Born in Hell Photo Gallery
My name is Laurie Ann Smith-Tornerup. I am a child abuse survivor. I grew up in a dysfunctional, abusive home in which my parents were both diagnosed mentally ill, psychologically ill when they were arrested and brought up on child abuse charges. My dad had beaten my brother Rob badly, and Rob went to school bruised and battered. His teacher got the authorities involved and we had a child protective services intervention done. My parents were arrested and charged with child abuse and neglect and were court ordered to attend counselling sessions as well as individual counselling for their own mental issues and marital issues. My parents only attended two sessions. The social workers came around from the time I was 2 years old until I was about 3 1/2 checking for signs of abuse. They signed off of the case and the abuse started again. We are a family that slipped through the cracks and as we know, this is common and this is why children continue to be abused and end up in the morgue. I have been on my healing journey from the abuse since May 22, 2007 doing the majority of the work from 2009 to present. I am a Child Abuse Prevention Public Speaking Advocate speaking at events and my own online radio shows since November 2009. It is my hope to be able to continue to promote child abuse prevention awareness and be an encouragement for survivors as long as I live and breath. Over the years I have had thousands of people support my work and I thank you all for your support and for all you do to help save children lives.
My school photo, 1972
This photo was taken when I was 6 years old, 3rd grade elementary school photo. My mom
borrowed this cute red dress from a neighbour a few houses down from us. I have only seen three photos of me that are younger than this picture. They are missing. I only had one baby
picture taken and only a couple of photos from age 1 to 7 years old. I managed to hang on to
most of my school photos and I don't have the first 2 that were taken. I loved this dress and
always cherished this pic. I was being abused from birth by my mom, dad and siblings. My
mom was beating me with belts, her fists, and any other hard implements she could get a hold of while abusing me. My dad was mainly slapping me or hitting me with his belt at this time. The year before this pic was taken my dad was going to beat me for not listening to him and dragged me by my leg through the hall and doorway into my bedroom and twisted my hip out of place, injuring me for life.
This photo was taken when I was 6 years old, 3rd grade elementary school photo. My mom
borrowed this cute red dress from a neighbour a few houses down from us. I have only seen three photos of me that are younger than this picture. They are missing. I only had one baby
picture taken and only a couple of photos from age 1 to 7 years old. I managed to hang on to
most of my school photos and I don't have the first 2 that were taken. I loved this dress and
always cherished this pic. I was being abused from birth by my mom, dad and siblings. My
mom was beating me with belts, her fists, and any other hard implements she could get a hold of while abusing me. My dad was mainly slapping me or hitting me with his belt at this time. The year before this pic was taken my dad was going to beat me for not listening to him and dragged me by my leg through the hall and doorway into my bedroom and twisted my hip out of place, injuring me for life.
This photo was taken in Burnaby, Vancouver, Canada. We moved from New Mexico to Vancouver Canada for 3 months summer 1972. My dad sold our house out from underneath my mom. That summer we lived in a motel on Kingsway Road for one month before moving into this rental house for 2 months. My sister Kathi was 5 1/2 years older than me and I was 6 years old in this picture. We lived in this house for about 2 months and then moved back to Albuquerque, New Mexico to "hell house" which was 2 blocks from the house we used to own on La Veta. My brother Chesley, age 19, was murdered that October, just 3 months after we moved back to New Mexico. His murder is still unsolved.
This pic was taken at Kitsilano Beach, Vancouver when we were there for the summer. My brother Rob (20 years old) on left with cut jeans, he did not have any shorts so he made some. My brother Chesley on the right. He was 19 years old here. This photo can be seen better at my Flickr site at https://flic.kr/p/772ntB. You can enlarge the pic by clicking on it on the site.
