Wait a second!
More handpicked essays just for you.
More handpicked essays just for you.
Domestic violence and its effects on children
The effects of emotional abuse in children
Domestic violence and its effects on children
Don’t take our word for it - see why 10 million students trust us with their essay needs.
Recommended: Domestic violence and its effects on children
I never thought it would ever end this way, I always thought I was strong enough. Here’s my story. It all started when I was born, my mom and dad didn’t want to know if it was a boy or a girl before I was born, they were determined it was a boy. They didn’t want a girl, they said I was a mistake, but that’s not what drove me over the edge. Theres so much that you don’t know, that I don’t know, so much nobody knows and that’s what poked me while I was standing at the edge of the cliff. Ever since I can remember I was beaten at school and at home. I was always the weird kid who had problems. Even in pre-school I got beat up and when I did they would call my parents to come pick me up, when I got in the car it was always silence until we got inside the house, that’s when everything happened. They had so many creative ways to hurt me, they scream and call me weak and worthless and if I were a boy I wouldn’t have been such a big disappointment. I don’t remember much from then, I’m in 7th grade now. Which means it’s only worse. It’s the first day of school when the “big” beat downs begin. I walked in the big doors and waited to be attacked and it happened. The moment I stepped in the door David punched me straight in the face, I hit the ground with a thud, he laughed and started kicking me. I curl into a ball which makes me appear even more vulnerable so he adds some more strength to his kicks. He pulls his leg back and lets it loose on my face, his foot connected perfectly and everything instantly goes black. I wake up in the hospital to my parents pretending to be worried. I look at them and silently ask what they’re going to do to me when we get home, they just look at me in shame. The doctor walks in and tells me I’ll be okay, m... ... middle of paper ... ...g down her back. I see the pain in her eyes. She was such a beautiful girl, as I get to the end of her speech I call this Davids kids mom and ask her to bring her son over, when they arrive the police are removing my daughter's lifeless body from the house I invite them in and show them the video, by the time she stabs herself David is staring at the ground. I hit pause and his mother looks at him and then at me. I see a tear roll down the boys face as he whispers “She was so strong and beautiful..” and he walks out of the house. He writes a note and leaves it in her grave. Nobody has ever read it except for him and her. I walk into the house and pack my things and I’m gone before Preston arrives home. It’s all over just like Kara wanted it to be. I only wish I realized that I needed to be stronger for her, with her and leave before then, I only needed to be strong.
In junior high some kids would call me names, but that was it. Verbal abuse is all that I have to deal with on occasion. This is nothing compared to the things that Jodee endured through her years of school. The story begins with Jodee’s description of how she was victimized in a 4th grade Catholic grammar school, coming to the defense of deaf children that were being treated cruelly. She supplied the school officials with names and was labeled a “tattletale.”
No matter how much he put her through, she kept fighting for her life. I was confused by this because, in my eyes her life was completely over. I did not see how she could ever live a functioning life after all of the things that she went through. I would have thought that this reality would have been a reason for her to give up and choose fiction. Fiction would have been the easy way out of the pain, loses, and suffering that she faces and would continue to face. Then I thought to myself that is what makes humans amazing. Being able to endure the challenges of life and keep going. Originally, I thought she was a fool to keep going then I realized that she was strong. If I was her I would have chosen my reality
The reading “The Terror” by Junot Diaz is a story I can relate to because of the emotional and physical bullying I experienced in high school which I was able to curb after informing my parents who took immediate actions to put a stop to it. Junot Diaz was narrating his experiences with fear after getting beat-up as an adolescent.
“We aren’t the weeds in the crack of life. We’re the strong, amazing flowers that found a way to grow in the challenging conditions.” (McElvaney, 1057) The book entitled “Spirit Unbroken: Abby’s Story,” offers a perspective on child abuse providing a positive outlook on a tragic situation. Even in the best of circumstances, however, victims of abuse can see the effects of the trauma for the rest of their life. For each individual person affected by this form of trauma, the reactions can vary. The same type of abuse in two different people can have very different outcomes – one could be that of coping, and the other a life of brokenness. Especially at impressionable ages, any form of abuse can be a hindrance in living a normal life. Children
It begins by highlighting the survival tactics twelve year old Dave has developed, having perfected learning his mother’s thinking style and demand for supremacy, over years of repeated torture. Consumed by hate, but knowing how his mother functions, Dave is aware survival is dependent upon him not retaliating or being disobedient. Terrified of repercussions, Dave instead visibly displays submissive signs to his mother’s beatings, including tears and cowering. The acts of fear-induced compliance can be especially observed when Dave; lies to teachers that his injuries happened accidentally to adhere to his mother’s orders, begged teachers to refrain from contacting his mother, and panicked when he thought the policeman was taking him home, rather than a place of safety. Yet, Dave’s immense terror is understandable as his mother’s ‘discipline’ escalates, becoming progressively more violent, degrading and calculating throughout the
This story shares the extreme abusive behaviors, and how easy it is for domestic violence to be hidden. This book is an example of many individuals who are physically abused every day. This story also reveals the horrible aspects of their lives and gives a voice to those who struggle domestic abuse. Even though Pelzer got away from his mother, in the end he was still mentally affected from his mother’s violence. Pelzer’s mother was someone who showed mental problems because no person who’s mentally right would physically abuse their child. In the end, Pelzer was lucky to overcome his abusive life, and share the untold stories from child
I walked into the room on New Year’s Day and felt a sudden twinge of fear. My eyes already hurt from the tears I had shed and those tears would not stop even then the last viewing before we had to leave. She lay quietly on the bed with her face as void of emotion as a sheet of paper without the writing. Slowly, I approached the cold lifeless form that was once my mother and gave her a goodbye kiss.
