Child Abuse Story From Chelsea R

by Chelsea R
(South Dennis, Massachusetts, USA)

I'm eighteen years old. When I was eight, my innocent life was stolen from me. My body no longer my own as I seem to see it now. My step dad molested me. He touched me in places with his hands, places an eight-year-old should never have to feel until they have to go see their doctor for the "woman's ritual" of their first pap.

I was eight. I still climbed trees, played on the jungle gym, stood on my head for fun, and thought I was the boss. Until he showed me I was no longer in control of who I was or what I did. It wasn't even until later that I realized that he wasn't allowed to do this to me. My mom didn't seem to realize. I was told never to tell. So she was never to know.

I have a younger sister and a younger brother. My sister is only a year younger than me. I got protective. I wanted to protect her, to make sure nothing that was happening to me would happen to her. As I now know, while sitting in her sad blue room with her alone as our parents were again fighting with each other, that I had failed. He would always come to me, and make me "take it". He seemed to want me to feel it, to make me feel anything. I didn't want to give him anything. Every day or anytime he could get me alone, or when we just happened to be alone he would try and make me feel.

He would whisper nasty, disgusting words and phrases in my ear. He would tell me things like, "Like it baby. Tell me you like it." I was young and didn't know I wasn't supposed to do as he said. I looked up to him. He was my dad, the one I knew from when I was born. I knew no other dad.

I got my period at age eleven. That was when he left me be sometimes. I guess he seemed more cautious of my body being able to hold a child or something along those lines. I want to say he stopped completely and no more came of what he did, that he stopped touching me with his hands. This is where I have to be truthful to myself. He didn't stop touching me. He became more demanding. I wouldn't just have to "take it" anymore, I had to do what he told me to. I was afraid for my sister, and nervous for my mother. I was scared that he would use her as he used me. I grew into a woman's body fast, unfortunately. I hated it. I hated that he stared at my chest at thirteen and told me to touch him to make him feel pleasure. I hated him, and now I know I always will.

I wanted to drive when I was fourteen. I wanted to grow up. I wanted to be able to get away. So he brought me with him to a motel once and he attempted to pleasure me in a closed-in tanning room with tanning beds. It was hot and stuffy. I could barely breathe. Then he brought me to the room he paid for for a night. For the first time he made me feel. Tears fell silently from my eyes as I realized my innocent sexual awakening had started when my dad had spread me over the bed. I cried for the experience that was forever lost to me.

I remember the delighted sneer on his face when he realized my body liked what he did. It was horrible. I felt dirty and I repulsed myself. I wanted to curl up in a ball and die. Fourteen and I wanted to kill myself for allowing him to do this to me. Four years, and my mom hadn't noticed, and if she did, she didn't try to help me. She just kept telling me to stop hanging all over him. I was making sure he never tried to use my sister, not hanging over him. I was watching him. I hated her for not knowing, for never being there for me. God I hated myself for not being stronger. He got abusive towards my little brother and started hitting him.

My brother is two and a half years younger than me. He was young and stupid. A kid in all senses. I was always there for him, I was scared that one day my dad would hit my brother too hard and that my brother would never wake up. I took some of the wrap, knowing that my dad wouldn't hit me as bad as he would my brother. I hate him for touching my brother in a violent way.

At sixteen I was excited as all fifteen-year-olds are for their sweet sixteen. Turns out my birthday gift came late from him and consisted of me being bent over a washer in my kitchen with my brother and sister in their rooms upstairs and my mom in the next room laying down because she had worked late that night at the nursing home she practically lived at. I want to say he didn't rape me but he did, and something in me snapped. I was worried my mom would see, and would be hurt to know what was going on right under her nose.

Her love for him would show and I would be devastated to find out if she would truly pick him over me. I got scared and told him, "It's a bad idea I think we should stop." He didn't respond for the longest 10 seconds of my life. He looked at me and pulled out and smiled, then walked away as if nothing happened. 2:24 PM and there was no hope left of salvaging any innocence from my body. I finished my laundry and went upstairs. My brother was watching TV, and my sister was laying on her bed talking on her cell phone about a boy she wanted to date. Thank god, they we're busy. Thank god, no one noticed. I went to my room and cried myself to sleep.

I tried to get stronger and I did. I tried to keep quiet but I couldn't. I had to ask my sister if she was ever touched by him. She was and it devastated me that I failed her. He came to her at nights when he was with me or when he'd just got done with me. Disgusting, Vile, Mentally sick. Words I think of when thinking of him. I can't have people coming up behind me without my heart hammering with anger, pain and vulnerability. I don't know what to do about anything. In my mind I'm always lost in a black sea on a boat ravaged by crashing waves.

I trusted him with my life. He was supposed to make sure nothing happened to me, look out for my well being from those who would treat me badly. He ended up treating me worse than anyone else in my young life. I will never be able to get my innocent life back. I'll never have a normal relationship where I will never not think of him and what he did. He used my body and hardened my heart. I am always watching for signs of sexual abuse in others who seem hurt. I am drawn to them like an insect is to lights. We are together in what we feel, yet we seem so distant from any other individual.

Eight years of sexual and emotional abuse by my step-father and never-ending neglect from my mother. Now as I am eighteen and spoke up about what had happened to me to a woman who was a detective, I feel worse about myself and what I allowed to happen to me because not only did the entire thing mess with my mind, when she told me she didn't believe anything I said. She had ended up turning everyone in my family against one another. So the end result left me screaming with undeserved neglect and left me feeling alone to the point where I'll never be able to heal from it. But that's just me and my story, others seem to have a better luck than I.

Who am I now? Well, I'm an eighteen-years-ld who rents a room with a family I know. I have a good job that pays okay, and friends that care about me. Notice I didn't mention any family. That's because my mother decided to stay with the man that molested both her daughters, sells and does drugs, beats her son and herself, cheats on her, takes all the money, brings drug addicts to the house with her kids around, and is in and out of jail for things that should keep him there his entire life yet he gets out with a slap on his damn wrists. Life is hard but we get stronger as things are laid out for us.

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