Child Abuse Story From Emily F

by Emily F
(Devon, UK)

For as long as I can remember, my mum has always been a drinker. Even when I was small, we used to meet Dad at the bus stop after he finished work, then mum would just disappear to the pub. Dad would play with us till bedtime. This went on up until I was 5 and my dad left. I was heart-broken, as I was Daddy's girl, but every time I said I missed him, Mum would say, "Well, where is he????"

Just a few days later, Bob from 2 doors away, was constantly coming round and wanted to play with us all the time. Before long, he was living with us, taking my dad's place.

Well, a few days later, my dad called. I wasn't allowed to tell him about Bob, so obviously, as a child I never did, but I did tell him they are always drinking beer. So then our 2 days to Dad's turned into 2 months. Then the police were at the door telling my dad that he had to take us home or he would arrested for kidnapping. So obviously, he had to bring us home. That was the last time I saw him, until I was 18 years old.

When we got home, Mum gave us a box of sweets and sat there, telling us how Dad didn't love us and we wouldn't be seeing him again, that he would be going to prison, but I knew Daddy did love me. Ok, she never went to the pub, but her and Bob were falling all over the place drunk. It used to scare us. Every time she got drunk, she got angry much quicker. It wasn't long before Bob was allowed to punish and smack us. That was always Mum's job. This "Mum" that I had come home to wasn't the same as when I'd left. She kept referring to my dad as whale meat. Soon after, I had to call Bob Dad. I absolutely hated him. He wasn't my dad. My answer to this was, "But I have a dad." And Bob said, "Yes, I'm here." I was confused.

Then I had to grow up quick. Before I knew it, they were getting married. They changed my name. Then I had my stepsister baby-sitting while they were in the pub, getting drunk, having a good time. If we needed them quick, they were in the pub. At bedtime, they would come home shouting and falling everywhere. Things would get smashed. Sometimes Mum would cry to me and my sister. We would be so scared. We would reach over each others beds and hold hands and were so quiet.

We did as we pleased. We spent a lot of time at a friend's place over the road. Our friend's Mum was always there and we always went along when they went out for the day to their nans. That was better than being round our mum and Bob because they were either drunk or asleep because they were drunk. The key was always in the door if we wanted to go home.

Then we got to about 10 years old. If we did the slightest wrong, he would hit us with his belt. He used this as a weapon, and Mum just let it happen. She never cared less, so the more this was happening, the more I was rebelling. The more I hated him, the more I never wanted to be there.

At the age of 13, I started running away from home. I thought they would not care. As long as they had some beer and a bottle of vodka, they wouldn't realise I was gone. But after a day, they would call the police. After about 50 times of the police picking me up, they thought something must be happening at home, that all this running away wasn't just for attention, which was what my mother had been saying. So the police interviewed my mum, and she told them everything was fine at home.

Oh don't I wish I never said that. Apparently, my mum never knew, but Bob started raping both me and my sister. He would even tape it on his camcorder, sick man that he was.

The police kept picking me up as a runaway, until I finally begged the officer not to take me home. He wanted to know why, so I showed him my arms. I had cuts covered on one of my arms, my other arm had cuts over half of it. He asked what happened. I admitted to cutting them myself. He then said he needed to take me to the station, and I agreed. He explained I was not under arrest.

At the station, I was asked why I did all these cuts. I told them I did it when Mum and Bob get drunk and fight and that when I'm naughty, he hits me with a belt and I also said he offered me 50 cigarettes for a blow job. I was so scared, I could say no more.

They sent a psychiatrist to talk with me. I was diagnosed with depression, which got worse and turned into manic depression. I went into foster care. My sister was questioned, and she denied everything. My mum never spoke to me for months, but when she finally did, she told me how much she loved me and how it would never happen again.

I moved home, thinking things would change, just wanting to be with my sisters, but it just got much, much worse. I put up with it until I was 18. My stepsister turned to heroin, so she was hated too. In the end, she lost her life to it, and it's all down to 2 alcoholics who can't look after their children.

After that, I was living alone. Kellie, my stepsister, was dead. I told the police everything. Bob was not prosecuted, as the rapes were no longer on the camcorder. I've not seen my family from that day, and wish never to ever again.

Alcoholics don't care who they hurt or what they do. All they see is the alcohol running out.

Thanks.

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