Re: Abused nadas/part of my story

[Guest guest]

Oh, my God. Your post made me cry; still leaking. That is so, so

horrible. YOur poor brother, he didn't have a chance. Your parents,

both of them , should be rotting in prison. You're right, a person

can't tie their own hands behind their back; your brother had to have

been murdered.

My God; what kind of monster murders her own teenage child?

The earlier abuse, and having you watching your brother being battered

was also abusive to you; it was a way to threaten and intimidate you

so you would be compliant and do anything to avoid getting the same

treatment.

That is just ghastly; the beatings alone that your parents inflicted

were criminal child abuse. They should have been arrested and

prosecuted; you and your siblings should have been removed from the

home.

I'm so, so sorry you had to endure that. There is a special pit in

Hell waiting for your parents, I sincerely hope.

-Annie

>

>

> I know my father beat my mother when I was young--I have very few

memories of either of my parents before I was four or so, but one of

my earliest memories is of cowering behind the couch while my dad was

crouched over my mother and backhanding her back and forth. I have

long believed that my mother figured out early on that if she kept his

attention focused on our shortcomings, he'd leave her alone. The

worst part of it is that she would lie to him about us so we'd get in

trouble, and if we tried to set him straight, he would yell, " Are you

calling your mother a liar?! " ( " well, um, YEAH! " ) and it would go

even worse for us.

>

> I clearly remember one time when she'd been laying on the couch all

day watching soap operas (such a cliche!) while we kids scurried

around doing chores and housework. When my father came home, she told

him he'd have to do something about us because she'd worked her ass

off all day while we refused to help. When my brother got caught

shoplifting, my mother beat him so badly that he had to soak in a cold

tub so the welts would go down. When my father came home several days

later, she told him she hadn't really punished my brother, so he asked

how many times he should hit bro and she said, " Oh, twenty-five or

thirty. " The thing is, it wasn't like he was her patsy, because he

had a wicked temper of his own, and he's admitted that he was a

complete bastard to us when we were growing up. The worst beating

ever was for something I didn't even know about, but my brother was so

hurt that they actually thought they'd have to take him to the

hospital. They didn't. I didn't get nearly what my brother got,

mostly because I stayed out of trouble.

>

> Everyone always assumed that because my parents were so young, they

were very liberal with us, which couldn't have been farther from the

truth. My father is a redneck with a red hot temper. My mother got

pregnant with me when she was fourteen--she'd lied about her age, and

my father thought she was a few years older. He had just turned 19

when I was conceived. My father came from an abusive home; he used to

tell us stories about his father beating him with a bullwhip. My

mother never had a hand raised to her to speak of--my grandparents

were reputed to be the most indulgent people ever. However, when my

mother was nine, my grandfather was lost at sea. My grandmother was

terminally ill, and I guess my mother ran wild because the only

authority figure was my great-grandfather, who was fairly indulgent as

well.

>

> So by the time she was 19, my mother had three kids, spaced two

years apart. We were bright kids, and probably a handful, but I don't

know how much was our innate selves, and how much grew out of our home

life. I really feel like my parents taught me to lie, because we

figured out that if we lied about something, there was a chance the

lie would be believed and we might not get punished, but if we got

caught in the lie, the punishment wasn't quantitatively different than

it would have been if we'd told the truth in the first place. It was

very weird for me because we'd lived in an extended family for the

first few years of my life, and I was kind of the treasure child (I do

remember getting punished for a few things, and feeling very ill-used

about getting punished for something that was an accident but everyone

believed it wasn't--accidentally spitting toothpaste on my cousin's

head when a bunch of us were crowded around the sink brushing our

teeth before bed), but when we moved into a place of our own, I went

from being petted and adored to being a human punching bag.

>

> I've already gone on far too long as it is, but the thing that makes

all this so hard for me, and why I can't resolve it, is that my

brother hanged himself when he was a young teenager. There were some

peculiar things about that day that have led me to question whether he

did it himself or whether he was helped. Naturally, nada's version of

things differs from mine, but things that happened that day and since

make me wonder. I remember he had three belts buckled together,

thrown over an open beam in his doorway, wrapped around his neck, and

then binding his hands behind him. I just don't see how he could have

done that to himself. My mother says his hands weren't bound, but I

remember that they were. I'll tell more about that another time,

because this is crazy long and I have to log off in a few minutes.

>

> Thanks to all of you for being here. This group is already so

important to me, and you are all wonderful people. I hope I can help

and support you as much as you've already done for me.

