Child Abuse Story From Mrs S

by Mrs. S.
(Canada)

Doors Wide Open: 
I am in my 50s. My life did not start until I was 21. Before then I did not belong to myself. I did not know who I was or where I belonged and if I belonged. Did the world really want me? I was in limbo. I escaped a lot of the time into a void when times got too painful. My eyes would be open, I would make the appropriate noises but I felt nothing, just darkness would engulf me and I would enter into it willingly.

I was raised with my mother who suffered with mental illness (schizophrenia; I found out her diagnosis later in life) and a grandfather that was a disturbed pedophile (also found out later). I also found out later that years before my arrival, my granddad and some local men were arrested for child molesting. We lived in a very small village in the UK, so everyone was aware of that. My grandmother left my grandfather after that. My family was poor and hygiene was low on the list.

I grew up with name-calling from the local children. We were gypsies and my family's caravan sat in the garden, no longer in use because we now lived in a house. There is a lot of prejudice concerning gypsies, some founded some not. Like anything, there is bad and good everywhere. A handful of bad does not make the whole armload bad. But this was a small village where ignorance ran rampant. I was taunted by the local children about being a gypsy and having a crazy mother. They would throw stones and bricks or whatever they could lay their hands on at us. At times the local children would swarm my mother and form a circle around her and taunt her with names and ugly profanity whist I looked on helplessly. Sometimes I joined in so that I would not be picked on.

My granddad started to rape me from the age of a toddler. That is as far back as I remember, but knowing what I know now it would not surprise me if he interfered with me as an infant.

His brother, my uncle, lived in the same village and he took his turn too. Local boys had their ways with me too. I was beaten a lot by the local boys. They would wait until I came out of school and get me up against the wall and they loved to punch me in my stomach and my vagina. I'm surprised today that I do not have any permanent damage. I used to try to outrun them. Sometimes I was successful but there would always be another time. I lived in constant fear.

I was under the age of 9 when this was happening. My granddad died when I was 9. By then it was too late for me. I was a child prostitute. My mother lived in her own world. Most of the time there was nothing to eat. The authorities knew, family knew, but nobody did anything except beat me and tell me how bad I was and how big a liar I was and that I had made all the stories up about my granddad.

Now I must say, my mother was very kind. She was very loving and never once hit me. That is probably one of the reasons I am a survivor today. Although she spent a lot of her time lost inside herself, the times she was outside she was kind and loving, as I said. But she should not have had custody of me. She was not able to look after me.

When I was 11 I went to live with my father. They are traditional gypsies, with arranged marriages, etc. I found out I had half sisters and brothers and met my real brother for the first time. I was very happy. Until a few months went by and I found my father with a 5-year-old child; he was molesting her. After that it started again. My father was a big powerful man, very highly respected by everyone.
It was useless...no hope...no ending....

When I was 18 I had a mental breakdown and spent the next 3 years in mental institutions.

At the age of 21 I slashed both my breasts, stomach and arms and was admitted into hospital on a Friday. This is so clear to me because this is when the light came on for me. At the general hospital, when they were stitching me up, I can remember the surgeon in his starched white clinical coat very icily telling me that he was fed up with people like me. We were a drain on the system. He told me if I liked pain then he would sew me up using no freezing. At that time I did not feel anything. He proceeded to stitch me up. The one cut on my right arm took 100 stitches inside and out, but not once did I cry or give him the pleasure that he was looking for.

On Monday, when I saw my psychiatrist I asked to be discharged. I told him I knew what I had done, I was fine, I could cope, I was going to be alright.

I have not been back into hospital since.

I still fight with my ghosts, and will have to take antidepressants all my life. But I have been married this year for 32 years. We have 2 wonderful boys. One is in university and wants to be a lawyer. We own our own home and live in the country.

We can make changes. It is not easy, not easy at all. But through enough people believing in me and encouraging me and lots of therapy, I finally realized life is worth living, not all men and women are evil. I have been very fortunate since I was 21. I have met some beautiful people that have made such a huge difference in my life. These people will always have a spot in my heart.

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I No Longer Hate My Abusers

by Mrs R
(Ontario, Canada)

I was abused in every sense of the word from as far back as I can remember, a very young toddler and possibly earlier? The abuse was made by basically 2 members of my family. I ended up in mental institutions for nearly 3 years. Many years later after lots of therapy, getting married and raising 2 wonderful boys I am writing a book. But I am stuck on a part that I want to share about how I do love the 2 family members that abused me. It took me a long time to realize this because at the time I hated them and was very afraid and unhappy.

But family members of mine now and close friends do not understand why I love the 2 abusers today and not hate them.

Can I quote any answers pertaining to this in my book if any respond.

Thank You and I would like to congratulate you on all of the wonderful information that you have on your site :)

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