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Each year in the United States there are over 3 million children who are abused or neglected. The destructive experiences impact the developing child increasing risk for emotional, behavioural, academic, social and physical problems throughout life.

The human brain is an amazing and complex organ. It allows us to think, act, feel, laugh, speak, create and love. The brain mediates all of the qualities of humanity, good and bad. Yet the core ‘mission’ of the brain is to sense, perceive, process, store and act on information from the external and internal environment to promote survival. In order to do this, the human brain has evolved an efficient and logical organisational structure.

The brain has a bottom-up organisation. The bottom regions, such as the brainstem and midbrain control the most simple functions, such as respiration, heart rate and blood pressure regulation while the top areas, which include the limbic and cortex, control complex functions, such as thinking and regulatory emotions.

At birth the human brain is undeveloped. Not all of the brain’s areas are organised and fully functional. It is during childhood that the brain matures and a whole set of brain related capabilities develop in a sequential fashion. We crawl before we walk, we babble before we talk.

The development of the brain during infancy and childhood follows the bottom-up structure. The most regulatory, bottom regions of the brain develop first; followed in sequence by adjacent but higher, more complex regions.

The brain develops and modifies itself in response to experience. Neurones and synapses change in an activity-dependant fashion. Use-dependant development is the key to understanding the impact of neglect and trauma on children.

These areas organise during development and change in the mature brain in a ‘use-dependant’ fashion. The more a certain neural system is activated, the more it will ‘build-in’ this neural state – what occurs in this process is the creation of an ‘internal representation’ of the experience corresponding to the neural activation. This ‘use-dependant’ capacity to make an ‘internal representation’ of the external or internal world is the basis for learning and memory. The simple and unavoidable result of this sequential neurodevelopment is that the ongoing child is more malleable to experience than a mature brain. While experience may alter and change the functioning of an adult, experienced literally provides the organising framework for an infant and child.

The brain is more receptive to environmental input in early childhood. The consequence of sequential development is that as different regions are organising, they require specific kinds of experience targeting the region’s specific function, such as visual input while the visual system is organising in order to develop normally. These times during development are called critical or sensitive periods.

With optimal experiences, the brain develops healthy, flexible and diverse capabilities. When there is disruption of the timing, intensity, quality or quantity of normal development experiences, however, there may be devastating impact on the neurodevelopment – and thereby function. For millions of abused and neglected children the nature of their experiences adversely influences the development of their brains. During the traumatic experience these children’s brains are in a state of fear-related activation. This activation of the neural systems in the brain leads to adaptive changes in emotional, behavioural and cognitive functioning to promote survival. Yet, persistent or chronic activation of this adaptive fear response can result in maladaptive persistence of a fear state. This activation causes hyper-vigilance, increased muscle tone, and focuses on threat-relate cues, anxiety, behavioural, impulsivity, all of which are adaptive during a threatening event yet become maladaptive when the immediate threat has passed.

This is the dilemma that traumatic abuse brings to the child’s developing brain. The very process of using the proper adaptive neural response during the threat will also be the process that underlies the neural pathology, which causes so much distress and pain through the child’s life. The chronically traumatised child will develop a host of physical signs, such as altered cardiovascular regulation, and symptoms to include sleep and mood problems.

Some children are able to deal with abuse and neglect by developing multiple personalities or alter egos.

The syndrome of multiple personality is associated with a high incidence of physical and/or sexual abuse in childhood. Multiple personality is difficult to diagnose during childhood because of the subtlety of the syndrome.

The history of dissociative disorders, which include multiple personality, extends back into New Testament times when numerous references to demon possession, a forerunner of multiple personality, were described. The phenomenon of possession continued to be prevalent until well into the 19th century and is still prevalent in certain areas of the world. However, beginning in the 18th century, the possession phenomena began to decline and the first case of multiple personality was described by Eberhardt Gmelin in 1791. The first American case, that of Mary Reynolds, was first reported in 1815. The late 19th century saw a flurry of publications about multiple personality but the relationship of multiple personality to child abuse was not generally recognised until the publication of Sybil in 1973.

Multiple personality most often presents with depression and suicidality rather than personality changes and amnesia, which are obvious clues to dissociation. The amnesia in multiple personality includes amnesia for traumatic experiences in the remote past and amnesia for recent events that occurred while the individual was dissociated into another personality. Often emotional stress precipitates dissociation. The amnesiac episodes generally last from a few minutes to a few hours but occasionally may last from a few days to a few months. The original personality is usually amnesiac for the secondary personalities while the secondary personalities may have varying awareness of one another. Sometimes a secondary personality may exhibit the phenomenon of co-consciousness and be aware of events even when another personality is dominant. Generally the original personality is rather reserved and depleted of affect. The secondary personalities usually express affects or impulses unacceptable to the primary personality, such as anger, depression or sexuality. Differences between personalities may be quite subtle or striking. Personalities may be of a different age, race, sex, sexual orientation, or parentage from the original. Most often the personalities have chosen proper names for themselves. Psychophysiologic symptoms are extremely frequent in multiple personality. Headaches are extremely common as are hysterical conversion symptoms and symptoms of sexual dysfunction.

Transient psychotic episodes may occur in multiple personality. Hallucinations during such episodes are usually a complex visual nature indicating a hysterical type of psychosis. Sometimes a personality will hear the voices of other personalities. These voices, which occasionally are of a command type, appear to come from inside the head, and should not be confused with the auditory hallucinations of schizophrenia, which usually come from outside the head. Most often stress precipitates the transition between personalities. These transitions may be dramatic or quite subtle.

The onset of multiple personality generally occurs in childhood, although the condition is not usually diagnosed until adolescence or early adulthood. About 85 percent of multiple personality sufferers are women. This increased incidence of multiple personality in women may occur because sexual abuse and incest, which are strongly associated with multiple personality, occur predominantly in female children and adolescents. The degree of impairment in multiple personality may vary from mild to severe.

Trauma has long been recognised as an essential criterion for the production of dissociate disorders including multiple personality. The various types of trauma include childhood physical and sexual abuse, rape, combat, natural disasters, accidents, concentration camp experiences, loss of loved ones, financial catastrophes, and severe marital discord. As early as 1896 Sigmund Freud recognised that early childhood seduction experiences were responsible for 18 cases of hysteria, a condition closely associated with dissociative disorders.

It was not until the publication of Sybil in 1973 that childhood physical and sexual abuse became widely recognised as precipitants of multiple personality. Since 1973 numerous investigations have confirmed the high incidence of physical and sexual abuse in multiple personality.

The types of child abuse experienced by victims of multiple personality are quite varied. Sexual abuses include incest, rape, sexual molestation, sodomy, cutting of the sexual organs, and inserting objects into the sexual organs. Physical abuses include cutting, bruising, beating, hanging, tying up, and being locked in closets and cellars. Neglect and verbal abuse are also common.

The abuse in multiple personality is usually severe, prolonged and perpetuated by family members who are bound to the child in a love-hate relationship.

In the childhood form of multiple personality the difference between personalities are quite subtle, and the number of personalities is fewer. An average of four personalities has been reported in children, while the average of personalities reported in adults is 13. Symptoms of depression and somatic complaints are less common in children but the symptoms of amnesia and inner voices are not decreased.

Symptoms characteristic of childhood multiple personality disorder include:-

1. A history of repeated child abuse.

2. Subtle alternating personality changes such as a shy child with depressed, angry, seductive, and/or regressive episodes.

3. Amnesia of abuse and/or other recent events, such as schoolwork, angry outbursts, regressive behaviour.

4. Marced variations in abilities such as schoolwork, games and music.

5. Trance-like states.

6. Disavowed behaviour leading to being called a liar.

Relatively little is known about multiple personality parents who abuse their children. In the only study to date, the children of parents with multiple personality disorder tend to have a higher rate of psychiatric disturbance when compared to a control group of children with parents having other psychiatric disturbances where the incidence of child abuse between the two groups was not significant.

