As I have been learning more about the survivors of the crimes of child abuse it has become clear that we are all left with damage. This may sometimes be visual on the outside from scars of the neglect or physical trauma, but it is definite that there will always be the psychological damage to our process of personal safety, self respect and intimacy issues. These are the scars that cause us the most problems though out our lives. Whether it is from emotional, physical, or sexual abuse we are all left with the affect of these crimes.
In my case the cruelty of my abuse encompassed all areas and was so severe that it has left me broken, both physically and emotionally. The ways of my parents were very detrimental and caused my decision processors and my view of "normal" life to be completely distorted. The sexual abuse began at age five and grew more vicious to satisfy my step-father's sadistic nature. Through talking with others now who have been through years of brutal sexual abuse I have learned that most, if not all of us, carried this cruelty through our adult lives. As teens and pre-teens we were more educated about sex and how others were attracted to us. The girls learned very early how to let the boys use us; this made us feel more liked and needed.
As we grew it became a way of life for us. We always felt that if we didn't satisfy the sexual needs of others then they wouldn't want anything to do with us and that they would abandon us. Most of us felt that it was our purpose in life to make others feel good while we felt nothing. At age twelve I started allowing boys to touch and play with me just so I could be liked by them and feel like I had a friend, then during my adult relationships it became my job to keep the men in my life completely satisfied. In my mind this is the only way that I could earn their love in hopes that they would not hurt me. Many times I had been taught that if I didn't give a man what they wanted, then no one would want me at all.
This damage didn't become clear to me until at age 37 when I finally left my violent second husband. To be quite blunt about how this abuse had controlled me is to admit that for the eight years I was with him my responsibility was to send him off to work every morning with the satisfaction of oral sex. If he didn't get this, not only did I feel like I wasn't doing my job as a partner, but his demeanor would be changed as well. He would not be as affectionate; he would become more violent; he would stay out for hours drinking and not even bother calling; and he would act as if I had seriously failed him. In my damaged mind I accepted this as my fault because I hadn't done my "job" of making him happy.
The reason I chose to use him as an example is only because it was at that point when I finally decided to go into therapy and became more aware of how the twelve traumatic years of child abuse from my parents had controlled my entire life, at least up to that point. This isn't to say that I am now healed, just that I am more attentive about how it works in my emotional process of relationships. After getting into therapy and understanding myself a bit more I was able to allow my own thoughts and desires to be accepted; as well as allowing myself to gain some independence. The start of feeling my own emotions, wants and desires left me a bit confused, but it was the beginning of a new me.
This first started showing when, after the divorce, I grew independent and stepped out to buy my own car; my own house; held a great job and was living fine as a single mother; in fact enjoyed my children much more. Also when I took those Friday nights out by myself I didn't feel like I "HAD" to be with someone in order to be accepted as a person. I could allow myself some time without being consumed with the need to be desired by another person. I was beginning to grow. Although I didn't feel that I needed to be constantly sexually satisfying to be accepted, there was still an emptiness inside because of the need for love. Even when my children and I were quite happy together there was still a need to have someone in my life. My son tells me that he knew at 17 that his mom wasnt' happy by herself and that is still true today. I couldn't handle being alone or at least I didn't handle it well. When I was alone you could say that I was a bit unstable in the ways that I didn't handle my finances responsibly or that when I took time out with friends I always drank too much. Even though I had somewhat healed and had begun to find my own way, there was still the internal belief that if I wasn't loved by someone then I wasn't a worthy human being. The men in my life completed me, they were cruel and controlling, but I needed them to make me feel like I was the same as everyone else.
The need to have love in my life, I think, is more related to the severe neglect of my childhood. When my stepfather came into our family my mother completely cut off contact with my father and his family. Those who made me feel truly loved were no longer a part of me. As I grew, even at age 8, my mother and stepfather began putting more and more responsibility of care taking on my young shoulders. When other kids were out playing, making friends and doing childhood activities; I was made to be house keeper, cook and babysitter. My wants and needs as a child did not matter and were never answered. It was my responsibility to answer the needs of my stepfather and this carried to the extreme. If I was upstairs doing homework or busy downstairs with chores when he needed something I was the one he called for and I was the one who had to answer; even if it was simply to get him a glass of tea. I was the family slave instead of the young beautiful daughter I should have been. There was never a time that I can say I felt loved by anyone in my family, except of course the family I was kept away from and I would spend my free time day dreaming about what it would be like to have them again.
The people in my immediate family only responded to what I did for them. Being the "woman" of the house became my daily life and consumed all of my time. I wasn't allowed to leave and go play with friends unless my mother was home and the house was all cleaned, even then it would only be for a few hours until it was time to cook dinner and clean the dishes. It wasn't important for me to succeed at anything other than cleaning and taking care of them. Education, social activities and friendships were not discussed; only my jobs at home were ever stressed. If those needs weren't met then, of course, I was punished and often quite severely. There was never any affection of love from my mother, no kind words to encourage a life outside of the home. The only way I knew to gain love was to take care of everyone. As I grew to become a wife and mother it became an obsession for me to satisfy my husband, complete every household chore, and meet every goal of caring for my children. I lived my life thinking that I didn't deserve any loving response because I had never been taught that I was worthy of receiving any affection other than the sadistic sexual attacks from my stepfather. The neglect of kindness and true affection in my young life left me constantly searching for that one person who would be my sincere love; a love without pain. The men that cycled through my life, no matter how cruel, was simply my way of trying to find that kindness.
The physical abuse I suffered as a child was brutal and I was taught to accept these violent acts. There was never anyone who ever stepped up to protect me. The small town I grew up in of 1500 people all knew who I belonged to and exactly what I was doing, but not even my school mates would ever question the visual marks of the abuse. Even though I knew it was wrong to treat people the way I had been treated, it was forced on me to accept this cruelty. This played out in many ways. Often I would go to school carrying the deep purple welts from the beating I suffered the night before. Even though the kids around me would tease, whisper and point there was never any of them that spoke up in concern. When my mother's neglect was so severe that her daughter's skin was rotting with infection and her mouth was never cleaned or brushed, still not even the teachers said a word; they only kept their distance so as not to catch whatever it was that was eating at my arms and legs. Again I was made to believe that I didn't deserve such attention. As I went through my adult relationships this played out to ignore any violence against me. To ignore any pain I felt from the beatings or the degradation from others. I wanted to be cared for; I wanted to look like everyone else, but what I wanted was never important. So again, even though I wanted to have that true sincere love, I would accept the brutality against me just for a small bit of kindness.
It was through my repeated years of therapy that I learned how all of the cruel, neglectful, sadistic acts against me by those who were supposed to love and protect me, had left me so deeply and severely scarred. The physical damage of these scars cannot be repaired. My arms, legs and even my broken teeth bare the scars of the neglect. My spinal cord damage and the multiple vertebrae damage also cannot be fixed and have left me now permanently disabled; barely capable of caring for myself and my home. The worst of these scars though is the emotional ones I still carry. There will always be the nightmares, haunted memories, panic attacks and the affects of P.T.S.D. and depression that I carry with me. Although I try to stay focused on the blessings I've been given, it is impossible to erase the damage of my cruel, battered life. I have succeeded in a great deal of healing and my outlook is much brighter because of that, but there is no doubt that I will always carry those scars of abuse which have destroyed the beautiful person that should have blossomed from my youth.
Patricia A. McKnight
Author: "My Justice"
