angry

Billy was an angry man

he hated his own life

but instead of making changes

he took it out on his children & his wife

his hands, his belt, a wooden spoon;

anything in reach would do

and after every vicious assault

he made sure they knew it was their fault

~Melanie Thomason

The Connely boys…

Short story

IMG_3706

Everyone thought Billy, Bobby and Jimmy were brothers, I mean they did have the same last name, after all.  But the truth is, the boys were not related in any way.  Matt and Clarise Connely had Billy and then sort of picked up Bobby and Jimmy along the way.

They were living on Elm Street, in a sleepy sort of town, when Bobby started hanging around their house.  He and Billy became friends and what was once a, “would you like to stay for dinner,” invitation quickly turned in to an every night occurrence.  Bobby, it seemed, was afraid to go home. Clarise could see it on his face and in his manner.  One night, when everyone went into the living room, she asked him to stay the kitchen for a moment.  Clarise asked Bobby to sit down at the table, which he did rather reluctantly.   She gave him a plate of chocolate chip cookies, right out of the oven, so the chips were soft and stringy, just the way he liked them.

“You’re almost living here,” said Clarise sweetly.

“Can I?” asked Bobby.

“Can you what?”

“Live here,” he answered in a rush, his eyes wide, chocolate smeared across his upper lip.  “Please.”

“I don’t know if your parents would like that,” said Clarise, leaning toward him, grabbing a cookie.

“They won’t care.  They won’t even know I’m gone,” said Bobby.

“I’m sure they’ll miss you.”

“They won’t.  I promise.”

“I guess I can talk to your…”

“NO,” shouted Bobby, in a panic.  “You can’t say anything or he’ll beat her.  He’ll beat me too.”

“Your father beats you?” asked Clarise, as calmly as she could, though her heart raced and her face felt flushed.

Bobby looked down, and nodded.

“Okay then,” said Clarise.  “Welcome home.”

Bobby put his head down on the table and fell asleep instantly.

Clarise walked into the living room and said, “I want to move and not tell anyone where we are going.”

Matt said, “Okay,” since he knew his wife was never frivolous and assumed that she had a good reason for wanting to leave.

By the end of the month the family was gone and Bobby had a new last name.  Everyone was happy and none of their relatives asked any questions but simply accepted Bobby as one of them.

The same thing happened when they met Jimmy.  He was younger and had burn marks on his arms and scars on his back.  They moved again and things went quite smoothly, since they knew what they were doing this time.

The three brothers got along famously and their new neighbors said that they never met such lovely boys.  They were polite, well mannered and very helpful.  Mrs. Smith, a rather elderly woman, said that Bobby always helped her carry her groceries, if he saw her coming down the street.  She said that he had pulled some weeds from her flower bed without her ever saying a word.

No one ever looked for the boys or, if they did, no one ever found them.  Matt and Clarise were delighted with their children and their children were grateful and delighted to be their children.

Years went by, “too quickly”, laughed Clarise, and the boys became men.  I should say the brothers became men because they were brothers in every sense of the word.  They graduated from college and married.  Matt and Clarise became grandparents and their grandchildren were given their names.  The boys were loving and generous fathers and husbands.  They had learned the difference between love and hate at an early age and vowed never to be anything but kind.

Matt died in his sleep one night and everyone celebrated his life, with tears and stories about his twisted sense of humor and his inability to hammer a nail into anything, without bending it.  All of the children offered their home to Clarise, who gratefully declined, saying that she was happy where she was.

Everyone called her everyday, food was brought to her door, and she was invited for dinner four times a week.  She often refused but that never stopped her boys from asking again and again.

A small party was held in honor of Clarise’s eightieth birthday.  Bobby and Jimmy both stood in front of the guests, with tears running down their faces and told how their lives were saved by their wonderful parents, Matt and Clarise.  They asked those present to help children who are being tortured by their parents, so they can have safe and loving lives as well.  They waved Billy to the stage and he said that they were starting a home, called, Connely‘s Safe Haven, for kids who had no where else to go and that was their gift to their mother on this special night.

