Child Abuse Story From Frejya

by Frejya
(Sydney, Australia)

The real thief... :
I was in sixth class in Australia - I was eleven years old. My father was a lot older than my mum in years but not in maturity. I was ashamed of him...for many reasons. He was a merchant seaman and travelled away from us 6 weeks off and six weeks on. He would bring home all sorts of coins from all over the world and show us them. My brother and I were amazed by these shiny little objects we would sometimes go into our parents' room when our parents were out and look at the coins and imagine the day we too could travel and get out of suburbia... those coins represented a freedom.

We showed our next door neighbour these shiny coins from lands afar...

The next morning before school I woke up by being dragged out of bed by my father. "Where are my coins, where are my f**king coins?" he yelled. I told him I didn't know, but he didn't believe me. He accused me of stealing them. "I did not steal them," I cried, knowing what would come next. He left me cowering in the kitchen in the corner, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide in the middle of suburbia and came out with a belt. He accused me of stealing his coins again, and in one last attempt at trying to set this straight I yelled that it might have been our next door neighbour. He would listen. He started the belting, calling me a liar and a thief. He whipped me around the face, the legs, on my body. I cowered and cried and cried.

The worst part was then I had to get up, dust myself off and take myself to school and pretend that everything was alright at home...this was my coping mechanism, and now on reflection can see why I am in the trouble I am in today. I felt I had no one that I could rely on. My mum had just watched me be beaten. For some reason my brother had not been hit. It was just me, and I knew that I did not steal those coins.

I sucked in all the energy I could muster and I went to school. At least at school I could escape. I was the class clown, making jokes and making everyone around me laugh.

But this day I was very upset. Then between recess and lunch a knock came at the door. It was my father. He had come up to see my teacher. One kid asked me if he was my granddad, and I exhaled with a "yes."

Just before lunch the teacher pulled me aside. "Your father is a very odd man," she said to me. I looked down and replied yes. "He told me that you are a thief and a liar and too make an announcement to the class; are you?" I told her no, and looked even further down. "Hmm, he is an unusual man," she said.

This was the point in my life where all of my hurt and shame and upset culminated into the sharp sting of humiliation. My heart encased itself into a layer of fear...a deep dark layer of armour that it felt necessary to survive this battle called childhood...and now a woman in my 30's, slowly by slowly I am working on dissolving these layers from bulimia, self loathing, and drug abuse to name but a few...the list goes on....

When I got home from school that day my bed was filled with toys....

My father, not offering a humble heartfelt apology, but making a joke of it...he had gone to the next door neighbour's and our neighbour admitted to it all...stealing the coins...my father did not know how to feel himself, so the only way he could express himself was through buying things. This was one of the many incidents that shaped my relationship with my father. Others included sexual abuse, verbal, emotional, and many forms of physical violence.

My father was the thief. He stole my childhood, my innocence...and now my journey is one of learning how to unlearn and letting go of the pain that was left behind....

To all those that have suffered, I wish you love and light in your journeys...from just surviving to mastering the art of love for ourselves and others....unconditionally...let's together stop the cycle.

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