Supporting the end of child abuse

A few days ago, I saw an advertisement about Polished Man. A charity about abolishing child abuse and keeping the conversation going; you paint your nail blue for October.

I found the site and then, straight away, donated to the cause. I am a poor carer but being a child of abuse, how could I not do it?

I think it is time for me to share my tale of abuse.

The topic of abuse is challenging for me as it was nearly 25 years ago since I left home and was free from it.

It started when I was four. My biological father took me from my mother due to some reason. It was a fantastic time, and we live with my grandmother, who was a delight. This was when my father met that woman, my future abuser.

She had three of her children, one my age, so I thought of new friends/siblings. How wrong I was. Not only did ‘this woman’ encourage her children to pick on my sister and me, but she would also punish us for anything she could think up.

The punishments were harsh, being beaten with a tent pole, being only allowed to drink water for days while being forced to sit on your bed and do nothing. Being sat on and suffocated by a 100 kg woman when only five years old.

 We never were given food for lunch, so I had to go bin diving to eat. The woman informed the school of my misdeeds, and I was punished by cane by the deputy principal. At the house, I ate cat food from a neighbour’s pet food bowl so that I could live.

I think a kind teacher saw my bruises (which never strayed further from the hems of my clothes) and informed the police. The pictures taken of myself was horrendous. Imagine a child in a t-shirt and shorts, and instead of clothes, they were bruises and welts. I was more black than blue.

So we were taken away and put into foster care, you would think I would have been safe? You’re mistaken.

While in a foster home, I was sexually assaulted by a teenage boy (who I think was a foster kid too). I can’t remember the experience, but it did happen, and I moved to a new home after being interview by the police.

My wonderful mother fought in court during my tribulations to find and gain full custody of my sister and me when I was six. I do love my mum, and she saved me…. for a while.

She had remarried too, a new father. A strong man, army officer, how could I not look up to him? It took some time, but his true colours revealed themselves.

At the grand age of 11, he said I was not his son. At 12, I would never become a cop because I was too fat. Between the ages of 13 to 15, he went out of his way to mentally and emotionally abuse me. At 15, it was the first time he nearly beat me up. He is a 6’6” man, army trained, and I was a 15-year-old kid. Who do you think would win a fight?

He also abused my sister while doing this to me (and I found out years later). I won’t say what, but it was fucked up!

The abuse continued for my sister and me until she ran away from home at 17, and I stayed to complete school when he was re-posted by the army.

Why didn’t I go to the cops? Cause he wasn’t hitting me, so my young mind thought that isn’t being abused?

At 19, I visited my mum and ‘him’, and the first thing he did when I walked through the door was abusing me. I looked at it, picked up my bag and said I am leaving as I don’t have to take that shit anymore. My mum (bless her soul) chewed him out.

Do you wonder why my mother didn’t protect me? Simple ‘the arsehole’ did it when she wasn’t around and put the fear of the gods into me to keep me quiet.

In the same week, he challenged me to a fight when my mum was at work. I looked at him (me being 120 kg 6’2” man) and said, ‘I wouldn’t do that because I love you.’ What I meant was I pity you, and you are not worth the time or effort.

Now I am in my 40’s. Life has given me more curveballs, but I endure. One thing, though, I would never want another child to go through what I did, so that I will be painting my nail for October.

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