Child Abuse Story From Karen
by Karen
I still remember the day my life changed. My parents were divorced and I had been living with my mother. She was ill and had to send my sister and I to live with my father. She eventually died. We were at my grandparents' home for the summer and he came to pick us up - with his new girlfriend. She was mean from the get go. The first time I found myself alone with her, she told me I was ugly and that she had heard I was a spoiled brat. I was 7. I didn't tell anyone, figuring that she would be gone soon enough. But, my dad moved her in with us, and she became our mother. He was absent most of the time, so we were at her mercy. In the span of 3 months, my childhood went from having two loving, albeit divorced, parents, to a horror show of physical abuse and public humiliation. I was the object of her anger. Anytime something didn't go her way, or if my father made her angry, she beat me. She used coat hangers, wooden spoons, hairbrushes, belts. She punched me so hard in the stomach one time that I threw up. She made me clean up the vomit. This was all before the school bus came and I had to go and face the day after that with a smile on my face lest anyone suspect. I was 9. I tried to get help, but whenever someone tried to help me, things got worse. It was always the same - my stepmother and father would confront me and tell me how much I was hurting them. They said I was tearing apart the family. They told me that my little sister would be sent off to a foster home and that we would never see her again, and that the same might happen to me. Then they would ask me why I made up such vicious lies. I tried to stand up to them, but I would always wind up cowering and "admitting" that I had made it all up. Then the beatings and humiliation would get worse. I finally figured out that it was safer to keep my mouth shut. What hurt the most was my father's complicity. He knew what was going on, but doing something about it meant he would have to choose us over her. He chose her. It was the ultimate betrayal. I finally moved away and that is when the memories and flashbacks started. I got that under control and then I had my own kids. I look at them in wonderment and I am astounded that anyone could hurt their babies or let someone else hurt them, the way my father let my stepmother hurt my sister and I. My father and stepmother scarred me for life, but at least I have broken the cycle and my own kids are happy, healthy and have never had a hand laid upon them.  Note from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.I hope you'll follow me on:  Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in submissions and visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited. Please don't include them, as they will be removed.
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