Child Abuse Story From Amanda
by Amanda
(Devonport, Australia)
I am 12 years old now. When I was 6 years old, my father would always come home drunk and abuse my mother. My brother, who was 6 years older than me, was always in fights with my father and he ended up screwed up in the end. My father would abuse me and my mother, but my brother always got it worse than me.
When I was 9 years old, it was worse than ever. I sunk into the back of my mind for a while. I started to become anxious easily, and I started to think there were cameras everywhere, watching me.
It's hard to recall every single event that happened. At 10 I grew sadder. I was depressed. I had experienced depression when I was 8, but at 10 I started to cut and try to kill myself. I became anorexic. My father was still beating me up. My mother and my brother started getting depressed too. At 16, my brother became very aggressive. He really was all screwed up.
Still to this day, I think there are cameras in this house, even when I don't really believe there are. It all makes me wonder if I'm stupid. I have feelings that my mother isn't really my mother because she turned into some freak that now abuses me. I see a psychologist, but I do not tell her much about some things, the things that are too hard for me to put into words, but I will now attempt to do so.
All the things that used to happen seem to be so far away. I almost feel like I can forgive my father. I trust him more than my mother. I feel she controls all those cameras watching me, and that none of this is real. I end up spastic on the floor, scratching at my skin and hurting myself. I cannot control it, but it's something that burns deep inside me. I hate my mother. I HATE her. It's almost impossible for me to express emotion in public because of my mother and what she has done to me and told me. I can't move to where my dad is because he is now in Thailand with prostitutes. Sometimes I think the devil has possessed me, even though when I compare myself to other people who are possessed it's not as bad. I just go into spastics or something and I can't stop hurting myself.
I have never told anyone about anything in the last paragraph above, and I have never before told anybody why. I'm going to tell you why here.
I created a mask. Not a real one. Just one to hide behind. Everything I live: school, social life, everything is basically a lie. My life is a lie. My mask protects me. The real me. No one knows much about the real me. They don't know I am lying to them. I am 2 different people. Outside my mask I am fake. Inside my mask I am real. I don't know how to explain this. I could sit here and try and explain all the differences, but I won't accept that inside me. I am a Christian, but outside my mask I am an Atheist.
I am still suicidal. I am coming into Grade 7. I do not know what direction is what. I spend most of my time crying beneath my mask. Really, my heart is bleeding, but deep down there is at least something real. I still live with a mother I hate. I live while dying inside.
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