This is the story of The Olivero Children, Thier extream life in a case of severe child abuse.
Changing a life Of Abuse
Hello, my name is Vinchenzo Olivero,
Ladies and gentlemen , I am writing this story tell a long awaited chance to express the feelings that have been buried inside of me, dwelling upon a life long experience of severe child abuse, poverty, and neglect. To express the anger, the sadness, the suffrage and torture that I believe my family has been put through by the very people who claim to love, and support us, our parents. Yes the very people that put me and my siblings through hell, and back with verbal abuse, beatings, blood, harassing, choking, burning, embarrassing, and degrading. To express the feelings of cold tears, of crying souls, of broken dreams, and fear. I’m am equally writing this story to enhance the statement that many can gain consciousness; and realize that there has to be a stop to this life of abuse, of living hell, so that peace and justice can be served to all that need and earn it.
Similarly I am writing this story to make a correction upon the idea in which I live, to make a moral stand against child abuse, child neglect, and domestic violence. I also so very want to express that if there was anyone I know who made sure that we were beaten, abused, torn down, or emotionally torn apart could only be underlined as our “step mother” Susanne.
I am writing this story to give a purposeful understanding to the torture that me and my siblings have been put through for so long. To give a meaning to all these words, and memories, that I can’t take off my mind, or explain in a full manner to any one.
I need to speak with honesty these written words, for the sake of my soul, for correction, for my sanity, and my strong admiration for justice. For the need and desire for all to know the truth and nothing but the truth. To give a graphic, and honest picture of our lives, our sadness, our anger, our valuable need to live a normal life with out our memories haunting us. I want everyone who took the time in their day to read this story to make that moral stand against child abuse, To speak up if deep down you know there is something wrong.
Personally I continue writing this story to put a end to those god forsaken words my step mother and father have needled into our heads, constantly stabbing our souls until we are at our seemingly last breaths. I want justice were it is due. Help me in my journey to make that stand; and I can’t say it enough, to put a stop to child abuse.I want all of you to realize that you truly can save lives, if you just speak up. Like I did, not too long ago. and even thou honestly sometimes I felt like I did the wrong thing….. I continue to reflect upon the idea that I very well could have saved my brothers lives. I am a kid not at all like my father like I have been told so many times before.
I Need justice, Closure, a peace of mind, and the will to take one more step that is not drove by anger…but by sanity. I need your support so dearly…. So please come with me so you can peer into that life that I was so terrified living. Come with me and see the swollen heart of mine
In February the 19 of 1995 In Elizabeth New Jersey I was born into a sad life filled with poverty and tears; of hatred and irresponsibility. It wasn’t that long before I was not to reflect the slums of New Jersey as my home. Were at about 2 months old my family and I ( My mother Donna ,father Luis, my older brother Robert, and my older sister Amanda) Had moved to our new found home in Colorado.(A small apartment in Colorado springs.) At a couple of months old, I was starving to death of failure to thrive. Meaning that I was dying. Yes, this could only mean one thing that my parents refused to feed me. Dying and taking my last breaths at a couple months old it was almost a certainty that the hospital was my deathbed but it was truly almost completely vise versa. I was taken into DHS custody. It was the start of the perfect infantry that I was sure to under go, were I was sent to the most loving, caring foster family a child could have. Were I was treated like the infant I was, loved, cared for, fed, and being raised like a child should, The child might I mention ,I am, and was. Unfortunately 3 years later I was returned to the cold hands of my parents. Even as infants I remember that we were put through brutal physical abuse, and a brand new life of poverty. I was also introduced to my new young infant brother Antonio, that I had never laid eyes on. Still to this day it surprises me that my father and mother had yet another child to add to such a financial burden of already having three kids in poverty.
