Child Abuse Story From Kyko

by Kyko
(Location Undisclosed)

Normal, stable....those were two things I never had. Growing up as the middle child out of five was hard. I was treated different and I hated it. My oldest sibling was never around so I never really had to interact with her. The second oldest though was different. She was a prize to most people. Always in the spot light. The same with my two younger siblings. Everything that went wrong was blamed on me. It started out as nitpicking and name calling. Home, and even school, was always a emotional heck for me. Everywhere I went I was told I was worthless, no good, that I would never be as good as my sisters. I was sad all the time, depressed. My grades started to slip slightly and I started to show the signs of being an emotional eater. The weight gain didn't help either.

Middle school were a few rough years for me, personality wise. I was depressed, angry, I never smiled. I moped around the school in a constant bad mood. At home wasn't too much better. I screamed and yelled, got into fights with my mom, ending with me getting slapped across the face every now and then. She always apologized for it later but it did nothing to warm me to her. Finally a few teachers started to notice just how bad my attitude was and a therapist was called in. I instantly didn't like the woman or the questions she asked and I finally told her off, telling her that if she wanted to know so badly then she could find out for herself.

My last year of middle school ended with me getting expelled after getting mad at a teacher and the vice-principal and throwing a desk at them. Despite how bad my earlier years were, my high school years were torture. By my junior year in high school I was spending four out of seven days of the week in the ER, whether it was for a broken ankle, a head injury, or the numerous cuts and bruises I acquired at school. My older sister was always behind the beatings, of the constant pain and fear I felt. My parents half the time just shrugged it off as though the bruises on my face weren't really there.

I hated my life! Getting up in the morning was the hardest thing I had to do. Every time I woke up I cursed God for the breath he gave me. Everyday at school I flinched and cringed, ducked and hid, trying not to draw any attention to myself afraid that if I did, I would end up spending another night at the hospital. I hated my sister, I hated the people who hurt me, and I hated myself. I thought that it was my fault. That I must have done something to make my sister hate me so much.

My grades hit rock bottom, which is what I believe drew my parents attention at last. My mom started visiting the school office regularly, telling them that if they didn't fix the problem, then she would. By then it was too late though. I was terrified, fearful for my own life, too scared to go near that school, to leave the safety of my own bed. By senior year, I hated all of mankind. I hated humans and I hated myself. By senior year I had visited the hospital too many times to keep count and had bruised or been cut on just about every inch of my skin

Unlike the lucky ones' who stories end with a happy end, end with them getting out of the mess alive, I'm not so lucky. I lived through that heck to the very end of my eighteenth birthday. I still go through it even now whenever I'm near my family. I can't go home and I can't imagine ever wanting to. I've come close to dying a few times, seen death with my own two eyes and yet here I am to share the tale. Even now, as an adult, I'm scared. I can't trust or love anyone, not even myself. Many people may think I'm being overly dramatic, but when you've lived a life of constant fear of someone who's suppose to love and care for you, life becomes nothing more than void.

Some are lucky to climb out of it and I am trying to do the same, but child abuse is hard to come back from. Especially when your life was centered around it. I may forgive the people for the wrongs they've committed, but I will never forget the darker side of humans.

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