Another porcelain plate shatters against the hard tile of the kitchen. A little 4 year old girl stands beside the counter. She knows the sounds all to well; the crash of ceramic on tile, and then the sound as the shards and pieces scuttle for cover under the table, pantry, chairs, and oven, as if they are also seeking cover. She knows all about the intense feeling of helplessness, she would wish her father was normal, but this is all she knows.
She cries and sobs as if there is nothing left; As if the worst thing to ever happen on the face of the earth is replaying itself right before her eyes; and in a way, it is. Her mother, the strongest person she has ever known, cowers in a corner. Her silent tears fall on the white tile near the stove. Above her looms her husband, the little girl’s father. He doesn’t even regard his daughter’s loud sobs as he screams and curses and throws another large glass bowl straight into the floor by the girl’s bare feet. She screams louder as the pieces bounce off her knees and ankles. But he still doesn’t seem to hear her, nor does he know that what he is doing will scar and haunt his own daughter for the rest of her life. He doesn’t know that in the future, these memories will come back in painful flashbacks late at night, before she cries herself to sleep.
Or about the hours of therapy that would link her early exposure to such abuse to her mental disorders. How do I know all this? Because that girl was me.
I am now 14 years old (submitted 2009), and I have depression, anxiety disorder, and minor OCD. All of my conditions have been linked to my previous abuse. I have an important message to all parents going through arguments and problems: Don’t drag your children into this, don’t allow another childhood to be lost, don’t let what happened to me happen to your own children.
Author: Techno Monster (member since January 28th, 2008).