The Horror Story That I Survived

[Arieanna]

I'm not your most confident of people in fact im scared all of the time. I live my life in fear of almost everything as it was a way to protect myself. I'm not even sure how to start this story or where to start it. I suppose a beginning helps though unfortunately as of yet there is no end to the horror. Let me start that I was an odd birth and it was an odd situation. My father and mother delivered me on time and I was a healthy weight but I had jaundice. That wasn't what sparked the doctors interest in me. The hospital staff thought my alertness as a newborn was abnormal. They ran some brain activity tests on me and results were showing that I had a very high amount of brain activity. Well after that they asked if they could run more tests on me. My father refused and took me from the hospital early. His reply was he didn't want me to be a guinea pig. I give this background of myself because it explains a lot of what happened next in my infancy.

Well I am quite alert and as my parents noticed quite the studier of them and things around me. It doesn't take long before I learn to talk. Around six months old I'm already talking full sentences and have requests. This is also why much of my memory is in tact at that state as I am fully aware. I still can describe in great detail the events of abuse, what my mother wore and what the house looked like inside and out. Needless to say my mother doesn't know how to handle an infant that is aware, curious, smart, and already having personality. So it doesn't take long that she starts hitting me and her frustrations are blaring. My father at this time does not know that my mother is hitting me with objects at the time. She had a wooden spoon that she kept in a tin canister on the sink. At times she would smack me with it in the face, head, or on the legs. I never knew to tell at this age because as an infant you don't know what is normal and not normal for parents.

We also have a dog my dog starts to protect me. He was very beautiful and I will never forget him. We were best friends me and this dog and often he was my guardian. I don't know if people understand that, a dog truly can be like your guardian angel. Many times when my mom would hit me he would bite her and lead her away from me. He would than guard me till my father came home. He was an all white dog with blue eyes and very large.

When i learned to walk my father became suspicious of bruises he was finding on me. The last time the dog bit my mom it drew blood. So he volunteered to stay home and be the at home mom and she could go to work. Let me say this deal is not any better before anyone goes praising my father. Though he isn't about to hit me at this time as he felt i was too young he still is not responsible. Mean while the dog still does not like my mom and guards me when it is suspicious of her. My mom tired of being bitten starts to kick the dog. Eventually because of being constantly kicked in the same area and not able to heal my guardian passes away. I was 3 years old when he died. It's a trauma for me as this was my best friend at that age and to know he was killed, hurt so badly.

I know most people wonder how a 3 year old knows what death is. Well, often times the man that is suppose to be watching me left me alone in the house with the dog and the cats. Sometimes i would push the chairs to the door and unlock them and wonder out into the neighborhood. (i wanted to go to school badly) Other times i would get into things such as take apart things i saw my father tinkering with to fix. On this particular occasion i wanted to see if the the newborn kittens could swim in water. I was 2 at the time unsupervised and did not know what death was or what happened. However when my dad came home he saw the kittens in the bathroom and I asked them how come they don't move anymore. My dad explained to me what happened. I wept for weeks, I had caused them to stop breathing they drowned. They weren't coming back and that was my fault. After that I started having nightmares a lot about dying. So when my dog also died i took it very hard.

I think i'll stop here for now, these are the first of a series of horrors that began in my life. Thank you to those who read my story and continue to all the way through. I don't know if a story like this helps anyone. I just know im still alive, im still here, and I'm still trying.

 

[ladee]

Great start to your diary @Arieanna. Take your time and say what you are comfortable with... Glad you are here, and sorry your childhood was so hard... so misunderstood... sending you gentle hugs of welcome if you accept.

