I'm a firm believer in that if any one person is in need of help, you should do anything in your power to give them a "helping hand". If you would see that someone needs help, is there any chance you would be the one person to brighten their day, make their world a safer place and help them? To see a person being harmed, is a spine-chilling experience in itself. To hurt others just for the disturbing joy in doing so, isn't right. Purposely taking away someone's innocence, whether through the means of rape or other ways, shouldn't even exist in our world. The act of physically harming a child, teenager, adult, person, should never happen. No matter how angry, upset or mentally unstable the one afflicting these acts is. Never should anyone be on the receiving end of an act of abuse. Ever.
Think about this, if someone needs your help, and you have the ability to extend your aid, would you come to their rescue? Can you honestly say that you would help any person, by any means, in any place, whenever you can? I'll throw a scenario your way, let's see what you think dear readers:
WARNING: Some material maybe graphic for some readers. Caution is recommended, read wisely. Please feel free to skip this section, for it contains a semi-graphic display of abuse. Please read carefully.
You're shopping, in the mall. Just walking around, minding your own business. You pass by a teenager arguing with their parent. Of course you really think nothing of it, for it happens frequently, with the age of adolescence. As you're idly walking pass the scene, hoping to avoid the pair at all costs, you take in the teenager's appearance: to you, they look like a "trouble-maker", a "rebel", they look as though the parent has every right to yell at their child, given the state of appearance they are currently holding.
Ignoring them, you keep on steadily walking. Your stride not breaking, no matter how high their voices escalade. SLAP! The sound of flesh hitting flesh makes a loud cracking noise. It seems to bounce off the walls, freezing almost everyone within hearing distance. It was so loud, that several heads swivel to see the source in which it came from: The parent. And one of those several people, dearest reader of mine, is you.
Horrified, you stand stock still watching the aforementioned parent strike their child once more. And again, and again. Over and over until a sick rhythm is made. Each hit is served more powerful and fierce then the last. The teen, previously stood proud and tough, is now cowering from their parents' powerful blows. You keep watching, still horrified and not too sure what to do. You see tear cascading down the child's cheeks, terror etched into their now youthful and innocent features. Faintly you hear muffled cries of pain, heartbreaking sobs that override the dull thuds and sharp hits that the parent to giving. A scandalized murmur breaks through the growing crowd. Everyone stands still, watching, talking, gesturing. Yet, not one person steps in and stops this public act of abuse.
Still standing in a motionless state, you're barely breathing, moving. In short, you're completely shocked, for you never thought that someone could even think of doing such a terrible act to a child. Without warning, a primal, animal-like shriek is produced from the mouth of the abuser. The parent. Hits become more forceful then ever, the cries become louder, more disturbing. Faces of the crowd begin to form into a sea of pity, sympathy, anger and disgust.
Still, no one does a thing as this child gets beaten. No one stands up for them, no one defends the child, no one does a thing. And so far, reader, that includes yourself. So what would you do? Attempt to break this serious and horrendous act of "parenting"? Effectively try and protect this shattered child? Or would you walk away? It's not your business to get involved with other peoples', for you wouldn't want someone stepping on you in that way. You aren't directly affected by this act, so just let them "work it out". In short, my dearest reader, you have to choose: Fight or Flight?
Personally, I would fight. I would have given my all to protect this child. All 165 pounds of me, would go into making certain that this "parent" would never ever touch their child in such a way ever again. I might be small compared to some, but I hold a ton of power behind my punch if you get my meaning. My compassion for humanity would override any type of feeling I would have at that exact moment.
In my abridged life, I have been through a great deal of issues. I, myself, come from an abusive home. Although, I was never physically hit, I have witnessed a lot of acts such as the one above. I am seventeen, and sometimes I feel as though I've seen a lifetime of pain, misery, hurt. I was fairly young when these types of acts became regular in my home, and some even before I was born. My father was the abuser, of course now he will feverently deny such an accusation. I, being the youngest of four children by about nine to eleven years, was so petrified of my father. I grew up in fear, terror. At the time I didn't understand why this happened, why he did this to my mother, my brothers. I'm so thankful that my mother and brothers never ever let my father touch me, for I would most definitely be more "loopy" than I am now. For years, I lived in the utmost terror because of my father and the things he could do with his fists, his words. Still, I find myself flinching automatically as someone (mostly males) raise their voices in anger, or otherwise.
Although, my brothers tried their best to keep me away from the majority of things that were happening in our house, I still found it difficult to tune out the noise. The yelling, the screaming, the sounds that came with the hitting. Of course you can say it could be my "imagination overdoes" kicking in, but this is what I remember, what I feel like I lived. I find myself feeling terrible at times, wishing so much that I could take away the pain that he cause the one I hold most dear. In true martyr fashion, I wish it was me that he only hurt, I wish I could taken on the burden of memories and pain, I wish it never happened to us. But it did, and as much as we'd like to, we can't change that.