My father said to my little brother one day that the only rezone he had my innocent brother Antonio was because he needed another child to replace me….. He thought he wasn’t going to get me back. I would like to take a moment to express how not noble that is; that you never tell your child they are just a replacement for some one other. That you never take away that feeling that that child truly is special, and the way might I mention, a child always should feel. That doesn’t cross my fathers mind, He has never respected his children’s innocents…and I should not be surprised he would do or say such a thing to his young son. So….Let me take a step back and view at the horrible start that our family was jogging into. The sadness the homelessness and the lack of ability for my father to keep his mouth closed for the good of the moment, for the good of his children’s innocents, for the good of their childhood.
Many have said that this doesn’t sound like to bad of a story but if we went by our fathers story maybe you would be convinced. Our father had told us that our mother (whom has now given birth to four children) had slit the throat of my eldest brother before even my oldest sister was born, Or he also told us our mother had burned her son with boiling water to the point that one fourth of my eldest brother Robert was covered in third degree burns. All of these incidents my father claimed to of happened, he new about. Yet he failed to report them, and failed to put an end to his high functioning developmentally disabled wife (Not A joke). Instead he decided to have three other children, to put them in that same type of danger that my older brother Robert was in. It saddens me to this day that he was willing to take that chance instead of letting our mother go.
The ride of torture was far from over. In 1998 our mother had brought us back to the slums of New Jersey while we had to under go torture, physical abuse (from her brother steve), and violent threats. Jumping from shelter to shelter in search of a humane sort of life style? Yes those eight months we were tortured, beaten and forced to live like animals. Never once do I remember taking a bath at our uncles place (mothers side) were we had lived for the majority of the time spent in
Here is another good story our father told us. One day, while my father was at work at McDonalds my Bio Mother had decided to have a stroll at the garden of the gods with all four of us, were she decided to beat the crap out of my infant brother Antonio publicly. He said word got around and the police had gotten a anonymous call of a infant being beat. Some How or Other, it led back to Donna. My father told us that later in the day the police knocked on the door and asked for our mother’s name, but my father said, that he “hasn’t seen her”. The next day he sent Donna back to Jersey so that she wouldn’t be arrested. Brave or Not? My own father wasn’t going to divorce my mother when she supposedly almost killed Robert on too occasions, ran away with all four of his kids, while they were beaten, abused and tortured. But when she was going to get arrested, well then he puts here on the bus? Truth is our father just didn’t want to stay loyal to his wife, he found a new younger mate, so he trashed his own wife. When I say that, I mean he did trash her.
He made her out to be the abuser that he was. He took an innocent mother and turned her into some psycho abuser, when the fact is that he was. My Father can’t stand knowing that it was really his greediness, and selfishness that separated his beautiful children from their mother. So he made lies to cover up his mistakes. He made lies that still not only hurt our mother, but destroyed our chance at having a healthy, loving relationship with our mother. The sad part is he is still married to her to this day, and is too proud to admit it. Yes ladies and gentlemen, he refuses to get a divorce…..probably because he just doesn’t want to spend the money? Or maybe he just wants our mother to walk with his name in remembrance of his control? The answer will probably lye in his last words.
But I’m a strong believer in karma, Sooner or later his new 18 year “girl friend” (while he was 28) dropped him because of domestic abuse, and violence and I didn’t mention how my father had another daughter with her that he didn’t take care of, and I won’t also Neglect to state the fact that my father at that time had 3 open warrants for his arrest out of New Jersey. The sad part is karma can’t control abusers, because some how it seems that they never understand that the rezone there life is going wrong is, because they need to change. Abusers tend to blame others for there mess. Unfortunately this has a major effect on children of abusers, because lets face it: Regardless if you’re a good parent or not, your children are still dependent on you. Now my farther, and siblings and I had later lived in a van, because my father had gotten fired from Mc Donald’s. Might I mention that our father has gotten fired from every job that he had and never could keep a job for any extended period of time.
Now, when all hope seemed lost after jumping from hotel to hotel, van to hotel, and hotel to van. My father met up with another women named Jennifer. This relationship had lasted about 2 years. We were abused, beaten, blamed, and were used as toys or punching bags for daily entertainment. Yes, I remember the abuse we had under gone and I also remember quit vividly that the rezone that Jennifer eventually reported him was over domestic violence and child abuse. Were he was arrested for the second time for domestic violence. By this time I was in first grade, that’s when I was informed that we were going to foster care. I felt joy in my heart, like some one had saved me and my family. Unfortunately foster care was not that great like I remembered it to be, were we were beaten, and I was locked in a room for almost a month.
