Child Abuse Story From Robert P
by Robert P
(USA)
I'm writing this in hopes someone will read it before repeating what was done to me and realize how damaging it can be. Being born out of wedlock, I had to be placed in foster care so my mother could work to support the two of us. This family took in several boys and had one child of their own, a girl about a year older than myself. Up until I was six, I feel I was happy and emotionally developing fairly well.
It started one summer morning, just before I was to start school. I was playing with the other boys in the back yard and needed to use the bathroom. Not wanting to stop long enough to go inside, I relieved myself behind a tree. The youngest boy saw me, ran inside and told the woman. I was called inside and ordered to remove my clothes. Though scared, I started to undress, thinking I was about to get a spanking. As I undressed, the woman called the other children in and lined them up across the room.
After several threats for my stopping, I was finally down to just my underwear. As I was removing my T-shirt, I heard the woman tell her daughter to go and get a couple of the baby's diapers and some diaper pins. My heart went into overdrive as panic engulfed me. I started to scream for forgiveness.
Stripping my shirt off, she grabbed me and dragged me to the kitchen table while I screamed and kicked to get free. She pulled me to the table, and then pushed me onto my back. She started to remove my underpants just as her daughter returned and handed her the diapers. I kicked wildly now. She ordered the other boys over to hold me down. I was soon diapered and sat up while she grinned victoriously. "You didn't want to use the bathroom like a big boy. Now you won't have to. You can use your diapers, for that's what they're for," she announced. I felt dazed. Everything took on a surreal feeling.
She set me on the floor, then stood me across from my peers. She told them to laugh and call me a baby. I was made to look down at my new attire and tell everyone what I was wearing and why. I felt numb. I cried while trying to obey. I was then made to remain in just the diapers the rest of the day. As time passed, I again needed to use the bathroom, and after many refused pleas to use the bathroom, I could hold it no longer. I wet myself.
I was again stood before the others, and told what a real baby I was now. My world seemed hazy and disconnected. I remained in the wet diapers the rest of the afternoon. When it was time for supper, I was ordered to sit in the baby's high chair. The woman snapped the tray on, making me feel trapped and on display to the others. I could only look down at the tray. I felt so ashamed and humiliated.
That night, I started to feel my punishment was about over as everyone started upstairs for bed. I grew anxious as I waited for the woman to come and remove my shame, but instead, she entered and placed a rubber sheet on my bed. She told me I was to sleep in my still-damp diapers.
As I laid there in the dark, I could hear the other boys giggling and occasionally call me baby names. But strangely, the dark also brought a calming peace as I drifted off to sleep.
I don't remember much after that for almost a year. It was as though I went inside myself for protection from what I couldn't deal with. I do remember the woman telling me to keep quiet to my mother about what happened or I'd be in diapers for a week. That my mother would approve and want me punished more often. I wouldn't have told my mother anyway because I was too ashamed.
It wasn't until I was almost through with the first grade that I can recall clearly again. Unfortunately, it was also when I was once again traumatized. I had asked my teacher to use the bathroom, but she said I could wait since it was almost quitting time. By the time the bell rang, the need was gone and I thought only of getting out of school. To my dismay, the need returned even stronger as I started home. The need grew with each step and I started to run, not daring to go behind a tree, understandably. By the time I reached the boarding house, I was desperately holding myself as I darted inside.
Just as I turned down the hall to the bathroom, there stood the woman. I quickly turned my back, trying to hide my condition. "What are you hiding there!" she snapped, grabbing my arm and twirling me around. My grip on myself slipped free. I started to cry.
"I'm sorry. I can't hold it," I pleaded, as my resistance started to let go, and then I felt my pants grow wet. To my surprise, she calmly told me to go upstairs and change. Nothing more was said the rest of the day, and I soon forgot my ordeal.
That night, as we took turns taking baths for bed, I was called to her room and told to see her when I was done. I didn't think much about it, though I was a bit puzzled at her request. After my bath I went to her bedroom and knocked. After letting me in and closing the door, she looked at me and said, "You're to sleep in here tonight."
I looked around the room, confused. "Where?" I wanted to know. Terror again swept over me as she pointed across the room.
"There!" she said, taking my hand to lead me over to the baby's crib. She helped me over the railing. I was crying, but strangely, I also felt detached, numb. After ordering me on my back, I watched her walk towards her bed. I noticed how strange it felt being so high off the floor. Fear grew as I saw her return. She had a pleased smile on her face. "Since you are still having accidents, I guess you must still need these," she said, tormenting me with the diapers held up over me.
I started to shake. I begged her not to. She just laid the diapers beside me, and then grabbed my underpants, yanked them down and off my feet. I cried louder. She told me to quiet down if I didn't want the other children to come in and see what a baby I was. The horror of being seen by the others tore at my will to resist. She ordered me to raise up so she could slip the diapers under me. I did as I was told. As I felt the diapers grow snug about my waist, more tears filled my eyes. I remember staring at the ceiling, wishing there was someone to stop her, but I was helpless and alone.
She then grabbed my underpants. "I don't think you will be needing these for awhile," she said as she walked away. The last thing I remember was her leaving the room and of how desolate and alone I felt.
That was the last memory I have up until I was old enough to stay home with my mother at age eleven. These events had made me very timid and withdrawn.
Child abuse to me is one of the worst crimes of mankind. Unfortunately, it goes on every day in one form or another. Rape and beatings are clearly seen as abuse. But many disciplines in rearing a child can also be abuse. I hope that just maybe one parent or guardian out there reads this and gives more thought to how they affect a child's whole life. If someone does, then the pain I've suffered was not for nothing.
God Bless all the suffering children and know that you are not alone, but loved by many of us who understand.
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