 

[Broken Dahlia]

Hi @Arieanna! I'm sorry you are in so much pain and wanted to tell you that your words are helpful to me. I was a precocious child, too,and it was hard for my parents to deal with. My mom took me to a child psychologist when I was two- I climbed his bookshelves, he told her I was very intelligent and needed to be in school. He also told her not to bring me back; don't know why I even know this.
My earliest memory is age two, not as early as yours, but it has had a huge impact on my life. I remember being terrified, my mother was coming down the hall and I knew I was in trouble. That feeling comes up anytime I have a negative interaction with someone older and has led to my acquiescence, often to my own detriment. I have a lot to work on.
I'm sorry your mother was so cruel to you and your pets, that is horrible and inexcusable. I'm also sorry you weren't properly supervised as a toddler and have such horrible memories to deal with now; obviously none of that was your fault.
I hope you find the support you need and know that someone hears you. Take care of yourself.

 

[Arieanna]

Thank you guys. I appreciate the support. It gets hard to tell the story so i figure I stop when it gets overwhelming to tell.

I remember my first beating by my father was when I was 3 years old. I took apart his watch after i watched him fix it. I had a very curious nature and so i wanted to see how things worked. My whole body ached from that beating, I passed out when it was over. My sister was born around this time too. I had a hard time adjusting to having a sibling and she cried a lot. My parents often left us unattended or had me be a miniature baby sister. I grew to like her though and we played a lot. One of her favorite things she loved was when i put her on my legs and lift them up in the air. She laughed all the time when I did that. One day we were eating popsicles together and i had her on my knees bouncing her up and down. When she slipped forward the popsicle stick she had in her mouth jabbed her in the back of the throat and it was like she was choking. I called for help when my parents came she had to go to the hospital I was left alone in the house to wait. When my dad got home he beat me and said I did it on purpose. I felt horrible and it felt like I was a monster. I didn't go close to my sister for a while because I was scared to hurt her. My family never hugged too much or gave a lot of kisses. Only time they did that is when they felt guilty for hurting you. I eventually associated hugs as bad and don't like to be hugged when I've been hurt by someone or I'm upset.

Eventually leaving me at home gets overwhelming for my parents they finally break in for a babysitter. Unfortunately they leave me with a very hateful woman. I wasn't allowed to eat with the other kids, she made me sit on the stairs a lot when she was angry with me and made fun of me. Often she say I was a wicked and stupid girl etc. I was self potty trained for years now and at times she wouldn't let me go to the bathroom she'd force me to pee myself. Than make fun of me even more saying I was a stupid child. When it was play time for outside i had to play at a separate time than the other kids. Being at the daycare was very lonely and I often hated it. For whatever reason my sister was never sent to it or my brother. I think the worst thing was being put in that dark room all the time. There were toys in there, an old piano, and a table. I was suppose to take a nap but I never take naps. So often i sat there quietly playing to myself.

When i turned 5 our house was getting crowded as my brother was born. My parents bought their first house and we moved. I wasn't happy about the house or the move. So on that night i didn't step into the house when my parents asked. I lingered outside. However when they were done moving everything it was time to go inside. I didn't want to the house was creepy and I hated it. You could tell no one lived there for quite a while. My dad losing his patience started yelling at me. I still did not want to go in. So he took his set of keys and bashed them over my head hard. My dad had very heavy fists because he use to box with my uncle a while ago. The keys scraped against my skull and tore my head. I went in the house but I was dazed by the blow. I was wounded really badly but no one knew because i had very long, thick, curly hair. When I laid down my head on my pillow it became soaked with blood. My mom came in to turn off the lights and say good night. When she saw my pillow and I got in trouble with her again for drinking koolaid in the room. I tried to tell her I didn't have koolaid but things where pretty hazy. She got me a new pillow since the other one was dripping I laid my head back in that one too. That's when i soaked up that pillow too but this time the blood was black. She realized that I was bleeding from my head when she touched my hair. She asked my dad what had he done to me. By than he's telling her to be quiet and calm down. They call their RN friend at this time to come over and check the wound. My face has gone very pale at this point and the RN tells them that I've lost a lot of blood and I need to go to the emergency room as the wound in my head is very bad. My dad hands her a needle and thread and tells her can she stitch it shut for him. My mom yells at him and he says to her either you stitch it shut here or she dies but he wasn't taking me to the hospital. They start to stitch the wound shut, no numbing agents, no nothing. I pass out eventually, I awake to the nurse in the room with me the next day. I have a very bad headache and i can't stay awake for long she gets me something to drink, ironically it's koolaid and i fall asleep again. I wake up in and out of conscientiousness the next few days but i survived it. The RN never tells anyone and never went to get me help. The abuse doesn't ever stop but I will end off right here.

