Child Abuse Story From Bonnie

by Bonnie
(USA)

I can't believe I am finally going to get this out. But I am starting to realize that keeping what happened to me silent, I am keeping that demon in. Only by loudly proclaiming that I am a survivor through sharing my experience, strength and hope will I be able to release that demon.

I was sexually abused around the age of eight. It was the daughter of a friend of the family.

But really, I think the abuse happens before any physical touching or verbal abuse. The abuse begins when the person who is supposed to be caring for you completely disregards you and your safety. That is what happened to me.

My mom was an alcoholic since before my birth. She also was quite dependent on many many many men. They would come in and out of our lives. I could not begin to count how many guys came over with gifts or something for me to try to win me over. Fortunately, none of those men ever harmed me.

Because my mom was an alcoholic and she wanted to go out and have a good time, having an eight-year-old daughter was a bit of a downer. So when she met a man around that time, he encouraged her to leave me with some friends of his and hers that they both worked with.

My mom left me on a couple different occasions with these people. That is when their daughter who was around 16 at the time began to molest me. At first, I thought it was ok because we were both girls and that's how girls were supposed to play with each other. But then it started to feel worse and worse and I would dread being there.

I remember one time when this girl was terrorizing me. She would not let me sleep. She kept making me touch her and kiss her and all I wanted was to sleep. I have a lot of issues revolving around sleeping; I hate to be woken up especially in the middle of the night.

The worst part that I have held on to from this is that when my mom would drop me off say, on a Friday, she would tell me she would be back on Sunday. I would later find out that she didn't plan on coming back until Tuesday and couldn't even tell me the truth. Talk about feeling trapped.

When I finally told my mother about the abuse around the age of 16, she forgot. FORGOT.

I am worth remembering. I am worth being told the truth. I hate my mother sometimes more than the perpetrator who was obviously being abused as well and passed the behavior on to me.

I am a survivor, not a piece of crap. When I look in the mirror, I know what a survivor looks like.

I would love to write more but I have to go. I'm 22 and healing, just celebrated a year of sobriety yesterday after trying to self-medicate for many years.

Find a God you understand, not a God someone else tells you to have. Be free and survive.

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