Entry number three

by Hayley
(Birmingham)

A little bit late, but here it is. I never realised the impact of anight shift then an early shift in such quick succession!

My last entry groaned about the first incidents of abuse. It was a painful secret in more ways than one. I began wetting myself more and more at school, and getting a really hard time about it which didn't help matters. Especially as my brother had the power to tell my mother I had done it, and I would almost certainly get a real beating for it. It was humiliating, ten years old and peeing myself. Things were just a blur, kids would target me for things at break times, and one of the lucnh time attendants took an almost instant dislike to me. One day I had finished my lunch and was headed out of the school hall. This woman decided to make me sit down, and refused to listen. My card was, for some reason well and truly marked. What ever I did, I was living in a gold fish bowl and it was rather cramping my style. I didn't really have a respite, I was bullied by some kids in my year, and won a fight with one. Typical girlie fight, I was the victorious one, a points win due to clean slaps. My brother was most impressed. After that, issue over.

I still had a useless form teacher that liked to humiliate me in front of the rest of the class. I was deemed a trouble maker, all I wanted to do was sit down and get on with my work.

The physical sexual abuse wasn't the only ordeal I had to deal with at the hands of my brother. He would keep pushing my bedroom door open, and giving me a hard time about my body, I had no breasts at that age, and no pubic hair. I was a flat chested badger for that. In the end I started to expect it so kept my door open anyway. School holidays were an ordeal, and everytime I was left alone with my brother, he was happy. Even when I was younger, he would hassle me, get me annoyed, and inevitably a very slapped backside for the first couple of days. After that things got better. Now I was ten, my brother had taken things one step sicker, and loved to demean me in any way he liked.

On one occassion he had walked into the bathroom while I was in there, and grabbed my hand, making him touch his genitals. That was pretty bad, but at least he wasn't leaving any physical signs. If he wasn't sexually abusing me, he was verbally abusing me. It had gone undetected for a long time, the only hints were bed wetting, but my parents seemed oblivious to what was going on. I was just a bone idle attention seeker who probably should have been put back into nappies.

My education continued, but with very few high points. I can infact only rememeber two good things that happened to me, where I got praise from my useless form teacher, and a year head. The first was my first ever merit award for RE. We were read a story from the bible, had to re write it in our own words, and from key word written on the blackboard. I can't rememeber the exact story. The second was on my tenth birthday when I had done some work that was so good that Mrs C. took my school book and showed the year head. Any other time, I was getting hassle for everything and anything. I think I wet myself about three times that year with the stress of trying to keep out of trouble. It was a reason why I got bullied, but I couldn't help it. The teachers had my card marked and what ever I did, would get back to my parents. It was a year of terror, pain and frustration, with few rewards. The next year was to be even worse, but I didn't know that then.