3 is the Number … Just Before Hell Breaks Out

3 is the Number … Just Before all Hell Breaks Out

By Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee/@GeeGranny



Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee



Have you ever been bullied?  Where someone thinks they can just totally intimidate you with words, actions?  Do you let them?


As a child growing up I learned young that ‘I’d rather die and go to Hell’ … than to be bullied … especially by a big-ass, blonde-headed woman.


Through time it seems those types of women wanted to always ‘beam’ in on me to take their anger out … make me a whipping post, a scapegoat.  Imagine their surprise when they encountered my reaction to it.


I grew up being beaten, slapped around … whipped with a belt and the buckle, and even with a piece of wood from the stove wood.  I was mistreated … and it was always a woman who did it.  Mentally, physically …


Only one man ever hit me as a child … that was the one time my father did when one of my … sisters … lied on me about using his razor.  He hit me so hard in my face that he made up for never hitting me … and I was devastated.  I ran away from his home to never return.


Getting back to women abusing me.  I finally got to an age where I just couldn’t take the screaming, the pain … the Hell I was forced to endure.  I was fourteen when I fought back.  I didn’t want to but, one of my aunts had made gashes in my upper arm ( I still have the scars you can see … and the scars mentally you can’t see ) …  the pain was so great that it triggered something in me.


That was the last time she ever touched me … I never hit her back but, I jerked away from her, looked her in her eyes and I told her to never put her hands on me again because if she did … it would be me ‘whipping her ass’.  Isn’t that so ugly?  It was the only way I could make her stop … and it worked.


I had so much anger, hate in me that I would have died before taking anymore abuse.  At that moment I would have fought to the death.  Thankfully, she saw something in me that made her stop.


Maybe she saw me hold my ground finally … for the first time.  I didn’t want to fight anyone … much less someone I loved with my very Heart.  I was mistreated so badly … but, they were my family and … I still loved them with my Heart.  They were my family, regardless.  They were all I had.  I didn’t want to fight … but, they sure loved to.  They did.


Back then, anyone could just hit a child … back then … anyone could ‘do anything to a child’ … whose parents didn’t protect them.  I was one of those children.  I had to fight to survive … I didn’t want to … all the kids fought, all the adults fought … I lived in Hell … and Hell-raising was the way of life.


Through time as a teen-ager it seemed every once in a while I’d see a big-ass, blonde-headed woman … for some reason that type of women instinctively hated me … and I’d think ‘oh no, just watch her beam in on me and try to force me to do something, or want to push me around’.  Sure enough, it would happen time after time.  No matter how nice I tried to be, how I tried to just not get in a confrontation … it would happen.


Have you always had that ‘one type of person’ who never liked you no matter what you did … they always look alike.  I wonder if it has something to do with karma in your past life … I smile here, but … it’s just too strange.


I was always afraid (they were always bigger than me) … I knew they would tear me apart.  I could see the hate in their eyes and sense they wanted to hurt me.  I never knew why … I got tired of being abused and I began to bluff them.


I would hold myself straight, put Hell in my eyes and meet them head-on … I would pray they wouldn’t kill me.  Even if I was afraid … my attitude was that ‘I’d rather die, go to Hell … than to have them push over me, treat me badly’.  I meant it … the rage would make me so angry at seeing yet another big-ass, blonde-headed woman who wanted to push me around.


When I began to do that … it seemed they would become afraid of me!  I was tiny … they were so big, mean.  The thing was when they looked into my eyes they saw something that let them know it wasn’t going to be just simple bullying me.  I was prepared to die first.


That’s what happens to a child when thrown into a mean-ass world … they are either going to fight like Hell or they are going to be hurt mentally, physically.  I got my share before I reached the point I couldn’t take anymore pain like that.  I had to get big enough to hold my ground.


I was a loving, caring child before I was dumped into Hell.  After that … I began to have a ‘chip’ on my shoulder the older I got.  That ‘chip’ lasted into my twenties as I matured, coped with all I’d been through.  I always tried to help myself to think in a positive way … I didn’t want bad things around me.


The last time a big-ass … blonde-headed woman tried to bully me physically … I ‘fixed her ass’.  I give people 3 chances (unless I can’t for a reason) to realize I’m not going to take their abuse … then, all Hell’s going to break loose.  The number 3 plays a big role in my life … you wouldn’t believe.


No, I don’t walk around trying to be a … bad-ass … I’m a soft, good, kind person … caring.  Even the nicest person has limits … I have mine.


This big-ass, blonde-headed woman was always with her friends.  She loved to show off in front of them … she was a … bad-ass.  Whenever she saw me … she would smile.  She knew she could use me to show off to her friends … she was so mean to me.  I was always nice to her.  She was so much bigger than I … I knew she could kick my ass … tear me to pieces.


