Abuse

Grow Flower, Grow | video 1:33 | 2015
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
Alice's Father
My mother would scream and abuse my father for hours on end. She held tiny things against him. Such as how he farted one time 20 years before and would rave for hours. She'd show us pictures and insult him based on his past girlfriend.

It got worse one day when I noticed my dad had a black eye. My mum justified it as “I was so angry.” I hated her for doing that. Being angry wasn't an excuse. Things got even worse after the first punch. He would often have black eyes, she did her best to humiliate and financially cripple him. He provided well, we had 2 beautiful homes, news cars every other year, designer clothes. It was never enough.

She would pick small things, perhaps a smudge on the bathroom mirror, and abuse one of her children for hours. She would then turn to our father and scream at him to “Be a man and smash their face in!” One Christmas Eve she'd forced him to sleep on the living room floor. He was reading a book my brother had given him as an early gift. My mother ripped it to shreds and kicked him in the face.

He would never leave, she kept getting pregnant, saying things like “The older kids have a choice whether they see you or not I get to make the choice for the baby” in her exact words.

She's cheated on him constantly throughout their marriage which has spanned decades. One time when she started beating him he pushed her away. She threatened to charge him with abuse. She told everyone how abusive he was for pushing her away, despite her decades of violence. Leaving him with nobody.
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
Ayet
She and I met when I was in my twenties and her in her thirties. We basically met and moved in. She didn’t like my place in the city so she brought me 20 miles away from my life. I became a stepmother right away to her child (whom I adored) and everything I did had to be revolving around her…and she was the one that said she never wanted me to lose myself in her. She told me she wanted me to have my own opinion and when I did she got angry that I disagreed.
She didn’t like my close friends or my job and so I gave those up. She drank more and became more violent, verbally and physically, always begging for forgiveness afterward and showering me with love. That allowed me to forget the pain.

I didn’t want to lose her or her child so I stayed and tried to change my views to suit her. I became so dependent on her approval and money and home and love that I had forgotten what I needed in life to make me happy. I was so understanding but to a fault and when the threat of my leaving came, she threw me out.
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
Jade
I had gone off to college and a few nights after I got there, this wonderful woman (so I thought) walked into my life. I had never been in a relationship with a woman before. The first few months were wonderful. It was all that I had imagined and more.
I had fallen for this woman, and I had fallen badly. Then slowly, before I could even realize what was going on, it went bad. It started with words. These words were followed by apologies. Soon came the fists – she would hit me in my body, not my face and these were followed by apologies.
The “I’m sorries” stopped coming for the angry and mean words. It kept getting worse and worse; I got bloody noses, had
my clothing cut off of me, knives and scissors held at my throat.

She would even “watch” me or have others watch me when I was in my classes to make sure I wasn’t talking to anyone. She threatened to have her family come and ‘shoot up’ my parents house.
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
Emily
I was 19, in my second year at college, when I met the man of my dreams in one of my classes. He told me he loved me within the first month of our relationship, and he wanted to be near me all the time. But then, two weeks after our first anniversary, I found him in bed with an ex-girlfriend. I immediately broke up with him.
I started to see him everywhere. He showed up to my classes and sat two rows behind me. He called my cell phone constantly. When I started hanging out with other guys, he would follow me and leave threatening notes under the
windshield wipers on my car. My professors started to confide in me that “my boyfriend” had told them about my “drug
problem.”
I returned home one evening and he was on my doorstep drunk and angry. I escaped to a friend’s house an hour later with a broken rib, a sprained wrist, a black eye, and bruises from head to toe.
I took some self-defense lessons in karate. I stayed with some friends so that I didn’t have to go back to my apartment alone. I felt like everyone was looking at me, even though I had carefully caked on make-up to cover the bruises. Though I have always been close to my parents, I refused to tell them.
A week later, he confronted me again. This time, he was sober, and it was in broad daylight. He pinned me to the wall, but this time he threatened me with a butterfly knife to my jugular. Students would walk by and stare, but not one interfered. I struggled with him for close 15 minutes, and finally, I managed to kick his knee backwards. A week later, he would break bail and leave the country. I would never see him again.
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
David
Like all children, I sought a bond with my parents; a bond of love, trust, safety, and nurturing support. Instead of that bond, I received bondage. As I reached adolescence, I turned to alcohol and drugs, and used them to escape the brokenness that lie within me. By my high school years, I began to fall prey to the grooming process. For me, grooming resulted in focus upon my appearance, intellect, and physical exercise.
I earned both an undergraduate and a graduate degree. I also passed the state boards to be licensed. Because you see, sexual abuse is the best kept secret. And that secret will be maintained at any price. But the reality of the situation was that during all these years, I was suffering intense panic attacks, severe depression, suicidal ideology, guilt and shame. My relationships with women were always sexually based and hopelessly permeated with desperation on my part, to not be abandoned.

Several years ago, my mental health had deteriorated. I was afraid to get out of bed, to fall asleep, to get up, to get dressed…. afraid of everything. PTSD kept me on a constant hyper-vigilance. Coinciding with my health issues, was a complete lack of steady employment. I either took a medical leave, quit, or was discharged. In terms of seeking recovery, I was placed on every medication available. I was hospitalized and underwent electro-convulsive shock therapy. My flashbacks grew in intensity and frequency. The misplaced shame and the guilt from my parents’ actions literally hung off my body and spirit. How was I to give a voice to what had happened?
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
Jonathan
My father started raping me when I was 4 years old. I remember having a nightmare one night and asked to sleep with daddy. I was beyond scared. This is where the molestation began. Dad anally raped me and that was only the beginning of 17 years of sexual abuse and rape. Several other people started to rape me when I started kindergarten. I started at that age to get horrible bruises because the rape was so brutal. My father said I looked so sexy covered from head to toe in bruises and that made him more violent with me. I spent most of my childhood suicidal and wanted to end it all. But in reality all I really wanted to have end was my rape.
I hit puberty when I was 9 years old and that excited my father to no end. He became more brutal with me than before. The only reason why I cooperated and kept going back was to stay alive. During the times I was suicidal, my molesters decided to threaten to kill my family instead of me. It was a constant battle every day of my childhood. Every day for 17 years I was molested. I wished I were an ugly child so no one would want me anymore. I even attempted to cut off my penis once. I thought if I got rid of it then they wouldn't want me anymore. The razorblade just hurt too much and forced me to stop hurting myself.

I started drinking when I was 16 years old. I slept with men for beer money. I would always get drunk. Now I'm trying to clean up my life, break away from the alcohol addiction and come to terms with my abuse. But it's not easy to come to terms with 17 years of child sexual abuse.
Victims series | color etching | 2015-2016
Peter
In the 1980s when I was working as a carer for severely handicapped men, four with cerebral palsy told they had been molested by a female staff member on her night shifts.

These incidents involved fondling through to sexual intercourse. Two of the men told me they “enjoyed” the experience whilst the other two did not, with one of them claiming angrily and with tears he had been raped. It also turned out she had been taking sexually explicit photographs during the incidents. The latter man reported the incident which launched an brief internal investigation finding that the woman staffer had engaged in misconduct, but she admitted only to the photographs and was sacked from her job even though the men in question were adamant about the sexual molestation. The incident was hushed with no criminal conviction sought.