Child Abuse Story From Glen

by Glen
(Cornwall, United Kingdom)

I'm not sure what to say or do: 
When I was 7, I had my first girlfriend. I loved her so much. We'd walk hand-in-hand to school, sometimes innocently kiss. One day, I turned up to a few of her friends crying in class while I looked at her empty seat. I soon found out a drunk driver had killed her and her little brother in a car accident. That day I felt lost, just staring at her seat thinking, "She should be sitting there. Why has she been taken away?" This really affected me in a social manner. I became really withdrawn.

Not long after, our family became Jehovah's Witnesses. It was then the bullying at school started.

When I was a 14-year-old boy, I was being bullied a lot at school over having epilepsy and over my religious beliefs. I ended up really withdrawn and only had one friend at school. The bullying was awful. The Indian children at the school used to break windows with my head. They'd kick me and make awful remarks throughout lessons. The whole higher school experience did me no good at all. This wasn't the only abuse that happened though.

First of all, I must say I lived with my mum and stepfather, who were totally normal and loving parents and NEVER did anything wrong, in my opinion.

In my 14th year, my friend got an after-school job at a butcher's. Being a naive 14-year-old, I wanted the same, so I went into town to the first butcher's and asked for a job. The boss looked me up and down in a way I'd never seen before. He said, "Welcome aboard."

I remember seeing the dead animals being delivered and put into the huge freezer. In the butcher's itself there were about 5 men working—all in their 20's—a woman, and another teen who was a little older than me. He became a friend there for me...his name was Paul.

One day, after rushing into work after a day of bullying at school (I never told my family about this), I put my white apron on that smelled of dead animals and started washing the butchers knives and cutters, etc. I got called into the main shop, and then the boss called me into the hallway there. In front of everyone in the shop, he grabbed hold of me and cuddled and kissed me. I feel disgusted talking about it. I tried to push him away, but his arms got stronger. Everyone who worked in the shop just walked by doing their chores, ignoring what was going on. He nibbled my ear, but I managed to free myself. Upset, I grabbed my coat, walked out and went to the health food shop next door where my sister worked. While I was telling her I had to go home (she couldn't understand why) Paul came rushing in and started desperately trying to convince me to go back and told me the same things had happened with him. I ignored him and went home. My mum and uncle took me to the butcher's to talk to him. He acted all innocent; and somehow, I don't remember how, he convinced me to go back working there. I wanted the cash, so I went back. I saw the relief in Paul's face the next day.

The boss acted fine with me at first, but winked at me in the sleazy way he did. One day, when I went into the freezer, he followed and pulled the huge door closed. I remember seeing the half-bodied pigs swinging and thinking how horrible they smelled and how dark the freezer was. Things happened that I still feel uneasy talking about. The next day, he kissed me again in front of everyone. I had had enough. I grabbed my coat and walked out. All I remember of that is the desperation I saw in Paul's face as he tried to call me back. To this day, I wonder what happened to him. I feel terrible for walking away, leaving him behind to face the same abuse.

I went home and told my family. As far as I know, my mum went to have a go at him, but the police were never involved, although I wanted them to be. I was told that this would put me through a lot of stress and I would see him again and the police would want to undress me and inspect me. I was convinced not to talk. Nothing more has ever been said about that time.

After then, I went back to school and the bullying carried on for another year. Teachers didn't care or believe me when I tried to tell on the bullies. As I was worrying if I could run away from the bullying on the break, I just couldn't be bothered to listen at school classes. After telling my mum, she went into the school and talked to the teachers. She gave them a right pasting. I was then put in a 'special' school for troubled students. I loved it at the time. The work was junior school work, only lasted the morning and only occurred 3 days a week. Due to this though, I never had the opportunity to take exams and start a career.

Soon after my martial arts classes, which started when I was 14, continued on for years and became a main thing in my life. I never found counselling any use at all, and my martial arts were therefore my way to recover. Now, as a 32-year-old man who knows many martial arts, if I could get hold of the people who bullied me who abused me...I wouldn't want to do the obvious thing and kick the crap out of them; rather, I would ask them why they did what they did. They must have had a reason. Maybe they'd been abused themselves or came from a troubled background. I'm very interested in those who have done wrong and why they did what they did...does the bible not say 'Judge not lest you be judged yourself'? I am not condoning any mistreatment, but for myself and the treatment I went through as one person, I am eager to understand why these people are what they are.

Over my adult life I have had nightmares about my past. I have strange thoughts I never thought I'd have. I don't make friends too easily. I have tried working, but got sacked due to my epilepsy, and my brain is too affected by my pills to do anything.

I do love my martial arts, and I must add, a few years ago after walking out the back of a pub, when I found 5 men raping a woman I pushed myself in and beat them. I remember seeing the girl's face. It was like a cry for help. It kills me when I hear of people being abused, more so women...I know that sounds sexist, but I hate men who abuse women, and I won't think twice about stopping them. All I can see in my head is that girl's face. That alone occurs for me in nightmares.

From my point of view, my head is mentally messed up and always will be. The last time I saw a counsellor, she kept going into her own little world and just nodding her head as I talked to her. She, along with all the other people I talked to, were useless.

Religion wise, I'm an atheist, because I don't know what to believe: Christian-DONE; spiritualist-DONE; Pagan-DONE...now I've given up on religion too, and I stick to martial arts.

There are many stories today I have read on here that genuinely made me cry. And if I'm honest, if I could get hold of the abusers of those I wouldn't hesitate to beat them. I do know this is not the right thing to do though, but I find I'm very protective of females; I have no idea why.

I lead a semi-normal life, but can't work as I'm not allowed to, so I work on my Elvis website now, being a huge fan. I'm working towards going to Graceland. I also spend time on capoeira-my most recent martial art!