Like child abuse, particularly incest, there is a professional reluctance to diagnose multiple personality disorder. In all likelihood this reluctance stems from a number of factors including the generally subtle presentation of the symptoms, the fearful reluctance of the patient to divulge important clinical information, professional ignorance concerning dissociative disorders, and the reluctance of the clinician to believe that incest actually occurs and is not the product of fantasy.

If the patient with multiple personality presents with depression and suicidality and if the differences between personalities are subtle, the diagnosis may be missed. The changes in personality may be attributed to a simple mood change, for instance. In other cases the individuals with multiple personality may go through prolonged periods without dissociation, and therefore the diagnosis is missed because a ‘window of diagnosibility’ did not exist at the time of the clinical examination.

In addition to the subtle presentation of multiple personality, most individuals with this disorder consciously withhold vital clinical information about memory loss, hallucinations, and knowledge of other personalities in order to avoid being labelled crazy. Others withhold information out of distrust. Still others are totally unaware that they are symptomatic. For instance, they may be completely unaware of alter personalities, and the time loss or time distortion they experience may have occurred for such a long time that they consider it normal.

The reluctance of the clinician to believe that incest occurred in their patients is perhaps the most troubling aspect regarding the misdiagnosis of multiple personality. In many cases stories of incest have been assumed to be fantasies or outright lies. The practice of non-belief has occurred despite examples where sexual abuse has been carefully confirmed with collateral sources. This problem of clinician disbelief is thought to be a counter transference reaction to the traumatised victim.

Undoubtedly Freud’s renunciation of his earlier belief in the seduction theory was a setback to understanding incest. For many years after Freud’s renunciation, clinicians assumed stories of incest to be fantasy. The counter transference reactions to victims’ traumatic abuse included extreme anxiety about the abuse and resultant avoidance of the topic, a conspiracy to maintain silence about the abuse, and blaming the victim for abuse. The clinician’s incredulity regarding the abuse functions to make one believe the patient and her family are not as sick as they seem and the uncomfortable reality of having to report abuse or appear in court is unnecessary. Disbelief shields the clinician from the powerful rage expressed by the victim and her family if confrontation about the abuse occurs.

The psychiatric syndrome of multiple personality is associated with an extremely high incident of physical and/or sexual abuse during childhood. The abuse is usually severe, prolonged, and perpetrated by family members. Multiple personality may be difficult to diagnose because of the subtlety of the presenting symptoms, the patient’s fear of being labelled crazy and the clinician’s mistaken belief that multiple personality is a rare condition. Currently multiple personality is usually diagnosed in adults who are in their late 20’s or early 30’s. The diagnosis of multiple personality in children is even more difficult because of the subtlety of symptoms and the ease with which these symptoms are confused with fantasy. Although individuals with multiple personality do not usually abuse their own children, the incident of psychiatric disturbance in their children is high.

Because abuse and neglect causes a great deal of psychological disturbance in children and continues well into adulthood, it would be wise for the individual to become well informed about child abuse and neglect.

Somebody may abuse or neglect a child by inflicting harm or by failing to act to prevent harm. Children may be abused in a family or in an institutional or community setting; by those known to them, or more rarely, by a stranger.

Physical abuse may involve hitting, shaking, throwing, poisoning, burning or scalding, drowning, suffocating, or otherwise causing physical harm to a child. Physical harm may also be caused when a parent or carer feigns the symptoms or deliberately causes ill health to a child they are looking after. This situation is commonly described using terms such as factitious illness by proxy or Munchausens Syndrome by proxy.

Emotional abuse is the persistent emotional ill treatment of a child such as to delay child’s emotional development. It may involve conveying to children that they are worthless or unloved, inadequate, or valued only insofar as they meet the needs of another person. It may feature age or developmentally inappropriate expectations being imposed on children. It may involve causing children frequently to feel frightened or in danger, or the exploitation or corruption of children. Some level of emotional abuse is involved in all types of ill treatment of a child, though it may occur alone.

Sexual abuse involves forcing or enticing a child or young person to take part in sexual activities whether or not the child is aware of what is happening. The activities may involve physical contact, including penetration (rape or buggery) or non-penetrative acts. They may include non-contact activities, such as involving children in looking at, or in the production of, pornographic material or watching sexual activities, or encouraging children to behave in sexually inappropriate ways.

Neglect is the persistent failure to meet a child’s basic physical and/or psychological needs, likely to result in serious impairment of the child’s health or development. It may involve a parent or carer failing to provide adequate food, shelter and clothing, failing to protect a child from physical harm or danger, or the failure to ensure access to appropriate medical care or treatment. It may include neglect or, unresponsiveness to a child’s basic emotional needs.

Children may suffer more than one form of abuse. It should be remembered that the abuse may be caused by persons other than the carers/parents, eg relatives, family friends, babysitter, sibling, or stranger. There may be abuse at school in a residential establishment or a foster home.

Physical abuse if injurious not accounted for by an explanation of parent/carer or change of explanation. Repeated injuries need to be treated with caution. Bruises/weals occur to the face, ears, head, torso, or multiple body places. Bruises can occur on the legs before a child is mobile. Bruising can occur on the wrists, ankles, as a result of swinging, black eyes without bruising on the forehead is another sign of abuse. Bruising from fingertips or from bites can occur to the child. Bruises in various stages of healing, clusters that form regular patterns, such as the shape of an article. Bruising may also occur regularly after weekends, school absences or holidays.

Children who are being abused physically show various behaviour indicators that are different from a child who has not been abused. These indicators are:-

* The child is wary of physical contact by parents/carers or others.

* The child does not look to the parent for reassurance.

* The child cries hopelessly under examination or treatment.

* The child shows no expectations of being comforted, and cries little in general.

* The child seems less afraid than other children and settles in quickly when admitted to the hospital ward.

* The child constantly asks in words/actions what will happen next.

* The child will ask when he is going home or announce that he is not going home, rather than cry that he wants to go home.

Munchausens (Meadows) Syndrome by proxy (factitious illness syndrome) occurs when parents, usually the mother, systematically provide fictitious information about their child’s symptoms or attempts to tamper with investigation. The child may be submitted to innumerable investigations and medical interventions. Eventually the child may suffer illness, be permanently handicapped, or even die.

When parents emotionally abuse their children, they behave in very specific ways, which can involve acts of commission or omission. The main characteristic is that it is persistent and pervasive types of behaviour.

1. Rejecting is active expressions of rejection, as opposed to passively ignoring a child, such as scapegoating or actively refusing to help a child.

2. Degrading is action that deprecates the child, including verbal derogation, such as insulting or publicly humiliating.

3. Terrorising is actions or threats that cause a child extreme fear and anxiety, such as threatening to hurt or kill, or leaving a child unattended.

4. Isolating is actions that separate the child from others, such as locking children in closets or a room alone and refusing to allow interactions with others outside the family.

5. Mis-socialising, also called corrupting, is acts that render the child antisocial or mis-socialised, that teach or otherwise encourage the child to develop orientations that are destructive to others or himself, such as encouraging criminal behaviour or substance abuse by the child, or inculcating racist values.

6. Exploiting is situations in which a child is used for advantage or profit, such as sexual molestation, treating the child as a servant or surrogate parent, using the child for the purpose of pornography or prostitution, involving the child inappropriately in the adult conflict when parents are separated.

7. Denying emotional responsiveness is acts of omission in which the caregiver fails to provide the sensitive, responsive, caregiving necessary to development. The caregiver is detached, uninvolved, and interacts with the child only when necessary.

8. Marital violence involves bitter disputes between parents are separated also cause problems. Children who are being emotionally abused will exhibit very specific behavioural indicators. They will:-

* Exhibit habit disorders, such as sucking, rocking and biting.

