Child Abuse Story From Alyn

by Alyn
(United Kingdom)

Why me: 
From an early age I was physically abused my mother. She would hit me with whatever she had in her hand when she really lost her temper (which wasn't that often, thank goodness) because my father made up for it. He would lose his temper, beat me, calm down and then work himself up again and beat me again and again. It developed from hands to fists to belts, broom handles and chairs. If he had it in his hand look out. You had it.

In later years my friends stopped coming to my house because they wanted to go out courting. I could not because my father did not, would not, give me any pocket money but made me say he did so I was full of excuses why I couldn't do this and that. He would insist I go with him to steal coal for the fire. Carrying a sack of coal for about a mile from the colliery tip at an early age took its toll on me. Now I am older and full of back pain. Even now I could not say to the consultant in the hospital when he asked about heavy lifting, "Yes, it's because I was stealing sacks of coal from about 8 years old."

I really think my parents beat my spirit out of me. I grew up to be a wimp, afraid of my own shadow :-( (so maybe that's why I always tried to be friendly with people) Some of my friends knew what I had to put up with, so I think they must have told their parents and people talk especially in the small village where I used to live. So I think some people knew. I was easy prey to take advantage of. I can't believe how naive I was/am.

The first time, there was one guy down by the railway in a old shed, trousers round his ankles, playing with his thingy, calling me and my friend in to touch and play with him, but I managed to stand by the door where the top half was broken and place stones against the bottom to jam it a little and we ran off. The police were called by my friend's parents and eventually he went to prison.

Then there was the neighbour who used to touch me.

Then the worst one of all was the shopkeeper who I thought was my friend. He would give me sweets to cheer me up and I confided in him. He would take me into the back of the store and make me do things to him and him to me and reminding me what my father would do to me if he found out (and he was right). My father would believe anyone over us.

For 49 years I have kept this bottled up inside me, and as a result of my life, I grew up not knowing how to talk to people, not knowing how to treat people—especially my wife and kids—properly, always coming out with snide remarks, snapping at them. But I never hit my wife, as my father did to my mother. A smack on the ass for the kids when they were naughty was all I did. Didn't know how to show affection to my wife, which caused her to find someone else that could. I could not go to counseling, as everyone wanted money for each session. I could not afford that, and the wife would have wanted to know where the money had gone to.

Then I discovered computers. So I tried to sort my problems out. I tried to talk to people on the Net. The result: police came and arrested me and now I am about to be prosecuted and most probably jailed. Don't get me wrong, I am not a pedo or anything. I do talk to kids and show them a little respect, but I don't think the police see it that way. I have 2 children and 3 grandchildren. They are my life and would never be that cruel to them. Now at 54 years of age I think every day, what is the point of my life? I will eventually die a sad lonely old man, so what is the point. I have told you my story and now tears are streaming down my face, and that's how it will be in court. I won't be able to speak out, just squeak; sad aren't I.

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