Child Abuse Story From Dave W

by Dave W
(UK)

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT THAT MAY BRING ON TRIGGERS
Life Without:
 
I stood a proud four foot eight inches and came in at a little over five stone at the time but I thought I had a chance. After all, I had taken the punches of my eighteen-stone dad before so what was this kid really going to do to me? And I had learnt by then that I didn’t need to win anyway, I just had to fight, then he would go elsewhere for an easier time.

T-- was at the gates as planned and we walked around for about half an hour. He showed me where the park was and a couple of places where the local kids would meet up after school. It was going great until he offered to buy me a drink. On the way to the shops we walked down an alley and met T--’s five mates, I didn’t stand a chance. Two of them pinned me against the wall, then they took it in turns, punching me in the head and chest. Then after going through my pockets and still finding no lunch money they started again. I saw one punch coming and managed to move my head out the way so he punched the wall instead. Then one of the other lads kicked me in the groin, sending me to the ground in agony.
They carried on kicking me while I was on the ground but I was so tightly balled up I hardly felt them. Then I caught one of their legs and bit into the lad’s calf.
“I’m going to make you look so bad your mother won’t recognise you!” he sneered down. Then between them, they managed to wrestle off my clothes and trainers before running off with them.
Seeing the smirk on K--’s face, Dad behind her, when I walked into the kitchen. Beaten black and blue from head to toe, bleeding, stood in only underpants and socks.
“So what have we done this time, BOY?” K-- had recognised me.

Dad would only normally hit me if I had done something wrong but as he could see that I had basically been mugged, he grunted and went to the living room.
K-- came over and grabbed a handful of hair then dragged me upstairs. All the time she was shouting that I had no respect for the things she brought me. She threw me towards the bed and I landed, sitting on the edge. Then she grabbed one side of my head and threw me into the pillow as hard as she could.
“Can’t you f***ing sit still while I shout at you?” she screeched. As I sat up, she threw me down again. Before I could sit up again she jumped on top of me, pinning me to the bed with her knees. She screamed down that she was going to kill me if I didn’t get her clothes back. When I cried back that she would go down for that she answered that she’d get off with manslaughter, and when she got out it would be S--’s turn. Then she grabbed my throat and tightened her grip. I must have passed out because the next minute Dad was there, trying to comfort me. He was saying everything was going to be okay, and that K-- was just wound up after a bad day and didn’t really mean anything by it. Also, he was going to talk to the school about T-- and calm K-- down for me. Then saying, “sorry”, he fixed a padlock to my door and locked me in.
So on my first day of school I got to meet the six biggest bullies on offer. Beaten black and blue or not, tomorrow morning I was going to be caned and classed as a troublemaker. Then with the way K-- acted after! I wasn’t stupid, I WAS F***ED! And she made sure I knew it!

The place:
A large council house in the middle of the estate. A four-bed mid-terrace with the living room at the back. K-- would hide there if someone knocked, along with the kitchen. I didn’t walk out of these two rooms as often as I walked into them. Also there was a room at the front and a toilet at the bottom of the stairs.

Upstairs was my sparsely furnished room at the front, with Dad and K-- opposite at the rear of the house, a bathroom and two other rooms. The other rooms changed about at K--’s whim, often in the middle of the night. I never did keep up with who was where.

Every door in the house had a hasp and staple fitted within days of arriving. Every kitchen cupboard and drawer was padlocked shut from the first day. And the large gardens, front and rear, were both surrounded by high hedges.

The punishments:
The cane was the worst of my regular punishments. A metre and a half long section of a fishing rod, everything had been stripped off, leaving what looked like a nylon whip. As it whistled through the air you knew that thing was going to f***ing HURT!
It left a thin red line, looking and feeling like a burn at first, but by morning it would be two inches wide. Sometimes I would have to get S-- to count them while they were fresh or they would blend into one big blister. Then as they healed they would weep constantly and my trousers would stick to the back of my legs. The pain from pulling them up or down sometimes hurt as much as the caning itself.
The belt was easy until part of the backrest broke. Dad took the rest of it out and using the buckle end of his belt, he could get it to wrap around my legs to hit me in my now well-placed groin.
Punching and kicking were commonplace, coming randomly from K-- and D--. If I fought back I was caned.
Grounding meant I was locked in my room more often than not with D--. He would be told to torment me until I started a fight, then Dad would cane me for it while D-- and K-- watched. The windows were screwed shut, boards waiting in case I smashed one and I never had a light bulb, in case I hurt myself.

The main excuses:
K-- would say for any bruising, that I had been fighting at school, though she would also say I had become very accident prone around the house and often sleepwalked, falling down the stairs regularly.

In the house:
D--, K--’s eldest. He was three months younger than me and jealous I would leave school a year before him. Bigger than me, but not by much, he was the bully I couldn’t get rid of. Daily he would come home with stories about what I had done, most of them untrue, then watch as I was punished.

S---, K--’s eldest girl was about the same age as S-- and shared her class. She was an angel in her mum’s eye – the devil’s advocate in everyone else’s. If S--- didn’t get her way, K-- would take it out on me.

Dad was a lazy and fat wanting to please his wife and answer her every whim to get the easy life. Nearly six foot tall and eighteen-stone with greasy black hair, he hadn’t had a job for the past year because he thought the dole paid enough. His one good point was he would give a reason for hitting me, maybe not a good reason, but a reason nonetheless.

K-- or ‘The B****’ as she would later have us all call her, was exactly that! Very charming and polite when we had any visitors, recounting how she had dealt with difficult children as a leader for the Girl Guides, once the door was closed she constantly screamed at someone.
Average build and looks for a woman her age, she didn’t need reasons to hit anyone. Once she called me to her because she was bored. Grabbing my ears she banged my head against the wall to the beat of “I want to break free”. After the track finished she got D-- to carry on. It took two more tracks before I was knocked out.

S--, my sister; a little girl who hid away to study. She cried often, having to tell on me for something I hadn’t done for fear of getting hurt by S---. She was made to watch some of the events I’m about to speak of with a warning she would get the same if anyone knew about it.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Lily - Update

by Lily
(Location Undisclosed)

wow...
I'm shocked...
I remember writing to this site 4 years ago, and still the same things are haunting me.
Today I wanted to write on how I still don't understand "what the big deal is"- AS IN WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??!!
PLEASE PPL DON'T BE SHOCKED AND THOSE EASILY TRIGGERED DON'T CONTINUE READING!!
When I read my text again I was so shocked that I already wrote down EVERYTHING 4 years ago.
And 4 years later I'm still in the same place- only that I was raped in the meanwhile in 2010.
AND STILL. I'm not mad at my uncle- I'm not even mad at my rapist!
What is wrong with me?!
Am I ashamed about what happened?
Not really.
I just don't wanna talk about it.
I talked to my social worker (she is not really a social worker, it's more complicated, but I'll just call it this way to make things easier). I asked her what was that with my uncle? what happened to me and my little brother?
And she called it "child abuse".
I said "no, no, he never raped me, I'm not scared of him, actually I really love him"
She said: "child abuse is not only rape, it starts way before"
I talked to my younger brother about it.
He said yes, it is. It was the first time we talked about it, I believe. He said that seeing himself in that situation, as a kid, he laughs it off and says "that was nothing", but now as an adult, if he'd ever see someone else doing that with a kid he'd call the police straight away. Which is the same way that I feel. I wonder why can we see it as abuse when it is about other children, but not when it is about US?
Oh, and my uncle APOLOGIZED TO ME ABOUT IT.
That was weird. When he did I laughed it off and "said no big deal". He actually said "I hope I did not damage you kids too much. Especially you. I'm sorry if I did."
I'm still very confused.
My father (my uncle's brother) laughed when I told him, made jokes about it, said "that's no child abuse".
That was actually the first time I got mad about it.
I ended up yelling at my father: "oh yeah?! That's ok? Care to ask your brother why he felt the need to watch porn with your children aged 6 and 8?! Why he felt the need to touch your daughter as a child?! Why didn't he do that stuff to his own son, huh?!"
It pissed me off that to my father that was OK.

When it comes to the rape(2010) my boyfriend forced me to tell my family which I really did not want to do. My family ignores it.
Which on one hand bothers me, on the other hand I'm happy about it coz I do not want to talk about it.

So now in 2012 I'm unable to engage into anything sexual. I am mad at my rapist for having taken that away from me. But except for that- I don't want him dead, I don't want to hurt him- I just never ever want to see him again.
I'm scared that I will collapse,faint or I don't know what if I ever see him. But am I SCARED of HIM?
No. I don't think so. I'm scared of me loosing control if I see him, as in fainting or such and I do not want him to see that he has a grip on me in any way. But apart from that I'm not scared.
I'm in the state I was in at 12 again, I'm scared of men in general and of the weapon they carry between their legs. I know it sounds stupid.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
WHY do I still think it's no big deal?
WHY am I not mad at anyone?




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Nicole

by Nicole
(Maine, USA)

When I was in 5th grade, I had a male teacher. We called him Mr. G, and I'd known him since 2nd grade, because he was my teacher's brother. I'll admit that I had a crush on him, at least until I got into his class. He was a jerk. He would draw on my face, force me to slow-dance with him, grab me, try to drag me out of the classroom by my ankles, etc. When I went to him for help because I was feeling suicidal (which, in hindsight, was because of him in the first place), he laughed in my face, said I wouldn't have the guts to do it, and shoved me. Just to spite him, later that day I began choking myself, and he yelled at me about how he'd be blamed and how his wife was pregnant, etc. The older I get, the more memories surface, and I have reason to suspect he molested me at least once, and very likely raped me - because I was in an afterschool program I was often left alone with him for about an hour each afternoon before I was dismissed. I'm in 12th grade now, and he still teaches, but 7th grade. No one except my parents have ever believed my claim, but I recall a story of a girl the class above us whose arm he'd broken. I'm still trying to find closure, and I know I still try to convince myself it didn't happen sometimes because I admired him so much, but it was true. I only hope he hasn't hurt anyone else.




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Child Abuse Story From Elly O

by Elly O
(Melbourme, Australia)

im 13 years old. This is the first time im admitting all this at once, and i know its not the worst case but i still feel the need to share it with someone. I have been sexually abused by 5 guys and 1 girl, physically, verbally and mentaly abused and on the verge of death. i now suffer from anxiety and depression. I will start with the sexual abuse: back from as far as i can remember i was sexually abused by my cousin, neighbours and kinder friend. I was so young i didnt understand but i new it felt wrong and i blamed my self. Everytime i went to my cousins house who was 2years older than me i was scared and stayed by my mum, but my mum would always tell me to go play and would tell me off for following her. She thought i was just overly shy. He would take me behind the bar counter in the furthest away room and strip me of my pants and undies, and begin doing stuff like inserting things and hitting me. One day when i was about 4 i told him to stop before he took my pants off and i said it so loud my mum heard and came in and found me with no pants on and yelled at me and punished me, because of this i never spoke up to it because i thought it was always my fault. At the same time this was happening i was getting sexually abused by the 3 guys who lived up my street, a pair of twins also 2 years older than me and a boy who lived right next door who was around 3-4 years older. My dad and mum would force me to go out and play with them and they would come to my house to. They would take me to there bedrooms and do the same things that my cousin would do to me only this time i was completly naked and vunerable. I always blamed my self. They would make me do stuff to them to which i found scary and confonting. To my relief they both moved away eventually when i was around 5 1/2 . But within 2 months of them moving the girl at number 6 on my court started to make me do stuff with her, and soon enough it was exactly like the boys, and then it was worse, not only did she insert big things into both *holes down below* she also punished me and made me think i was in the wrong. Eventually she also moved away. And the last boy at my kinder i became best friends with, we went to eachothers houses and i got comfortable around him like i usually never was around guys but then he started to act strange, get angry at me and even though we were only 4 he started asking me to do very dirty things to him, and each time i would turn him down but he always won the argument. That was the worst years of my sexual abuse but it still hasnt finished and i will continue it later in the story. While all this was happening to me my situation at home was no better....different, but not better. My dad was physicaly and mentaly abusive and he still is to this day. He would hit me for the stupidest reasons and would every so often hit me with his belt. I would be hit so hard that i would have bruses and bubbles on my bottom. He eventuallystopped do it to me and moved on to hitting me on the top of the head with the bottom of his fist which often brought on a bad headache and he still does this to me even if i dont know what i did wrong :( he would call me names and tell me that i ate to much and i would get fat. He would call me dumb, a whimp, a little sh*t, stupid, easy, sl*t, wh**e and many other names. He would tell me that i deserved everything i got and i believed him. On top of the sexual abuse, verbal and physical abuse happening out side of school, i also got bullied. The kids at my school would tease me because i wasnt pretty and i didnt have the same things they did and they would tell me there is no point living because nobody liked me, and they would tell me my parents hated me because i was a disapointment. It was very hard to deal with and it still is so at the age of 6 was the first time i tried to kill my self. I had enough of all the sh*t going wrong and i believed my school mates that i was worthless and i took there advice, i got home, went upstairs, pulled out a pair of sciccors and stuck it through my stomach ( just under my rib cage on the left side) i felt peace. It was amazing! I didnt feel any more pain, not even from the sciccors and i just layed on my bed. I pulled the scissors out and put them on my bed side table next to the note i wrote to my parents and younger brother. Unfortunatly the next morning i woke up and i was very soar and could barrely walk. Although my sexual abuse had stoped for a while as i was growing up until this day my physical and verbal abuse from both the kids at school and at home have continued but slowed down and wont happen as often as it use to.
At the end of last year i began to get in trouble at school as a result of the abuse at home and stopped trying to get good grades. I was going to a counsellor regularly and with out being diagnosed with anything from a doctor, my counsellor told me it was very obvious i had anxiety and depression. She also told me i was suicidal because of all the times i have tried at takeing my own life. I couldnt deal with any of this and i kept trying to kill my self but never succeeded. At this time i had been on facebook for a couple of tears and unfortunatly i was an *early devoloper* so i was a target to many teen boys. I could never fully trust a guy and when i did it would always turn out bad(i go to an all girl school by the way). One day i met this guy, he was a year older but i still thought he was sweet, he would talk to me online everyday and compliment me and make me feel loved. So we aranged to meet in person for the second time. He came to my school after it had finished and we sat and laughed and looked through my phone but the he came closer to me and put his arm around me and i thought it was sweet at first but then he said he was cold and put his hands under my jumper and i felt alittle uncomfortable. He kept moving them up and up until he reached my boobs. I let this happen and i wish i didnt. I still blame my self. But i felt loved at the same time, so i became a sl*t and went around from guy to guy and got what i wanted. All the guys were chasing after me at the age of only 12. They would talk me up on facebook and we would talk about what we had already done. One day i left my facebook on and my parents saw everything :( i was band from facebook and to this day i have not got it back. When we went away for christmas i met a guy. He was sweet, funny, adventurus and just as silly as i was and i began to like him. But as soon as my parents saw that i was having fun with him they stepped in and said i wasnt aloud to talk, hang out with or even look at him but that didnt stop me. One night i was with him at the park and my dad walked by and saw me, he told me to go back to the caravn and not to come out at all for the rest of the night so i said good bye and did as i was told. Then my dad came in and yelled at me saying i dont deserve friends yadda yadda yadda....and when he left i was filled with so much anger and i was so upset i began punching my self and scratching up and down my legs which took off alot of the skin. Just as i was punching my self again my dad walked by and saw me, he stopped and asked me what i was doing and i said it was none of his buisness and he kept saying about how i could hurt my self and he wouldnt care and then he walked off and i felt empty, like there was no feeling inside me. I couldnt feel any pain or anything, i just layed there and stared at the roof my mind completely empty. But then my dad came back in and started yelling again but i still felt empty and i didnt move so he picked me up by the face and put his face around 3 inches away from my face and started yelling louder but i pulled away, and walked over to the cutlery draw amd pulled out a knife and i Held it to my throat. My dad didnt even flintch, he just said people will cry at first but they will forget and u will just be someone people use to know. He walked away and i slit my arm instead and it bled so much but it didnt hurt. My dad stopped talking to me for a while and i went home with my family the next day. i kept fighting with my parents After i leftand that was really the only time i have spoken to them since then but things are getting better now. I havent spoken to the counsellor since last year and i am still dealling with depression, anxiety and suicide thoughts but i am slowly recovering. I have grown closer to my mum and i have made some stuck with friends. I also have a respectful boyfriend now who knows about some of this but not much and i love him. Thanks for letting me share my story and if your ever in a situation like me please get help, dont think its your fault and people can help you.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Emma-Liam

