Child Abuse

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What defines punishing your children as opposed to abusing them?
Where does one draw the line?
Is it wrong or is it very wrong?

In my opinion it's extremely cruel..
But in my experiences with it.. I believe that, in a way, it made me a lot stronger of a person.. Even though it damaged me likewise.

The beginnings of something new.

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Up until the time I was around 10 or so, I was more than well-behaved and always tried hard in school. Around that time though, I started to get distracted more by my surroundings and by the newly progressing internet wave. I was in the usual sports/activities that most young boys my age were (boy scouts, tee ball, swimming, bit of gymnastics) but I started to find myself losing interest in them. My mother was single at the time, as my parents had divorced many years earlier and I understood what that meant since my perception was above keen for my age. Naturally, she didn't enjoy being alone and sought out the company of another and I never blamed her for that.

Cue the start of a relationship.

My mother started seeing the father of one of they boys in my boy scout troop. At first, I was unaware of what was going on, as she'd only go on dates with him while I was away from the house doing my extracurricular activities and he'd come over late at night when I had long been asleep. I caught on quickly though, as I noticed her door would be closed and locked at late hours when I would wake up and creep around the house in the early hours of the morning.

This went on for a while before she finally introduced him to us and at first he seemed pretty sweet and like a gentleman. They would go on dates here and there until one day, not that long after they had begun dating, she announced they were set to be married. This didn't bother me, as I had already come to terms with my parents' divorce and the fact that they were both going to be seeing other people. My father had his fair share of dates and the women all seemed nice, but nothing more serious ever came of them. Upon hearing the news about my mother and soon-to-be stepfather, I was honestly excited for her, happy that she had found someone that wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him. Things progressed and I went on to meet my future stepbrother and stepsister and we got along pretty well, my stepbrother moreso than my stepsister (she was a couple years older and more mature than us so we had less in common, naturally). We enjoyed each other's company and my sister would play games with us and laugh and sing and all manners of fun things. Time went on and their engagement came upon the date they had set to be married.

Before I continue, I want to note that my future stepfather was former Navy. He had attended the Naval Academy in Annapolis, MD and graduated to become a Navy man. This was of no concern to me, as at the time, I simply saw it as a sign of strength and conformity to a code, as well as a servitude to protect and defend others. The problems would come later on.

The time came and we all partook in their wedding; It was a wonderful, beautiful ceremony on the beaches of Hilton Head Island, SC. I enjoyed the proceedings and it was nice meeting all the different family members on both sides whom I had never seen or not seen in quite a while. At this point, I was happy and didn't foresee any issues heading my way. Little did I know, this would be the start of some of the worst years of my life..

Abrupt and unbearable change..

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Shortly after the wedding, we all moved in together. My mother and new stepfather bought a house in a new neighborhood, a nicer neighborhood than I had ever lived in.. My stepsister and stepbrother moved in with us, part-time of course as they lived with their blood mother half the time. Things went along nicely at first, no conflict, happy-go-lucky. Then I started to slip a bit in school.. My grades dropped from all A's down to some A's and B's, even an occasional C. Most parents (from what I've heard from others to this point in time) would try to encourage their child to try harder or offer them help to try and succeed. My mother did the opposite.. I saw a side of her I had not previously seen. She started by taking EVERYTHING away from me.. No gradual, "I'm going to take away your computer privileges until you pick things back up." or "You only get an hour to play with your friends a day until you start doing a bit better in your classes." No, it went directly to "You no longer have any privileges, no video-games, no computer, no spending time with friends, nothing." This wasn't so bad, but a bit harsh in my opinion. It didn't motivate me a bit though.. It actually had the adverse effect, I started doing worse.. Started to care less..
I'm sure you're wondering (where's the abuse? none of that sounds so bad? stop bitching man.. others had it worse..) Well, cue the abuse.

The ungodly pain and borderline torture.

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Again, before I continue; My stepfather was 6'4" at the time and over 220 pounds.
A hardened military man that came off as a bit more easy-going in his previous years, but his demeanor changed over time..

