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Remember the Children

The Best Book Ever

Victims of Child Abuse Are Champions

A Poem of Child Abuse

The Secret

The worse thing about abuse is that you aren't supposed to tell anyone. The abuser makes it known that telling someone about what is going on will result in some kind of pay back. For me, I was threatened with being locked up in a mental institution and noone believing me if I told. As a kid, I believed this in fact would be the case. My family was outstanding citizens in the community, so why would anyone believe me. I hid the bruises from my teachers, and made excuses to avoid gym. The bruises were my secret, and I feared the world would find out. I protected my mom because I felt it was all my fault. If I could only be a better kid, I wouldn't be beat. I believed this because it is what I was told, almost everyday. I finally shared my secret when I was about to graduate from highschool. I told a teacher that I admired. I remember the stammering words as they fell out of my mouth. I couldn't believe I told. I waited for my teacher's disapproval, but instead recieved a big hug. She actually believed me, and this would be my first step to living. I feared she would tell others, and my family would find out. But, she left that up to me. I decided to leave home right before graduation, hiding at my teacher's house. I was afraid of killing myself before I reached 18. I had all I could take. I was almost ready to be on my own, free from the abuse. I managed to stay hidden until I graduated. My family showed up on graduation day, and I shook as I caught them in the corner of my eye. As I received my diploma, I felt guilty for telling on my family. That sick, twisted voice inside kept telling me it was all my fault. I returned back home following my graduation night. My freedom was gone, and the abuse even worse than before. Why would I go back? Only those that have been through the cycle of abuse can understand. I felt I had to, I knew no better. But, I did have the memories of those few days of freedom in my mind. I finally left for good a few months later to go to college. As stated before in another blog, I thought it would all be left behind when I left, but I was wrong. I had to work through all the garbage that had been a part of my life for so long. I had to learn to live.

Emotional Abuse-What it Does to You

This video echoes what is in my heart. Emotional abuse for me was worse than being hit. Words seem to hit harder, leaving more damage. It may be hidden, but believe me it is there, for a lifetime. Not feeling good enough has been a constant struggle for me. I do daily affirmations to try to counteract these negative thoughts.

Get Over It

So, I had a screwed up childhood, and here I am. I had a choice to keep wallowing in all the self-pity or make the best out of it all. Don't get me wrong, my choice was suicide, but I never got it right. It just landed me in the psychiatric hospital, in a room with rubber. Not exactly how I wanted to continue my life. So, as I mentioned, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder at some point, depression at another, anorexia, and so forth. All of these manifestations of what I had been through. I remember making the conscious choice to be something else. I did not want to be a messed up person. It was my life, and I had to live it, despite my past. Thankfully, I had many people in my life that loved me and helped me through this difficult process. It's kind of hard to move through life when you don't know who you are and are too depressed to care. Then on top of it, you are starving yourself to death, while drinking as much as you can before passing out. I suppose that was the hardest thing about going to AA-introducing myself. Hi, I'm Zippy, and I'm a Co-dependent, depressed, self-destructive, skinny biatch, have no self-identity, etc...alcoholic. Jeez, it took forever. LOL. My point is is that if I made it this far in my life, so can anyone. None of us are unique. Live until you can not live anymore. Let go of the pain, it only hurts you.

Borderline Personality Disorder Video

Medical Crisis-Please Help

Borderline Personality Disorder

I was at one time diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder. Basically, I was messed up as a person. What did this really mean? Border Personality Disorder is a chronic, long-term problem that affects a person's self-esteem, relationships, work...etc. BPD people are very self destructive with tendencies of drinking, eating disorders,and drug abuse. Many who suffer from this illness are victimes of child abuse. There is an increased sense of abandonment, and people with this disease will do anything to not experience this act. Relationships are very intense, love to hate constantly. There is only black and white to be seen, no in between. All is good or all is bad. Self-identity is lost which complicates the situation. Other symptoms include feelings of emptiness and boredom, frequent displays of anger, impulsiveness with money, drugs, sex, binge eating, shoplifting, problems with being alone, recurrent acts of self-violence such as cutting, suicide attempts, etc.

Counseling and sometimes hospitalization is needed as an on-going treatment process. I am here to tell you that it is possible to get better. I still do not do well with relationships, but my relationship with myself is much better. I know who I am today which is great progress. It is all a journey, but the hopelessness that I used to feel becomes less and less as time goes by. If you or someone you know experiences the signs of Borderline Personality Disorder, seek help immediately. There is always hope for those who choose to help themselves.

