends).
There are many people in my life and as such these people are decent and good people and they know about this blog and they support my decision to create it 100%. They have no fears or qualms about the privacy factor, but I do. I am not quite ready to come out 100%. I hope all of you will understand that. As such all comments are moderated, and those who know my identity if I feel a post is too close to revealing my true self the comment will hit file 13 :-) I hope you do not mind and please don't take offense to that.
On the same token all comments who say I am lying, who call me names, who use any type of what I deem to be abusive behaviors will also be banned. I also make no apologies for that in advance. This blog as I said above is multi faceted. One of the most important aspects is a safe outlet for me. As such I REFUSE to allow abuse to invade what is mine.
I want to share the first episode of abuse I vividly recall as a young child. I do not have a lot of childhood recall, I remember mostly good stuff and there is quite enough bad stuff peeking through to make me realize (and also clue in the professionals involved) that I lived a horrendous childhood. Not as bad as some child abuse victims and worse than others. All in all though abuse is abuse is abuse, no matter the form it takes and the severity. It is all abuse and it all hurts.
I remember being about 7 or so and my brothers and sisters and I had done something that angered our father. He was again on one of his famous alcohol induced benders, and when he called us and pulled out the hassock, we knew it was time. Lining up youngest to oldest, we stood in line in front of that hassock and watched as one of us was called forward to choose "the stick". The stick was a 2 foot long green bamboo stick. I remember after "the stick" was chosen, one by one we would have to lean over the hassock and our father would use "the stick" on our bottoms. We could not cry especially my brothers because they were boys and they were not allowed to cry. Crying meant an extra spank for the girls and two for the boys. I never understood that.
Generally one of my brothers would take the blame for whatever it was that had been done, whether he was guilty or not. He did it to stop the beatings. What stands out about this one day was the fact that I was wearing what I now know was the ugliest pair of yellow shorts ever created. They had to be cut into pieces and thrown away because my mother could not get the green stains off of them and she could not thorw them away intact, otherwise what would people think of the green stains on the butt portion of my shorts? Back in the 70's there were not many stain remover products like we had now and she dared not buy them, because she would be abused for wasteful purchases and abuse was America's dirty little secret so we could not have anyone guessing that our father was beating us. No that would never do.....
Well I think that is enough to swallow for one night. On to spell check and then to sleep. I think a hot bath is called for tonight. It will relax my muscles and bring on those good sleep vibes.
On another note, please share this blog with anyone you feel may benefit. Please check back here often and comment. I may ramble from time to time, I may jump from the 19070's to 2010, but I hope to present and document a clear and concise journey of the pain not only myself but my chidlren, especially my children have endured due to this abuse. And it all starts somewhere.
I am breaking my silence in order to give my children a good life. Please hold my hand as I share my life with you and do not be harsh with me.
No matter, I will simply type what comes into my brain tonight. I have posted a few music videos and given roundabout introductions of myself and my daughter. So I guess it is time for formal introductions.
My name is Annie* and I am an abuse survivor for over 4 decades. Yes you read that right, four decades. I plan to share my story and the story of my children on here as well when I have time. I also will use music which was my sole respite during the abusive episodes.
I started this blog for several reasons. Many years have passed since I left my abusive husband. Yet he still attempts to control not only our child but myself as well. He resorts to terrorist tactics among the few things he will do in order to continue to exert his control. He can no longer assault me, so this is what we are left with.
So I created this blog as kind of a journal of sorts (albeit a very public one) in order to release the tension I feel when his terror reign comes full circle yet once again. I also created it in order to document and show how much I have changed in this journey to be a divorced battered woman. And finally, we have a child who is stuck in the middle. The child you met in my post Why Did I Leave?. It was in this post that I brought you into my life a little and introduced Emily* to all of you. Emily has lived a very long life in her few short years. She sees good men at school, her best friends have a good dad, Emily has a wonderful big brother, many awesome uncles, and I have several decent male friends. But all the men in the world cannot make up for the fact that her father hates me more than he loves her.
So while she has seen the abuse he has inflicted and has no doubt in her young mind that this abuse is wrong, she has no where to take this. She loves her father but hates his actions. I will not tell her the truth while she is young (unlike her father as I will share as this blog moves along) but I will document it for her to see when she is mature and old enough to handle seeing the truth.
Some may fault me for that, but this is not an attempt to tear down her father. I want to show her what bad behavior looks like (and that just so happens to be his behavior) and on the same token share what good behavior looks like (my boyfriend, the father of her best friends, her uncles, her brother and other male friends).
There are many people in my life and as such these people are decent and good people and they know about this blog and they support my decision to create it 100%. They have no fears or qualms about the privacy factor, but I do. I am not quite ready to come out 100%. I hope all of you will understand that. As such all comments are moderated, and those who know my identity if I feel a post is too close to revealing my true self the comment will hit file 13 :-) I hope you do not mind and please don't take offense to that.
On the same token all comments who say I am lying, who call me names, who use any type of what I deem to be abusive behaviors will also be banned. I also make no apologies for that in advance. This blog as I said above is multi faceted. One of the most important aspects is a safe outlet for me. As such I REFUSE to allow abuse to invade what is mine.
I want to share the first episode of abuse I vividly recall as a young child. I do not have a lot of childhood recall, I remember mostly good stuff and there is quite enough bad stuff peeking through to make me realize (and also clue in the professionals involved) that I lived a horrendous childhood. Not as bad as some child abuse victims and worse than others. All in all though abuse is abuse is abuse, no matter the form it takes and the severity. It is all abuse and it all hurts.
I remember being about 7 or so and my brothers and sisters and I had done something that angered our father. He was again on one of his famous alcohol induced benders, and when he called us and pulled out the hassock, we knew it was time. Lining up youngest to oldest, we stood in line in front of that hassock and watched as one of us was called forward to choose "the stick". The stick was a 2 foot long green bamboo stick. I remember after "the stick" was chosen, one by one we would have to lean over the hassock and our father would use "the stick" on our bottoms. We could not cry especially my brothers because they were boys and they were not allowed to cry. Crying meant an extra spank for the girls and two for the boys. I never understood that.
Generally one of my brothers would take the blame for whatever it was that had been done, whether he was guilty or not. He did it to stop the beatings. What stands out about this one day was the fact that I was wearing what I now know was the ugliest pair of yellow shorts ever created. They had to be cut into pieces and thrown away because my mother could not get the green stains off of them and she could not thorw them away intact, otherwise what would people think of the green stains on the butt portion of my shorts? Back in the 70's there were not many stain remover products like we had now and she dared not buy them, because she would be abused for wasteful purchases and abuse was America's dirty little secret so we could not have anyone guessing that our father was beating us. No that would never do.....
Well I think that is enough to swallow for one night. On to spell check and then to sleep. I think a hot bath is called for tonight. It will relax my muscles and bring on those good sleep vibes.
On another note, please share this blog with anyone you feel may benefit. Please check back here often and comment. I may ramble from time to time, I may jump from the 19070's to 2010, but I hope to present and document a clear and concise journey of the pain not only myself but my chidlren, especially my children have endured due to this abuse. And it all starts somewhere.
I am breaking my silence in order to give my children a good life. Please hold my hand as I share my life with you and do not be harsh with me.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home