My form of abuse came later into my life, around the age of eight I'd say. My parents got divorced, and being the only one out of the four kids that my dad could talk to about everything, I was forced into an ongoing battle. I have three brothers, one of them, the youngest one is autistic. So he doesn't understand everything that has or was happening. My two oldest brothers didn't want anything to do with my father, and for good reason. So there I was left, in the middle of a nasty divorce, a healing single mother and a bitter, sadistic father. I had to mature quickly, and also I had to deal with a ton of verbal abuse on my father's part. Every time I went with him on "his weekend" (he had visiting rights), I'd get an unwanted earful about my mother and obscene accusations he made about her. I was eight, and I was still terrified of my father.
As time went on, my terror never changed. Constantly I got phone calls and visits that consisted of yelling and verbal bashing in my honor. By the time I was ten, I became shy, timid and allowed this abuse to take over my life. I loved my father, despite all that he's done. I didn't understand it myself, and I don't think I ever will, but I did love him. Maybe it was just the obligatory fact that he was my father, maybe not. For years to come, I put up with these on-going acts. At times he didn't feel the need to "talk with me, because I didn't deserve the attention", and others he acted as if he was Father of the Year. Which, by the way, he most certainly wasn't.
Up until I was around sixteen, I let this man walk all over me, I never truly stood up for myself. I made some arguments here and there, but nothing that I would fearfully get punished because of. One day, after about twenty straight minutes of yelling being directed at me, I snapped. I just started firing off anything that would spring into my mind, all the times he hurt me, my family. All the times he exclaimed I was "ungrateful, and soon I would see what everyone really is about". All the times I was hurt, scorned and wounded intentionally by him. Everything that was building up inside of me, just spilled out at that moment. And you know what, he didn't even have a hint of remorse in his eyes, nothing to show that he was even the tiniest bit sorry for all he has done, nothing. Just black pools of dislike stared straight back at me.
For the first time in my short life, I stood against him. I challenged him, and proved clearly to him that he is wrong for all he has afflicted. I was proud, and I felt as if no one could stop me. As if no one especially him, could hurt me anymore. At that moment, I came into my true self, the one that types here before you today: Angelia. And even though I really didn't make any progress with him, I still feel relieved at what I did. Although, my father didn't stop hurting me in the ways he has for years, I couldn't (and still can't) help but feel accomplished. For I have taken my stand against my long-time bully, and I won. As previously stated, he didn't stop there. He just kept the insults and hurtful words coming, but they were easier to deal with because, I suddenly felt an urge of power take over me when I did stand up to him. And I continually did so, effectively showing him that I'm not afraid anymore, and I'll never be again.
My efforts seemed to be losing their color after a while, but I just remained strong. My mentality was "Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger". My father will never take away my rights again, and no one will for that matter either. My lengthy battle against my father is still being fought, but with less animosity on my part. I've grown tired of the hate-filled words and stares. The constant yelling match that comes along with my refusal to see what he did was "within justice". My energy is fading, only because I don't see a point in trying to change someone who isn't willing to seek change. Still, he keeps up his abuse towards me, I just tune him out, or try to at least. And I focus on better, more healthier aspects of my life. Because one day, I'll make this world a better place for children to grow up in.
I know it all seems graphic and difficult for those you who can't relate, but I feel I need to write about this. This is my healing process, my way of dealing with my past pain that hurts me so. The reason I'm sharing this with all of you is because, I want those who are being abused to speak up, to let their voices be heard clearly. I want every man, women, child, every person to stand against any displays of abuse. It's not okay, it'll never be okay. Always remember, you voice is stronger than you think. You alone can make these regrettably regular acts of abuse come to an end. And just think, if a few of us stand strong on this issue, we can make a safer world for everyone. Every child, woman, man, just everyone.
Never again do I want a child to feel as though they are worthless. Never again do I want a person to be as though they are inferior to other, for we are all strong no matter what your social stature currently is. Never again do I want a person to be abused, to be beaten, to be a shattered mess of pieces. Never again do I want any one to feel helpless, weak, defenseless against the one (or ones) that are harming them. Never again will I let a person obtain bruises and scars of a battle that was previously fought. Whether they be visible or not, the never truly go away.
I wish that no one would feel the pain that I felt during these acts that I have endured. Until my dying day, I will be advocating for human rights. Some may not be within my distance, and some may be closer to home than I would expect. I will take a pledge now to never become a victim again, to never let anyone become a victim again, to do everything within my power to save those who are in pain. No one, not on my watch at least, will ever be hurt the way I was. Not ever again, not if I can help it.
My solution to my problem, to stay strong. I'm beginning my healing process and I gotta say, it's not easy. But it's getting there, I'm dealing with memories I haven't dealt with in ages. Yes, I'm still aware I'm seventeen. It just feels way longer than that.
Like I previously said, never was I physically hurt. But the emotional, mental and invisible scars I bear with me everyday will forever be embedded into my mind. Forever, I will remember the villainy done against me and my family. I won't forget, but I will fight for those who still are going through the same thing. I'll always be there fighting, advocating, helping until I just can't anymore. Which will never happen, because I have loads of compassion for humanity to spread around.