I'd say to anyone who has been abused...there's no easy way out, apart from suicide (which incidentally I did try) and that is not a viable answer. My way out was martial arts-more so muay thai. As alone as you may feel, there are people out there who, although have not been through exactly the same and may have different opinions to how you should deal with it, can help. You're worth a lot more than self-harming, suicide or alcohol and drugs. You have a terrible past, but up ahead of you is a future which, to an extent, you can control. Sure you can't dismiss what has happened, and in no way can you forget it, but always remember that the terrible things that have happened to you will make you more understanding, more open-minded, literally and ultimately an amazing person. At least feel proud you've taken a step to coming to this website. It's your first step in controlling your future.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Glen" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Maria1

by Maria
(USA)

Adopted and abused: 
I am adopted and I was badly abused as a child and as a teenager by my adopted mother. When I was born, my biological mother gave me up for adoption to her foster mother, because she had my older sister Ashley who is one year older then me. My mother was put into foster care as an adult because she was 21 with a newborn baby, just getting out of jail with nowhere to go. My adopted mother was a foster parent for the system to take care of women in situations such as my biological mother's. In the time period that my biological mother lived with my adopted mother she and her became very close, they grew to care for each other very much and grew a strong bond. My biological mother trusted her. My adopted mother was also married. She had a husband who was 20 years old than her, which at the time she was approximately 42 and he was 62, and he was dying of emphazema.

When my mother turned 22 she became pregnant with me from a one night stand. I never ever got to meet my real father. He left my mother and went back to his wife in another state. When my mother told him that she was expecting, he said he didn't want another child. He already had a daughter who he was really close with. So the day I was born, my biological mother gave me up to her foster parents to take custody of me and raise me as their own. Here is where my life begins.

My biological mother and biological sister moved out of my adopted mother's home when I was approximately 1 year old because my mother had met a navy man and gotten married and moved to another state to live their lives as a family. I was left with my adopted parents to be their child and to take care of me. I can't remember big parts of my childhood, but from the things I can remember, it was not a good childhood. My adopted father was very sick and I was very close to him. He truly loved me. For his age, I was his only child and he loved me and my sister very very much. He was my daddy, and a damn good one. He unfortunately passed away the day before my 4th birthday. It hurt me very much. I spent my birthday that year between his viewing and funeral and my family having 2 parties for me to kinda make up for the trauma. After that it was just me and my mom.

I knew it must've been hard losing my dad, because after that, my mom had to raise me by herself and things just got terrible. My mother started abusing me very badly from age 4 on, emotionally and physically. I remember many times when my mom would get mad at me and it's like because I was the only child, (which granted she had 2 of her own sons, but they were already grown and moved out) it was just me and I had no one to play with. My mom was super protective and I grew up in not such a good place. I grew up in Baltimore City and rape and murder are a very popular thing there, so my mother never let me go outside to play or hang out with friends at their houses to play, because my mother feared that my friends' dads would molest me.

I was always kept inside to play by myself and I was always sad. My mother would constantly be on the phone paying bills and I would always try to get my mother to play with me and she would tell me to get away and she would yell at me. It got beyond yelling. When she would get aggravated with me or I would get on her nerves she would drag me from one end of the house to another by my hair then throw me into my room and slam the door and leave me crying. She would take my dolls and break their arms off and throw them at me, and other times when she was mad at me and told me I was bad she would put me in a choke hold and constantly slap me hard on the ears, my face and my head. I remember times when my mother would force me to eat things. I remember her making a bologna sandwich for me and I didn't like it and didn't want it. She said fine, you don't want to eat it then you're not getting anything for the rest of the night. I went to take a bath and she brought the sandwich into the bathroom and while I was in the tub, she forcefully shoved it down my throat until I puked.

Also when I was little, from the time I was 5 on, my mother didn't ever have a real job. She worked independently and sold toys at child events. My mother used me to do all her work, carry tubs full of product for 4 miles, heavy heavy containers, and if I complained she hit me and I got a whoopin' when we got home. The abuse only got worse as I got older.

My mother stopped celebrating Christmas one year. She said I was bad and there would be no Christmas. I was 9 years old and my mother sold our home in Maryland and we moved to Virginia where my mom pursued more independently selling shoes on the side of the road. I was her helper. She kept me out of school and we lived in a hotel. My mother said I wasn't getting a Christmas and since then we have never celebrated Christmas.

We finally got a little bit more settled and we moved back to Maryland, into a one bedroom apartment. I started going to high school and I started to make friends. By then I had become fond of boys and I started having boyfriends. My mother began to become emotionally abusive. She would call me a whore and a slut and smack me and verbally bash the boys and any friends that I had, male or female. I was not allowed to hang out with anyone. I was not to go over to their houses.

My mother would constantly get mad at me and hit me all the time and yell at me. She became addicted to narcotics, getting them prescribed from her doctor for miscellaneous illnesses she claimed to have, getting addicted to all types of various drugs including Xanax, Oxy, and Percocet. She would be stoned half the time and forget where she put things and then accuse me of stealing them. One of the main things I was accused of stealing was her pills. She would hit me with shoes, plastic hangers, her hands, and the telephone receiver. She would break my things, grab my hair, and throw me.

As I got older I started to run away. I met a boy and thought I was in love. He took me away, but he turned out to be a very bad person. He did a lot of damage in hurting my life.

One night I can remember clear as day. I was 15 years old and my mom was on the phone. She started arguing with me. She took the receiver off the phone and threw it in my face and busted my cheek bone, gave me a black eye, and a busted lip. Another time, she poured oxy clean bleaching product on me and I called the police. They never did anything. They always stuck up for my mom. Then one night she trapped me in the kitchen and I couldn't get through the doorway. She was stoned. She upper-cutted me and gave me 2nd degree jaw trauma. I ran out the front door and called 911 from a payphone at this bar next to my house. The paramedics showed up and took me to the hospital. And they still once again let me go home and didn't do anything to her.

The abuse got so bad that I got fed up, so when she would hit me, I would hit her back. So my mother started calling the police on me and started pressing criminal charges on me for assault and battery and I ended up in juvenile, because she did that to me. It was self defense and they let her do that to me. I finally ran away from the system til I was 18 and got away.

