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My Worth Consists, NOT..........

Discussion in 'After Effects' started by Terror, Nov 30, 2009.

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  1. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    To my good disciples, seeing the cheerful, pleasant and wonderful life I now live not only can easily perceive that I am rolling high but that I was born with the golden spoon in my mouth. Let it be known to you all that my worth consist not on what I have but who I am, what I am will show in what I do. For which reason you have to actually open my book and carefully weigh what's written in it.
  2. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    The Painful Years

    I was born in Orange Walk Town, Belize Central America. I am the second of 3 children. I became fatherless when I was 3. My father was murdered by unknown subjects while he and his brother planted sugar cane. The official report states that my father was the first to be killed with a rifle shot in the back and my uncle was next shot in the chest as he turned to attend to my father. They were then decapitated. The murders were publicizing nationwide on September of 1974. Media provided graphic account to the point of tabloid speculation capitalizing on the gruesome details. Until this day the reason for the murders remains a mystery.
    My mother was left to care for the 3 of us by herself. Alone, impoverished, grasping, and enraged, she planted in me a terror that grew to epic proportion. As if to expiate her own painful existence, she meted out punishment without relent or remorse for even the smallest of transgressions, whether real or imagined. While still a toddler I was selected as her prime target for practicing various forms of torture. With a morbid ardor she was delighted by the evidence her efforts produced. Bruises, welts, cuts, gashes, second even third degree burns, could be provided by a various media. Weapons of an untold variety were used, among them thick cords, sticks, machetes, knives, shoes, ropes, wire, pots, pans-all proved reliable. But all of these paled to her undisputed favorite, blazing firewood. Pressing a burning stick into my 7 year old flesh, she would speak assurance of love and redemption. I would plead "mama please don't' love me anymore!" Often, after beating me until she was exhausted, she voiced regret: "You ugly sonuvabytch, I should have aborted you! But I WILL KILL YOU- I will kill you - only slowly... and painfully..." After spent from exertion Mother would typically grind salt into my open wounds. On other occasions she would make a spread of rice, corn, gravel or coke stoppers. I was then ordered to kneel while holding a heavy stone with my arms held high for ten minutes. She would hit me if I lowered my arms and this would result in an increase of the sentence to 20 minutes. The ritual would more often end though, when she declared "Enough!" or until I passed out. I was not yet old enough and such concepts seemed foreign and distant to me. I began to contemplate death as the only way out.
    I was about 8 when my mother, in a seeming act of charity, gave a Salvadorian refugee, a sugar cane cutter, a chance to stay at our hut, his wife having recently died from childbirth complications. "John Doe" AKA Jessie came with his 2, 3 days and 2 yr old girls. Within a few months Mother and Jessie were romantically involved. Jessie unwittingly made matters worse when he tried to prevent my mother from hitting me, He and Mother would get in fist fights when he tried to yank me away from her. Jessie's intervention enraged my mother even more. I begged Jessie not to defend me as his intent of protection would only produce more of Mother's attacks, particularly as soon as she could take the opportunity in his absence. One time mother appeared to have given up after Jessie slugged her. Turning away after what seemed to the final round, Mother took full advantage of his slackened attention. She poured gasoline on him, and tried frantically to light him on fire. But her attempt was unsuccessful, and Jessie found it within himself to stay with mother confirming our pathetic little tribe a 'family'.
    Most memories of my mother's countless tirades are embedded deep down inside of me. But there are those incidents that flash through me without warning. When I was about the age of 7, my sister and I took a nickel that my mother had left on the table and we spent it all on candy at school. When we came home that evening we were questioned about the missing nickel which we admitted to taking. My mother then decided that I was the sole guilty party in the theft. She proceeded to punish me by taking a piece of burning fire wood and burned the palm of my hands to teach me a lesson to never steal again. For several weeks I had difficulty managing well in school due to the injury she inflicted and in turn I was beaten every time I performed poorly on a test. When she grilled me about my unsatisfactory efforts, I explained that I had difficulty writing due to my pain in my hands. She would then ask me to show her where in particular I was hurting and upon showing her my palms, she poked at my injures (on one of these occasions she even bothered to use a pencil) all the while feigning great concern. "Where-here? Or here?" Relentlessly-she kept this up until she tired of her amusement. On another day she tried to probe, to start her game gain, asking me if my hands were still hurting. I lied, but she couldn't resist beating my whole body anyway.
    In my thirteenth year, Mother sent me to pick up some money from my aunt who lived about five miles away from us. On my way back a thunderstorm plagued me but I pressed on, fully aware of the consequences if I didn't return promptly with the money in hand. In spite of my timely return, my mother berated me for arriving soaking wet and for the money being wet as well. This beating sears me to this day. The sting of leather whipping my cold, wet little body had the inexplicable effect of being bathed with fire. And yet, just a few weeks later, I was sent on a similar mission to the same place. Again with the rain. But this time I vowed things would be different. I quickly sought refuge under a banana tree and successfully remained dry. The rain persisted and one hour became night- until the storm was finally over. I ran home as fast as I could, through the darkness never, stopping. I was safe and dry... but mother had been waiting. And she was angry. With no relief upon my producing the (dry) cash, and certainly not due to my safety, she was in fact furious. She was still smarting from the suspected pretext she concocted of my running away from home with the much anticipated $50. Armed with that thought and a piece of burning firewood, she pressed the flaming tip into the sole of my right foot and then the left. With great ceremony she finalized her pleasure with a severe beating. For each day of a month, I endured the long walk to school and back. My schoolmates creatively christened me 'Baboon' upon noticing my affected gait. I was known as Baboon for the rest of my school years.
    My siblings were punished too but not as severely as I. My sister was granted slight mercy as she was the only girl, and my brother was the baby. But these credentials did not render them as exempt. My place in the lineup merely awarded me the full passion of her fury. When she nearly expended her energy on me she would always rally with just enough effort to slap my sister a few times and smack my brother for good measures. She would sometimes withhold food from me (or us). Once I was hungry I got up in the middle of the night when I was sure mother was sound asleep and crept outside in the darkness to the nearest orange tree to relieve my hunger. But Mother was not to be fooled. The next thing I knew an orange was being shoved down my throat with great force..... some time must have passed, because I awoke the next day in a hospital. Now there was a breathing tube where the orange had once been. When Mother took me home from the hospital she slapped me a couple of times reminding me that I should always be on my best behavior and that a swollen throat did not excuse anyone from a well-deserved beating. It happened that I would have to return to the hospital often now because I began to experience epileptic seizures that I sincerely believe are in some way connected to the trauma of these years.
    My mother's violent ways triggered Jessie's decision to leave for the United States. Because of financial complications he could not at the time bring his two daughters. He had no choice but to leave them at the mercy of their aggressor. He made his way up north and arrived in Los Angeles, California. He constantly kept in touch with my mother through telegrams and sent here money to make sure his children were fed. After living in LA for 5 years, he obtained a green card, and returned to Belize to retrieve his daughters. It was then that he talked to me about starting a new life in America; I was 19 then. He told me I could make twenty times more money than what I was earning as a baker in Belize. Better yet I could continue my education and become something in life! I didn’t even give it a second thought and figured if I didn’t make it to the US I would then commit suicide but I vowed, never return to my aggressor. And so Jessie arranged all of the necessary paperwork for me to travel north. And now here I am living la vida loca.
  3. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    No Problems only Sulutions

