Child Abuse Story From Neil

by Neil
(USA)

One of my oldest memories is the death of my mother. When I was about four she started doing drugs, I'm not sure which ones. When I was five she overdosed on something and she died right in front of me. I cried for hours before my father came home and took me out of the room. I'd never cried so hard in my entire life.
About a year or so later my Dad remarried, the woman seemed nice but she later proved herself to be nothing more than a sick twisted b***h who gets a kick out of beating little kids. The first time she hit me it was just a smack but I bawled like a baby and hid in my room until my Dad came home. I told him everything but he did nothing.
After about a year of constant abuse my Dad left the household. He didn't say a word, he just left. I can't say I blame him, the stress must have been astounding. Once he left the abuse went from the occasional slap to full on beatings. More than physical abuse there was verbal and emotional abuse. One thing she would do, I remember it well, she beat me until I couldn't even crawl away and my only way to survive was to relentlessly insult myself. She often locked me in the attic, I'd beg to be let out but she only did so of her own accord. Worst of all was that she would frequently "forget" to feed me for days at a time. Recently my doctor told me that the malnourishment had sped up my metabolism to a point where i'd be underweight for the rest of my life. Not only at home was a nightmare but school as well. Other children bullied me and I never had a single friend.

At the age of eight I decided to run away. I actually got away but my good fortune ended there. I ran into the person I loved and hated more than anyone else in the world, my father.
He and I spent that evening and the next morning together but to add to my saga of tragedies my happiness ended. Someone tried to rob my father and they succeeded, not only in that but in the murder of my father. He died in front of me and once he was gone all I could bring myself to do was hold him and cry.

Ever since that day I've been different, I used to be quiet but after that I always spoke my mind. The cops sent me into a foster center where I was traded by more families than I can count. I'm thirteen and I still don't have a family who can handle me.

The first two times I got sent back to the group home I tried to kill myself. Since then I've started doing heroine, meth, smoking weed, and occasionally drinking. I skip school to get high or drunk, it makes the pain go away for a while. I don't want to be like this anymore. I just want a family who loves and cares about me. Sadly I don't know if I've earned one with my recent actions.

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