The first time my stepfather put his hands on me, was to choke me. I brought home another dissatisfying report card (nothing above a B and one F) and he verbally assaulted me, I was shaken.. Then, he proceeded to put his hand on my throat and lift me off of the ground against the wall. I was a mere 4'10" at the time and no more than 120-140 max. I immediately put both of my hands on one of his wrists (as that was all I could seem to grip since his frame was much larger than mine) and tried to pry his hands off of my neck. It was to no avail and for the first time in my life (and one of the only) I started to see stars and everything faded to black.. The last thing in my mind, the enraged look on his face..

I came to not that long after. He proceeded to verbally abuse me a bit more, telling me I'm a piece of shit and that I'm a failure and my mother would never be proud of "some fucking loser son." The words hit me much harder at the time, as I had never been degraded in such a way, at such a young age (12 years old). He sent me to my room and that was that.. For the time-being..

One of the next incidents was an argument with my sister not too long after the first encounter. She was about 8 and I was still 12 at the time. We were bickering as children do, arguing over some senseless nonsense.. "I wanna play with this!" , "Let me have that!" etc, etc.. I was greeted by another wave of toxic beratement and a swift, forceful fist directly to the stomach. This was the first time in my life I'd felt pain that great and lost the ability to breathe. I struggled to take in air for roughly 3-4 minutes, gasping and keeled over, gripping at the air as if it would somehow assist me in gathering my senses. I saw stars again and that lurking blackness start to surround my field of vision. I didn't black out though and nothing was broken, no marks left on my body...

After I caught my breath, I was greeted with an "I bet you won't argue with your sister about stupid shit again, boy!" The look on my sister's face was of utter shock and disbelief.. My mother was not around for most of the incidents, as she had recently acquired a better-paying job that required her to go out of town on business trips. There was no convincing her that it was actually happening either.. To her, I was just a "young, naive boy who was just exaggerating being 'punished and disciplined'" He was telling her he was just "spanking" us and giving us a "firm talking to" and he had her convinced.. I lost a lot of respect for my mother over the next year or so, as it continued and she continued to live in denial; Convinced that we didn't know the difference between abuse and punishment.

It was a little while before the next physical abuse happened, but for the next months to a year, I was put to work in the yard for 4~ hours + a day. My stepfather wouldn't let me play with my friends after school, it was "straight to work." I would weed the flower beds, mow the lawn, dig holes for new plants, etc.. Just all forms of manual labor. One day, I asked him why I had to do all this and why I couldn't have just a little bit of time to play with my friends. His response? "You're my fucking slave now, that's why!" I was in shock.. His "slave?!" Was he joking? Not one bit. I spent the entire summer doing manual labor, at the age of 13, anything and everything he could think of. His choice of punishment for me not getting certain things right or for small arguments with my sister, would be that I had to stand in the corner for 2 hours.. A literal 2 hours. He would set the oven timer and sit on the couch in the living room, watching t.v. and glancing over at me every couple of minutes. If I made the slightest movement, he would put 15 more minutes on the timer. I can't count how many days I spent upwards of 5-6 hours standing in the corner, legs on fire, an occasional hard-smack on the back of the head if I quivered a bit.. Honestly, I was glad to have that as opposed to the physical violence I had endured previously.. It was almost something I prayed for.. Then, as old habits die hard, the physical aspect picked up again. Again with the choking, he would degrade me verbally, then if I didn't appear to bow to his words or if my face seemed slightly like it had a grin, there was a hand on my throat, lifting me into the air.. At times, to the point of unconsciousness; At others just to the brink. At times, a quick jab to the stomach before the lift, or a moderately forceful fist to the side of the face.. Always careful to not leave a mark.