I guess that now would be the time to inform others that children in the foster care system are not exactly always treated right. When you have a label such as “foster kid”, many tend to define it with words such as trouble maker, inconsiderate morons, animals, ghetto children, and upon the most clingy of word choice, “scavengers”. This is a problem that needs fixing. Don’t get us mixed up with the inconsiderate morons (abusers) that put us in this position in the first place. We are like any other child, but just ended up with a harsh life.
The ride with foster care was soon over after meeting our new beautiful mother Susanne. This is where the REAL abuse was too take place, for 7 years, beaten, abused, harassed, beaten in nude, and many other forms of physical abuse and emotional abuse. Horror that we lived in that tore away at my very existence. This is where the real neglect and abuse arises.
Reader, Have you felt like you were afraid to live?.. Have you felt like you were afraid to wake up in the morning?... were you afraid to face those violent, yet heart wrenching cries while your brothers scream at the pain of your fathers beatings?.......Have you felt like you can’t take another breath of helplessness?......Reader, did the idea ever don on you that you were a worthless peace of junk that didn’t deserve to live?...Have you felt the pain of knowing that you were helplessly having to watch and hear the beatings…And thought that you weren’t doing the job that you wish that you could have done?..... Did you ever think that the abuse your parents was clouding your family with was your fault?...... And lastly, have you ever felt that cold, helpless, degrading feeling of failure and hopelessness. Well these were the constant reminders of being alive for 8 years of this abuse. The living hell. The crying and sorrow.
The Torture only seemed to prove to be that voice that whispers to you, telling you, that you are living. That you are more alive than ever. The only thing that really seemed to kept me going was the anger, the helplessness, the abuse, the degradation, and that feeling of hopelessness and failure. The hearing screams ,the destruction, the anger, the new life that we were under going. Deep within me ,I felt that only I can change the life that we were being put through, to end this world of anger and insanity. This world of confusion. This world of none peace. This world of lonely sadness. I truly felt like I was nothing, that my family was being tortured some how because we deserved it? That I had done something terribly wrong? A feeling that came only from those abusive, mind bending, soul scorching, minds and souls of my parents.
Reader I politely ask you to keep reading, to take a step into a seemingly daily instance of my life of sadness and abuse. Please review this description of abuse, because I assure you will not fully understand it, for not even I do. Keep reading, and try to put your soul in the cooling position that my sister my brothers and I were placed in almost daily.
Imagine for a moment that your father wakes and sleeps with only anger driving his living force. That it seemed that every day he awoke only to hurt and abuse you. Imagine that you were so keen at sensing the anger within the walls of the house that you felt like you had some sort of psychic power devoted to sensing your father’s anger. Imagine you could tell the day by the sound of your father’s foot steps.
He rips you out of bed at about 1 o’clock in the morning, beating you with his bare hands, bashing your head into a wall or two. Pushing you to the floor when he decides to kick the breath out of you, then throws you into the bathroom. This is the sick part comes in… were he screams and orders you to take of your pants. He walks away with a dark look in his eyes. You here him whistle a toon all the way to his room. Now imagine that you are standing in half nude underwear and pants off, were you have a confused shiver down your spine. A thought of what is happening to me. The confused thought of wondering what you did wrong? A sickening shiver runs through you like a wild fire, while you await your beating? Yes, A confused feeling of anger and sadness. You see your father walk in with that same glare in his eyes, with a wire or two in one hand, and a cigar in the other. With out a word he starts beating you. Raising his arm and lashing with a sense on anger and distortion. With no sense of remorse or mercy while the wire sometimes leaves gashes in your skin. Leaving fresh cuts of blood. He continues the whipping adding more and more force. Were you start screaming with pain asking for forgiveness, for mercy. Begging in your soul for rezone. For your own father to feel a sense of mercy. He keeps whipping you lashing you, and sometimes in the middle, beats you with his bare hands. Then he proceeds with the lashing. Bending you over against the sink, were your privates are where he can see them, and continues beating you with full force in his arm. Then he pauses for a moment and yells “Why did you do it?” or “Are you going to do it again?” or “you want more?” Then imagine he proceeds with the beating and repeats the process three or more times. Now his arms come to a halt and with out another word he walks out of the bathroom, and states abruptly “I’m not done with you yet.” and walks away .Now imagine standing there half naked, degraded, sad, angry, embarrassed ,and undertaken with confusion. You have cuts and lash marks all the way down your legs. You are angry, but sad, embarrassed and in pain and like is said your feelings play hopeless games of confusion on your soul.
