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A lot of people are victims of abuse, and forced to love their captures. They feel restrained but liberated by their abusers because they offer, seemingly, the only support. It is difficult to really know where to start. First off, I want to say that Abuse in any form is wrong, and should be treated as such. The following events I explain are to help the readers understand better victim behaviors and why one would most likely say they "love" their abusers, and not the abuse in general. With that, let me delve deeper. I have fallen into a large portion of abuse in my life, mainly because I feel vulnerable because of my abuse and experiences. This leaves an opening for other abusers to climb into life unsuspecting. I have been known to say "I Love You" to those who have hurt me the most, even to this day. This doesn't mean I condone their actions in the slightest. Physically, sexually, and emotionally, I have faced challenges that make everyday life an absolute mess. I cannot form connections to those who matter to me because I connect love with abuse. Those who have ever loved me have used me, and I cannot seem to disconnect the two. This isn't an odd or deranged concept. Many who read this will find it familiar. Because I am not licensed in psychology, I wouldn't know the term for "Wanting to love someone so much that your actions seem clingy and desperate, but at random moments push those same people away so harshly that all connections completely fall apart". Thus, when I was awakening into adulthood, I wondered why making friends was so difficult. I envied those people who could hold a friendship for years at a time, over the course of high-school, college and beyond. I wondered if I was just unable to stay normal and treat people as such. Then, when a long term relationship had ended tragically, I realized I needed to look deeper into my life, across years of time.
Physical Abuse:
Having a mentally unstable parent is difficult, especially because this interferes with early childhood development. It affects how a person later acts and treats others as an adult themselves. When I was abused as a child, it would have no warning. The same loving eyes that tucked me in at night would snap that same night, dragging me, literally, out of bed because of some trivial matter. One time, after acting as a child does and opening the door to a stranger, my parent came into the living room and approached me slowly. Misunderstanding, I happily reached up to hug in return, only to get a violent, unexpected slap across the face. I was, probably, only seven at this point. After being told to go to my room and think about what happened, the only thing I can remember about that event was how wrong it was. Years later, I grasp why opening the door to a stranger was dangerous, but the approach my parent took was unneeded and damaging. Imagine the scene, replaying in your head, expecting to be wrapped in the loving embrace of a figure you hold so dear, only to be physically and emotionally traumatized. This wasn't the first time, and it was far from the last. Many of the times that my parent flew off the wagon was with meal making. Yes, it took time, money and effort to do so. After dinner, it was time to relax, and my siblings and I all were in a happy mood. One of my older siblings, having missed dinner when they got home, ate a snack instead. The younger followed suit. We started to snack before bed, and talked amongst ourselves. Any ordinary parent would scold, sure. But that night turned into a living nightmare. Dinner was thrown, slaps and spanks and screaming erupted from a normal evening. Being told we were evil, stupid, wasteful, the night proceeded into sleeplessness and eventually burned into the brains of all my siblings and I. Spanks were fairly normal back in the day, but probably not because of the parent's fascination with pain and manipulation. Strangely and ironically enough, when I was six, I walked in a protest for government officials to not get in the way of how parents raised their children, and had my picture taken. I realized later that this meant I was allowing them not to interfere with the abuse I was receiving on an every day basis. Their were days where, if one of my siblings didn't clean their room, we would sit in front of my parent for two hours or more, listening to manipulative speeches, sometimes screams, sometimes blaming, sometimes unrealistic dreams and rewards. Throughout the entire time, we wouldn't know if we were going to be spanked or not. As we bent over, pants down (because my siblings started to wear extra pants and my parent grew aware of this), with every swipe would be my parent smiling playfully, laughing at our pain and mocking our tears. This made a very unstable me, but I've developed oddly successful coping mechanisms. This created a superhuman recognition of fake smiles verses real smiles. I can spot a liar from a mile away, as well as little triggers and annoyances people regularly hide. I am uncanny at observing people's inner motives and most everything I realize is subconscious. It's odd that, to my parent's face, I would say "I love You". Thus, the title. Every day, I would say that, not realizing really what that meant. I would see the pain, and feel the fear of them, but still repeat back those words told me. I was told I love you more than most children, but I can hardly say that I felt it. I still question it. I would feel physically and emotionally trapped by them. Before ten, I seldom left the house. I could not leave. I didn't go to school, being online schooled. I was alone, if not for my siblings. Once, I even tried to explain my loneliness to my parent, but it came out wrong. I doubt, though, that my parent would have cared if they understood. I struggled to explain myself for years because of my under education and under developed social skills. It still affects me to this day.You notice I say 'my parent', but this is because I know both genders are capable of abuse. Both have affected the lives of so many. My case is not so different than that of others. But, why 'parent' and not 'parents'? Only one parent was the cause of my pain. Only one hurt so devilishly. The other parent was also a victim of this abuse, but only mentally (more on that later). Because the other parent neither joined in the abuse nor saved us from it, it appeared they didn't care. To me, I didn't really have parental figures. I had to make them up, pretend that someone would steal me away from the pain of my childhood.A dramatic divorce ensues, leaving half the siblings with one parent and the other half with the other parent. Guess which straw I ended up with. The siblings who helped me the most in my life were tragically ripped away from me. I was taught to read, write, and discover by their hands, and I was left with only my parent and the younger siblings. I didn't know what to feel at this point, but I did have wishes of rejoining them in the future. Once, when I stayed at my older sibling's house and realized how wonderful it was to live there, I fantasized that something awful would happen so that I'd have to live with my sister instead. I feel pained and grieved at those memories; no child should ever have to pretend such things.The older I got, the harder it was for my parent to target me (physically anyway). At one point, when I was fifteen years old, and years had passed since my last beating, the same tactic was used to scare me. The beating tool of choice was brought forward, the mocking started, but I had enough. I was done being belittled. Because I had grown, I grabbed it with all my strength and looked directly in the eye of my trauma. I wasn't going to let this control my life. I later look on this small success as a triumph. The way I see it, my parent would berate and try to control the weak and vulnerable. It was easy, but the older my siblings and I got, the less control my parent had, leaving only a hollow shell left of what they once were.Now, my siblings are all out of the house. It's odd to think that my parent would ever want to play the part of "Grandparent". Asking repeatedly for my siblings to come over with their kids, but not coming to family functions themselves, my siblings have learned to ignore the abusive parent. After talking with my siblings, they fail to recognize what they are really doing. After years of abuse, pushed back into their brains by years of time, they do not trust my parent with their kids. I wouldn't. I have been pushed to face demons because of trauma-filled years. I wouldn't give the chance to see those same love-filled eyes fall on my child, and horror-filled memories return to me.Now, I can say, "I love you" to my parent. 'Why?' you'd wonder. Amidst all that pain, there was something there. There was a teaching that was so unique that I could have received nowhere else (and it wasn't a lesson on pain, either). I was taught to be honest, not just to others but to myself. I was taught to be genuine. I was taught to do unto others as you would unto yourself. Most importantly, after years of soothing tears of siblings, I was taught to love others with a passion that surpassed anything else. I learned that by helping others, somehow, you are helping yourself. I learned that everyone has suffering in their own way, which cause their own demons to surprisingly pop up, but this isn't to be judged harshly. Everyone needs help.