by Liam
(England)

i am liam but i like to be called emma now ,i am a crossdresser and i feel more comfortable when im dressed as liam i feel so depressed at what happened to me growing up. my father walked out on me and mum when i was 7 she was a very hard woman and always wanted a girl and when he left my life became a misery,she would spank me naked for slightest thing and have others over to watch,also she used to dress me as a girl i hated it dresses,tights ,skirts, sandals and take me out everyone knew i was a boy dressed up was so humiliating about a year later she got a new boyfriend and he met me when i was dressed and mum spanked me in front of him,he liked it what else do u do to him laughing his head off.lots just watch,he sat on my chest mum lifted skirt and took tights and knicks down, i had an erection which i couldnt help but she slapped that hard with a ruler and then proceded to drip candle wax on my privates they both loved this,this sort of thing went on well into my teens with public spankings,park.beach town center was laughing stock of the whole town,tortures got worse had buttocks burnt with red hot iron have scars on my penis where mum burnt me with cigarrettes,he never done anything sexual but loved to watch as i was whipped. humiliated and mum used a strap on me which was so painful. i left home at 16 and never been back to my town ive had councilling but emotions and visions are still strong ,i just cant get my head round why. i suppose everyone asks that question

thank you

emma/liam




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story from JY

by JY
(Ohio, USA)

Technically this isn't my story, it's my friend "D"s story. D (26 now)was abandoned by her mother at the age of two after her birth father passed away. Her mother blamed her for it. She was shipped off to live with her aunt and uncle. Her uncle would molest her, and force her to do inappropriate things to him. Her aunt, clearly jealous that her husband was choosing her niece over her, started hitting her. (Keep in mind by this time D is about 4) Her aunt would beat her with belts, hangers, paddles, anything she could find. This continued until she was 10. The sexual abuse from her uncle escalated, to him RAPING her. When her aunt found out, SHE was punished!!Her aunt beat her with a belt so badly D still has scars from it. Her aunt then proceeded to pull down D's pants and spank her bare butt, with a metal spoon. She hit her so hard it broke in two. When that happened, she grabbed a lighter and a pen knife. D told me that she threatened to kill her if she even shed a tear. SO D stayed still. She watched as her aunt heated up the pen knife, and then screamed as her aunt carved the word "liar" onto her stomach
After that, D was shipped of to live with her birth mom. Her mom still blamed her for the death, so she was beaten there too. At age 12, her mom remarried. And for a while, she was okay. Then it just started up again. Her mother would WATCH AND LAUGH as her husband kicked, punched, and burned her daughter. D would often show up to school with hand shaped bruises on her face, arms, and legs. Her step-father started to touch her inappropriately as well. Her mother eventually started controlling every aspect of her life, she even told when and what to eat. One night, D came over to my house, when we were 16 and broke down and told me. I didn't know what else to do, so I told my parents who called the police.
She now lives with me,and two other of our closest friends.
--------------------------------------------------
Through all this, D was still a straight A student. She never complained and always had a smile on her face. After I found out about all this, and she was finally safe from her family, I asked her why she never complained about her life, she told it was because others had it worse than her. She told me it was this thought that pushed her to keep going for almost 14 (2-16) years.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous71

by Anonymous
(Tucson, Arizona, USA)

Youngest Child = Target Child: 
My father was an alcoholic. I was the youngest of five but I was an "accident"--my dad readily disclosed that fact--and I was seven years younger than everyone else. When I was little my brothers and sisters were still around, but the house was chaotic because my dad drank every night and became mean and sometimes violent with my mother at those times, so I just worked hard to stay off the radar. Later, when I was mostly the only child at home (my older sister was in and out until I was 16) I became the direct target of my dad's rage. He would scream at me and tell me I was ruining "his" marriage. When my mother intervened, he stopped doing it when she was home but waited until I was home alone with him. Anything would set him off and he'd come find me to yell at me. He'd tell me, "You're mother REALLY protects you," in a tone that told me he didn't think I deserved protection. He started listening to my phone calls, and was constantly telling my mother and I that I was selfish, spoiled, and ungrateful. I remember thinking many times that he resented my very existence, and he was jealous of any attention my mother gave me--which deeply affected me, because I was a kid and needed at least some parenting.

Later I found out he was also smearing me to my older sister. When I started to explore the abuse of my past recently, I asked her to tell me what she remembers. I started off by saying, "I know Dad thinks I was the problem in his problems with mom." She said, "You were! You were ruining their marriage!" But when I asked her for specifics, she couldn't remember any. I then realized that she got that idea from my dad, and that she and I my dad had sort of formed a team against me.

My relationship with my oldest siblings has always been a little strained. I've always gotten the idea that they thought I was at best, a nuisance, and at worst, the black sheep of the family. Now I'm wondering if my dad got to them, too, and they believed him when he said I was all those awful things.

I've talked to my mom at length about the emotional abuse. She admits he targeted me but doesn't really know why, and claims to not have known how frequent and severe the abuse was. In some of these conversations she's deflected blame away from my dad to other parts of my childhood, like the fact that I was bullied a lot in grade school. I know it's painful to her to realize how my dad's abuse hurt me so deeply, even though she couldn't totally control it, but her defense of him baffles me to this day.

My dad died seven years ago. I haven't spent a day missing him. From what my mother and sister have said, he never thought his treatment of me was anything other than totally justified.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Leon

by Leon
(Europe)

I'm not an expert on my family so I don't know how this occurred (it was a long time ago) but we own an estate and some land and a lot of family members live there.
My parents both had jobs that included going abroad a lot so they left me with the family 'leader' - basically he was a direct descendant of the people who had first bought the land. However, he had been spoilt and was abusive towards me and my cousins. If you played your cards right you could get away with harsh words and a slap, but play them wrong and I swear the guy could go on for hours.
Since I stayed with him he'd usually vent a lot of his anger on me, but he thought someone was to blame for something like... Chalking a message on a wall (one of my cousins actually got beat for this) he'd call them over and beat them up. He usually picked on children more and seemed to dislike women.
He had a way with words that made you really beleive what he was saying - he would only start punching and stuff when he was especially mad. His favourite thing to pick on was bad grades and since I have a form of dyslexia and ADHD my grades were never that good.
I never told my parents about him, they didn't know he was like that at all since he sucked up to them. I don't think any of my cousins mention him nowadays but we do tell each other little inside jokes about it.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Aaron

by Aaron
(Ohio, USA)

My dad died when i was 7 and it's my fault. I asked him to go out and get icecream for me and he got in a car accident on the way. my mom remarried like 2 years later and that's when the abuse started to happen to me. my stepdad was generally angry...all the time. he would hit my mom in front of us. they would always fight because he was an acoholic and my mom was clinically depressed, and he was physical with only her at first, unless i threw myself in the way. it's hard to see your mom get the crap kicked out of her without trying your hardest to stop it. one day i stayed home from school because i was missing my dad and couldn't stop crying. it was a bad day. my mom was hugging me in my bed when my stepdad came in and was like, what the hell is this, and she said he misses his dad. so he asked why i wasn't in school and neither of us answered. my stepdad took me by my neck and dragged me out of the bed. he threw me into the shower and told me to get my ass together. i said no to him and he completely lost it. he grabbed my neck and rammed my head into the tile wall...twice. then he took me out of the shower and started ripping my clothes off. my mom was screaming at him and trying to stop him but he just shoved her off and eventually slapped her and knocked her out...i was trying to get to her to see if she was okay and he backhanded me back into the shower, then turned it on and pulled off his belt. he beat me IN the shower...if that's ever happened to you you know it hurts ten times worse when you're wet.
he beat me up all the time after that. whenever he had a bad day, he did it, whenever he was drunk, he did it, whenever i did something wrong, he did it, whenever i did something right...just period, he beat me. I went to this private school and eventually they caught wind just because some bruises are hard to hide. i had to go to the office and i actually got in trouble because they thought i was fighting other students. I can say i wasn't really cut out for private school so i did act out sometimes..i only went because my stepdad thought it looked good for him putting the stepkids in such great schools. they accused me of disturbing the peace or something like that..and gave me a bunch of demerits. they called my stepdad and he came to the school for a meeting. afterwards he got me in the bathroom and started hitting me. i guess some beatings just can't wait. anyways he ended up getting caught :) the janitors heard it and the principal and came in and stopped him and it was a big production which ended with me being taken away and becoming a ward of the state where I'd have to be placed in foster care. my stepdad got arrested but didn't do time. instead he got admitted into this program which i guess teaches you how not to beat the s**t out of people just because your life sucks. the next day i ended up staying with this lady. I guess the whole thing was really tramatic because I don't remember the place at all and i was there for 2 months before i got put in the other place. my foster father was...worse. i don't really talk about this to anybody i'd rather pretend like it didn't happen. i remember everything about that place down to the way it smelled. he abused me physically and sexually. everyday i'd get hit here. I remember how it was hard to even walk because every ounce of me was either a bruise or a welt. I was angry all the time because i didn't understand how those people could take me away from my mother and little sister and brother because i was being mistreated, only to put me in a worse situation where i had nobody. he would tie me up and take my clothes off and , sorry there's no proper way to put this, f**k me in the a**. it hurt so bad i used to pass out. it felt like the way velcrow sounds. being ripped apart from the inside out. i hated it. he would beat me so bad that i was barely conscious then rape me because he knew i couldn't do anything about it and he could get away with it. i never told. the last time it happened, he was about to rape another foster who was living there, only she was a girl. i jumped on him and tried to stopped it...he got a hold of me and tied me against the heat radiator and made me watch him rape a little girl all the while the radiator burned through my skin. when he was done with her he got me. i passed out because the next thing i remember was waking up in the hospital. i didn't feel anything because i was hopped up on pain meds but there was a mirror and i could see everything that was done to me. i was in that foster home for 2 years. 13 when the last of it went down. my mother was in the hospital beside me when i woke up and i honestly thought i was dreaming when i saw her. i wish i was because i was so ashamed that i'd let all that stuff happen to me and i couldn't even look her in the face. i still can't. when i got out of the hospital i got to live back at home. things were different...for like a week. my stepfather finished the program so he was basically off the hook for making my childhood hell. I was on bed rest because apparently my foster father ripped my a-hole and it had to get stitches. i had third degree burns on my left ribs and back and my ankle was sprained and i just wasn't in a position to do anything or try another run at school. my stepfather hated me even more when i got back because i was a lot different. whenever he tried to hit me i didn't run for cover or wince or anything, i just let him do it because honestly it didn't hurt anymore. yeah, you get used to pain when it's all you know. i wasn't scared of him hitting me anymore and i guess without fear that took all the purpose out of it. he got me back in other ways. he started calling me faggot, and really zeroing in on the sexual abuse. he would say stuff like i probably liked it and i probably asked for it. it got to the point where he didn't even say my name or call me stuff like idiot anymore like he used to do. i was faggot. like faggot was my name for him. that bothered me the most out of anything and everything my stepdad did to me. I couldn't really take that so i got my grandparents to let me live with them in Ohio. my sister came with me. it was heaven on earth compared to home. they knew about the rape and everything so it was weird at first because i thought they would judge me for it. i got put in the school system there. things were starting to look up, i could actually look past all the abuse. the only time i was reminded of it was when somebody would ask what happened to my face or, what's that mark from. i lied about the scars and people seemed to buy it, until the worst possible thing happened. somebody who worked as an office assisstant got into the files and looked mine up. when you've been a foster kid your file has everything you've been through on it..including pictures incase somebodies abusing you the teachers or whoever will know what to look out for. this kid found it and told everybody what happened to me at my fosters. it was like i had leopardcy after that. nobody wanted to be near me. guys started calling me faggot just like my stepfather. i try not to let it bother me. i have found a group of friends who except me even though people call me faggot. since the kid didn't get to show anyone else my file nobody else has proof that it happened so my friends think it's just a rumor he spread because he doesn't like me. some other people think its a rumor too, some believe it. I guess if my frineds ever ask me I'll tell them the truth. they're the type of friends who wouldn't judge me either way. thanks for reading, i know it's kinda long...sorry my story doesn't have a such a happy ending, but I'm coping, and generally doing okay most days. :)




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Child Abuse Story From Hannah

by Hannah
(Maryland, USA)

