Survivor of Neglect

According to The American Heritage dictionary neglect is defined as: “to pay little or no attention to”. Why would anyone pay little or no attention to a child? Children are small human beings that are not capable of caring for them. They rely solely on a parent or caretaker to provide for them. So what happens when the child (ren) are not provided for? They become susceptible to different forms of neglect and illnesses.

Malnutrition is the biggest form of neglect. If a child does not receive the proper nutrients he/she needs, the end result could be death.As a child, I remember going to bed hunger many nights because we didn't have any food or money. We were not poor, my siblings and I just had poor parents; Parents who would use the money and sell all the food in the house to support their drug addiction. I was angry and thought of every possibility I could to feed my siblings. I was the oldest child in the house but still too young to get a real job and I was too proud to beg or ask the neighbors.

They were fully aware of what was going on, they just did nothing. No one lifted a finger to feed four hungry children.I started my own business. I would rake leaves, hang laundry, and even scratch the dandruff from my neighbors’ heads. Once a newspaper reporter took a picture of me hanging laundry and put it in the local paper. Obliviously, my parents were so proud; I believe this was the first time they had even noticed I wasn't home after school.The summer months were the hardest because there were no leaves to rake. My brother and I began shoplifting for food and clothes. We must have been really good or someone was looking out for us because we never got caught.

My parents were heavy drug users; I would only steal enough food for one meal at a time. I stole the same thing for dinner every day, a bag of rice, a can of cream of chicken soup, and an eight pack of drumsticks. Ironically, I do not eat drumsticks in my adult life at all.

I wish that was the only abuse I suffered. However, when I was 8 years old my stepfather’s brother sexually molested me. I tried my hardest to fight him off but of course he was much stronger than I. He was a truck driver and was in town for only a couple of weeks. After his visit I felt relief that the nightmare was over but I was wrong. It took me a few days to get up the courage to tell my mother. I broke my silence one morning while waiting for the school bus to pull up outside.

My mother didn’t move for a moment and then said “The bus is here, see you later.” In my mind I was thinking did she hear me or does she not care. That afternoon my mother pulled me aside and beat me and told me to never repeat what I told her that morning.

I couldn’t understand why I was being punished for something I had no control over. Why didn’t she believe me? Unfortunately, this infraction set the tone for our relationship which was nonexistent up until her death. I couldn’t even bring myself to cry at her funeral. She scarred me for life.