>

> tinker_mell

>

>

> _________________________________________________________________

> Windows LiveTM: Keep your life in sync.

> http://windowslive.com/explore?ocid=TXT_TAGLM_WL_t1_allup_explore_012009

>

>

[Guest guest]

Don't cry, Annie, it's really okay. I don't know that my mother was involved in

my brother's death, but I just don't see how he could have done that to himself.

My mother said he'd tried it once before and she didn't tell anyone because she

didn't want him to get in trouble. Hello? In trouble with whom? The police

officer who came to the house believed that this was a Houdini trick gone awry,

and if I could figure out how the tying up was done, I could accept that,

because my brother really would ask us to tie him up and see if he could get out

of it. On his desk the day he died were a bible, a book about Houdini, and a

Playboy magazine.

That was just such a weird day. My friend and I had gone shopping, and it began

to rain. We didn't want to walk the two or three miles home, so we called and I

remember being surprised that my mother agreed to come get us, because that was

pretty unusual. After we dropped my friend off, we went home. I don't remember

for sure if we were in the driveway or on the street in front of the house, but

I think it was the driveway. Anyway, I DO remember sitting in the car and my

mother kind of staring at the house for a minute, then saying she had an errand

to run and asking me if I wanted to go with her. When we got back to the house,

my sister and her friend were huddled on the couch crying, saying he was hanging

and wouldn't answer them. I have no idea to this day why they didn't run to her

mother or to another neighbor for help, except that even my sister, who escaped

the worst of the abuse because she was the youngest, must have been so cowed

that she was afraid of what would happen to her if she went for help for our

brother.

When the policeman called me into the room to ask me some questions, he asked

about my brother's temper, and I started to answer him, but my mother gave me

the look of death and I shut right up. My brother tried to kill me once in a

blind rage after my uncle (who was more like a big brother to me because we were

only a few years apart) and his friends and I teased and tormented my brother

mercilessly. It took three of them to hold him off me, and he didn't remember

any of it when he finally calmed down.

I know we were abused. There is no question in my mind about that. But I also

know that many people had it far worse. I stayed in my parents' home until I

was in my mid-twenties, and I'm the most immature 50-year-old I know. (Well,

not quite 50, but close enough.) I don't manage money well, I'm overweight, I'm

passive-aggressive, and my aunt (my heart-mother) calls me Pan because

I've never grown up and taken an adult role in life. I don't know if my mother

had anything to do with my brother's death. I hope to God not. I don't know

what I'd do if I ever found out that it was so, and I hate that I'll always look

at her and wonder. It kills me to know that I know things that make it

impossible to say she would never do something like that. It eviscerates me

emotionally to know that I'm a lot like her in ways I try not to think about.

But I've rarely raised a hand to my own children, and they love to tell about

the only time I ever tried to spank my son--my hand literally could not connect

with his bottom! My daughter was in the bathroom watching and laughing her head

off because her brother was crying his eyes out and I'd never laid a hand on

him.

tinker_mell, reliving the past the last few days...

To: WTOAdultChildren1@...: anuria-67854@...: Thu, 8

Jan 2009 03:22:41 +0000Subject: Re: Abused nadas/part of my

story

Oh, my God. Your post made me cry; still leaking. That is so, sohorrible. YOur

poor brother, he didn't have a chance. Your parents,both of them , should be

rotting in prison. You're right, a personcan't tie their own hands behind their

back; your brother had to havebeen murdered. My God; what kind of monster

murders her own teenage child?The earlier abuse, and having you watching your

brother being batteredwas also abusive to you; it was a way to threaten and

intimidate youso you would be compliant and do anything to avoid getting the

sametreatment. That is just ghastly; the beatings alone that your parents

inflictedwere criminal child abuse. They should have been arrested

andprosecuted; you and your siblings should have been removed from thehome. I'm

so, so sorry you had to endure that. There is a special pit inHell waiting for

your parents, I sincerely hope.-Annie>> > I know my father beat my mother when I was

young--I have very fewmemories of either of my parents before I was four or so,

but one ofmy earliest memories is of cowering behind the couch while my dad

wascrouched over my mother and backhanding her back and forth. I havelong

believed that my mother figured out early on that if she kept hisattention

focused on our shortcomings, he'd leave her alone. Theworst part of it is that

she would lie to him about us so we'd get introuble, and if we tried to set him

straight, he would yell, " Are youcalling your mother a liar?! " ( " well, um,

YEAH! " ) and it would goeven worse for us. > > I clearly remember one time when

she'd been laying on the couch allday watching soap operas (such a cliche!)

