Best 1773 quotes in «abuse quotes» category

I stood there, staring at the sleeping man snoring peacefully in my bed, unaware of the intrusion. I felt like a boy trying to steal the golden goose from under a giant’s nose. Any minute now, he would wake up and he would smell the scent of my fragrant flesh. I could kill him now, fuck the consequences. But it would mess everything up if I failed. Not just for me, but I felt in some ridiculous way, Ian's hopes were tied to me as well. Rho was already creating a life for himself. How much could he possibly care about the man he lost? Out of sight, out of mind. It was still the worst kind of betrayal, the one I got from Rho. My knight had stabbed my heart, left me to bleed out. And I was supposed to just act like nothing happened. Like it didn’t feel like dying, over and over. Like it wasn’t killing me. Just as I had nothing to hold me back, when I took this road with Rho, there was nothing holding me back now, without Rho, in this world so far away from him. Even if he didn't have a clue what was going on, it still hurt that he managed to find someone so quick. It wasn’t like him. But then again, maybe I put too much faith in the people who I loved so desperately.

It all I can do not to cry. I make myself wood I say to myself, Celie, you a tree. That's how I come to know trees fear man.

It doesn't matter how rich or poor a person is, what gender or social class, or how much fame or education she possesses. Verbal, mental, and physical abuse can happen to anyone. It doesn't matter what a woman’s ethnicity is because the only distinguishing color of abuse is black-and-blue.

It gave their families at home great comfort to see them chatting, looking radiant, doing well. ‘We are fine, mothers. Look how happy we are, now we free from our bad bosses.

It had started to drizzle. The lamp poles cast a kaleidoscope of light dancing across the puddles in the road. The rain made Sam feel even more lost now, as if these shadowy events were invisible to the world. As if the night was cloaked in anonymity. This wasn’t a peaceful rain - it was a sad one. A drizzle, which wept for the inevitable. Sam knew even if she got Alison out of this alive, the cuts on their lives had already been made, pooling the blood of consequence beneath their feet as the night dragged on. Whichever way this went, they’d have scars from this night. Scars and scabs and things which could not be spoken. And that made her feel utterly hopeless.

I think maybe, when I was very young, I witnessed a chaste cheek kiss between the two when it was impossible to avoid. Christmas, birthdays. Dry lips. On their best married days, their communications were entirely transactional: 'We're out of milk again.' (I'll get some today.) 'I need this ironed properly.' (I'll do that today.) 'How hard is it to buy milk?' (Silence.) 'You forgot to call the plumber.' (Sigh.) 'Goddammit, put on your coat, right now, and go out and get some goddamn milk. Now.' These messages and orders brought to you by my father, a mid-level phonecompany manager who treated my mother at best like an incompetent employee.

I think that is supposed to be good, that I get less from him but I feel worth less.

It is a rare person who can cut himself off from mediate and immediate relations with others for long spaces of time without undergoing a deterioration in personality.

It is always a mistake to underestimate how long it takes for mankind to understand the traumas it has suffered, especially the self-inflicted ones.

…it is easier for us to examine the behaviour of the victim than it is for us to challenge the perpetrator. This may be because the victim, be it male or female, is more likely to present to our services and thus become a burden on our resources. As a community we try to limit our involvement by getting the victim to cooperate in his/her own safety. When the abuse continues we conveniently blame the victim for his/her lack of cooperation.

It is funny how the person who’s been abusing you all of your life starts to complain of the self- destructive behaviors your brain has learnt to cope with when all they did was destroying you.

It is his actions that are causing me to consider leaving him. He is responsible for the hurt he feels as a result of his behavior. It is not selfish to protect myself from harm.

It is hard to bring paedophile rings to justice. Thankfully it does happen. Perhaps the most horrific recent case came before the High Court in Edinburgh in June 2007. It involved a mother who stood by and watched as her daughter of nine was gang-raped by members of a paedophile ring at her home in Granton, in the north of Edinburgh. The mother, Caroline Dunsmore, had allowed her two daughters to be used in this way from the age of five. Sentencing Dunsmore to twelve years in prison judge, Lord Malcolm, said he would take into account public revulsion at the grievous crimes against the two girls. He told the forty-three-year-old woman: 'It is hard to imagine a more grievous breach of trust on the part of a mother towards her child.' Morris Petch and John O'Flaherty were also jailed for taking part in raping the children. Child abuse nearly always takes place at home and members of the family are usually involved.

It is generally found in health, safety, fraud, and harassment scandals that many people were aware of the abuses but stayed silent and did nothing.

