Child abuse story from Ana page was created February 20, 2007. Installment #1 was originally posted to my child abuse stories page on February 12, 2007 as story #78.Installment #2 was placed on this page March 6, 2007 and was originally posted February 22, 2007 as Story #85. Ana is from Laurel, Montana, USA.
The following child abuse story from Ana depicts sexual abuse.
The child abuse effects on Ana: inappropriate sexualized behaviour as a child, low self-esteem, self-blame
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I can't remember when my depression had first started, but I'm pretty sure I was pretty young. I blamed it on moving away from my family. I blamed my stepdad for it all. I blamed him for taking away my mom, for changing her. I blamed him for not letting me visit my family, for yelling at me when I didn't do something the right way. I thought of him as the worst person ever when he spanked me for not having my closet in the right order, for throwing a plastic bowl at me because it wasn't completely dry, for chasing me around the house because I thought my homework was finished when it wasn't really.
Now, 16 years old and doing a research paper for my 10th grade English class, I realize, it wasn't him that made me depressed, but the very fact that I was touched at such a young age.
I never told my mom about the little boy who lived in our area a couple apartments away, how he would take me below the stairs and get on top and touch me. I didn't know it was wrong. I blame myself though, because he was younger than me. I didn't know better, but I think, why did he do it in the first place? I remember him saying something about one of his parents doing it to him, so it was okay. I remember I was at my friend's house; the boy lay in my friend's bed and told me to get naked and climb in. I told him no, that it was wrong, especially since it wasn't his bed.
Then when I was in pre-school, an older boy would take me behind the building and touch me. I met a new friend who also lived right next to me. She took me into a little playhouse. She was my age. She touched me and told me to touch her. So I did. She put things down my pants and rubbed them against me. I liked it. She stuffed a blanket down my pants and told me to lie down on top of it and rub myself; I was so confused and didn't know how someone my age knew how to do this. I remember lying in bed, and hearing screaming come from her apartment.
Then I moved onto kindergarten. At naptime, this boy would lay real close to me. He would slide is hands down my pants and touch me. I thought it was only natural. Then one day, the teacher saw and wouldn't let us near each other. I don't think she told my mom, for my mom never talked to me about it.
When I was in the first grade, my best friend would slide is hand inside of my pants during story time. He told me to wear skirts and no underwear, so I did as he told me. At lunch we would go behind a big tree where no one could see us and he would touch me.
Soon my mother and I moved to Nevada, where I met a new friend who had told me about her being raped. She never touched me though, she said it was the greatest thing to happen to her [the rape], that she loved the way it felt. She was a couple years older than I was, so I always thought being raped was good thing. I always wished it would happen to me. Thankfully it never did and hasn't yet, and hopefully never will.
My stepfather had a coworker. We always went over to his house. I was probably 7, and the coworker's son was 16. I remember I always got to spend the night there. Sometimes he would spend the night at my house, but whenever he came over to my house, he would lock my door, go into my closet, take off his pants, and tell me to touch him. I felt weird about it, but still did touch him. He would tell me to take off my pants, but my mom always knocked on the door, making sure everything was okay, so I always got worried about being yelled at for being naked so I never did.
One night at his house, his sister and I had been running around in the sprinklers. As I changed into dry clothes, I told him not to come into the room. He came in anyway and watched me change.
Soon I met this girl named Beth. Beth would tell me to play house with her. She told me to be the husband, to touch her, so I did as I was told. I never knew it was wrong; no one had talked about the right and wrong touches with me.
Every afternoon I had to go my babysitter's house. I was great friends with her son, who was my age. We would play truth or dare all the time with his friend and his big brother. My friend, I don't think had ever been forced to touch or be touched by anyone before. His brother would always dare me to touch either one of the boys, or to let them touch me.
One time, my friend was away. His brother had to watch a boy and me. While playing truth or dare, he dared me to get naked and lay on his bed on my stomach. He told the boy to get naked and get on top of me.
We would always go to the park and there they would do stuff with me. My friend and I were 'dating'. I had a little fort in the horse ring behind my house. We would go out back and do stuff with each other. I never knew it was wrong, and I don't think he did either.
Life was hard, because at school, I was bullied for being chubby. Anyways, my stepdad's job moved us to Montana. I was now in the 5th grade. I had no friends. I was ganged up on and beat up by a bunch of guys because I wasn't 'skinny'.