Now today, my mother has been committed 3 times to a mental institution for evaluation and finally the last time the psychiatrist diagnosed her paranoid schizophrenic. She was abused as a child also and I found out from my adopted brothers, her sons that when they were little, she locked them in an outside cellar for days and she abused them badly. To this day my family recalls the days my mom beat me. I don't know what the statute of limitations are, but I want her to be punished for what she did to me and my brothers all our life, because to this day, my mother still harasses me. I am now 19, married with a 3-month-old son.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Maria1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Jenna

by Jenna
(Darlington, South Carolina, USA)

A lot has happened since I was three. I went through four years of my mother beating me for no reasons at all. One day when I was four, I went into the kitchen to get some food. When my mother found me eating, she went into a mad state. She said I ruined her life and that I was a shame to her. She then picked me up and slung me across to room into the living room, where she found anything she could reach and hit me with it. It got so bad that she even went as far as to get a frying pan to hit me in the head. When the cops were called a day later, they said that I looked like I was a blown-up doll. My body was so swollen.

Years later, when my grandmother adopted me and my older sister, my father began to sexually molest me. I tried to stop him, but his only comeback was, "Either it's you or your sister." I let it be me. A year later, I found out that he was also doing it to her and using the same excuse. When we told our grandmother about this, she simply dismissed us as just trying to get attention.

For a while he stopped, but then he started again. If it wasn't for my older sister telling a friend, who then made her tell the school counsellor, I believe he would still be doing this to us. My father was four times my size, and people wonder why I never told.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jenna" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Elle

by Elle
(Location Undisclosed)

It's interesting that some of these stories I've browsed have some of the same elements that I struggle with. Mainly, I know my story is not as bad as 99% of those out there. I've never broken a bone, I've never even been to the hospital. Everyone I knew thought my family was perfect, and to this day, I can't talk to someone about them without them saying how wonderful they are. So, I feel a bit conflicted about some of my memories of growing up with these really wonderful people.

One of my earliest memories involved me playing with my little brother. I took one of his blocks, but not to upset him or anything, I just wanted it. I remember him starting to scream like little toddlers do when their toy is taken from them, and I just froze, because I knew what my mom would do if she saw him crying, and me obviously the cause of it. I tried to get him to stop, but it was too late. I remember my mom coming behind me, and me trying to apologize, but there was a look on her face, and I just shut up, covered my head and just took it. I took it for years. Wooden spoons still freak me out a bit. It took me a little while to cook with them without getting shaky.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't scared or sad. I tried so hard to be good and do everything just right, but no matter what it was, it wasn't enough for my mom. She would go from spitting mad to completely indifferent to my fears or insecurities in a blink. I never knew quite what to expect. My parents screamed a lot, at us, and at each other. The only thing I knew to do was exactly as I was told, as was expected. I'm coming to terms that even that didn't work. I'm still a stupid, naive, weak child. If, after giving absolutely everything I can, it still isn't enough to have her at least like me, I must be worthless.

Somewhere inside, I feel like maybe that isn't true, and I'm feeling more confident as I strive to heal. I'm 26. I have a loving husband and 4 beautiful boys. I can be a good mom. That's what I'm holding onto.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Elle" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Nancy4

by Nancy
(Location Undisclosed)

I have been abused by my mother since I was 4 years old. I am now 13, and thankfully the abuse has stopped for the most part, but my mother and I still fight a lot.

Throughout my childhood, I was hit, slapped, and whipped. I still remember the day my mom came home, and I had not done the dishes yet. She was so mad, she took off her shoe and started clubbing me with it, eventually causing a black eye. My dad had no idea about the abuse, and when he got home and saw my eye, he was so upset that he called the police. They came and brought my mother away, and put her through intensive therapy. I was so glad that she was gone, but in the end, I found myself wishing I could have gone, too, to get some therapy as well.

I have a lot of bad memories, a lot of things I want to talk about, but no one to talk to. Yet I am hesitant to go, because everyone would make fun of me if they found out. The thing that I hate the most is that when my mom and I fight, she tells me that I am verbally ABUSING her. It's so annoying, because she's the one who abuses ME. But inside I know it's all my fault. I know that no one would even do that to a real person-especially their own kid-without a good reason. I am sorry for making my mother do such horrible things. Now she never touches me, not even for a hug. I just wish I could do something to make her love me again.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Nancy4" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Gee

by Gina
(Southern California, USA)

Sexual Abuse By My Grandfather: 
My grandfather ripped my innocence away at the age of 11. He sexually abused his way through 2 generations of females in our family.

Growing up I had a twin sister, a brother 18 months older, and a stepsister about 3 years older; all of us lived together from the time I was about 10-11. I would like to say me and my father have a great relationship now, even though he mentally and physically abused me, my twin, and my brother. HE never spoke bad or anything of my stepsister. After all, she was the straight-A student, and captain of the volleyball team at high school.

Growing up in our house was often hard for my sister, brother and me. If my stepsister pissed my dad off, he would take it out on us 3. But I don't hate my dad for it. He is a different man now. I tell you all this so you get an understanding of how bad it hurt when my grandfather molested me. You see, my grandma died when I was 9. Going to my grandpa's house was like a sanctuary. Peace from the hitting and extreme name-calling from my father.

At home, my dad wasn't happy with the fact I was 5 or so lbs heavier than my twin. I had to do rigorous exercise every night. No one but me. I had to answer to the name "Porky" for the longest time. (I am now 5 ft tall and 128 lbs). My grandpa's house was somewhere I could go and not feel fat, or ashamed.

My older male cousin lived with my grandfather all his life. His sister and mom lived elsewhere. They had moved out of state, leaving him behind. This is my mother's dad. You see, my real mom has been in and out of institutions my whole life. She was never really around till my late teens.

I looked forward to the weekends I got to spend the night at Grandpa's. Then that fateful day came. The day that would change me forever.

I called my grandpa's, excited and asking if me and Dina (my twin) could spend the night. He said that Ben (my cousin) was on a camping trip with the Boy Scouts that weekend, but we didn't care. I didn't care. I just wanted away from the hell of my house for a couple days. I was 11. I should have stayed home. I tell myself that sometimes. I wonder if Lovell (my grandfather) was warning me in a way by telling me. I'll never know.