* Display conduct disorders, such as antisocial or destructive behaviour.

* Sleep disorders.

* They can be compliant/passive, aggressive/demanding, or hyperactive.

* Display developmental lags.

* Have problems with wetting or soiling.

* Display excessively adaptive behaviour.

* Show signs of role reversal, such as the child taking on responsibility that his parents should be doing.

* Exhibit frozen watchfulness, which is when a child has a glazed expression, is wide eyed and very still.

Acts of omission can be understood as the absence of positive parenting behaviour, such as:-

* Physical care and affection.

* Emotional warmth and approval.

* Stimulation and teaching.

* Opportunity and encouragement to acquire autonomy gradually.

* Discipline and control.

Neglect is also a form of abuse because the parents or carers are not ensuring the child’s basic needs are being met:-

* The child fails to thrive.

* The child has bad hygiene.

* Prescriptions are not collected.

* Immunisations are incomplete.

* The child is not adequately protected.

* Appropriate health care is not given.

* Health advice is not heeded.

* Failed appointments.

* Children are not safely supervised.

* Poor school attendance.

* Deficient parental attendance.

* Failure to protect the child from serious injury from older siblings.

* Lack of provision for leisure and play.

* Inadequate or inappropriate clothing.

* An unsafe or unhygienic home.

Children can also be sexually abused. The physical signs of such abuse are injuries to the genital area/anus, pain in the genital area: itching, bleeding, bruising, discharge. Difficulties in walking and sitting. Repeated urinary infections, sexually transmitted disease, persistent sore throats, pregnancy in teenagers, eating disorders, self-mutilation.

When a child is sexually abused, he will behave in ways different from non-abused children. They will exhibit:-

* Regressive behaviour/attainment.

* Aggressive/sexualised behaviour to other children.

* Sexual promiscuity.

* Inappropriate sexually provocative behaviour for age.

* Inappropriate displays of affection.

* Secrets, fantasies.

* Emotionally isolated, poor self image.

* Lack of peer relationships. Sleep disturbances. Acute anxiety/fear.

* Refusal to go to school.

* Running away from home.

* Suicide attempts.

* Obsessive washing. * Drawing, stories.

Some children are more susceptible to abuse than others.

Children who are born too soon are particularly vulnerable because they are born before parents are emotionally ready for them. They are statistically more likely to have been born prematurely, with lower weight, vulnerable to ill health. As a result they will be difficult to handle and a cause of anxiety.

Children who are born sick or handicapped are at risk of abuse. The mother could have an abnormal pregnancy, abnormal behaviour or delivery, neonatal separation, other illness in first year of child and/or mother, and difficult to geed. Growth failure is related to physical abuse, unsuccessful feeding has precipatory assault.

If a child is born different to what his parents wanted, this will make him vulnerable to abuse.

Unwanted children are particularly vulnerable to abuse. The pregnancy could have been unwanted, the gender of the child could be different to what the parents wanted, or the actual child could be a disappointing replacement for loss of a previous child or someone precious.

The parents could have issues of their own, which would make them particularly susceptible to abusing children. They could have a low self-esteem, much life stress, be physically violent, or have fragile relationships. The parents may expect criticism, rejection or resent authority.

A family’s particular circumstances will predispose it to abuse. Stress can be a very important factor in triggering child abuse, eg poor housing, moving house, unemployment, low income, depression, pregnancy, or a new baby, bereavement. Several stress factors occurring within a short period of time can cause breakdown in otherwise competent and loving families. Stressful circumstances may be particularly important when:-

* The family lacks a lifeline in the form of a supportive family or friends, and there is no one available to give practical help and understanding.

* The family has moved several times and there are no local roots.

* There is a known history of previously unexplained for inadequately explained injuries, or of previous known abuse of children in the family.

* An adult member of the household has previously been responsible for or suspected of being responsible for child abuse in another household.

To be perfectly honest, it was not until I was almost 40 years old that I had any idea that I had been abused. I honestly believed that all people treated their children the way that I had been treated as a child. Perhaps if I had been brought up in a home where there was a little bit of love and understanding, my life would not have turned out to be such a tragedy. Perhaps if I had been treated with a bit of decency and respect as a child, I may have wanted to have children of my own.

Instead, since I had been abused so badly during my more formative years, I went on to form relationships with men who would use and abuse me in the same way that my parents and carers had done.

I was born prematurely on 30th January 1961, an unwanted twin. I weighed in at 4 ½ pounds and my sister, one pound heavier, was called ‘the big one’. Technically underweight, I already had a disadvantaged start to life because statistics have shown that low birth-weight babies tend to developmentally lag behind normal weight babies.

My mother did not want one baby, and at the age of 18 she already had three! She was a prime candidate as an abusive mother because she had been abused and neglected by both of her parents. Perhaps if she had a better upbringing she would not have found herself 16 and pregnant. To make matters worse, she did not get any support from her own family, which further intensified her feelings of isolation, inadequacy and shame.

I was born in Little Rock, Arkansas, the centre of the Bible Belt. Personally, the only thing that fundamentalist religions have done is harm women and children of this world, as well as create wars and strife. The Bible propagates child abuse, and one of the most well known biblical phrases is ‘spare the rod and spoil the child.’ Many an adult has used the Bible as an excuse to inflict physical harm on a vulnerable child.

Another biblical favourite is the 4th commandment, which states, ‘thou shalt honour thy mother and father.’ That one little commandment has kept many a child in line if his parents ever suspected he might be on the verge of revealing to others what went on at home.

I can’t say I have a lot of respect for religious people. I believe the vast majority of them are mentally ill, and the fact they embrace religion merely exacerbates their illness because they allow religious leaders to dictate to them what they should believe and how they should behave. If people were okay with themselves, they would know in their heart what correct and acceptable behaviour is. They would not need another individual to tell them.

The first time I almost came to an early demise was when I was only two weeks old, which would have been in February 1961. Apparently my father, Matthew, was bored and decided to take the family out to the country where his parents live. The fact that it was raining heavily was of no consequence to my father, who rarely ever thought of anyone other than himself.

While Matt drove the car down the gravel road, he somehow managed to drive it off the road into a large body of water. Like most men, Matt chose to save himself before thinking of anyone else. He took my brother, Marc, and swam with him to dry ground where he would be safe. My father left my mother holding her two premature babies, sitting inside a flooded car.

Matthew called to my mother and told her that he was going to get help.

‘Don’t leave me here!’, my mother called to my father.

‘I can’t leave Marc,’ Matthew called back. ‘If I go into the water, Marc will follow me!’

‘Take your belt off and tie Marc to the tree!’, my mother called to her husband.

But it was too late. Matthew was already gone. My mother sat in that flooded car, holding one twin in each arm. She very well could have saved herself and left my sister and myself to suffer a dire fate of drowning. Nobody in rural Arkansas would have asked any questions or held it against her if she had allowed her twins to drown so she could swim to safety. My mother may very well have gone ahead and saved herself, were not for the fact that she couldn’t swim.

Although my mother wanted desperately to be rid of her two unwanted girls, something inside her held her back from allowing them to drown. My mother’s almost non-existent maternal instincts kicked in, and on probably the only occasion in her life she put the needs of her children before her own.

My mother waited, and waited, and waited, hoping that a miracle would happen and she would be rescued. On that cold, winter night a miracle did in fact occur.

A group of young men, probably the same age as my mother, were out joyriding on that lonely road in the outskirts of Little Rock. When my mother saw the headlights approaching her, and she used her foot to push the horn of the car. The horn blared, and blared, and blared until the young men got out of the car and investigated the situation.

My mother called the young men to come and get her twins out of the car.