 

[Arieanna]

I always wonder what my parents thought of me that my existence on earth after 5 years still hadn't warranted them the compassion to stop. It's more than just the physical trauma as well the mental and emotional trauma come into play now because when my brother was born he had his own room in the back of the house. However my father doted on him, the boy could do no wrong even though he was very dangerous at an early age. My sister as well didn't give good signs as often if they wanted something from me if I didn't give it to them they lashed out at me and attacked me. Equally if did something by accident I was always treated that it was on purpose. My family never saw me as a little kid with the maturity of one, not unless it was to hold me back. Other than that they always treated me as the black sheep. It didn't help with school that it was very difficult for me as a small child to make friends. Other people always seem to take advantage of my kindness or make me feel I have to do something nice for them in order to have their friendship. My siblings also learned that they could get their way if they cried and sicked my parents on to me. As my mother favored my sister and my dad favored my brother. I was a child who wasn't allowed to have grades below a B if that happened to my brother and sister it was fine. Often would be beaten if I gotten a C on my report card. I was often bullied by the children at school and the children that lived upstairs from me. Im not sure why it was hard to make friends for me. Intellectually i was ahead of my class so most the time kids in school just copy off of me, but always those were just superficial friends. I didn't have very many kids to relate too it was awkward. Awkward being at home where my dad couldn't read or do enjoy the things I did, and awkward at school. So 1st grade we had a family move in that the mother had 2 girls and one was my age. I'd play with them at times but it seemed that the mother had a scary boyfriend. I had seen him chasing the girlfriend with a gun but because i was in the yard playing he stopped and ran back. My dad was always getting into arguments with them to the point they had to call the police. It was one day my mom and dad bought a new fridge and stove for upstairs.. I over heard the mom talking about moving out. I told her make sure not to take the fridge and stove because that isn't hers it's ours and that would be stealing. She went downstairs and told my parents on me. Now granted the lady took the refrigerator and stove as I knew she would. My mom was furious with me that I stepped out of a child's place. So she took a saddle belt and used the buckle end to beat me in the face. i went unconscious during the beating as I had a habit of with severe beatings. I believed at this time it's a protection mechanism for myself because when i black out i don't feel anything and I come too. My face was swollen and i couldn't open my right eye. My nose was bleeding and I had to go into the bathroom and clean myself up. I went into the bedroom to lay down. When my dad came home he said I couldn't go to school for a while. He scolded my mom saying that she shouldn't beat me in the face as it's too noticeable. My siblings never were beaten like this never where treated like this. Just me. I didn't understand why just me. i still ask as an adult why did you hate me so much.

I'll never know the answer to that question. I made it up to 1st grade I'll stop here for now.

 

[ladee]

A very courageous start to your diary. It is a miracle you are still alive. Can't imagine what you have had to do to survive and beat the odds... so happy you are here. Hope this helps you to get all that pain out and to find out what an awesome woman you are... no matter how they treated you, it was a lie... !!! I'm sorry you had to endure that.

 

[Milo's papa]

Aireanna, wow you are an amazing lady. To endure the pain and abuse that you have is incredible. My heart goes out to you. Please continue with this journal and I wish you the best of luck on your journey towards happiness.