We went to his house. From an early age, my favorite place to be was sitting on my grandpa's lap, watching TV. So it wasn't anything unusual when he said to come sit on his lap to watch TV. I can't remember honestly where my sister was at the time. She might have been outside. She was the only female in our family (Mom's side) who wasn't abused by that pervert. It's very hard to write this. I've never told the whole story, not even to my therapists. But I sat on Grandpa's lap like every other time. Then I felt his hand go down the front of my pants, rubbing on the outside of my privates. I became extremely uncomfortable, but sat there and let him do his thing. After a couple minutes, I couldn't take it no more. He was rubbing my private area and my breast (or lack there of at the time). I made an excuse and jumped up, saying I had to go to the bathroom. I avoided sitting on his lap the rest of the night, thinking it would save me. I WAS WRONG!!

My sister slept in my cousin's room that night, and my grandpa told me he would sleep on the recliner in the living room, and I could sleep in his bed. I was 11. I didn't know I was being set up. I went to bed in nothing but a night-shirt and panties, like always. Then I felt the heaviness of him climbing into the bed. He spooned behind me and started kissing the back of my neck and rubbing his hands all over me. I could feel his erection against me and closed my eyes and waited till he was done. After a Little while, he calmly got up and went to the bathroom (I assume to jerk off). I couldn't believe my grandfather had done that to me. THE ONE PLACE I FELT SAFE he stole away from me.

I avoided going to my grandpa's house after that. I told my stepsister a year after it happened and after I couldn't take the nightmares anymore. My parents tried to press charges, but nothing happened. I later, down the road, found out that not only had he molested me, but he also molested my cousin (the one that moved away with her mom, I'll call her "L") and he sexually abused my real mom and aunt all their lives. WHY WHY WHY...why would my aunt or real mom allow my cousin or any of us around that man after what he did to them? I will never know. I talked to my cousin "L." She told her mother, my aunt, after I told. The first words out of my aunt's mouth: "I didn't think he'd do it to you." My cousin told me those words haunt her to this day.

My grandfather still has not paid for what he did to 2 generations of women in our family. He lives a normal life and has remarried.

I am strong now and gained the courage to write his perverted ass a letter. It was 3 pages long, explaining what he did to me and other females in our family and how it ALMOST destroyed my life. I enclosed it in 2 separate envelopes without a return address and mailed a copy addressed to him and his new wife, warning her to keep any female grandkids away from him. I mailed the letters to his house 3 days in a row. To make sure it got to him. "L" still goes around him. She says she just wants to make sure she is in the will when the bastard dies. She feels he owes her for what he did. I could care less about any money. My dignity and self worth is worth more then an inheritance. I will not let him bring me to that level over money. I am strong and have 2 beautiful kids. One son and one daughter. We live with my wonderful girlfriend of 3 years. I am very overprotective of my daughter and rarely allow her around males I do not know or trust.

My father and I have a wonderful relationship. I don't have any hard feelings for the psychical or mental abuse he made us endure. He has shown he is different now with how he is with my kids. He is a different man. A better man. My grandfather, I am just waiting for him to DIE. God will punish him, even if the judicial system let me down. The lord will be waiting.

That is my story. Thank you for reading and I hope it brought courage to others that something like this will NOT defy you. You can over come it.

Always!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Gee" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Kelsea1

by Kelsea
(West Virginia, USA)

Child Abuse Story Without Healing: 
I am not writing this for others to lose hope. I simply do not know how to heal, and it has been five years. I cannot see how anything with what has happened has become any easier.

My best friend's former stepfather molested me when I was 13 years old. It happened during a Halloween party while we were all drinking. I told him that he shouldn't be doing it. I never said an actual "no" even though I wanted to, and I didn't fight back. With that and being intoxicated, I have always believed it was my fault. If I wasn't drunk, it wouldn't have happened. If I had screamed, someone would have heard. But I was too scared.

I kept this secret for a year, and I then told my mother. She didn't believe me. At that time I had picked a fight with my best friend simply because I didn't know how to deal with it and thought no one would believe me. My mother believed because of that fight I was just making it up.

A month after the molestation I lost my virginity. I had no self-worth at all. Before the incident happened I wanted to wait for marriage, for that time to be special, but after that it seemed that since my innocence was already taken, I had no value. To this day my family does not know about him. At first, I didn't think I was really raped, even though I said no and to stop. Something in my mind made it to where it was ok that he did that to me. That I should have just given in.

After the molestation and rape happened, I followed a road of very hard drugs and promiscuous sex. I became sober when I was 17 after being put into placement for truancy. I have given away things that I can never get back. I have been a person I never wanted to be after these things happened. I still feel a constant need for affection. I still have nightmares. If I am at my house, I will go days without sleeping and usually I can never sleep by myself.

While in placement I had given my first abusers name and it was investigated. It went to court and he was found not guilty. After it was brought to public what had happened, my best friend admitted he had been doing the same to her since she was 9. He has been found guilty for some of her charges. There were 17 all together. He was found not guilty for 10, guilty for two, and the other charges are with a hung jury.

It seems that any time I have talked about this it has just messed me up more, but I'm glad I came forward for my friend. I don't know that she ever would have if I hadn't...more things happened to her and she seems to deal with it better. I don't know why I can't with mine. I don't know how I will ever be healed, but I know I still have a very long road ahead of me.

I hope more than anything that my story will show girls that you do still have worth and value and to still go on to be what you have wanted. Because you were handled in that way before, doesn't mean that that is all you have to give.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kelsea1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Sarah M

by Sarah M.
(Washington, DC, USA)

I don't know if I qualify as being a child abuse survivor - it started when I was about 13 years old. It continued in different ways into my teens and adulthood.

The first time was being raped by a bus driver who I thought was being kind by driving me home late at night. Another event was being raped by a school mate when I was 16 - and the abuse kept occurring. I didn't fight back because I thought if I let men use me, maybe they would like me. I gained a lot of weight - to protect myself, as I learned later. I can't remember how many times a man or a boy my own age would use me for sex. There were also violent events where I didn't think I would live to get away.
My family never was aware of these things. My parents were involved with their own lives - it was the early 80's and the personal growth movement was very big - my mother was extremely involved in it. She and my father both did drugs. They certainly weren't aware of what was going on with me.

