I'm just venting a LONG synopsis of my life, therapy is expensive lol. I'm a 23 F and I actually have 2 kids of my own. Having my own kids, especially having my little girl (7months) who looks just like me, has seriously fucked me up mentally. I love her to absolute death and everytime I look at her I know in my heart I wouldn't ever want to hurt her. And for that reason, I often am kept up at night wondering how neither of my parents had that thought for me. My mother left my biological abusive father after 20 years. I was 7 with an older sister, two older brothers, and a younger brother. My mom always said one of her key reasons for gathering the courage and mind to leave our father was because of the Nation of Islam, and because of a man she met there, Elijah, who was the opposite of my father. Elijah was very well spoken and mild mannered, sweet and supportive. And often my mother would begin spending nights at his place as "friends" because she didn't want to go home to her severely abusive husband after a long 15+ hour work day (she left us with him day in and out though, bruises, cuts, and all). Well eventually she was convinced to leave and she did. We moved out, fought for months for full freedom, full custody, a myriad of issues, stalkings, and kidnappings, but eventually we were free. Through it all Elijah was there for her, and was very nice to my siblings (my sister had moved out long before the worst of the fighting because she'd turned 18, married, and left with the military, this is important to note). Eventually my brothers, in an effort to encourage her to move on and find happiness, started calling Elijah dad and welcomed him with open arms, my younger brother adored him. Elijah was their teacher in the Sunday classes.Things slowly started changing as he got comfortable with my mother and us... I want to take a moment to say, Islam is a beautiful religion when it is practiced how it's meant to be. The mosque for most of my life was a safe haven. But just like there can be bad people found in churches, mosques are definitely no different. To make a very long story short, Elijah was steadily grooming all of us. He told my mother our father would always be a threat unless we left (we lived in NYC at the time). So our mother moved us to Pennsylvania, we were isolated from there. He encouraged her to get a stay at home job to be there for us more. She soon lost contact with many friends over the years between that and his jealousy. Still, "He is our miracle, God gave us a second chance to have a father, a whole family." Okay, whatever makes you happy mom. By this time my brothers were grown and working to help support out mother. Elijah would come to visit for a weekend 1-2x a month. I started feeling uncomfortable around him. I didn't know why, but something was off. Something about him disgusted me, even at 9. I stopped wearing nightgowns where he was over, I always seemed to have a voice in the back of my head. It's crazy, but it was like something was just telling me 'Be careful/ keep your guard up/ don't wear that/ If your mother leaves the house, go with her, no matter how tired you are'. I would have thoughts like that constantly.Then it really started. He started twisting Islam. It was slow at first, saying things or quoting the Quran and then trying to twist it to what he felt it meant. And my mom, not wanting to ruin our second chance and trusting him having been in the mosque for 15+ years, she just let him. He turned it into a cult in a way. And despite being a child I knew something was wrong. One day we weren't allowed to go to school anymore because we were "at risk". He told a bunch of stories about how children in public school died or were raped. But it stopped at my brothers. They could have friends and go out. But I could not. I was a girl and if I wanted to go out it was obviously to meet boys (at 10-11). I couldn't have friends because if they were boys it was inappropriate, if they "acted" gay, they might tempt me to be gay, or if they seemed "too out in the world" they'd lead me astray. So the only other kids I spoke too were kids in the mosque that, having moved, I only saw once a month if that. Then it got worse again when I was t allowed to play playstation with my older brothers in their rooms because a "girl shouldn't be in a grown man's room". And still, my mother ate it up, even as my brothers started telling her something was up.My mom was manipulative, verbally, emotionally, and sometimes physically abusive herself. So she'd shut them down and tell them to get out if they wanted to be ungreatful or disrespectful. Despite all this preaching, Elijah would constantly be in my room while I slept, stroking my back and face and chuckling for literal hours as I pretended to be asleep just to avoid him. Or he'd stand over me and stare. But always suddenly jump up and leave if my mom came around. She blamed it on me being "his only girl child". And when I cried and said it made me uncomfortable, she said it was just Satan talking to me.Fast forward several years, I had enough. I was 14 and actually got a bf online 23, and was willing to make plans to run away several states for any chance of finally being free. At this point I was depressed and desperate. My mom didn't care if I was being molested and no one was listening. My mother found out and was curious, beat me across the house. And then we stopped speaking for weeks. My mother's health was declining. ICU visits happened 2-3 times that year alone for her asthma. One day she asks me why I am the way I am, not because she cared, just to vent at me about how much of a terror I am. After talking to her, completely numb, she leaves out of the back door to start mowing the yard. My older brothers had long since moved out and she was complaining she needed fresh air to deal with me. She mows for a while. It's June, it's hot. Maybe 80ish degrees, sweating in minutes hot. She starts breathing heavy and I am sitting on the stairs leading to the back porch. She keep stopping for breaks. Eventuate she concedes and says "Can I get some help?" I stare at her. I was so numb, so dead. I remember I just put in my headphones. I didn't care anymore. In my head I wished that she would just die so I could leave and be free. She was stubborn, so she just went back to mowing rather than make a scene outside.This triggered an asthma attack. My younger brother came out to help, but it was too late. She was having a flair up. He helped her back inside and I silently followed. He tried to help her, got her inhaler, but I was in some daze. Like I just didn't want to do anything. I just kept willing her and Elijah to die. She ended up needing to leave in an ambulance. The ambulance drivers were really cool, she told them we would be alone in the home and they actually let me sit in the front, my brother in my lap, which they probably shouldn't have done. She was sent to ICU eventually, got put on a machine to breath for her. She fought for hours and eventually was taken off the machine only for her heart to give out shortly after. It was over worker and stressed or whatever they said. I felt aweful. I felt guilty. But only for a year, maybe a little less. Then came the feeling of relief. Me and my littlw bro fell through the system cracks, was sent between relatives, ended up states away. Here I am still, and far better off.I am so happy that woman died. I am so happy that I didn't have to live even longer in abuse and denial. There is a lot more to the story but this is a good enough summary. Part of me will always wish we could have worked things out; but I would not be willing to live through however many more years of that just on the off chance she may listen. And as I stare down at my daughter and remember everything she let happen, I can't help but wonder: Why didn't she feel the same? via /r/abusiveparents https://ift.tt/2FV3Bys
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