This is where I talk about abuse, both what I've gone through, and what it means to me.  Please don't read if you don't think you'll be okay.
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What abuse means to me
  Well, abuse can take many forms, in my opinion.  From rape, battery, insults, ritualistic, whatever.  If it affects someone on an emotional level in a way that is potentially hurtful to them or otherwise "scars" them, then it's abuse.  Even teasing can be abuse, even if the person teasing thinks they're joking.
   People who abuse others may not know it, but that's still no excuse.  Yes, they deserve help for their problems, and yes maybe they shouldn't be hated, but that's still no excuse.  For whatever reason they may have, they still hurt other people, and that causes long-term effects.  One which many survivors go through is the innability to commit to relationships, sometimes because of feelings of unworthiness, or perhaps being afraid of love, or many many others.
My abuse
  From about age three or so, I was taught that the way to handle a problem was to beat the holy hell out of it.  Now, this wasn't through words, of course, but through actions.  My uncle or grandfather would get angry at me, and I'd end up bloody and bruised, lying on the floor sobbing my apologies.  One of the worst times I was literally backed into a corner by them both, and they beat me to almost an inch of my life.  My grandmother did worse that day.  She stood by and did nothing.  She didn't try to pull them off of me, didn't even tell them to stop.  No, she just sat there and watched.  I hate all three of them, but her I reserve a special hatred for her
   I did many things that deserved punishment.  Thing is, I just rarely got it.  What I got instead was torment, pain, and suffering.  I won't lie, there were good times.  I remember playing catch with my grandfather and uncle at a park when I was young.  There were other good times as well, but they pale compared to the torment, which is what some people don't get.  Just because there are good times doesn't mean that the bad times can't hurt you for life.
   One thing that makes it hard for me these days is when people (mostly my family) attempt to brush the abuse aside, or try to pretend it didn't happen.  One such example is when I was young.  I was in grade school, and these visiting psychologists came by and asked us to fill out a questionairre.  Down at the bottom was a question separated from the rest, with a little box next to it.  It said something to the effect of, "Do you have problems at home that you need help with?  Check the box and we'll talk to you after school."  Or something like that.  Anyhow, I didn't really understand the question, so I looked around me at the other students.  I thought I saw one check it, so I did too and promptly forgot about it.  After school, the teacher told me the psychologists wanted to see me.  So I went to the room they were in, and they asked me if I was having problems at home. 
   Now here's where my memory is rather clear.  I said, "Well, my grandfather and uncle hit me."  The female psychologist said, and I swear I'm not making this up, "Well, you probably deserved it then."  So.  I think that's partly where my innate distrust of psychologists comes from.
   Speaking of psychologists, to answer a question some may have by now, no, I'm not seeing one.  I believe I should, but again I have an innate distrust of them.  Pretty odd, considering I reccommend them as a possibility to friends. :)  I
do accept their valuable assisstance in many cases to help people start to heal themselves, I just remember what happened to me all too well.
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