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Living a Life of Abuse

Growing up in an abusive home.

By Kristina HedleyPublished 6 years ago 10 min read
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Life is not all roses.

I grew up in a home that was far from perfect. My brother and I were both adopted after my mom found out she couldn't have any more children.

My sister was their only biological child, born with serious heart problems that nearly killed her a few times. She is 6 years older than me.

My brother was adopted at age 2 from a reserve where his mother drank during pregnancy. As a result, he was born with something called fetal alcohol syndrome or FAS for short. He is 2 years older than me.

And then there's me. I was adopted at age 1. I was reunited with my birth mother when I was 19, I still talk to her and see her.

I remember the abuse starting around age 2, my sister agrees that it started around then. At the time it was more verbal abuse than anything, but I do recall a bit of physical abuse.

When I was 3, I remember being left home alone so mom could pick my brother up from school. This happened every day until she put me into daycare. I remember drinking water from the cat's water dish because she kept me dehydrated all the time.

I hated my teacher in kindergarten, when you're a little kid, big adults were scary, and she was mean. She singled me out every day all because I played on the indoor jungle gym all day. I couldn't help being a very active kid.

The following year at school, I was out in the yard one lunch hour. I was an ever so curious child, I liked to explore. On this day, I spotted the dumpster by the baseball diamond.

I remember taking my white sweater off, I would have been in trouble if it got dirty. I folded it neatly and put it on the bench. Then I climbed up the dumpster.

I got partway up the dumpster, but wound up cutting my arm open on a piece of metal. Thankfully someone was close by, a teacher or student who got a teacher, because a few minutes later I was in the nurse's office being taken care of.

My mom was called. Since we lived so close, she was there in a few minutes. Instead of going to the hospital for stitches and a tetnus shot, mom was told the cut wasn't very deep. The wide scar proves otherwise.

I told my first lie that day. I was scared to tell mom what had happened. At the time I thought she believed me, she didn't get mad or press the issue.

We moved and changed schools when I finished grade 2. Starting a new school was tough, but I was also dealing with undiagnosed ADD, my grade 3 year saw me fail because I couldn't pay attention in class.

The following year is when I started stealing. It was little things out of classmates desks, never anything big.

I hated my teacher, he was a scary man, he had a very loud voice. I could tell he didn't like me at all, he knew I had been held back and was repeating the grade.

By this time my ADD had really become a problem, I was put on medication that I had to take at school and at home. I recall at school that they would let me take my pill at the water fountain outside of the office without supervision. I always threw the pill in the fountain.

The next year I started wearing glasses. The kids at school would bully me because of them, and I hated wearing them but had no choice. I was miserable.

In 1988, things got bad for me. I remember mom locked me in my room at night, I was never allowed out at night. If I needed to go to the bathroom and disturbed her, she would get mad. If I wet the bed, she got mad. I couldn't win with her.

The summer between grade 4 and 5 was pretty decent. Mom decided to send me to day camp for 2 weeks which I thought would be fun.

It was, until 4 days in when I got hurt. I had rolled my left ankle while dancing in sock feet. One of the counsellors carried me to the bus for the ride home as this had happened very close to the end of the day.

My foot was swollen and painful, I couldn't walk or take my shoe off. The bus driver dropped kids off until I was the last one on the bus. Instead of taking me to my house, she made an excuse why she couldn't, and dropped me off a few streets away from my house.

When I hobbled into the house in tears, mom asked me what had happened and I told her. She was pissed. She was mad at me for getting hurt, mad at the driver for not bringing me home.

She called my dad to take me to the hospital to get looked at. They told me I had a broken bone in my foot. They put on a plaster cast and taught me how to use crutches.

When mom saw me come home like this, she was even more angry at me. She couldn't get a refund for the 6 days of camp I was going to miss. She yelled at me for that.

I had a hard time in school when that school year started since I was in a heavy cast and on crutches. My classes were spread out, inside the school and outside in a portable. To get to my classes, I had to navigate a long flight of stairs. I fell a few times, but then started crawling up and down the stairs like my dad taught me. I got laughed at, but it was a lot safer than falling.

Later that year I took swimming lessons at our local pool. I was having fun learning how to swim. But one week I was having stomach pains that we're getting worse. I had to sit out one lesson because the pain was so bad.

On the last day, I was walking home from school. I didn't have the strength to carry my backpack, so I was dragging it on the ground. My sister was home when I got there. She saw how pale I was and said I needed to see the doctor.