Clarise was overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from her boys.  She kissed and hugged them.  She told them how they had given her so much joy and that she would steal them again and never look back.  They knew that she would and now they would do the same thing for kids who were being abused.

Clarise crossed over a few months later.  She had written a letter to each of the boys telling them that biology had nothing to do with parents and their children…it was all about love and nothing more.  They knew that to be true.

 

 

 

Post Script:

The Connely‘s Safe Haven is a great success.  Matt and Clarise’s picture hangs in the hallway and everyone who enters the building and asks for help, eventually hears the story about how the boys became brothers.  Classes are given to anyone who wishes to attend.  Classes about kindness, about the role that men played in the lives of their loved ones and in society as a whole.  Classes about control, about violence.  Classes about being a father, a husband and a good person.  The classes are for boys and girls alike, because girls need to learn that they should not take abuse from anyone they know and that life doesn’t have to be that way.  Not everyone is helped because they stay at Connely‘s, but the brothers never intended to help everyone.  Their goal is to help as many as they can and that is a goal they are meeting with flying colors.

 

See Original

by hitandrun1964

Down to the Zero of Myself

(2009)

for Eve Ensler
(writer/creator of “The Vagina Monologues,” “The Good Body,” V-Day, an international effort to stop violence against women, and a survivor of physical violence by her father.

Based on a piece called “Down to the Zero of Myself” from the book “Insecure at Last” by Eve Ensler.

down to the zero of myself
here all alone
abandoned
somewhere on the road

you are
in the depths of emptiness
as it washes and breaks
over you
lost, unremembered
no existence
down to the zero

reduced by your father
to zero,
his hands, his fists
his belt, his words
down to the shame
down to the emptiness
inside you
down to the zero

the huge inner room
gapes and yawns
to swallow you
into the inner reality,
a terrible place

all the things you did
all you were willing to do
to change, to fill it
nothing changed
it would not go away

until

now
swimming at last,
in the center

swimming at last
in the center
of your soul,
beautiful.

~ Kate

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Mother where art thou—She was 3

ToMicki

By the age of 3 she had suffered some pretty serious physical abuses at the hand of her mother. It’s hard to imagine a mother striking out at her child and beating them into submission. Mothers are supposed to protect and nurture build you up not tear you down. Mothers are supposed to teach their daughters how to be a woman. Mothers are supposed to give you wings and help you fly. All her life she never knew anything but darkness. Somewhere deep inside that little 3 year old it started to rain and the sad part is her life would be filled with storms and pretty soon she would begin to accept that as normal.

She’s said I love the rain, I identify with the rain, I love gloomy days and I would ask why and she said because I identify with them. Never really knowing why because you see, she had no memories. Of course she knew her name, her family, things like that but she had no memories of being small and it bothered her when someone asked her if she remembered this or that and she had no idea what they were talking about.

She did have one memory of darkness, being surrounded by darkness. Long into adulthood one day her mother said you are a bad influence to children, you have always been bad ever since the day you were born. She said it was as if the shades were pulled back and in her minds eye she saw a little girl crouched in the corner of a dark room, covering her head with her arms, bruised, dirty and her face stained with tears. The memory she could not get out of her mind. It bothered her when she awakened in the middle of the night she saw that little girl in her mind. Sitting at her desk one day all of a sudden it was as if a flood happened in her mind and someone had turned a movie projector on fast forward all these memories came forefront to her mind. At first she sat there stunned wondering why she would think such things. She called her sister and told her of the memories in her mind and her sister said, “Mom used to do that to me.” She could not breath, she didn’t know rather to cry or scream her voice was stuck in her throat. Then out came the story her sister had to tell and she cried for her sister. She was haunted by what her sister told her and then she realized all those memories that came flooding into her mind were her memories. Her mother locked her in her room or in the closet till her dad came home because that’s what you did with little girls that were bad. She was a shameful little girl her mother would say she begged her mom not to lock her up. She crouched in the corner because next came the swatting at her wildly with her hands and fists till she lay helpless on the floor in a puddle. Screaming at the top of her lungs her mother would pace outside the door. How scared she was, how she wished her mother would be pleased with her. One time she got out of her room and went to the couch and pretended she was asleep thinking if her mother saw her sleeping sweetly she would let her stay in the living room but that was not the case.