 

[Arieanna]

I'm not sure how well of an order I can do these as some of them relate to years but happen in different orders. I can try my best. One of the things I have kept to myself for years is the fact that the church that I attended as a small child had a very evil man in it. He was our Sunday school teacher, I understand that people will love children and want to hug and tickle them. However his hugs, kisses, and tickles made me always uncomfortable. I didn't like to leave my younger sister alone with him but when i slapped his face they had me removed from his class, I could no longer watch over my sister. I often tried to speak up and say this man is a bad man. However i was terrified of being punished in our small methodist community. Probably why I decided that being a methodist was not for me later in life. You see one day I was playing in the Sunday school nursery on my own, when he came in and had me and my sister sit on his lap. I did not want too, but he insisted. He would bounce us on his lap and than grope us while were bouncing. I felt very embarrassed and uncomfortable. This particular day he took things too far and started to rub up and down my inner thighs. Which he than tongue kissed me. It felt dirty and his mouth was nasty to taste i scratched at him im protest and the small person i was slapped his face as hard as I could. Another adult saw me slap him and came in, I grabbed my sister and ran off to where my mom was in the church. I got into trouble when i got home. I didn't want to go back to church anymore even though i really loved god. I didn't want my sister to be in that room. My mom talk to the other sunday school teacher that worked there and decided that even though my age was young i could handle the older kids class. So i was placed in there for services. I always worried over my sister because i never knew did that man ever do something to her. Especially when he would close the curtains.. I always wondered was it him that caused my sister to never be able to speak until she turned 5 or something else.

Time goes by and 1st grade is over, i make it into second grade and am met with a very abusive teacher. In my day this teach would have been allowed to do what she does, but now a days she would have been fired. So not only am I abused at home I am abused at school. i must maintain an A to B average in school. Anything less and i was beaten for not performing well in school. Unfortunately physically i was very weak and I just couldn't climb ropes in physical education. I often was made fun of and laughed at because I couldn't do it. My teacher would snatch me around by my collar and shake me and throw me to the side. I have a friend and school to she was very sweet and laotian. She was in advanced reading with me but her accent made it hard to pronounce some words. I remember the teacher choking her with her golden chain because she couldn't say the words and she was so angry. I cried with her it was so terrifying for both of us and her necklace her mother gave her was broken. I was often humiliated in front of the class by this teacher she through erasers at me and screamed when I hesitated to come up to the board. When a boy lifted up my shirt and touched me inappropriately i tried to tell her she ripped my shirt open in front of the class. I don't even think that hurt me as much as when she would make me feel bad for being the person i was. You see art was my only world. Drawing, painting, crafting, you name it it was my only sanctuary. The only thing I could do that made me so happy. Anything I touched I made into art. My art teacher was amazed by me and often would give me compliments in front of the class. I could see the other teacher out the corner of my eye looking very hateful. When the teacher would leave she'd come over and rip up my art and yell at me or put me down. Still no matter how she made me feel, i loved art. I never got to achieve my dream in life, but my dream never went away either, I still dream of it. Going to art school and improving my skills. Unfortunately artschool is super expensive and poverty doesn't help for me. Still i dream of the day when i will be able to go.

 

[Arieanna]

You ever become so sick that you don't think that you will live to see tomorrow. At this time I caught a cold. Except something was wrong with me that when I catch a cold it almost always goes into bronchitis. Not only that i wheeze and can't breathe. My chest is heavy and it feels like i'm gasping for air. You see my mom has to work during the day and when i need to take medicine my dad was suppose to give it to me. Except he never did. He left me in the room by myself all day with nothing to eat or drink. I vomited into an old ice cream bucket we kept at my bedside. When I needed to use the bathroom, i had to crawl through the kitchen, he would even see me crawling and never come to help me. My fevers would get to be so bad that I began to hallucinate at times. Eventually the bronchitis would develop into pneumonia, For months I was at home ill. Finally when my mom realized i was taking to long to get better she took off work and nursed me for 2 weeks and than hired a nanny to do the rest. I had to be in a special program to catch up in third grade but since I was so smart it wasn't too hard. I was glad I lived but that seemed to be a reoccurring thing with my father and me being sick. All the way until I was 16 he never once took the time to nurture me when I was ill. Often leaving me there to die is what it felt like.