I am 13 years old. I have a very interesting childhood.
So my life was wonderful from birth to age 9. I lived in a wonderful little beach town, with my parents and younger sister. We had an amazing relationship, the whole family, and life was perfect. Whenever my parents fought, they went outside and discussed the issue calmly. There was never any violence or yelling, and there were hardly ever any arguments in general.
One day in March when I was 8, a woman and a 12 year-old boy came to our doorstep. I had never seen either of them before, but my dad knew them all too well. She started screaming at him, demanding why he never saw them anymore. Apparently, my dad had fallen in love with this woman while he was married to my mom, and was the father of her 12 year old son. He never told my mom about them. He still saw them, never telling her about our family either, claiming he still loved her. But my dad stopped going to their house to spend time with them, and she suspected that he was seeing someone else. She followed him home one night and found our house.
She screamed at him, punched and hit him, and left the kid on our doorstep. We thought it was over, but the worst was yet to come. Now it was my mom's turn. They fought for hours and hours, throwing things, hitting each other, while Maddmy sister, my half-brother, and I hid in another room.
Finally, my mom left. We stayed in the house for 3 months, until June, until my mom came back and demanded that we leave. We packed the little things we could carry, and set out, driving south until we reached Baltimore. My dad found a 1 bedroom apartment in a very ghetto part of the city. My dad took up alcoholism, lost his job, and locked himself away in the bedroom, leaving us to fend for ourselves. my sister slept on the couch since she was youngest (7) and my half brother and I (12 and 9) slept on the floor. Unfortunately for us, my half brother's mom's child support was paid in check, so it was basically useless. However, my mom's child support for my sister and me was around $400 in cash. Rent was about $800 per month. So you could say that we were in debt. The guy that ran the apartment was kind to us, though. He knew our dad was an alcoholic and we told him that he was trying to get back on his feet and find a job. He believed us, and let us live there. My half brother was smart and resourceful, and bought us the most filling yet cheapest foods at the store. Still, after a month worth of groceries, we only had about $250 for rent. We were hungry most nights because, in order to save the most money, we had to ration the food. The ghetto was a scary place, I'm telling you. Imagine 3 little white kids walking around town with crime rates shooting through the roof, and no parent around! We survived though, somehow.
In mid-July, my dad met a woman. We didn't meet her till later, but at the end of July, when my half brother and I were scraping together the remains of our $400, he told us (sober) that his new girlfriend would pay off our debt and our monthy rent! We were dying to meet her!
So at the beginning of the school year in late August, we finally were invited to her house all the way in Annapolis. It was an hour drive but when we arrived, we were awestruck by her house. It was massive and beautiful. She came rushing out, her arms open wide.

Her name was S--. We got to meet her 2 daughters, one 3 the other 4 months old. We ate dinner, and I remember the look on her face as she watched the 3 of us wolf our food down. We hadn't had a hot, much less home cooked, meal in months! It was a face of sheer disgust and hatred, a look I'll never forget, one that has been etched into my mind.

So in late September, my dad remarried and we moved out that horrible apartment in Baltimore. My sister and I shared a room and my half brother slept in the attic; it's a 4 bedroom house. All was good and dandy at first, but I began acting out due to my past issues. I was rude and didn't obey S--.

One Saturday, I was watching TV with my dad. S-- came into the living room and demanded, "Why haven't you cleaned your room yet?" I merely shrugged, not even looking at her. She stepped in front of the TV, arms crossed. "Hannah. You had better get your butt into that room and clean it."
I craned my neck, trying to see the TV past her body.
"Hannah," my dad warned. Sighing loudly, I heaved myself to my feet and shoved past S-- around the couch. She grabbed me by the shoulder. "You disrespectful brat. I allow you to live in MY house, and you treat me like trash?"
I realize now that I was completely out of line saying this, but I was troubled and only 9 years old. So I said flatly, "you ARE trash."
Then she slapped me. I stumbled backwards, dazed, clutching my cheek and staring at her. S-- pointed sharply at the stairs. "Go NOW, before I do it again, girl!"

Ever since that day, she has punched, slapped, pushed, kicked, beaten, hair-pulled, grabbed, insulted, and ridiculed me. She always brings up my mom and how, if she didn't want me, what made me think anyone else would? It's not just me; it's my sister, also. She's 11 now. S--'s daughters, now 7 and 4, make up lies about us and tell their mom, resulting in more physical punishments. I have had a broken wrist (because of a D on a report card in 6th grade), 2 broken toes (from being stepped on), a broken finger (she bent it back), and a broken rib ("falling" down the stairs). My sister has also had a broke arm from being pushed down the stairs as well. My dad does nothing. He doesn't tell her to stop. He just watches silently. I know he's scared to, because if S-- kicks us out, we're doomed. My half brother helps us a lot; he's not home often, but when he is, he usually steps in between S-- and me or my sister. She hits him, too, but he's 16 now and plays baseball. He's a lot stronger than she.
Maddie and I are tired of it. We hate ourselves now; we have no self esteem. I don't know what to do anymore. Apparently I'm fat and ugly and a moron and whiny baby. I do everything I can to please her, to stay out of trouble, but nothing works. I guess, all I can do now is pray and wait.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Nicole

by Nicole
(Vancouver, BC, Canada)

My story of Sexual Abuse: 
I am 40 years old and still suffering from childhood sexual abuse. I first remember being sexually abused at the age of 3, from a grown adult cousin. When I was 24 and my son turned 3 I started having flashbacks of sexual abuse from my 2 older brothers. When my son turned 9 I started remembering a neighbour who sexually abused me also. In my late 20's I was remembering cousins female and male that had also sexually abused me. I have never been able to have a healthy relationship, hold a job, or finish anything I start. Tonight my relationship with a man I truly loved ended, I was so insecure and unlovable. I constantly accused him of not loving me and always felt he wanted someone else. When we would go out I would try and get attention from every other man in the room, because I was always scared he was wanting every woman there. I overly drink then start a fight I drink and get so angry. I need to have sex all the time because that is when I feel loved. Lately I am realizing how much I have been effected. I need to start healing and get my life going. It seems everytime I think Im doing good it goes bad. I am isolating my self from everyone for the first time in my life. I have lost direction. I have no desire to get my life going because I have been trying my whole life. I feel tired, Ive had many opportunities in my life that I let pass by. I literally have nothing going on in my life...nothing no job,no home,no friends I push everyone away because I have nothing to offer. I know that writing this is the first step of my healing process. As I cry writing this I also feel a sense of release.

Nicole




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Jason

by Jason
(Location Undisclosed)

This was not the worst thing in my life. I saw the first time my sister was sexually abused by my stepfather. I was laying on the couch in the next room. My sister was laying on the floor. He took off his shorts. He got on top of her and started to rape her. I could see him having sex with her. I heard him say things that I won't mention. The words he said while he raped her have been repeated in my head since that night. I thought he thought that I couldn't see. Then when he stopped raping her he got up and came over to me and said I better not say anything to my mother. If I had said something it wouldn't have done anything. She was afraid of him. The sounds of him raping her could be heard in her bedroom. My sister told my mother that this evil person was molesting her and she denied it. She knew he was doing it. I could hear the bed moving when he was raping her in her room. I think he wanted me to see him. He knew it would cause me pain. He would beat me every day. I never was hurt badly enough to think it was wrong but I was afraid. I couldn't go home. He never explained why he beat me. I knew it would never stop until he got tired of raping my sister and me and beating my mother and me. I thought I deserved it so I was ashamed. I don't know why god chose to punish us. I don't know why the people in my life hated me so much. I got no comfort at school because teachers hated me. I feel afraid today and I want to know when it will end.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Richard

by Richard
(Location Undisclosed)

I was enrolled in Milton Hershey School in October of 1971, I was just starting the third grade and was with Mr. and Mrs. V. The abuse started the first morning I woke up there.
I was at the sink in the basement trying to put a part in my hair the way they wanted, and my hair just wouldn’t do it, so I ended up later for breakfast. Well Mr. V comes down and when I say beats me, I don’t mean paddled on the a**, I mean slaps across the face, back, chest, legs and any other open spot he could get while I was curled up on the floor screaming ending with him picking me up and tossing me against the toilets.
But it doesn’t end there, he then tells me to stop crying and clean myself up and get my a** up to breakfast, so I washed my face and went up to breakfast.

Just after I sat down, Mrs. V looked over and said to Mr. V, “Whats that on the table cloth? blue berry pie? So Mr. V looks at it, and it wasn’t blue berry pie, it was blood. See the area that the blood was on was the edge of the table cloth and when I sat down my leg brushed it. And what I didn’t notice was while Mr. V was kicking the crap out of me my leg had gotten a long bloody scrape down the calf most likely when he tossed me against the toilet.
Anyway, Mr. V says, that’s not a pie stain, that’s blood, then he back hands me and I flip backwards in my chair and end up on the floor. He then tells me to get down stairs and clean it up before I ruin another table cloth.
That was my first morning at the school, my Welcome to Milton Hershey School.

We never had a break from them, whether it was him making us soap up and stand a*****e to belly button, and I mean pressed together while he watched us and made us jump up and down rubbing against each other or him checking to see if we were “dry” by having us stand in front of him while he fondled our genitals after every shower, the abuse just never ended.

Soon after I entered the school I started to wet the bed, I hadn’t wet the bed since I was 3 or 4. Mr. V would come in the middle of the night and rub his hands over my genitals as he said he was checking me to see if I wet the bed, it was almost a nightly occurrence being molested by him.

Now there was also the mental abuse, they had rules like you couldn’t flush the toilet upstairs at night because it would wake the V’s up if you did and you would get swats, yet if he found number one or two in a toilet in the morning when he was waking us up he would terrorize all of us until someone admitted to it and then they got swats.

On one occasion he accused me of doing it because there was a big turd in the toilet, and since I was one of the tallest kids in the home then he automatically accused me of doing it, which I hadn’t, so I was beat again, not swats, beaten.

To save time here is a list of things we got beat for..
Forgetting to wear your rubbers or boots in the rain or snow.
Getting our gloves wet when playing outside in the snow.
Getting out of bed at night to use the toilet.
Flushing the upstairs toilet at night.
Not flushing the upstairs toilet at night.
Making too much noise on the stairs, not by our voices, but our feet.
Not eating everything on your plate.
Missing a goal playing intramural soccer.
Missing a basket playing intramural basketball.
Dropping a fly ball or missing a ball or striking out in a intramural baseball game.
Hell we even got jumped on by the Vs if they found out that we didn’t walk two abreast to school and back.

Here are some of the Vs ways they punished us.
Swats,
Going to bed early.
Out and out beat downs leaving welts and bruises on us with his belt or open hand or him snapping us with a rat tail towel leveling welts all over us.

Now one of his favorite and more painful punishments was truly evil.
He had us stand with our feet and legs out as we leaned with all of our weight being on our fingertips that were on the very outer edge of the counter, and if we didn’t hold it, you got beat, if you made a sound , you got beat.
And this is just a small sample of what he did to us.

Now Mrs. V was just as nasty, only she verbally abused us and would do things on purpose to get you beat by Mr. V.
For example, I was doing the stairs one day while she was coming down the stairs, she stood a step above where I was cleaning and picked lint off of her dress and dropped it on the stairs and then yelled at me for not doing a good job and called Mr. V in to give me swats. All the while she was smiling from ear to ear.
She was always mentally and verbally abusing us.

Now here is what they did to ensure that we didn’t say anything, they listened on another line every time we had a call from home, and they read our letters before we were allowed to send them, and if they didn’t like what they read or heard, yep you got it, we got beat.

Hell, one time we were playing army outside and one half of the guys were American and the other half were German.
Well Mr. V was sitting outside watching us play and as the American side was coming we, the German side hid behind the trees and in the stair well going into the indoor gym, well without really knowing it we put them into a ambush, and I ended up being the only German left but I had three American prisoners. So after a few minutes I got all of my prisoners so that we could win the game. Well Mr. V didn’t like that, he grabbed me by the neck and down to the basement I went to get the s*** kicked out of me, again.
Hell, we never knew what would set them off, one day talking at the table was fine, then the next thing you know you’re getting a back hand to the face for talking.

There was oh so much more that they did, they were twisted as hell.

And here is the kick in the teeth,

One day a group of us planned to leave class at a given time and go down to the principal’s office and tell him what was happening to us.

So at the pre-planned time we all left our classes and went to his office, told him what was going on and showed him our welts and bruises.
He looked us over, listen to each of us, wrote down our names and then sent us back to class.

We all thought we were going to be saved from our hell, but about 2 hrs later the principal's voice came over the intercom and called us all back to the office.

As we began to walk down and meeting each other along the way we talked about what student homes we might end up in and the relief of our hell being over showed on all of our 7, 8 and 9 year old faces.

But we were oh so wrong, when we got to the office the principal began screaming at us for telling tales on the Vs and gave each of us 5 hard swats for our coming to him and telling.

Suddenly we realized things had just gotten a lot worse, not only were we not to tell on the Vs, but now we were being sent right back to them, right back into the hands of the people who abused us on a daily basis.

Needless to say, the beatings were increased and the molestations were no longer restricted to the middle of the night, now he fondled us as we showered, when we went to the pool, anytime the mood struck him and the thought he wouldn’t be seen.

I finally moved up into the Intermediate Division Student Homes, at that time they were homes for the kids from 5th grade to 8th grade, and I was never to have contact with them again.

A few years later, they just disappeared, let go by the school and no reason was ever given. But that is how Milton Hershey School does things, silently, like a thief in the night, covering up the abuses of children as they had what happen to me because the well being of the children is not their primary concern, the reputation is.