I suppose on that night a rare miracle occurred. One has to wonder what the odds were that a group of teenage boys would decide to go for a joyride in the Arkansas countryside on that particular, cold, rainy night. I don’t even know the name of the young men who saved my life.

Nothing was ever said to my father about why he drove so dangerously that he put his car into a large body of water. Nothing was ever said to my father about why he left the scene of the accident. I doubt very seriously that anyone would have been concerned in the least if I had met in untimely demise on that cold, winter night.

Lest one thinks I have made this story up to elicit sympathy, my mother told me the event was reported in the local papers, henc

e the seriousness of the situation. I suppose that destiny was at work on that night and other nights afterwards. I really should not have lived to tell this tale, but somehow did.

The second time I almost came to an early death was when I was about three years old. Apparently I had been bitten by a dog, but the resulting scar resembled that of a knife wound and not of dog’s teeth. The attack left me with an incision above my left eye below the brow. I have seen pictures of children who have been bitten in the face by dogs and it is normally the checks that were affected. In retrospect, I suppose that I wasn’t really bitten by a dog because the resulting scar would have been much more horrific.

My mother, a pathological liar, made up a story of how I had put a Halloween mask on a dog and it had responded by biting me in the eye. I don’t think my mother was ever really able to look at me after she attacked me in such a brutal way. Every time she tried to look me in the eye she would have seen her handiwork. While my mother could lie to other people, she could never lie to herself, so the emotional distance between us became even wider.

In addition to the fact that my father almost killed me when I was only two weeks old, my parents adopted a more subtle approach to slowly killing me little by little each and every day. My sister and I rarely, if ever, were fed properly. If it were not for the fact that I have an incredibly slow metabolism and can survive on almost nothing, I surely would have starved to death. So malnourished were my sister and I that my grandmother told me we would eat dirt. A lot of people don’t know this, but soil has a lot of valuable nutrients in it. I can only suppose that my will to live kicked in and I ate dirt as a survival mechanism.

When I was older my mother would tell a tale that she made meatloaf for me when I was a baby. Even as I child, I never had any recollection of my mother ever making me any meal, much less meatloaf. I would just look at my mother blankly and try to remember eating the meatloaf that she claimed to have made, but I couldn’t. I have very little memory of my mother ever giving me any food to eat before the age of eight.

My mother also said she gave my sister and me a piece of candy each and every day. Again, I have no recollection whatsoever of my mother ever giving me any candy to eat.

I never refuted the family myth that my mother was a caring person who doted on me and made me meatloaf for dinner. If my mother said it was so, it must have been. Who was I to contradict her.

Not only did my parents not feed me, they denied both my sister and myself any physical contact.

Because my sister and I were unwanted, our parents gave us almost no physical contact whatsoever. They never picked us up or cuddled us like many parents do, but just left us in our cot, leaving us to our own devices. If it were not for the fact that we had each other, we may very well have died. It is a well-known fact that babies who are not touched will die, so it is a miracle that my sister and I survived. Somehow we lived through it all, but we certainly did not thrive.

Because my sister and I did not have anyone but each other, we would rock ourselves to sleep, the rhythmic motion helping us to drop off into a hungry slumber.

My grandmother said that in addition to the rocking, we would not utter a word. We would quietly moan to each other while we rocked back and forth. We had each other for company. We were our own best friends. If we did not have each other we probably would have died from neglect.

The innocent bystander would be inclined to assume that my sister and I were autistic because we exhibited signs of the ailment. We were not autistic, however, just severely neglected.

I can recall when I was a pre-schooler I went to my grandmother while she sat on her big lazy boy lounger. I told her that I had killed a person. My grandmother chastised me and told me to never say such things again. I have no idea why I would make such a declaration to my grandmother when I was no more than three or four years of age. I have since learned that children who are abused will often say they have killed a baby.

When we were old enough to fix our own meals our chances of physical survival greatly improved. It was at that point that our mother stopped preparing meals for us altogether, if she ever did in the first place. Because we had to fix food that was simple for a child to prepare, our diet consisted primarily of corn flakes for breakfast and a baloney sandwich for lunch. Hardly a balanced diet, but it was enough food to allow us to survive.

When I was six years old and started school, my mother sat me down and told me that it was my responsibility to get up every morning and walk down to the bus stop so I could get to school. Even though I didn’t have a clock, somehow I managed to get dressed and walk down to the bus stop every day, thereby allowing my mother to stay asleep in her bed.

When I got older my mother was finally able to find a practical use for her daughters, free labour. When she discovered that we could be taught how to clean the house, she never once lifted a finger in it. Every evening we washed the dishes and did the laundry. On Saturday we would clean the house from top to bottom, and on Sunday morning we were obliged to clean the house all over again after a wild night of socialising. My mother saw her daughters as her own personal slaves who would clean her house and work in her beauty shop for no recompense whatsoever.

My mother took particular pleasure in verbally abusing me. She said that I was dirty and lazy, and would berate me for the most minor transgressions.

I remember quite vividly one autumn day when I was in the fourth grade. Out of the blue, my mother barked at me that she did not want me and my father did not want me, so she was stuck with me. There was not much I could say after that little declaration, so I just said nothing. To be honest, I very rarely ever replied to my mother’s outbursts. If I retorted it would only bring more abuse. If I said nothing, however, maybe she would tire of the abuse and stop.

While I was still in the 4th grade my mother derisively told my sister that I was warped. I have no doubt she expressed those sentiments to other family members because years later my brother’s wife at the time informed me that I had a “warped perspective” when we were merely having an innocent conversation about university education.

When I was 13 or 14 years old, my mother came home quite abruptly from one of her many nights out on the town. My sister squealed about something insignificant and my mother screamed at her that she was a “fucking bitch”. There was not much that either of us could say after our mother had called us such offensive names. It was very difficult for us to establish any kind of decent rapport when the only things that she could say to us were derisive in nature.

My mother also failed to protect me from harm. She worked as a hairdresser and owned her own beauty shop, and was a pretty successful business woman in Little Rock. I was being bullied at school by the daughters of one of her customers. Instead of my mother doing the decent thing and telling the bully’s mother that she would have to find another hairdresser as long as her daughter was behaving in a threatening way, she continued to cut the woman’s hair without a care in the world about how I felt.

My mother was not concerned in the least about the fact that I could not even use the toilet at school because that is where the local bullies hung out. Her only concern was herself and she was not prepared to put forth even the slightest bit of effort to protect her child.

For reasons I do not understand, my mother took a dislike to my friends. When I was in the 7th grade I had two friends in particular, and my mother took a dislike to them even though she had never even met them. My mother actually went to great lengths to tell me not to play with them and to find other friends. She was never able to give me an adequate explanation as to why she did not want me to be friends with Linda and Sherry, so I stayed friends with them without my mother’s consent or approval. It was probably at that time that I stopped speaking to my mother about my friends because she was so critical of me and everything I did.

A couple of years later my friend Linda telephoned me and told me that her brother, who was gay, had told her that my mother was heavily involved in the lesbian and gay scene in Little Rock and was involved in a lesbian relationship with her “friend” Bobbie. Although I was shocked at the revelation, I was not surprised. For as long as I can remember, my mother has had really intense relationships with other women.

I can only assume that the mothers in Little Rock did not want their children playing with me because they somehow felt my mother’s sexual orientation would rub off. It is possible that the mothers in question telephoned my mother and said some unkind things to her, which resulted in her trying to dictate to me who I would and would not be friends with.

Although my mother is not a particularly clean or hygienic person, she decided to project the uncleanness that she felt within herself on to her children. She and my stepfather, Bill, continuously told me and my sister that we were dirty. When we lived with our grandmother we were only allowed to bathe once a week to save water, therefore, when we went back to live with our mother, we continued the practice. My mother never once informed us that there was plenty of water and we could bathe as often as we liked, but instead told us every day how dirty we were. Bill, who was a teacher and should have known better, got on the bandwagon as well and parroted my mother’s sentiments.