In your mind, you are screaming “HELP”…drove by two tones….anger, and sadness. Yes. I remember that feeling like yesterday. That heart wrenching feeling that can only be described as two words… torture, and confusion. Physically the pain is almost unbearable and mentally you are not sound. You feel like your soul has been torn out of you. You put on your pants and weep… slowly walking out of the bathroom. Now imagine that your mother who claims to love and support you ,stares at you smiling with anger. While she proceeds to tell you how stupid, nasty, retarded, dumb, violent, mean, cruel, thieving, and many other things and names that I would prefer not to pronounce. Yes she actually sits there degrading you… slowly sinking your heart to the floor. Then you see her give the man (that just put you through an amount of abuse you hate to describe) a “High Five” saying good job honey. While she looks at you smiling. Telling you that “you deserved it.” Then she precedes with the name calling .Provoking your father to proceed with more beating. Then she (while verbally degrading you) begins throwing stuff at you. You stand there, tired, abused, beaten, confused .You can only describe your self as trash.. Nothing more and maybe less. Now imagine reader that this entire instants, (“the ripping out of bed, the abuse, the torture, and the emotional and mental abuse and mind games”) only happened because your father accused you of steeling one of his pickles from the pickle jar. You know that you didn’t steel any pickles. None the less, you feel like a, a pruned grape waiting to be jarred , and labeled “thieving trash” then your parents decide to name you a special name , mine was “captain dickhead worm head.” You feel degraded, abused, or used as some sort of entertainment that you could never understand. The feeling of sorrow and embarrassment, the sexual exposure only sinks your heart through the floor. That same day were you go back to sleep... you have night mares that haunt you, forcing you to remember that feeling, over, and over, and over again.
The story goes on .The blame, the accusing, the mind games never seemed to end, and only marked mile stones in the seemingly never ending life or abuse. It scares me to even think about hearing my brothers getting beat makes me boil inside, while my new step mother listens with a smile. Sitting helpless refusing to do “the right thing.” She couldn’t even protect herself or us “Olivero children” but let me assure you that her own son (Devin) was not to be touched by my father, nor less beaten to a pulp by him. So the fact that she was not able to make sure we were not abused, because she was scared, is truly a flat out lie. In fact many times she was the one who made sure that we were beaten, abused, and played mind games on. While her son was not abused by any hand but her own. Should she get her children back, when she tried to kill her own son? I remember quit vividly how she almost choked her son to death with a wire. While he was screaming the words “I’m sorry” Oh... I remember the sound of Devin gasping for air while his mother continues to choke the air out of his throat. I remember my feeling of helplessness, that distinct feeling of knowing you should help, but you can’t. I remember watching... trying to hold my tears back while my little brother cries the cold tears, screaming, trying to hold that last breath of air. The look on my mothers face was without a glare of remorse or mercy. Without a soul, just with anger and distortion, with a gleam of cold fire in her eyes while trying to kill her very own son. The only person who stopped Devin from dieing that day was the abusive mind and soul of my father. Amazing is it not, that the abuser tried to stop this deadly assault that are mother was landing on my little “step brother.” Truly I don’t believe that Devin would be alive today if it were not for my father. I remember the pain in my heart, the burning feeling of anger and helplessness. The feeling of sadness, as though someone had stabbed a rusting dagger into my chest, that reader is the lone feeling of helplessness.
