Child Abuse Story From Gabriela

by Gabriela
(Australia)

I am 18 years old. I am smart, beautiful and I can make people laugh. God blessed me, but I paid a price for what he gave me and for what I have achieved now that I'm older, in return for my innocence, my childhood. I am scared to write all of this, but I might as well write if I can't say it, speak it. I'm not crying. I think recently in the last year is the only time I've cried over my childhood. I am strong. I control my future and who I am and no one can take that away.

I came to Australia from a war torn country with my family, my mother, my brothers, my sister and a man. The man is not my father. He is not my ONLY abuser, but only one of them. He is my brother's father. I don't know my father, but I loved this man, I remember that. I would have been 4 years old, and I loved to suck my thumb. It comforted me. It was the most natural thing in the world for a baby, a child. This man hit me; he hit me so hard, I can't remember how hard. He hit me because I sucked my thumb.

One night, I was alone with my sister. The man was there. He saw me sucking my thumb, so he made me put chilli on it and ordered me to suck it. He would say such cruel things to me. I was "scum" because I was a 4-year-old child who liked to suck her thumb; that makes me laugh.

One night, I was sitting at home and we were watching TV. He was sitting on the other couch opposite me or next to me, I'm not sure, but he threw a chair. I started to cry and cry and I ran to my mother. She asked me what happened and I told her. I told her how that man had hit me with a chair. They fought. He left that night and didn't come back. I remember my little brother crying for his papa. He left, and I wonder till this day if my mother blames me.

After the man left, things became so hard for my mother. She couldn't speak English and she had no money. She told me this year when we were talking and having a heart-to-heart that she thought about killing herself and killing me and my siblings. We lived by a river when we first came to Australia. She told me she wanted to drown all of us. Things where so hard back then, and the only thing that stopped her was the fear she would live and we would die, or she would die and we would live. So our family began a new and difficult start, and so did a new kind of abuse.

I asked my mother when I was 10 or 11 what I could do to make all the bad dreams and memories go away. She told me to pray, pray to God and beg him, ask him to help me forget. So I prayed and I begged and I forgot. I forgot enough to stay sane, but not enough to forget completely.

I would have been 4. It would have been almost immediately after my brother's dad left that I started to masturbate. I don't know how it began, but it happened. I still feel so ashamed. I would rub myself up against the sofa or against something hard. It felt good, but I don't know how a child of 4 years could feel sexual pleasure. My mother caught me once. She hit me hard, and then sent me to have a bath. I'm 18 now. I haven't and don't touch myself. I can't. Even if I wanted to, it would bring me no pleasure.

In the same year, my brothers and my sister would engage in sexual activities with each other. Never penetration; I suppose minor in a weird way, but still, I believe this is some form of abuse. We were children. I don't remember much, as I try to block it out for my sanity. What I do remember, I would never tell. I am ashamed, but we were babies, children. It happened, and there was no one there to stop it. I love my brothers and sisters and they love me. We have a good relationship. I know they remember what happened, but I won't ask, and we won't ask each other. I would never tell anyone. Not my husband. Not my kids. No one. I love my brothers and sisters. We were children. This is how I protect them. I can live with this, but I won't say more.

I would have been about 6 when my uncle came to visit. As stupid as this sounds, I can't remember which one! I can't remember which one to be angry at or to at least be cautious of. My youngest brother, my sister and I were in a dark room. It must have been my room. I can remember being on top of my uncle and I think rubbing on him, then my sister would do this longer. Maybe it went further than that, but I can't remember. What a blur. But I know he molested us. I feel it.

My cousin molested my sister for a long time, I'm sure. She never said anything, but I could feel the tension between the two of them. No one knew but me. I know because at that age I knew sex. I knew sex was pleasure. I knew it was fun and wrong. And I knew that what was happening between my sister and cousin was wrong. Or at least strange.

I have this feeling that I can't let go, that I was penetrated as a child, but by who I don't know. I feel the pain and the discomfort, but I see no face to the man on top of me. I can't see that face, I can only feel and I know because of my sexual behaviour in the past and today.

I learned to be seductive and sexy, manipulative and mean. I had something men wanted, but who took it. I once saw a movie about a woman who was abused as a child. She couldn't remember details, but one day, she just did. It just happened. Her abuser was her father. She felt it. I hope that doesn't happen to me. I don't think I want to know.

I had sex with a boyfriend of mine when I was 13. There was no pain, nothing. I became obsessed with sex. He was only 2 years older than me, but I wanted it and I got it, whether or not it was right for him. It was this feeling of needing the release, nothing else. But I gradually became scared of myself. I would have these attacks where I became uncontrollable. I broke up with him because I was scared of what I wanted and he was helping me get it. I care for him still. I worry I hurt him or damaged him somehow. I feel sorry for that every day. We were both still children; one with a complex issue.

I started having sex more often. I became very experienced. The men I would be with later taught me how to act and perform in bed. Then one day I was raped. A few friends and I were at a party or gathering. We were drinking and people were having intercourse. I was raped by a man who would have been about 28. I was 15. I was terrified after because he left the room and left me to the mercy of his friends. After it happened, I ran down the street screaming. I had let this happen. They were animals, pigs, filth, but I had waited for something bad to happen before I learned....

I will stop now!
I could write for days and days to tell you my story, but everything I need or want to say couldn't be told in a lifetime. I come from a family where women are sexually abused, beaten and treated like crap. My grandmother and her mother all experienced terrible things. My mother, as well. And all worse than what I experienced in my short life. We are strong women, and although my mother made mistakes and it's still so painful to think about the past, I know there is nothing she could have done. I love her with all my heart.

I feel like I'm 30. It doesn't seem right that it's only been such a short time since this happened, but it is. I still have problems with sex and reading about sex and watching, even if it be a scene in a movie. I feel uncomfortable. I get uneasy. Sex is difficult for me now, so I know I still have healing to do. I probably always will.

I am studying social work to help people like me. I want to try to help the people that weren't protected. The only sad thing about all of this is that I am not unique. My story is so very common. My biggest fear is that my children will experience what I went through, but I pray it won't happen. When and if I do have children, I believe god will protect them.

I control my future. My past does not control me.

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