- Sep 3, 2020
Hello, my fellow citizen.Desperat said:33 male, Poland. Fear keeps alive, kept me alive for all over the years.
My parents divorced early, a bit after I was born. My father was an alcoholic, he used to abuse my mother, but in the end, it was her fault that she felt fall all these lies, it was me though, that had to pay the price for someone else mistakes. He had no job, not even high school education, while she was a countryside girl from a poor, farming family.
What could go wrong? Everything. My grandma is dead, but I'll never forget how many times did my mother complain to her, and argue about how bad her life and upbringing was.
Around 4th class it started, as I remember, but might be later though, which is unlikely, because there must be a reason for which certain things are so clear to me, and I'll never forget it. 8 at a time, so quite young, but I remember everything so well, like it happened just a few days ago. Even thinking about it makes me want to cry, and I'm starting to have shivers, obviously sweating already, to someone who has not experienced any trauma, or as I called it wasn't "mentaly raped" it might sound... I don't know.
First couple year at school, nothing really happened, but then all of a sudden, it was a downhill ride.
To simply put it how I see it, my mothers mental capacity has run off.
I'm sweating so much, I had to get a paper towel to wipe myself, otherwise I'll drown here.
First were the curses, calling me names, and stuff.
Then beating. In general I experienced both mental, and psyhical abuse.
You have to keep in mind, that everything escaled over the years.
I will try to write a nice post, because it's the only thing that will remain after I'm gone, and you'll be able to see how things unfold naturaly on their own.
Beating, at the beginning I used to cry, cry a lot, and shout, but the more I was beaten, the more I started to get used to it. After a longer while, pain was gone, and all I felt was burning sensation, like stinging of hundret needels at the exactly same time. My mother noticed that, which made her beat me even more, mostly using a belt, sometimes with an open hand, or rarely with a fist. Mainly my buttocks, things, or my back, couple times face.
After the beating, and before beating cursing, later more abuses. Such as spitting at me, or swiping all the dirt from the floor in my room, and telling me to eat it, and guess what, I did eat it, I ate the hairs, dust, and whatever else was there. I ate it all. It was not over though. Sometimes it lasted days. Late night hours meant nothing. I was often forced to do homework, and told "you won't go to sleep after homework is done". And that's exactly what happened. I didn't sleep whole night, since just after I went to bed, or even tried to, my mother instantly got up, and started to insult/beat me, so I went back to do homework, which for most of the times I didn't do. I just sat whole night at my desk, and one day... Trichotillomania started, which is with me to this day. I started wandering with my fingers all over my head, making round moves, playing with my hairs, and then I started to pull them, just like that, pull them, look at them, and stick them to the bulb, I had a double bulb light above my desk, I noticed how fast they change, how they dry out nearly instantly. I went through all the phases. Pulling hairs, eating them, and biting of the hair bulb.
I had to get a new paper tower.
Everything got worse, as the time went by. What I wrote here, is merely couple months of the years 1st, and there are so many more years to describe, but as I wrote earlier, this is the most important part.
Due to all the abuse, something in my head changed, and there were multiple changes. First was obviously resilience to pain and lack of crying, then Trichotillomania. I couldn't take it no more, which made me start running away from home, and spend night outside, and even more often stay up and try to get as late as possible, which at the time for me was late evening. Keep in mind, I was around 8 at the time. Most of the times I spent outside was during the winter, every single time I did it gave me some sort of experience, which helped me to prepare for another time. Double pair of sock, double pants, warmer clotches, some food just in case. At first I was wandering around my neighborhood looking for a place to say, a warm place obviously, because of the winter season. I used to sit near the heater in block of flats, walk all around the open stores, I even got to a roof of a local heat plant in betweent the air intake, but I think someone saw me from the window from the block near by, and I run away.
I once spend the night in, not sure how to explain, in na block of flat, you have an open room on -1 floor, then you have main basement doors, and that's where I stayed, there was some wooden cover there, so I hid there for the night.
While wandering through my neighborhood I found a hidden, safe place, which would since that time be the place that I always went to. It was under the stair, it was a niche next to the windws, since many basements at -1 level have windows here, and that windows has a concrete cover, so that's where I was. There were couple garbage bags there which made if quite comfortable to sit at, soft, and offered an isolation. I was capable of sleeping with breaks, as I was so scared that even the faintiest of noise was waking me up.
The funny things is, one time, I heard my mother calling for me, and after the very first time I did run away, while I went to see the friends from school after the lessons, they told me, she was all crying, when she came in. I had a talk with my form teacher, then with my mom. Both talks didn't really mean a thing. My mother told me many things, but the "truce" lasted only for about a week, or two, and then everything got back to normal, my normality.
I kept running away even more, she used to abuse me more, beating my face untill I bleed from the nose, though I only bleed once, and once I started to leave marks on my bead, to have some sort of proof, she instantly wiped it off, and never touched my face ever again.
Beside all that, she starved me, and once even chocked me, beat me badly before that happened, threw on a bed, put a pillow on my face, and sat on it, then waited.
I remember how I used to run out of our flat, and shout "help me", but the Polish mentality at the time, and I think even today, is what it is, no one cares while you're alive, they only care when it's too late, and then start asking why, etc.
I think I reported it once, to my form teacher, but honestly is spending the rest of my childhood in a reformatory a solution? No. There was, and as far as I'm aware, there is still no solution for kids like me. Regardless, hardy anyone believed me either way. I acted bad at school, had poor grades, and not that good friends, which was enought for everyone to blame, who cares what happens at home right? To this day I can't imagine that no one managed to connect these two dots. The fact that how I act is because what I went throught. My mother is to blame for that, but also the fact of how manipulative person she is to this day, a lier, and that everyone believed her, no matter what.
It was supposed to be long, but I'll stop I guess, no one gives a damn, no one did, there's only 6 hours to edit, I'm not prepared to do it, I found this forum by accident, though I'm glad I did.
This post is like a grain of sand on a beach, you know what I mean.
I can only add, that in 2016 I met Klaudia in person, a girl that I met online, and that made me realize something. If you read it all, you maybe remember how my mother chocked me with a pillow. Klaudia wanted to fool around I guess, she took a pillow, and put it on my face when I was laying on the bed, guess what happened? I pushed here aside, same with the pillow, sat on the edge of the bed, and started crying.
I don't think I will editing this post, or adding anything, there's a lot of work to be done, for me to be happy about this post, but it wouldn't change anything really, just another page in a book of many stories that will be forgotten.
I read the whole post and I couldn't believe how traumatic your childhood must have been... One could think that stories like this happen only in films.
I'm sending my deepest sympathy.