Child Abuse Story From Rhianna
by Rhianna
(United Kingdom)
My father physically, sexually and emotionally abused me from a young age. I am now in my 40s and am still struggling with the after-effects, which include severe depression and anxiety, suicidal feelings, flashbacks, relationship problems and low self-esteem.
He was a hospital consultant, thus holding a high status in society and in the eyes of others. People seem to find it hard to believe that anyone in this sort of profession could be capable of child abuse. In addition, he was a Jekyll and Hyde character - one person at work and with his friends, and another behind closed doors with the family.
He died in 2004 and his funeral was attended by many people. In addition, his work colleagues organised a memorial service in his honour and again many people attended. The focus was on what a wonderful caring person he was. He couldn't do enough to help others and did so much to advance his profession. If only they knew the truth - the other side!
I attended both these events, with great difficulty, because I wanted to support my mother. Looking back, I think I should have put myself first, stayed away and not put myself through this sort of trauma. My brother, who was also abused by him, did not attend. Can you imagine how painful it was to sit in the memorial service, held in a big hall with a huge photograph of him at the front and people talking endlessly about how wonderful he was!
During the refreshments afterwards I had to put up with one of his colleagues coming and telling me off. He approached me and in an accusing voice said, "Are you surprised there are so many people here?" I said, "No." He then continued. "Your father was a wonderful person and a wonderful father. He did not abuse you but treated you as any father would." He knew that at some point I had spoken out about the abuse. He then gave me a lecture, telling me such things as that I should be grateful that I've got my health. As I knew this man to be a "Christian" I tried to quote a passage from the Bible involving seeing things through a glass darkly, i.e. that he did not know the whole truth. After he spoke to me I was so devastated that I left the event in tears. Why do people seem to find the reality of child abuse so hard to accept - even up to the present day when there should be more awareness of it?
Some of my earliest memories involve having my father's penis shoved into my mouth - just thinking about this makes me feel extremely sick - a million miles away from the accolades of the memorial service! These experiences were truly devastating. I felt like an object, useless, worthless, just a lump of meat to be used and abused by my father. You are like a lump of meat being chopped up by the butcher. You are treated worse than an object or an animal.
The fact that it is your own father makes you feel more sick and worse, I think. Your parents are supposed to care for you, protect and love you; and when they don't, it can feel as though you deserve all the punishment, pain and abuse that you get. Maybe even God, (Who I believe in) wanted me to have parents like this, so what does that say about how worthless I am? God created me and my parents and so why did He not stop the abuse? Why does He allow such things to continue?
It's difficult to feel good about yourself when you have had experiences like this - the sexual abuse, the physical beatings, having your head banged against the wall repeatedly, being constantly told that you are useless and worthless, the lack of belief and support from others and from your family. You start to feel like a piece of rubbish.
Yet despite all this, I work in a therapeutic role. What an irony! Yes I understand how those I strive to help feel, but I also feel that I have got so far to go in my own healing process.
If anyone has got any ideas about how I can progress and move forward, then please let me know. It would be much appreciated! I don't want to continue to live with this amount of pain for the rest of my life.
Thank you for reading and for listening to my story.
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