Child Abuse Story From Ashley

by Ashley
(Illinois, USA)

I think my story...isn't as bad as others, and because I think that, I don't like to tell it. I always feel like I'm complaining and being self-centered, but I'm getting over that and telling people how I really feel. I'm 16 years old right now, I actually just turned 16 last month. I don't quite know how to start so I'll just say that I was abused by my brother from the age of 7 to the age of 15. At least my therapist calls it abuse, and when I read things about Emotional abuse on this website, I figured I actually was abused.

You know the saying "death comes in threes," well...that's how it started. When I was 7 years old, my father died, then my sister, then my dog. All of them passed away within 3 months of each other. My brother, Chris, who is 6 years older than me, took it really hard. I don't remember which order it happened in, but he attempted suicide and ran away. I think he attempted suicide first. I had to see the affects of that, the consequences of his actions.

I don't remember how long it took, after he came back, for the abuse to start, but it did. My mother is a nurse and works nights. She didn't have anyone to look after us when she left for work, so she left us alone. That's when it would start, as soon as she shut the door and her car would pull out of the driveway.

I can only remember a few collective things that happened, and not in order, either. My counselor says that I've blocked them out of my mind, and I know she's right. I remember, one time, when we were fighting, I don't remember how it was started, but I was running from him and he was chasing me with a wire hanger. I tried to get to the bathroom, the only door inside the house with a lock on it, but he grabbed onto the knob before I could open the door. He started to beat my arms with the hanger, so I would let go of it, and after I curled into a ball to protect myself, my arms over my head, my knees to my chest, he beat my bare legs. I remember crying, crying for someone to help me, but no one came.

There were times when he would threaten me with knives, threatening to stab me, slit my throat, kill me, kill my dog. All throughout those 7 years of my life I've had to protect an animal. There were countless times that he would kick my dog, throw him, threaten me with him. He's only a little 6 lb Maltese. That dog has stuck up for me more times than anyone ever has. To this day, he's still wary of my brother around me.

One time, 4 years ago, I was yelling at him for stealing my money again. I was 12 years old, he was 18. I trapped him on the stairs, mad that he had taken my money. My dog barked at him, so he picked him up, and held him over the railing, threatening to drop him. I didn't think he would do it, but he did. He dropped that little dog over the railing. I don't know how he survived, but he did.

My brother has tortured me for years, but I just thought that's how sibling rivalry is supposed to be. I thought that, until 2 months ago. There are so many things he's done. He's tried to burn me before, because his friend said that I tried to slap him, when my intent was to take back the money he stole from me.

There have been countless times when I've had to call my family to take me away from him because I didn't feel safe. The other times, I thought he would only harm me, but there was one time when I thought he would kill me. My friends laugh when I tell them the story, not that he tried to kill me, but with the object he tried to do it with, but I see no humor in it.

I was 14, and trying to take back the laptop I was using to do my homework on. I pushed his shoulder and complained. He set the laptop to the side, shoved me to the ground and picked up the first object he could, which was our Hoover vacuum. He held it in the air like a baseball bat and looked down at me like he was ready to swing, he set it down and I ran out of the house, calling the first number on my phone, which was my friend. She picked me up. I called my mother to tell her where I was going. She was mad at me for calling someone outside of the family.

About my mother, I told her every time Curt did something, every time he hurt me, and most of the time nothing would happen. But, sometimes she would take out her belt and start slapping him with it, and then he would fight back and overpower her. I've been hurt multiple times trying to protect her, and now I just feel betrayed by her. She knew this was happening, she knew and she didn't do anything about it, which hurts a lot. She didn't want me to call anyone outside of the family if I was hurt and needed to get away. She got mad at me when, the one and only time, I called my friend to pick me up. I recently told one of my aunts about it, and she was sad and a little angry too when I told her that I called the first number on my phone. My counselor says that I should've done whatever I needed to, to get away and that what I did, calling my friend, wasn't wrong. But my family seems to think it is. My brother had moved out of the house December 2006. I thought he was gone for good. He was 20 and I was 14.

Throughout those 7 years, my brother threatened me with knives, beat me with plastic bats, shoes, sticks, his own hand, kicked me, tried to burn me, threatened me by threatening my pets, pulled out my hair, stole my money, blamed me for being mauled by a dog, and strangled me.

Recently, I was in rehab, because of depression, a suicide attempt, alcohol abuse, and addiction to pain killers. I've had 8 past suicide attempts starting at the age of 9. I've tried to inhale gas fumes, hang myself, slit my wrists, overdose, drown myself, gas fumes again, slit my throat, and the recent one was overdose. While in rehab, in a program called Options, I was there from 9 a.m. until 3 p.m. and allowed to go home after that. When I was being interviewed so they knew what I was there for, I was mad at my mother for saying, "My son terrorised her, but he was suffering from depression also." My counselor says that, besides for the mentally insane, no one is excused for their behavior. I agree with her. My mother was making excuses.

While I was there, I had a confrontation with my brother. I was ready for it. I was ready for his apology. At this point, I was a week away from being 16. My brother was 22. I thought this would go reasonably well. But it didn't quite go as planned. I told him that I was in rehab for a suicide attempt. And he said that he knew, but he didn't know why because he had it worse. When I told him that it was because of him abusing me, he exploded and said that I was using him as a scapegoat and that I deserved whatever I got because I was annoying. My dog heard the yelling, and getting into the old habits, jumped in front of me, grabbing Chris' pant leg and pulling. He threatened my dog, and I threatened to kill him. That's when my mom stepped in. I yelled at her to get him out of here, to get him out of the house. After one night of him gone, he was back in. That's the second night in a year that I slept with a knife in my room. But I got over it, and I was only in rehab for a week.

My mom and I came up with a plan that I wouldn't talk about it while my mother wasn't there, and we haven't talked about it since. I feel that my mother thinks, "You've discovered this, talked about your feelings, had counseling, had rehab, talked to your brother, now let's sweep this back under the rug." I don't want to push it under the rug. I can't anymore. I'm not healed. I'm still depressed, suicidal thoughts still brush my mind. My counselor and the rehab place wanted to put me on antidepressants, but my mother refused.

I talked to my counselor again, and she said that since it happened at a young age and lasted for near half my life, that I might be depressed for the rest of my life. That scares me. I don't want to die by my own hand, it's against my religion. I don't want to be content or sad my whole life, because right now, that's all I ever am, content or sad, and I've been getting increasingly hostile. Whenever I talk about it, I cry a lot. I've cried five times already just ranting. I can't seem to get out of this container where all I do is cry or yell. I'm scared of what type of parent I'll be...I don't want to abuse my children, and I'm a violent person already.

I've never told anyone this before, but when I was 12, I touched my 4-year-old cousin in his private parts, once because I wanted to see it, but that's no excuse. I cry myself to sleep near every day because of that, because I'm so deeply sorry, but I don't want to tell my family because I'm scared they won't love me anymore. I don't want him to end up like me. I don't want him to have to live his life thinking about what I did. I'm so sorry for it, and I feel like the scum of the earth for it. I am the scum of the earth. He doesn't deserve to end up like me, he never deserved for me to do that. I hate myself for it.

I'm sorry for wasting your time, and writing so much, none of it probably makes any sense. Other people have it worse than I did, and I'm here complaining, trying to gain sympathy. I'm just as bad as my brother, with the exception that I own up to it, and I'm so deeply, incredibly hurt and sorry.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ashley" can be found below in Part 1 and Part 2.

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