When I was 16, I hitchhiked to Florida and to California several times. There were several sexual events - I had no one to protect me - I remember that I was told that if I wanted to live, I'd do what I was told - and act like I liked it too.

The sexual attacks continued into my later teen years and adulthood. I became grossly overweight and have continued to be large.

I'd like to get over the horror and pain and shame of this, but it tends to overwhelm most therapists that I've gone to.

Thanks for reading.

-Sarah
Washington, DC

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(Washington, USA)

My story isn't half as bad as other ones on here. I don't know where to start...I guess I've been abused since I was really young. I just didn't realize it. I only said something to an adult about 2 and 1/2 months ago. And it was a total accident. I had told my boyfriend everything, and he is still the only on who knows everything. I am still going through it now, but don't know what to do.

One day, I was scared to go home and told my teacher. Legally they had to say something, so the police were called and I had to talk to them. I answered the questions as they asked, but didn't go into detail because my mom had always said if I told anyone I would regret it, and I was really scared. Someone reported it to CPS before, and my mom was told and nothing really happened. My mom said I was lying, and I guess CPS believed her because I didn't live it down...my mom always said she did it for my own good...and I've came to the realization a couple years ago that that couldn't be right.

My mother never smacked or hit my sister. I remember when I was younger that she would talk about corporal punishment. I would be hit on the back with a belt or a plastic curtain rod thing (kind of like a switch) or whatever tool she could come up with. Sometimes I still am. It would leave welts on my back for days. Whenever my parents were gone, before they left my mom would lock me in the closet where it was completely dark and such a small place. I have always been scared of the dark and small places since.

I don't really know how to talk about it...I still think everything that happens is my fault. Like if I would drop a glass or a plate and it broke, my mom would make me walk on and then stand on the tile with the pieces imbedded in my feet. But nothing as bad as what other people have gone through.
I'm just so scared to do anything. I know if I stand up to her I'll lose. I only have a little more than two years until I can go to college and get away. I can deal with it to then.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(United Kingdom)

I don't really know if I have been physically abused, but it seems like it is the case. I was born in England. I have one brother who is about 2 1/2 years older than me. I just remember whenever we were naughty, instead of being told off and being sent to our rooms, my dad hit us with a belt and started swearing at us. He would also hit us and leave marks. No one at school said anything, but I faintly remember my mum saying one of the neighbours came asking if we were ok.

When I got a bit older, maybe about 7 or 8, my mum and dad got divorced because he used to get violent, smash mirrors tried to hit my mum over the head with a pan, and was always swearing and screaming.

Then when I was with my mum, if we made her mad she would start swearing and would drive off in the car (I don't no where) for about an hour, and leave us in the house by ourselves. I remember her saying she wishes we were never born and we were a big mistake.

One time we were in the car, I can't remember what we did, but she got real angry and drove dead fast. I was really scared. She said she'd had enough and was putting is in-care. She never did though.

Also, I remember waking up in the middle of the night when I was about 9 to my dad screaming and swearing, trying to kick the door down of our house. Luckily the police came and put him in the cells overnight.

Anyway, that's about as much as I remember, and like I said, I'm not sure if it was abuse.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Name Undisclosed
(California, USA)

It's the present and the past: 
I don't know if you can consider this child abuse but this is happening is the present. I am fourteen. I have read some of these stories and can relate to some of them. Since I was nine I have been getting hit with big, heavy books and pinched for the smallest and dumbest reasons. He says it's for discipline but I don't really think it is. For example, my dad used to pinch me when I was smaller just because I would talk to my little sister when he was listening to his music. I use to be terribly afraid of him. In this past summer I was grounded, hit, pushed around, pushed to the floor, cussed out, and many other things. I'm so sick and tired of it. He used to throw things at my little sister at me. He and my mom get in huge fights that last for hours and he will come out of the room and start yelling at my little sister (7), little brother (2), and me. It's like he takes his anger out on us. He has a really bad alcohol problem.

For an example, over the summer, he was really mad at my mom because he thought she was cheating on him (she wasn't) and he flipped out on us all. He started yelling at me just because I was watching t.v. instead of going on a run at 8 in the morning. He went into my little brother's face and started yelling at him just because he was whining a little. After he did that I just got so fed up and got up from the coach and started yelling at him. I had so much adrenaline in me. He yelled back at me saying I am a worthless piece of shit and things like that. He was saying I better back down before I get hurt but I wouldn't because I was fed up. He pushed me to the floor and it made me so mad that I got back up and swung at him. After I swung at him we got in a big fist fight.

My dad has really bad anger management problems. He makes me feel so depressed and sad like there is nothing to live for. He has been constantly yelling at me and cussing me out for not closing the blinds or something around that. If I forget to turn off the light in my room he starts cussing me out and pushing me.

I have developed this really bad habit where whenever he yells at me or pushes me around I will automatically think about suicide or drinking (alcohol) or smoking. It is because I get depressed. Sometimes I do drink or smoke when my dad leaves because I'm so down.

My mom and dad get in big nights during the night and my dad ends up leaving in the middle of the night. He won't come home for three days.

Another story.... One night I came home from a party and it was around 1ish am. Well my dad is watching t.v. I go to my room and just lay down and all of a sudden I here yelling and slamming of things. I run into my parents' room and yell at my dad saying stop yelling at my mom. (keep in mind she is balling her eyes out) and my dad sends me to my room. A few minutes later he slammed my door open and starts yelling at me saying "who do you think you are yelling at me" And I was yelling back and it was going back and forth for awhile and he pushes me to the floor and I get up and about to swing at his face but hold myself back. He had the guts to say I'm not his daughter anymore and he isn't going to treat me like one anymore. He took everything away from me.

