Ashamed of Me

by idontwantthecredit, but called "Fleabag"
(Location Undisclosed)

I was severely abused as a toddler. Both of my parents received 7 years for charges including rape and attempted murder. In 1970, it was very hard to get a conviction for child abuse but someone found me unconscious.

I was in a loving foster home until I was adopted at age 3. My new mom and dad were not like my foster home. I wanted to go back so bad. I kept hoping someone would find me or come looking for me.

No one ever did. I wasn't missing and there was no way out.

My dad left the situation quickly. My mom scrambled to take care of me on her own. I had been talking too much and was forced to wear duct tape on my mouth by two family members. I was shamed for talking, my name being called "mouth" to remind me not to speak. My voice was taken and all but gone.

I was left home alone countless times while my mother went to work. I stayed in the house and went through everything. The food cupboard, where I tasted everything repeatedly: flour, sugar, bakers chocolate (yuk) etc. I also rummaged through dressers and closets. Since I wasn't spoken to very much, I felt curious about the people in my house.

I shared a room with a sibling of the opposite sex who was five years my senior. He had been adopted at birth. His room was catered to him. I was just in there.

My first sitter had been a friend of the family. I was left behind by the wife and was alone with the male. He pulled out his penis and asked me to touch it. I was horrified. I refused. I told my mom. She slapped my face. I was told I was dirty for thinking such thoughts. I knew then I wasn't loved. I never went back and the friend moved away.

I stayed home alone for hours every day. I eventually found codeine cough syrup and I tasted it. I really liked it. It was like candy. So I drank all of it. It had been replaced and I found it again and again. I had no idea it was the reason I was so extremely tired. No one talked to me about it or anything else. My mom took pictures of my head falling in my food. I was so painfully alone especially when anyone was around.

I watched animals get tortured to death, shot repeatedly or thrown off the roof or strangled and starved to death by my sibling.

There are no words.

I was humiliated for wetting myself and was locked nearly nude with a throw pillow stuffed in my underwear stretching them out all the way.

I was kicked out of kindergarten after two weeks because I was not ready. I enjoyed being around the toys but I knew nothing of social anything.

I flunked first grade. I didn't have social skills so I was teased endlessly. They named me "fleabag" because I stunk. I got ready for school by myself and had few clothes. I picked through the dirty laundry for them. I thought everyone had dogs that went pee and poop in the laundry pile. I reached to the bottom where the poop was dry and I could pick it off.

I was raped four more times by more different men. All of them friends of the family. All different circumstances. I was so angry and silent. Why does my body have to change? I can't stop these attacks. I never knew from whom it would be from next.

I was praying not to be born, that it would all go away. Why was I so bad? I was considered suicidal and placed in the hospital. I wanted to go anywhere away. But I was told if I told they would shock my head. So I was silent except for saying repeatedly "no one likes me".

I ran away in sixth grade never to return. I hit the streets. I used drugs. I got arrested. I told men I would do things for drugs or money. I couldn't stop it from happening anyway. I wished them dead. I wished myself dead. I begged people to kill me.

But I didn't die.

I married a nice biker man. I work on chores and stability so I can show him I love him back. I get SSI so I'm a system sucker. But I'm safe, and after 20 years of that safety I'm learning to relate to people verbally. I like it.

I've always been treated with love in my marriage. Yet I find comfort in being alone and quiet. The worst part of my life was that duct tape at three. It took away my expression of who I am.

I'm so ashamed of me.

Comments for Ashamed of Me

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Mar 02, 2017
To idontwantthecredit:
by: Darlene - Webmaster

I know you submitted your story quite some time ago. I've been dealing with eye issues that have made reading online a major problem. My apologies for taking so long to post.

Poignant, disturbing and heartbreaking all at the same time.

What struck me harder than anything is that you are ashamed of you. My goodness, there is nothing to be ashamed of.

Many many years ago, I shared my own story with my therapist and also that I was "ashamed". His surprised and questioning response was life-altering for me: "Ashamed...? Of being a victim...?" It shocked me into realizing that I wasn't to blame for what I had experienced and endured.

This is how I see you: Resilient. Determined. Smart. Resourceful.

You did what you had to do to survive and to cope with the pain. You have a great deal of self-preservation skills. These are what kept you going when you had nothing else.

And now you DO have something else in your life. Someone who loves you, even if you don't love yourself.

It's time to start your healing. To start seeing yourself for the remarkable person you really are: Strong. Very strong.

I send you love and healing energy. Thank you for sharing your story with my visitors and me.

From Victim to Victory, a memoir
Darlene Barriere
author. speaker. survivor. coach
From Victim to Victory, a memoir

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