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The Mind-Body Connection At The Cellular Level

Traumatic events have both a direct and indirect effect upon the human body. Some events can be so devastating to cause complete amnesia. Research has shown that the physical body stores the memories at the cellular level allowing the body to remember what the mind forgets. Massage and other touch therapies can access the cllular memory, thus allowing for the occurrence of flashbacks, abusive recalls and emotional releases. This is in fact how I began and continue to work through my issues of child abuse.
Ellen Bass, a psychotherapist and author of The Courage To Heal, reports "the body remembers what the mind chooses to forget and that memories are stored in our bodies. It is possible to re-experience the terror of abuse." You may ask, why would I want to re-experience such pain? I asked the same question, but is important for well-being. I became chronically sick at the age of 18. I was diagnosed with seizures and lupus. I believe these illnesses were a direct result of the trauma of my childhood. It was in working through the issues, I began to be more healthy.
Massage and Craniosacral therapy were extremely useful in my journey to releasing the bad experiences. The power of touch is a valuable tool.

Trust

Child abuse victims have no trust for anyone, including themselves. After being let down time and time again, it is very hard to trust anything in your life. I always wanted to believe that the abuse would stop, if only this or only that, etc. Today, I still have trust issues. When trying to make a relationship work, it is the trust factor that tears it all apart. I have a hard time just loving someone and trusting that it is real. The trust has to become from within myself. If I can trust me, then I can trust someone else. Abuse of any sort creates a sense of doubt. The key is in finding someone that understands this issue, and allows the time it takes to build that trust. Hence,a true love of one another can take place.

Learning How To Love Yourself

The basic underlying problem that I have had to overcome is learning how to love myself. It sounds a little corny, but if I don't care about me, who will? I have come a long way in this lesson, mostly by trial and error. Having people in your life that love you for you is the first step. It rubs off in some way. Most of the actions I have taken in my life were because I hated myself. I drank, hurt others, sabatoged every success that I had because I did not love myself. I could not allow myself to be happy, therefore everyone around me were also unhappy. I was hell to be around at times. They say you hurt the ones you love, and unfortunately I have found that to be true. I could not keep going without loving myself enough to quit trying to kill myself. That was the key to my survival. I am able to love myself most of the time nowadays. It is a continuing lesson that I am learning. Louise Hays, author of Loving Yourself, helped me tremendously on my journey.

Concrete Angel by Lora Merriman

YOUTUBE VIDEO on Child Abuse....

Time to Live

I can remember always telling myself that everything would be ok, once I was out of the house. Well, the day came when I did leave. I was on my way to college, beginning a new chapter in my life...hoping for a new beginning. It was not long that I realized that my baggage was still with me, that leaving home had not solved all of my problems. The pain was still there, the fear was still paralyzing, and the journey ahead was merely beginning. I was like an unfinished art project, the future could be promising, but only if I completed the work. I had to fix me, but where was I to start? Escape became my solution for many years....running from everything....Drinking became a hobby, then a mission. It was a way to not feel the pain of not knowing how to live. It would prove to work for many years, but with every sobering up, the realization that everything was still present, still painful, and a permanent obstacle in my path. I drank until I could not drink anymore...And out of a most profound act from a higher power, I landed myself in a AA program. AA saved my life at that time, gave me a chance to try to let others help, a chance to learn how to heal myself, a chance to trust in something higher than myself. I spent almost 10 years trying to stay sober...battling the demons that lived inside of me. For me, it was the 2 voices of good and evil..my own voices of live or die. I am a firm believer in the AA 12 step program, but for me I needed more. It took me years to realize that I drank because I wanted to...not because I had to...I had to learn to love myself enough to let myself live. AA allowed me the beginnings of this very task, and paved the way for a life time journey of my healing.

