My First Memories of Childhood Abuse
My mother’s miscarriage of my brother, her reactions, and the complete loss of love toward me impacted me deeply for most of my life
I do not remember much of my life before the age of five. Sometimes, I wish that I could. I would love to remember that happy little kid with a quirky smile and pretty blue eyes. Sadly, I am unable to recall that vivacious little girl. Instead, I am left with the strongest and most vivid memories of when the abuses all started.
I was so excited about my mother’s pregnancy. It meant that I would have another new person to love and to play with. I loved to lay my hands on her belly as the baby moved within her belly. It was the coolest thing I had ever witnessed in my short life. I would sit for hours staring at her belly waiting for that bump up and flutter of movement. It was a difficult thing to do for a hyperactive kid like I was. I would bound out of my seat as soon as it started.
It drove my mother crazy. She would bat my hands away. That would sadden me, but I was rarely deterred. I was born just as stubborn as I was equaled to my amount of energy. I would try talking to it inside of her belly. I was constantly telling it how excited I was to meet it. We did not know the sex of the baby at the time. It…
