Child Abuse Story From Anna
by Anna
(Formerly from Lynden, Washington, USA)
When I was 16, my mother suddenly apologized to me. We were on the way home from my therapy appointment. She told me she was sorry she never protected me, and that she knew I was telling the truth, because one day after I was born, she came home from work to find my dad "doing stuff" to me (her words). Until then, all I'd ever heard from her was what a whore I was, how evil and fat and ugly and stupid and any number of insults. She used to drag me up the stairs by my hair and lock me in my room. That was when I was in high school. In fact, one night during a north-easterly storm, she locked me out of the house until I brought a non-existent bowl home from her church.
I guess what I'll never understand is how so many people knew, and no one did anything. My family doctor even told me HE knew, but he didn't feel it was his place to report it. The church across the street knew, the youth pastor, the youth leaders, teachers, relatives, parents of the few friends I was allowed to have.
I was sexually abused. I was tortured. I was physically abused, emotionally abused, psychologically abused, apparently from the time I was brought home from the hospital until my escape at age 23. My mom regularly killed my pets. She thrived on having a sick family. She'd regularly slip drugs into our food and drinks. She was an alcoholic with the religious zeal of a schizophrenic.
My dad, he was just plain sick. My mom diagnosed him with bipolar (the more extreme of the two kinds). Her psychiatrist friend would regularly supply her with medicine for us all. My dad kept a brief case of me in the basement. I discovered it one day. It had test results (like IQ tests and the SATs and things like that), pictures of me that he drew when I was sleeping, pictures of me that he took, a pair of my underwear, photocopies of my journals.
This is all over the place, and I'm sorry about that, it's how my mind works.
I've been in therapy for almost 20 years, from the age of 13 (the first time I tried to kill myself). I've been in the psych hospital twice. My arms are covered with scars from self-injury. A doctor I saw said I was walking evidence, because I was covered with scars (internally and externally) and healed injuries that attested to the abuse I grew up with.
Thankfully, when I turned my dad in back in 1994, I did it to the Lynden Police, but also to the sheriff. The sheriff reported it to CPS, because my parents were foster parents. CPS investigated (two independent investigations) and determined that I and the 30 previous foster kids were telling the truth about my parents. Somehow, when we all reported it ourselves, it was made out that we were lying, but when I went to another city to report it to a sheriff, it was determined we were telling the truth.
I moved across the country, and shortly thereafter, my dad quit his job, made my mom quit hers, and put the house up for sale. They bought a house 3 miles from where I was living. I had to go into hiding. I've been in hiding ever since.
My dad is still looking for me. He told me once, "If I can't have you, no one can." After he shot my dog, I knew he was serious. Now I regularly do obituary searches, to see if I'm officially free.
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