When I reached adolescence I had an iron deficiency and was plagued with sties and boils. Instead of my mother taking me to a doctor, she said that I got boils because I was dirty.

My mother needed very little provocation to become hysterical. She would decide out of the blue that we would have to clean the feet of all the chairs and stools in the house. Whenever I tried to speak to her about being able to go out with boys or driving a car, she would become so hysterical that it was pointless speaking to her. When I left the room in anger, she would usually throw something at me, such as a shoe.

My mother was also quite a sadist, a trait my sister no doubt picked up from her. My earliest memory of my mother was she and her second husband, Bob, giving us onions to eat. Mama and Bob both giggled to each other as we naively sunk our teeth into the very sharp bulbs. I must say that my mother’s actions were certainly not those of a loving, caring person.

The abuse and neglect my sister and I both suffered at her hands was no doubt related to her inherent sadism. For reasons that I will never understand, my mother actually enjoyed harming her children. I would like to point out that my mother was abused too, and if she had not been abused, neglected and rejected herself, she may very well have grown up to be a loving and caring person. Sadly, that was not the case.

Lest one think that I had suffered enough, I was also sexually abused. Because the very survival of my personality meant that it must fragment into various sub-personalities, I have little conscious recollection of the more sinister acts that were actually committed against me. Instead, I have pictorial flashes that come to me from time to time, usually when I least expect it. What normally happens is a rather mundane event will trigger a flashback and I will have the displeasure of experiencing the event all over again.

The earliest memories I have are of me sitting in the chair with my grandfather. I must have been no more than three or four years old, but was trying to move my grandfather’s fingers down, so that they formed the obscene “bird” sign, and it goes without saying that ‘flipping the bird’ is a very vulgar act indeed. Even at that young age I knew that the hand sign I was trying to make was a very naughty thing to do, but I tried to do it nonetheless. I have no idea who taught me that hand gesture – I only know that I knew it was considered very naughty and wanted my grandfather to form that hand sign as an act of naughtiness.

I also have body memories of someone taking me by force and doing with me whatever he liked. I have no other memories other than that, except for the fact that my carers knew very well what was going on and turned a bLind eye to it.

I suppose that I loved my father very much because he was a very illusive, unavailable figure. I recall that he would take my sister into the bedroom so that he could give her a spanking and would spend time in the room alone with her. Years later, when I asked my sister about what they did in the room, she said she had no recollection of him ever taking her in a room and spending time with her alone. It is important at this point to note that my grandmother knew very well that my father was taking his young daughter into rooms and spending time alone with them. I can never recall my grandmother ever expressing any protestations to my father’s behaviour, so in that aspect at least, my grandmother failed to protect my sister from any inappropriate behaviour that may have taken place.

Even my stepfather got in on the act. One Sunday morning when, I can only assume that his sexual advances toward my mother had been spurned, he entered the bedroom I shared with my sister. I was not in the room, but my sister was, and he stayed alone with her in that room for quite some time. When I was finally allowed to go back into the bedroom, my sister was huddled in the corner with tears streaming down her face. When I asked my sister what the matter was, she said that my stepfather was going to give her a spanking because the room was dirty. Years later, when I asked my sister about that incident, she had no recollection of it.

My sister and I made perfect incest victims. Our mother was never home to protect us because she was out cruising the bars in Little Rock every night of the week. My mother’s excuse for her behaviour was that she had to give up her childhood for her children, so she was going to go out and reliving her childhood. What she failed to realise was that her two daughters did not have much of a childhood either because of her lifestyle and behaviour.

My sister and I were responsible for all the household chores. We had virtually taken over our mother’s role in the house, not because we wanted to, but because we were forced to. Because my mother was never home, I can only assume that my stepfather decided to get revenge on my mother and satisfy his sexual needs all in one go.

I went through a phase where I did not want to sleep in the same bed with my sister, so I would sleep on the couch in the parlour adjacent to the room I shared with my sister. I have fleeting memories of my step-father entering the room where I slept, but nothing else.

One Saturday evening when my mother was out cruising the bars, my stepfather actually started flirting with and took an undue interest in me. I was very nervous, to say the least. This is a man who had never shown any interest in me at all, called me names and behaved derisively towards me. Once I began looking more like a woman he began treating me with more interest. I did not respond to my stepfather’s advances and have no recollection of any inappropriate behaviour, but the incident left me unnerved nonetheless.

Years later, when my sister had children of her own and left them in the care of my mother, her lesbian lover, and my stepfather, I shuddered. I did not think that my niece should be left in the care of my stepfather and told her so. My sister, having blocked out memories of her own abuse, dismissed my concerns. My niece was therefore left in the care of highly unsuitable individuals, therefore replicating the familiar cycle of abuse that I am all too aware of.

My mother also allowed her lesbian lovers to corrupt her daughters. When I was 13, I recall vividly Bobbie, my mother’s latest paramour, taking us to a drive-in pornographic movie. I was too embarrassed to watch it, but there was something wrong with my mother’s mind to allow her two adolescent girls to watch obscene acts with her and her girlfriend. I know now that what my mother and her girlfriend did was classified as corrupting.

Bobbie, my mother’s lesbian lover at the time, also earned a little extra money by working as a prostitute. I have no doubt that she did anything and everything her clients asked of her because while only in her early 30’s, she already had a bad case of haemorrhoids and needed surgery to rectify the situation. I can only assume that she developed haemorrhoids because she would submit to anal sex if the price was right.

Bobbie and Mama would drop my sister and me off at the movies and stay away for hours. When the movies were over, my sister and I would stand out in the dark waiting for our mother to come collect us. My mother and Bobbie never explained where they were and what they had been doing, and I never asked.

Bobbie would also invite me to spend Saturday nights at her house. We would all sleep in her bed together and I thought it was totally innocent. The visits eventually took on a more sinister tone, however.

Bobbie and Mama were both obsessed with sex and kept pornography in their homes. I can only assume that their promiscuous and lewd sexual behaviour was a result of their own experiences of childhood abuse, but their behaviour was certainly not a positive influence on young minds. In addition to the pornography, my mother also owned sex toys that she did not even bother to hide. Because sex was such a large part of our day to day lives, I was merely amused to discover the full extent of my mother’s sex life.

Not surprisingly, by the time I was a teenager I had developed an angry sup-personality. It did not come out very often, but I would sometimes find myself lashing out at other people.

When I was in the 8th grade the angry me seemed to be the most prominent. On two occasions in particular my teachers told me that I was not very ladylike and that I should not be so harsh with other people.

Again, when I was 16 an angry personality again began to emerge, and I feel that it was a result of the fact that my brother was seriously ill in the hospital, my mother was never home, and although I have no recollection of it, something inappropriate may have been going on with my stepfather. I was very angry with my mother and it was extremely difficult for me to conceal the animosity I felt towards her.

In retrospect, the angry me seems out of character to the person I am today. I would never dream of hurting another person and will actually refrain from speaking my mind if my views are going to upset another person. If anything, as an adult I am actually quite withdrawn, so when I look back at the angry personality that emerged from time to time, I am quite bemused. It is not enough for me to say that I am ashamed of the way I behaved during those times: I can only say that the angry me was quite out of character with who I really am.

I think that death and tragic accidents tend to change a family forever. There is an old saying, ‘That which doesn’t kill, makes us stronger’, and I can think of nothing more eloquently reflected with meaning than that one phrase. When we encounter difficulties what do we do? Do we face them and let the chips fly where they may, or do we hide our head in the sand and hope it will go away if we ignore it long enough?

For such a long time we were five planets existing in that galaxy that we tried to call a home, and it was only a matter of time before cataclysm would change things forever. Because there were no controls in our family, a quickening occurred and none of us were the same afterwards.