Richard
MHS 1971-1981




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Mercy

by Mercy
(Queensland, Australia)

my mother is consteinly yelling at me calling me stuip worthlesses and an outright mistake. she has rasied her hand to me on more than one ocation she makes me cry and hurt inside. sometimes i believe her that im a good for nothing atention seeker and that no one wants me no matter what. my stepmother kicked me out of the house last year so thats why i live with my mum. my stepmother and i were constinly in fights and yelling at each other but my dad didin't care he was to busy five hours away frome us for weeks at a time and when he did find out he took her side in it all. and what does he get from that her cheating on him with some dude online and stealing $20000 from her work for him. i know she did jail time this year i dont know how long nor do i care i dont want her apart of my life anymore. my father has just abandin my older sister by moving out and leaveing her to pay rent and bills and on top of that she had to pay the bond back to him. his taking away most of her stuff as well, when my sister and i were younger he did drugs and achole like you wouldn't believe and i was not even one the first time he hit me my sister was only soon turning two . my mother got out of that marrage when i turned one and yet we still had to see him i screamed and sscreamed that i didn't want to go why wouldn't mum just leave it that way that would of saved all the pain and heartbreack his been causeing all my life because him leaving me calling me bad words not caring that his daughter is turning sixteen tomorrow and neglecting her and taking away her mothers money by saying to centerlink that he has her 30% of the time when he has nothing to do with any of his daughters anymore for all i care he can go die in a hole. and when i moved to my mothers did i think it would be any better no it wasn't i was yelled at ordered around treated like i was a good for nothing piece of crap i hate her i have scars from were i inflict pain to stop my heart hurting but i just say i got them in a fight so no one will know some of my teachers sent me to the school nurse but whats that ment to do she cant stop the pain or the problems that go through my house hold. people lie, cheat, steal i dont see if my future is going to be any brighter than a dead light bulb.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Paul

by Paul
(UK)

I Lied: 
Whenever somebody walks into my room i jump, i might be asleep. Even if it is my parents, i shoot up in bed like somebody has thrown water over my face. This i think is because i lie, i have lied to my parents, the police and i lie to my therapist. I am 16, i don't like people touching me and hugs from family are out of the question, even my mum which i know hurts her.
I had a baby sitter and i slept with him several times. It was only when he fell asleep in my bed and my parents came home when the problems started. I have always told that he just touched me but that's not the truth. I really liked him and he was always nice to me.
He was a friend and i did not have many. I lied to a lot of people and still do, i was 13 at the time




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Dana

by Dana
(Location Undisclosed)

Why I Can't Sleep: 
I'm having one of those nights when I replay memories from my childhood in my head over and over. I can't sleep. I just cry. My husband has work in the morning so I've gone out in to the living room and looked up "how to recover from child abuse" on yahoo and found this site.

I'm 22 years old and having a hard time recovering from physical and severe emotional child abuse. I haven't really had anybody to tell my story to. I grew up with a mentally ill alcoholic/drug using mother and an alcoholic father. Both were child abuse victims themselves and I suppose that's why they did some of the things they did to me.

I'm going to make a list of memories that have been keeping me up tonight. Just some memories that have been swimming in my head. I think it would be therapeutic to share a few of the memories that still hurt me. I want to get them off my chest. So here they are.... (a few of them anyway...)


- I don't remember what I did but I recall my mother swinging me by my hair in the living room when I was 5 or 6.

- When I was 7 I was chubby. My mom slapped me in the dressing room and degraded me for not fitting into the school clothes she wanted to buy me. The store heard her yelling at me and threatened to call CPS. She told me I was going to get my little brother taken away and we fled the store. (She shamed me every time CPS was called and told me it was my fault for being bad and that I'm going to get my brothers taken away)

- I remember knots being in my head from being hit and my mother roughly brushing my hair before school. I cried. When I wouldn't stop crying my mother threatened to put tabasco in my mouth. Once she did.

- My mother made me put soap in my mouth until I had an allergic reaction and my tongue swelled up

- My father punched me in the face so hard once that the veins in my eye busted. Everybody at school made fun of my and said I put needles in my eye to look goth.

- My mother consistently made me change in front of her and degraded my body

- Both parents consistently degraded me for being big

- My mother was giving me a whooping with a belt that had bullets in it (my brothers cowboy belt) one of the shells went off from the friction and exploded on my leg

- I would flinch at my mother in public and was told how horrible I am to make people think that she hits me. (I flinched because I was used to being decked in the face on a regular basis)

- My mother would constantly get drunk and wake me up in the middle of the night before school to fight. She would get me crying and then tell my father that I've been fighting with her. Once she dumped out all my drawers and as I was crying "whyyy! whyy" my father came in disgusted with me telling me how horrible I am.

- My mother broke a the kitchen broom on my back twice

- My mother would yell and scream at me anytime she had to do chores. We lived in squalor (because of my parents) and she would rake her room and make me clean it. When my father got home she told him she cleaned it.

- Not one day went by when I was not called horrible names that no child should ever hear

- My mother would provoke me to the point of hysteria and then would call up her friends and let them listen. She would tell them what a good mother she is and that I'm out of control. She always built up a support group in case I ever wanted to tell on her.

- During beatings I was often made fun of. "ooooo cry! cry harder!!! squeeze them out! You're soooo abused! this is nothing compared to what I got!!!!"

- My mother constantly publicly humiliated me as a form of punishment

- My mother got drunk and called the cops on me. She then proceeded to tell them that I wanted to go to foster care.

-I often had to hear my brother being beat in the other room when she was drunk but was terrified and relieved that it was not me for once

- When I was 6 she constantly terrified me by telling me she was going to send me to boot camp

- We constantly witnessed my parents drunk and physically abusing each other

- My father always believed my mother. He was always disgusted with me. He believed her that I was a misbehaved little girl all day when in reality I was being tormented all day.

- I was constantly reminded to never tell anybody what went on in our house.

- I tried to kill myself when I was 14 and all they were concerned about was the doctors bill.

My mother still denies being a bad mother. She says she did everything she could to "protect us kids." My whole family is in denial about the abuse, even though it's still going on. I wish I could help my little brothers but it's too late. My mother is manipulative and very good at mind games. There is nothing I can do to help them. I wish I could describe the big picture... but it's impossible. I've listed these things... all little pieces so somebody could have an idea.

Sometimes I think about cutting off all communication with my family. I wonder if that would help me heal. I'm really not sure. I don't know what to do. I have so much built up anger. I was bullied in school, had a series of abusive relationships, and became an alcoholic myself. I'm now straightening out my life with a decent man but I don't know how to make the hurt stop.




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Child Abuse Story From Alyssa

by Alyssa
(Canada)

As a kid i would always do my best to please everyone in my family since i had an older sister who eveyone in my family would compare me to. Soon enough the abuse started. It was at a very young age as well. My sister abused me and so did my father and mother. My sister and father physically,emotionally and verbally abused me. Then my mother just verbally abused me. I was brought up to believe that it was just disipline for being a bad girl who gave attitude. I mean isnt that normal? As a growing girl? I mean i cried and cried to sleep every night went to school with bruises. And always made excuses for what happened being to scared to tell the truth about anything. In grade 9 i got out for one day. But when i had the meeting, my father lied saying that i left because of my grades and i didnt want to face it. I was so angry in being forced to go home. My whole life being scared of the people that raised me. Then the abuse got progressivly worse. Before it was choking hitting and almost anything. But now it was mostly verbal. I remember everyday having to go home then get verbally abused and have my own father spit in my face. I am an athlete, a singer and a good person but was always told different. My self esteen went down the drain. I stayed till i was 16 when i got to 16 almost 17 i decided that enough was enough and i left and let me tell you that this time i was not going back. I have a boyfriend who is now my fiance but when this abuse happened we werent engaged yet. And i told him what happened because i felt secure and him and his family took me in. But as usual my dad lied saying that he did nothing. But as i told everyone how is what you say verbally not abuse and how is spitting in your childs face not abuse. Due to this my schooling suffered because i was told that since i do not have a father that i do not deserve to be in school. My fiance has stuck by my side through this whole thing.
my father has no sympathy and still believes that he did nothing. He said that i was abusing him.

Since then i have no intention of letting them back as my family. And he is not allowed at my wedding.

i learned the hard way that there is no easy way to tell someone about abuse. But you have to or else things could end up worse. I got out and im happy to say that i survived this. Being abused ever since i was a kid till 16 and i survived. i thank god for this second chance to live my life.




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Child Abuse Story From Emma

by Emma
(Location Undisclosed)

This is the first time I ever tell my story to someone. It won't be easy for me to put all my thoughts in here because I feel disgusted by them but I'm gonna try.
I was physical abused by my biological father until I was 5. He used to whip me with his belt and then put me in the closet. I'm not sure how long I'd stay there but I remember feeling terrified there... He woudn't give me any food while I was there, he said I ate too much anyway. He woundn't let me use the bathroom either so if had an accident I would have to clean it up. "Bad kids have to clean their own messes" he used to say. I still have scars on the back because of the whips...
One day I was finally removed from that hell and went to foster care. 4 foster families until I was 6. I thought no one would ever want me because I was such a messed up child, special needs like they said because of the abuse I had suffered.
Then one day my case worker told me that one couple with no children would like to adopt me. For the first time in my life I felt that someone really cared about me and loved me. My adoptive parents saved me and gave me a good life, a life that I had never had before. The first times were difficult, I admit, because I would wake up at night with nightmares and woudn't let nobody touch me. But my parents never gave up and were always there when I needed them.
Today I'm 18 years old, not a child anymore. I'm in medical school because I want to save people like my parents saved me. I hope my story will give strength to other people that had suffered abuse as well.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Angel G

by Angel G
(England)

I was admitted into a Child Convalescent Home for Asthma in Marlborough Wiltshire England back in 1970s. For the past two years I have reported this to the Police. Nothing more they can do.

Not only violated by the hands of a Dr there, I was also mentally and physically abused by other members of staff, females also. Bath times were embarrassing! Elder children in the home were in control of drying me!!

Bullied very badly there by some of the older children who were admitted in the home longer than myself. No one seemed to care. Toys and sweets would go missing, just so unhappy. I wanted to run away from there. I was a frightened 7 year old. they used to sit around me when I was sat on the toilet from my pain after being violated! No hugs, no asking if I was alright. but they would be sat there watching me on the toilet and talking among eathother what happened to me, whispering.

the day I was allowed home for good, months later. the abusive nurse who used to pull my hair out and march like a soldier. She saw me out the door with my mother. And with all my might I spat and spat at her. the nurse only looked at the floor and did nothing to me infront of my mother. Mother laughed and asked why I did this. "She pulled my hair our" She did nothing just took me home.

As much as I felt this was wrong at the age of 7 years old, I kind of believed that it was the norm, a cruel cold world, until I got older and wiser.

Then I began questioning my own Mother, why she did not do anything about the Home? "You didn't do anything" she would always reply.

I was so young, and never really knew I could complain back then to someone else exactly, being scared out of my mind.

I am speaking out now, and my own Mother has had nothing to do with me for over 18 years now.

She has a new family which I am not welcome in.
I have more siblings but my own Mother has put them off to know me further.

Now my Half sister now wants to know everything. she is 21 But even her own father was not good when I was 17 years old. He would talk about sex, what he liked to do, say I would get raped, talk about my body. Hold me wrong.

Seems everyone wanted a peice of my soul!

My Mother's next husband since my True father beat me, but my own father used to hang me upside down and beat me!!! the male childminder, a family friend of my mother's, was horrid to me. To even a local old man who my own mother let take me swimming! A known Peodophile among people. He put his hand down my nickers!!!

My Mother as a single Parent was awful, her partners always mentally and physically hurt me. My Mother always put me down saying, she is this, she that, she lies! They rubbed their hands together!! Mother's Stupidity was putting me at risk! I really felt my own mother did not love me as she abused me also. She locked me up in a room with my real sister all day, with not a drink, not food. I ended up drinking from the potty!!!

What the hell is going on with the world around me I used to think, with a Mother who still would do nothing of any abuse I told her further on.

And even to this day portaying me as a liar, a person who tried to stab her, that my own children were placed into care when this is not true, telling my half sibling wanting to know me. More lies to prevent me blurring out my childhood abuse, Glossing over what a good Mother she was. does this make sense?

I have been abused so much by different people, Mother to growing up.

I want to speak about all my abuse so badly now, My Mother always told me not to speak about it growing up, putting it under the carpet, not for me, for her! For her new family not to know she failed me. My mother is afraid to face me and know me over her guilt.

I want to share my story so badly.

My medical records, family guidence reports I have now read. proof of my abuse, but I had slipped the net for anyone to have helped me back then.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Kayye

by Kayye
(Arkansas, USA)

Rape: 
It started when i was 5 ... my 3 cousins were 9, 8, and 11 years older then me.. My drunken grandmother made them have sex with me... they told that "If you want to be a big girl you have to do big girl duties" I never did want to be a big girl after that brutal night.. I was repediatly beaten and raped almost every night of every summer i was there. when i was 13 she kicked me out at 3 in the morning.. keep in mind i do not live where she lived i lived in a different state with my mother...these were just summer visits I have been pregnant twice from them.. i have complications with my body.. and irregular periods. I havent told anyone.. and dont plan to. i continue to be abused when down there.. now that there out of the house i only have to fight for my life with my grandmother who constantly puts bleach in my food and eyedrops... i always lose a lot of weight when down there and tell my mom i excersise more than usual and stuff.

It continued and until a year ago.. i am now 16.. I havent told a soul, but i have anger issues very smart in school but grades are slipping and i have anger and depression issues... My mom is curious... but i wont EVER tell...