….Leaning on each Other….
If tears were diamonds there price would perish. Tears only seemed to come ever so commonly, and only left water marks in the seemingly never ending life of abuse. Tears fell from our faces everyday reflecting on the life we were undergoing, so terrified living. At the end of the day sleep only came ever so naturally although was ever so commonly interrupted by the abusive mind and soul of my father. Yes this is all true, this story... this life. and many wonder how we were able to pull through……Well, as siblings we only had each other to lean on. To help each other pull out of this living hell of none peace. My sister, my brothers, and I would only laugh with tears about the abuse, the choking, the threats, the psychotic mind games, the beatings, the lashings, the bashings, the saddening words, the life we were living.
Home and school lives were so hard and only made school and grades difficult and confusing. Living to lives at once… To lives that might I mention were always contradicting each other. Popularity and friends were minimal and were hard to come by. High school drama and an abusive home life? They only seemed to be a constant reminder of how confusing our lives truly were. Yet as siblings….we always had each other to lean on.
We always had each other to relate with one another. Talking with my siblings made me feel less lonely at times ,and of course helped me realize that this life was not normal at all. That the life we were undergoing was a terrible life filled with helplessness, failure, sadness and abuse. Yes I truly believe that my siblings are the only people who really kept me going. Helped me pull through this life of abuse, of anger, sadness, tears of sorrow ,of broken dreams, of wrinkled souls. This life of severe child abuse. I truly believe that as siblings we were always able to lean on each other, even when life seemed to be at its darkest hour.
Standing together did come at a price, and only proved to be a provocative act to be beaten, and terrorize longer. My parents both hated the idea of children standing together, standing up for one another, and some how or other it seemed later that standing together (when being abused by our parents) faded away like the mist over the horizon. Some how standing for each other wasn’t worth being beat, choked or psychologically torn apart. But deep down we all felt horrible for each other , and that’s what kept us together for so long, My parents were professionals at turning us against each other. Force us to do mean things that did not want to do to each other. For example, beating each other, arguing with each other and even worst be forced to blame each other.
Blaming each other for that completely natural, human, instinct of self preservation? To not be harmed or torn apart? To not be beaten or used? To sustain a healthy self with out the bruises and scars leaving dangerous monuments deep within our souls like so many times before.
….Blaming One Another….
Reader The event that we were in a cooling, chilling position that we would never wish to be in was describable as the life we were under going. My sister once told me that I would try to blame others to get them in trouble happened a lot, although I truly disagree, there is some truth to the matter. Have you ever noticed when you fall you put your hands in front of you so you don’t hurt your head or some other vital part of your body? Reader did you know that bracing yourself for a fall is the most common way to end up with a broken leg or arm? Well it is true. If you did not brace yourself for a fall the chances of getting hurt badly or getting a broken bone is very small. Naturally you brace yourself because of the fear of getting hurt. This is another example of self preservation. I believe that this is universal example that describes that it is completely normal to protect your self even with even with the knowledge of harming others. In this section of this story, I will describe the repercussions of blaming ourselves, blaming others, and of course just plain out not saying anything in between the walls of our house.
