Child Abuse Story From Richelle B

by Richelle B
(Hamilton, New Zealand)

By the time I was 23 I had had 3 kids to 3 dads, was a druggy, a drunk, and CYFS (Children & Youth Family Services) had taken my kids. I'd spent years in and out of foster homes, girls homes, and even spent 3 years in the nut house; all of this because I couldn't deal with the abuse I'd been through.

So here I was, 23 and alone. I'd had it. Die. I decided, why not. It's all that was left.

Then I met him my hero. Wow. What a man. Tall, good looking, hard working, ex air force. Wow. He was going to save me. He would make all my dreams come true. Stu was his name. He got my kids back. He taught me to read and write, drive a car, buy a home. When we got married, he told me he would keep me safe, that nobody could ever hurt me again. I believed him. Why wouldn't I? Here was this man, a good man, who was real and who made my dreams come true, a man who loved me.

I was 33 years old and a mother to 5 children when he died. He took his own life. I was talking to him on the phone when he did it. He had raped my 11-year-old daughter and confessed to me on the phone. My hero, the man who saved my life, the man who showed me so much goodness was a liar and a rapist, a man who broke my heart and left me with a mess that I have no idea how to clean up.

Sometimes I just don't get it. I'm so tied of all the heartbreak. For 2 years he had been raping my baby. How did I not know my poor baby girl was being raped by him? How do you say sorry?

Our children are a gift. I used to think I understood my own abuse, now I understand very little. It's been a year now. Things are getting better, but I wonder what the future holds for my children and myself.

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