Child Abuse Story From Mashell
by Mashell
(Oklahoma, USA)
I have really been bothered the past few weeks, I guess most of my life. I never feel like I am good enough for anything or anyone. I feel inadequate and cry inside constantly. I have accomplished a college degree in health science which is what makes me feel alive. Being able to take care of/help others is the only thing I know that I can do and not be criticized or talked about behind my back, as I know for sure that is the one thing I can do that NO ONE can say I am inadequate.
It started when I was only 8 years old and only carried on for approximately a year, the sexual abuse that is. I had been physically and emotionally abused my entire life.
My mom and dad divorced when I was 7. I am the next to the oldest child of 7. I have an older brother who was my foundation back then, but he has isolated himself from the entire family and it hurts. My mom jumped from one loser to another, as I know she was suffering herself from alcohol and drug abuse. She and my father had 4 children together and she went on to have 3 more live births and numerous abortions. She met one man and was pregnant almost immediately it seemed and I thought, wow, maybe we will have a family again.
I was always a shy, quite girl and didn't have anyone I could really call a true friend. This man started bringing me home jewelry and little things and made me feel so special, because I had three sisters and they never received a thing. He would give my sisters and brother spankings for corrupting, and even though I was doing the exact same thing, he would NEVER spank me. I thought he just really liked me and for once in my short life I meant something to someone.
He had an old shed-like house he would frequent, occasionally with friends, where now I know it was marijuana they were smoking. Sometimes when no one was around he would call me in there and offer me banana flavored laffy-taffy candy, because it was my favorite. I remember there was what seems like a well in the old shed, some things are still a bit blurry. I wanted to look in it one time so he lifted me up and as he did he touched me wrong. Although he never made me have intercourse with him, he would rub and touch and make me touch him in ways I knew was wrong in the back of my head, but he said it was ok, and told me not to tell or we would all be separated from each other and it would be my fault. This continued for a year.
I remember my physical ailments starting at age 9. I had severe abdominal swelling, pain and occasional vomiting. I remember one time while I was in the restroom opening the door to find him leaning against the door, facing me, smiling and giving that wink he used to give me. I thought it was special, but was still sickened by all this. I finally told my mom about my illness and showed her my abdominal distention and she took me to a physician who diagnosed me with an ulcer and irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). I never told her of anything that had happened. My mom had always seemed to dislike me anyway, and I thought if I told her she would really hate me. She never wanted me and held it against me and used to tell me I ruined her body while she was pregnant with me, even overdosing while pregnant with me. Well, anyway they ended up separating, and I in an odd way almost felt lonely, yet so relieved. Looking at it now I know that is was because it was the only attention I had ever gotten from anyone. Those cringing feelings kept occurring. I couldn't even stand to look at myself in the mirror or take my clothes off to go to sleep. I always felt safer with my clothes on, as gowns and PJ's seemed to make me feel naked and vulnerable.
Life went on as always, with my mom only getting worse. She was so abusive and always on drugs. One day I had stayed home from school because of my stomach ailments. I came out of my room to find her and her friends shooting meth into their veins. I went into hysterics, and she gave me a pill to take and I went to sleep. I learned the next day it was a Valium.
My mom would be gone for days on end, and when she came home she was always coming down and was like a devil. She would beat me with whatever was close, be it a clothes hanger, yardstick or something like a vase she could throw. I always seemed to be her target out of all of my siblings. I was the one taking care of my one-year-old brother, a product of the previous relationship that destroyed my life. I loved my little brother so much. He gave me a reason to get up and smile in the mornings. I hated when I seldom went to school because all I could worry about was wondering if he was going to be ok with my mom all day. The funny thing is I worried about my mom constantly and felt so sorry for her. I couldn't even concentrate at school because of these overwhelming fears that something bad was going to happen to them. She would have parties all night long, then I would have to clean all day just to keep her happy. She would have some horrible men at these parties that would make gestures and remarks to me behind my mom's back. She would even go to the store and leave me alone with these guys she knew nothing about. By then I was around 11 or 12.
My mom ended up getting in trouble with the law and dumped us on a corner. My biological dad who had always seemed distant to me took the four of us. My little brother went to a family member. I never really could relate with my dad who was a recovering alcoholic and had really done a great job raising my sister's and brother. He kept a government job with good pay and was never mean to us unless we needed it. He was a wonderful father, but I just found that I was more comfortable with my maternal grandmother and grandfather. They were a safe haven to me.
When I was 13 I started having trouble getting my mind off of my weight. Without even knowing anything was wrong, I went from 112 lbs. to 70 lbs. I was put in a hospital at age 15 and had no idea anything was wrong with me at all. I thought I looked completely healthy and could even stand to lose a few more pounds. I didn't realize how bad off I really was. I didn't feel that I belonged there. I thought that I was fine and they should let me go home. I didn't stay as long as I should because I wasn't complying with any group and my family could never get together and have a family group. It would always end up with someone getting mad about one thing or another.
I continued to struggle with those feelings about food. I hated it!!! It was actually an enemy of mine. Looking back I know I was trying to die. I was scared constantly and never fit in. I was the butt of everyone's joke at school. I had NO ONE and didn't care anymore. I do remember a lot told to me by one particular psychiatrist in the hospital. I still rehearse a lot of it, especially "It was not your fault and NEVER try to convince yourself that."
Years went on and I lost my grandfather. I thought I would die from a broken heart. I began having horrible fears of death and feeling as if I were suffocating. I would always run to the ER. I was diagnosed with a generalized anxiety disorder with agoraphobia.
I still don't trust anyone, nor do I have any friends. I have had a promiscuous past, trying to find love. I find that I am attracted to older men, and even though I never feel safe or secure, I relate with them better. I am extremely clingy and can't seem to get enough. I know I will never find true love until I learn to love myself first. I have made major progress and am hoping that I will someday see myself as a worthy human being.
There are many, many people in this world who have suffered horrible abuse, some never live to tell about it, others are ashamed of how they will be deceived by others and looked down on. I wish I would have said something back then. Going to a foster home may have just saved me much anguish and pain, but that was my biggest fear then.
Anyone going through this, get away from it. Call the authorities, tell a trusting responsible adult, teacher, etc. I have much more I could elaborate on, but am getting tired of typing. Thanks for listening to me and allowing me to vent here. I do not tell anyone, I just bleed pain inside and try to disguise my pain with my smile that is so fake.
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