One Night it in about mid November it was about 1 O’clock in the morning when a vibrating yell comes from my mother (step) over the stairway, “Children get your asses up!” She screams with anger. All four of us brothers (who all slept in the same room) were awakening ourselves as fast as possible, I got my pant stuck on my bunk bed and everyone was leaving the bedroom and rushing up the stairs to our mother. I finally got my pant unstuck and jogged up the stairs were my brothers and sister were in a line facing our mother in the kitchen. I simply slipped between my elder brother and sister. Then our mother states abruptly with anger…. “Who put glass in your father’s leftover rice” Immediately my heart started pounding and all of us stated sharply almost in harmony “I Didn’t!” then she gets real close to me and my brother Roberts face and states” I know one of you put glass in your fathers rice! And one of you better tell me who did…Trust me you don’t want to make your father make you! He is bleeding on his tongue Because of one of you!” Instinctively Me and Robert new what this meant, That one or both of us is going to get it tonight! So again we stated I didn’t or wasn’t me! Suddenly we hear or parent’s bedroom door slam with anger and our father walks into the kitchen where we were standing; With two wires in his hand he speaks with distortion in his voice “I’m only going to ask you all once who put glass in my rice?!” I felt that sickening feeling in my stomach like so many times before, that feeling of knowledge of what’s coming next. All of us stated again “it wasn’t me” My father screams with anger did I ask you if you didn’t do it!? Then shut your mouths unless you have the truth to tell! Our mother is rubbing my fathers arm and glaring at us (me and Robert) with anger. Then my father clams to a soft voice and states” I know Amanda didn’t do this because she’s not that stupid! I know Antonio and Devin didn’t do this because they don’t clean the kitchen….So that only leaves two individuals Robert and Vinny!” He stated acting like a detective. “I know one of you did it and you’re gonna tell me who, or I am going to beat the living tar out of you!” He yells.
Me And Robert state with shiver I Promise you I didn’t do it.” My father looks at me and Robert and says…”You think your going to get away with it ! I know one of did this on spite! Both of you go to the bathroom and pull you pant off! Now! Stupid motha fuckers!” Then my father grabs Roberts neck slams him against the walls, punches him in the stomach while pushing him all the way down the hallway, I follow and me and Robert are now both in the bathroom while my father starts whipping us screaming take off your pants “bitch ass mother fuckers”! Both of us pull down our pants weeping while he beats us until our skin has gashes of blood. Now imagine that you are in our position being punished for something you know you didn’t do, The pain is crying for you to just take the blame ,so that you or your brother don’t have to under go this torture! My father pushes me aside and starts whipping Robert even more while Robert screams with pain! For forgiveness, for simple mercy. My father doesn’t stop! Then he proceeds over to me beating me bashing my head into the wall, leaning me over against the sink! Beating us almost anywhere! This happened to both of us over and over and over again! Where my father would switch off beating me or Robert. I remember those vivid screams the yells of sorrow. The pain and the helplessness. Deep down I simply couldn’t believe that we were seriously being beat for a cause we know we didn’t do. Your father screams while beating you “WHO DID IT” I remember how we were switching off blaming one another to stop the beating, the pain, the blood, the bruises, The scars ,this frightening memory that haunts me to this very day. I remember my father left the bathroom to let us have a short “Conversation” To decide who did this. I remember standing there naked in front of my brother where he looked at me with a look of sorrow and whispers to me, “Vinny I am going to take the blame, I don’t want you to go through this.” I remember I told him not to give up, don’t just take it and give my father that satisfaction. I remember the cries, I remember that soul burning feeling of helplessness like so many times before. Then my father walks in and repeats the beating process 10 times over. Where the backs of our legs where covered with bruises and cuts. Finally My father stops ,and tells us to put our pants on.
In The end ,our step mother blamed Robert for the incident degrading him, telling him how stupid and dumb he is, how retarded he is. Telling him that only someone as stupid as him could end up putting glass in our father’s rice. I only felt helpless like a looser who can’t stand against the goliath in my life. I felt like I had failed Robert, like it was my fault. For not being strong and putting end to this life of abuse.
The Abuse was back breaking and only left deep wounds in the seemingly never ending life of abuse. Blame was a tennis ball flung back and fourth , too and fro. Blaming each other only left blanks and cervices in reality, and lies covered a life of abuse. Many a time we would blame each other to stop from being abused and tortured. But the screams of hearing the repercussions vividly turn blood cold. The earth seemed to rock at my fathers feet, and this torture only made our father and mother royalty in a life between the walls, the screams between those walls, This life they had made for us. Sorrow only proved to be a common feeling and was never out of reach, Sorrow played hopeless tricks on our minds and brought our souls to the floor. Yes blaming each other only seemed to be that form of be ridding of the harm, abuse and mind games at least temporarily. Similarly, Blaming our selves was also quit common. To prevent form hearing those heart wrenching cries. The screams of helplessness, the world of non peace that seemed to be never ending! Yes reader that’s how we all had gotten our titles within the walls of abuse. What we blamed ourselves for to stop from hearing those saddening cries and screams from our siblings ,only seemed to follow a never ending path that still stays beside me even today. Yes believe it our not, The simple thought of preventing pain leaves a crater in our lives. The accusing mind games of or parents only ensure that their words and accusations stay a part of our lives even when we be rid of this life of abuse.
