Wars. Riots. Protesters being attacked by police for no good reason. I just don’t understand so much of it. For the most part I am an extremely non violent person (I say for the most part because I occasionally have extremely violent dreams) and I just don’t get it. I don’t get how some guy down the street being gay affects me. I don’t get how someone believing in something different to me affects me. I don’t get so much of it.
But more than anything I don’t understand violence against children. I am not allowed to watch the news in this house (everyone else finds it too depressing) so in order not to feel completely disconnected from the world I have a news feed on my igoogle page. Everyday there are more news articles on children being killed by their parents, beaten by the babysitter or pimped out at 12 years old. It just makes me sick.
I come from an abusive home. My mum hit me whenever she felt like it, her boyfriends were violent or verbally abusive drunks and one of them even liked little girls more than he should. Statistically I should have continued this pattern. The girls father came from a horrendous home too. Together we could have continued the vicious circle of abused. But we chose not to. Don’t get me wrong – we are far from perfect. But we are more likely to implode on ourselves than ever raise a hand to our children.
Before you go thinking I am getting on my high horse – let me paint a picture of the most stressful parenting time of my life. We had just moved to Melbourne. Living with his biological father and his wife and kids. We had two toddlers – one toilet training still. I was breastfeeding the twins who were just 4 months old. They screamed if you put them down, so all day he would have one baby over each shoulder. They also woke up every hour through the night and wouldn’t take a bottle. Of course they didn’t wake up at the same time so I was up breastfeeding every half an hour. Oh yeah and our 2.5yo was starting to show a lot more symptoms of her aspergers (probably because of the stress). We couldn’t make much noise at night because the people we were living with got up at 5am to go to work. The wife was a neat freak – which meant she was constantly stressed with the mess. I was constantly stressed that we weren’t clean enough. We kept getting knocked back for houses and he was trying to find a job in a new place.
Not once in that time did I ever consider shaking one of the twins, hitting one of the girls or doing anything beyond shooting myself. Not once in anger did I lash out at my girls. Lash out in anger at their father, sure. Sit in the loungeroom crying my eyes out with two screaming babies and a toddler who was melting down and another who had shat themselves…sure.
And yet I don’t qualify for adoption, permanent foster care or even emergency care because I have a mental illness. I am not saying right now would be the best time, but surely I could do a better job than the mum who just beat her 8yo to death with a vacuum cleaner tube.
I understand that some women suffer severe post natal depression….I feel so bad for them. But the second you start thinking about hurting your children is the time to ask for help. See your doctor, tell your friends or even call DHS.
Our children didn’t ask to be born into this world. We should be looking after them.
a very, very sad project:girl