My school photo, 1973
I am 7 years old in this photo. My birthday is late in the year so I would be turning 8 before the new year. This is the last year I would be a virgin as my brother began to sexually abuse me that winter. I suffered repeated child rape, sodomy and sexual abuse for nearly one year from January 1974 until October that year. My mom knew about the incest, because I had developed a bad infection as a result of the damage done and I began to get sick. After the third sexual assault rape I told my mom and she did nothing to help me except to say that it was "my problem" and not "her problem" and for me to "wrap myself up like a mummy at night with my blankets". That was her answer. She turned a blind eye, and a blind ear to the sexual assaults my brother inflicted on me. I sat in bathtubs of rose coloured bloody water, holding my legs, rocking back and forth in so much pain from the rape and sodomy. I was afraid I would die, and then after so many more rapes and assaults on my body, I was hoping I would die. The damage done to my body was irreparable even if I had decided as an adult to have reconstructive surgery. I was made barren by my brother who was 21 years old at the time of the CSA, he was about 6'5" tall and weighed around 200 lbs. The damage to my mind and heart and spirit and soul left me wanting to die. My mom was abusing me severely at this time, beating me with heavy objects and cracked my head open with the wooden handle of a meat mallet and then beat me in the kitchen. I realised at this time that my mom was truly trying to hurt me and that I was just a punching bag for her. I was made to take it, deal with it, be okay with it. If I cried I was beaten again until I stopped crying. If I said anything I was beaten again for "opening my G'damn mouth". My mom called me a whore because my brother raped me and my brother called me "his whore" while raping me. I began to shut down at this point in my life and began to hate my self, my family and life itself.
I am 7 years old in this photo. My birthday is late in the year so I would be turning 8 before the new year. This is the last year I would be a virgin as my brother began to sexually abuse me that winter. I suffered repeated child rape, sodomy and sexual abuse for nearly one year from January 1974 until October that year. My mom knew about the incest, because I had developed a bad infection as a result of the damage done and I began to get sick. After the third sexual assault rape I told my mom and she did nothing to help me except to say that it was "my problem" and not "her problem" and for me to "wrap myself up like a mummy at night with my blankets". That was her answer. She turned a blind eye, and a blind ear to the sexual assaults my brother inflicted on me. I sat in bathtubs of rose coloured bloody water, holding my legs, rocking back and forth in so much pain from the rape and sodomy. I was afraid I would die, and then after so many more rapes and assaults on my body, I was hoping I would die. The damage done to my body was irreparable even if I had decided as an adult to have reconstructive surgery. I was made barren by my brother who was 21 years old at the time of the CSA, he was about 6'5" tall and weighed around 200 lbs. The damage to my mind and heart and spirit and soul left me wanting to die. My mom was abusing me severely at this time, beating me with heavy objects and cracked my head open with the wooden handle of a meat mallet and then beat me in the kitchen. I realised at this time that my mom was truly trying to hurt me and that I was just a punching bag for her. I was made to take it, deal with it, be okay with it. If I cried I was beaten again until I stopped crying. If I said anything I was beaten again for "opening my G'damn mouth". My mom called me a whore because my brother raped me and my brother called me "his whore" while raping me. I began to shut down at this point in my life and began to hate my self, my family and life itself.
Arlene, my BFF (left) and me Christmas 1973, I had just turned 8 years old in December. The CSA began in January 1974. |
Rob at Christmas time, 21 years old, 1973 |
Christmas 1976, 10 years old
My mom had beaten my face severely in October, 2 1/2 months before this pic was
taken. She broke my nose, busted my lips, and left huge, raised welts on my cheeks.
The beating she gave me rearranged my face and took a long time to heal. The family
that took me to see Santa Claus had to beg my mom to let me go. She told them I was
a "rotten bitch" and that I "did not deserve to go see Santa Claus". They finally convinced
her to let me go with them to take a picture with Santa at the mall. I was very happy to
be able to go with them and have fun with them and their little daughter Melissa, my
little friend who was 4 years younger than me.
My mom had beaten my face severely in October, 2 1/2 months before this pic was
taken. She broke my nose, busted my lips, and left huge, raised welts on my cheeks.