... one parent striking another parent while growing up. These children grew up witnessing abuse, and it affects their immediate environment. (381)
Jimmy is eight; Katie is five; and little Ashley is only three. Raised by their parents, Mark and Susan, everyone sees them as the perfect family. Mark is a stockbroker, Jimmy’s football coach, and Katie’s tee ball coach. Susan works in the home, where she is everyday when the kids get home from school. She attends every PTA meeting, and works in the school cafeteria once a week. They appear to be the perfect family. Under that façade, a deadly storm brews. No one sees the black and blue bruises Susan hides, or the numerous broken fingers and ribs she has had. Not all violence leaves marks, either. No one hears the nasty, hurtful words Mark calls her, or the tears of pain she cries each night. This is just one of many examples of domestic violence. Either physical, sexually, emotionally, or psychologically, abuse comes in all forms. “…[A]t least one in every three women had been beaten…or otherwise abused during her lifetime.” (Family Violence Prevention Fund 1).
Riley, our starting quarterback, placed his hands on the helmet of the right tackle, as he did every play. He called the play looking straight into my eyes signaling the pass was coming to me. My entire body tingled with excitement as I ran to the left of the field. I could feel my cleats dig into the soft, freshly cut field as I took my stance. I looked up into the sky seeing only white lights which created the stage for the football field. As I brought my head down slowly to see the white eyes of the defender across from me, my heart beat slowed and I was still, in peace for the short moment. The quarterback hiked the ball and I began in pursuit; shifting, juking to get away from my defender. We were side-by-side running down the field as the ball was thrown into the air, coming strait to me. I jumped up and became airborne, snagging it from the lit up, night sky. Falling back with the ball secured into my arms, I felt my defenders full weight push into my left leg. A snap rang out as we hit the ground together and I looked down to see a large bump sticking straight left out of my
He ran his hand up my skirt and began to pull my panties down. That’s when everything froze, I couldn’t move, scream, I was stuck. It felt like an eternity had just gone by. When he was finished, he rolled over and laid on his stomach, fast asleep. Still in shock, I started to pick up my shoes and cell phone. The party came to an end as I walked out of his room, I closed the door. And I started walking without looking back. I was in a catatonic state; I don’t remember how I got back to the house. I went straight to my room and to the shower. The water was burning hot, turning my skin bright red. I scrubbed every in of my body, wanting anything that was left of him annihilated from me. as I stepped out of the shower, I put pyjamas on and went straight to my bed. I cried until I exhausted myself to
The horn blew and the game started, Dedham won the face off and is running down the field at a faster pace than I was used to. They shot the ball! I couldn’t move my stick quick enough to save it, so I threw my body in front of it and got hit right in the shoulder. It hurt a lot, but what I hadn’t realized was that it hit my shoulder and reflected ten feet away from the net where my player caught it and ran down the field and scored. The other team didn’t know what hit them. It was the half now and the score was three to nothing in our favor. Our couch told us that we needed to keep up the good work.
I wasn’t supposed to be born. My mother had three miscarriages before she had me. I was her last hope at having a son, the one thing that my father wanted more than anything. I am the only one left to carry on the Parker Family name. Yet I hardly made it to the age of 16 alive.
A little background history of the urgency this book places in my heart towards the broken. I grew up in a single parent home, my mom divorced my adulterous abusive father after she (and inadvertently us) experienced some injurious abuse leaving her hospitalized. This was just the beginning of the violence I would experience and see as a ‘women’ in this world. Now a child of a single parent home, the violence was turned towards me, first starting with my brother’s endless abuse, not your average sibling rivalry, rather pretending to drown me, suffocate me, sitting on me. As my brother became harder to control, it was my mom’s abuse towards the two of us physical, mental and the neglect. As my mother’s boyfriend moved in with us, then begin more of the abuse
The reckless driver hit us straight on, then “Bang!” a loud noise resonated through the air, and abruptly my body flew out and hit the pavement of the road. Everything around me was simply a white haze for a few seconds after the impact. My body felt extremely heavy and the sharp pain throbbed throughout my face and body. Lying there on the rough asphalt, I faintly heard my mom and Carrie call out to me, “Sydney! Sydney! Are you okay? Answer me! Sydney!” I wanted I speak up and answer them, nonetheless, it was useless, my voice just wouldn’t make a sound. The desperation in Carrie’s and my mom’s voices reverberated to me across from where I was lying. My mom frantically ran up to my side and hugged me tightly in her arms. Blood was squirting out of her pinky, where the top of her finger had been severed. The places where my mom’s tears fell, stung my wounds, nevertheless, it was nothing compared to each little movements that caused the pains to electrify through my body severely. Every second was hell, the pain was just utterly agonizing and tormenting. Whether it was due to the pain or the exhaustion my body suffered, my mind slowly drifted off and I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. As my eyes gradually closed, the blazing siren seemed to have grown louder little by