Most recently he only yells at me and cusses me out but now I have learned that it doesn't help to cry so I just laugh in his face. He gets even angrier when I laugh in his face but I'm stubborn and just talk back now like he is one of my friends. I honestly don't care anymore. Whenever he hits me now, I hit him back so he doesn't hit me anymore. When I see him being mean to my siblings and they can't do anything about it I protect them because I know how they feel and I'm not going to let them go through what I went through. It feels horrible to think about death and want to kill yourself. I have gotten hooked on smoking and alcohol and I blame my dad even though I shouldn't. I turned total REBEL on my parents now. Especially my mother because she doesn't believe me when I tell her my dad is pushing me around.

I am in after-school activities and my dad doesn't support me on it at all. I wish somebody would just support me on it :/ or I just wish somebody could just talk to me about my problems. You guys probably didn't need to know all this but I have had it bottled up for to long, and just needed to let it out somewhere.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Name Undisclosed
(USA)

I have been sexually abused for 15 years now, and it just stopped. I'm almost 17. I don't trust anyone. The sad part is that the people who sexually abused were different. Some strangers, some relatives, and some family friends! What's the worst part is that I remember every single one like it was yesterday. I blame all of it on myself, but what I didn't was that I was very young when it started. I was 2 years old when my oldest sister started molesting me.

After my dad past when I was 4, we moved to Russia. There, my life was hell. I got sick cuz of my father passing away. We stayed with my dad's cousin for awhile. His son started molesting me. Then, when we got our own place, my mom's best friend's husband molested me...he was in his 70s. I was only 7. Then some strangers molested me.

We moved to USA, and I was so happy cuz I thought it was done. After 3 months, my cousin started molesting me. It started when I was 10. It went on till I was 16 and 8 months old!! But the pains never go away and I've done everything possible to forget. Nothing worked.

I'm getting help, but my mom and my family have no idea. My older sister got married, and since then I haven't seen her. Neither have I seen all the other ones, but I see my cousin all the time. I hate him so much!!!! I have flashbacks all the time. I haven't given up yet. There are days when I want to give up, but can't cuz my mom and my little brother and my sister (not the one who molested) and everyone else...no one knows about this, and no one will ever find out.

Don't give up sweethearts. Try healing!!! We are very strong.

Love you all

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by An Anonymous 12-year-old-girl
(Nova Scotia, Canada)

I was about six years old when this happened. My mom had this boyfriend named *****. He was usually really nice to me, and I loved him very much. My father was rarely around and treated me like *&^%. I hated him from when I was six and on. So I looked at this man like he was my father. While he was nice to me most of the time, he was horrible to my older brother. He was physically and emotionally abusive to him.

I can remember one time when my brother was having his about 11th birthday party, and all of his friends were over. ***** had came home drunk (surprise, surprise), and for some reason he was really angry with my bro. In the middle of his birthday party, he had grabbed him by the back of the neck and rammed his face into the gravel of our drive-way. I was not sure how I was supposed to react to this, and was too little to really understand that it was wrong, although I had a bad feeling about it.

Then he started abusing me a little bit, even though I knew he still loved me and I still loved him. It was the occasional hit or yelling. At this point, I still did not understand that it was wrong, and I wanted so desperately to have a father in my life that I tried to make the best of it. But one day, he crossed the line. My mom had had enough and kicked him out. Somehow I had known that this would happen.

I remember that day he said goodbye. I did not cry.

I felt lonely and lost for a very long time, once again not having a father, until, a couple of years ago, I realized that he was an a-hole and I am much better off without him. I no longer miss him. Even though my father left a couple years ago and there is a gap in my heart. Now I realize that no man can fill that gap, and it will always be there. I just wish now that someone had told me then that what was going on was wrong. That would have saved me a lot of pain and suffering.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(Maine, USA)

I don't know if what I go though is abuse or just favoritism, but it hurts all the same...

My mom and grandmother all choose favorites, and of course having a brother who had minor epilepsy until he was age 15, was the favorite.

Whenever Micheal wanted some thing he would get it, and I would be told I don't deserve anything and I have been nothing but bad when that same day I would clean the house. It's not that my family didn't love me, it's just that Micheal was more important, and compared to him I was a backup child.

When my brother wasn't around I would be treated like any other child, but when he was around, my mom would call me things like "the devil child" or "the bitch from hell" or even "our biggest mistake." It hurt me a lot when she would say things like that. I would beg her to stop, but she would just say "the devil child going to cry! "

When it would just be me and my grandmother, she would treat me wonderfully, but when Micheal was around, she would act as if I didn't even exist, like she was embarrassed to call me her granddaughter. She would leave me in the car when her and my brother went to stores. When they go out to eat, without realizing that I'm still in the car, they will bring leftovers in a bag and give it to me, saying they are sorry and that it won't happen again, but it does.

My dad isn't home very often because he works nights, so my brother acts like he's my dad and tells to clean or go outside or cook dinner and things like that. I would tell him he's not my dad and he can't treat me like that, but he would always say he has epilepsy and that gives him the right to do anything. He would also say that since he is two years older than me he has the right to treat me the way he does and that I should get use to it.

When Micheal turned 15 he was cured from epilepsy and everyone was very happy, even me. I would go to church and thank God for the miracle. I would never ask Him to help me with what goes on in my family because I always think that it will go away in time. I would ask Him for other things like don't let my boyfriend move, or help my friend get better and things like that, and it always happens. Maybe I should ask Him for help, but would it really work? Is what I go though emotional abuse or am I just suffering from favoritism?

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(United Kingdom)

When I was 5-8 years old, my dad would hit my mum because HE THOUGHT that she had spent her money. After all the beatings, he would find out that it was a miscalculation.

I will never forget the time when I was around my next door neighbour's house with my best friend. Suddenly, I heard a scream, and I saw her hair and head smash through the fence. I SCREAMED! My mum came to my friend's house, where I was, and the police came and took him away.

My parents are no longer together, THANK GOD! But I still have to see him every holiday I get. ARRRGHHHH

I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HIM FOR WHAT HE DID TO MY MUM!

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(Michigan, USA)

Here's to the Future - Because there's No Looking BACK! 
The abuse had been going on in my family longer then I had even been around. It all started when my mom met my father at the age of 13 and he was 18. She thought he was sweet and daring and all the right things. Shortly after, she got pregnant with her first child, my older brother. That is when the drinking started.