    My apologies for delivering such a graphic document, but I feel the need to write it until my past no longer affects me the way it still sometimes does. Even though I no longer hear that torturing voice that forced me to kill myself, it is still painful to relive my childhood and I can't help it but cry it out loud. A wound left untreated will infect, puss will develop, it will fester and the results would be deadly. For which reason I talk it out every opportunity I get, its my way of cleansing my soul. I didn't believe in therapy in the beginning but I sure became a believer when my therapist answered the question I never had an answer for. I asked her "why is it that even though I live in a prestigious neighborhood, with a wonderful family, I'm looking forward to obtaining an AS Degree, I'm doing very well in school, I never smoked, I never drank, never taken drugs, every one who knows me, loves me dearly, transportation is luxury, and I'm financially stable, but yet, I prayed every night that I die in my sleep of some natural causes. I want to die but for some reason I don't want to purposely act upon it?" She looked at me straight into my eyes and said "because you have hope" HOPE? I retorted! YES! Hope she repeated and proceeded: "you have hope that some day some one will come and save that little child inside of you" and continued, "that little child who never heard his mother say 'I love you, you are beautiful, you are intelligent, I'm happy to have brought you to this world, you are my sunshine, and the most beautiful thing that ever happened me.' But the only person who can do that,..... is yourself". And reaffirmed me "YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN SAVE THAT LITTLE CHILD INSIDE OF YOU". That was the moment that I finally saw the light at the other end of that long and dark tunnel. There after I began that slow and painful walk in the dark towards that light. I tripped many a time and some of those times I was about to give up, but some how I gain the strength to finally make my way out of that dark and ire tunnel. About 3 years ago after 11 yrs of therapy I finally rid myself of the suicidal tendencies that tortured me day after day. I also learned to love myself and finally accepted that I was never at fault and did not deserve to be treated the way mother did. I now live a peaceful life and look at the sunny side of everything. While I’m healthy, I promise myself to live life at its fullest and make the best of it.
  4. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    Have I Ever Frogiven My Mother? People often ask.

