Child Abuse Story From Amanda
by Amanda
(Kentucky, USA)
One night, my stepdad tried to have sex with me. He tried every way possible to get in my pants. He told me I could have all the freedom I wanted and that he was in love with me. He told me that if I didn't have sex with him, he'd go downstairs, pack all his things, and leave without saying anything to my momma. I refused to do it.
Later on that week, I told my mom about it. She told me that she would sit him down and we would talk about it. She didn't believe me. He came home and made it sound ok that he did it, like it was no big deal. Everything he was saying made no sense. My mom just believed everything and let it go. She didn't yell at him, no cops, nothing!
I knew my life was only going to get worse from there. Before all that had happened, we would get into fights. The first time we ever physically fought was when I was in the 5th grade. My mom didn't believe me then either. We would fight at least 3 times a week and it would always be "my fault" that it started, even though he put his hands on me first.
After I told, my stepdad would try to find ways just to put his hands on me. One time, we got in a fight because I wouldn't dump out HIS nasty spit-can from were he spits. He had told me that night that he liked to fight me because it turned him on. Things just got worse. Everybody in the house turned their backs on me.
The night of my prom, I fought him in my dress! He and my mom had kicked me out because I had yelled at them for how they treated my little brother. I had come back to get ready. My little brothers eyes got so wide and the youngest got tears in his. They were so afraid for me. My brothers told me to leave because my stepdad would be back, and he had told them that if I came back, he'd bring his niece over to fight me. While I was getting ready, he came home and I came out to get hairspray. He was on the phone with his neice. "Oh yeah, she's here," he said to her. "Are you on your way over?"
"Go ahead and send her over here," I told him, "because after it's all over, I'm going to have you and Momma locked up because I'm sick of this."
He grabbed me by the neck, bent me backwards over the couch. "You gonna keep hollerin at me girl," he said. I kicked him in his bad knee, the knee that he had surgery on about 3 years ago. His grip let up. I pulled myself back up off the couch. I punched him in his face. He punched me in my side. He slammed me to the floor and climbed on top of me. He put his hands back on my neck and started to squeeze and choke me. My mom was standing there the whole time, watching. My best friend, Ashley, came running in and started yelling at me, telling me to calm down. Then she told him to get off me. After Ashley came in, my mom called the cops, but she called them on me.
There were many more fights that were the same—or even worse—than that one.
I am now 17 years old and I feel like I had to grow up too fast. I look back at my past now that I'm away from them, and I'm proud. Proud that I stood strong every time. Proud that I made it through.
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