My life has been one long traumatic event that seems to be never-ending. My father began sexually abusing me when I was 4. My earliest memories are of him touching me, making me touch him, and doing other things. He would bring home guys and watch them with me. He would invite the teenage boy from upstairs down, and tell him what to do with me. That continued until I was 7 when my mother died. My dad used to beat her so bad. I would try to stop him, I would put myself in the way. I often sacrificed myself to try to keep her safe. At one point during this period, my dad killed my puppy. He beat it to death with a yellow construction light. I woke one morning to go feed (and play with) Charlie Brown, and my mom tried to stop me from going to the basement, but I had to take care of my puppy. When I got to the basement, there was blood everywhere, flung onto the walls and ceiling. I remember picking up that construction light and seeing matted fur and blood on it, and I kneeled in the middle of that floor and cried. I knew my dad could kill me, my mom, and my newborn sister at any time. In fact, it was my job to get my sister out of the apartment, if she started crying, when dad was drinking, because (his words) "there is no telling what I'll do if I'm drinking and she starts crying. I'm liable to pick her up and throw her against a wall." She was mine to protect and I took that role seriously. I would often have nightmares about a monster coming to get us and I could find a place to hide, but it only had room for one, and I would hide my mom there and let the monster get me, and after my sister was born, there was room to hide two. There was never any room for me to hide.
After my mom died, we moved into my grandmother's home (she was not living there) and my dad would leave my sister and I alone for days and weeks at a time. I was 7 years old and taking care of a 5 month old baby. I would stop eating sometimes to make sure my sister ate, I would eat her scraps. When dad was home, the abuse continued. At the age of 8, he almost did kill me by choking me. At first, I just let him, wanting everything over and done with. I was ready to die. But then I thought of my sister, who would protect her if I was gone? Who would keep her safe? I began fighting dad at that point and he threw me aside in disgust. That night, I realized, that as long as dad was alive, we would never be safe. The next day, as he took a nap, I picked a knife up, not feeling anything, no emotions, completely blank, and walked into the bedroom and raised the knife over my head and stared at him laying there. He rolled over and looked me straight in the eyes. I had never known such a fear as I did in that moment. He would kill me for that. I ran through the house with that knife in my hand and my dad chasing me. When I got to the kitchen ahead of him, I threw the knife down and picked up the scissors. He came into the kitchen, breathless, and asked me what I was doing, and I told him that I was just going to ask him if I could cut up some paper, but he scared me. Two weeks later he came home and told me he was putting my sister and I up for adoption. I was so angry and so hurt. He was my dad, after all. He was saying he didn't want us, didn't love us, that we were worthless.
We were to move in with an aunt and uncle (my mother's sister). Since it was family, I became excited. I thought I could finally be a child and not have to always be worried whether my sister would have enough food, not be woke up to take care of my father's needs, never having a chance to play, always cleaning and playing the role of an adult. I don't remember how long I had been there, at my aunt and uncle's, when my cousin began to abuse me. He was 6 to 8 years older than I was. At 10, I tried to tell on him, and my aunt told him what I had accused him of and asked him whether it was true. He never responded, just walked away and she yelled (very loudly and with a lot of anger), "I don't ever want to hear of this happening again." During these years, my two cousins would tell me how much they hated me, how they wished I would die, how my aunt and uncle hadn't wanted me but my dad wouldn't let my sister and I be separated. After I told, that got worse, but my cousin also started beating me up. He would drag me through the house by my hair. He would throw me on the floor, face down, and beat my face in the floor. My best friend at the time witnessed him doing some of these things, and when she saw him beating my face in the floor, she pushed him off of me because she thought he was going to kill me.