    Pain, resentment, guilt, anger, fear… and much more were not any of my choices, but the work of an evil person who inflicted it on/in me. I am not responsible for my mother's actions, there-for the only one who can forgive her, is herself. Attempting to end my life was my choice and for that I have forgiven myself. As I told my therapist, I never want to ever meet the person who gave birth to me again because she would try to beg me for forgiveness. Her request would only inflict more pain in me and open more wounds that I am not willing to sustain. Her sole purpose in asking for forgiveness would only be to save herself.
    But I do hope that some day she takes the time to think about the situation, validate the circumstances, and forgives herself for hurting me. All she has to do is truly feel deep down into her heart and say this out loud “I forgive myself for hurting my son Leonardo”. And I, don't need to hear it.
  5. 1victor

    1victor Well-Known Member

    I couldn't read this post all the way trough. My brain refuses to digest it.
    It feels so surreal like it came from some dark century.
    I really hope that it's not true but if it's I'd better not know it.
    I have read the ending though.
    I will think about what you said.
    Thank you for sharing.
  6. Petal

    Petal SF dreamer Staff Member Safety & Support SF Supporter

    wow..that was hard to even read. Unbelievable :( I'm so sorry you had to go through all of that, I can't imagine the pain, memories and flashbacks but I do hope that you will continue to reach out for support. You are not alone in this. :hug:
  7. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    It's the truth and nothing but the truth.
  8. Tam

    Tam Well-Known Member

    Wow is right. I can only echo what Irish Doll said. And to say how inspiring your words are, that you could live through that, and now be able to love yourself as you should have been. Not enough words to express the pain of your story, sorry. :hug:
  9. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    Thank you all for your support and path on the back.

    For those who still doubt or don't believe anything I've said, down below is the links to recent studies about corporal punishment in my country (Belize).


    http://www.endcorporalpunishment.org/pages/pdfs/briefings/CEDAW briefing Feb 2007.pdf
  10. TWF

    TWF Well-Known Member

    Wow that definetely was like something I'd just read out of a book. I'm really sorry the way you're mom treated you, reading that I wouldn't say I had it as hard as you.
  11. 1victor

    1victor Well-Known Member

    I am very very sorry.
    I just hope that one day you erase the memory of that horror.
    I really hope.

  12. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    If I could do it so can you. Here are my tools you can use:

    1st: Rid yourself of Fear. "Fear is the thief of all dreams"

    2nd: Believe in YOU. "Never expect for anyone to make life easy or happy for you only YOU can do that for yourself."

    3rd: Love YOURSELF first. The only way you can truly love and care for others is to care and love yourself first.

