Child Abuse Story From Lyn
by Lyn
I have shared part of my story before but under the name of Anonymous. The sad part is, it wasn't even half of it. I feel as if i should tell some more. To tell my whole story would take way too long, but I will disclose more. My mother did smoke and drink a lot. When I was about eleven years old, I walked into my mom's room and she was sitting on her bed smoking. She's a miserable woman. she said to me "Baby, have a cigarette. Mama doesn't want to smoke alone." From that day on she made me smoke for about a year. I hated it. I would sometimes pretend to inhale but she knew when I was faking. Finally I stopped. She tried to get me to smoke pot as well, but I refused. One time, I attempted suicide. I swallowed almost a half of bottle of loratab. I passed out. I was unconscious for a few days. I remember waking up days later in the back of our van. (That must have been where I passed out) I walked in the house and my mom was just sitting on the couch. She said, "finally. Where has your lazy ass been?" It was obvious that she knew what had happened but she didn't want to get in trouble so she didn't even take me to the hospital. It scares me now that I could have died. I pray that I will never do something so stupid again. But I can't shake the feeling that if I wasn't here I wouldn't have to feel this pain. My mother is alone and miserable now. I am sure she will die before too long because she is ill and does not take care of herself. I'm switching foster homes for the billionth time and I hate it. I always leave that foster home unhappy. My siblings are getting adopted but I am not. It worries me that I will be alone forever. Life is so hard. Sometimes I ask my mom why she did the things she did but she says I'm a liar. I had to testify against my uncle and he's in prison now. But, now I'm getting all of this hatemail from his girlfriend. She thinks I'm a liar too. It seems like everyone hates me. Everyone tells me that I'm beautiful but I don't believe them. The weird thing is, I hate people like me. I hate that I have low self-esteem. I pretend to be strong and I'm very outspoken and outgoing, but on the inside I'm devestated. I'm in this deep depression that I can't get out of. The pain is so bad. I don't know what to do. It hurts so bad. When I'm around people at school, it bothers me that they don't know the truth. Kids joke around about abuse, and rape and things. I hate when they do that. I feel like Screaming I WAS ABUSED!!!!!!!! I've talked to people in person. I've shared my story to a therapist, PSR worker, my foster mom and others. It still kills me inside. People ask me: what makes you most happy? My answer: knowing that some day I'll be out of this hell. I'll be successful and happy. Then they ask: What makes you most sad? My answer: Waking up each day, and realizing that everything that happened the day before wasn't just a bad dream. that all this pain I feel is real. It hurts so bad. My new foster mom says she loves me. She says she wants me to be happy. She cries for me. She wants me to accept her as my mom. It hurts her so badly that I don't. She doesn't understand why. She was abused as a child and she still doesn't understand. She wonders why I don't accept her husband, no matter how hard he tries to get me to like him. It's because I'm afraid of men. Why can't they understand that? She holds me and she cries and she wants me to hold her back, but I just can't. I'm worried that she'll get sick of me. I love her more that anyone knows. I'm worried that this pain won't go away. I can't help but cry right now. It feels as if someone is driving a knife into my heart. I know I'm talented. I'm smart. I always do my hair and makeup just right. I cook and I clean for everyone. I volunteer at a hospice. I carry groceries for the elderly. I go to hospitals and I hold people's hands who are dying. I never know them. they wonder why someone my age would care about them, a total stranger. why do I? I love them, but I don't love at all. Time goes by too slow but at the same time, way too fast. I feel so much, yet nothing at all. What is wrong with me?  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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