When my father died, his death really took a toll on my family, but not in the way it does most families. We’re not exactly what you would call a close family, so there was none of the usual comforting of one another that normally happens; it was more like utter chaos. The animosity, arguing and back-stabbing was out of control. Even though I pretty much expected all this, it was still very hard to go through.

None of us were ever close to my dad and he wasn’t what you would call a good dad. The word “hate” had been used concerning him on more than one occasion, speaking to the extreme abuse we had all suffered at his hands as children. And yet here was my whole family literally falling apart after he died. One of my brothers found himself crying and couldn’t understand why he was crying because, as he said, he “hated” him. Emotions were out of control and everyone was lashing out at each other. Any hope I might have ever had of something like this bringing us together at long last, was dashed to pieces. I was looking at the fruit of what my father had sown over the years.

I often think of my brother crying that day and how he couldn’t understand why in the world he was crying. I really believe his tears were for the dad he never had. I think he had always kept a shred of hope deep down inside, that maybe someday our dad would look at him and say he was proud of him. He never did.

It has now been well over a year since my dad died. My family is hopelessly torn apart, worse than I’ve ever seen them. All I can do is pray for them because I know the only thing that will ever heal this family is forgiveness. A lack of forgiveness is like a cancer, eating away at a person’s heart and soul, breeding only hate and resentment that has nowhere to go. Most always it’s eventually unleashed on the innocent, which is evident within my own family.

I often think of my father, wondering if he ever had any idea how his actions served to destroy so many lives. If he was even remotely aware, he had to have been a very evil person, but I don’t want to believe that. Even if it were true, I cannot live my life full of the anger and resentment that has taken such a hold of my family. To me, that’s almost worse than any of the abuse any of us ever suffered.

I decided to forgive him quite some time ago, for my own self as well as for him. I couldn’t have prayed for him the way I have over the years if I was still holding onto all the resentment I had in the past. I don’t know what ever happened to him in his past to make him the way he was, but even though that’s no excuse, I had to be freed from the burden once and for all, and I could only do that through forgiveness.

It’s not easy to forgive someone who has hurt you as badly, or destroyed as many lives as he did, but I feel it’s essential to the healing process to forgive. It’s just like anything else in our lives, the more we hold onto old hurts and grudges, the more it eats away at us like a cancer. We need to forgive.

To my father:

I know somewhere deep down inside of that troubled soul of yours, you must have cared about us. I know you did, but you hurt me and you hurt all of us. And I hurt for you because you never really knew what it was like to be a whole human being or how to love or be loved. Your existence must have been pure hell. You knew we all hated you and that must have been awful. Or maybe you were so messed up, you didn’t know. Whatever, I just want you to know I forgive you and I pray someday the rest of the family will too. More than anything else, I pray God will forgive you.

Good-bye, dad.
I forgive you.
May you rest in peace.

It’s so dark now and so quiet

And the others are asleep

And its moments like these that I love

With thoughts I like to keep

Now I don’t have to pretend

Or hide the way I feel

The darkness covers everything

And I can be for real.

If I am sad now I can cry

And rid myself of woe

And if I want to think of you

There’s no one here to know.

The darkness starts to fade at last

And I am wondering still

If you will ever love me too,

And hoping that you will.

As daylight creeps upon my bed

The dreams all fade away,

And I am forced to get prepared

To face another day.

“You’re ugly and you make me sick,”

My daddy screams at me.

“You’re no damn good, you rotten bitch!”

My mother adds in glee.

I drag myself to start my chores;

My world is filled with hate.

To be alone and love no one

Forever seems my fate.

Please my love, don’t go away

I need you so much by my side.

Forgive me if I haven’t pleased you;

But believe me, I have tried.

Call me coy or apprehensive,

Inexperienced, ignorant, too,

Maybe even somewhat timid,

All these things I know are true.

If you knew the reason for it

And the fear that binds my heart

You’d understand and try to help me,

Then you’d know just where to start.

Oh the pain, how to describe it;

No words could in any language.

Oh, please come and break these chains

And free my laden heart from anguish!

Please be patient, understanding,

If you’ll teach me I will learn.

I can promise I will trust you,

Please don’t be so cold and stern.