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Lynne

by Lynne
(Georgia, USA)

I'm 17 years old and I was about five years old when I was first got hit. My mom got remarried to an ex marine named R--, and she thought that our life was going to be great, full of rainbows and butterflies. But what I didn't know was that as I had gotten older, I would be struggling to survive, struggling to be happy, and struggling to not take my own life. I had learned how to make alcoholic beverages for R-- while I was 7. I remember every single night that R-- was drunk.... My routine was of waking up, getting hit and yelled at because my room wasnt clean and R-- had a hardcore hangover, then I went to school and got bullied, at around 3 pm I came home and waited for R--. I was there in the kitchen at 6 pm every night with a drink prepared for him. Now even though I'm older, I still remember the exact ingrediants in the drink that I would make for him every night. I would hide in my room and cover my ears from having to hear my dear mother being beat repeatedly and inhumainly, I always heard the crashing of vases and the breaking of our new white or brown doors. There was this one time that really changed my life, if I were to title this event it would be called “The Overcoming”. I was in eighth grade and my sister, K--, was a freshman in high school. Her and I were the best of friends. She was finally allowed to wear make up to school for the first time and she was so excited, I was on the other hand very jealous. K-- made the mistake of putting eyeliner on the bottom of her eye and then R-- came downstairs to do our daily inspection. When he saw K-- he called her a s**t and a c*** and and ugly b****. He came upstairs to where I had been standing dumbfounded and then I just remember how loud he was screaming, he was just screaming at me asking if I liked that my sister was a s**t and a f***ing disgrace to the family. The next thing I did was so beyond naïve I still today am so amazed that I even did this, what I did was yelled at R-- telling him that he can’t say anything like that to my sister. He told me that I had some balls to even speak to him like that. I then moved out to my dads house and my mom finally divorced the b*****d and I can finally live my life the way I am supposed to.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Shay

by Shay
(South Carolina, USA)

I was only 4. Only 4, still a child. He robbed me of my childhood. He took everything from me. My whole world. My father, my own father. Here is my story. My father had just gotten fired from his job. We were suffering and hardly had anything to eat so my mother went and got 2 jobs. My father stayed home with me. I loved scary movies, like Freddy Crougar. I think thats how you spell it. So I would watch those when my mom was gone. The first time he abused me, I remember it very graphicly. I was sitting in front of the tv watching my scary movie. It starting raining. My father walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen he grabbed scissors. And told me to come here right now. I got up and walked over to him. He put me on the floor and laid on top of me. He gave me the most evilest look like the Devil. He put the scissors to my heart and said "I'm Freddy and I'm going to kill you." I was scared and crying. He got mad at me crying and locked me in the closet. I stopped crying a hour later. He opened the closet door and took my hand and said "Lets play a game to make you feel better." I smiled and nodded okay. He sat me on the bed and told me to stay there. I sat there while he went into the bathroom. He stripped down to his underwear. He came out again and laid on the bed. He said we were going to play "Helicopter" I said okay and smiled again. He grabbed me by my waist and held me up in the air. His legs were spread open with his knees in the air. He slid me back and forth again and again. I laughed and giggled. He kept moaning in pleasure. The next time we were sitting in the living room. I was sitting on his legs and he was laying on the couch. He took his thing out and asked me what my favorite flavor was. I told him cupcakes. He told me to put his you know in my mouth because it tasted just like cupcakes. I tasted it and it tasted gross. I went to pull away and he forced me and gagged me. I started tearing up and ran to my room. He told me it was for my own good and I was being bad. I never told my mom. I never remembered anything from ages 5-10. At 11 I started having dreams. At 12 I was having memories. And now I am 13, and I keep having flashbacks. I feel so dirty. I wake up at night and want to have sex. I can't ever get close to a boy without wanting sex. At 6 I was rubbing myself and making my barbies rub against each other. Now, I just feel so dirty, and alone. I still haven't told my mother. He still lives with me and when my mom isn't home he smacks me on my bottom. And talks about how mature my body is getting. It makes me so uncomfortable. When he is drunk he tells me to sit on his lap. I say I don't feel good and I go to bed. I just don't know what to do anymore...




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous72

by Anonymous
(Florida, USA)

I was sexually abused by our landlord's father when I was about 7 or 8 years old...My mother never knew about it and I kept it a secret up till now. I guess I was scared and confused, felt a great deal of shame, and once we finally moved away, I never had to face the man again. Then, before we moved away, my mother met a man whom had 4 older children at the time. My mother was crazy in love with him and though he was still going through a divorce I believe, wanted to marry him and finally live a well off life (he had a high ranking position in a company in NYC). Well, eventually they did get married and we moved to Queens, NY in the home where he lived with his wife and four older children before. As time went on, and I got older and went through puberty, I noticed little things that made me think something wasn't right (call them passes if you will). I didn't want to make a big deal about it because I thought maybe it was just affection or maybe I was making too much of it. When I was around 16 years old however, I was sitting at my dining room table doing homework and he walked up behind me and put his hand down my blouse and fondled me. The fear, shame and anger came back after what had happened to me in my younger years. I ran away and despite my telling my story to my mother, she decided to give me up to the custody of the State and move away to Florida so she would never have to deal with this matter again. A long story short, I went through loneliness, depression, cutting because of what happened and then feeling abandoned because I told the truth. In the end (I am now 40) I am happily married with six children and though I don't dwell on what happened to me, I just found out this man that separated me from my whole family (I guess I became the black sheep of the family after what happened), passed away a week ago. I found out that he was praised for his integrity and for being an upright citizen to his native country in Albania. Again, after 25 or more years, I found myself being angry again. I guess the effects of my abuse have never gone away and I still am dealing with my own issues and need to ask the Lord for help and for forgiveness above all. Abuse as this does not go away and sometimes we are just good at hiding it or not letting other people know. Maybe it is time for me to discuss it with a professional.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Amanda K

by Amanda K
(Arizona, USA)

My name is Amanda, if that wasn't already obvious. I'm not afraid to share my name for neither of my parents would ever find this site. Although typing now makes me feel naseous and like at any moment I'm going to be sick. I'm 17... I feel like such a cry baby for sitting here typing this, like poor Amanda had it sooo bad. But I can't shake the way I feel.

I'm not sure where to start and honestly, this whole thing will probably sound extremely scatter brained, but here goes. I was born from a woman who was an extreme child abuser. I was adopted by my current mother at one day old and was "saved" from her. But I don't feel saved. I have grown up my entire life, all 17 years and 4 months of it in an HCTC foster home where we get kids that are monstrous. Kids that murder babies and animals and molest other children and wipe their feces all over the walls and sleep in their own pee.

I've always been the target. One kid, named D--, came to us when I was 1 year old. He was 4... and I know it sounds terrible to talk about a child this way but he was and I believe to still be a terrible person. From the time he first came to us he constantly tried to hurt me and murder me. He had suffocated me with a pillow until I passed out, threw me out in the snow completely naked when I was 2, threw me down a flight of stairs, beat me constantly, pushed me off a swing set and broke my jaw, attempted to rape me multiple times, the list goes on and on... When he was 15 and I was 11, he was adopted as well, but soon after my mom had him arrested for trying to rape me again.

Besides D--, there were other kids that hurt me as well and some that just made me feel like I was living in hell. Some that beat me, and then others that would steal my underwear and get off to them, and some that would pee in my room, etc. However, it wasn't only the kids. My parents were no walk in the park either. My mom, who was notorious for having an extremely short temper, got mad and still gets mad at me over EVERYTHING. If I forget to do the dishes then I'm a lazy a**hole who never helps and doesn't care about the family. Just the other night she started yelling at me out in public, totally shooting me down and humiliating me by calling me a b***h several times all because she was embarrassing me by taking pictures of me and showing a bunch of people we don't know (I'm unbearably self-conscious) and I asked her to stop.

My mom has told me multiple times that she wishes she'd never adopted me and that she should just send me back and that I'm evil and that I'm just as bad as D--. Who she recently started having contact with again. He got out of jail a couple years ago and about 8 months ago she started talking to him again. saying, "I'm still his mother", and "I need to be there for him" and "he deserves a second chance". He's married now and has come over a couple times. I still feel as though it's just this big facade that he's putting on and that he's got this huge underlying scheme. Yet, whenever I talk to my mom about it she tells me I'm overreacting and that I need to get over the what he did to me in the past and that it doesn't matter. But how do I just get over something like that????

Oh God, and we haven't even started on my dad. Another abuser, he was more emotional than physical, although he had his moments. Choking me, hitting me, pulling my hair, pushing my mom down the stairs, slamming me multiple times between a door. He often just ignored all of us. He didn't even know my age or what grade I was in... He was a massive drug addict and would take sometimes 30 hydrocodine pills at a time or would shoot up and attempt to eat coasters thinking it was a cookie. My parents just started filing for divorce 2 months ago and right now it's only my mom, me, and my adopted brother M-- who is one of the lesser problems. He's mostly just a liar and self-harmer.

I'm so lost and confused though. Everything should be better right now but I'm angrier than ever! I hate the world, I hate myself for hating the world, I just hate! I don't know what to do!! I pray and I seek guidance from friends and my boyfriend and stuff but none of it helps. They just don't understand, and I'm in so much pain and inner turmoil. I've attempted suicide three times and I still think about it almost daily. I used to cut repeatedly and have hurt myself over the years many many times. I'm just at a loss and I feel so alone and depressed and I know all the symptoms and the ideas that are supposed to help but they just don't!! ugggghhhhh!!! please help me!!




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Michelle

by Michelle
(Oklahoma, USA)

I was sexually abused by my grandfather for 10 years. Being sexually abused by him is my first memory. I think I was 2 or 3. I remember the dress I was wearing, what my grandmother was cooking, what he had on, and the chair he was sitting in. I didn't live with my grandparents but they took care of me often while my mother worked. I told friends, teachers, my parents, family members and no one listened. I was told I was a liar. That it didn't happen. When I was 14 I found out my sister was also being abused by him. In addition, I found out several other family members had been abused by him. I never understood and I never will why his evil actions were allowed to continue for generations. He did terrible things to me. It was awful. When I turned 14 the abuse from him suddenly stopped. However, another family member started to sexually abuse me, and two years later a cousin tried to rape me... Most of my childhood was covered in a blanket of sexual abuse. My grandfather has since died... therefore ending the generational horror. Before he died I had my first child. I confronted him after my child was born. I told him he would never be allowed to see my child - my child would not endure the horror I did. My family disowned me after that confrontation. My mother wrote me a letter saying she no longer had two daughters but only one. My father will not speak to me. Neither will my extended family. I do not regret my decision. It was made to protect my child. To give my child a real childhood, filled with security and trust and the God given right to be protected. I'll never understand what I endured. I'll never understand why even to this day I get sick to my stomach at certain smells that remind me of him. I'll never understand what it did to my emotions. I try to be a healthy person. I am a Christian and I love the Lord. I have had counseling and I am in a good marriage. I have a degree and I work with children daily. The scars from the abuse are so so deep. I feel like they forever altered the person I would have been. And in it's place left a broken girl, desperate for lasting emotional healing.




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Child Abuse Story From Name Undisclosed137

by Name Undisclosed
(Location Undisclosed)

No second chances: 
My mother has recently got in touch with me. I know she has been in prison because of what she did to me and i guess she has recently been release. She is my mum so i guess i instinctively opened the door and let her back into my life. She may be trying to make up for things that happened but i find just being near her uncomfortable. I was 12 and put with foster parents, went through 3 lots of foster parents and to be honest they were all wonderful and i still keep in touch with them all. Mum wants to come back into my life and at first i thought maybe it is worth a try. It is not going to work because when i settle down and maybe have a family of my own i do not want my mother anywhere near my children. To be honest i do not want her near me also. She is always saying she is sorry and hopes i can forgive her but even typing this reminds me of her because the tip of my finger on my left hand is missing. She bit it off. I do not want her anywhere near me. There, i just said it "i do not want her anywhere near me"




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Child Abuse Story From Name Undisclosed138

by Name Undisclosed
(Location Undisclosed)

Feign Contentment: 
I didn't realize I was being molested. Molested was something that happened when some dirty old man got ahold of you - but that's not what happened to me. My molestor was my younger sister. We were little - I was 6 when it started - she was 4. One night she slept with me - that happened often - no big deal That night though she said she was going to be a puppy and she started licking me - all over - when she got there - I tried to stop her - told her no. She was bigger than me - said "yes, all over" and did it. I felt it was bad - but I didn't know what it was. It continued for years - I wasn't the only one. One day we were playing with some neighbor kids - one of them asked me about it - said that they heard that I made my sister lick my butt - I said no. She took the girl to our house - to her room. She took her back between the bed and the wall and did it to her. She did it to that girls sister too. She would sit around the house - we would be watching TV and I would hear noises - look over and she would be sticking things inside herself. She tried to do that to me but I wouldn't let her. When I turned 12 I got a different room - it had a door that locked - I locked it every night - and it stopped.

I know something happened with a little boy - before anything happened to me - I remember overhearing something my parents were talking about - and I asked what happened - I was told it was none of my business - but it wasn't very long before it became my business.

I tried to give my sister the benefit of the doubt - I'm pretty sure her actions wouldn't have happened otherwise - she was too young. I tried to talk to her about what happened - but she denied it - said that I was the one who started it - which I know wasn't true - I remember everything. I think too that they (my parents and older sister) knew - one night they dropped us off at a babysitter and I heard my older sister tell the sitter that she needed to make sure my sister wasn't in a room with a closed door with her son - or they would be playing doctor.

I don't really know what I'm looking for - and haven't found many that have suffered this type of abuse. I posted on a different site and all I got in response were emails from men who said they "liked my story". It's not a story - it was my life - and something I am now trying to deal with.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Name Undisclosed139

by Name Undisclosed
(Australia)

I look back now at the age of 40 having 6 beautiful children now and think My God how lucky my children are today 4 of my children have Autism Id and Hearing impairment.But as a mother i love them to no end and would do anything in my power to protect my children.My Father was Just evil and as far as i am concerned my mother did not do enough to protect us all when we were children well thats what i thought until now as an adult who sees things so different.I have two older brothers and another sister my sister was never hit and i really cant tell you if i was But my brothers are lucky to be alive. My father was and still is a drunk that beat my mother and brothers every single day he broke my older brothers legs because he was not his son.My other brother just kept getting beaten and looking back now he took on the role of looking after us girls.I also suffered at the age of 6 the court sent us there after my mother finally got away from him and we had to visit on weekends.I will never forget the pain and screams of that day and how my brother was trying to help his sister at the age of 6.My father came home {drunk}and we were told to cook so i started boiling water for dinner and i never forget he went in a rage and got the pot of water and threw it all over my left side of my body.My skin was just hanging off i endured the next 16 years of operations to try and fix what the man had done to me He never came to see me in hospital i never got a sorry 2 years i was in hospital i got out at 8 and every 3 months back into hospital for yet another operation.This is what i cant get we were sent back there by the courts.My so called father these days is registered with the sex offeenders list online as he raped his step daughter and only got 3 months in jail.He is still a drunk.My brothers are all alcoholics and so is my sister they are all in abusive relationships .I think out of all of them i am the only one that said when i left home at 17 i will never be like him and I have never had a drink in my life or done anything abusive to myself and as far as my children go i love them to no end with all my heart i am theie advocate as they cant speak and id do anything in my power to make there life perfect No person should go through what we had to Im just glad I cant remember too much before the age of 6.Only what people have told me.I still have the scars they never went i look at them somedays in disgust at myself and him what he did.




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Child Abuse Story From Justin P

by Justin P
(USA)

Well I'm not really sure how to put this, but I'll do my best.

I was raised in a family with my mom, my dad, and my younger sister. A lot of other kids said my family was cool, and that they wished they had my parents, but they didn't know the real them. Behind closed doors my family was nothing like the facade they put on for everyone else.

My mother was a very quite shy woman, I never really talked to her to be honest. I wish I had more though. As for my father; he's another thing all together.

On many occasions when I was younger I would hear my father barge into the house late at night, clearly drunk. He would often hit my mother, but it was never anything beyond a slap. But as I got older, when I was around seven or eight I took my mother's place in his drunken rage, and it was worse for me, not only because I was small, but because I never met his expectations. Let me further explain.