One day, he did his usual choke-me-off-the-ground routine in front of my cousin (my cousin was about a year or so younger than me) and my cousin was in shock.. He must've told his mother afterwards because less than a month or so after he witnessed it, DFACS (Georgia's "Department of Family And Children Services") came to question him and my mother. My mother had not been around for any of the physical abuse and had only witnessed a fraction of the verbal abuse he dished out. My sister and I eavesdropped from the upstairs, as we had a balcony and a skywalk. She defended him though.. Over her own children.. Told the agent that she had never seen anything of the sort and that we were kids with "overactive imaginations.." as she put it. I lost even more respect for her; During the interview, I yelled out from upstairs (they had us go upstairs while they talked to my mother and stepfather to keep the experiences separate) "He's a LIAR! He's LYING!" and broke into tears, running into my sister's room with her. They finished up their investigation and claimed they saw no real signs of abuse and they simply instructed him to take a precautionary class about child abuse. Things didn't change..

My sister.

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Shortly after that, he continued his old ways, even threw in a bit of kicking me in the stomach when I would drop to the ground from the punch or blackout.

Then, everything changed for me.

It was Mother's Day around the time my sister was 9, about to be 10. I had just recently turned 14. We had been busy with schoolwork the night before and we both ended up falling asleep before we could finish our Mother's Day cards. My stepfather was NOT happy about this, in fact, he was LIVID. He proceeded to verbally abuse me, as I had come to expect by that time, but then, for the first time I had witnessed, he started to verbally abuse my sister.. That struck a nerve with me. He sent us both to our respective rooms and remained upstairs (where her room was). Moments later, my sister comes running into my room, crying her eyes out, screaming insanely.. I was in shock.. I asked her "What happened?! Are you okay?!" She proceeds to tell me that my stepfather grabbed her by the throat, lifted her into the air and choke-slammed her onto her bed.. I freaked the FUCK out. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I sought out my stepfather and approached him upstairs. I told him "DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH MY SISTER YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!!" louder and more aggressively than I'd ever heard myself speak.. I scared myself a bit.. He told me to relax and to calm down, but I could do nothing but scream at him about how much of a piece of shit he was and never to touch my sister again. He seemed in shock that there was this almost animal side of me.. This pure rage.. I told him, "If you EVER touch her again, I will KILL you." He backed down and we all retired to our rooms. My mother came home later in the day from work and we all acted as though nothing had happened, for my mother's sake..

Never again..

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After that encounter, I approached some of my friends who were into some of the more shady things (drugs, guns, theft, etc..) and asked to buy a pistol. They wondered why, as I had only ever dealt with the drugs with them and had only ever carried a switchblade (I turned a bit.. bad after the years of being a "slave" and not having any freedoms or enjoyment in life. Around the time I was about 13 up until I was 14 almost 15, I would sneak out and take my mom's car to go deal drugs on the corners, knife in one pocket, cash in another.. Spending the money on alcohol, weed, various other fast and loose expenses.), but they proceeded to produce that cold steel I came to know as a Smith & Wesson 4506 model..

Now, my mother had always been the type to snoop around my room and had found various things from hidden PDA's to condoms to the occasional pack of joint papers. She started to snoop again and one day, I came home from school to find my pistol and clips (that I had taped to the under-side of one of my clothing drawers) missing.. Of course, I couldn't ask her about it and surely not my stepfather (who knows how he would have reacted) so I just let it go. Less than a week since it went missing, I noticed a lateral shift in my stepfather's behavior.. He had stopped abusing me and had never said a cross word to my sister since that point. The only conclusion I could come to, was that my mother had found my gun, thought about it for a couple of days, then proceeded to tell my stepfather about it. My second conclusion, was that he had realized that I was serious about killing him if he continued to touch us in any aggressive manner. I was almost relieved. Not long after the incident of my pistol going missing, I started to be allowed to hang out with friends again (what few I had at this point..) and was allowed to use the computers and play a few hours of video games. I quickly lost interest in the games, since it had been so long since I was allowed to, but found much solace in spending time with my friends.. Enjoying being a kid again..

Down the road.

