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The Voice of Another Statistic


No child wakes up and decides to be "bad". Deviant behaviour is any behavior that is contrary to the dominant norms of society. There are many different theories on what causes a person to perform deviant behavior, including biological explanations, psychological explanations, and sociological explanations. Everyone has a story; this is of a child who was once considered deviant.

I was living with relatives before I came to know who my parents were, I didn't know what they looked like or what their embrace felt like. I always felt out cast not because my relatives treated me badly but because of the fact that everybody around me had mummy and daddy, however all I had was uncle, aunty and granny. My father disowned me before I was born, I couldn't even put a face to his name for he was long gone.

Some time past and at the age of about eight my mother probably got an epiphany and took me in to live with her. That was the happiest time of my life, well at least so I thought. Until I started to pay the price for my father's absence, I then became a regrettable mistake.

So my bubble was burst after all, I thought going with mum was a place of love and affection, to my surprise I became a habitat of this place of abuse and rejection. Well she called it "DISCIPLINE" and correction, this messed up my mind's condition. So confused, I couldn't deal with her, didn't know what to say, when to say, sometimes afraid to even lift a finger.

So somewhere about a year after this torment, my apparently dead father resurrected. Another moment of my life I have regretted. So it continued, I was penalized for his absence; no calls, no letters, no communication after becoming acquainted for about three months. That was because mummy thought to spite him was necessary and to further express her anger I was strip of any possible way to get in contact with him, oh the price to pay for wanting love the right way. Years passed by and my sight of love changed, her way of "love" was abusing words, whips and chains. If I swear I knew what prison felt like, for home became a "correctional institute”. I became incarcerated and cut off to the world.

I have experienced the worst of the worst. I can count on one hand the number of times I heard I LOVE U or WELL DONE, but the wounds of verbal and physical abuse I got is countless.

I'm at a place where I don't even know how to be myself, for I have been walking on eggshells all my life. I have been rejected and abused in the name of discipline. While "mummy" seeks her own interest, I am deprived.

However, I am not expected to react because it’s a matter of do what I say and not what I do. So when I respond I'm crippled with ill words that destroy my self-esteem and blows to break my bones and scar my skin. I desire to feel that love my friends talk about as it relates to their parents.

So here I am, still with the desire to be loved, so I do things to fit in. Here I am the "lash out" bag for a bitter, cold and unhappy mother, the product of a dead beat father....

LOVE..what does it feel like?

Compassion..... how do you express that?

The voice of another statistic...Do you know their story?

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© 2014 Created by Sumer Edwards-Williams

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