One morning in May, 1977, I left for school as usual. It was a warm, sunny day and I could foresee nothing out of the ordinary transpiring. When I came home from school, however, I was ushered to the hospital and informed that my brother had been involved in a motorcycle accident and was lying in intensive care.

To make matters worse, I was not asked, but told, that I would be giving blood to save his life. Of course I did not want my brother to die. I would have given anything in the world for him to live through what had happened. But my mother, in her massive neglect of her children, did not even bother to notice that I had this humungus phobia against needles and other sharp objects. I almost needed to be in intensive care myself when I was told that some strange person was going to stick a needle in me and take my blood.

Of course I would do it. I couldn’t let my brother down just because I was afraid of needles. Fortunately for me, while my mother was busy calculating how many pints of blood she could get out of my body so that she would not have to pay for any, someone in authority came and informed her that since I was not yet 17 years of age, they were not legally allowed to subject me to something so traumatic.

One of my aunts later told me that on that evening in the waiting room, Bobbie was all over Mama, holding her hand and telling her how much she loved her. It was sickening, really. Even when we had a serious family incident and my brother could very well have died, Bobbie was in the thick of it, vying for my mother’s attention.

That day was a whirlwind for me because I did not really comprehend what was happening. My brother and I have never had a good rapport at the best of times. Just a few months prior to his accident we had a massive argument over something trivial. He blocked my way and would not let me pass. Along with hitting him and screaming at him, I told him that I wished that he would die. Of course, never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that such a thing could happen, but as I stood in the waiting room of the hospital that day, I had to take careful stock of the things that I had said to him in anger.

Little by little, I was able to listen to people and piece together the events of the day.

It appears that Marc woke up late, so in a hurry, he sped down the road so he would not miss school. The road we lived on was hilly and windy, and if one wasn’t careful he could have an accident. On this particular, day an employee of the state was operating a tractor, performing road works. He had not placed any signs on the road stating that road works were in progress, so my brother had no way of knowing that there was an obstruction at the bottom of the hill as he sped down Colonel Glenn Road.

When Marc reached the top of the hill and saw this massive tractor blocking the road, it was too late for him to take any action. His motorcycle hit the tractor, he flew up in the air and landed on the ground some feet away from the incident. When he regained consciousness, he saw that his leg was very badly broken.

Unfortunately, the man who was operating the tractor must have had some problems himself because instead of going to the nearest telephone and calling for an ambulance, he merely sat by the tractor berating my brother for one reason or another. One of the neighbours saw the accident and went to tell my mother what had happened. When my mother arrived at the scene, an ambulance was called but it took almost ¾ of an hour to arrive. My mother, not knowing just how serious the situation was, took her time trying to find a good surgeon, thus bringing my brother even closer to death’s door. The surgeons operated, but Marc would have to endure many more procedures over an extensive healing process before he would leave that hospital – a man changed forever.

My mother was absolutely devastated by what had happened to Marc and became the devoted mother that she should have been the initial 17 years of his life. Mama was at the hospital day and night. It seemed that she could not do enough for her son, and even he had to ask her not to pet him so much, as he simply wasn’t used to being pampered and coddled.

Mama took me to the hospital to see my brother once, which I found to be an uncomfortable experience. Although he was my brother, in reality he was this strange person who I lived with but did not really know at all. I sat there next to the hospital bed, trying to act normal as I watched my brother all drugged up on painkillers, trying to make conversation with me. I am so ashamed to say that I was relieved when I was allowed to go home.

Although I didn’t know it at the time, my mother was so chintzy that she had let the insurance for my brother lapse. Although my mother openly felt that her children should take responsibility for looking after ourselves, the law thought otherwise. Since my brother was not yet 18 at the time of the accident, she was faced with a massive hospital bill. I have no doubt that my mother would have told my brother to pay the hospital bill himself if he was not so close to death. I honestly think that my mother is such a selfish person that she could cope much more easily with the loss of a child than financial ruin because she lost me when I was 16 and didn’t bat an eyelash.

During the summer, when my brother was still in the hospital, I had become increasingly disgusted with my mother. The respect was all gone and I didn’t even try to hide my contempt for her anymore.

Little did I know, however, was the fact that Mama’s so-called good friend Bobbie had been stealing from her right from under her nose. With all of my mother’s financial concerns, she must have discovered that some of her money was missing. When she discussed this with Bobbie, what better excuse than to tell her that I must have stolen it from her to purchase drugs.

For several months my mother had been making snide comments to me, telling me that she was going to find out what I was spending all of my money on because she knew that I was buying drugs with it. I never even responded to her accusations because I thought that what she was saying was totally absurd and could not imagine where she came up with such ideas. She only had to look in my closet to discover where I had spent all of my money on – clothes.

Because I have always been incredibly forgetful with regard to my finances, I had been borrowing money from my sister to tide me over until the following pay day. Although I always paid Candice the money back, she has never been one to keep a secret and must have said something to Mama about the fact that I borrowed money. With all these factors combined, Mama must have come to the conclusion that I was on drugs or something, stealing money to support my addiction.

One day when I was taking driving lessons at summer school, Bobbie, ever the instigator, waited for me outside of school and lurched on me as I walked along the pavement with my friends. Bobbie grabbed me and forced me into the car.

I knew that my mother was upset about something, but I didn’t know what. I decided to go outside and get some fresh air because it was quite obvious to me that I was not welcome in the beauty shop.

The moment I was outside, my mother swung open the door of the little trailer where she worked, and snarled, ‘Where are you going!?!’

‘I’m just going to get some fresh air,’ I replied, quite confused as to why my mother was snapping at me so.

‘I don’t want you outside. I want you inside where I can keep an eye on you,’ my mother snarled back.

As my mother stood in the centre of the small room, ratting a customer’s hair, she made one sarcastic comment after anther, directing them at me.

I had had enough of this because the plans that I had made for the day had been ruined. Since Bobbie had literally drug me out of school, there was no way for me to get ahold of my friends and tell them what was going on. I was very upset, and asked my mother, ‘What the hell is going on here?!?’

In front of my mother’s customers, she repeatedly pushed me against the wall, and I pushed her back.

At that, my mother had all the ammunition that she needed to inflict bodily harm on me. My mother wasted no time in instructing Bobbie to go out and get a switch to beat me. Bobbie was all to happy to participate in child abuse, so returned with a limb from a tree. As my mother proceeded to hit me with it, the broke into pieces under the weight of her blows.

In my mother’s beauty shop, in front of all her customers, she took the tree branch and hurled it at me, hitting me with it over and over. Something in my snapped, as my self preservation mechanisms kicked in. For the only time in my life, I hit back. I took the tree branch out of my mother’s hand and pushed her back, which left a small, red mark on her collarbone.

Instantly, my mother and Bobbie were both on me. One of the two slammed me against the wall of the shop at full force.

I really didn’t want to fight with my mother, or Bobbie, or anybody. I just wanted them to stop hitting me.

When Bobbie saw that she had gotten the better of me, she started laughing in a gawky sort of way. My mother, however, became hysterical. How dare I push her! My mother quickly forgot that it was she who struck the first blow. My mother had forgotten that she had sent Bobbie to my school to kidnap me, she had taunted me in front of all of her customers, and she had started beating me with a branch from a tree. Yet I, the errant child, was supposed to have had enough self-discipline not to defend myself when some crazy woman was attacking me.

Bobbie loved every minute of what was going on. She hee hawed in a silly hillbilly sort of way, pointed to a dog that one of the customers had brought into the shop, and laughed, ‘Even that dog could whip Tracy’s ass.’

