Domestic violence was an often occurrence and reality within my home. Arguments always turned into violence, discipline and beatings that were out of anger and over the top but justified and cloaked in "tough love." It seemed that violence was always the first resort. Discipline usually resulted in belts, slaps, chokes, paddles, broom sticks, punches, kicks or anything that was close enough to hit me with. When I got older, discipline measures were a bit more intense. One of which is seared into my memory of my dad locking me in the laundry room with the locks outside the door in his attempts to simulate a prison or jail cell. Eventually they resorted to kicking me out the house.
Billy
I was about 10 years old and my dad was picking on my little brother, calling him a homosexual and pussy because he was sick, and when we were little and sick, we would often sleep in my mom’s bed. I stood up for my brother, and told my dad to stop picking on him, and he started in on me. He grabbed me by my shirt and yanked me off my feet, slapping me and punching me. He was extremely drunk, or otherwise I’m sure that his slaps and punches would have had a much more devastating effect on my little body. As we scuffled, we ended up against the stove. There was a cast iron skillet on the stove. I grabbed the cast iron skillet and with as much strength as I could muster, I hit my dad with the skillet. Surprisingly he stumbled, though he regained his composure quickly and immediately grabbed a butcher’s knife. Chasing me through our home, screaming that he was going to kill me, I ran into the bathroom and tried closing the door. He forced his way in, and tried to stab me. I dexterously dodged the knife, which missed me by mere inches. The situation ended with me being arrested for assault 4th degree (domestic violence), and my dad being asked to leave for the night.
Augustus
The abuse was constant and severe. We were starved, beat, molested. Forced to eat cat feces for failing to clean the litter box correctly. And was frequently in foster care which was almost as bad. I reported my sister being molested at one home and we were kicked out for lying, but at least we weren’t being beat. After that we never reported sexual abuse again. And I ran away from so many homes that they started separating my sister and I putting me in boy’s homes.
David
My first experience with violence was in the home, witnessing helplessly my father physically beat my mother. The thought of that time causes anger and anxiety, as well as resentment, even years later after his death. But my first personal experience with violence came as a result of my father’s murder.
Vincent
Starting out we moved around a lot because of low income, Salishan in Eastside Tacoma, Tillicum and Chocolate City in Lakewood, Hilltop in Tacoma. What this did was begin to shift my security and understanding what lack of stability we had. As the months pass signs of alcoholic abuse and verbal abuse begin to surface in my mother’s relationship. As a child it was terrifying to see such violence and abuse on a daily basis. This caused me to suppress all of my emotions and feelings because I didn't want to add to my mother’s stress and have her turn against me. At times I even contemplated ways on how to rid myself of the world to never feel again. Everything wrong felt like my fault and as I grew up
Jarrod
My dad beat my mom and I, and when they got divorced, he started sending me to the coast to buy drugs for him that he would then sell or have me sell for him. He would entice me by letting me use his brand-new truck. Thinking back, that was a great motivator, a 16-17-year-old being offered a new truck to drive around if he only ran a few errands. My stepdad berated my mother and I and would lay hands on both of us. My mom was an alcoholic and would disappear for weeks or more at a time. I didn’t know it at the time, but my stepdad used the threat of my mom losing me to him as a way to keep her in a relationship with him.
Thomas
Violence was my punishment for my actions as a kid, and I would get punished with a wooden paddle that was about a half inch thick. I remember that paddle all too well, it was how I learned to deal with pain and consequence. It also taught me to use violence as a way to solve all my problems. So fighting and other activities of violence became a consistent part of life.
Ralph
About the time I was four, my mom joined the Mormon Church and married a church member. I have fragmented memories beyond this point due to trauma. My stepdad molested my sisters, beat me, and used the Bible to justify his actions. For some reason he despised me … I’m five or so; he has called a family meeting. To this day I don’t remember what I did that was so bad. I just remember the meeting was about my bad behavior, but it mostly felt like it was about my innate wrongness. At the end of the meeting, I was exiled to the attic where I waited solemnly for the looming consequence. I don’t remember a lot beyond that point, just that I spent a better part of that year isolated in that smoldering attic where I was supposed to be learning some significant religious lesson, and healing from bruises.
Brandon
I have also been very aware and fortunate not to have become a drug addict as my childhood was forced to see the bad outcome of abuse. That’s not saying I never had to feel the physical abuse of the individuals who saw me as their “human ashtray” amongst other physical assault. I am ashamed to mention that I can’t even begin to tell you of the disciplines. See, there’s two forms” you are only disciplined in front of the masses, in the form of a dry notice of “you are going to write sentences when you get home”; then you have an ass whooping which can consist of any item that can be thrown on a tree branch of a hernia-sized belt and you pull your pants down and get whooped until there’s blood. Was I ever wrong for getting in trouble at school? Yes, but no one should have to endure assault that has traumatized me, which is now the reason I run with no direction. If you want to see the truth, I’m afraid of abuse.
Tarryn
My experience of my Mom was that she was hot and cold. When she felt like a mom, she acted like what she must have thought a mom should be. The rest of the time, she blamed me for her miserable life and wished I had never been born. She had regular fits of anger in which she would hit me with a belt buckle, horse whip, bullwhip, or random household items that she could hit me with. That all happened until I was about eight and able to take the weapon away from her. Then she never hit me again.
Brandon
My parents tried to do the best to raise us, although they had a violent relationship. I think it had to do with our socio-economic conditions. When I was 6 years old a man tried to kill my mother with a machete, the police got to the scene hours later even though they were 15 blocks away. The police never did anything to that man, Justice had to be done differently, nothing new down there, this is why the community do lynchings every time they get their hands on an “offender.” Self-Defense Groups are part of the community and participation is expected
Marco
Adjusting to this new environment-- rife with crime, violence, and poverty-- we were soon introduced to a man my mom called her boyfriend, I was seven. He moved in and I noticed that he drank a lot. He was also an abuser. The beatings started with my mom and soon graduated to my bro and I. I was afraid of him, and while at seven I cannot name all of the emotions I felt, I recognize them as anger, fear, shame, and guilt now due to the beatings I received and for witnessing my bro and mom going through the same experiences. You see, I could not do a damn thing about it.
James
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