She would walk to meet me so, she could hit me hard on my shoulder, pretending to be nice while using a honey-sweet voice.  Oh, that woman would shove-hit my shoulder so hard that I would almost cry out.  I would almost go to the floor.  She would say in her honey-sweet voice, all the while knowing what she’d just done to me … “hello Gloria, how are you!”


She never knew she was riling me up … making a white-hot rage build up in me.  I would smile back at her, tears in my eyes, and speak softly to her, and say … “hello, Virginia“.  She’d laugh so big, go back to her friends … they would all laugh their asses off at me.  I would feel so bad … and my shoulder would hurt from her abuse.


The second time it happened … I saw her beaming in on me … grinning.  Oh, how she loved intimidating me … she laughed so hard.  She made me go to the floor the second time she came down on my shoulder.  I got up … smiled at her and walked on.  The fire was burning brightly in my soul … and I knew the next time … all Hell was going to break loose.


The third time, I waited for her to come hurt me again … of course, she was so eager to. She did, went back to sit at the table with her friends to laugh, talk loudly.  I took a deep breath knowing I was some kind of angry … I knew I might just die for what I was going to do … but, it had turned into an ‘either live or die’ situation to me.  I wasn’t going to take anymore of her ……..!


I walked calmly across that floor … beaming in on her.  I began smiling big … some of the women smiled at me.  Old Virginia turned her head to look, saw me.


I went straight up to her, and said ‘hello, Virginia!’ took my right hand and shoved, hit her hard on left shoulder. I mean I hit ‘harder than hard’ … and I meant every bit of it.  I wanted to hurt her back.


The force knocked her out of her chair … her smug expression disappeared.  She got up … and I knew I was getting ready to die.  I faced her down ready to do battle … I was amazed that she smiled, spoke to me in a normal voice.  She sat back down, pretended she was talking about something.  I walked on … I saw people look at me differently.


They had mistakened my kindness as a weakness.  They just didn’t know I didn’t live at my Grandma Alma’s for nothing … I didn’t live in Hell and not know how to Hell-raise.


I just didn’t want to have to be ugly … that’s why the number 3 is important … it’s my hope that I’m left alone … because the number 3 is just before … Hell breaks out.



Note by this Author:


True story, photos are written … owned by me … Gloria Faye Brown Bates/aka Granny Gee.


The number 3 has always been a significant number in my life … it’s the number just before Hell breaks out.  It’s strange how the number 3 was the number of years I fought cancer … and other important things in my life.


Someone triggered this past memory today … when they tried to intimidate me.  I tried to stay nice … I did stay nice.  It went no farther than … number 2.


1 thought on “3 is the Number … Just Before Hell Breaks Out

  1. I know what you mean hun, I’ve been bullied and persecuted all my life, people accusing me of everything that was darkest in themselves only for it to blow up in their faces Big Time!

    To this day my dad swears he’s going to kill me on sight because I broke free and he no longer had his paying household slave.

    He demanded I return, but I refused, so I have to die for defying him. 😦

    In the end threats are all he had left.

    The Police were a joke and my mum more interested in protecting her own survival than what her husband was doing to her kids.

    After Trevor Howarth tried to shift the blame of his abusing Stephanie (11yo. friend of mine) and got caught out: After Bob Cockin tried to label me a paedophile because I was helping Emily and Becky with their homework and the Police, Press and Media destroyed me before offering me £60,000 compensation; I was shocked to discover just how far they’d go for a sex story.

    I was victimised for a further 25 years as they tried to find ANYTHING they could use against me, even setting me up with my God daughter Becky 25 years ago to see if they could get me to say or do anything wrong and again in July 2013 with baby William to see if they could get me to abuse him live on camera.

    All this despite me having two clean CRB check certificates to prove my pristine criminal record.

    I don’t know who was behind it, only that I have been cleared again and have been adopted by my God daughter’s family as a much-loved uncle.

    None of it should have happened, but it did… 😦

    As for the story they were so interested in that they couldn’t let go?

    At the age of 11 I had the misfortune to be raped.

    They didn’t care about the injuries my dad left me with or the fact I was unable to father children of my won because of my injuries, all they cared about was that I was raped and child sexual abuse stories sell… 😦

    I now have no chance of being a father and my life and mental health have been destroyed.

    I also no longer wish to have anything to do with my mother and step-father because they both sold me out repeatedly, Hugh accusing me of all sorts of disgusting things.

    It takes a lot, but when I’m done, I’m done… 😦

    Love and huge hugs from a fellow survivor! 🙂


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