My father, when he was young, he was the jock, the prom king, that guy all of the other guys wanted to be. However when he shattered his knee in a car accident before I was born, his dreams of joining the NFL went down the drain. As a result he ended up pushing me to join sports (though I never liked them), and expecting me to be the best at them. But I was anything other than the best. I wasn't as fast as most of the other kids, not as big, not as strong, I couldn't jump high, I couldn't swing a bat, I couldn't shoot a basket, I couldn't even kick a soccer ball properly. That is until I was 11.

When I turned 11 this was about the age when my father assumed I would start dating girls. And if there was one thing I could do right was attract girls, unfortunately a few months after dating my 3rd or so girlfriend I realized that I was homosexual. I couldn't tell my parents; my mother probably wouldn't listen and my dad would beat me to a bloody pulp, so I kept it a secret for the next two years. But I felt the need to make up for it, so I pushed myself to get better at sports, to be the guy my dad wanted me to be, and after two years of hard work I had finally gotten my father's approval after scoring the game winning goal in a soccer match.

I felt confident and proud. He told me he was proud of me, and that I had done a good job. I finally felt like he actually loved me (although the beatings had persisted through the years). After a long while of consideration, thinking I had won my father over I decided I would tell him and my mother about my homosexuality.

I told them both that evening while we sat in the living room watch a basketball game that I needed to tell them something important. I remember glancing down at my father's hand and seeing a beer bottle in hand, but I didn't stop. I don't recall exactly what I said to them, but it was something along the lines of "Mom... Dad. I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, but... I'm gay."

They were both completely silent for a moment, then before I even saw it coming my father punched me in the face and I fell to the floor. What he said after that has stayed in my head for years. "No son of mine is going to be a god damn faggot."

After that he proceeded to beat me until I was in pretty critical condition, then he demanded that I get out of the house. After the beating he had just given me, I wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but if there was one thing he taught me that sunk in, it was to never back down from a fight. I stood up, looked him dead in the eyes, and told him that I wasn't going to leave, and that I was his son, and he would have to deal with it. Of course my father wasn't exactly a reasonable man, so he left the room... and came back holding a shotgun, once again demanding I leave. This time I didn't hesitate to get out of there.

I ran like hell until I was far enough away that I felt safe. Physically and emotionally exhausted I dropped to the ground where ever I was and started crying like I never had before. I had never felt so alone and unwanted. My father has disowned me, and beat the living daylights out of me, and my mother did nothing to stop it. At some point I fell asleep and woke up to some random woman shaking me awake. Long story short she was a sister at a covenant house nearby for runaway kids, which I more or less was. She took me there, where I stayed for a few days, then it was decided it would be best to go to the police about the issue.

My father was sent to jail, and both my sister and I were taken from my mother's custody. We got separated in the foster care system, but we still email each other and Skype when we can. I'm currently with a very caring family, though I have to admit, I'm a bit of a handful. I unfortunately have violent tendencies, and am very foul mouthed, which they do not approve of, but it's hard for me to help it.

I am technically still in the closet about my sexuality; I have only told one person, and it was a very close friend. I want to be able to tell them about it, but I don't want to risk that blowing up in my face again. If you have any advice I'd love to hear it.

And thank you for giving me a place where I can tell my story and know there are others like me.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Kevin

by Kevin
(Location Undisclosed)

My story is a tragedy. I am a 45 year old man who was sexually abused by my female cousin(babysitter,4 yrs older)over a 4 year period - age 9 to 13. I was the most vulnerable because prior to the abuse my mom passed away - and I went to live with relitaves. My abuser targetted me knowing I lost my confidant and protector. It was a classic abuse situation - she controlled me with fear, she raped me numerous times, then she convinced me over a long period that I was the little pervert creep. When I was 12 I was molested in a public pool and terrorized in a change room(I was a gifted committed swimmer,my passion was synchronized ballet and I was very good at it - It was the last time I went into a pool until I was in my thirties. I did not realize this until just recent). It was directly related and I could not respond other than to slip into a deep darkness. My behaviour escalated always after she babysat - over weekends at times. By the time I was in junior high I was a mess -and out of control. My family could not understand what was wrong. When I was 20 I mustered the courage and confessed what happened to me at a family meeting I requested. My cousin denied that it happened and my family questioned my sincerity.
Today, 20 plus years later -I have finished serving a prison sentence for sexually abusing my stepdaughter. Her, and my own childrens lives are ruined, as they have had to come to terms with who their dad really was. While I was in jail I lost 1 of my children - my biological daughter - to a drug overdose. She was not an addict but could not cope with the utter collapse of her family.
Mine is the story of child abuse coming full circle and I am profoundly sorry I could not make a difference.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Charlotte

by Charlotte
(Location Undisclosed)

I think it started when i was about 4 or 5. There was an old lady who live downstairs and her 3 grandchildren used to visit her. it was the girl who i think was 13 or something about that age who used to abuse me. i remember what she done to me well. she used to make it a game i didnt see anything wrong with it at the time. it was only when i got older i realised what happened. i dont remember what happened after i think my mum found out. i remember her grabbing my arm and taking me back home when i said to the girl are we going to play sex. i remember nothing after that. she has never spoke to me about it. but ever since that moment i have felt nothing but hatred from my mum and dad. I want to know what happened after she dragged me up the stairs. What made her hate me and not want to help me deal with what happened.

I have never told anyone about what happened to me. No one would belive me anyway. But i know it did and it has done lasting damage to me and from the rejection after my mum found out. I ruined me.

I dont want to know why my abuser done what she did. I have come to terms with what happened, but not with what happened after.

My mum will never discuss with me about it and i have said in an argument you know what happened to me and she just goes quite and does not want to know. I wanna know why my mum hates me for this and has not helped me. I want to know what happened after she dragged me up the stairs at least then i'll know why she hates me thats all i want to know




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Diamond

by Diamond
(Location Undisclosed)

One time in my life I didn't know who my father was and I found out about 3 years ago. Im 15 now and all my life I thought that my dad was with me. but it turned out to be my mom's husband (my stepdad). He would convince my mom not to let me go anywhere, ground me, abuse me, and more things that is to hard to bring up at this point. And it turns out now i have to face the fact that he's not my real father...that it was all a lie for their own fun. it still hurts.my life is gone befour i was ready for it to be i have no meaning in my life but im hanging in there i guess.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Tara

by Tara
(California)

I don't remember much of anything about my biological father. He was too attached to me and my mother noticed it was strange. Especially because he denied that fact that my brother was his, even after a DNA test. I'd only heard of the things he'd done to me almost decades later, at 17. He was only in our lives for about three years before my step father came into place.

My mother loved him. I don't remember when she starting having my brother and I call him 'dad', but after a while it was like he really was my dad.

When we'd finally moved in together, I was about four or five. Things seemed perfectly normal. I don't even remember the type of punishments my brother and I got then.

But then my half sister was born. My step father began drinking heavily; and not just beer, strong rums and alcohol. He began beating my brother and I, for reasons we didn't understand at that age.

I remember this one time, I wanted to watch cartoons, but he was watching something. But because I was being persistent, like most children are, pushed me hard onto the tile floor. I fell on my face.

My mother was appalled. She didn't do anything about it however.

I remember when my mother was giving birth to my second half-sister, she was in the hospital for days. I was about six and my step dad was drunk and yelling at us. I was scared and crying for my mom.

After that, I was the target for my step dad's abuse. Everyone could go to bed. I was forced to stay up past midnight cleaning the house on my own. I was in the first grade.

One night, I'd spent the night at my grandmother's house. She was married to someone who beat her at the time. He didn't speak any English. I'd heard them arguing.

She was leaving to go to the store and I begged her to take me with her because I felt like something bad was going to happen. I was lying on the floor coloring and he said something to me. I turned around because I didn't understand his language. He motioned for me to sit on his lap. I did. He touched me. I didn't know what was happening but it scared me. So I told him I wanted to get back to coloring. He shouted at me and I waited for my grandmother to get back so I could tell her.

When she did, I told her nothing. I told no one.

When we moved into our next house, my step father's drinking habits only worsened, along with his short temper and raging fits. Unfair punishments.

We were timed to clean our rooms. If it didn't look the way he wanted it to look in a certain amount of time (usually an hour) he's pick two of us (usually my brother and I) and spank us with his belt. Whether we got to have out pants up or down was usually kept a surprise. One time my brother and I didn't clean enough, fast enough, and he beat us. Our bare bottoms. With a wooden back scratcher until we were bleeding.

He was proud of it.

My brother eventually started getting the worse end of the physical abuse. My brother had ADHD and whenever he'd act up, my step dad would slam his head into this corner of a wall that was made of steel. My brother would get a huge lump on his forehead every time. I was horrified.

When I was nine, my step dad started drinking different kinds of liquor and rum and would stay up all night.

I woke up one night in the living room. Naked. I ran to my room and put clothes on and went to sleep in my bed. But it happened again. Only this time, I started crying, wondering why this was happening, and my step dad came in asking why I was crying and I asked where my clothes were.

He walked into his room and grabbed them.

I told my mom about this and she suggested that I'd been sleep walking.

But one night, when I was being forced to stay up alone cleaning, I was finally finished and so exhausted that I lied down on my stomach without a blanket.

I woke up to my step dad massaging my back and repeatedly telling me I was "sexy". I was afraid of what he was going to do next. He told me to roll over. I told him no, and when he asked why, I told him I was too tired. He told me I was "no fun" and I woke up with my pants unbuttoned.

We moved again. My step dad's drinking once again progressed. He'd stopped beating my brother and I.

But when I was 15 I started catching him spy on me while I was changing.

One night, I woke up with his hand down my shirt.
I felt so disgusted with myself. I wanted to die.
It happened once more and I was so fed up that I finally told my mother everything while we were in the parking lot at the grocery store.

She called him and told him that they needed to talk and for him not to get drunk. When he kept demanding to know what it was about, my mom hinted and we came home, no surprise, he was drunk.

He first told my mom that I "was interested in that stuff anyway", which made me feel so sick. Then he tried telling her that it was my brother, which further disgusted me.

When my mom suggested that maybe he was drunk and blacked out, that was the story he went with.

I hated them both, for a couple of years.
Him, because of the abuse.
Her, because she expected her confrontation to heal my wounds.

I became suicidal.

I was finally given counselling where my therapist introduced me to EMDR.

I was able to stop thinking about all this trauma every single day and letting it haunt me. I was able to move on.

My relationship with my step dad is still very rocky. I am now 18 and we all still live together. But I pretend as much as I can, that he isn't here. That he never was. We almost never talk.

I'll never be able to trust him. But I am working on forgiving him for the things he's done.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Rachelle

by Rachelle
(Minnesota, USA)

Suffering... A good friend once told me that those who suffer the greatest on earth, have the highest places reserved for them in heaven if they cling to God through it.

I am the eldest of 4, grew up with a mom and dad always married, going to church every Sunday and an outward appearance that my life was perfect. I had amazing grades, was mature, was always trying to appease others and do well, success driven, a little A.D.D., helped around the house, was a second care giver to my sibling and had several close friends. I always knew though that my dad had a temper. One of my earliest memories was when I was first spanked as a 3 or 4 year old. I remember my pants being pulled down and my butt hurting so bad for the rest of the day, all because I chased after the ball when he told me no. That was just the beginning.

Abuse in my family was always there from the start. Emotional Abuse is what every member of my family has experienced from my father. All my siblings received spankings as children, but somehow I usually ended up being the target. Thankfully none of my siblings were ever spanked as hard as I was, and were not subjected to the physical abuse I experienced. I have heard it said from a sociological and psychology stand point, that often times in abuse cases, only one child is abused. That was me and I would take it all over again for my siblings.

I grew up afraid and terrified I would do something wrong, say something wrong, be in the way. If my parents were fighting, it was my fault. If my siblings and I were arguing or in a fight, it was my fault. The abuse never was sexual, and I thank God for that, but I was still traumatized in many different ways. I remember it progressing. My dad was always a yeller and would raise his voice at the slightest disturbance. First it was just spanking, then hot sauce and vinegar were added, with a ton of emotional abuse mixed in. So many nights I cried myself to sleep with my face in my pillow so he wouldn't hear me crying.

I remember at age 10 writing down that I hated him... and near the end of Elementary school I had gained quite a bit of weight as I entered puberty and moved cities. My new school brought with it new students and a new teacher who continuously harassed, embarrassed and belittled me in class until thoughts of suicide consumed my life. My grades went from A's and B's to C's and D's and my father took notice of this and continually shared his disappointment with me for my low grades. I find myself now distanced from this and have never again suffered from depression since this year, but it still something that greatly affected me, especially on top of my situation at home. During that year my mother found my suicide letter and pushed me to go to a therapist, but not before telling me and drilling in me not to say anything about dad "spanking" me or anything else because it would ruin our family and everything else. I kept my mouth shut and was put on anti-depressants for the rest of the school year.

As I entered middle school I lost a substantial amount of baby fat (stopped stress-eating) and made new friends. If I didn't get an A in a class, my dad was not happy with me so I sought to do well in every class I took. At age 12 I remember one day my dad picked me up from school and told me I "should start wearing more make up, because school is a professional setting." His opinion was for some reason so important to me, even though it could be so destructive and belittling to me. By 8th grade, my fully developed body began being something I used for attention. I wore a ton of make-up, began dressing very immodestly and often was told to "put on a sweatshirt" at school because of my poor clothing choices that showed so much skin. During this time, the physical abuse acted out upon me by my father wasn't weekly or even monthly sometimes, but would sprout up unexpectedly out of nowhere when he would get stressed out or have a bad day at work. Often times I would be screamed at until I was backed into a wall or a corner and the yelling would only get worse as he would "put me in my place" showing his dominance (eventually I myself began to yell back later on). I got slapped, pushed, grabbed, spanked with belts (that left welts), had hot sauce shoved down my throat, had my room ravaged and mattress thrown across my room. I was always walking on egg shells around him and fearful of someone finding out.

Going into high-school, I had a change of heart and decided to start pursuing religion. I found refuge in church and saw it as a sort of escape to be able to find a loving father who I could trust and who would never hurt me. During this time, when the economy was at its worst, the abuse was at its worst. I would run away to church and hide under a desk hidden in the entry way. I was often grounded from going to church on Sundays as punishment. After one instance where I was choked and ended up with a bloody lip, my dad felt sorry (after my mom got really mad at him) so I remember having to give him a hug and tell him it was okay and that I forgave him just a few minutes after. I carried resentment for him, but I was dependent off him and still am today. Honestly, I don't remember most of the abuse. I look back at journals and am reminded of the experiences, but I think quite a bit of my memory has blocked out these moments, though many I can recall if I am reflecting or particularly distressed. I am currently 20, and am attending college, working and saving up to move out, which keeps me busy so I spend little time at home around my father. I still find myself in the environment of abuse, though currently it has only been emotional for almost the past year.