    Now go out there and kick some evil's butt.
    Last edited by a moderator: Nov 30, 2009
  13. TWF

    TWF Well-Known Member

    It seems everytime I get inspired, soon after my confidence takes a knock. I'm trying but I just can't... Constantly I get knocked one step back by ignorant minds ;__;
  14. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    There is the Problem: You "TRY", there is no such thing as "TRY", try is just a figment of your imagination, try is an excuse, you either DO IT or you DON'T. If you stick to reality you'll find out that we all have TWO choices in life: Left or Right, True or False, Positive or Negative, Stop or Go and here is "your" choices: You DO IT or You DON'T DO IT.
    Just listen to how "try" is used, you "tried to stop, "but"......(inserts excuses)......I will "try" again "but".....(not right now).

    You "get knocked one step back by ignorant minds." I consider myself, not an "ignorant mind" but one who understand you because I've been in your shoes. They push you back 1 step I push you forward 2 steps. Doesn't sound like much but let me tell you it is improvement. It took 15 yrs of my mothers tirades, conditioning my mind to believe everything was my fault, it also took 15 yrs to undo all the toxic and finally accepted that it was never my fault and I learnt to believe in me and finally love myself. It is a slow process and it is not going to be easy it will take hard work on you part. I'm here for you bud, I got your back, talk to me.
  15. TWF

    TWF Well-Known Member

    The only thing I lack is confidence, confidence to go out and change things, confidence to interact, confidence to shy away from shyness, pride in myself. I see myself as a pathetic creature, I've been told so most of my life, people tells me I'm physically surplus...

    Your post inspired me, I tried to go out without a care and with pride. But when somebody laughs in your face, its one step forward, two steps back...

    How can I not give a damn?! I cant love myself. Look at me, back slouching in the corner.
  16. Tam

    Tam Well-Known Member

    You know Leonardo, I've been thinking about what you've posted so far on the forum, and I wondered if you wouldn't think about posting about HOW you managed to undo the toxic stuff, how you managed to get in the end to love yourself. I'm stuck in the same situation i guess a lot of people on here too, where all we've got to go on is our own sense of things, trying to find a way in the dark almost, but if someone like yourself was able to explain the 'process' for want of a better word, so we could see how someone else actually made it out of the hell of self hate and self loathing and self blame, that might help a lot of people. Don't know maybe I'm talking out of turn here, it's certainly what I would want to know, anything that would give me pointers, let me see HOW someone else managed it.

    Sorry bit of a ramble. Maybe I should have pm'ed you instead. Hope you don't mind. :unsure:
  17. aki

    aki Well-Known Member

    Thank you so much for posting your story. That will stay with me for a long time. It gives me a lot of hope though to hear that you were able to overcome your suicidal thoughts and achieve happiness.
  18. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    As I said b4, in order to see the clear and colorful picture you first need the "negative". Hence, you need a negative in order to get a positive. You feeling that people are against you and feeling that you are the worst person alive are all the negative feels your brain is "processing" at the moment.
    Keep working at all that you want in life and one day, I promise you, you will finally get to see that colorful picture, the "positives" in you/about you.

    Remember that "the brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something".
  19. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    No I don't mind at all. Yes I'll post how I got to the happy present life I now live.
  20. Terror

    Terror Well-Known Member

    After arriving in the US, I thought I had left all the toxic people behind I felt safe in the hands of Jessie, the man who was brave enough to bring me out of pain and suffering. But it turned out, Jessie was just another sort of abusive case.
    After he brought me here I think he though he brought a slave with him. He became my "finance manager" and every time I didn't comply with his demand of providing him with money he reminded me that I should not be ungrateful to him cause if it weren't for him I would've still been in hell, if it weren't for him I wouldn't have a job, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have a roof over my head, if it weren't for him, I wouldn't have an education, etc, etc; he rubbed it on my face every opportunity he got. I couldn't take it anymore so I left. I became homeless for about 3 months until the fellow who hired me to do work on his rental homes found out that I was homeless and offered me his seller for $250 a month.
    I still keep in touch with his daughters but not with Jessie since we had words exchanged with each other that hurt us both. Jessie is now serving a 6 year sentence for attempted murder about 2 yrs ago. Dunno the story behind the story but he is in the tank for stabbing one of his son-in-laws when the son-in-law tried to defend his wife, (Jessie's daughter) when Jessie attempted to hit her.
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