Child Abuse Story From Maria L

by Maria
(New Jersey, USA)

My father died in a car accident before I was ever born. My mother had always been depressed; she was on anti-depressant medication until she got remarried to my stepfather and abuser, Jay. Jay didn't let my mother take any sort of medicine because he didn't "believe" in it.

One day when I was about five, she killed herself. After that, life started becoming very, very bad for me. The first time Jay ever hit me was right after my mom's funeral. I was crying in the car and he said he "Couldn't take it" and just punched me in the stomach. I sat in the car during the burial. After that, it kept on getting worse and worse. He would hit me all the time over and over again.

When I was seven, he started getting really creative with ways to hurt me. He would make me kneel on piles of salt or oatmeal and beat me. He would also lock me in closets and in our super small bathroom down stairs, for hours on end. To this day, I suffer from severe claustrophobia.

Shortly after I turned 8, he started sleeping in my bed, not with me, just in my bed. Slowly, he started touching me, making me sleep naked and pushing his fingers inside of me. I was about 10, I was in bed asleep...I woke up to the sound of Jay slamming the door. It was about 3 a.m. and he had been drinking. I jumped out of bed and ran into my closet. I closed the door and sat there. I listened to him come into my room.

It was the way he said my name that I remember the most. So singsong-y.

He found me. Grabbed me, yelling. Yelling so much, so loud. I cried. He pulled me off the floor and starting hitting me. He threw me onto the bed and punched me in the stomach. I couldn't breath. He kept on hitting me. He pulled my clothes off, then his. I tried to run, but he just held me there. I started screaming. He covered my nose and mouth with his hand. I lost control of my body. I began to flail. I kicked him. Somehow I got off the bed. But he caught me and grabbed me and threw me to the ground and raped me. Afterwards, he locked me in the tiny bathroom for two days.

After that, he would have sex with me at least twice a week. It killed me, because I would never stop him. Jay has held lighters to my hands and feet, and in the worst case, in between my legs.

I hate myself and refuse to be loved. I also flinch. Very often, I have flashbacks. I am still in high school and it is very hard to still be this scared of life.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.