I have a master’s in mechanical engineering and recently returned from Germany back to my home country in India. The reason being that I am preparing for my career in pure mathematics and had no other option than do my preparation at home (with my parents living in the same house obviously).
Basically my dad is physically and verbally abusive. He use to hit me and push me over stuff until two years ago when he went on a bipolar medication. Now he’s just nasty verbally to me, telling me I’m an idiot, a bitch, fat (when I’m 100 pounds and he’s big himself), and a piece of shit which is his most common one.
How Emma Found Out She Was Being Abused
Doing research online and from my own mind.
Words Emma Chose to Describe Her Abusive Experience
Sadness, Anger, Depression
Please add your encouragement and advice to Emma in the comments section below.
Connie struggles to live with her husband who constantly confuses her with his words and actions. He has not physically abused her at this point, but many people do not know that blocking doors, grabbing arms, and pushing is physical violence. He verbally, mentally and emotionally abuses Connie almost daily.
She’s been with him a very long time and still cannot seem to “find her place” in the relationship. She describes her feelings about living this way as being fearful, belittled, depressed and confused.
Penny felt embarassed, stupid, and emotional pain during her abusive experience. She found out she was being abused when she “felt something was not right”, lost, and unloved (among other things).
Penny writes:
I went back to this relationship 3 times, I was 29 when I first met her and I was 52 when I left for good. I felt that I could change her - but that didn’t happen. She and her son would always put me down about what I felt and said, and do the same to my son as well.
I would always buy her gifts, as she would me, but she would say ”what is yours is mine and what is mine is mine”. Her gifts she gave me were always hers as well.
They were control freaks and would get in your face if you didn’t agree with them. They both have high IQs, so I put my trust in them. … That would hurt me seeing my child hurting and he later ran away. When he came back 2 weeks later she yelled at him and hit him.
I felt like there was nothing I could do to stop it. [continued]
Read the rest of Penny’s Story and then please share your comments below.
Maribel described her abusive relationship with the words threatened, scared, hopeless and hurt. She found out she was being abused when her partner threatened to slap her.
She writes:
It all started when he said for me to bring him his phone from the room. He did not say it in a polite fashion, although I dismissed that and the following conversation proceeded:
Me: “Wasn’t it just here on the table?”
Him: “Why the hell would I be asking you to bring me the phone if it was on the table?”
I also dismissed this and brought him his phone. I tossed it so it would land right next to him.
Me: “You’re not welcome.”
Him: “I wasn’t going to say thank you.”
Me: “I know you weren’t. That’s why I said you’re not welcome.”
Read the rest of this story at “Maribel’s Story of Abuse” and then please add your comments for Maribel below.
I guess people don’t often think of men as victims of abuse, but I’m one. I’ve been married 8 years and have one child. My wife and I met and got married pretty quickly – a few months. Everything was great until the wedding day when she had some sort of anxiety or panic attack, which I just chalked up to it being “the wedding day” – despite it seeming rather odd and extreme.
I soon learned that she had serious anxiety issues which cause her to always want to be in control of her surroundings. It made (and still does) meeting people difficult, because she usually avoided social situations – and still does.
I also learned that she had a really bad and unpredictable temper. What seems like little things to me would set her off into fits of rage and fury. She’d call me names, break things. The first really violent act I remember was about 6 months after we got married and she threw a full mug of coffee across the room. It hit the wall up near the ceiling and shattered – coffee everywhere.
My instinct was to see a person hurting and in need, and I just wanted to help her. I’m sure that’s one reason why I’m still with her. It’s interesting that she gets so furious so quickly, will yell at me, belittle me, pick everything I do apart, criticize me – and often a few hours later, apologize.
We both call it her “freaking out” and she does know it’s an issue. However, I don’t think she realizes how much of an issue it is. And I don’t think her therapist does either.
You haven’t read anything yet! Please read the rest of Mick’s story and then add your support and encouragement in the comments below.
The abuser received 36 years in prison, the longest sentence given to someone who abused (but did not kill) his wife in New York.
The judge viewed the visual evidence afforded by the tape, and finally saw what happens behind closed doors. Many other judges won’t see it. If you know a judge, send him/her a link to this video. They all need to know who they’re putting back into the home when they do not sentence the offender.
Kids OFTEN see the abuse happen. It just so happens that this abusive dumbass made his 13 year old son record the abuse session. He expects his son to take part in the verbal abuse, and the son complies. Not the kid’s fault. Just like it wasn’t my son’s fault that he was pulled into it the last night it happened at my house.
I am 14. I have opened my window, rotating it out just enough to see his headlights reflect in it when he turns down his driveway. I want him to return home, want him to come tapping on my window. I want to be his girlfriend.
He is the boy who raped me, on his couch, in only a few minutes, weeks before. But I didn’t want to call it rape. I wanted to call it love.
I wanted to have sex with him over and over and over again until I convinced myself that he was my first true love. For a few weeks that summer, I succeeded in doing that – at least most of the time.
Shame, dread, revulsion, … those feelings welled inside of me in between the taps on the window. The feelings’ poisonous nature sloshed around in my guts, eating and corroding my belly from the inside. Hyper-alert, unable to sleep, almost obsessive, I felt compelled to avenge my rape by pretending to control its circumstances; I couldn’t go back and control, re-do, what happened on the couch, but I could control whether it happened again, or again, or again. Continue reading
My husband is a soldier and currently deployed. There is so much I truly don’t know where to start…
We just had a baby boy – he is 3 months old – and 2 weeks after he was born, my husband went to a rave, which he knows I absolutely hate, and lied to me about it! But when I found out the truth, I asked him why he wouldn’t just tell me the truth.
He replied because I would have gotten mad, but said he didn’t care – he would do what he wanted and I couldn’t stop him. He didn’t come home until 11 the next morning. Continue reading
When I met Mr. Abuser he very quickly wanted to spend all his free time with me. I work 7 days a week so it was a little challenging. I did like him, so I worked it into my schedule.
When I didn’t see him, he “needed” to talk at least once or twice a day; would send numerous texts throughout the day which I wouldn’t respond to because my jobs require my full attention. I was dating someone else at the time I met him so, in all fairness, my availability was not exactly up to par with his. Continue reading
My memories are like an old thriller that keeps replaying the same scenes when I go back and try to rethink it. I often catch myself trying to justify my childhood. When I think back to the horrible events that have happened over the years, I can tell you I’m grateful for my life today. I love who I have become. Although I can’t change my past I can understand it. Writing this will be the first time I have come clean, another way of putting it behind me. I’ve wanted to let this out for some time now.
My name is Joe. As a young boy, I lived with my mom and dad and my sister. My sister was my closest friend. She was part of me as I was part of her. Dad abused my mom, sister, and me. My dad, who I thought was a normal average father and husband.
In 1975, I was five and my sister was three. We had money at this time of my life because my dad held a good job and important job. I remember being proud of what my dad did for work. I wanted to follow in his footsteps. I wanted to be just like him.
He had come from a hard childhood, in an out of foster homes and being abused by his parents. Alcohol played a big role in Dad’s life. He drank while he was a young man and he still does. He also liked guns. My sister and I grew up under the threat of guns an booze. Continue reading
I have a master’s in mechanical engineering and recently returned from Germany back to my home country in India. The reason being that I am preparing for my career in pure mathematics and had no other option than do my preparation at home (with my parents living in the same house obviously).
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