To this day, what truly amazes me is that my mother had such a demented attitude towards child-rearing that she felt that she had the right to attack me in front of a whole shop full of her customers. There is no way on this earth that I can understand why not one of her customers who were looking on did not intervene. Not one woman told my mother that she did not think it was appropriate for my mother to be behaving such a way in a business establishment. No one woman got up on told my mother that maybe it would be better if she could re-schedule her appointment for a time when it was more convenient for her to have clients. Not one person phoned the police and told them that there was a situation of domestic violence in the shop. Nothing. Not one step by any of those women to intervene. As far as I am aware, she did not lose any business whatsoever by her violent outburst.

After my mother and Bobbie had attacked me in full view of her clientele, I went into what can only be described as shock. My body had a mind of its own and I did not know what to do about it. Although I was conscious, I was shaking all over and felt tingles all up and down my body. My mind could not believe it.

Having hurt me, my mother delighted in the anguish that she was causing me. She picked up her telephone, made me dial the number of my boss at work, and made me quit my job. My mother stood over me, grinning like a Cheshire cat, as I sobbed down the telephone line, trying to tell my boss that I was not allowed to go to work anymore.

If all that was not bad enough, my mother, being egged on by Bobbie, started threatening me. My mother said, ‘I’m going to phone your father and have him come down here and beat you up. He broke my nose and he is going to break your nose too!’ My mother just assumed that my father would go over there and beat me up just because she wanted him to.

In another instant, my mother yelled at me, ‘I’m going to have you put in Juvenile Hall! I’m going to have you put in a children’s home!’

My mother then forced me to telephone my employer and quit my job over the phone. I was crying so loudly that I was unable to get the words out, but I nonetheless managed to say that I could not come in to work. To this day I honestly cannot understand what pleasure my mother could have derived from such cruelty.

To this day, what I really cannot understand is that although my mother had a shop full of customers, not one of them intervened. Not one customer told my mother that what she was doing was not right. Not one of them asked if it would be possible to re-schedule her appointment for a more propitious time. Not one customer phoned the police.

With all of the hysteria that was going on I must have gone into shock because I started shaking all over and I had no feeling all over my body.

My mother just went on and on, and would not shut up for one minute. She threatened to phone the police and have me put in a home for delinquent teenagers. I was terror stricken that I should be put in prison. Isn’t it funny that I was made to feel that I was the one doing all of the horrible things, when in fact I was the victim. I just wonder what the police and social workers would have thought if they had actually come to the house to be told by my mother that I had the nerve to fight back after she had pushed me against a wall.

Even though I was not allowed to go outside, it was obvious that I wasn’t welcome in the shop, so I went into the bathroom and curled up in the foetal position on the floor. I just wanted everything to stop. I just wanted everything to go back to the way they were.

It didn’t stop there. My mother had to telephone her mother and tell her all about it. Of course I had no say in what had actually transpired so my grandmother thought I was some sort of violent animal. In such a dramatic fashion, my grandmother rushed into the bathroom where by this time I had been hiding, and proceeded to scream and yell at me as well.

In retrospect, I think my grandmother’s reaction was rich considering the fact that she had been having an affair with another man for 40 years and told my grandfather that if he lifted a finger to help my mother that she would leave him.

‘How could you do something like that!’, she screeched. ‘You mine as well have done it to me! You mine as well have done it to me!’, she wailed.

Finally, at about 6:00 or 7:00 that evening, I was told that we were going home. I dutifully piled into the car where Mama and Bobbie sat up front.

I just wanted to make things better and for the hell to end, and if it meant that I should apologise then that was what I would do. I told my mother that I was sorry, but for what I will never know. As far as I am aware I had done nothing to be sorry for except defend myself against some psychotic woman.

All I wanted was for everything to stop. Just stop. If everything would stop and go back to the way it had been before, I would admit defeat. I would take all of the blame. I did it all. It was all my fault.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said to my mother in a conciliatory attempt to restore harmony into an untenable situation.

‘I know you are,’ my mother replied, in what I sensed was a bit of weariness on her part.

I don’t think that my mother had honestly thought it was going to go that far. My mother had made her own life for herself with all of those strange women, and I don’t think that she anticipated losing much of her valuable socialising time by tormenting me.

When we got home, Mama and Bobbie went into the house while Bill stayed outside. I looked at Bill, and said, ‘Do you know what they did to me?’

Obviously, Mama had rung home to tell Bill all about it, so when I got home I started to tell Bill what she had done to me, but he would hear nothing of it. My mother had obviously had not told him her version of what had happened, and he was shaking with anger over what he thought I must have done.

I don’t care what she did to you. I am concerned about what you did to your mother. I love her!’

It was so obvious that my step-father had to control himself, he was so enraged. He then told me that he ‘loved’ my mother. Oh, how sickening! Mama couldn’t stand the sight of him and was out on the town living it up absolutely every night of the week, but he ‘loved’ her. ‘It was at that point that I knew that I did not have a friend in the world. I thought that when we got home, Bill would get my mother to see reason, but it was not to be. When Bill made it perfectly clear to me that he thought that I was the culprit and did not think that my mother had done anything wrong, I knew that I was in really big trouble. When Bill, the only person in the world who could help me refused, I began to think that maybe I had done something wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have defended myself when some psychotic woman attacked me.

When I was not able to garner any support from Bill, I realised that my life was going to be a living hell from that day forward.

Because my mother had Bobbie egging her on, inciting her to commit even more and more atrocities, there was absolutely no way that my mother was going to see reason.

Knowing full well that there was no one on top of that hill who was going to support me I went to my room and stayed there.

Evidently I had said something to someone about my mother, I don’t remember what, and this gave her the incentive to continue in her depravity.

My mother went into my bedroom and told me to take every last stitch of clothing off. After I was completely naked she told me to lie down on the bed and then she beat me with a leather belt that she had found from somewhere. Aside from the fact that what she did was so humiliating and traumatising, I honestly cannot see any disciplinary value in her actions.

Perhaps my mother learned to whip other naked women as one of the sex games that she played with her various girlfriends. Perhaps her parents did that sort of thing to her, which had the effect of warping her mind. Perhaps she just made it up as she went along, deriving more and more pleasure from every despicable act, becoming a dominatrix to an unwilling accomplice. Who knows where my mother learned to engage in such vulgarity, but the thought of what she did to me totally disgusts me. If my mother had not ever have done such a depraved thing to me, I would never have imagined that a person could do such a thing to her child.

My mother needed an audience to get the full feeling of satisfaction from her sadistic activities. She hadn’t gleaned enough pleasure from making me undress and whipping me in the privacy of my own room. That would not do.

I believe it was at that time that I must have lost consciousness and another personality came in to take the abuse, because my sister has had to fill me in on the next incident. My sister has told me that for as long as she lives, she will never, ever be able to get that horrible scene out of her head. My sister also informed me that whenever she protested, my mother told her that she was threatened with the same treatment if she dared to utter one word of reproach. Such was the inhumanity of the place that I once called a home.

My mother then left the room and yelled for Candice to come downstairs. Candice was instructed to sit on the couch and watch. Mama then called for the personality who had taken over my body, she went into the living room wrapped in nothing but a blanket. Mama told the person who she thought was me to put some clothes on and get back into the den. The personality who had taken my body did as she was told. When the alternate personality went back into the den, Mama instructed her to lay on the loveseat. The alternate personality put my head into the pillow as she beat my body on the legs and back until her arm hurt and she was tired.

Evidently, the cries of the personality were muffled in the pillow, but my sister was able to hear every whimper.

My mother beat my body and beat my body and beat my body. Finally, when she had worn herself out, she stopped.

‘Mama, I love you, please stop,’ the personality to had taken the beating whimpered to her tormentor.

When my mother finally stopped beating the alternate personality who had taken over my body, she got up, went to my mother, and hugged her, and uttered the words, ‘I love you.’

Well, I am here to tell you that from an early age I have not loved my mother!

