Child Abuse Story From Rick1

by Rick
(Undisclosed Location)

I don't know why I am writing this right now, but what I am about to write is very hard for me to tell, but I hope it will make you understand what happened to me when I was a child.

First off, I will tell you something about the way I was. When I go back for as long as I can remember, I remember my parents, my little sister and me living together. My father always wanted to discipline us, but he was never abusive. As a young child, I always felt like me and my father were best friends, while I considered my sister and my mother to be happy with each other without really needing me. My father was very important to me, though I often felt I did not please him enough. I did not excel at any sport and I would often take a lot of time to eat only a small portion of food. This greatly annoyed my father at times. But because of my shyness and my born nature in which I tend to be a loner, I did not have a group of friends at school. In fact, I did not really have any close friends at all.

When I was about 8, I felt like my father had changed when my parents got divorced. Things never became the same. I felt like I had lost my only friend, like he had turned against me. Unlike before, he often started making fun of me in front of other people, forgetting my birthday, often referring to me as being stupid and overall weird, saying things about me that I will not talk about in my story. Things that still hurt whenever I think back at them.

While my mother was having a difficult time with the divorce, I often went away for the weekends and for the holidays. When I did, I went over to my grandmother and her close friend, whose name I would rather not say. I think my natural habit to keep a lot of things a secret, my shyness and my parents divorce made me an ideal victim to the sexual abuse that I had kept quiet for many years.

First, I would go together with my sister. Later on, my grandmother started convincing my mother that she should send only me. After a while, I went over there alone for several weeks a year. I find it really hard to speak about all the things that happened there. I remember being in her room, since she always wanted me to sleep with her, and she touched me. I remember telling her to stop, on which she responded to as: "I do all these things for you, don't be ungrateful. Just let me." Often she would play pornographic movies, and she would ask me how I felt watching them. Many incidents occurred in the bathroom. Sometimes she would kiss me as I tried to push her away. Sometimes she put her tongue in my mouth. I can still feel the way that felt, it was a nightmare. The whole thing was a nightmare.

When I was back at home, I would never speak about any of the things that happened to me. My grandmother would tell me, "It's our little secret. I will die of a heart attack if you tell anyone. You realise that you are the only one I love in this entire world. Without you, I cannot live." So I kept it quiet. Sometimes I cried in classes. When people would ask me, I would always tell them I did not understand what was going on in class. I always kept shut and I always kept my promise, sometimes wishing I was the same blabber as my younger sister was. It would have made everything easier.

An absolute low point was when I overheard a conversation between my grandmother and my father. He did not know I was at my grandmother's. I heard him ask her if she thought I was a hundred percent normal. It was then when I felt like I had no one left. I went to sleep and I did not care what would happen to me. I cried, and I kept wishing I would just fall asleep without waking up.

Apparently my prayers were not heard, and I did wake up that next morning. But things got better. I have not spoken to my grandmother or her friend for many years. Though even now, I still find it very hard to say I hate her. I still have that need sometimes, that need I once had, to call her when I feel sad to let her tell me she loves me unconditionally, because it always sounded true. And when my father would forget about my birthday, she would always think of me and sometimes we would celebrate my birthday several days in a row. It made me feel special and it always made me come back, besides everything.

Of course I realise now that it was a lie, but there was a time when I thought she really, really loved me. I still have nightmares of meeting her in the street, and when the phone rings, I am always afraid that it might be her.

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