I Needed to Know
Verbally Expressed by TLP (The Child) - Typed by TLP's Mom
People are saying that holding a kid is bad and wrong. They are saying bad things about therapists, and moms and dads that hold their kids. They think it’s bad when moms make kids do Strong Sitting, or move a woodpile, or take everything out of the kid’s bedroom. They think it’s wrong to tell the kid what to eat, and what to wear, and what they can play with. They think the mom and dad are hurting the kids when they won’t let them use the bathroom if they don't ask, or when the mom stops the car and makes the kid get out to walk. They think that the mom and dad is bad for the alarm on the bedroom door, and for sitting on the kids on the kitchen floor.
What they don’t know is that kids deep inside do want help. Every time I did stuff and messed with my parents, I was doing it because I was testing them to see how much they loved me. I wanted to see if they were going to hit me or hurt me… or help me. I used to steal things at home to see what my mom and dad would do to me. I took money and I knew it would make my parents mad. I did it on purpose to piss them off, just to see what they would do. I used to be mean to my mom when we were in the car. I would kick the back of her seat, and I would throw things at her head. I would take off my seatbelt and turn the radio up really loud, and I would throw the car door open. I did it because I wanted to make my mom mad and to see what she would do. I did it because I wanted the other cars to honk their horn at her. I did it because I wanted to know if my mom would hit me or hurt me or if she would still love me. I treated my mom real bad. I did it on purpose to make her really mad to see if she was just like my birth parents.
At supper time I would grind my teeth and spill my milk on purpose to make people mad. I would grind my teeth on my fork to make them mad. I would do anything to make them mad to test them. Just to see if they loved me enough to not hurt me.
I would hit my mom because I didn’t like women. I would bite her, and kick her, and spit on her. One time I even wiped poop on her face. I wanted her to get away from me because I didn’t want help from her. I wanted someone to help me but I didn’t trust her. I didn’t trust her because most women have hurt me when I was little. I was pretty mean to my mom and she never hurt me. She never gave up on me. She held me every day and I didn’t like it, and I screamed and tried to get out. I tried everything to make her let me go. I lied and said I had to go to the bathroom. I told her that I was going to pee on her. One time I even tried humping her and told her to stop trying to have sex with me. She never let go and now I say that I am sorry that I did all that to her. She still loves me, and she never gave up on me no matter what I did to her.
I used to throw all my stuff at them at bedtime. I would keep opening my door and throw my toys out into the hall, and my clothes, and flip my furniture all over the room. I used to tear my clothes out of the closet and break the hangers. I used to climb on my headboard and tear down the curtains and blinds and wallpaper. I used to break everything to piss them off and so I didn’t have to go to bed and to see if they still loved me enough not to beat me for it. My mom and dad and my brother and sister held me to make me stop. Then because I kept doing it, they took everything out of my room except my mattress and my blankets. They even took down my blinds and curtains. I started breaking the windows. I would use my foot and kick the window glass right out and there would be glass all over my room. Then my parents had to come in and clean it up. I was angry and scared but they never gave up. I broke kitchen windows and garage windows too. I kicked holes in my bedroom walls. I tested them a lot just to see what they would do to me when they got mad. I wanted to know if they were going to be like my birth-mom.
When I broke my bedroom door, they took it away and wouldn’t give me another door. Then I ran out of my room all night long. So they gave me another door, and I still wouldn’t stay in my room. When they put the alarm on my door I would open and close it all night to see what they would do to me when they got mad. They never hurt me, but they did grab me and hold me really tight. I kicked and screamed and fought and bit and scratched. If they let me go, I’d kick them again just to make them mad. Sometimes they held me for a long time because I wasn’t going to let them win. One time my mom held my door knob so I couldn’t open the door and hit her. I was mean but I wanted to know if they were the same as my birth parents. I needed to know and now I know.