The beating she gave me rearranged my face and took a long time to heal. The family
that took me to see Santa Claus had to beg my mom to let me go. She told them I was
a "rotten bitch" and that I "did not deserve to go see Santa Claus". They finally convinced
her to let me go with them to take a picture with Santa at the mall. I was very happy to
be able to go with them and have fun with them and their little daughter Melissa, my
little friend who was 4 years younger than me.
This is my school photo from 6th grade. The year before this pic was taken I had hit my dad in the back
of his head with my pink, plastic, jumbo bat. My dad was always raping my mom, or attempting to
rape her, and she had just come out of surgery. I thought he was trying to rape her again and hit him
yelling at him to "leave her alone!". He grabbed me, shook me, slapped me and back-handed me, and
picked me up by my arms, he threw me against a wall as hard as he could, giving me a concussion as
well as neck damage. He then began cursing me and kicking me until my brother Howard came and
got me out of the room away from him.
school photo, 6th grade
10 years old
of his head with my pink, plastic, jumbo bat. My dad was always raping my mom, or attempting to
rape her, and she had just come out of surgery. I thought he was trying to rape her again and hit him
yelling at him to "leave her alone!". He grabbed me, shook me, slapped me and back-handed me, and
picked me up by my arms, he threw me against a wall as hard as he could, giving me a concussion as
well as neck damage. He then began cursing me and kicking me until my brother Howard came and
got me out of the room away from him.
school photo, 6th grade
10 years old
This school photo is from 7th grade, I was 11 years old. That year my mom had been abusing
me severely, burning me in the oven as well as beating me in the front yard of Hell House in the summer time with a belt. She had pushed me down into a cactus patch in the front yard and beat the back of my legs until they were bloody. The belt was whipping up dirt and dust and many people saw the beating and did nothing to stop it. I sat in the bathtub after that beating, and pulled the cactus needles and thorns out of my hands, arms, knees and legs. I had been made to endure horrific beatings from my mother mainly, but my dad was also very abusive toward me.
school photo, 7th grade
11 years old
me severely, burning me in the oven as well as beating me in the front yard of Hell House in the summer time with a belt. She had pushed me down into a cactus patch in the front yard and beat the back of my legs until they were bloody. The belt was whipping up dirt and dust and many people saw the beating and did nothing to stop it. I sat in the bathtub after that beating, and pulled the cactus needles and thorns out of my hands, arms, knees and legs. I had been made to endure horrific beatings from my mother mainly, but my dad was also very abusive toward me.
school photo, 7th grade
11 years old
Hell House
This pic is extremely small but I cannot seem to find a photo editing program that will allow me to increase the pic
size without corrupting the picture. I have this pic on my Flickr site at https://flic.kr/p/772SPv and if you click on the actual pic it will increase in size so you can actually see it. Top left, Howard, Top centre, Mom, Top right, Rob, Bottom
Left, me, Bottom centre next to me, my nephew Mike, Bottom Left next to Mike, my nephew Danny holding our cat. Kathi is right below Rob, and behind Danny.
This pic was taken in the kitchen in the house we lived in right next to the house we used to own on La Veta. This is the kitchen my mom beat me with the rolling pen in. I suffered several horrific beatings from both my parents in this kitchen. My mom spilled by blood three times in this kitchen, as well as threatened my life several times during the beatings. My mom used to keep belts hanging on a nail on the kitchen wall in all the houses we lived in while I was growing up, and I used to have a picture of them in this kitchen. I drew a picture (bottom of page) of them as part of my healing journey. My brother Rob had attempted suicide and my mom brought him down from Canada to heal for a few months. I was 12 1/2 years old at this time and had not seen my brother Rob since he left when I was 9 years old. I did not want to be in this photo and the reason you cannot see my arms and I'm standing in a strange position is because my mom had me by my arms and was pinching my side at the time this pic was taken, forcing me to be in the picture. The reason I did not want to be in this photo was because my brother Rob (blowing smoke ring in back) was my abuser, child rape, incest, child sexual abuse, sodomy from 8 to 9 years old. My mom brought him home to stay with us for a while because he attempted suicide by slicing his wrists and she thought it would be good to have him "home".