I can't remember if she took me to the doctor, but I do remember my doctor telling me that I needed to go to the hospital, he thought it was my appendix.

Mom and dad took me to the hospital. I was scared. They did a lot of tests and a doctor came in and told us she was a surgeon. She said my appendix needed to be removed that night.

Here I was, 11 years old, having what I felt was a major surgery and I was terrified. I woke up from surgery, the pain wasn't as bad as it had been. I was relieved. They told me I was going to stay for 4 days.

A lot of the time in the hospital I was in a fog and slept. I do remember drifting in and out of sleep on the Sunday while mom watched the Nascar race on the tv. When they removed the bandage to change it, I cried, I saw the incision and was horrified. It really wasn't bad but it scared me.

Back at home over the next couple of years, things were bad. My brother was locked in the basement, I would get yelled at and hit a lot. This continued until one day our lives changed forever.

My sister and I went to pick mom up from work, it turned out that dad was supposed to get her. When she asked my sister about that, my sister told her that dad was leaving her.

Shortly after that, my sister left home, she was 18 so she could. She couldn't stand the abuse my brother and I were suffering, she had too much stress in her life and needed to get away.

Dad had promised mom that he would come back, she and I had moved to an apartment, my brother lived with my dad. I had no say in the matter, had to live with mom.

We moved to a house during winter with the expectation that dad was moving home. He never came. Sure he came to visit, but he never came back to live with us.

I was miserable. My brother moved back in with us, and the abuse intensified. I got blamed for everything even if nothing was my fault.

One day I was having an argument with my brother, I was cleaning the litter box at the top of the basement stairs. I was tired of fighting with him and tried to change the subject. He got mad and pushed me. I fell backwards down the basement stairs.

I had a nasty cut over one eye and some rug burns. My eye was swelling and bruising and I was scared. I called for an ambulance. Mom arrived home at the same time the paramedics did. She told them to leave, she said they weren't needed.

When she walked in the door, she looked at me, and instead of showing concern, she started to laugh and yell at me. This hurt me even more. I was in pain and injured, but she didn't care.

The next morning I had to go to school with a black and blue eye that was swollen shut. Everyone was looking at me. I got called to the principal's office close to lunch time, I guess a teacher had reported my physical state to the office staff.

My guidance counselor was there along with the principal. They asked me point blank of my mother had hurt me. I sat there, I could have said yes, but I didn't. I would have been caught in a lie if I did.

I told them I fell down the basement stairs. Didn't even say that my brother had done it. To this day I wonder if I had told them mom had done it, even though it was a lie, would they have found out about all the abuse I was already suffering?

Life was getting worse after dad decided not to come back. He and my brother moved a bit north of us. I was allowed to see them every other weekend. That was hard for me, but that was the custody arrangement.

Mom made me walk to school, it took me an hour each way, I had to walk even in the winter. Eventually she found us an apartment across from where my dad lived, but I was out of school bounds. They let me continue because I was in grade 11 when I moved.

The abuse got worse then, she would yell at me a lot more, even hit me more. But I was older, I was learning to push back. That got scary.

One day I lost it. I attempted suicide for the first time ever. When I was in the emergency room, they forced charcoal down my throat to absorb what I'd taken. I was sent to a psychiatrist, he didn't help me.

I tried running away from home one night. I was out in the park by the apartment, but I couldn't sleep out there, I decided to go home. I should have hid in my closet when I got home.

When mom got up to go to work and saw me in my bed, she showed no concern, she just started screaming at me. I couldn't take it from her anymore.

At school that day, I burst into tears in English class, was told to go see my guidance counselor. He took me over to the hospital where I met with a social worker in emergency. He told her I could not return home, I needed a safe place to go.

Over the next couple of years, I was in and out of shelters. My life was upside down. I had tried to finish school after I left, I just couldn't handle the travel time. I dropped out of school needing only 7 credits to graduate.

Since I left home, life has been different. Mom and I have been on and off with contact, but we have always made up in the long run.

Today she admits that she needed help when I was growing up, she denies the physical abuse, but admits to the verbal abuse. But my sister and brother both remember the abuse clearly.

I don't talk about this much, it seems to bother mom that I do, I'm told my memory is bad, but my sister knows it's not.

Life was hard. If I had the chance to do things differently, I would make sure I had a different family.

I have forgiven her for all she's done to me, in the end, forgiveness is important.

grief
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