Short Story Of Abuse – No More !

I was so scared that my father would come back for another blow up. I then heard the stairs getting louder like my mother was step in down the old wooden steps. My mother walked over to me sat on the window seat with me and held me tight, she was started tell gn me riddles to get my mind off of my father, several long hours later my father walked up to us crying and sobbing over what had happened he said,”I'm sorry about this incident, I've just been so stressed with work and home that I don't know who I am anymore,” I told my father I loved him and forgive him. Ever since this day it has been drilled in my memory and hurts me every time I remember. “ see kid”, said the stranger, I've had some tough times in this house and you are going to go through tough times just like me. After the tour of the house the man had thanked the family for letting him remorse from the house. The father had shut the door and locked it. I thought

I walked away feeling like I was a complete failure and that I didn’t deserve to go on. On the way home my mother tried to talk to me, but, I put on my headphones and cried silently. Once we were home my father asked how it went. The tears that were in my eyes and they became more evident as my shoulders and chest were shaking and trembling. The only sound in the room was the sound of me crying and wailing. I started crumbling and falling to the ground and my mother and father rushed to my side. They held me until the tears came to a stop and a little bit afterwards

I was not the only one trapped in this cycle of mistreatment. The abuse extended to my younger sibling and people considered companions of my parents. Upon reflection of the multitude of abuse I recall being a witness to my father beating a man until his whole face was bleeding. The blood flowed from his face, an intense sense of fear and need to help emerged. However, I was too little physically to help which created an extraordinary sense of weakness. My father proceeded with this torment by scorching the man’s face on a floor heater grate and tossed him out of the house. The family friend went to the entryway where witnessing of the assault would continue. This memory forever etched in my mind, the battered face seen through the diamond-shape

When I entered as a first time student at UB, I was also exiting an abusive relationship that had become violent. I had very little support and lacked financial resources. I began counseling at the counseling center at UB and continued with classes while also working to support myself. I experienced an overwhelming amount of anxiety and felt uncomfortable on campus from the presence of my previous partner who was also a student at UB. My grades slipped and the opportunity to withdraw passed.

It was a Saturday afternoon and my sister and I were bored so we decided to race down the driveway. She was on her moped and I was on my ripstik. We started counting down three,two,one, at two Mackenzie cheated and started going down. I intended to jump into the grass, I landed in the middle of the driveway. While I was in the air I came down and landed on my side. My sister came to see what happened, she saw a puddle of blood where my elbow was, she said that it was like a person had dumped a bucket of red kool aid all over the pavement! My toes looked like my little sister creamed a bunch of red lipstick all over them. Also my waist looked like someone took a knife and cut all of the skin off. After this all happened my sister ran

Physical and emotional abuse can originate from any source but the majority of the abuse generates from parental or adult figures and is direct toward a timid figure, typically a child. The abuser commonly chooses a more timid recipient because they will be less likely to stand up against the abuser. Physical abuse is maltreatment that involves actual contact between one body part of a person and an other body part of an other person, such as hitting or slapping. Emotional abuse consists of just the opposite: maltreatment that is directed to harming the individual psychologically, such as negative comments or put downs (National Exchange Club Foundation, 2000).

I heard cries of a mother, going to through violence of an abusive husband, and the tears on her face made me cry. My brothers and I were poisoned by their false statements about our family.

I felt like I was paralyzed, it felt like I was suffocating; as if a giant hand was clamped arpound my heart. For a minute I sat still taking in the information, I couldn't belive it. I hadn't even realised that I was crying until I felt my little brother wipe my tears away. I looked down at his tiny tear stained face and saw that he was in just as much pain I was in, he looked so broken. I started crying in disbelief and then ran to my room screaming and yelling. The reliazation that I would never be able to see her again painfully struck me. I don't know how long I was sitting there sobbing but time passed by really quick. I hadn't even realised it was morning. I feltso numb, so emotionless, I wanted to cry, scream and yell more but I couldn't. Everything was

I breath between tears with at least some hope that my mother will still be alive when I hear a moan on the other side of the bed. I gasp when I see her face down I pick her up and I hold her in my arm and she coughs up blood and between little murmurs I catch her telling me that she loves me and that I need to be strong when all of sudden she stops breathing. I stop to sob because for some reason I forgot who to cry instead I held my mother. Sirens get louder and louder when the front door opens and a bunch of people come in repeating into their radios “two people down and one alive” and five people surrounded me ask me “are you okay” and I just look at them with confusion why would ask me that when it was clear that I had just lost both of my parents. They took my mother away and took me to and ambulance outside of my house. As I was close to the ambulance I look over at the police car and found this teenaged boy who look at me with fury that when I realized that had to be the boy that killed my parents everything went black and just felt my body drop to the

I didn’t notice the whispers drifting from the half open bedroom door until it was too late. I stood transfixed at the doorway, staring at the love of my life with his love of his life. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t anything. Thankfully, seems like they couldn’t either. I must have stood there for half an hour with my heart being torn slowly out of my chest, but they didn’t even notice me. When the pain got too much, I finally managed to gasp a sob and force myself away from the door.

My feet hit the street as I ran as fast as i could go. He was getting closer to me,  I could see the finish line it was so close. I felt a hand on my shoulder, it was him. He pushed me down. I fell.  My  face hit the sidewalk. Hard. I could see blood everywhere.

Like most stories of youthful pain and suffering, my story begins at Walmart with my mother and brother. As is typical for two children, my brother and I were roughhousing and aimlessly meandering around the store because we were bored. Strongly, my mother demanded we stop multiple times, but neither of us listened to her. Looking back, I wish I had listened to her. When our trip had almost come to an end, we were playing cops-and-robbers in the deli, and my brother clutched my hands behind my back to “arrest” me. I attempted a pulling escape, but he thrust me forward at the same time; I fell flat on my face on the hard-concrete floor. My mother rushed me to the emergency room because she assumed I had broken my nose. Luckily, the x-rays revealed

It wasn't as if anyone was hurt. Sure, James threw a book at me, but he missed. So I don't understand why Lisa is giving me a lecture on spousal abuse and how I shouldn't let him treat me this way when in actuality, I had started it. I shouldn’t have provoked him by asking him to take the garbage cans out to the curb while he was working on his online classes.

Bryon and Mark were watching a few games while M&M stared into a package of M&M’s. Bryon asked M&M what he was doing. He had him look in the M&M bag. M&M got up and said “I have to go home now, I’ll see you guys later.” Mark objected “We just got here.” M&M said “I only came along for the walk, and now I have to go home.”

My story begins from a place where abuse began in my life. I was staying at my friend's place. We decided to mix up a drink of some of the alcohol that my parent's friend had. Her parents were away.