Child abuse Story From Jessie

by Jessie
(Location Undisclosed)

I grew up seeing things a girl of such a young age should never really see or experience. But it all still happened anyway. And I never did a thing about it.

My dad had always been physically abusive to my mom. I always saw bruises on my mom's face and her arms and legs, but I never said anything to her about it. But at the age of 5, I heard loud noises from downstairs and came down to see my dad lay into my mom. I was scared and just kept myself from being seen. I watched in fear as my dad kicked and punched my mom. He finally stopped, and then I saw him grab a can of beer, which was not a surprise to see—he always drank a lot—and then he picked his coat and left the house. I ran to my mom and helped her up. My mom said it was ok because she did something bad and Daddy punished her.

I kept witnessing the violence and never did anything. I also heard the yelling and beatings from my bedroom late at night.

One day I stood in my regular hiding spot and watched as my dad beat my mom again, but something was different that day. That day I watched as my dad ripped off my mom's clothes and raped her. I didn't understand what he was doing, but I knew it wasn't ok because she was crying. After my dad stopped, he picked up his can of beer and left the house. I stayed in my spot for a while. I watched as my mom finally got herself off the floor and got dressed. She saw me and knew I'd seen something. She told me it was ok, and Mommies and Daddies did this a lot. I knew it wasn't ok. I might have been a small child, but I knew there was something not right.

My mom left one night, and I woke to find I was alone with my dad. I didn't understand why she left and didn't take me with her. My dad began drinking more and more, and at 7 years old I ended up taking care of him. I cleaned up his puke when he'd throw up at night, and somehow learnt how to cook.

One day I came home from school to find my mom back in the house. I saw her and my dad kiss, and I saw my mom happy, but I knew that wasn't going to last. The violence and sexual abuse towards my mom continued happening. My mom kept leaving and coming back. I hated her for not taking me with her. My mom got pregnant after my dad raped her again. For the 9 months of my mom's pregnancy there was a bit of peace in the house, until the baby came.

My mom left again one day, but this time she never came back. And she left the baby with me, who I took care of.
Now the abuse was turned to me. My dad, who had his beer can in his hand came to me and sat by me. He asked me if I loved him. I said yes, just to keep the peace, because really, I hated him. After that he pulled me towards him and forced me to sit on his lap. Then he kissed me on my mouth. I was very scared. I told him to stop, but he didn't. Suddenly, he forced me to lie down and began to touch me. I didn't cry. I didn't do anything. I didn't want to be beaten like he had beaten my mom all those years, so I just lay there as he performed oral sex on me. I was only 9 years of age.

After that day my dad told me I wasn't going to go to school anymore, and that I was to stay here and look after him and the baby. My dad continued to do things to me and force me to do things for him. A few weeks after, I was in my bedroom and he came in and told me I was to move into his room with him. I didn't want to and said no. That's when he first beat me. After that, I was forced to move my things in his room. That night in bed he raped me.

The abuse continued for a long time, but I made sure my sister didn't see any of it. When I was 13 I heard my dad had been in a car accident. My baby sister and I were taken away into care while my dad was being treated. I felt strange being in a foster home - everyone was so nice to each other. I'd never experienced that in my whole life. But I liked it. A few weeks later my dad was better and he came to get us. I didn't want to leave and said we weren't going anywhere. The social worker was called and I was questioned about why I didn't want to go home. I didn't mention the abuse. I should've, but I didn't. But I did mention the drinking and I said I couldn't live like that anymore. It was finally agreed that we were better off where we were until my dad got off the alcohol. He never did. That suited me fine. I was happy where I was, finally.

I am now 20 years old. As far as I know my dad is still alive and is still drinking. My mom never came to get us in all those years. But you know what? I don't care. I hate her. I hate both of them. I grew up way too early because of them. Sure, none of those things were her fault, but she left me and didn't look back at all. I only hope I never put any of my kids through what I went through growing up.

Thank you for letting me share my story.

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