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DJ Ashba speaks of childhood abuse and bullying


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My years of growing up in a loving household, filled will hopes and dreams, were shattered to pieces from the day I was born. All I can remember is being petrified as a child, not only for my own safety, but for my mother's as well. Every moment of every day would depend on my Dad's mood. Most of my time was spent hiding in the back of my closet, going into convulsions as if I were somehow dancing to the destructive sound of violence coming from the next room.

Instead of a hug and a kiss, my morning wake up call consisted of my dad's fist coming through my closet door, similar to Jack Nicholson in the Shining. The crazy part about all of this is I spent my youth years constantly trying to gain his respect. I even went as far as putting him on a pedestal, making him out to be some kind of hero in my undeveloped mind, just to have him beat me down time after time. I can't begin to tell you the countless days of walking home from school, scared to death to walk through the front door. The fear was so overwhelming that I would literally pee my pants.

The real hero was my mother, I can not tell you what an amazing human being she is. Looking back now and realizing how she risked her own safety for my well-being. She was the real war hero, fearlessly putting herself in the line of fire, "diving onto the grenade" so to speak. My dad would use me as leverage against her simply because he knew I was her world. To him, I was his worst mistake. Having my dad doing everything in his power to get me out of the house, even pulling on one arm and my mom trying to stop him by pulling on the other, is a far cry from a fun ride at Disneyland. My entire life since, I have lived with being mentally and physically abused. I have lived with abandonment issues. I have spent my whole life never shedding a tear due to me accidentally falling down the steps one Christmas morning. When I was about 3 years old, I tumbled down the stairs into the the room where my dad sat in front of the fireplace and started to cry.

Stockings hung from the mantel and lights shown bright through the greenery. My dad stood up from the couch and sternly commanded that men don't cry. He said, "You wanna be a little cry baby, I'll give you something to cry about." as he beat me. Then, I would have to go to school and try to hide the perfect hand shaped welts on my body. After all of that, I would still sit up waiting by the window like a beaten puppy, waiting for him to come home every night. That is, until the night he never came home again. I became the head of the household, way to young for anyone in life. I grew up in the middle of nowhere a tiny little town called Fairbury without a TV in my house so, I am living proof that anyone can over come anything in life and still reach your dreams. Somehow I was able to bottle all of my anger and use it for my motivation. Motivation to do what ever I had to do to turn out nothing like my dad. Do I hate him for what he did to us? No, I have forgiven him, but I will always live through his mistakes and continue to become a better person.

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