Abuse By The Caregivers.

Now the abuse that I suffered at the hands of our babysitters and caregivers is not nor will it ever be a reflection of my parents. My parents were truly awesome individuals, deeply caring and loving, who had no idea that such horrific events were unfolding right under their noses. They were busy working hard to provide for our family, and like many parents, they trusted that the people they hired to look after us would treat us with kindness and respect. I mean, who is going to believe a little kid when they talk about the dark and frightening experiences they endure? The world often dismisses the voices of children, assuming they are either exaggerating or misunderstanding the situations they find themselves in. So, there was a lot of abuse—abuse that ranged from the physical to the emotional, and it left a deep mark on my psyche.

I remember vividly instances where I was struck with a belt, a tool that should never be used on a child, yet it was wielded as if it were an acceptable form of discipline. There were also moments of sheer humiliation, like being forced to eat soap as a punishment for minor infractions, an act that not only tasted terrible but also felt degrading. Perhaps one of the most traumatic experiences was when I was dragged down the steps by my feet, a brutal act that was executed with no semblance of care or compassion. This was not done in any form of a nice way either; it was harsh and painful, leaving both physical and emotional scars. I never did tell my parents about it. Or anyone for that matter. The silence I maintained was a heavy burden to carry, one that I felt would only lead to disbelief or further punishment. The one woman who watched over us was one of those sitters that all the parents took their kids to without a second thought, a well-known figure in the community who seemed to have a reputation for being reliable and trustworthy. So who was going to believe that she was drunk all the time? Who would take a child's word over that of a well-known babysitter in town, someone who had built a facade of reliability? The thought of speaking out felt futile, and so I remained silent, trapped in a world where my suffering went unnoticed and unacknowledged.

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