throwaway cuz I don't like people who know me to know, which I guess is what a throwaway is always for! anyway...

when I was a kid, I was abused. made to drink vinegar, hot sauce, lemon juice. hit with belts and pieces of wood that had holes drilled in them because as my dad put it the holes created a stronger force which made it hit us (my brother and I) harder. he usually would do a few practice swings while smiling/laughing before hitting us. he'd also casually do this even when we hadn't been "bad" to remind us not to step out of line. my parents are very religious people, my dad being radically religious. from the time I was about 6 until I was about 12 I was physically and emotionally traumatized by both of my parents, but the physical abuse stopped once I was in school. I won't get into all the details, but my mom made sure that I was cut off from any and all social/emotional growth or relationships with others for a very long time. Everyone thought my dad was a really, really nice guy. Lots of people knew my mom was not nice, though. I had several adults reach out to me but she always found out and never let them get close enough to actually help me. One day when I was 14, I just decided that enough was enough. I ran away from home. I was found less than 2 days later, and brought home by authorities. I had NEVER done any drugs/drank in my life, but my mom insisted that I was high and a danger to myself and my family. I spent the next 48 hours shackled by my hands and feet to a hospital bed while they did all this blood work to see what I was on (literally nothing.) The next day, I was moved to a psych ward, in an all white room, where I was strapped to a bed and a psychologist came to speak with me. He asked me a lot of questions that I'll never forget. I never imagined anyone would think to ever ask someone like me those kinds of questions. That is one of the hardest memories for me, I get teared up thinking about it. Anyway, turns out my parents were trying to admit me to this place, and I was appointed my own lawyer to fight them on it. Luckily for me, every cop, judge, hospital worker, and human being I had come into contact with could see the situation for what it was and I was sent home. Seeing sane people in the outside world acknowledge my pain meant more than I ever thought it would. It took a very long time after that, but by some miracle.. one day, the abuse was over and I was treated with respect and given my freedom. I wish I knew what happened to spark such a drastic change. My parents have changed so much since then, but refuse to accept responsibility for anything - my mom still claims that my "little stunt" I pulled that weekend was all due to me being a bratty, angsty, teenager. Neither of them can recall any physical abuse. I just realized that no one may even read this because it's probably pretty long, but it helps to get it out of my head so maybe I won't have to think about it for awhile.