*** I am not even sure if this constitutes as physical abuse… But, my dad used to like to play games with me. I still think that to him, they were innocent. He meant nothing bad by them at all. I am just confused because of the details I am going to tell you. Trigger warning.***
~~When I was really little (5 or 6, maybe even before that), my dad used to play games with me. We would horseplay and wrestle around. I actually did love it. They were fun. It made me ornery. Sure, the games kind of hurt sometimes but dad would be laughing and so would I because he was. They were our games so it had to be OK right?
This one thing in particular is standing out to me. I always have known we did it. There is not repression at all. It has always been there, but recently I have been questioning whether or not it was abusive...
The game was called "Indian Torture”. It would start with us wrestling around. I would be hysterically laughing and enjoying myself. He eventually would pin me down on my back (or I am ashamed to say I would also willingly lie there...) he would do this thing with his hand. He would make it into a certain shape. I will try and explain it: Make a fist, take your middle F-you finger and put it up, now bend it back down but not at the base joint where the other ones still in the fist are bent at, bend it at the middle joint so it is not flush with the other ones. (Sorry if that made no sense lol).
He then would put that middle finger knuckle that was sticking up from the others on my sternum and rub really hard. It hurt a lot. He would sometimes not rub it into my sternum but would bang it on my sternum really fast (It was kind of what a sewing machine looks like when in use; up and down really fast. That is how I have always thought it to be like. I know it is an odd association.) You could actually hear his knuckle hitting against my bone. He would be laughing and I would be laughing too and say "Ow that hurts." but would still be laughing. I was weird and messed up. I usually asked to play this game and I don't know why.... I WANTED it I guess. Which makes me bad. I feel bad.
The odd thing is, when/if I did ask him to stop (when I eventually had enough) the more I struggled to get free the more he did it and the more excited he got. Even back in July when he came into my room at night; when I tried to push him off of me and tell him “no” the more I did the more excited he got and the more compelled he was to continue. After awhile I guess he gave up but still... It has always been like that. He never stops when you want him to. He just doesn't, he has to keep going and keep going until you get mad at him. Like REALLY mad. Even then he will laugh and find it funny and will make this smirky and surprised face, one that would make me smile despite being mad. I couldn't and still can't not smile. Then it makes him think I am not mad and actually am enjoying it.
I guess I am confused because he didn't mean to do these things to hurt me. They were just games. He did get too rough obviously but he loves me I know he does. Sure, he is inappropriate and had boundary issues about sexual talk and other things like that when I was a child (and even now) but he DOES love me. I hate painting him as the bad guy.
Maybe he didn't rub/"bang" my sternum as hard as I thought he did but it just felt like it because I was so little? His hand was as big as my whole sternum. Actually it was probably bigger because I was always a really little kid. I was much smaller than everyone else my age. That was just how we played: rough. He liked to play rough, but that is what daddy's do. That is what boys do. They are rough. Doesn't mean he doesn't love me... I am just all mixed up and have so much anger at him.
My dad also did things such as "snake bites" but this is normal I think. It is something school kids do to each other or like what siblings may even do? I am not sure. He use to tickle me a lot and hold me down, pin me to where I was trapped and couldn't get up. I laughed because it tickled but I didn't always like it after awhile ya know? It got tiring... But I couldn't get up and he NEVER stopped when asked. That made him more excited and made him do it even more. It is like that with everything he does. He still does this with everything (whether it be something physical or just him being obnoxious and talking to me or poking me or talking during a movie. He knows I don't like it and does it because he finds it funny.) Like doesn't stop doing things I don't like even when asked. Eventually he will stop once I get furious with him but then he gets all hurt and offended and says how mean and terrible I am to him and how I must not love him like I used to... Then I feel bad...
(Entry 2)
**Memory: Possible trigger warning for physical child abuse**
I was maybe 7 or 8 or so when this happened... Maybe a year younger, perhaps a year older... It takes place at my grandma's house... How I loved that house and her!!! I was there everyday almost from birth until 13 or more...
*Background information: Just down the street from grandma's house was a a place called Ellis' Tenderloin. They served pretty much everything, it was like a burger joint... Grandma and I used to go there at least once a week. We would walk down together and get malts and a burger. It was our time together. We loved it♥. On the side of the building was a huge pig made out of plywood. It was Porky the Pig off of Loony Tunes. I LOVED that darn pig. Don't ask me why because I couldn't tell you. It just made me smile everytime we went there and I would always, without fail, comment to grandma about how much I LOVED that pig. It meant so much to me I can't even explain it. It is stupid I know. Children are facinated by the silliest things it seems...*
OK now back to the memory... I am with my dad in his Broncho and we are driving to grandma's house. We turn onto her street and I see the pig is gone. It is no where to be seen. My heart crumbles. I start hard core bawling. Sobbing and everything. My dad tell me to stop. I don't.
I remember being in grandma's living room and runnning to her bawling my eyes out. She holds me and sits with me in the rocking chair and rocks me. She asks me why I am crying... I manage to get out in between my hiccupy sobs "Our pig is gone." I start wailing again. She knows exactly what I mean. She just keeps rocking me... After awhile my dad gets pissed off that I am still crying... I don't know if he grabbed me out of the chair or if I followed him or what but next thing I know I am in the kitchen being taken onto the back porch... Dad grabs me and rips my pants off then my panties. I am completely bare. I know what is coming. I am cowared in the corner and really hysterical.... He takes his belt off (which is constructed of multiple tiny thin strips of leather that is woven together. Some of the strands are loose as it was a very old belt, they acted as 'mini whips'). He looks so mad at me right now... I am crying so hard... The kind of sobs that don't even sound like sobs. I can no longer stop them even if I want to... They are the hiccupy, involuntary, diaphragmatic spasms that cannot be controlled. Like a dry heave. Anyway, he says if I want to cry then he will give me something to cry about. He grabs me out of the corner and hits me across my bottom with the belt. He hits me again. Each time he hits me he is saying that as long as I am crying he will keep using the belt... At this point I am no longer crying over "our pig" I am crying over the excruciating pain that he is inflicting. I am hiccuping rather... He just isn't stopping. I am begging him in between breathless sobs to stop, trying to tell him that I'm not actually crying but rather hiccuping.. Oh my fucking gosh I tried so hard to please him and quit crying. I tried to quit those fucking hiccups. I couldn't... It hurt so bad I almost passed out...
I am not sure what caused him to stop. It goes fuzzy. It seemed like forever... I don't know if I just wore myself out from crying so hard or if he got tired or bored, or what. I just know I am lying on the porch shaking. I am looking around it hurts to move really. I feel like throwing up due to the spasms and the pain. I don't remember what happens after this...
Wait, I do remember grandma trying to soothe me and she said that I should have listened to daddy and stopped crying and he wouldn't have had to do "this", meaning the belt...
Why did I have to (re)remember this? I always wondered why when I watch Loony Tunes and Porky the Pig comes on my stomach get a tight feeling... I guess maybe this is why....
****There are quite a few other instances that come to mind when he hurt me, but he honestly didn't mean them as bad I don't think... I mean, he loves me... He truly does. I am just confused... In his defense, a lot of time I legitimately deserved to be punished. I think he sometimes went too far but I did deserve punishment... ****
Thank you for reading. Blessings. ♥
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