Child Abuse Story From Krysal
by Krysal J
(Cheyenne, Wyoming, USA)
My Story:
It all started a few months after my 2nd birthday when my mom met my soon to be step-dad, Michael. He was best friends with my mom's cousin so they sort of knew a little about each other.
They got married a few months after my third birthday. My mom, brother, and I moved out of our grandpa's house in Carlsbad, California to his house in L.A. That's when he started abusing my older brother Alex and me. He would lock us in our closets or in this really dark and scary hallway with no windows.
When I was about 4 years old and my brother was about 6 or 7 years old, my mom and my step-dad had a child together called Chelsea. She was his whole world. If my brother or I got somewhat as an inch close to her, he would yell at us and pull us into the bathroom or his room and beat us so badly with a belt or a paddle that we couldn't sit or stand for a week.
When I was 7 and after they had two more kids, Thomas and Trinity, he lost his job and got sued by his brother, which is when we started seeing his evil side. He was controlling, psychopathic, abusive, and an isolator. He made us move to the high Desert 3 hours away from all our family.
We ran away from him but he kidnapped Thomas and wouldn't give him back so we had to go back to him. When we did, he made us move into this house not so far out of the town we were living in before. That's when everything turned for the worst. It all started when we were about to go to church and Chelsea and Thomas asked him if they could borrow his hair brush. When we were about to leave he asked where his hair brush was. They said they lost it and he made us look for it. When we couldn't find it, he decided someone had to take the blame and it couldn't be Chelsea or Thomas, his "perfect" children. So he told everyone to get out and he locked the door. He had this pole he called his rod. He made me lean against the couch and he told me if I moved or made any noise he'd double it. I ended up getting hit 50 times.
After that, these beatings turned weekly. He even had to pull me out of school because he didn't want anyone to know. One day I had to go get a checkup at the doctor's, and my mom went to go to the bathroom and my doctor started to check my heart beat. Then he started to get lower and then I felt something really cold down there, you know my private area.
About a month later, everyone was outside and I was inside watching Zaboomfoo when he came in with his rod in his hand with an evil look on his face. I tried running for the door but I was too late. He had already locked it. He came toward me, grabbed me by the hair while yelling that I'm worthless, fat, ugly, and lazy. He threw me against the couch. He started hitting me left and right on my back, butt, and thighs.
He decided that we were around too many people and he bought a extremely small motor home. He made us move halfway across the U.S. to Maine, but we had to go back because he needed to retrieve a check when we broke down in Cheyenne, Wyoming where we ended up homeless. After three years being homeless, we finally got a house where we were isolated from society. It's the size of most people's living room. That's where we had the courage to run away from him. Now we're in the process of finalizing the divorce.
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