This picture bothers me intensely as my mom was my main abuser and there she is smiling just as nice as can be, with my rapist brother by her side. My mom knew my brother Rob was raping me and did nothing to stop it. She was two rooms away when my brother was raping me during the night, and she chose to close her ears and eyes to the horrific sexual assaults I was forced to endure. With the noise of the headboard hitting the wall, my muffled screams of agony because I was gagged, the noise of the squeaking box springs from the rapes, I cannot understand how she could have chosen to not help me and get me medical attention, and press charges against my brother. I have had a lifetime to think about this and I understand now that she was not going to help me out because she was being raped by my dad, so she was not going to stop my brother from raping me. My brother told me one time while raping me, that he knew "our mom did not care if he raped (f*cked) me every other night". While my brother was recuperating from his suicide attempt, he stayed with us for a few months and during this time I was afraid he would rape me again. He did threaten to rape (f*ck) me again if I came near him and told me to stay away from him, so I did.
size without corrupting the picture. I have this pic on my Flickr site at https://flic.kr/p/772SPv and if you click on the actual pic it will increase in size so you can actually see it. Top left, Howard, Top centre, Mom, Top right, Rob, Bottom
Left, me, Bottom centre next to me, my nephew Mike, Bottom Left next to Mike, my nephew Danny holding our cat. Kathi is right below Rob, and behind Danny.
This pic was taken in the kitchen in the house we lived in right next to the house we used to own on La Veta. This is the kitchen my mom beat me with the rolling pen in. I suffered several horrific beatings from both my parents in this kitchen. My mom spilled by blood three times in this kitchen, as well as threatened my life several times during the beatings. My mom used to keep belts hanging on a nail on the kitchen wall in all the houses we lived in while I was growing up, and I used to have a picture of them in this kitchen. I drew a picture (bottom of page) of them as part of my healing journey. My brother Rob had attempted suicide and my mom brought him down from Canada to heal for a few months. I was 12 1/2 years old at this time and had not seen my brother Rob since he left when I was 9 years old. I did not want to be in this photo and the reason you cannot see my arms and I'm standing in a strange position is because my mom had me by my arms and was pinching my side at the time this pic was taken, forcing me to be in the picture. The reason I did not want to be in this photo was because my brother Rob (blowing smoke ring in back) was my abuser, child rape, incest, child sexual abuse, sodomy from 8 to 9 years old. My mom brought him home to stay with us for a while because he attempted suicide by slicing his wrists and she thought it would be good to have him "home".
This picture bothers me intensely as my mom was my main abuser and there she is smiling just as nice as can be, with my rapist brother by her side. My mom knew my brother Rob was raping me and did nothing to stop it. She was two rooms away when my brother was raping me during the night, and she chose to close her ears and eyes to the horrific sexual assaults I was forced to endure. With the noise of the headboard hitting the wall, my muffled screams of agony because I was gagged, the noise of the squeaking box springs from the rapes, I cannot understand how she could have chosen to not help me and get me medical attention, and press charges against my brother. I have had a lifetime to think about this and I understand now that she was not going to help me out because she was being raped by my dad, so she was not going to stop my brother from raping me. My brother told me one time while raping me, that he knew "our mom did not care if he raped (f*cked) me every other night". While my brother was recuperating from his suicide attempt, he stayed with us for a few months and during this time I was afraid he would rape me again. He did threaten to rape (f*ck) me again if I came near him and told me to stay away from him, so I did.