You see, I’ve learned that pent up hurts

Can cripple and destroy a heart,

Like prison walls and chains that bind,

They keep love out right from the start.

I’ve learned this lesson all too well,

Now I’m ready to be free.

Please my love, if you will help me

We’ll be happy, this you’ll see.

Teach me how to love you better,

Teach me love is kind and true.

Teach me how to love completely

And let me give my love to you.

Pain can sometimes bind up a heart so much we need to be taught how to love all over again. This was written by a teenage abuse victim. (me)

About a year ago I returned to the town where I grew up to help care for my dad who was sick. I had only intended to be here for a short time but it turned out he was dying so I stayed. He died about a month later and now I’m staying to help out my mother.

It wouldn’t be so bad if I was from a normal family where everyone pitched in and helped, but I’m not. More and more I remember why I left this place long ago. It’s bad enough the abuse we all suffered as children, but what’s going on in my family now even surpasses that. I can hardly believe the arguing, fighting, and back-stabbing my family inflicts on each other. You would think our father dying might have drawn us all closer together, but not even close. I think it actually tore us farther apart.

Yet here I stay. I count all the reasons I need to go but something compels me to stay. I guess I feel like I’m needed here but to be honest, I don’t know how to help any of them. I know we’ve all been damaged from the abuse, and I can see how it has manifested itself differently in each one of us. None of us has ever been able to deal with things very well, and it certainly has affected the relationships we have with each other. I hurt for my whole family because I can see so clearly what the seeds of abuse have sown in all of us.

I thought I had come to terms with all this years ago, but being back here has conjured up many ghosts from the past. The animosity I see within my family makes me realize none of them has even come near to coming to terms with it, and it really wears on me. I wish I could convince them they need to try to forgive and let go of the past, but they still have so much anger in them. They don’t even realize that all the animosity they show to one another is misdirected anger towards our father.

I can’t even talk to any of them about it because it’s a taboo subject. For years I tried to talk about it and was told to shut up or was accused of lying.  I finally just moved away because all the years of hate, back-stabbing, and anger had taken its toll on me. Now I’ve come back almost 20 years later and it’s even worse than when I left.

I love my family, and even though I see so much anger and animosity, I also see the deep hurt and pain they don’t even realize is there. They have nowhere else to direct it but at each other and at me. Knowing where it all comes from, I can’t hold it against them. I just wish I could do something. My understanding just isn’t enough to heal this damaged family.

I think the difference between me and them is my ability to forgive. Throughout my life I had been to counselors and talked to other abuse survivors, but I still suffered from nightmares and held in a lot of anger. It wasn’t until I learned how to forgive that I really began to heal. My nightmares eventually stopped and I was able to let go of all the anger I had. When the time came, I was able to return home and bury my abuser with no feelings of animosity whatsoever. I said a prayer for him, left him to rest in peace, and I myself was at peace.

But, being around my family is a whole different story. I think it’s even worse than what I suffered as a child. I know it’s only a matter of time before I’ll be leaving again. I just can’t deal with all this again. Child abuse is so much more damaging than people seem to realize. It tears apart whole families and I’m here to testify to that. It just devastates me to see what it has done to my family and I can’t help but wonder how it has affected so many other families. It needs to stop!

She can love and the depth of her love knows no bounds, but she’s afraid. She keeps her feelings protected inside of her because to let them out would make her vulnerable, and then perhaps she would get hurt again.

She keeps her distance, partly because she knows the scars of her past make her ready to re-live the horror if something happens that even faintly resembles anything she’s endured. She doesn’t know what normal is so even something perfectly innocent can set her off. How could she know what normal is when nothing in her life has ever been normal? All she knows is some things are okay and make her feel somewhat safe, but other things make her feel threatened.

It seems when she gets upset no one understands, and sometimes they get angry at her. They cannot see the demons from the past that she frequently sees. When they get angry at her she becomes a little girl again, crawling into a fetal position in her mind to shield herself from the “blows.” Once again she doesn’t know what she did wrong and wonders why they’re so mad at her. She feels beaten and bruised all over again.

She learns to keep her distance. She has finally figured out if she doesn’t get too close, what people do can’t hurt her. Then she wouldn’t have to react at all to anything, and no one will get mad at her. She is all alone and lonely but it’s so much better than fighting the demons of her past.

