I'm 19 years old, and I don't know my own name. I'm the seco

I'm 19 years old, and I don't know my own name. I'm the second oldest, and I have 4 siblings. I grew up in a single-story house that was built in the 80s with a small wood in the backyard, roughly two acres of pasture, and a small, red shed that filled with daddy-long-leg spiders every summer. I spent most of my time climbing trees, building forts, sitting in the mud, and going on bike rides. I don't remember most of it, I just know that's how it was. My dad went to work before I woke up and came home after I went to bed; my mom stayed home all day to take care of us. My mom was strange, but I didn't know it. Whenever I would make a mistake, or do something "bad", she would get angry. She would send me to the bathroom to wait for her. I tried hiding in my room, but that only made it worse. Her favourite thing to use to spank me were wooden spoons, but sometimes she would use a belt, too. I was always cornered into the back of the bathroom when she would start asking me questions. Asking me what I did, or what I knew, like an interrogation. If I lied, or if she thought I was lying, she'd spank me 3 times. She always said, "Three for lying, four for disobedience, and five for defiance." She would tell me to put my hands against the wall with my feet apart, and if I refused then she would say, "that's four more." When I continued to refuse she'd say, "now that's five more." I'd cry and move slowly to the wall to get into position. If I looked at anything other than directly at the wall, if I moved, she would add another four. Every time I flinched, or cried out, she'd start over, then add five more. She always counted out loud to keep track. Eventually my legs would give out when I couldn't take it anymore and I would sink to the floor, a nearly lifeless ball of tired sobbing. She would give up and leave me there, shutting the door behind her. I'd stay there on the bathroom floor, broken and alone, until I could bring myself to move again. Everything hurt. Once I did finally move, it was dark outside. The house was quiet because everyone else had eaten dinner and gone to bed. So I'd tuck myself in, and despite being so, so tired, I often didn't fall asleep for a long time. I just laid there with my eyes open, crying, in so much pain. Most times I didn't even know what I did wrong. I never knew what I did to deserve it. This happened from when I was 3 years old, at least as far back as I can remember, until I was about 11 or 12. It makes me sad to think about it now.

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May 4

That's so screwed up for her to put you through that. I understand not being able to forget bad memories. There's so many things from my childhood I wish could be scrubbed from my brain.

SimonaAlex's picture
May 4

That's horrible how she treated you. No parent should ever abuse their children. Thank you for sharing your story. We are all there to support you.


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