Back on La Veta next door to the house we used to own
This pic was taken when I was 12 years old. This year my brother Rob, who had abused me
sexually at age 8 to 9 years old, attempted suicide by slicing his arms up his veins. He called
my mom to tell her he was committing suicide. My mom put me on the phone with him
while she went across the street to use the neighbours phone to call for help as my brother
was in Canada. My brother who was 25 at this time, began to tell me how much he enjoyed
using my body sexually as a child. He began describing just how much he enjoyed "F'ing"
me and how sensual and soft my skin was against his. I was in shock as I held the phone, I
began to shake and my heart was pounding because I knew he was talking about what he
had done to me when I was 8 years old. I remembered the sexual assaults, the violent raping of my body as I was tied up, gagged and tape put over my mouth for frontal assaults to prevent me from biting him. No tape was used for other assaults. My brother was saved that time and my mom brought him home to stay with us while his arms healed up from the suicide attempt. I was afraid that he would rape me again and he threatened to rape me if I did not stay away from him. This abuse caused me a life time of hell and pain as well as the abuse my mom was inflicting on me and my dad. My dad began to beat me across the face with his belt buckle at this time. He would shove me against a wall and force his knuckles into my ribs which would automatically cause me to use my hands to try and get his knuckles out of my ribs which caused me extreme pain. He would whip off his belt and pull it back and beat me across the face with the belt buckle end of the belt. I began to curse at him and tell him I hated him to his face which would then give him an excuse to throw me to the ground and beat my back and legs with the belt. At this point, I did not care anymore and wanted to die.
School photo, 8th grade
12 years old and wearing the same top as school pic above, which belonged to my sister Kathi.
sexually at age 8 to 9 years old, attempted suicide by slicing his arms up his veins. He called
my mom to tell her he was committing suicide. My mom put me on the phone with him
while she went across the street to use the neighbours phone to call for help as my brother
was in Canada. My brother who was 25 at this time, began to tell me how much he enjoyed
using my body sexually as a child. He began describing just how much he enjoyed "F'ing"
me and how sensual and soft my skin was against his. I was in shock as I held the phone, I
began to shake and my heart was pounding because I knew he was talking about what he
had done to me when I was 8 years old. I remembered the sexual assaults, the violent raping of my body as I was tied up, gagged and tape put over my mouth for frontal assaults to prevent me from biting him. No tape was used for other assaults. My brother was saved that time and my mom brought him home to stay with us while his arms healed up from the suicide attempt. I was afraid that he would rape me again and he threatened to rape me if I did not stay away from him. This abuse caused me a life time of hell and pain as well as the abuse my mom was inflicting on me and my dad. My dad began to beat me across the face with his belt buckle at this time. He would shove me against a wall and force his knuckles into my ribs which would automatically cause me to use my hands to try and get his knuckles out of my ribs which caused me extreme pain. He would whip off his belt and pull it back and beat me across the face with the belt buckle end of the belt. I began to curse at him and tell him I hated him to his face which would then give him an excuse to throw me to the ground and beat my back and legs with the belt. At this point, I did not care anymore and wanted to die.
School photo, 8th grade
12 years old and wearing the same top as school pic above, which belonged to my sister Kathi.
This pic is my school pic from 9th grade. It was the next summer at age 13 when my mom
beat me with the rolling pen in the kitchen, cracking my skull and beating my back, neck,
shoulders, ribs until she had no energy left to continue the beating. I had a bad car wreck at
age 18, in which they had to do full body x-rays checking for broken bones and internal
damage to my body. At this time, the specialists revealed to me that the x-rays had shown
multiple fractures to my skull in different places, neck damage, cracked and fractured ribs, separated ribs, as well as the hip injury, fractured coccyx and CSA, child sexual abuse. They advised that the damage to my body had been done years before, as these were the old fractures revealed by the x-rays. They asked me if I had been abused at that time. I was over 18 years old and it was up to me to press charges. The same thing happened to me when I went to see the gynaecologist at age 21 in which I had filled out the forms saying I was a "virgin" and had never had sexual intercourse before with anyone. They explained the damage to my body, the scar tissue, and advised that I would probably never be able to become pregnant, or even carry a child, even with reconstructive surgery. I explained that
the person who had done that to me was my brother who had raped me from 8 to 9
years old when he was 21 and that he had committed suicide the year before when I was 20
years old.
