Child Abuse Story From Leila

by Leila
(England)

I was sexually abused by my uncle from the age of about 5 or 6 until I was 23. It needn't have gone on that long but it did so because I allowed it too.

I was born shy which made it easy for my uncle to keep me quiet. My Mother would shout at me, tell me not to go near him, yet take me to where he lived (at my Grans) and make us stay there pretty much all day. Despite the fact she knew he was a pervert because he'd often drill holes in the bathroom wall where the shower was and leave camcorders in the laundry basket. So I grew up feeling like it was my fault.

The only time it stopped was when my Mother argued with him and we'd stay away a few days. I'd get excited, try everything to show my Mum she could cope alone without Gran and him but it didn't work.

We'd soon return and the first thing I'd get told on going back to my Gran's was how my uncle had been crying, because he missed me. I was conditioned to feel sorry for him.

At 9 my Gran died. So instead of us going to him he came to us. I got raped almost daily in my own bedroom. My Mum still shouted.Told me to stay away from him yet he was in my own house, keep out of my own room so he didn't follow. I wanted to tell her, but somehow I knew even if I didn't she wouldn't do anything. It was hard because my Mother was the kind of person who always had to be the victim. So I'd try and say things like "I feel so abnormal" and she'd shoot me down instantly "I HAVEN'T MADE YOU ABNORMAL!!"

At 13 I was severely bullied at school and my shyness turned into avoidance personality disorder. The start of my path to self-destruction. From 13 onwards I had so much help from counselors, social workers and others, yet I gave up on it all. Convinced something awful would happen if I let them into my world. Sometimes, a few times from 16 onwards, I did let people in on my secrets, only to regret it later and again run away from them all, bury my head in the sand and battle on.

Basically, I became my Mother. Hating life, wanting to get out, telling people how bad everything was and then turning it down and doing nothing about it. Just like my Mother.

Often as a child I'd hear my Mum scream at my Gran about finding my uncle perving on her, yet she'd do nothing about it. She'd argue and take us home, to go back a few days later. I became her. She'd make steps to get court orders against my uncle, she'd tell her friends. Then give up. Threaten to call the police, then not.

My uncle could be very aggressive and then very charming. He'd do really bad things and then beg for forgiveness. We'd all fall for it. With me, he'd convince me that each time would be the last time. It never was.

It's hard because in many ways I want to hate my Mother for not protecting me but then feel I can't because I didn't protect myself despite the many chances I had to do so. At 18, I told my Mother everything, after being offered a property and being too afraid to accept.

I figured I had too since I was too cowardly to move away. She cried, and vowed she'd never leave me alone with him again. It lasted a day.

You'd think It would have given me the confidence to work harder to get out. It didn't. I just accepted things. Like the lunatic I was. I tried many times more, just never quite hard enough. Until I was 23.

---

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.