In school I was still the social outcast. I wasn't pretty or cute, or anything. I don't feel that way now, and most the time lol i was a goodie two shoes anyway. Not that I told on other kids. I hated to see anyone get in trouble. So often I would just play by myself. If i got teased or pushed it wasn't something I wasn't used to. I just brush it off and go off by myself. Maturity wise i was behind all the kids in my neighborhood and school. Everyone wanted to have boyfriends, and crushes especially in 5th grade. I just wanted to play with my dolls and talk about the best cartoons. Most of all I wanted people to accept me for me, and that was all. It's hard to find those people to accept you for you. Those people who make you feel like you can take on the moon, the sun, the stars. When you find those kinds of people they seem like a diamond in a vast sea of sand. If you ever find them you should never let them go. I think that is why I always get hurt because i want to hang on to the good in people for as long as i can, but I always ignore the bad. I was always the stepping stone for my family, but holding on to them only meant that they got ahead in life. While I watched everyone move ahead in life, I was the only one who couldn't pick themselves up. I was the only one who struggled. I realized that now, sometimes you have to let certain people go too no matter how much you love them. It's funny how no matter how badly they treated me I wanted my family to love me. I just realized they never will, and that's okay. Maybe it's for the best that they don't, they aren't my diamonds.

 

[Arieanna]

I was in therapy today and everyone was going over their life experiences in group. I felt so out of place because I had forgotten that not everyone is there in therapy for the same trauma. I was trying to give my experience and i forgotten my abuse was so extreme. I forgotten that the horrified look on peoples faces when they hear only small parts of the long list of traumas i endured. I had forgot i was abnormal as the blood left the faces of many of the people in the room. I feel so ashamed when people can use me to put a different perspective on their life. I know this isn't in the order I was giving my story but if the stories i gave was the fact of the matter that when you are a child that is hated by their parents. If that child has siblings the will eventually pick up on the atmosphere in the house. Eventually those siblings will always blame you for the wrong they do because they know the parents will jump on you whether it is true or not without question. When you are the hated child of the house both sibilings will abuse you as well. Stealing your things, smashing your things, blackmailing you, forcing you to give what you have to them otherwise they will tell. In which the parents will force you to give it. When you are treated like this by parents you hate you and your sibilings see that you are beaten, punched, bloodied, and that your abuse is different from theirs, eventually you become a toy.

I use the term toy because when i child picks up a toy it is free to treat that toy however it wants to with no regrets. Why because it is not a living thing, it is not human and for that i can do what i want with it for entertainment. This began in my sibilings at young ages. It first started with my sister who when she did not get her way would slam me around and attack me. One example is my mom gave us all pudding for desert, when she ate her pudding she wanted mine but i would not give her mine she shoved me hard into the counter of which i hit my spine on the corner edge. i was stunned and could not walk i dropped the pudding and she took and ate it. I was scolded for rough housing my sister did not get in trouble. My brother as well at an early age began seeing me as a toy. At 5 years old he tried to stab me with a knife. He laughed and giggled playfully and even when i tried to remove it from him he swashed at my hand i called for help but it took him backing me in a corner and near stabbing me in the stomach for my mom to finally intervene and take the knife from him. He protested and seemed upset my mom destroyed his fun. Keep in mind these are small kids and all they are doing is learning from the environment they were in. These things don't get better as we are older. My sister continues to steal from me just it grows into being money. As a teen I am forced to sleep on the cold floor. I am not allowed to have a bed, I am not allowed to sleep on the couch otherwise my brother will tell on me. I am lower than the family pet right now. It's at this time that i am saving my money for college. i work full time in the summers and i opened a bank account to save up. At least I thought I did. You see all the money I had saved up was in a guardian account because in WI you cannot have a bank account at the age of 15. So with my mom I stupidly trusted her not to steal my money. However i was so foolish i went to the bank with my check to find out how much money I had saved up for college. Only to find that I had saved only 25 dollars and that was all that was in there the money i originally used to open the account. My mom hadn't been putting my checks in my account she had been stealing them and giving the money to my dad to gamble. I was mortified. My last check i didn't sign over i kept on me and i wouldn't give to them. I got on my bike to ride away. My dad chased me in his black blazer. I road so fast to get away, to keep ahead of him. However he drover faster than i could pedal and cut me off at the stop sign a block away from my house. That was when i tried to get out from behind him not seeing the car coming, I road out and got hit by a car. My ankle was crushed and I was thrown to the side of the road. I was hurt so badly, my dad came up to me and the only thing he wanted was the money he took it from me. The neighbors came out to help me and called 911. I went to the hospital my dad lied to the police and told them i drove out into traffic because i tried to miss school. The police believed them and gave me a long lecture. When I got home through the doors there were no hugs, there was no kisses, no love, no tenderness. My brother said to me that the should have broken my other leg too.