So she loves, and when she does its deep and pure and undefiled, exactly the way she wishes someone would love her. It’s the only untainted thing she has ever had in her life, so she guards it very carefully. She keeps it away from anyone or anything that might tear it down, especially the person who’s the recipient of it.

She lives her whole life fighting off the memories that insist on haunting her when she least expects it, and paints a smile on her face so no one will ever suspect. She goes through life feeling like she’s wearing a mask, pretending to be someone else; pretending to be “normal. Only when its dark and she’s all alone can it be removed, because only then can she be who she really is.

She’s a survivor of child abuse, and this is how she survives.

The drifting fog of solemn gray

That brings such darkness to the day,

Surrounds me as I walk alone

Through desolate streets of love unknown.

And in the fog I see a trace

Of all the tears time can’t erase.

A little girl who’s wandering still,

In search of love, her heart to fill.

No one knows the pain I feel

And to me the world’s unreal.

I search through darkness all alone

To find a love to call my own.

To be pierced with such heartache

Is to be stabbed with a knife…

To be without love

Is to be without life.

Written by a 16 year old victim of child abuse.

Child abuse isn’t something that happens once and then it’s over and forgotten. It’s something that happens over and over, and it becomes a lifestyle to the child. Slowly but surely, any semblance of “normal” is taken from him and he is left trying to fit into a world he knows little or nothing about. I really don’t think people can even begin to imagine what a child goes through and how it affects him his whole life.

Imagine being called ugly and stupid every day of your life and the people calling you this are your own parents. Parents are like God to a child; they’re the ones who take care of you and teach you how life’s supposed to be. They’re all powerful and all knowing so if they say you’re ugly and stupid, it must be true, right?

(The child learns he is ugly and stupid.)

Imagine never being hugged or even smiled at by your parents your entire childhood. Now and then a stranger smiles at you and maybe even tries to give you a hug. It feels awkward and strange and you think something’s wrong. What are they smiling at? You want to go hide; it just doesn’t feel right, and if mommy or daddy sees this person being nice to you, they’re going to be mad. You cringe when the person touches you and you’re afraid.

(The child learns he is unlovable. He also learns to hate being touched. He pulls away if someone tries to hug him.)

Imagine when you’re allowed to go outside to play, you’re confined inside a fence and not allowed to play with other children. Sometimes you sneak and play with one of the neighborhood children through the fence, but you’re always on the lookout for daddy so your playmate can run away before he sees him. Inside the house, you’re either confined to a bare bedroom or to the cellar. You have no interaction with your parents except for when they’re mad.

(The child learns to be isolated. He doesn’t know how to interact with people.)

Imagine being beaten with a flyswatter all over your body. Your mother is in a rage and it’s like she can’t control herself. She just keeps swinging and swinging and no matter how hard you try to shield yourself, it’s useless. Each blow is harder than the one before.  She finally stops and she’s all out of breath; she has this wild look in her eyes. You’re covered with welts all over your body, including your face and you’re cowering in a corner in a fetal position, covering your head with your arms. Now imagine going to visit Grandma the next day. She sees the welts and asks, “What did you do?”

(The child learns he deserved that beating. He learns he’s bad. He learns this must be okay because no one’s telling him it’s not.)

Now imagine your mother saying, “Wait till your father gets home.” That’s worse than anything. The wait is pure agony because you have no idea what he’ll do this time. You imagine all sorts of horrible things, because it’s never the same. He always finds different ways to punish you and he seems to enjoy it because he always has a smile on his face and taunts you.
When he finally gets there you just want to get it over with, but he takes his time. First he tells you how no good you are and how much you hurt your mom. He keeps it up and keeps it up till you’re almost praying for the beating. Sometimes he uses his belt and sometimes he uses his fists. Sometimes mommy is standing right there looking justified.

(The child learns he’s no good. No beating on earth is punishment enough for his terrible behavior.)

Imagine being a young girl being woken up every night, being touched where you shouldn’t be being touched. You freeze because this is the same person who would beat you to a pulp just for looking at them the wrong way. You’re helpless. It would do no good to scream because no one there could help you anyway, and you’d probably get beaten for lying about such a thing.
You endure this night after night. You pretend to be asleep because to acknowledge that it’s happening would be ten times worse. You try to stay awake and not be in bed that hour of the night, but he waits. Your mother is right downstairs the whole time. It almost seems like she’s waiting too because she never comes upstairs. Not until it’s all over. Does she know??

