Child Abuse Story From Kai

by Kai
(Location Undisclosed)

Usually, I wouldn't be doing this, but after reading a few of the other stories on here I thought 'hey, why the hell not?'. First off, however, I am not giving a sob story and I don't want anyone's pity. I simply thought that you could use a slightly different story to what I've seen on here so far.

I want to start off by saying that my early childhood was great. I lived with my mother who raised me by herself. Even though she worked a lot, she always managed to be home before me after school and let me tell her about my day. She was always there when I needed her and I loved her more than anything. But of course, life's not perfect, and if you think it is, the sadistic, twisted b*****d called fate rips it apart in front of you.

I was twelve when it happened. Mother was taking me out to dinner as a celebration (I had just gotten my red belt in taekwondo earlier that day) and we were hit by a drunk driver going through a red light. She died on impact. Me, on the other hand, though I was in hospital for what felt like weeks, I survived without any long lasting damage. The only problem was my mother didn't have any other living relatives. That's when I was sent to live with my father.

It didn't take long. It started off with yelling and swearing, mostly when he was drunk. Soon it turned to throwing things and before I knew it, he'd beat me till I was black and blue all over. But never my face. He was too smart for that, even when drunk.

At first I just thought he had anger management issues and tried to stay away from him when he was drunk. I even installed a lock on my door. Of course, I was wrong. He enjoyed beating me, but that's all it ever was. I suppose that's one thing I should be grateful for. He preferred sex with more experienced women. His friends, on the other hand, I wasn't so sure of. I never stayed to find out. I knew I'd pay for it later, but I chose to be beaten rather than raped.

Only when he felt he had me under his thumb did he make me into his little slave girl. I was forced to clean and make his meals. He'd leave me money to go buy food. I was angry and frustrated and I wanted out, only there was one problem; he was a drug dealer and had many connections. He frequently told me that if I ever ran away, he'd hunt me down and drag me back kicking and screaming. I believed every word.

Once I reached high school my grades began to drop. My friends were constantly on my case about never coming to the sleepovers. I couldn't tell them; it'd simply put them in danger and I shudder to think what he would do to me if he knew I'd breathed a word to anyone. But I still felt a little happy, because no matter what happened, no matter what he did, I could forget about it all when I was with my friends. Then fate reared it's ugly head again.

I had been rebelling more and more and he felt he was losing his grip on me. So, to remind me that he had complete control over my life, he had my closest friend killed, shot, right in front of me. I realise now how easy it would've been to put him behind bars then, but I was young, naive and scared. My friends weren't safe, no one was safe around me.

For about a week I was an absolute wreck. I pushed everyone away, began skipping classes and almost lost all hope. It was all a bit of a blur, really, but I clearly remember this one time where I was standing in front of a mirror, staring at my reflection. I hated it. I hated the person I was becoming. That's when I made a choice. I could either continue on like this, feel sorry for myself, wind up doing the whole sex, drugs, booze thing and end up dead or in jail, or I could man up and live my life right. I chose the latter.

I made a plan. Since it was dangerous for me to have friends, I would have none. When I became a legal adult, I would move far away, to another country if need be. That meant I had to finish school with decent grades and find a job.

Still, I was angry and needed to vent somehow, so I turned to the one thing I knew how to do best: fight. The only problem was I was young, I was weaker than the people I picked fights with and I didn't have experience in street fighting. I got my a** handed to me countless times, but I got back up every time. My instructor from Taewkondo had always said I was quick to pick things up and I found he was right. Every time I fought I got just that little bit better.

Now here I am, almost halfway through my last year of highschool. I'm a straight A student, I have a job at a fast food outlet and am well on my way to getting out of here.

My message to any of you who may be in a similar position as me: NEVER give up on life and NEVER give up on yourself. It ALWAYS gets better. There's ALWAYS a light at the end of the tunnel.

Peace, dudes :)

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