School photo, 9th grade
13 years old. My mom finally bought me a new top and jeans and a bra for the first time. My friend Arlene (BFF) curled my hair and put make up on me at her house the day of school pics.
beat me with the rolling pen in the kitchen, cracking my skull and beating my back, neck,
shoulders, ribs until she had no energy left to continue the beating. I had a bad car wreck at
age 18, in which they had to do full body x-rays checking for broken bones and internal
damage to my body. At this time, the specialists revealed to me that the x-rays had shown
multiple fractures to my skull in different places, neck damage, cracked and fractured ribs, separated ribs, as well as the hip injury, fractured coccyx and CSA, child sexual abuse. They advised that the damage to my body had been done years before, as these were the old fractures revealed by the x-rays. They asked me if I had been abused at that time. I was over 18 years old and it was up to me to press charges. The same thing happened to me when I went to see the gynaecologist at age 21 in which I had filled out the forms saying I was a "virgin" and had never had sexual intercourse before with anyone. They explained the damage to my body, the scar tissue, and advised that I would probably never be able to become pregnant, or even carry a child, even with reconstructive surgery. I explained that
the person who had done that to me was my brother who had raped me from 8 to 9
years old when he was 21 and that he had committed suicide the year before when I was 20
years old.
School photo, 9th grade
13 years old. My mom finally bought me a new top and jeans and a bra for the first time. My friend Arlene (BFF) curled my hair and put make up on me at her house the day of school pics.
This photo was taken in October, after a beating my mom gave me in front of my BFF Di. I was 15 years old, 2 months away from my 16th birthday. I was in 12th grade. My BFF Di was 13 years old. My friend watched my mom punch my spine as hard as she could, knocking me down two sets of stairs into my bedroom, and then as I lay on the ground, my mom began to back hand my face, slapping me, punching me, pulling my hair and kicking me all the while screaming at me and calling me names. My friend told my mom that there were laws against child abuse. My mom let me go and turned to my friend telling her to get out of her house. I left the house after my friend, slamming the screen door several times and yelled at my mom, "you wanna beat me? you wanna beat me? you wanna beat me? Go ahead!! I'm sick of it". I slammed the door one more time and said, "I KNOW YOU DO!!! NO MORE!" and ran to catch up with my friend who had began to walk home to her house. I spent the night on her couch that night and would spend many nights on her couch after that until the age of 19 years old.
Earlier that year during the summer I suffered two beatings from my mom and dad. My mom had beaten me severely for something the neighbour kids had done that I had no part of. She wrenched my arm and knocked me to the ground on my knees, kneed me in the face with her knee and began to slap me, backhand me, punch me. I was on my hands and knees protecting my head and she continued the beating, punching my back and pounding me with her fists as hard as she could. She cursed me and kicked my side as hard as she could several times. When she had finished beating me she went into the kitchen and threw a fit, called my oldest sister Irene to tell her how much she hated me, hated my attitude, wanted me out of the house, wanted me gone and wanted to kill me because of all the trouble I had caused her. I got up off the floor and went to my room to see what damage was done to my face again. I could not defend myself or I would receive another beating so I just stayed in my room listening to my mom talking to my sister about how bad I was.
Within a few weeks of that beating my mom gave me, my dad beat me with a branch from a Spanish Broom plant we had in our side yard. My friends and I were having fun chasing each other around with that branch and my dad came around the corner and saw me chasing a neighbourhood boy who lived across the street. My dad decided to "teach me a lesson" and grabbed the cane from my hand, knocked me down face up in the dirt side yard and whipped my legs with it putting me into convulsions from the pain. My dad was 6'5" tall and weighed about 250 lbs. He was ex-military and did one handed push ups in the morning. When he decided he had inflicted enough pain, he broke the cane over his knee, threw it on the ground next to me and went into the house. My friends were across the street, they left when he started to beat me.
