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Born to be evil

Born to be evil

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Published by dorchris
this book describes how my evil and sadistic mother treated us as children. I wrote it to try and get it off my mind and in the past forever.
this book describes how my evil and sadistic mother treated us as children. I wrote it to try and get it off my mind and in the past forever.

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Published by: dorchris on Jun 19, 2011
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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Born to be evil?
Can someone be born evil? I truly believe they can, my mother was born to beevil, born to grow up and have Eleven children, and miscarry a set of twins,none of whom she loved, all she abused in some form or other, abused in themost evil, sadistic ways she could think of, even leading to the death of one of us. I have tried to put it to the back of my mind but something always brings itback, reading a book, seeing something on the TV, talking to my Sister, evenresearching something on the internet.So I decided that maybe writing it all down would help. I also hope by readingmy story, those who have suffered abuse at the hands of parents or otherrelatives, been made to suffer by anyone who is supposed to love and lookafter them, will see there are others out there, lots of others, who have gonethrough what they have gone through, that you can grow up to be normal andhappy, and if its always on your mind, then write it down, or tell someoneabout it, it could help you.I am now a grown woman, married with three grown up children and threegrandchildren. I remember when I was a child wishing I could hurry up andgrow up, leave home and not have to put up with it any more, I never thoughtit would happen but it did. I get very angry when I hear of cases of child abuseand child murder on the news and the excuse the abuser uses is, he/she wasabused as child him/herself, if that were the case why would they want to putanother child through the same thing? That is the poorest excuse to use.In my honest opinion those who abuse defenceless little children do sobecause they can, it makes them feel powerful, I will never understand whatpleasure they get out of it, because thats what it is, pleasure for them, seeinga child hurt and crying, begging them to stop. I understand there are some outthere who will disagree with me, say the abusers are mentally ill, need helpand support, yes I agree they must be mentally ill, and should be locked up in a
secure hospital unit where they can be treated. They are a danger to societyand should be kept as far away from children as is possible. But as I said thatsmy opinion, and theres nothing I can do to change it, my feelings on thesubject are deep and I have good reason for that.
Chapter one, the family
I was born on the 23
March 1959 in Saint Marys hospital Kettering; a smalltown in Northamptonshire, already in the household were my sisters, Jean,Alex, Ruby, Irene, Mary, Susan, and brother John. My Mothers name was alsoIrene, everyone used to say she looked like Elizabeth Taylor, I can understandthat now, she had jet black hair, most of the time wore it long and not tiedback, she wasnt a slim woman but not over weight either, she always woreblack eyeliner, if she didnt have any then she would draw a line on her eyelidswith coal, or a piece of charcoal, she always wore dresses with big flowers onand was supposed to wear glasses, but she was a vane woman and the onlytime she would put them on was when she had a headache.As far as I canremember she never, ever wore trousers. My Dad never called her Irene, itwas always Renee. She was born in Stoke on Trent, I never met her family, as
far as I can remember, except for one of her Sisters, Aunt Lydia, she didsomething nasty to us once, not physically, but something I always remember,she had brought a rabbit for mum to cook for Dad, we werent allowed to eatwhat mum and dad ate, but Lydia asked if we would like some once it wascooked and we said yes, so she took a cooking pan, went to the outside toiletand came back a few minutes later with the pan full of urine, Mum laughedand put the rabbit in the pan and cooked it, we were made to have some onceit was cooked, she gave some to Dad as well, of course he didnt know whatLydia had done, and mum never touched it. Thats the last time I rememberseeing Lydia, but I was told that she died a horrible painful death, she hadsome sort of kidney problems and would be in agony most of the time, whenshe went to the toilet, for a wee, it would be nothing but blood, ironic Isuppose after what she did to us.Dads name was Alexander, he was from a town called Newtonards which wasnear Belfast in Northern Ireland, he was 5 years older than Mum, she marriedhim at 18 and he was 23, she was pregnant at the time so he was underpressure to marry her from both families, in those days it was consideredwrong to be pregnant and not married so they didnt have a lot of choice. Birthcontrol was non-existent; abstaining from sex would have been the idealsolution but that wasnt to happen with my parents. Dad was a very thinhaggard looking man, I do remember him having dark brown hair at one point,but one night he went to bed and when he got up the next morning it wascompletely grey, no one ever told us why or how it happened, but he was analcoholic so maybe that had something to do with it. He never had teeth, Iguess he must have done at one point in his life, but its something I never saw,he did have false ones which he never wore, as he said they hurt him andmade him talk funny, he kept them in a glass on the kitchen windowsill. HisMother used to come and visit us now and again, she like a glass of beer or twoand wouldnt drink it out of a cup, so Dad would take his teeth out of the onlyglass we had and give that to her. He would look at us and put his finger to hismouth telling us to shhh and not tell her. Dads Mother hated our mother, sowhen she visited Mum would stay upstairs and not come down until she hadgone.

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