When I was 12, my dad wanted my sister and I to spend the night with him. I didn't want to but my aunt felt that it was okay. That night he made pallets on the floor and started to put my sister in the middle. I realized he had been drinking and she was the age I was when dad began molesting me, so I made sure to move her away from dad, so that couldn't touch her. He began touching me. I stopped him and stood up and told him it wasn't going to happen, that I was going to make up the bed for my sister and myself, or if he wanted the bed, my sister and I could sleep in the living room, but we were not going to sleep in the same room with him. As I was making up the bed, he came into the bedroom and pushed me down from behind and raped me. Up until this point, there had been no penetration that I can remember. He took my virginity, something that was not his to take, something that was mine to give to my future husband. Afterwards, I went into the bathroom and wiped away the blood. I crawled into a tub of water, as hot as I could stand it, and scrubbed myself. He called into the bathroom, calling me by my mom's name, and telling me he didn't mean to hurt me. I wanted to yell and scream at him that I was not my mom, I was HIS DAUGHTER.
Back at my aunt and uncle's, it wasn't long after this that my uncle would begin to reach out and touch my bottom. One day, I was standing at the side of the kitchen stove, cooking, when he walked by me and the next thing I knew, his hand was cupping my breast. I pushed his hand away and said, "Don't you EVER touch me again!" The abuse by my cousin continued and my uncle continued to touch my butt as he walked by. At 14, I ran away. I moved in with a cousin and her boyfriend began trying things with me. I couldn't go through it again. I ran away. I couldn't tell anyone, they wouldn't believe me. I knew her boyfriend wouldn't stop. And I didn't want to hurt my cousin, I loved her too much to ever hurt her that way.
Over the years, I got away from my family. But when I was 17, another cousin came to visit me and he asked me if I remembered when my mom and dad had tried to get him and I to have sex. I yelled at him and kicked him out of the house. I could believe that of my dad, but not my mom, never my mom.
Fast forward to today and I recently reconnected with family that I have not seen in over 30 years. One was the cousin I had lived with as a teenager. She informed me that my dad had molested her, that other cousins had told her the same story. That another cousin had lived with us, a male cousin, and he left because he said, "There is some strange things going on in that house." And he told her that my mom and dad had crawled into bed with him and both of them tried to get his pants off of him. Then I was informed that my dad killed my mom, that he beat her to death. He had beat her to the point that she was almost unrecognizable and she was dead two days later from multiple blood clots that had broken loose and went to her heart and lungs. Then I was informed by an aunt that my mom used brag about how much money I brought in. She didn't believe her, thought she was making things up. But she didn't know about the men my dad would bring home and watch them with me. They had sold me. They had sold me ... And my mom was a part of it all. All of these years believed her innocent and a victim of my dad and now I learn that she wasn't, that I was a victim of both of them. My dad was a sociopath and a pedophile. And I don't know how to cope with all of this new information. I keep having the thought arise, "They sold me," and I start crying. How can any parent sell their child? I had loved my mom all of these years, had an image of her in my mind, that wasn't true. And now that image is forever tainted and I'm not sure how I feel about it, about her. I'm just numb. So numb.
After my mom died, we moved into my grandmother's home (she was not living there) and my dad would leave my sister and I alone for days and weeks at a time. I was 7 years old and taking care of a 5 month old baby. I would stop eating sometimes to make sure my sister ate, I would eat her scraps. When dad was home, the abuse continued. At the age of 8, he almost did kill me by choking me. At first, I just let him, wanting everything over and done with. I was ready to die. But then I thought of my sister, who would protect her if I was gone? Who would keep her safe? I began fighting dad at that point and he threw me aside in disgust. That night, I realized, that as long as dad was alive, we would never be safe. The next day, as he took a nap, I picked a knife up, not feeling anything, no emotions, completely blank, and walked into the bedroom and raised the knife over my head and stared at him laying there. He rolled over and looked me straight in the eyes. I had never known such a fear as I did in that moment. He would kill me for that. I ran through the house with that knife in my hand and my dad chasing me. When I got to the kitchen ahead of him, I threw the knife down and picked up the scissors. He came into the kitchen, breathless, and asked me what I was doing, and I told him that I was just going to ask him if I could cut up some paper, but he scared me. Two weeks later he came home and told me he was putting my sister and I up for adoption. I was so angry and so hurt. He was my dad, after all. He was saying he didn't want us, didn't love us, that we were worthless.