That was pretty much his attitude towards me all his life, he hated me. He had a great disdain for me. I was beneath him in his eyes, not human, nothing. As we got older the worst it got. We got into a fight one day, my brother had learned to break into my parents room. He's a lot older, stronger, and taller now, and he knows how to jimmy the siding on the door to push the lock in. I wonder how and why he learned how to do that. However, I go in the room to get a hair dryer, since it was open. He isn't too happy about that. He wants me to put it back i tell him know. He gets upset that I won't listen to him. I shut the bathroom door and lock it to do my hair. He kicks it in and begins to attack me, punching me in my face. I fend him off, and run out the bathroom but he isn't happy that i've fought him back and he goes to grab a knife. He lunges at me with it several times trying to stab me. I make it into my parents room and lock the door. I hold a bat in hands and bar the door with furniture and my own body to try and hold him off until neighbors can come and help me.

You'd think as years go buy that the abuse would stop from my brother but into my adult life it never did. It never does. He many times will yell and curse me out. He constantly tries to crush my life. He makes fun of my disabilities, and my weight. He tells me how i was treated all the abuse i suffered i deserved it. These words play in my head often when i think of him to the point he terrifies me. I never know what to do when it comes to protecting myself against them. I don't deserve it, I don't want to be the victim anymore. Learned that in therapy today. I don't want to be the victim anymore....

 

[Arieanna]

So I couldn't stay in my art group therapy because most of the people there were addicts coping with addiction and i was the only extreme childhood abuse victim case. My art was causing triggers for people when it became my turn to explain my emotions and experiences behind my art. So i had to start doing it my privately with my therapists. I was really saddened by that but i don't want to make other people feel bad. Art just helps me more i believe to say things i otherwise can't say. Life has been really harsh I feel like i'm being punished for wanting to get out of the abusive marriage I had. I feel like an outcast of my family and friends, and i was ousted out of my religion for my choices.

I still want to be apart of my religion, but i feel torn two ways because my faith and belief has been rocked at it's core. I've been having more nightmares of my abuse from family and friends. It's like i have this wake up periods where i am finally seeing people as they truly are but i can't say no to get away from them. Case in point my best friend when i think of her i loved her company and i felt she truly cared for me. When i announced my divorce she said we couldn't be friends anymore. I look at our friendship and i feel a bit angry because i can look back and i have done so much for this person. I felt like it was always me giving in that relationship, and she always taking from me. I feel like when things got bad for me, it was just simple to cast me aside rather than help me, like i have helped her. All my relationships in life have been like this. Thrown away by people i cared deeply for only to be betrayed, stabbed in the back, and crushed by them. It's hard to have relationships with people when you suffer from ptsd because it's hard to trust people I feel like the moment we do trust people they prey on us instead. I'd like to change that about my life.

Do you think it's bad to have art that portrays your emotions and feelings in group art therapy, or do you think my group should have been more accepting and understanding that not everyone comes from the same path in life?

 

[ladee]

Being a recovering addict myself, I probably would have felt your art very triggering as I was not ready to deal with the bad stuff. Staying sober had to happen for a long period of time before I could even begin knocking scabs off of things I needed to look at and heal from... this is nothing against you personally... at about five years clean, I would have loved to have seen your art and what it meant to you...

Was any of their artwork triggering to you?

are there any art groups for people with PTSD??? That would be your best bet... I would have joined an art group when I first got clean if there had been one... like you , I can express myself better than with words.... but I also know it wouldn't have been the heavy stuff that I used behind... it would have been recovery based art.... I didn't have the stamina to get into the real stuff yet, I would have used....