Sorry, this is a long one. And if it does not follow the guidelines let me know.
TL;DR: I grew up in a home where physical abuse, yelling, and threats were constant. My dad beat me for minor things, punished me harshly for school or behavior, and later switched to intimidation and anger. My mom didn’t protect me and sometimes hurt me too. I was the main target. Now my dad is forcing me into college and scholarships, calling me lazy and threatening me even though I’m dealing with a chronic illness, worsening vision, and heart issues that my parents refuse to acknowledge or treat. They deny my disability and shame me for needing mobility aids. I feel unsafe, unheard, unsupported, and stuck with no resources or escape options.
Full story:
I’ve basically been abused my whole life, and for a long time I didn’t acknowledge it because getting “whoopins” was normalized in Black culture. I was spanked regularly until I was about 13, and the only reason my parents stopped was because they didn’t want to be labeled abusive. If they could have kept hitting us into adulthood, they would have.
There were many times when the punishments weren’t justified. Once, when I was in gymnastics, I practiced on the furniture at home. My sister told my brother, and he threatened to tell my parents unless I told them myself. When I did, my dad beat me for about twenty minutes. Later I found out the furniture was an heirloom from his father, and he was beating me because he didn’t want it broken.
Another time, I went inside a neighbor’s house for about ten minutes to see their jellyfish. When my dad saw me come out, he got furious. Even though I apologized, he dragged me upstairs and whipped me with a belt. My Mom thought I had broken my arm because of how badly I was crying, but it was just because I went into someone’s house without asking.
I also got whoopins for bad test scores, for “behavior issues,” and for things that weren’t even wrong. I wasn’t a bad kid — I was misunderstood. But there was no other form of punishment besides hitting.
When my dad finally stopped physically hurting us, he became an angry man in other ways. He yelled, slammed things, threw objects, and constantly threatened to beat us up. As he gained more power at work, he stopped physically hurting us because he didn’t want to risk losing his job, but the threats never stopped. My mom didn’t protect us either — she stood by and let things happen, and sometimes she put her hands on me too. I was the one who got hit, threatened, and disrespected the most.
My parents always ask why I don’t want to hang out with them or go on trips, but it’s because I’ve spent my whole life walking on eggshells. I get threatened every day. I can’t show emotions or show that I’m in pain because it’s “too much” for them to handle.
Yesterday was another example. My dad has been obsessed with forcing me to go to college. I told him I didn’t want to, but he said I had no choice. I applied to community college because I knew I could maybe afford it with a part‑time job, and I got accepted. So I didn’t see the point in applying anywhere else. But during free application week, he demanded I apply to more schools. I only applied to one because I already knew where I was going.
For scholarships, I’ve been trying. I’ve applied to about 10–15 total, and only three this week because those were the only ones I was eligible for. My school gave us a list, and I used every resource I had. But my dad doesn’t see effort — he only sees numbers. He threatened to beat me up again and said I needed to find a job and pay rent.
I keep telling him I have a chronic illness and can’t work full‑time. My vision is getting worse, my heart issues are being ignored, and my parents refuse to take me to a doctor. He keeps saying I’m “lazy” and “disobedient,” even though I did exactly what he asked — he just never gave clear instructions. He wants things done his way but doesn’t explain what that is.
He also refuses to acknowledge that I’m disabled. He keeps saying I’m not, even though my chronic illness affects my mobility and daily life. I use a cane. I struggle physically. That is disability. But he’s embarrassed by it. He doesn’t want to accept that what I’m going through is long‑term, and that I won’t be able to work the way he wants.
I’m frustrated because my life is constantly being threatened, and I’m always protecting other people’s feelings instead of my own safety. No one listens to me. No one tries to understand. I don’t have a support system — everyone I know is a minor, and my family lives far away. I don’t have a license, a job, or money. I feel stuck, unheard, and alone.