My Brother

My brother was my parents' favorite throughout the time I lived at home. He was always very quiet, and we did not get along at all. I would often try to comfort him during all the screaming and violence between my parents, but that was about as close as it got, until now. He was never abused while I lived at home, well not physically anyway. When he became older, mother would make him chase me down, and keep me from getting away. I never knew how this would affect him, until later on in my life. When I left home and went to college, I received a chilling call from my brother one day. He said to me that mother had pulled a knife on him, and that he was sorry for all the times he had helped her regarding me. I remember crying until I could not cry anymore. I tried desperately to get  him out of that house, but could not find anyone to help. My brother ended up living in his bedroom all his life. He went into a severe depression as well as psychosis, from what I can gather. He spoke to noone for years. He recently began getting help for his pain. He called me the other day and for the first time in years, he sounded normal. I have tremendous guilt over knowing that he endured more pain than I ever imagined. He had it worse than me, for he was forced to participate in the violence towards me, and then became the target. I love him with all my heart, and hope one day he can find the courage to live life without pain.

My Father

My father was and still is a master of tuning out the obvious. He always protected mother, and I was never sure exactly why. Most of the abuse towards me happened when he was not at home. But, he was even a victim of mother's abuse. I say victim, evn though he was a grown man. I often wondered why he never stopped the insanity...it was not till years later, that I realized it was because the whole masquerade had become normal to him. He never listened when I begged him to please make it all stop. He never was an abuser until I was in high school. I never will forget that night when he was on his knees doing the knife bit with mother. I decided enough was enough, and picked up the phone to call 911. He immediately hit me across the face and yanked the phone out of the wall. I saw him in a different way that night, and lost the respect a daughter has for her father. His answer to everything was and still is to ignore the reality, and try to buy my silence. Money....I actually learned to hate money, and would have traded it all for love and the abuse to end. Our realtionship today is still strained...we go through the motions because we have to...he is my father, and I love him. We have cried together through the years, but in silence.

My Mother

My mother is like a million people all wrapped into one. She has never been evaluated by a doctor for her problems. All these years, the problems and pain hidden from those who could help. She is basically a recluse, more so when I was young, than now. When I was a kid we were taught to duck and hide if there was a knock on the door. I found it strange to be on the ground, making sure I was not seen or heard. But as with everything else, I dared not question her motive. She did not like people, and especially people over to the house. It was not till I was in highschool that I somehow insisted on having friends over for the night. Those nights were always peaceful, at least for me. No knives, no screaming, no anything, but the silent fear within me about what would happen when my friends left. Then, all hell would break loose....a volcano eruption.

I have often tried to diagnose her myself...schizophrenic, depressive with psychosis, disassociative disorder, bi-polar and so on and on.....She was and is just plain sick. I used to think she was evil...but now as an adult, I can see that she is ill. It took me leaving home at 18 years old to be able to actually allow myself to feel something other than hate and anger towards her. She is my mother, and because of that, I love her.

Watching with Fear

There was not very many days that I can remember where things were what some would call "normal". But, at this time in my life, all that happened in that house was normal for I did not know any different. That's why people stay in abusive environments sometimes, they do not know anything else. I remember from the time I was a child all the way until I left home at the age of 18 years old, my mother and father fought. I can still see the kitchen drawer being opened....the knife being retrieved...my dad on his knees apologizing for things he had not done...my brother and I watching from a corner in another room. Why? Make it stop....This ritual was almost daily, and my fear overwhelming. It almost always would end with the same scenario of mother locking herself in her bathroom, and my dad pleading for her to open the door. How could he care? But, we all cared, and prayed for the day when things would be ok with mother. The few days where she would seem as though she cared for me, cared about my school, cared about my life, without a hitch. But, that was the problem. There was always a hitch...everything I shared with her would eventually be thrown in my face, twisted to make it all be something it was not. But still, I always waited for those moments...when I felt she cared.

The First Memories

I grew up in what seemed to be a normal 2 parent middle-class family. My first memories of what would fortell my future began when I was 4 years old. I can remember that day very clearly, for it was the day my brother was born. Not only was I about to change my only child status, but my brother's birth would be a marking point for the memories to come.

My mother and father are still alive. They are in my life to a certain extent, and I do love them because they are my parents, and that is what you do. My mother was the primary abuser of both my father and myself. She had mental problems that were never treated, and that remains true to this day.

My first memory is being tied up by my mother because I was too hyper, and she was tired from taking care of my brother. I was in a chair, with my hands behind my back, bound to the chair, with a washcloth stuffed in my mouth. I tried not to struggle, but it was just instincts that kept me fighting, making matters worse. This was not the last time this particular situation occurred, and I am almost certain it was not the first time either.

I was too loud, too curious...I was a child.