while we kids scurriedaround doing chores and housework. When my father came

home, she toldhim he'd have to do something about us because she'd worked her

assoff all day while we refused to help. When my brother got caughtshoplifting,

my mother beat him so badly that he had to soak in a coldtub so the welts would

go down. When my father came home several dayslater, she told him she hadn't

really punished my brother, so he askedhow many times he should hit bro and she

said, " Oh, twenty-five orthirty. " The thing is, it wasn't like he was her patsy,

because hehad a wicked temper of his own, and he's admitted that he was

acomplete bastard to us when we were growing up. The worst beatingever was for

something I didn't even know about, but my brother was sohurt that they actually

thought they'd have to take him to thehospital. They didn't. I didn't get nearly

what my brother got,mostly because I stayed out of trouble.> > Everyone always

assumed that because my parents were so young, theywere very liberal with us,

which couldn't have been farther from thetruth. My father is a redneck with a

red hot temper. My mother gotpregnant with me when she was fourteen--she'd lied

about her age, andmy father thought she was a few years older. He had just

turned 19when I was conceived. My father came from an abusive home; he used

totell us stories about his father beating him with a bullwhip. Mymother never

had a hand raised to her to speak of--my grandparentswere reputed to be the most

indulgent people ever. However, when mymother was nine, my grandfather was lost

at sea. My grandmother wasterminally ill, and I guess my mother ran wild because

the onlyauthority figure was my great-grandfather, who was fairly indulgent

aswell.> > So by the time she was 19, my mother had three kids, spaced twoyears

apart. We were bright kids, and probably a handful, but I don'tknow how much was

our innate selves, and how much grew out of our homelife. I really feel like my

parents taught me to lie, because wefigured out that if we lied about something,

there was a chance thelie would be believed and we might not get punished, but

if we gotcaught in the lie, the punishment wasn't quantitatively different

thanit would have been if we'd told the truth in the first place. It wasvery

weird for me because we'd lived in an extended family for thefirst few years of

my life, and I was kind of the treasure child (I doremember getting punished for

a few things, and feeling very ill-usedabout getting punished for something that

was an accident but everyonebelieved it wasn't--accidentally spitting toothpaste

on my cousin'shead when a bunch of us were crowded around the sink brushing

ourteeth before bed), but when we moved into a place of our own, I wentfrom

being petted and adored to being a human punching bag. > > I've already gone on

far too long as it is, but the thing that makesall this so hard for me, and why

I can't resolve it, is that mybrother hanged himself when he was a young

teenager. There were somepeculiar things about that day that have led me to

question whether hedid it himself or whether he was helped. Naturally, nada's

version ofthings differs from mine, but things that happened that day and

sincemake me wonder. I remember he had three belts buckled together,thrown over

an open beam in his doorway, wrapped around his neck, andthen binding his hands

behind him. I just don't see how he could havedone that to himself. My mother

says his hands weren't bound, but Iremember that they were. I'll tell more about

that another time,because this is crazy long and I have to log off in a few

minutes.> > Thanks to all of you for being here. This group is already

soimportant to me, and you are all wonderful people. I hope I can helpand

support you as much as you've already done for me.> > tinker_mell> > >

__________________________________________________________> Windows LiveTM: Keep

your life in sync. >

http://windowslive.com/explore?ocid=TXT_TAGLM_WL_t1_allup_explore_012009> >

[Guest guest]

I would have to say from what you describe that your nada probably did

tie his hands behind his back for him and assisted in the " accidental "

suicide. She probably either watched him choke to death or left the

room, returned and discovered that he had choked to death.

She then made a point of getting out of the house until he could be

discovered by someone else so she would not be suspected as being

involved with it. The key point is that when you and your mother

returned to your home and there were no cop cars or ambulance there,

she knew his body hadn't been discovered yet. She needed to leave

again, to allow more time for the discovery, and she wanted you with

her. She didn't want you to be there alone when the police arrived,

you might tell them too much.

Either way, its criminal behavior. Absolutely effing criminal.

I'm sorry you and your siblings had to endure that kind of abuse.