Even as young as the age of six or seven, when I was sitting at the dining hall at school, I knew I did not love my mother! Someone had given me a picture of my mother, who was considered to be very beautiful, to put in my little wallet. Even as young as six or seven, I looked at the picture of a supposedly attractive young woman, and all I could see was some ugly old hag who I hated! Even at that age, I knew not to tell people how I really felt about my mother. I took the picture and put it back in my wallet without comment.

I have no idea who in the world it was who told my mother that she loved her, but it was not me!

The next thing that I remember after the beating that another personality took for me was to find my mother sitting upstairs cutting up some green beans that had been given to her. I thought that it was strange that my mother would be preparing green beans because she has never, ever displayed even the remotest interest or aptitude in cooking, cleaning or anything that may be considered domestic.

Because my mother had telephoned absolutely everyone in the world to tell them all kinds of stories about me, my grandmother and grandfather felt that they needed to come to the house. Because my mother was able to fabricate stories to make people feel sorry for her, they gave their condolences, believing every one of the lies that had crossed her lips.

The next morning, which was a Saturday, at 5.00am my mother kicked my bedroom door in. She told me to get out of bed and start cleaning the house. I was also told that she was monitoring all of my phone calls, so I had better not try to phone anyone for help.

Not knowing what my mother would do to me if I refused to comply with her demands I got up and started cleaning the house. Bill did not speak to me because he was conspiring with my mother and Bobbie to harm me. He wanted to believe all of the things that Mama had told him. Candice did not dare speak to me because she had already been told that if she supported me, they would do the same thing to her that they were doing to me. My brother was coming out of the hospital, but was in no position to do anything about it even if he wanted to.

So there I sat, all day long, cleaning that stupid house like an idiot because I knew that there was no one to help me.

The thought of leaving that house seemed totally alien to me because I did not have a place to stay, I did not have any money, and I could not even drive. I felt that I was bound to that place no matter what.

Even though I had been told not to use the telephone to make any outside phone calls, I picked it up and dialled the number to my paternal grandmother’s house. When I told my grandmother what was going on she was completely horrified. My grandmother later told me that when I told her what they were doing, she spoke to Bill and informed me that if he laid one finger on me, she would phone the police and have him arrested. As far as I am concerned, the whole lot of them should have been put in jail for what they did. It is such as shame that the state of Arkansas didn’t feel the same way.

That evening when my mother came home the entire entourage was there to garner support for her in what they assumed to be her hour of need. And of course, Bobbie was bustling around, spreading lies about me, putting her nose in where it didn’t belong. To this day I cannot understand how my mother allowed Bobbie to have such a huge influence over her, but she did.

The next day, which was a Sunday, was even more tense than before. As usual, all of my mother’s family were gathered around. They didn’t say a word to me because as far as they were concerned, I was this evil person who had done all of these awful things and they were not willing to hear anything that I had to say.

I don’t know why, but I guess because no one else was speaking to me and the fact that I was so desperate, I spoke to Bobbie to feel her out. I have to hand it to Bobbie because she was able to play both sides of the fence with such ease. She could pretend to be my friend and stab me in the back at the same time. I had completely forgotten about that incident years before, when Bobbie screeched at me that she was going to get me back for innocently telling my mother that she had gone to see one of her Johns.

That day I walked out in the woods, and for the first time I thought about ending my life to make all the pain go away. I had a kitchen knife with me and it would have been so easy to slit my wrists and end it all. In the end, however, I couldn’t do it because as much as I wanted to die, I was equally terrified of blood and gore.

I know that many people think that those who choose to end their lives are taking the coward’s way out of their problems, but I honestly feel that sometimes it takes more strength to end one’s life than to carry on living. To make the conscious decision to terminate one’s existence is taking being proactive to change a bad situation – even if the outcome is on a more permanent basis. I do not regard myself as a strong person because I chose not to end my life on the many occasions since I was 16 because that the pain inside of me was so great that I just could not bear to live any longer. What kept me intact was not because I wanted to stay and work my problems out, but rather I had an intense fear of the unknown. I honestly do not consider myself worthy of veneration because I chose not to act on my first instinct, which was to end my life. What is a more appropriate sentiment is that I was even too much of a coward to take my own life when that is what I really wanted to do.

Therefore, instead of a reprieve from the Hell that I was living in, I was forced to go back into that house because I did not know where else to go. That day I realised that my mother was never going to change and I would be living in eternal Hell for the rest of my days if I was going to stay there. As a last ditch effort, I told my mother that I wanted to go over the my grandmother’s house for the summer.

In typical fashion, my mother replied, ‘That’s fine. You can go stay with your grandmother if you want. But, if you leave this house you can never come back.’

Was she crazy? Did my mother think that I would ever want to go back to that madhouse? I politely accepted my mother’s ultimatum and started packing my bags.

Although I had enough decorum not to say how I really felt, the fact of the matter was that once I got out of that house I had no intention of ever going back. To this day what I find to be particularly odd is the fact that my mother thought I would actually want to hang around and get abused all day long.

Everybody was happy that I was leaving. Mama was happy because she did not have to look after some child that she never wanted anyway. She even came up with the perfect excuse to justify her actions by making me out to be some monster because I had the gall to push her in self defence after she repeatedly shoved me against a wall. Bill was happy because he never wanted any of my mother’s children around anyway.. Bobbie was happy because she wanted to do whatever it was she was doing with my mother unencumbered by her children, who looked on with disapproval.

As I was packing my things to leave that house that had caused me so much anguish, my brother went and spoke to me.

The only thing that Marc could say was, ‘I think you’re doing the right thing.’

Candice didn’t say anything to me when I left because she had already been sufficiently threatened by the ‘adults’ and was informed that if she voiced any concerns for my welfare that they would do the same thing to her. Candice, if anything, is a survivalist and although she cared for me, was not prepared to be treated the way that they treated me, and therefore chose to keep her mouth over all that was going on under the roof that we lived in.

The only person to express any concern at all over the fact that I was leaving was my grandfather, who told me, ‘I think you’re making a big mistake.’ I don’t know why he said that. I don’t know why he thought I was leaving a house of torment.

But of course, my grandfather did not know all of the things that his daughter had done to me. He did not have to live with her and be subjected, day in and day, out to her violent mood swings. But then again, from what I understand from my mother and her siblings, my grandfather was not averse to hitting his children if they got out of line, so I can only imagine that he didn’t think my mother did anything wrong when she abused me privately and publicly.

As I put all of my things in the car, Bill drove me to my grandmother’s house. I was happy to leave just so I could get some peace, and hoped that the Hell they had put me through would cease. Everyone else was happy for me to leave because they wanted to go back to their insane, dysfunctional lives and not have to worry that anyone might actually be concerned about the way that they were behaving.

When I left, I apparently wrote on a sheet of paper, ‘The opposite of evil is live’, and left the note for Candice. I very vaguely remember do this, and can only assume that I had been molested to such an extent that weekend, that I really was a bad or evil person.

According to my sister, that weekend my mother took the note and read it out loud to her. The way my mother behaved frightened Candice so much that she has concluded that my mother must undoubtedly be possessed by demons. I have taken the less religious view to analysing my mother’s behaviour, however. I believe my mother has a severe personality disorder and should never, under any circumstances, be allowed near children or young people.

My twin and I will be scarred from our mother’s abuse for the rest of our lives. Even though the abuse I endured was targeted to harm me more extensively than my sister, in many ways I feel my sister has been more damaged. The reason being that the things my mother did to me were so awful that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that my mother was engaging in pure wickedness. My sister’s abuse, however, was much more subtle, which left her wondering if it was all in her imagination. As a result of the abuse that my sister and I both endured, I have become a depressive, always wanting to take my life any time I become distraught. My twin, on the other hand, is somewhat more manic, always trying to find a suitable outlet for the anger and rage that resides within her; an anger that she has never been able to adequately work through.