BY: Marc McMahon

I grew up abused. It started at age two at the hands of my Father and ended at age seventeen at the hands of an abusive Step-father. Abuse between by a verbally abusive mother and a drunken uncle. And some still wonder what it was that caused me to start using drugs to cope at such a young age like I did. Well, I think that is about enough to drive any kid to the bottle first then the pipe. The problem was I never stopped and the abuse sort of continued as I mistreated myself living the life of a homeless dope fiend for 22 years. PTSD maybe?

Do you know how loud the voices of my mom and aunty are in my head screaming “Stop it your hurting me” ring if I think about them? Extremely loud! I listened to those words screamed at least four times a week from ages 5 to 17. Sometimes that many times in one damn day. Do you know what it feels like to be a young child in your room door closed, hearing the one you love as your mom being beaten? Not being able to do anything about it in the house your told your the little man of when daddy’s gone. But when daddy comes home this is what he does? So you begin to wonder if this is what daddy’s do and if so do I ever want to be a daddy? Scared of your mom, scared daddy might be mad at you and come in anytime and hit you? Feeling then guilty so young because mom hurts and wants help and you can’t, because you won’t, because he scares you! Can you say confusing?

But when it is all done and the yelling has stopped and mom makes chips and dip and we all sit down as a family to watch tv because this is my normal. This is what happens sometimes at my house. This is what happens if you make mommy or daddy mad! So you try not to but all this hostility in your home has caused you and your brother to grow up hating each other so we fight constantly, constantly making daddy mad, constantly getting hit with the belt. Not just the belt but the torture prior too.

The listening to him open the top drawer of his dresser. Rummage through his Collection of belts to find the one that suited his mood and then fold it in half and snap it with each step as he inched closer to our room. But you wanna know what used to piss him off even more while he spanked us. The fact that we cried, so he hit us harder.

Time To Escape

Thank God when the teenage years came and the weekends provided escape with aunty and uncle. A weekend of fishing, shopping, alcohol, weed, just a fabulous time drunk and high laughing, joking and playing cards with aunty. I would often time bring my favorite friend along to stay. We would have so much fun until it started. Until I go to the bathroom one night at age 14 and as I exit the bathroom and round the corner their looms the shadow of a 6’7″ drunken uncle with a very violent temper and twisted sense of what is fun.

As he approaches me he has that look, the look that says his fist is about to clinch and they do and as the tears start to roll down my face and my back, backs up into the hallway wall my little fists clinch to. Tears streaming, a young boy shaking in terror of how bad this is going to hurt. An uncle with a fist cocked back and ready to punch you in the face. Fakes the punch taps you on the head and says ahh I just wanted to see if you would have hit me back and he stumbles off to bed as I have nightmares of the whole event! Yet, I was always excited to escape home for that. Tough love right.

Taught discipline through violence. Taught love with the same violence. Then taught that if you go shopping after such a horrific set of events that the gifts should somehow make up for the terror of the event they just put you through. Total craziness yet that was my normal as a child. I am lucky I did not grow up to be abusive towards others with the amount of abuse I endured as a child. But I grew up totally non-violent. I don’t like it it makes me nervous so I simply choose to love instead. So thanks to you all and my God Love is my new normal and with that I shall close I love you all thank you so much for reading, stay blessed.

About the Author: Marc is a 49-year-old Author, Speaker, and Soldier in a war to loosen the grasp that Substance Abuse has on our society. He is a Father, Son, and friend to all those seeking refuge from this incorrigible disease. Marc resides in the beautiful Pacific Northwest where he enjoys, writing, hiking, and kicking the disease of addiction in the teeth, every chance he gets. As Marc always likes to say, “be blessed, my friends!”