-Annie

>> > I know my father beat my mother when I was

young--I have very fewmemories of either of my parents before I was

four or so, but one ofmy earliest memories is of cowering behind the

couch while my dad wascrouched over my mother and backhanding her back

and forth. I havelong believed that my mother figured out early on

that if she kept hisattention focused on our shortcomings, he'd leave

her alone. Theworst part of it is that she would lie to him about us

so we'd get introuble, and if we tried to set him straight, he would

yell, " Are youcalling your mother a liar?! " ( " well, um, YEAH! " ) and it

would goeven worse for us. > > I clearly remember one time when she'd

been laying on the couch allday watching soap operas (such a cliche!)

while we kids scurriedaround doing chores and housework. When my

father came home, she toldhim he'd have to do something about us

because she'd worked her assoff all day while we refused to help. When

my brother got caughtshoplifting, my mother beat him so badly that he

had to soak in a coldtub so the welts would go down. When my father

came home several dayslater, she told him she hadn't really punished

my brother, so he askedhow many times he should hit bro and she said,

" Oh, twenty-five orthirty. " The thing is, it wasn't like he was her

patsy, because hehad a wicked temper of his own, and he's admitted

that he was acomplete bastard to us when we were growing up. The worst

beatingever was for something I didn't even know about, but my brother

was sohurt that they actually thought they'd have to take him to

thehospital. They didn't. I didn't get nearly what my brother

got,mostly because I stayed out of trouble.> > Everyone always assumed

that because my parents were so young, theywere very liberal with us,

which couldn't have been farther from thetruth. My father is a redneck

with a red hot temper. My mother gotpregnant with me when she was

fourteen--she'd lied about her age, andmy father thought she was a few

years older. He had just turned 19when I was conceived. My father came

from an abusive home; he used totell us stories about his father

beating him with a bullwhip. Mymother never had a hand raised to her

to speak of--my grandparentswere reputed to be the most indulgent

people ever. However, when mymother was nine, my grandfather was lost

at sea. My grandmother wasterminally ill, and I guess my mother ran

wild because the onlyauthority figure was my great-grandfather, who

was fairly indulgent aswell.> > So by the time she was 19, my mother

had three kids, spaced twoyears apart. We were bright kids, and

probably a handful, but I don'tknow how much was our innate selves,

and how much grew out of our homelife. I really feel like my parents

taught me to lie, because wefigured out that if we lied about

something, there was a chance thelie would be believed and we might

not get punished, but if we gotcaught in the lie, the punishment

wasn't quantitatively different thanit would have been if we'd told

the truth in the first place. It wasvery weird for me because we'd

lived in an extended family for thefirst few years of my life, and I

was kind of the treasure child (I doremember getting punished for a

few things, and feeling very ill-usedabout getting punished for

something that was an accident but everyonebelieved it

wasn't--accidentally spitting toothpaste on my cousin'shead when a

bunch of us were crowded around the sink brushing ourteeth before

bed), but when we moved into a place of our own, I wentfrom being

petted and adored to being a human punching bag. > > I've already gone

on far too long as it is, but the thing that makesall this so hard for

me, and why I can't resolve it, is that mybrother hanged himself when

he was a young teenager. There were somepeculiar things about that day

that have led me to question whether hedid it himself or whether he

was helped. Naturally, nada's version ofthings differs from mine, but

things that happened that day and sincemake me wonder. I remember he

had three belts buckled together,thrown over an open beam in his

doorway, wrapped around his neck, andthen binding his hands behind

him. I just don't see how he could havedone that to himself. My mother

says his hands weren't bound, but Iremember that they were. I'll tell

more about that another time,because this is crazy long and I have to

log off in a few minutes.> > Thanks to all of you for being here. This

group is already soimportant to me, and you are all wonderful people.

I hope I can helpand support you as much as you've already done for

me.> > tinker_mell> > >

__________________________________________________________> Windows

LiveTM: Keep your life in sync. >

http://windowslive.com/explore?ocid=TXT_TAGLM_WL_t1_allup_explore_012009>

>

[Guest guest]

Tinker Mell,

From the other stories you told, it sounds like she was one

sadistic " disciplinarian, " especially when it came to your brother,

and you allude to other events as well.

I've been trying to figure out how a lone actor would accomplish what

you describe on his own. I think I came up with a plausible process

(but it would require some sort of 4th fastener if his hands were

bound). I'm not the most mechanically-inclined gal around, but it

seems possible that the brother could have done it himself. But

there's a lot of other odd stuff there.

Did he ordinarily leave Playboy lying around his bedroom? The Bible?

Next to each other and accompanied by a Houdini book? That's weird.

What teenager would lay those items out side-by-side on their desk?

How'd your mom feel about Playboy? Any possibility that discovering

it in her son's room could have set her off on raging and a

warped " punishment " that turned deadly? Or maybe it was something

else entirely and she set those volumes out because she thought it

would cause the police to suspect suicide despite no note, just in

case police didn't seem to buy the Houdini trick gone awry

explanation.

