First time on here..

Hi,

Y’all can call me Tin if you’d like.

My story and why I’m here?

Well, I was a victim of a very violent form of abuse. My father, a drunk sadistic bastard, would beat my brothers and I. Though I was left without an escape my brothers could run to school, as I was only 4 through 8 at the time.

My mother was framed for abusing us when we were young. I was 3, and my brothers were 4 and 7. Our church were the ones who framed her, and lied to DCFS which led to our being taken away from her.

I suffer from a form of PTSD, sort of like battle syndrome due to the nature of my age, and how “absorbent” I was at that time. I remember horrible things from an age that 98% of human beings can’t fathom their existence from the time.

I remember the lights coming up the road of that night. Though I never understood it until I grew older. I remember being shoved into the back of the police car and screaming out the back window for my mother as she faded in the distance, covered by gravel dust and just out of my view.

I remember the foster home we were shipped too like dogs. Her name was Teresa Brown, a sickly woman with two sons. At the age of 3, she was determined that I picked up a 40 lb. rock, and proceeded to crush her cat with it. She split my skull open 1 every few days after that till we were shipped to our fathers.

He was the worst. Drunk all day, and addicted to wrestling and violence. Loved to break beer bottles over mine and my brother’s heads when he was done. He never saw a sensible reason to buy an ash tray because he had us to put them out on. He never cleaned up after his own kids (our half brothers and sister), instead he made us do it, and we had to make it spick and span, dead eye perfect or we’d get beaten with whatever was out-of-place.

I remember him beating me with a jar of peanut butter because I put it in the wrong spot in the pantry, though I was too short to reach where it was meant to be.

His favorite pastime after my brothers would go to school was a thing he called “Bruise Ball.”

I remember being tied to a piece of ply board in the garage and senselessly beaten with a baseball bat. Then a chain. Then a hammer. Etc. It went on and on forever until he got tired. Then I was thrown down the basement steps and left to rot.

I would go upstairs to clean and pick up trash, and would stay downstairs during company, and almost any other time of the day.

Many, other things happened during that time that I remember today. Therapy doesn’t help, it only makes the flashbacks worse. The only things I’ve been able to find to cope is Smoking, Drinking, and abusing myself.

At the Age of 17, because of the physical trauma I’ve suffered, I currently am suffering from DJD (Degenerative Disk Disease) JRA (Junior rheumatoid Arthritis) Carpel tunnel, and have been told by my neurological surgeon I may or may not have 5 years left to walk.

The days are growing more and more pointless. I can hardly sleep without seeing his face in my nightmares. I’ve tried and tried to use it as an “up” and have been able to obtain some success.

At the age of 17 I am currently enrolled in college, and have been in a relationship for coming on 6 years, and going strong. We got engaged last year in February, and she’s the only thing holding me here right now.

Each day is a struggle, yet when she’s around its better. She wakes me up from my night terrors, and assures me he’s not around. She snaps me out of my flashes and grounds me back to where I am at. She helps me remember myself and her when I have seizures due to high brain injuries.

I’ve attempted suicide many times. 3 times between the ages 4 and 8. It’s a miracle I’ve survived, as he never took any of us to the hospital for any injuries.

I slit my own throat at the age of 6 and I remember his reaction. He walked into the kitchen, looked down and said. “oh. Boys! come get your piece of shit brother off the floor in my kitchen, and mop up this blood.” My eldest brother, proceeded to carry me into the bathroom where he stopped the bleeding with a warm wash-rag.

I’ve tried pills, I’ve tried jumping from heights, and I’ve ever tried the fumes from my truck’s exhaust. Nothing has been able to end this as of yet.

However, I will continue to try to survive this Hell called life, in hopes that some people may understand what I’ve been through, and am currently going through.

I hope you all find your grounds to hold you here.

If not, and if you lose this fight, I swear I’ll see you in the next life. Wherever that may be.

-Tin Cup

I found it very helpful to type all of this out.. maybe this is a good way to work through these issues.