Child Abuse Story From Pokie

by Pokie
(Moulton, Alabama, USA)

I was babysitting for my brother, while his wife was in the hospital. I was fourteen years old at the time. One night after I had gotten the kids to bed, I fell asleep on the sofa. My brother came home drunk after being out with his friends. I was awakened by a pair of hands on my breasts. I screamed and he put his hand over my mouth and told me to shut up before I woke up the kids. He said, "I have to have some %&SS?! I haven't had any in two weeks." He forced himself on me while I begged him not to. I couldn't get through his alcohol-soaked brain. I think he thought I was his wife, I'm not sure. After it was over, I cried for hours. My brother had always been abusive to me and my sisters and we were afraid of him.

I heard him get up the next morning. I got up and told him I was leaving. He said, "You ain't going no where. I have to go to work." After he left, I took the children down the road to our house. I told my mother I was sick and couldn't watch the kids that day. She made me do it anyway. My mother loved her drugs too much to care about anyone but herself.

Two months later, I discovered I was pregnant. I was a virgin when my brother raped me. Hell broke loose when my mother found out! I lied and told her the baby belonged to a boy at school. I gave her the first name I thought of. She got on the phone and called the parents of this boy and told them she wanted money for support. I felt bad for him, but I knew if I told her it was her son, my brother, (not a stepbrother) that had did this to me, she would hurt me physically in a bad way. When my brother found out I was pregnant, he called me a whore and a slut, and wanted to know who the little s.o.b was that I screwed. Isn't that ironic? I had problems with the pregnancy and was ill on regular basis. When the time came to give birth to my brother's baby, I almost died. I never got to see that baby. She was born with an enlarged head, no feet and no hands. I stayed in the hospital for two weeks. My mother had her buried in a box in our family cemetery. When I recovered, I went out to the cemetery. I gave her a name and had an emotional breakdown in the cemetery. I was put in the psychological wing at the hospital where I finally told someone about my ordeal with my brother and my mother. This all took place back in 1974, when this sort of incestuous abuse wasn't talked about or thought of.

When I turned sixteen, I ran away from home. I married the first person who asked me. For twenty years my life was: married-divorced, married-divorced. I couldn't have a normal relationship with anyone. Since my brother raped me, I feel so dirty and haven't been able to ever feel clean. I have a lot of hatred for my mother and brother. I will never be able to forgive them. Today, I am married to husband number seven. I have three children of my own. They all have different fathers. I later found out my brother molested my older sister and she is keeping it a secret. She's very much afraid of him. As for me, I am far, far, away from them.

I am forty-eight years old now and I kick myself for not exposing that animal. But I was just a child and afraid. I only want the worst for him. I'm writing this story for Brandy, the little angel who was the real victim of incest.

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