When she grew up she became very confrontational, aggressive, suspicious, argumentative, belligerent, questioning authority, and down right mean. She picked fights with bullies. What really got under her skin were people that mistreated others she’d fight them sometimes physically other times with her words. By the time she was an adult she learned she could not go around punching the lights out of an offender so she learned how to use her words. The very words you are reading right now. Because that little 3 year old girl is me.

 

  • MichelleMarie

See  Original

Just words?

I’ve posted the following on wordifull.com a couple times and it bears repeating, certainly today.


Idiot

Loser

Fatty

Disgusting

Pig

Stupid

Fag

Ugly

Useless

Unlovable

Whore

Tramp

Slut

Trash


verbal_abuse 2


“Why can’t you take a joke”

“You are so sensitive”

“Cry Baby”

“I wish you had never been born”

“Worthless piece of shit”


words hurt


Verbal abuse is often dismissed, overlooked or glossed over as a lesser abuse.  Not so!  Verbal abuse can cause lasting damage.  Choose and use your words wisely.

Verbal abuse can occur in any relationship regardless of age, gender, race, or sexual orientation.


verbal-abuse


 The abuser can be a parent, spouse, boyfriend/girlfriend, teacher, classmate… it is about control.


sonas_a4_poster1_verbal abuse


Ranting

Swearing

Name Calling

Constant Criticism

Belittling

Harassing

Blaming

Humiliating

Ignoring

Threats

Innuendos

Jokes at your expense

Manipulating

Rejection

Ridicule

Bullying

Put Downs

Sarcasm

Silent Treatment

Undermining


 As children we are taught “sticks and stone may break my bones but words will never hurt me” but that is not true. Words are weapons sometimes they cut, they bruise, they scar.


 

VerbalAbuse poster


 

Verbal abuse doesn’t always come in screaming

Sometimes it is more subtle yet still demeaning

Eroding self-confidence and self- esteem

whether silence, a whisper or a scream

 

~Melanie Blackwell

to hit…

to
slap
to
punch
to
beat
to
rape
to
frighten
to
bully
to
force
to
hold
prisoner
to
torture
to
take
away
the
will
of
another
to
hold
hostage
to
threaten
verbally
or
physically
or
with
a
weapon
to
degrade
to
humiliate
to
shame
to
blame
to
take
away
a
child’s
innocence
to
violate
to
silence
another’s
voice
to
KILL

ALL
OF
THESE
THINGS
ARE
CHOICES

VIOLENCE IS ALWAYS A CHOICE…VIOLENCE IS ALWAYS A CHOICE

in
order
to
stop
violence
against
women
and
children

abusers
simply
have
to
STOP
making
those
choices

VIOLENCE IS A CHOICE…ALWAYS

View original

Rethinking Life

“Ahimsa . . . “

Shall you raise your hand to strike,
O’man?
Shall you, O’woman,
Choose to slap your child
Because your day was not as planned?
Violence is a stone
The ego drops in a pond,
Rolling ripples of rage
We wield as a magic wand . . .
But it doesn’t solve
Or resolve
A single thing
Save ensuring we don’t evolve.
No magic,
Just tragic,
A misguided act of resolve.
All we want is a little shade,
Some shelter from the heat,
In anger we lash out to get it,
Ensuring our ultimate defeat.
Restrain the urge
That blurs
The heart of peace,
Or prepare the funeral dirge.
Violence begets violence,
Like blessings, a hundred-fold return,
Why not let it go
Before it’s too late to learn
And that which has been unleashed
Returns to you to burn?
White hot,
Insatiable,
Unconcerned.
Release peace,
That just makes sense.
What you send out will come back,
Be kind, and fear no recompence.

 

Rising Hawk

See Original