There's no statute of limitations on murder or manslaughter in Texas

(I think you said it was Texas). If you seriously think there's a

possibility that your brother's death resulted from intentional

action on your mom's part, you can always go talk to the police.

They'll determine whether the info you give justifies reopening the

investigation into that death.

- gethappy73

>> > I know my father beat my mother when I was

> young--I have very fewmemories of either of my parents before I was

> four or so, but one ofmy earliest memories is of cowering behind the

> couch while my dad wascrouched over my mother and backhanding her

back

> and forth. I havelong believed that my mother figured out early on

> that if she kept hisattention focused on our shortcomings, he'd

leave

> her alone. Theworst part of it is that she would lie to him about us

> so we'd get introuble, and if we tried to set him straight, he would

> yell, " Are youcalling your mother a liar?! " ( " well, um, YEAH! " ) and

it

> would goeven worse for us. > > I clearly remember one time when

she'd

> been laying on the couch allday watching soap operas (such a

cliche!)

> while we kids scurriedaround doing chores and housework. When my

> father came home, she toldhim he'd have to do something about us

> because she'd worked her assoff all day while we refused to help.

When

> my brother got caughtshoplifting, my mother beat him so badly that

he

> had to soak in a coldtub so the welts would go down. When my father

> came home several dayslater, she told him she hadn't really punished

> my brother, so he askedhow many times he should hit bro and she

said,

> " Oh, twenty-five orthirty. " The thing is, it wasn't like he was her

> patsy, because hehad a wicked temper of his own, and he's admitted

> that he was acomplete bastard to us when we were growing up. The

worst

> beatingever was for something I didn't even know about, but my

brother

> was sohurt that they actually thought they'd have to take him to

> thehospital. They didn't. I didn't get nearly what my brother

> got,mostly because I stayed out of trouble.> > Everyone always

assumed

> that because my parents were so young, theywere very liberal with

us,

> which couldn't have been farther from thetruth. My father is a

redneck

> with a red hot temper. My mother gotpregnant with me when she was

> fourteen--she'd lied about her age, andmy father thought she was a

few

> years older. He had just turned 19when I was conceived. My father

came

> from an abusive home; he used totell us stories about his father

> beating him with a bullwhip. Mymother never had a hand raised to her

> to speak of--my grandparentswere reputed to be the most indulgent

> people ever. However, when mymother was nine, my grandfather was

lost

> at sea. My grandmother wasterminally ill, and I guess my mother ran

> wild because the onlyauthority figure was my great-grandfather, who

> was fairly indulgent aswell.> > So by the time she was 19, my mother

> had three kids, spaced twoyears apart. We were bright kids, and

> probably a handful, but I don'tknow how much was our innate selves,

> and how much grew out of our homelife. I really feel like my parents

> taught me to lie, because wefigured out that if we lied about

> something, there was a chance thelie would be believed and we might

> not get punished, but if we gotcaught in the lie, the punishment

> wasn't quantitatively different thanit would have been if we'd told

> the truth in the first place. It wasvery weird for me because we'd

> lived in an extended family for thefirst few years of my life, and I

> was kind of the treasure child (I doremember getting punished for a

> few things, and feeling very ill-usedabout getting punished for

> something that was an accident but everyonebelieved it

> wasn't--accidentally spitting toothpaste on my cousin'shead when a

> bunch of us were crowded around the sink brushing ourteeth before

> bed), but when we moved into a place of our own, I wentfrom being

> petted and adored to being a human punching bag. > > I've already

gone

> on far too long as it is, but the thing that makesall this so hard

for

> me, and why I can't resolve it, is that mybrother hanged himself

when

> he was a young teenager. There were somepeculiar things about that

day

> that have led me to question whether hedid it himself or whether he

> was helped. Naturally, nada's version ofthings differs from mine,

but

> things that happened that day and sincemake me wonder. I remember he

> had three belts buckled together,thrown over an open beam in his

> doorway, wrapped around his neck, andthen binding his hands behind

> him. I just don't see how he could havedone that to himself. My

mother

> says his hands weren't bound, but Iremember that they were. I'll

tell

> more about that another time,because this is crazy long and I have

to

> log off in a few minutes.> > Thanks to all of you for being here.

This

> group is already soimportant to me, and you are all wonderful

people.

> I hope I can helpand support you as much as you've already done for

> me.> > tinker_mell> > >

> __________________________________________________________> Windows

> LiveTM: Keep your life in sync. >

> http://windowslive.com/explore?

ocid=TXT_TAGLM_WL_t1_allup_explore_012009>

> >