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As time went by, things started to become a bit less strained between me and my stepfather. We started to communicate as normal human beings do, I even began to open up and begin to trust him (though I was sure at one point that would never be a possibility) and actually find moments where he was enjoyable to be around or hear stories about his life. This was much to my delight, as my mother had become pregnant with twins shortly after the tides had shifted toward what seemed to be better times. I would think about the past from time to time and it would enrage me, but I would bury it and try to mend those broken relationships for the sake of a newly, soon-to-be-arriving half-brother and sister. I also worried about whether they would later on have to experience what I went through or not.. It bugged me, but I convinced myself that he had changed for the better and knew that I wouldn't accept that type of treatment toward ANY of my siblings. It seemed that the paradigm had shifted for the better and for good. I watched him in all his joy throughout the pregnancy and after they were born, caring for them in a way I had never witnessed him care about anything else. I watched him treat them with a delicacy and nurturing nature that I came to admire in a way. I also fell in love with them.. Something more powerful than I had ever felt.. I helped change their diapers, watch them, feed them.. It built a bond beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Their fragility scared me.. Made me want to defend and protect them to no end.. Built a love incomparable to anything else in this world.

Not my actual siblings. Just a representation.

As the years go on, I saw that bitter, hateful, aggressive man turn into a soft, loving, nurturing father once more (as I believe he had been at some point in the distant past) and my harbored hate and resentment for him faded with time. Our relationship got better over time and as I opened up more and more to him, we would share ideas and thoughts and stories about our lives, openly and free of judgment or the once known negative and violent reprimand. He would start to become closer to my heart as I watched him raise my brother and sister alongside my mother, hand in hand, never becoming the animal I had witnessed in years prior.

At the present day, our relationship is better than it ever has been and he accepts and respects the fact that I hate the government and all it's evils and thefts implemented on society in every facet. He even agrees with me on some points, which he never would have before.. Shocking, as he was ex-military.. I never expected to hear a single negative comment about the state of our country, but he proved to me he wasn't ignorant either.. That he had his eyes open to the injustices and slavery we've come to know as "democracy." He still believes that we can turn things around and that's where we differ. He doesn't insult my intelligence or tell me I'm wrong or stupid for having ideas as he once had, but supports me to think freely and to perceive things from all angles and make a sound judgment based on what conclusions I arrive at. He's more supportive than ever and I'm glad that, even if it came a bit late, he has arrived at this mental state in his life and no longer seeks to produce negativity.

The outcomes.

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In a way, as sick as it may sound, I believe it was something necessary in my life..
In a way, I believe it was something more cruel than my sister or I had ever deserved to endure..
In a way, I know it made me a stronger, more resilient person..
Truthfully, it could have been much worse. I could have broken bones or been damaged in irreparable ways. I could have even died or have been starved along with it. Things could have been much worse and for some, are. Do I believe it was right? Not a bit. No child should have to endure the brute force of a grown man nearly double his/her literal size.. No child should be told they're a piece of shit and worthless and nothing but a disappointment to their family.. No child should grow up feeling shitty about themselves and seeking out other outlets to vent that rage and anger that builds up inside them as a consequence of another's action. For some, it can strengthen them and build them into a harder-willed, more resilient person. For others, it can have the adverse effect, it can breed hate, anger and a desire to inflict or project that pain unto others, in the worst ways.. I consider myself lucky to have been able to overcome what happened to me and that it was not much worse. To those out there who've experienced the harsher realities and circumstances of abuse.. My heart sincerely goes out to you and I have more respect for you than you will ever understand.

TL;DR

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I was abused during my younger years, physically and verbally by my much larger stepfather.
I was able to get through it and it stopped shortly after he started abusing my sister, warranting me to purchase a gun and tell him that if it didn't stop, I would kill him.
Through time, our relationship was mended and I've learned to have respect for him and to forgive him.
Things are better in the present and it didn't damage me as a person.
I believe child abuse is wrong and I feel so sorry for those who've gone through much worse.