I have many littles inside from the physical abuse. Mom, dad and my brother all abused me physically in our home. When I speak of memories, the littles hold the pain of these memories still, most of them anyways. I have not received many integrations as of yet.
My aunt in Tennessee verified some of my memories of physical abuse. She lived with us some when I was two. She said she would come in the house and have to pull my mom off me sometimes. So here are my memories I have remembered....
Mom was teaching me to tie my shoes. I tried it. I didn't get it right. So, mom took me to the basement... a horrible scary place to me! Mom put me in a cage. It was terrible. She gave me some white liquid stuff to drink which caused me horrible stomach pains, so horrible I couldn't even cry. The pain was unbearable. I also was beaten.
When I was learning to walk, (I was under 2 years old), and would hold onto things to keep from falling, I would get beat on for getting finger prints on the tables. If I was in mom's or dad's way, they would kick me out of their way and I would go flying onto the floor.
I was probably around 5 when mom beat my head against the basement wall. She split my head open and I had to have stitches. It also cracked my skull.
Once I got beat on the back of the head with a baseball bat. It was terrible. And on my back. I was only around 2 then. I wasn't much older than that when I got hit with a 2x4 across my back.
The beatings lasted till I left home.
If I would cry when mom was beating on me, dad would come and beat me with the belt or his hands until I stopped crying. I learned early not to cry no matter the amount of pain.
Even in grade school, if I got home from school a minute later than mom thought I should, she was standing at the door, with a high heeled shoe, a lamp, or whatever she decided to pick up, to beat me with. Once she beat me with a telephone, and once with a close and play record player.
By the time I was in middle school, my hands would shake so horribly that I couldn't hardly open the door to go in the house. I would shake all over, never knowing if my mom was on the other side of the door, waiting with something in her hands to beat me with! It was awful. I was so terrified. If she did meet me at the door and had nothing in her hands, I would get a slap across the face just because.... she said she knew I was up to no good. She "knew" I was hiding something because of the "guilt" on my face. It wasn't guilt on my face - I was terrified. I was always terrified.
If I said hi to a boy in the hall at school after they said hi to me, mom always found out. I wasn't aloud to talk to boys at all throughout school, except when it was someone she wanted me to talk to and date. She had certain boys I could talk to with her there, and she let me date alone. They were always the wild boys at school, and she always thought the wild ones were nice and the nice ones were bad. She would slap me across the face, make me strip down to check my body for hickies, while calling me a whore, slut, every name she could think of. It was awful.
My brother and sister listened to rock and roll. Mom would yell at me while beating me in the head and all over, telling me I was going to hell for listening to rock music. I didn't want to hear it anyways, I hated the heavy metal rock music. And the words to the horrible songs, which were also used in programming.
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