One week after this beating from my dad and the previous one from my mom, my parents were having another one of their regular domestic disputes at night. I could hear my dad slap my mom and my mom screaming at him. I was laying on my bed listening to them fight. I was thinking to myself, "why should I care? why should I go help my mom? The two of them just finished beating the crap out of me and why should I care? Let them kill each other, see if I care!" but I could not stand to listen to my dad slapping my mom and my mom crying out. I heard a big crash and I went out to see if I could get my dad to leave my mom alone. My mom had bashed my dad in the head with a huge, heavy ceramic lamp we had in the living room. My dad had blood pouring from the gash on his head. He still had my mom up against the wall and I approached him, telling him to "leave her alone!". He let go of my mom and grabbed me by my arms. He shoved me as hard as he could across the room into my bedroom wall. My head and back hit the wall and I slumped to the ground, dazed and almost unconscious. My mom pushed past my dad and said to him, "if you ever touch me again, I will kill you!!" and went into the kitchen. My dad went to his bedroom and I was laying on the floor again, in so much pain, wondering why I bothered to protect my mom from my dad, when she had been beating me, burning me, cursing me, allowed my brother to rape me? It was because it was the right thing to do. I got up off the ground and went back to my room with a massive headache and backache. This was my life. My mom never thanked me for trying to protect her from my dad even though she knew I suffered beatings at his hands to do so, and suffered a life time of skull, neck, and back damage from being thrown into walls by him.
Earlier that year during the summer I suffered two beatings from my mom and dad. My mom had beaten me severely for something the neighbour kids had done that I had no part of. She wrenched my arm and knocked me to the ground on my knees, kneed me in the face with her knee and began to slap me, backhand me, punch me. I was on my hands and knees protecting my head and she continued the beating, punching my back and pounding me with her fists as hard as she could. She cursed me and kicked my side as hard as she could several times. When she had finished beating me she went into the kitchen and threw a fit, called my oldest sister Irene to tell her how much she hated me, hated my attitude, wanted me out of the house, wanted me gone and wanted to kill me because of all the trouble I had caused her. I got up off the floor and went to my room to see what damage was done to my face again. I could not defend myself or I would receive another beating so I just stayed in my room listening to my mom talking to my sister about how bad I was.
Within a few weeks of that beating my mom gave me, my dad beat me with a branch from a Spanish Broom plant we had in our side yard. My friends and I were having fun chasing each other around with that branch and my dad came around the corner and saw me chasing a neighbourhood boy who lived across the street. My dad decided to "teach me a lesson" and grabbed the cane from my hand, knocked me down face up in the dirt side yard and whipped my legs with it putting me into convulsions from the pain. My dad was 6'5" tall and weighed about 250 lbs. He was ex-military and did one handed push ups in the morning. When he decided he had inflicted enough pain, he broke the cane over his knee, threw it on the ground next to me and went into the house. My friends were across the street, they left when he started to beat me.
One week after this beating from my dad and the previous one from my mom, my parents were having another one of their regular domestic disputes at night. I could hear my dad slap my mom and my mom screaming at him. I was laying on my bed listening to them fight. I was thinking to myself, "why should I care? why should I go help my mom? The two of them just finished beating the crap out of me and why should I care? Let them kill each other, see if I care!" but I could not stand to listen to my dad slapping my mom and my mom crying out. I heard a big crash and I went out to see if I could get my dad to leave my mom alone. My mom had bashed my dad in the head with a huge, heavy ceramic lamp we had in the living room. My dad had blood pouring from the gash on his head. He still had my mom up against the wall and I approached him, telling him to "leave her alone!". He let go of my mom and grabbed me by my arms. He shoved me as hard as he could across the room into my bedroom wall. My head and back hit the wall and I slumped to the ground, dazed and almost unconscious. My mom pushed past my dad and said to him, "if you ever touch me again, I will kill you!!" and went into the kitchen. My dad went to his bedroom and I was laying on the floor again, in so much pain, wondering why I bothered to protect my mom from my dad, when she had been beating me, burning me, cursing me, allowed my brother to rape me? It was because it was the right thing to do. I got up off the ground and went back to my room with a massive headache and backache. This was my life. My mom never thanked me for trying to protect her from my dad even though she knew I suffered beatings at his hands to do so, and suffered a life time of skull, neck, and back damage from being thrown into walls by him.
