"Objects of His Affection" Excerpt from Book on Instruments used to abuse me

I once read in an online article somewhere that one single act of physical; emotional or sexual abuse on a child is enough to cause long term trauma and do permanent psychological damage. I experienced fourteen years of sustainable long term abuse from the hands; closed fists; foot; boot; stick; belt; broom; truck; gun or chunk of wood by my father. Basically anything that was readily available and at an arms distance was fair game. There is significant physical harm in the use of objects because the abuser is unaware of the force of the blow they are inflicting, as with the case of my father, the abuse can last for longer sustainable periods of time because the impact is not hurting the attacker! I had many non-accidental injuries growing up, and I often wonder why nobody ever noticed or spoke out about them. Back then there were no such things as battered women’s shelters or child protection services in our area. Domestic battering; physical, emotional and sexual abuse were taboo subjects rarely talked about. My extended family knew, his relatives and friends of mine, but nobody ever spoke out or tried to help in any way. His own parents knew! My Grandparents! When I would say to them that “Dad” was hurting us they would dismiss what I said, making some sort of excuse and brushing it off! Everyone held their peace back then. My fathers preferred method was his fists, I would often receive blow after blow and remember covering up my face with my hands as often as I could. He also loved to walk by when I was at the kitchen table either eating or doing homework and out of the blue, slap me so hard in the head or back that the force would knock me off the chair falling on to the floor. While I am lying on the ground I asked him once, “Why did you hit me? What did I do?” His reply was, “This is for all the things I didn’t catch you doing.” He had this belt that was all leather and thick. It was forty inches long, three inches wide and a quarter inch thick, it was brown and those little times that it was not in use, he rolled it up and placed it in an easy accessible location. Needless to say, when I was lucky enough just to be hit with the belt, it would leave large, deep welt marks that hurt like hell and would sting so bad that you almost passed out from the pain. After the beating it was almost impossible to try falling asleep with those welts stinging. It was impossible to take a shower for obvious reasons, when that water hit the freshly inflicted wounds it stung and when you used soap and water it was a double shot of pain and agony all over again. Not only with the initial beating did you feel the effects but days afterwards until the welts became less fresh and your every movement did not aggravate them. Imagine going to school and having to run around in gym class where your t-shirt is constantly rubbing on them or when you are playing dodge ball and another opponent hits you in the back, which is where he usually liked to whip me. The sting and constant reminder of the pain lingered long after the final assault. He also used the broom quite a bit and would not hit me with the bristle side because that would not hurt or torture me enough; it always had to be with the wooden handle side! One of his favorite games to play came when he was chasing me throughout the house. I would run down the hall as fast as I could hearing him right behind me, I would then go into my Parents bed room and slide underneath their bed. It was an antique bed with a clearance from the floor of a foot and a half. I know this fact because once I measured it to assure myself that as I got older and bigger that I would still have this option for escape. They had a king size bed so it was hard to grab me from either side once underneath and I would constantly roll from side to side away from his grasps. He would try on the ground but only his arms would fit through the opening as he was a fairly big man. He could never reach me completely so he would grab the broom or that damn belt and sling it under the bed trying to hit me. I believe this was when I developed my agility and coordination for sports because you were constantly moving from side to side to avoid contact. Those times when it became horrifying were when he would lie on top of the bed where I could not see him and then have to guess from which direction he was going to attack me from. He usually gave up and got tired because he could never get to me. That bed, Praise the Lord, was really heavy and I remember only once where he tried to picked it up from the foot to reach me, but he had to use both hands so when he did that he could only kick me. The time that he lifted the bed after being kicked in the head I ran out from under it and darted for that damn door making my escape out into the corn field. That day he was especially pissed at me for something and chased me out that door. I was a fast kid and I would fly out that door jumping off the porch and would run towards the road because it was downhill and I could run faster. If I could out run him and outlast him he usually gave up. That day he was relentless and fast on tail, cussing and screaming and I could hear his footsteps just a few strides back. This scenario happened so often in my childhood for any reason at any time of the day or night and during any kind of weather. There were only a few times that he actually caught me because I would trip and fall. That day, I tripped! This was one of the more vivid memories because he was psychotic by then with his failed attempts to get to me from underneath the bed that he just unleashed. Kicking, punching, slapping over and over; repeated blow after another until I could not move and he became too tired. After he was done this particular time I just laid there and cried and cried wishing I were dead. I could hardly move and I was exhausted from his game. That game I lost terribly that particular day. I eventually, after many years of getting hit by it, got up the nerve to get rid of the belt. I remember taking it and throwing it out somewhere by the road far away never to be found again and it was no longer in the house. My father once accused Marie and I for taking the belt and we each got a beating for that, but I know the object that day was not going to be by the big brown belt. Another object he used to inflict permanent emotional distress and absolute panic was his shot gun. When my Mother, Marie or I darted for that door and started running, sometimes the asshole was lazy and did not give chase. He would just grab the shotgun which was usually loaded by the front door and start shooting towards us. Of course your back was turned in the other direction so you only knew that you were the object of target practice when you heard the shots! I believe that is by far one of my most personal horrifying situations that I experienced as a child. A gut wrenching fear of utter helplessness and sense of death! There is no greater source for anxiety then having a gun pointed at you as he did to my mother on several occasion and me witnessing it or when you are running for your life with your back turned and hearing bullets whizzing past your ears and hitting those objects that you’re passing by. Later after he calmed down he would always say, “I wasn’t really trying to hit you, I was just shooting in your general direction.” Like that made I or anyone else feel any better about the whole fucking situation. Last but not least was his frigging truck. When the gun was not loaded and he did not feel like chasing after us because we had a substantial lead, he would just jump in his truck and try to run us down, revving his engine and only a few feet away from you! I cannot recall the countless times I would be down town and he would try to catch me and I would start running up the hill towards the house and he would be revving that damn engine again. He was only about 3 feet away from you, close enough where I could see the headlights out of the corner of my eye. I knew I could not slip or fall then, If I did he would not have the reaction time to slam on the brakes and I always feared he would run me over forcing me to run as fast I could out of fear and pure adrenaline after being utterly exhausted. I would dart left and then right, up embankments and through bushes and brush and he would be right behind me never taking me out of his sights. It was a mile run all uphill and by the time I reached a place where I could safely get out of his path where the truck could not go I would be hyper-ventilating, fall to the ground and lay there on the verge of passing out from sheer panic and exhaustion until I got my breath! A lot of these occurrences happened when he had been drinking or was drunk and in one of lunatic moods where he had no perception as to how close he was or how fast he was pushing you to run and I no reaction time if I had slipped and fallen. As I laid on the ground, I would be relieved that I had survived another one of his games, but I would cry out of panic and fear, and be so very alone, helpless to change my life. These are the games I played with my Father while growing up. “Wanna play?”