(The child learns to feel dirty and violated and horrible and damaged.)

Imagine telling a friend at school about what’s happening at night. You’re on the verge of a nervous breakdown because you can’t take it any more. Even though you swore your friend to secrecy, she tells the guidance counselor. He calls you in the office and calls your parents. You’re scared to death.
When your mother arrives at the school, the guidance counselor leaves the room to give you privacy. The first thing your mother says, as she looks at you accusingly is, “You’re not going to the police.” That’s all.
The guidance counselor sends you home with your parents; right back to the same situation.

(The child learns to be Silent.)

Now imagine that child has become an adult. What does he know about life and about love? What has he learned and who has he become? He is now an adult who has no self confidence. He struggles to prove he’s not stupid and tries desperately to prove himself and make himself worthy to be loved.
Hugging and showing affection are still awkward to him and if he’s lucky he can eventually force himself to do it without it feeling awkward. He has trouble communicating and spends a lot of time alone. Social events are very uncomfortable for him. He’s more down on himself than anyone else could ever be. Perhaps he still feels guilty for being such a bad child?
She feels damaged and cannot even bear to think of what was done to her. It’s so dirty and disgusting she doesn’t ever want anyone to know. If anyone ever finds out her secret, they will be disgusted. She is so ashamed.

These are some examples of what it feels like to be a child who is being abused and what it’s like for that child when he becomes an adult. Children who have been abused have lasting affects throughout their entire life. With good counseling, they may be able to learn to fit in and have a somewhat normal life, but there are limits to what therapy can do. While it may be possible to learn to love and to heal some of the scars, all the therapy in the world can never replace a childhood that was lost.

Are There Really Any Survivors?

Today, with good counseling and therapy, there are many former victims of childhood abuse now calling themselves “survivors.” Some people seem to think since they are called “survivors” they must be all healed and everything is now perfectly normal to them. This is not true. When a child has been abused, especially sexually, she suffers for the rest of her life. Her innocence and everything it means to be a child has been taken away from her and she can never get it back.

When a person goes through something extremely traumatic, they may indeed survive it, but it will still continue to have some kind of an effect on their life for a very long time afterward. I survived a Category 5 hurricane and I’m okay, but it has had a profound effect on me. For years I’ve had nightmares and I still get nervous when the wind kicks up or I hear loud thunder. When a child is abused, believe it or not, the effects are even worse than going through a hurricane.

A childhood abuse survivor is a person who has had a whole part of her life taken away. When she hears people talking about fond childhood memories she cannot relate because she has no idea what it’s like to have fond memories. When stories on TV or in the movies reflect a happy family or a little girl sitting on her daddy’s knee, it’s hard for her to comprehend because the family she had was filled with screaming and violence. The daddy she had was someone to be feared. Every single day there is something that reminds her of the big chunk of her life that never existed and reminds her how different she is.

Counseling helps, but we’re talking about a person whose whole perception of right and wrong was distorted at an early age. Any psychologist will tell you that every single stage of life, from infancy through adulthood is vital to creating a well-balanced human being. If one of those stages is interrupted or not even permitted to evolve, how can that person ever hope to be whole? People don’t seem to want to address or hear these things, especially “survivors” themselves. Maybe it’s because they’re afraid it would mean they’re hopeless as far as healing and leading a productive life. I think just the opposite is true. I think denying the fact that there are lasting effects from something as horrendous as having a childhood destroyed, actually prevents real healing to occur. It’s a form of denial. It’s almost as bad as denying the abuse itself.

I know about lasting effects, not only because I survived a Category 5 hurricane, but because I was also abused as a child. I know, because for many years I tried the route of pretending everything was normal and that nothing was affecting me, but it didn’t work. I felt so torn apart and it seemed the more I tried to fit in, the more I felt alienated. Only when I finally admitted that I still have to face the demons from my past now and then, and by accepting this is all a part of who I am, was I able to go on and live as a whole person. I had to face reality. Now I really am a survivor.