It is important to note that research has shown that men who have abusive mothers do not tend to develop especially negative attitudes toward females, but men who have abusive fathers do; the disrespect that abusive men show their female partners and their daughters is often absorbed by their sons. So while a small number of abusive men do hate women, the great majority exhibit a more subtle—though often quite pervasive—sense of superiority or contempt toward females, and some don’t show any obvious signs of problems with women at all until they are in a serious relationship.

It is indeed true that when the Word becomes flesh in the here and now it changes us.

It is necessary to make this point in answer to the `iatrogenic' theory that the unveiling of repressed memories in MPD sufferers, paranoids and schizophrenics can be created in analysis; a fabrication of the doctor—patient relationship. According to Dr Ross, this theory, a sort of psychiatric ping-pong 'has never been stated in print in a complete and clearly argued way'. My case endorses Dr Ross's assertions. My memories were coming back to me in fragments and flashbacks long before I began therapy. Indications of that abuse, ritual or otherwise, can be found in my medical records and in notebooks and poems dating back before Adele Armstrong and Jo Lewin entered my life. There have been a number of cases in recent years where the police have charged groups of people with subjecting children to so-called satanic or ritual abuse in paedophile rings. Few cases result in a conviction. But that is not proof that the abuse didn't take place, and the police must have been very certain of the evidence to have brought the cases to court in the first place. The abuse happens. I know it happens. Girls in psychiatric units don't always talk to the shrinks, but they need to talk and they talk to each other. As a child I had been taken to see Dr Bradshaw on countless occasions; it was in his surgery that Billy had first discovered Lego. As I was growing up, I also saw Dr Robinson, the marathon runner. Now that I was living back at home, he was again my GP. When Mother bravely told him I was undergoing treatment for MPD/DID as a result of childhood sexual abuse, he buried his head in hands and wept. (Alice refers to her constant infections as a child, which were never recognised as caused by sexual abuse)

It is my personal opinion that all survivors can go from victim to victor and live more than a survivor.

It is often said that Vietnam was the first television war. By the same token, Cleveland was the first war over the protection of children to be fought not in the courts, but in the media. By the summer of 1987 Cleveland had become above all, a hot media story. The Daily Mail, for example, had seven reporters, plus its northern editor, based in Middlesbrough full time. Most other news papers and television news teams followed suit. What were all the reporters looking for? Not children at risk. Not abusing adults. Aggrieved parents were the mother lode sought by these prospecting journalists. Many of these parents were only too happy to tell — and in some cases, it would appear, sell— their stories. Those stories are truly extraordinary. In many cases they bore almost no relation to the facts. Parents were allowed - encouraged to portray themselves as the innocent victims of a runaway witch-hunt and these accounts were duly fed to the public. Nowhere in any of the reporting is there any sign of counterbalancing information from child protection workers or the organisations that employed them. Throughout the summer of 1987 newspapers ‘reported’ what they termed a national scandal of innocent families torn apart. The claims were repeated in Parliament and then recycled as established ‘facts’ by the media. The result was that the courts themselves began to be paralysed by the power of this juggernaut of press reporting — ‘journalism’ which created and painstakingly fed a public mood which brooked no other version of the story. (p21)

It is not your job to understand. Sick people do sick things. You do not understand the mind of an abuser, because you are not sick like one.

It is strange... the reasons one feels he doesn't deserve things.

It is she who has a hold on him. Doesn't she see how much he needs her? She has nothing to be afraid of, her conscience is clear. It is he who should be ashamed, and terrified of her giving him away. But that is just what she will never do. To do this she does not have the necessary ruthlessness--Komarovsky's chief asset in dealing with subordinates and weaklings. This is precisely the difference between them. And it is this that makes the whole of life so terrifying. Does it crush you by thunder and lightning? No, by oblique glances and whispered calumny. It is all treachery and ambiguity. Any single thread is as fragile as a cobweb, but just try to pull yourself out of the net, you only become more entangled. And the strong are dominated by the weak and ignoble.

It is seldom that domestic violence is an isolated episode; rather it is comprised of a number of episodes over an extended period of time.

It is this dependency that became, and is, the breeding ground for abuses of power.

I told you when we mated that I would gladly give you my heart, my life, and my love, but that when I did so they came with one condition. Never abuse me. Love is not abuse."--Maxis

It may be a reflection on human nature, that such devices should be necessary to control the abuses of government. But what is government itself, but the greatest of all reflections on human nature? If men were angels, no government would be necessary. If angels were to govern men, neither external nor internal controls on government would be necessary. In framing a government which is to be administered by men over men, the great difficulty lies in this: you must first enable the government to control the governed; and in the next place oblige it to control itself.

I trace the letters on the tree behind us in the picture. No one knows what's churning inside of me. Crushing guilt...Pain...Relief. All mixed with knowledge that Trip is never coming back.