We were to move in with an aunt and uncle (my mother's sister). Since it was family, I became excited. I thought I could finally be a child and not have to always be worried whether my sister would have enough food, not be woke up to take care of my father's needs, never having a chance to play, always cleaning and playing the role of an adult. I don't remember how long I had been there, at my aunt and uncle's, when my cousin began to abuse me. He was 6 to 8 years older than I was. At 10, I tried to tell on him, and my aunt told him what I had accused him of and asked him whether it was true. He never responded, just walked away and she yelled (very loudly and with a lot of anger), "I don't ever want to hear of this happening again." During these years, my two cousins would tell me how much they hated me, how they wished I would die, how my aunt and uncle hadn't wanted me but my dad wouldn't let my sister and I be separated. After I told, that got worse, but my cousin also started beating me up. He would drag me through the house by my hair. He would throw me on the floor, face down, and beat my face in the floor. My best friend at the time witnessed him doing some of these things, and when she saw him beating my face in the floor, she pushed him off of me because she thought he was going to kill me.
When I was 12, my dad wanted my sister and I to spend the night with him. I didn't want to but my aunt felt that it was okay. That night he made pallets on the floor and started to put my sister in the middle. I realized he had been drinking and she was the age I was when dad began molesting me, so I made sure to move her away from dad, so that couldn't touch her. He began touching me. I stopped him and stood up and told him it wasn't going to happen, that I was going to make up the bed for my sister and myself, or if he wanted the bed, my sister and I could sleep in the living room, but we were not going to sleep in the same room with him. As I was making up the bed, he came into the bedroom and pushed me down from behind and raped me. Up until this point, there had been no penetration that I can remember. He took my virginity, something that was not his to take, something that was mine to give to my future husband. Afterwards, I went into the bathroom and wiped away the blood. I crawled into a tub of water, as hot as I could stand it, and scrubbed myself. He called into the bathroom, calling me by my mom's name, and telling me he didn't mean to hurt me. I wanted to yell and scream at him that I was not my mom, I was HIS DAUGHTER.
Back at my aunt and uncle's, it wasn't long after this that my uncle would begin to reach out and touch my bottom. One day, I was standing at the side of the kitchen stove, cooking, when he walked by me and the next thing I knew, his hand was cupping my breast. I pushed his hand away and said, "Don't you EVER touch me again!" The abuse by my cousin continued and my uncle continued to touch my butt as he walked by. At 14, I ran away. I moved in with a cousin and her boyfriend began trying things with me. I couldn't go through it again. I ran away. I couldn't tell anyone, they wouldn't believe me. I knew her boyfriend wouldn't stop. And I didn't want to hurt my cousin, I loved her too much to ever hurt her that way.
Over the years, I got away from my family. But when I was 17, another cousin came to visit me and he asked me if I remembered when my mom and dad had tried to get him and I to have sex. I yelled at him and kicked him out of the house. I could believe that of my dad, but not my mom, never my mom.
Fast forward to today and I recently reconnected with family that I have not seen in over 30 years. One was the cousin I had lived with as a teenager. She informed me that my dad had molested her, that other cousins had told her the same story. That another cousin had lived with us, a male cousin, and he left because he said, "There is some strange things going on in that house." And he told her that my mom and dad had crawled into bed with him and both of them tried to get his pants off of him. Then I was informed that my dad killed my mom, that he beat her to death. He had beat her to the point that she was almost unrecognizable and she was dead two days later from multiple blood clots that had broken loose and went to her heart and lungs. Then I was informed by an aunt that my mom used brag about how much money I brought in. She didn't believe her, thought she was making things up. But she didn't know about the men my dad would bring home and watch them with me. They had sold me. They had sold me ... And my mom was a part of it all. All of these years believed her innocent and a victim of my dad and now I learn that she wasn't, that I was a victim of both of them. My dad was a sociopath and a pedophile. And I don't know how to cope with all of this new information. I keep having the thought arise, "They sold me," and I start crying. How can any parent sell their child? I had loved my mom all of these years, had an image of her in my mind, that wasn't true. And now that image is forever tainted and I'm not sure how I feel about it, about her. I'm just numb. So numb.
