A Ghost's Story
My abuse started when I moved into my Grandmother's house at the age of 10. My grandmother had been an alcoholic and quit. At first, I assumed that the beatings would stop when she stopped drinking. How wrong I was. They intensified.
At that time, 1960's, there were no domestic violence laws and therefore no place for me to get help. I would lay awake all night, hoping she would not come to beat me. Even to this day I suffer from insomnia.
My Grandfather, who was a pedophile, was of no help. He was just as afraid of her as I was. Thank God I was a chubby kid and managed not to suffer any broken bones.
My Grandmother was a missionary in the church and would tell me repeatedly that I was a "demon child" and was going to hell. I used to pray that Father Flanagan's Home for Boys would answer my letters and come get me. No such luck.
During the time with my mother, I had watched her take many beatings from her boyfriends. I promised myself that I would never hit a woman. Little did I know that the seeds of this "evil" had already been planted in my young, fertile mind waiting for adulthood.
One day my Grandmother choked me so bad that I almost lost consciousness. Out of sheer fear of dying, I hit her. After that I was no longer allowed to attend family functions. I was moved into the basement of the house and not allowed to be a part of the "family"
The walls of my room in the basement were painted all black and I had a wooden lawn bench to sleep on. There was an upright Baldwin piano for company. The only tune I ever learned to play was the theme from "mission Impossible"
I was a straight a/b student and excelled in debates. I helped to start the first "sickle-cell" anemia clinic in Red Bank, N.J. I had wrongfully assumed that doing good things would keep my G-mom at bay. Ha!
At the age of sixteen, I escaped by enlisting into the service to fight in Vietnam. I figured, at least in a war I would be able to fight back.
After I got out of the Air Force with an honorable discharge, I was stuck in Texas, with no way home. Nor did I want to go back.
That is when the seeds of domestic violence, planted so long ago, reared it ugly head. I became an abuser of women.
This continued for years until one day an old lady by the name of Agatha Gameson (R.I.P.), an astrologer, took me under her wing. She helped me to deal with my inner child and end the abusive cycle.
Now I have 4 boys that are doing well and have been married twice. I must admit that at times my sons push my buttons, but I have learned how to deal with my anger and pain.
My sons will attest to the fact that they don't get spankings due to daddy's refusal to pass on the violence. By the grace of God and therapy, I am able to function in a world without family violence. It has become my lifes mission to help and inform those that I can.
Some men seek to become legends
I seek to leave behind a non-violent legacy
At that time, 1960's, there were no domestic violence laws and therefore no place for me to get help. I would lay awake all night, hoping she would not come to beat me. Even to this day I suffer from insomnia.
My Grandfather, who was a pedophile, was of no help. He was just as afraid of her as I was. Thank God I was a chubby kid and managed not to suffer any broken bones.
My Grandmother was a missionary in the church and would tell me repeatedly that I was a "demon child" and was going to hell. I used to pray that Father Flanagan's Home for Boys would answer my letters and come get me. No such luck.
During the time with my mother, I had watched her take many beatings from her boyfriends. I promised myself that I would never hit a woman. Little did I know that the seeds of this "evil" had already been planted in my young, fertile mind waiting for adulthood.
One day my Grandmother choked me so bad that I almost lost consciousness. Out of sheer fear of dying, I hit her. After that I was no longer allowed to attend family functions. I was moved into the basement of the house and not allowed to be a part of the "family"
The walls of my room in the basement were painted all black and I had a wooden lawn bench to sleep on. There was an upright Baldwin piano for company. The only tune I ever learned to play was the theme from "mission Impossible"
I was a straight a/b student and excelled in debates. I helped to start the first "sickle-cell" anemia clinic in Red Bank, N.J. I had wrongfully assumed that doing good things would keep my G-mom at bay. Ha!
At the age of sixteen, I escaped by enlisting into the service to fight in Vietnam. I figured, at least in a war I would be able to fight back.
After I got out of the Air Force with an honorable discharge, I was stuck in Texas, with no way home. Nor did I want to go back.
That is when the seeds of domestic violence, planted so long ago, reared it ugly head. I became an abuser of women.
This continued for years until one day an old lady by the name of Agatha Gameson (R.I.P.), an astrologer, took me under her wing. She helped me to deal with my inner child and end the abusive cycle.
Now I have 4 boys that are doing well and have been married twice. I must admit that at times my sons push my buttons, but I have learned how to deal with my anger and pain.
My sons will attest to the fact that they don't get spankings due to daddy's refusal to pass on the violence. By the grace of God and therapy, I am able to function in a world without family violence. It has become my lifes mission to help and inform those that I can.
Some men seek to become legends
I seek to leave behind a non-violent legacy