Emotional Triggers

When I was a young adult I was so very naive as to think that the events of my childhood did not traumatize nor affect me. It did not take me long to realize that there was "Something Wrong with ME!" I could be having a splendid day where I was happy, energetic having a positive outlook then suddenly I would plummet into the dark depths of depression and despair hating myself and my place in the world. It took many years in counseling and self-reflecting to identify what was happening when this occurred. I had experienced an "Emotional Trigger" from my childhood. In some cases it would be a PTSD Trigger that would send my emotions and thoughts on a path towards despair. Triggers can be anything that immediately places you in the midst of an already experienced traumatic event. You feel like it is happening all over again and you are now facing the same fears, hopelessness and pain as you once did in the past. Triggers can associate with anything that triggers your memory. It can be a smell; sound or song; person; beverage or drink; TV Show; image; the weather or season; objects; virtually anything that you subconsciously associate with the event. Identifying your triggers is a vital step in the healing process. It allows for advance notice as to when a possible episode may occur and also allows you to consciously think about how you’re going to respond or react. The episodes may still come but you learn to control them and they don't effect your personality or emotions for as long. Those times I spiraled down occurred when I was unaware of what I was experiencing and was caught "Off Guard" by the emotion. Knowing your triggers is vital for a survivor of any form of abuse. I encourage you to make a list of yours today! Some of my triggers include; Train Whistle and bells; Belt; Loud Noises of any kind; Engine Revving; the word "FUCK"; Snow; Rain; Mad Dog 20/20; Gun Shots; loud screams; mud; bacon; mean spirited individuals; a Nike Hat, violence,Ted Danson, Glenn Close, Farah Fawcett just to name a few. These are all associated with painful, traumatic events or memories from my past and trigger my emotions on a moment’s notice causing extreme panic and anxiety. Do a self-inventory today on your Triggers to better prepare you in guarding your emotions and thoughts. Also trust and read the word of God. The only source for my true healing. "I entreat you when I do come [to you] that I may not [be driven to such] boldness as I intend to show toward those few who suspect us of acting according to the flesh [on the low level of worldly motives and as if invested with only human powers]. For though we walk (live) in the flesh, we are not carrying on our warfare according to the flesh and using mere human weapons. For the weapons of our warfare are not physical [weapons of flesh and blood], but they are mighty before God for the overthrow and destruction of strongholds, [Inasmuch as we] refute arguments and theories and reasoning’s and every proud and lofty thing that sets itself up against the [true] knowledge of God; and we lead every thought and purpose away captive into the obedience of Christ (the Messiah, the Anointed One)," - 2 Corinthians 10:2-5

Generational Abuse

http://shardsofglasscwseymore.com
I am the product of Generational Abuse. For those of you unfamiliar with this, it is abused witnessed or endured by your parents/grandparents/guardian, that is ingrained in within them and which they carry into their families. Thus the learned behavior is passed down from generation to generation creating a cycle of abuse for future generations.

 It is estimated that more than 3 million children witness acts of Domestic Violence (DV) every year in their family environment. Boys who witness DV are 100 times more likely to display those behaviors as adult males. “As violence against woman becomes more severe and frequent, the children experience a 300% increase in physical abuse by the adult male abuser. –Straus & Gelles, Physical Violence in America. 

My parents were BOTH abused. My father was the product of neglect, abandonment, molestation and witness to DV, (Domestic Violence). These behaviors later manifested themselves in my family where I too was a victim, tortured physically, mentally and sexually as a result of his learned behaviors. My mother was severely battered all throughout my childhood. I am just now learning the effects that just witnessing those episodes can have long into adulthood to not even mention my personal abuse endured.

My mother was a victim of severe childhood abuse and neglect. Surprisingly she did not abuse any of us, but she did acquire the abandonment and disassociation from childhood to be a mother who was protected and provided for us but was not loving or nurturing. This is something I crave today in my adult life. To have a mother who will embrace me tenderly and with overwhelming love. She loves me and only shows it through actions or advice but not in the tender ways that I so badly crave from being starved by it as a child. 

I believe that we must conquer the symptom of generational abuse to win the battle against the present abuse being suffered by millions today! I view many articles on all forms of abuse but rarely is it mentioned that abusers where witnesses to abuse themselves.  

In “Shards of Glass” by CW Seymore I mention this topic as well as all the abuse endured in my childhood and the lasting effects that I struggle with into adulthood. We need to stop the Cycle and end the violence TODAY!