Verbal Abuse is Just as Damaging as Physical Abuse

The home I grew up in was fraught with yelling, hitting, and often silence. My mother and stepfather didn't want children, and I was never allowed to forget it. I was an only child for eleven years; then came my brother. He was sweet and cute and everything a baby should be. I loved him. They hated him.

They'd always fought, but after he was born, they fought even more. Neither of them wanted the responsibility of taking care of the two of us, so I had to step up.

They would go out, and sometimes they wouldn't come home. Those were the good times. Other times they'd go out and get drunk. Then they'd come home fighting. At first they didn't take it out on me, but after a while they did. They had to because they made certain that they were never home at the same time.

My stepfather would try to pick fights with me. I tried for the most part to stay clear of him, but that wasn't always possible. I was a child, and I was still learning how to care for an infant. I can remember one night my mother called to tell me she wasn't coming home.

She wanted me to walk the mile and a half to the daycare and convince them to let me have my brother. When I returned home, my stepfather was passed out on the couch. I started to search the cupboards for something that could be mashed into baby food.

My brother started crying. I calmed him down and put him in his chair. He started crying again. My stepfather got up, and he was very angry. I wanted me to shut my brother up. He told me if I couldn't, he'd do it for me. I tried, but he was hungry.

The only way to shut him up would be to feed him, but there really wasn't anything to give him. I called my aunt to come and get us or at least bring some baby food. My stepdad hated it when I involved anyone. He took the phone out of my hand and proceeded to beat me with it.

My mother wasn't much better. She would yell at me. She told me things like, "I wish I'd never had you."
"When you were born, you took all the joy out of my life."

She was always telling me how I had disappointed her in some way or another. I always felt that I was never good enough.

I'm an adult now, and I still can't shake the things of the past. I know how to take a punch, and I know what it feels like to have a parent that hates you. It took me ten years to get over living in that house. The parts that I really remember, the parts that hurt the most were the words. I've told several people over the years," Bruises fade, but words last forever."