Child Abuse Story From Finn

by Finn
(Singapore)

Can I tell you something?
I am not a good person.
I am not clever at all.
I am worse than an animal.

I am just so ugly, right?
I can't even speak properly.
I am such a disgusting child to live with.
Nobody would miss me if I was gone.

I am so evil and sick,
so worthless and dumb.
So she has to hit me,
and ignore me to make my badness go away.

I really am useless.

She is right, I am a failure.
She plays these funny games with me
and all I do is get bruises and nightmares.
I deserve this.
Nobody does and will ever love me, stupid little girl.

Can I tell you something?
I don't want to go home today.
__________________________________________

I am emotionally abused. That poem was written last year. I am 15,and my mother emotionally abuses me every day.
My parents are divorced. My father lives some place else.
I don't wish my parents get back together, though. My father gave me a mental illness, and my mother made it worse by abusing me.
She has been swearing up and down since I was ten, telling me to go kill myself and picking my life apart as if I am old enough to handle everything she says.
Then she controls every single detail of my life as if I am 5.
Once, she brought me to a crowded park and made me sit at a bench. Then every few seconds she would tell me to sit, and stand, sit and stand back up again. She would sit there twirling her hair while she called me a stupid retard. She did that to me again when I was twelve because I had refused to wash her own dishes.

I tell her that I wish she would stop calling me incapable and slow. She screams at me that is perfectly normal and denies ever calling me that. She yells at me that everything I have heard her say to me never happened. She justifies all her actions. She argues with me, a teen, about who is supposed to let strange men into the house.

She lets my uncle lie on top of me and touch me each time we go to their house. He would lie on me and breathe heavily, or tickle me in my stomach, or grab me at my hips. She stands there and looks at him as he crushes my chest and shoulders.

Nobody listens to you. So sometimes I don't speak. And nobody notices.

I am to blame when the bills are too high, when my mother has had a bad day at work, when the television stops working, when she gets headaches. I am called a worthless unwanted child, somebody who should've been dumped at a mental hospital, a child who is uglier, stupider, smellier, more useless and less likely to succeed in life than other teenagers.

There is no food in the house. There hasn't been for a long time. My mother tried to strip me in front of my niegbours once. I hadn't been able to call her once I arrived home after school because my phone's battery was flat. She told me to choke on my food and suffocate because she was late to go to her sister's house.

My aunt told me she hated me once.

My mother has never apologised for the times she slapped and punched me, for when she yelled at me the night of my school dance, when she tells me I will never be as smart as her. She calls me a coward.

We never walk away fine after our childhood has been snatched away from us. I absolutely cannot look in mirrors or anything that shows my reflection anymore. It has become like, a fear.

Every person that has criticised or said something not nice to me becomes an enemy. I feel like my teachers, aunts, uncles and friends hate me because I am not perfect, and I don't make them happy. So I give them compliments and try to please them to make them like me. SO maybe they can help me.

Sometimes I cry at night.

It is hard to put into words exactly why you jerk away every time somebody reaches for you, or why you stop talking for days sometimes when you are chided, or why your lips look cracked and bloody every single day. Or why you don't believe those compliments that rarely come by, or why you do not ever, ever take photographs of yourself.
Why you can't speak properly, or why your eyes are permanently sad, ringed and sunken in or why you hate when adults frown at you, why the paralysing thoughts that they hate, dislike, are disgusted by you, come flooding in.

I am never 'me' in my dreams. I have a different face, charm, wit, but my life always comes back to ruin my daydreams. It is hard to believe you are more than an unwanted loser when you have that drilled into your head every single day since nine. I watch TV wondering if the TV people can take me away. But they would hate me too because I am everything my mother says I am.

My name is Finn. I am fifteen. I have a mental illness. I am a poet, and I like art and watching TV. I am only allowed to wear hand-me-downs. I like nachos, not vegetables. I cry at the sound of my voice. I like Hawaii Five O. So I never speak. I hate exercise. My mother ignores me for days on end. I love lasagne, but I don't have any cooking skills. Or a childhood. I'm also emotionally abused. And can I tell you something else? I think you are very nice to read my story. Thank you.

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