My dad used to work all night, then drink all day and pass out. At first that's all it was. Then he started to act out on my mom. At first, it was a smack here or there, then it gradually got worse. People used to tell her, "Get out while you can, before it gets too bad," but she didn't listen. Instead, when my brother turned a year old, she married him, and shortly after, had another baby, my other brother.

At first, after he was born, things were ok. He decided to quit drinking, or so my mom thought, and they were happy. Till a while later, on one of his days off, he said he had to go in to work, but he really didn't. He just went out in the car and drank. By the time he came home, he reeked of alcohol. When my mom questioned him on it, he got really mad and hit her, right in front of my brothers. That was the day my mom decided to leave. Although, since she still had my brothers, she did need his help to buy things for them.

One day, she went to his house to ask for money to buy shoes. The only way he would give it to her was if she would sleep with him. And even though she didn't want to, she felt she had to for her sons. And that is how I was conceived.

After that, he went into a treatment center for the nine months of her pregnancy. He got out just in time for my birth. My mom decided that since he was clean, they would give it a shot, for the sake of my brothers and me. Then one night, things got really bad. He went totally psycho, and he hit her over the head. That was the day my mom just left. She couldn't take it anymore. She decided to take me with her, but she left my brothers because she felt they needed their dad.

She got a job and worked all the time. I stayed with my aunt while she was gone. But one day, my aunt got tired of watching me. She said I belonged with my brother's and that she couldn't take care of me. My mom sent me back to my dad's. That was when I first really noticed the person my dad was. He still drank all the time and would just send us off to do whatever and not really pay attention, except when he would get really drunk.

One of those times, I still remember like it was yesterday. That was the day the abuse turned on my brother. He threw him up against a wall. After that, my dad decided it was better to keep his distance from us so he didn't really hurt us, even though emotionally he still was. Just as if he was beating us.

He started to get a series of girlfriends, each one worse then the last. All of them started off nice, then we would find out their true side. All of them hated one of us. But then the worst one of all came along. She hated all of us. Shortly after, my dad thought he was in love and moved us in with her.

One day, I remember them telling us they had gotten married. Without us even being there. I was crushed. My dad started working a lot. Even when he was home, they were always gone. I remember days at a time going by without even seeing them. She would leave food out, but not enough and we had no way to cook it. Or it would go bad from sitting out all day. Slowly, we began to shrink away. Sometimes I would go to my neighbors and they would feed me. I remember thinking, why can't I be theirs. I am so thankful for them, because they treated me like I really was. Now, looking back, I don't know what I would have done without them. At the time, I was only about seven, and I really missed my mom. I saw her about every other weekend, when I wasn't with my grandma.

On the occasions when my stepmom was home with her two kids, I would get so jealous because she treated them so well. It was like she was a completely different person. When I would ask to join in, or ask to have a cookie, she would just laugh at me and tell me I was too fat. Her son took on her attitude towards me. Even though he was much younger than me, we were about the same size due to lack of nourishment. Sometimes, when we were outside playing, he would knock me down, punch me, and just kick me. When I tried to defend myself, he would run and tell on me, and then I would get in trouble. She used to tell me I was going to be nothing and he was going to be everything. That I was an ugly little girl that no one wanted. Not even my own mom, and that's why she didn't come around very often. The real reason is they had cut us off from the whole world. Only place I went was school and my neighbors.

During this time, my school and neighbors became suspicious and began calling Social Services. They started an investigation. My stepmother once pulled me out of school for a day and let me do whatever I wanted, because she knew they were going to question me. That night they told me and my brothers that we better not tell anyone what was going on or talk, because if we did, we would be taken away and split up and we would not go back to my mom because she didn't love us anymore. So doing what any child would do, we didn't talk. We played stupid and waited things out. Eventually they stopped the investigation and things went back to normal. Or what normal was for me at that time.

A few months later though, they were called again, but they played the same game and fooled them. That's when my mom started to come back around. It was almost summer, and she knew things would just get worse. My neighbors who had been our protectors had moved away and she didn't know how we would make it through the summer. When it came time for my mom's six weeks that we stay with her, we were excited. We learned my dad was taking off. Although that meant we would be with Mom the whole time, we were sad. Because even though we hated my stepmother, he was still our dad. Eventually life went on and we became healthy normal kids that grew into young adults. And that's how we are to this day.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(United Kingdom)

Physically, emotionally and sexually abused by my mum: 
My mum suffers from schizophrenia, and tended to be very violent. She would hit anyone who got in her way, but when I was younger she tended to take it out mostly on our pet cat, she would throw her shoe at the cat and chase it around the house.

My mum wouldn't let me bath myself until I was 14. She used to grab my penis, and tried to touch it very often. She always verbalised that she thought I had a nice penis.

My dad used to hit me from an early age. I was so sad and depressed. He would hit me for watching the tv, for waking up early, for anything he could think of. So after school, I didn't stay at home, but used to go to this building near where I lived and hide in bushes until it was quite late. I would then go home and eat what little food there was.

My dad tended to do very little food shopping, as he would save his money and send it abroad to his sisters, nieces and nephews, whilst us his real immediate family would starve.

But when I got to 14, my dad stopped hitting me because I hit him back. But then my mum, along with the sexual abuse, started to hit me for anything she could think of. She used to hit me on my back as hard as she could.

One night, I woke up and felt someone feeling my penis. This happened about 4 times over the next few years, or at least that was how many times I woke up. The worst thing was, the next day my mum said to me that I should shave my pubic hair or otherwise I would be considered dirty. So then I knew who it was.

One day when I was very tired, my mum asked me to go to her bed (we shared a room). I was so tired I didn't know what I was doing, so I did just to shut her up. I then fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later, after having a dream where my penis was stuck between something. I woke up and there was a horrible smell. I was very tired, and worst of all, my shorts were down around my legs. I don't know exactly what happened. Just thinking about it made me ill. I couldn't concentrate on my studies. I felt sick to my stomach.

I became very shy and disgusted by sex. I didn't willingly have sex until I was 25, and that was with a prostitute. After that, I started to see prostitutes regularly, but could never orgasm by sex.