I love my dad. He has hurt me in so many ways, but I still care for him and desire his good. If I could have changed the way I grew up, I would, but what has happened to me in my past is not who I am. Being told as a child and teen that my family would be better off without me was very hard on me, as well as the guilt of believing that all my family problems were my fault, but I am not a broken little girl, I am strong for what I have gone through and for where I am today. I don't like people to feel sorry for me. My situation growing up sucked, but I have a mother who loves me well, I continue to do well in college, stay active in my community with church and have amazing friends and relationships. I don't tell many people that I suffered child abuse, only a few people know, and I am fairly sure that's how it will be the rest of my life. In spite of what I have experienced, I am moving forward with my life. I desire to make something of myself, to help others and to someday have a family where my children are embraced lovingly and disciplined in a healthy manner out of love and not ever out of stress or frustration. I am currently planning to see a therapist to continue to move forward and to resolve some of these unsettling feelings and experiences that still may be weighing on my heart and though this will always be a part of my history, abuse doesn't define me and it will not hold me back.

Question:
Does anyone have any advice on sharing this with a significant other? I desire for my boyfriend to know this, and I know I can trust him and would feel comfortable sharing this with him, but I don't want this to change the way he looks at me or treats me or my family. Also, how could it change his relationship with my dad? I still want to have a relationship with my father and have him in my life to an extent, and I desire for my boyfriend to still somewhat respect my dad and not be angry with him or confront him...

Thanks always,
Rachelle




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Laynie

by Laynie
(Texas, USA)

I was 11 at the time of the abuse. I always thoght my Stepmom was a loving mom but that turned out to be wrong. My sisters and stepsister were eating, when I was done eating I asked my stepsister if she can do the dishes after she was done because I had homework to do (my stepmother is lazy so I was basically the mom of the house)and out of the blue my stepmother tells her to do the dishes and if she didn't she'll regret it. My stepmom grabbed my stepsister and threw her across the room at me while I was picking up my school bag so I could do my homework.One of my biological sisters was behind me and I just got the wind knocked out of me and I hit my sister in the eye. Once I got my breath back I was chewing her out but that only got me a war. I had a bruised cheek and bruised knee.
A couple of months pass by. My grandmother heard about this and was terrified so she wanted a court custody to get us girls. She felt bad for leaving my stepsister out with my Stepmom. January 1, 2010 came that's when the court was drawn. I'm out of it but my sisters aren't going like they're supposed to and my grandmother is filed for contempt of court (I think). This court case is not over and I'm hoping it will be soon.
Right now this "war" is just starting for my sisters and I'm scared.




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Child Abuse Story From Tatiana

by Tatiana
(Location Undisclosed)

Alright, i need to get all honesty out here. I know this is not a place where i can come to for advice. but i need some help here, i dont no what to do.
my situtaion is a weird one. im 16 years old, my boyfriend of a year now is 28.
okay lets start from the beginning.
my mother, she is a crack head, from the time i was 11 i was hooked on crack cocaine. she started me on it, we never stoped. smoking together, getting high everynight. 300 dollars a night. min. this continued untill i was 14, i went to foster care.
the foster parents not long after i got there, starting beating me. beatings, not spanking. beating like bruises, beating me unconsions. they hurt me so bad, then. he starts raping me. horribly everynight and the beating contuined. I couldnt stop it.
so i ran away after 8 months. i went back home after my aunt signed for custody. soon enough, i was back with my mother. we were smoking crack again. daily. all the time.

then i turned 15, in june i met the love of my life. the 28 year old i was saying earlier. he never hurt me, i love him. but i met him threw my mom going on a deal. he was a smoker too.
after i met him, i quit cold turkey.. i havent touched crack in about 11 months now.

now, my story. which im confused. he loves me, we were together for a long time. we ran away together and after loosing everything we had. he started smoking again, i didnt. i still clean. but to get the money we needed, or that he needed. we were breaking into cars, i prostuted myself. not one drug did i touch. alchoal is my drug.
so for the last two month we were together in the world we were doing crimes and prostuting. i didnt mind. we got hotel rooms and i was eating greedy. he had a small dope problem.
but we still had a normal relationship. movies, dinner dates. we loved eachother. and still do, he got locked up. now we are a month into his 2 year sentence and im going to wait for him, we talk on the phone all the time. we are still in love.

but now, my uncle. hes beating me. sensless. my aunt is on my butt about every little thing. im walking on eggshells here.
my mother is in jail by the way, untill january. so im under this house, i have me a little job up at the kroger. i start monday and hopefully i can get out of here. but the thing is, my boyfriend.
i dont know how to express myself and put everything into words its just so complacated.

everyone thinks its wrong that we are together. but see, i look like im 22 and he looks no older than 25 max. i just dont no what to do, should i wait for him. everything is so overwhelming darlene. what do i do?
this is a small glimpse of everything. its so long of a story, so complacated i cant even start. but i might right a again.

thank you
tatiana




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Child Abuse Story From Paulette P

by Paulette
(Tampa, Florida, USA)

I'm sixty but the pain I suffered at the hand of my sadistic,mentally unbalanced mother still haunts me like it was yesterday.
I had blocked out the most devastating incidences and I know that many are still hidden frozen in time.
My horror didn't start as a child but as a fetus. Mother ,I was told by my father did everything she could to abort me. She hated me for being born, couldn't stand to hear me cry ,grand'mother came to take care of me for sometime.
Mother had had a nervous breakdown 2 months before getting pregnant for me.

Mother's abusive nature developed gradually and because it went unchecked it escalated to breaking bones,burning,many devious forms of premeditated torture.which she would terrorize us with before she did it. It was always because "you ask for it", "you make me do it" or "you like your beatings". She would abuse me daily as I was an incorrigable "bedwetter" I was a degraded animal,filthy sinking trash who deserved everything she got. She would regularly scream at me to die. Mother screamed at us as her usual tone of voice. Every word was a command and the control was absolute. You were forbidden from speaking and if you asked a question It was shut your f'en yap,etc. My childhood is full of atrocities perpetrated by my insane mother. But in front of strangers she was sweet and shy and they were taken by her beauty and seemingly kind disposition. Meanwhile her children suffered in silence. We were strictly instructed that not a word of what went on in our home was to go outside the house and there would be severe consequences if we talked about our family life.
Between the constant degradation, humiliation, ridicule I was enduring daily and the threats if I talked I developed a very nervous shy demeaner around people.
I was kept from having friends and was made fun of because I wet the bed, she devasted me telling me noone would ever love me even when I would be grown-up because I stink of piss. I would cry it was so emotionally painful to hear, she just screamed shut the hell up.
I would go on about her as she never let up on any of us. She ruined lives, destroyed our self-esteem, made us trust noone, and fear life and people. She wanted us to know with full certainty that we were worthless, and that we would never win with her she would make a fist and show us how strong she was and that she would not hesitate to use it on anyone of us no matter how big we got or how old.
Monster has never been made to take responsibility for her inhumane criminal acts of violence on innocent small children,she didn't want.
I no longer have any contact whatsoever with her. I am done feeling any empathy for her. She is an evil person,who just waits to pounce on her next victim. I hate her. She should be criminally charged for her acts of violence.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Michelle11 Part I

by Michelle
(Pennsylvania, USA)

I'm 45 yrs old. This account begins early on in my life. This is my first time being on an abuse site. I'm disgusted and ashamed of referring to this account using the word victim to describe my experience. I've rejected it so thoroughly throughout the years, perhaps due to the fact that my abusers actually LOVE using the term to define there "status" as being helpless persons who're at the mercy of there "afflictions" & thus had no choice in delivering the punishing sentence doled over to me. My birth mother who I'll call P-- since 'mother' is too polite a term to describe her, has been physically and emotionally brutal to me for nearly all of my life. I was born in Cleveland, Ohio, the 2nd child of (3) girls. We're all fairly close in age. P-- was 19 I think when I was born. My biological father was young too. He was a drunk, wouldn't hold a job and used his fists to make up for his lack of intellect as it relates to communication. I'm told by P-- that I was his favorite daughter. She also says that he'd always wanted a little girl with long blonde hair, which was confusing when she first said it due to my hair's being brown... Anyway, I guess I had the long locks thing going on. I recall very little about ALL the time that my father & I supposedly spent together I just remember my very grave fear of him as he used to beat me severely without clothes. P-- says he took me everywhere with him, (supposedly to show me off), and he wouldn't take she or my sisters but rather leave them at home. Due to his derelict behavior my Grandparents came to move us to PA when I was 6. I'd had numerous bladder infections very early on and would wet myself sometimes at which point P-- put a diaper on me and force me to parade around my father to humiliate me. I sucked my thumb until I was 8 I believe. I'd been diagnosed as being 90% deaf in my left ear which, as an adult, I now contribute to having been beat upon the head so many times. I had horrendous earaches and getting water in my ears would increase my pain dramatically. I cried when P-- would wash my hair and she would shake my head under the pouring water slamming my head against the porcelain tub repeatedly until I'd shut-up feeling more in danger of drowning as I swallowed mouth-fulls of water and attempted to breath through the violent thrusts that allowed water to enter my nose and burn my sinuses. It was excruciating and humiliating and because we tend to need a shampooing fairly regularly. that scene replayed itself frequently. The traumas that I experienced before age 6 are thus: Knives were thrown at me by P-- from across the room, (ya know, during whatever disagreements 5 yr olds have with their parents). Terrible stripped down beatings occurred by the hand of my father who never struck either of my sisters at all, (I'm real fine with that part though)! What I knew for certain was that my older sister would tattle out a new lie that would result in my severe whipping. I can only guess that her own jealousy regarding my fathers doting attention to me made her invent stories so that she could see me cry as I was punished. She is also the sister that convinced me to drink gasoline that had been, thanks to my brilliant parents, stored in soda bottles on the floor. I really don't know if she knew what was in them. I just recall her challenge to me and coaxing me to drink. Guess I was thirsty cause 16 oz later poison control was advising us by phone as we prepared for the ensuing trip to, mmm -hmm, you guessed it.... the ER for some stomach pumping fun and additional drama. Also, as a toddler, P-- put my play pen next to the oven as it was open on self cleaning mode, I stuck my hands through the bars placing them on the open oven door and spent the following 6 weeks in the bandages, boxer style, that covered my 2nd and 3rd degree burns. my hands had to be pealed from the hot oven door to release them. Why-in-the-world I would ever have been left alone at our house is perplexing but I just recall running madly through many back yards to reach the side walk where P-- and my sisters walked. I was being chased by a young boy, my own age, who had a butcher knife... Ya know... ?! REALLY!! (I understand that sarcasm doesn't come across all that clearly in this black & white type but can't help myself here & there to try to convey it still). I hope you don't mind. In case you're wondering... I have asked how that scenario came to be but 'She' just shakes her head in a manner that makes me want to knock it off, stating, "I just don't know." Humph... Guess that's all folks! I know better by now than to expect a better answer from her. When I inquire as to all of the horrific physical confrontations we had over the many years, she ultimately equates her anger at me being due to the fact that she was jealous because I had been 'his' favorite. More traumas: At 5 yrs old I was held down by multiple sets of hands as doctors at a hospital removed a mole from my chin using a scalpel. I remember exactly how important it was to me that I be allowed to leave my panties on under my hospital gown. It was insisted upon that they be removed. I was deeply ashamed and enraged. Yes, at 5 yrs I had a very real sense of modesty. No anesthesia what-so-ever was used. My horrible shrieks and immense struggle accompanied this assault which only brought more men wielding their big pinning hands and deep voiced commands that I "shut-up". I do recall over-hearing P-- relate in a communication with someone that my dad was really mad that they hadn't used anesthesia which they'd said they would. My head is spinning writing this all down. I'm not even past 5 yrs in this story and there's soo much that's been left out. Many doctor visits & hospitals existed in those early years... Tonsils out, tubes in ears, spread eagle on cold tables for research relating to the bladder thing... Ok, moving right along.. My life in PA took a devastating turn. The newly freed P-- invested her spare moments choking, beating, ripping my hair, tearing the house to absolute shreds... emptying refrigerator and cupboard contents onto the floor constantly threatening suicide, carrying on lengthy phone communications with any who would listen relating her colorful view, me, the devil, that she had to exorcise. Don't think I'm kidding.. We'd gone to catholic church and school in Ohio and were now being taken the the Presbyterian, Lutheran, Mormon etc. churches who all conveyed primarily the same message about one another. general disagreement and confusion pertaining to who all would make it into 'The Kingdom'.. P-- & sisters were baptized more than once, (I didn't keep track) into multiple denominations.. Ya know just to keep the bases covered. We had provisions in our basement for 'the end of the world'. When a storm would come we sometimes all squeezed together in a huddle on the bed without any comfort of knowing exactly how we'd die in this 'end of the world storm'. P-- used God as a manipulative tool to get me to 'line-up' with her imposed wishes. I heard her say to me so many times as to be uncountable that "Jesus is not happy with you AT ALL!" I did not want to know Jesus, that's for sure. I felt like I was a very good kid. Ironed my clothes, always looked neat despite our poverty. Cleaned and made my bed to perfection.. was organized with my belongings and used exceptional manners without ever being prompted. As friend's parents would compliment me to P--, she would always say to me, "If they only new the real you"! Funny fact is that ... THEY did. I'm tired... no, excuse me, I'm exhausted right now. I hope it's ok for me to come back & write more at a later time. It's a looong story that I've only begun telling but I think that I need to write this. Thank you for your time. Sincerely, Michelle




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From David D

by David D
(New York, USA)

Till the age of 9 I was sexually molested by my mother and beaten by my step father.My younger sister was sometimes with my mother and I during the molestations.After 9 I was to be trained to live in society,and ended up in foster homes.At 16 I was moleted for the last time by my foster mother.Her only punishment was the loss of her foster care liscense.Fast forward 20 years and my oldest daughter came to me with her own confession that my brother inlaw molested her for 3 years.I never trusted anyone with any of my 4 children,but I did trust him.After turning him in the investigating team had this case for 5 months.They had a recording where he admitted his guilt plus more.By the time the arrest came,it went 1 day over statue of limitations.The Pediphile got away with molesting my daughter.30 days after him and his wife were charged again with crime against their own children,still not 1 day in jail.I used to be covered in bruises,and asking for help,yet society gave me back.My daughter comes forward with the same results.No parent wants to have this in common with their children.That is why I am making some noise.I want there to be a law in place that states any crime against a child is an instant felony.We need harsher punishments or the only thing to invest in are the local mental hospitals.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story from Toni

by Toni
(Location Undisclosed)

He said he was sorry. But then he always said he was sorry. It was a band-aid on a gaping wound. It was like saying “Gee I’m sorry I nuked your city.” Sorry meant that despite all my good intentions to be happy at Christmas, I will probably always look at a Christmas tree and remember what happened. It would be a reminder of the first time. I had been hit on countless other occasions by my brother and my father, I had dealt with an alcoholic mother, but these would be the two events that I believe were the worse in my life.