I met this one girl; she told me she would be my friend, but only if I would let her younger brother touch me. By then I knew it was wrong, but it happened so many times, and I was in desperate need of a friend. So I let him touch me. It happened until the 6th grade. Soon her little brother told their mom I raped him. I was devastated. I hadn't touched him. I was freaking out. My mom wondered what was wrong. I told her everything that happened. My friend's [the girl's] parents were both drug addicts and alcoholics, so she was taken away. The touching ended and life in middle school went on great.
I was living in darkness. I didn't know what to do. I felt so alone, so empty. I didn't know that life was so horrible when you were dead.
In the 7th grade I just couldn't take it anymore. All those years I was used, and I didn't even know it was wrong! All that stress and being yelled at for every little thing made me so depressed. I became anorexic and so quiet. I didn't smile much. I knew that killing myself would be wrong. I knew I had to get help. I told my principal that I was having suicidal thoughts. She called my mother, and I went into counseling.
I'm a really shy person and I'm not very open with my problems with strangers. Both my parents thought I was just saying I was going to kill myself for attention because I told someone about my thoughts.
I wouldn't talk to the therapist; I was a waste of money to them. Soon I started cutting. It was a perfect thing to get rid of the pain, instead of throwing away my life with alcohol and drugs.
Another reason why I wouldn't runaway with alcohol: I didn't want to hurt other people with my ignorance. I didn't want to be controlled with alcohol like he [my father] is and just like my grandfather who beats my step grandma who beats him back.
No one touched me or even tried to until the summer after 8th grade. It was the weekend before the 4th of July. Friends of my parents had fosters kids. Both were a year younger than I was, but one, JJ, was really mature. He told me he liked me, and I said I liked him too. He told me about how all the boys in his family touched all the girls in his. That's why he was a foster kid.
JJ wanted to hang out with me and chat. I was having problems with my current boyfriend at the time because he wanted to go to a party and have sex with a couple girls while I was out camping. We were swimming in the water when he pulled me behind the boat and kissed me. He slid his hand down my bikini shorts and his other hand up my bikini top. I pulled away and told him I had to go do something. He tried holding me back, but I pretended like I heard my mom calling.
Later on that day, when we were all alone in my camper playing card games, he tried sliding his hands down my pants. So many times . . . when no one was around . . . he started kissing me, trying to get his hands down my pants. I thought that putting on a belt would stop him from getting inside of my pants. When he started undoing it, I pulled away and told him, "No, I'm not ready. When I pull away it means stop!" He said okay, but he didn't stop.
I tried pulling away and screaming, but I couldn't. I finally bit his lip and he pushed me off. He stood up and waited until I finished putting my pants and belt back on. He took my hand and walked me back to camp. By the end of our camping trip, my mom told me to give him my numbers. I didn't want to, so I hid in the truck, but JJ found me, so I gave them to him. He gave me one last kiss and left. I was so happy it was over. I was still mad at my boyfriend so I told him I enjoyed it all, but after that, I realized what happened. It all seemed like a dream to me, but it wasn't.
My depression got worse every time JJ called. The memories would come back, haunting me more and more. I couldn't store them away anymore. I kept ignoring his calls. I told my best friends, who listened to me and let me cry on their shoulders.
One night at dinner, he called. My mom had asked why I kept ignoring his calls. I started crying. I told her everything. She asked why I never told her. "Because I thought you would hate me, and think of me as a slut," I replied. She hugged me and told me to clean up my face.
When my mother told my stepdad, he stared at me like I was a little whore or something. That's when my mother told me she knew about Beth and what Beth did to me. I was so embarrassed. I don't want to tell my mom about the others for she might think I'm making up stories. She thinks I'm deprived of attention, but I'm not.
I'm still scared and afraid of what happened a year ago with JJ. I walk around sometimes feeling so lost and confused, so lonely and empty, and I never really know why. But now that I think about it, I believe it's because of all the times I've been molested.
I'm still struggling with anorexia and depression, I'm forcing myself to eat, but I don't eat that much, and I'm fighting the urges to cut. Life in high school is pretty good now, but I'm still living in darkness.
NOTE: Information pages on this site were based on material from the Canadian Red Cross RespectED Training Program. Written permission was obtained to use their copyrighted material on this site.
Child abuse story from Ana was re-formatted May 30, 2015
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