The simple thought of protecting one another drew targets on our four head, and that person suddenly becomes the spotlight of the day, week or month. The entertainment, the omega, the dying soul. Hope never seemed to play a roll in our lives, and the fate of drenching in a life of abuse forever was a thought never seemed to be broken or fractured. Blaming our selves, blaming others, and just saying nothing defined the fate of this broken road of abuse .in witch we followed
Children in abusive situations such as my story can go all day with the stories of malicious treatments committed by their abusers. This story how ever does have a break and a conclusion. More importantly this story has a moral stand against an unreformed problem in our everyday society.
On February the 3rd of 2010 I reported my father for child abuse and domestic violence. One day he pushed the envelope to far by deciding to beat the crap out of his wife “my step mom” right in front of us, I couldn’t take it. I ran bare foot in the snow all the way to the fire station to call for help. I don’t know why it took me so long to do so, but I believe that god gave me the courage to get up, and run. To make a stand that says, I am living life for me not for my parents. I later reported my step mom for her abusive behavior on the 29th of February that same year. Their rights as parents have been striped, and they no longer can contact us.
Now my siblings and I are in foster care. My elder brother, my sister, and I ended up with the most loving foster mom in the whole world.. Antonio ;my little brother, lives with another foster parent, and the girls love him at school. And as for Devin, he got to go live with his loving caring father in
Although the memories still replay in my mind, I know that I have the need for others to know this story to help them make my stand against child abuse. As for other abused people out there who under go abuse, you are survivors. If you still are being abused, I encourage you to do something more important then just life, to live. To get the courage to say you are through with the abuse. Talk to your counselors at school, to friends, read the stories of survivors of abuse.
I want you to read this quote from my father, for he was abused as a child and made the same mistake to his own children,
“Those of us who have experienced the hell of child abuse know there are so many layers of horror and a list could go on about the instances of malicious treatments. As children we should feel the warmth and comfort of our parents and learn to trust and be secure in a world full of adventures. One factor that complicates child abuse so much more is when the abusers are our own parents. Their lies, excuses and cover ups make lives of innocent children even more complicated and surreal. I know some of you will be able to relate to much of what I'm saying, others will relate to just a few parts. Those of you who had loving and fortunate lives and cannot relate, please know many of us are surviving, some walking upright, some walking broken, some with heads up, others with heads down but all of us have in common that we are SURVIVORS.”
I Can’t beg you enough to help put a stop to child abuse, make my stand. Help me in a growing war against domestic abuse. My father is right about one thing, We all are survivors, Everyone has their war story’s, but what individualizes your character form the world, is what you are going to change. What action you will make for change. Will you stop abusers from controlling others? Will you be that friend to others that need you as part of their successful story of a changing their life of abuse?
The answer will always lye in action. Your action. Our Action. Change is in your hands. Will you make that Stand? I believe in you!!! Take action to change lives consumed in abuse.
Thank you for reading my story.
Regards,
Vinchenzo Olivero
“I don’t need to know you to understand humanity and to know that we as people can do incredible things. We all have that spark, that light of life within us and we can become masters of our own universe if we believe in ourselves. There is no reason to take the blame for someone else’s wrong doings. We don't have to keep on living in shackles. We can set ourselves free. I believe that we all can have a positive impact in this life. As part of my life philosophy I do believe that we have to be careful what we put out. The more negative, malicious, or just simply bad the things we do to others, the harder the consequences are for our own lives. Whether you believe in Gods punishment, Karma, or energy, the wisdom carried away is always the same and universal to all cultures, to humanity in general, we are obligated to be the best we can be and let a positive life guide our path.”
