My First Recollection of Abuse

The first time I remember my mother abusing me was when I was six. My mom was an alcoholic and when she drank she became a very mean person. For various reasons her and my dad divorced when I was five. As I remember things after the divorce is when mom began to drink heavily. That is when the abuse began. So back to my first memory. I was six and in the first grade. It was a school night so we were off to bed early. I still slept in the bed with my mom (which is a whole other issue and post). I remember we were lying in bed watching Johnny Carson. She had her favorite drink in hand which was a whiskey on the rocks. I curled up next to her so we could snuggle. She was tipsy but not drunk by any means. I remember looking up at her and she smiled, told me goodnight and kissed my forehead. I drifted off to sleep in the comfort of my mommy’s arms and good ole Johnny Carson playing in the background. Now that I think back it is so odd how I can remember the sounds in the background. Still to this day when I watch old re-runs of Johnny Carson it brings back floods of memories both good and bad. Anyway, I don’t know how long I had been asleep. I don’t know how long she had sat there continuing to drink. All I do no is that I was awoken by her slapping my head and face repeatedly. I was so confused. Was I dreaming? What had I done wrong? My first thought was do I have a bug on my head?? Is she trying to kill the bug??? I soon realized there was no bug. I looked into her eyes and no longer saw my mom. I saw a stranger. Her usually sparkling eyes were anger and rage filled. At this point I was still very confused and somewhat still asleep. This had never happened before. Hell I don’t even remember her ever spanking me before this night. I jumped up and quickly got off of the bed. Now we were facing each other from across the bed. She was so angry at me and still to this day I have no idea why. She proceeded to chase me around the room and down the hallway. She was yelling and screaming at me. There were moments when she would catch me. In those moments she would slap my head, face and upper body along with pulling my hair. I was so terrified. Who was this monster and why was she doing this to me? Where was my mom? I don’t remember how long all of this went on or why it finally ended. It did finally end that night. The next morning when I awoke I was so scared. Was she going to hit me again? Was she still angry? I heard her bustling around in the kitchen so I slowly crept down the hallway. When I reached the entrance to the kitchen I saw her standing at the counter making me breakfast. She looked up and saw me standing there. She smiled and her eyes sparkled. I knew instantly that the person standing before me was my mom. The relief I felt is indescribable. Later in the day after she picked me up from school she apologized. “I’m sorry about what happened last night. It will never happen again.” I told her it was ok and felt so relieved because she had told me it would never happen again. Little did I no that later that night it would happen again and every night after that for the next five years. The only thing that stopped was the apologies.

Child Hood Abuse

This is something I have been hesitant to address on my blog. After all this started out as just a way to keep a journal about Alex and our Family. However, childhood abuse is something that hits close to home. It is something that that used to be very hard for me to talk about. It was easier to just “forget” about it. I was very good at putting on a winner smile and convincing everyone around me that I was ok. I really wasn’t ok. Inside I was hurting. The years of abuse I endured as a child at the hands of my mother has affected my adult life in more ways than one. It has made me question God and tested my faith. I have asked Him “why me?’ more times than I can count. I have been on a never ending quest to figure out why it happened. Finally after many many years of asking why I have come to the conclusion that there is no answer. Does that mean I still don’t ask why? Nope. I ask all of the time. I am just better able to answer the question.

Something that I have realized is that there are so many people out there that are dealing with similar issues. If I can help at lease one person out there maybe that will help me better understand why it happened to me. Maybe God had this all planned out. Maybe my purpose in life is to help others. Am I totally convinced this is why it happened? Nope. However it feels so good to not that maybe, just maybe I can help someone else. A counselor once told me that children who are abused seek out other abused children to be their friends. She went on to say that we have no idea that we are even doing it and may never realize our friends have similar problems. She said that this behavior (if that’s how you want to define it) carries over into adulthood. What she told me has stuck with me my entire life. Is it true? Absolutely!! Since elementary school I have surrounded myself with friends that are survivors of childhood abuse. Did I know they were survivors when I first became friends with them? Nope. It was only after many months’ even years that I figured it out.

A few years ago I sat down with a pen and piece of paper and wrote down all of my close (and not so close) childhood friends. Nine out of ten of them had been abused. I began to wonder is everyone abused as kids?? I don’t think so! It’s just this strange phenomenon per say that draws all of us survivors together. I have decided that I am going to tell my story in hopes that I can help others….even if it’s just one.