I was 17 and I had no idea how to deal with my emotions or insecurities. My way, was to control my eating, as it was the only thing I could control in my life at that time. I had no one to talk to, or to confide how I felt. I put in my diary my plan for getting skinny, it was to lose ½ a pound a day until I would be 90 lbs. At the time I was also dealing emotions I felt over a boy at church—a boy who later ended up becoming my husband many years later.

My mom read my dairy that Christmas and made a scene. And told my brother. I felt betrayed. She had no right to read what was in my diary; she had no right to tell me how to run my life. And that was when my brother jumped on me and started hitting me. He said he wanted me to be quiet, and I was just screaming because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having power over me. So he kept hitting me, and my mom stood there and watched and did nothing. She later told my therapist that she was hoping that him hitting me would snap me out of it, that at the time that it was happening she felt like I had deserved it. My brother slapped me so hard on my face that all the tiny capillaries had broken and I had red spots all over my cheeks. He gave me a black eye, and he hit my ear so badly it was swollen. It took two weeks to be able to hear normally in that ear. I wore heavy make up for a week and a half. I tried to talk to people at church, my pastor especially, at the time I didn’t want anyone to report my brother. But now, in hindsight I wish I had. Maybe if I had then, it wouldn’t have happened again.

The year it happened again was 10 years later. My father had just gotten me a college graduation gift: a new car. It wasn’t anything fancy, just a Carolla—no power windows or locks. But a free new car is a free new car. One doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. For someone who hadn’t driven in five years, having lost my previous vehicle in an accident, it was like being released from prison.

In order to drive the car home, my brother put it on his insurance policy. He was visiting for Christmas that year, and he brought his kids with him. Well, I knew if I wanted to go out and drive the car, I’d have to go get insurance, so I immediately went out on the internet, and purchased an auto insurance policy. I printed out the documents, and I was ready to go.

Well, my brother decided I had no right to go out because he said so. This was insulting! I was a grown woman! He had no right to tell me what to do anymore, so I told him so. That’s when he started hitting me. Exactly the way he did ten years earlier. He sat on me and started punching me again. This time, my mom actually got in the way and tried to get him to stop. He hit me hard enough that he broke my glasses and gave me another black eye. I didn’t eat for days after that incident. My mom and dad never reported my brother, for what he did. My dad didn’t say anything. It was almost like it was totally okay that my brother did this to me. They didn’t seem to care that he had two kids at the time(now four kids total).

In California, the statute of limitations on battery is one year. Years later, when I had a psychotic episode I forced myself to forgive my brother thinking I was just about to die. I can forgive that he did it to me, but I cannot seem to forget what happened to me. I’ve tried every which way to forget, but the feelings still haunt me to this day. Christmas is supposed to be a time of coming together, but for me, it always serves as a reminder of the very worst part of human nature.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From C

by Name Undisclosed
(Location Undisclosed)

physically abused? No. Psychologically abused? Yes. Dad, has been bringing home different women night after night.He 'was' an alchohalic. Once he gets close with a girl, he punches, kicks, breaks bones etc. to all the women. My mom, she was a victim, and she allowed this to happen to her so my brother and i wouldn't starve, for 7 years. I once walked in on my dad having sex with a neighbour. i heard and saw everything. Do you think thats pleasent for a 12 year old to see? he recently has a girlfriend. she has as well been a victim of his abuse. he broke her ribs. and i was in the home. me, how could i possibly fight him? if i went down to see what happened, i dont know what would of happened. i was selfish, and stayed in my room scared. imagine what she felt. My dad, he called me fat, everytime i would eat something, but im too strong a person and i never let it get to me. one time i was physically abused. I was upstairs blow drying my pants because i got water on them and i wouldnt of been allowed to put them in the dryer. he was sleeping, then he woke up and charged up the stairs. my heart stopped, and i locked the door. i was thinking to myself, can i jump out the window? but before i finished, he broke down the door, dragged me by my hair to my bedroom, and spanked me for what seemed like forever. But again, i was still too strong and i never let it get to me. The next morning, he screams at me, eye ball to eye ball, i cant remember why, but i was only in grade 7. I remember the yellow in his eyes, and the spit his screams at me flew on my face. Ofcourse i was scared, but again, i went to school. This time was different though. i said i was going to runaway, and never come back, so he sent a note to my school asking me to please come home. i was so manipulated to think that nothing would ever happen like that again, so i went home. I have many stories, but the one thing i will always remember is that feeling i get everytime i hear chaos in the home. I hear a thump, and i automatically think somebody is being abused, i hear screams, and i automatically think somebody is being abused. ALL my life i would come home to silence, sit and do nothing, and then be fearful whenever my dad would walk in the door. Then i would sit in silence in my room with the door locked. I have a brother, two years younger then me, he has NEVER been abused in anyway, and for that im thankful. My 2 older sister who have a different mom, think they were the worst victims of our dads abuse, but i was. They never lived with him. They never lived with the devil. I've been in the same room, drank from the same cup, once loved as a father, and slept under the same roof as the devil. I'm the worst victim. And nobody can really know what has happened to me. I look like a normal 16 year old girl, but im not. I can't love any guy, can't trust. I laugh, i dont cut myself, i dont think of suicide, i dont feel sorry for myself. Other do and i say, "get ur act together" i;ve had it exteremely bad, and i do cry, but i dont share it with my school friends, i learn how to move on. I have been manipulated my WHOLE life, never knowing what was the truth in it. Maybe i was almost never physically abused, every single day for 16 years i have been emotionally abused, which is worse then 16 years of sexual abuse, and physical abuse.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Lynette LS

by Lynette
(Location Undisclosed)

Tell me something..How is it that I can go from one bad situation, to another, to another. Things change constantly, but never for the better. I am in foster care. I've been in foster care for the past three years. Now my biological mother has decided to fight for me and my twin sister. The courts are on the verge of sending us back with her. Let me give you a brief back ground on my mother:
From the time I was a toddler to the time I was a young teenager, I suffered a tremendous about of abuse by the hands of my mother. She allowed many husbands and my uncle and sister to sexually, mentally, and physically abuse me. Not only that, but she abused me herself. There was a few times where she beat me so badly that I wasn't sure I'd make it to see dawn. She made me feel disgusting, worthless, ugly, and like I had no right to live. They all made me feel this way. To this day, I am so messed up because of this. Now the judge wants me to go back to this woman. He states that I'm "old enough to defend myself." I'm sixteen. Perhaps I am able to defend myself-against her. But what about the pimps she has in her home, or the three-hundred pound man who is quite fond of booze and beatings that she associates with?
The funny thing about all of this? I'm considering letting the court ship me back. I've come to realize that I don't deserve any better than that life. I pride myself in being so above her and others, but I am not. The horrible life I've lived has shaped me into a cold-hearted, hurting monster. The truth is, I'm tired. I am so damn tired. I'm tired of this pain, I'm tired of the confusion, I'm tired of pretending I'm okay when I'm dying inside. Everything has messed me up so badly. I'm sixteen and I've never had a boyfriend. I can't even talk to guys without screwing things up. So I stay away. I hate females. They sicken me. I don't understand this world, and I don't deserve to be here. I try to make changes. I volunteer with the elderly, with gay pride organizations, a teen pregnancy/STD prevention team. None of this matters. No matter how I act or what I do, at my core, I am a bad person. I hate my life now. And I hope for a better future. But I'm tired of waiting. I just can't take it. I hate my foster parents. They make me sick. And I hate everyone in the system. I'm so done. I suppose I'll read your comments or whatever, given that I'm still alive by the time that this is posted. I don't even know why I've chosen to write this up. None of it matters. It never does. We just think it does. "You know what always got me along in life? Remembering that I am not worth near as much as I think I am, or want to be."




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Marion

by Marion
(Adelaide, Australia)

i grew up in london in the postwar years. i am nearly 60 now and still cry about my mother's cruelty, struggle with depression and feelings of not-good-enough. my mum wanted a boy and dressed me and cut my hair as one. she sometimes praised and encouraged me but only in front of visitors. she was nicer to my sister but i was dad's kid. he was a very nice kind and patient man. when i was 8 i came top of my class, won the prize. i believed my mum would have to stop saying i was stupid, lazy, worthless etc. but no, she continued. i stopped loving her then and made a vow i would never be like her. i would be like my dad and i never for one minute regretted that vow.
my mum and her sisters had 11 children, and 10 of us were abused (the one who wasn't was adopted!!!). it was normal for them, they had an abusive alcoholic father.i do not think that mum ever felt regret, remorse or shame, she and her sisters bragged about the violence they did. i felt ashamed to be related to her, but now i see i learned a lot. the main one is that making others wrong does not make me right. and her constant blaming of me for her unhappiness meant she had no power to change anything.
as a teen my dad divorced her (for cruelty), and got custody of me. i got a wonderful stepmother. she is still alive and i adore her. last time i saw her i tried to apologise for not going to see her more. she said; 'that's alright, you're you". isn't that nice. she always listened to me and my feelings mattered and she took an interest in my friends and my study and made me sandwiches. that bit of kindness went a long way to healing me. i visited my mother christmas and birthday but a barrier of mistrust and fear hung between us and i only ever felt the occasional flicker of affection for her. i left the door open for reconciliation, even tho it was stressful for me to see her and i cried afterwards. when she died, i went to see her in her coffin i thought; 'now you can't hurt me any more'. how sad is that??
all my life i have listened to other's abuse stories, and tried to help. i have stuck up for abused children and animals, on one occasion getting bashed for it. i am glad to have lived long enough to see this sickening culture of cruelty start to change, and rapists and paedophiles going to prison. for too long these lowlife got away with it. i only regret that i ever blamed myself and believed my mum's version of me. i feel like she was just an egg donor and my real mother came into my life later.
thank you for reading my story. know that everything is always changing. there is no forever. may you be well and happy.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

I hope you'll follow me on:


Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.

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Child Abuse Story From TK

by TK
(Location Undisclosed)

I'm not using my real name, because I don't want the internet or my parents to know who is sharing this. I need to vent.

The thing is, I'm not sure if I went through anything bad- the stories I read here are so awful that I'm worried I'll get a response like "Cry me a river."

Lately, I've been going through some tough stuff. I've been trying to let go of the denial that my family is perfect and that I shouldn't whine or be the emotional wreck I am.

I'm sure we're all aware of the idea that going through bad times makes one tougher, "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" if you will.

So how did getting called stupid, fat, lazy, ugly, mean, nasty, disgusting, and worthless by members of my family, including my mother make me a sensitive girl who cries easily? How did constantly getting these words screamed at me from the age of three make me compulsively lie to cover up anything inadequate about myself?

When I was five and gained weight from eating school lunches, my mother started harping on my weight. By the time I was eight, she was telling me that I was a sugar addict, and if I kept at the way I was eating, I'd be ugly, fat, and no one would like me. When I came home from school at the age of ten and said that kid were calling me fat (I wasn't, but I was going through puberty early), she told me that maybe they'd be nicer if I lost weight.

From the age of eleven to twelve, I was bulimic. If all of the "tough love" comments about my weight were supposed to make me stronger, why am I not able to make myself physically perfect? Why do I constantly feel like an ugly whale? Incidentally, my mom still tells me I'm fat sometimes to stop me from eating candy. Since I got in trouble as a kid whenever candy wrappers showed up in the trash, I now stuff any sort of wrappers, receipts, or tissues (disgusting, I know) into my pockets to throw away in some public trash can.

Going by the aforementioned expression, why hasn't all this tough love made me a really emotionally strong, responsible person? Why did getting slapped and kicked, getting my hair pulled, and getting stuff like hardcover books and shoes thrown at my head from the age of six made me a weak little b**** at the age of seventeen?

My mom has gotten a lot better over the years, especially since the birth of my sister and the therapist we all visited for my eating disorder. I know I should just get over everything that happened before the age of twelve, but I'm still not a together person.

I'm constantly in fear of anyone who has authority over me- someone recently pointed out that I tremble a little when talking to the manager at my job. I'm scared to ask teachers for help in case I'm making really dumb mistakes.

I feel the need to prove that I'm not a failure. Financially, my family is well off, and I could ask my parents for money any time I want, but I have a job because I don't want to. I pay for a lot of my lunches, clothes, school supplies, college applications, and fun because I don't want to be in debt to anyone.

I just want to be able to put my past behind me. Help!




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

I hope you'll follow me on:


Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.

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Child Abuse Story From Sherry

by Sherry
(Arizona, USA)

Scars in Arizona: 
i was an abused child.If you were to ask my mother or brothers and sisters they would deny it out of protection for those responsible.I was kept away from my brothers and sisters for fear that i would talk one of them into going for help.My father and mother tried to kill me 4 times that i can remember because i threatened to tell on them.I was sold as a child to grown men that liked sex with childeren.I wittnessed my father help a man take the life of his own daughter because he thought she would tell the police what was happening to me and the others.I was about eight years old and she was seven.I was taken to the place where her body was and saw her floating in the water face down her father turned her body over to show me her face and my father said this is what will happen to you if you tell.I have never said any thing to anyone except those close to me and they didnt believe it.Before my father died i confronted him about it over the phone and then the next time i visited them my mother tried to shoot me but missed with a22 cal. pistol.I never went to my fathers funeral for fear she would shoot me there.I have not seen my mother since then or anyone in my family.I have nightmares about the things that happened and have woken up to my oldest brothers screams,he was eleven years old and it happened to him too.noone knows about these things and theres so much more.When your eight and your told in that way to keep quiet you keep quiet.I thank you for the chance to not keep quiet anymore to at least tell someone who had these things happen to them too anyone i told did not believe it and told me i was making it up.My parents had a lot of people fooled even my grandparents.Thanks again.From scars in Arizona.




Darlene Barriere: author. speaker. survivor. coachNote from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

I hope you'll follow me on:


Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.

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