I took my real strength to be able to face childhood sexual abuse.

It’s highly discriminating to say which of the abuse is a more decisive than the other.

It’s a sick irony that the top elite conservatives of the United States expect every single school child to recite a pledge that boasts freedom and justice for all, when they really only want it for themselves.” -Shenita Etwaroo

It’s estimated that $55 million dollars is spent on aftercare in Kenya alone every year. This model is not practical or sustainable and does nothing to address the growing epidemic of sexual violence. It’s crucial to get the world community to recognize self-defense as a viable means to prevention and begin a dialogue about how every single young or old woman can learn these simple life-saving techniques.

It's in your hands to transform your pain into victory.

It's like those kids who grow up in houses where the parents speak different languages and turn out bilingual. If they're exposed to something at an early enough age, they absorb it naturally and becomes just something normal.

It’s my right to take back control of my life because I am a Survivor!

It's not rocking the boat, Dad. It's called communication. You're allowed to ask questions. Other people do it all the time. Other people don't live in fear of someone else's reactions. They don't relentlessly stress out about getting into trouble.

It's okay for us to be angry. Be annoyed at the injustice. You own full rights to be upset before you recover.

It's one thing to reach for a bottle and become a monster, a mean drunk, but it's another thing to have that bottle inside you. A rage organ.

It's sad that we get attached to the way certain people abuse us. It took me a long time and a lot of heartache to realize that it's okay to miss someone, but not want them back.

It's amazing how kids can be brutalized into a mold in witch they it right back to the weaker one and never think of escaping from the whole filthy mess.

It should not be anyone’s job to explain to anyone else why they should care about other people.” -Shenita Etwaroo

It’s important to determine your path towards healing, the one that works best for you, someone else path may not work for you.

It’s not that men and women are identical; it’s just that they are so near identical in all but the political abuses and privileges that are lavished on the one and visited on the other that to talk of ‘innate’ differences as significant, even to childbirth, is to hold up the color of the hair, the strength of a limb, a predilection for history over mathematics or vice versa, as a pre-determining factor in who shall be treated how, with no appeal; while to ignore those abuses and privileges is to ignore oppression, exploitation, even genocide, even while these are shaping conscience, consciousness, and rage.

It’s such a shame that you will finally have to learn that there are consequences to treating women like they’re nothing. You may have gotten to walk away, but a piece of me will follow you forever. Now, isn’t that romantic?

It took me years to stop feeling the guilt she made sure I kept feeling about what happened with him. He is a sick person that molests children, but I felt so bad about it for so long. I couldn't talk to a single person about any of this. No one. And she made me feel so bad about it all that I felt I shouldn't talk about it, even if there was someone. I felt ashamed and thought I was an awful person. Sometimes I still do. My mother abandoned me in the worst ways possible.

It took a strong you to live through the abuse and the secrets.

It's important that you don't continue to ignore or accept rages. Realize that extreme rage directed at you or your children is verbal and emotional abuse. Even if you think you can handle it, over time it can erode your self-esteem and poison the relationship. Seek support immediately.

It was never the poverty that deterred me, never the disease, unsanitary conditions, bugs or garbage, those things were never even a thought in my head as a reason for not staying. I kept looking for the good and always found it each day. I was happy on the reservation. It would have all worked out if Chief could have been a little nicer to me. The only thing I was missing was love and respect from my partner. Maybe he had changed.

It wasn’t some mysterious adverse personality trait that comprises of who I am, it unquestionably had a source - A cradle of years of unprocessed trauma owing to sexual, emotional, mental, verbal and physical ill-treatment.

It was white. White and gold. It was livery. I told myself it meant nothing. It was just a color. But I was wrong. That color meant everything. It was a command to the Queen’s ladies that they shouldn’t greet me or acknowledge that I’d entered a room. It was an indelible line drawn between me and the other Grisha. It was a signal to the King that he could follow me into my chambers and press me up against the wall, that I was available for his use. That there was no point to crying out.

It was too familiar to Cody. He placed his arms around his wife trying somehow to shelter her from the reality she was facing. There was another reason for his closeness; his desperation to show her he was not one of them, that the tribes of cruel men did not recognize him as one of their own, and to show his wife that his promise to create a safe place for her was a promise she need not fear would be broken. In the innermost part of him, from the secret child that lives within all men, was a scared cry, “Please don’t think I’m bad too.” From the other innermost part of him, the secret animal that prowls in some men was a raging wolf ready to kill. The battle line within the man had been drawn. The boundaries of faith rose up around the rage, warning the soul against righteous anger morphing to blood lust.