Once, when me and my mum visited the country of her birth, I was sleeping inside. It started to thunder and rain heavily, like a monsoon. Everyone else was sleeping under the veranda. I got frightened sleeping alone, so I went to find a bed next to them. The only bed I could find that was half empty was my mum's. I fell asleep. I woke up in the night, feeling the same way as I had before; it was happening again. In the morning, I felt sick, and I was unsure what exactly had happened.

I don't think my abuse is excessively bad, but it stopped me eating for years and years. I could barely eat a decent meal, so I became extremely thin and short. My mum would force me to eat the things that I hated most or make me do things I didn't want to do. Once she hit me and made me go give sweets to children on the corner.

I remember one time when I was about 17. My mum decided to go on hunger strike at home and refused to cook any food. I was starving. I hadn't had anything to eat for two weeks. Eventually, I managed to scrape together the money for a portion of chips. When I brought them home, my mum got up and ate them all. She didn't let me have a single one. Then had the nerve to say 'you should have bought some more'.

My mum was verbally, physically, emotionally and sexually abusive to me, and because she suffered from schizophrenia, found herself detained at the local psychiatric hospital on a regular basis. That was the signal for my dad to only feed us every few days, and ignore us completely.

I would like to see a counsellor about my life, but I'm scared because I don't want to get anyone into trouble, and I don't fully trust the counsellors.

I don't live with my mum anymore, but I know she cares about me and loves me, which is sometimes the most difficult thing to deal with, as when she used to tease me about my penis she used to do it as a joke, so I couldn't really say anything back. My dad, who suffers from diabetes, used to tell her to stop it, but she never did.

I believe my mum might also have Munchausen's Syndrome by Proxy because she always calls the doctor out when my sister is ill, but won't be bothered at all when I'm ill. My sister tends to get ill very often, as she lives with her. My mum also sexually abused my sister. She used to touch her private area whenever my sister fell asleep, and then after she woke, my mum would wait for her to fall asleep again and do it again.

I have schizophrenia. I have to take medication on a regular basis. I feel empty and washed out.

Please leave your comments. I hope something here will help me and others like me. Thank you for taking the time to read my story, as it's been very difficult for me to share it until recently.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous17

by Anonymous
(USA)

Who's the Adult and Who's the Child? 
When my mom remarried, she had sole custody of me at 5 years old. She and Step-dad left me with others a lot! After all, I was the residue from the previous marriage - just a necessary nuisance to be dealt with as little as possible. I was left with family, friends, acquaintances, often for long periods of time - days, weeks, months while "they" were out wining, dining, visiting, partying, traveling. (I'm still resentful today at 51 over the choices my mother made!!) Sure, she wanted her new marriage to work, etc., but at what cost...me.

I was sacrificed the most expedient way so that she could give all her time, affection and energy to him. After all, I was just a kid - and truly, of no importance. Ignoring me was way easier than acknowledging my feelings and confusion. She couldn't understand and "punished" me when she learned I was saying to other women, "I wish you were my mother!"

Today, I'm happily married with 3 beautiful, smart, healthy boys. I have a great deal to be thankful for, and I am! But I still have a 'LOT' of resentment and anger at my mother. I understand the choices she made regarding me as a child, but I don't forgive her or respect her for them.

Note from Darlene: The above story was posted as a comment under another contributor's story. I have moved it here, as its own story page. My comments to this Child Abuse Story From Anonymous can be found below.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous18

by Anonymous
(Location Undisclosed)

Was Ignored, But Not School-Phobic: 
I went to this site looking to heal. I am now being told by drunk spouse I am...etc. The thing is, I want you all to know that school phobia is not, from my point of view, real.

I missed school 'cause of real abuse and I hid it. They gave me antidepressants with really bad side effects, and told me I was not sick unless...not covered by their rules. I could not sleep when my dad came home drunk 3 or 4 times a week, himself falling asleep head against the horn. Eventually, I knew he would pass out before doing harm. Really. I was supposed to go to school anticipating drunk Dad, plus certain classes with bullies? These bullies only got to harm me after my dad did. Teasing was my own fault, according to school. Like guys flirting with you are not raping you (emphasized added 'cause it's real) but bullies are not flirting, you are pretty so...no one could have bullied me 'cause it was my own fault they liked me...OK! I don't care how pretty I am, I am a victim. But you say my looks make it my fault...so, I felt worthless 'cause of what my dad did.

I really went into cover and concealment mode. The school bought it. The credentialed mental health guy got to give me drugs. I was messed up. Did not know anything. Thought the blood meant I was hurt bad, but mental health person I talked to thought it was my first period I was talking about. I was talking abut a broken hymen, but I didn't know it.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous19

by Anonymous
(Location Undisclosed)

This is a hard thing to write. Most of the time I say to myself, it's all me and it was not abuse at all. I get so confused sometimes. Like today, I was feeling that maybe it wasn't as bad as I think, so I went on the Net to see what child abuse really is, and found this site. So, I thought I'd write my story.

I grew up in a big family. When I was little I always remember having a sister. My family said we were twins. She was the same age as me, and we did everything together and helped each other. Then one day she was gone. I never saw her again. My parents said she died and I was never to say her name again. A few times I did say her name and was hit for it. I was sad from this day. I felt like my heart had been ripped out.

When I went to school, my mother always said to me, talk to no one. I was never allowed to have any friends and was told that everyone was out to get us. I love sports and remember asking my family if I could join the school team. I was told no.

I never talked because at school my family said I was not to talk, and at home I was too scared to. The only time we were out of the house was at school.

I would sit at school and watch all the other kids playing and talking and laughing and having fun. I wanted that, but I had an older brother and sister, and if they saw me at school talking to someone they would tell my mum and dad.

I remember one time my mother was cutting my brother's hair and I was sitting watching her. I did something wrong and she picked up the broom and hit me in the head. She slit my head open, and then she put powder in it to stop it bleeding.

There were a number of a times when they said I did something wrong and hit me with a thin leather cord and sometimes with a wooden stick. There were a few times they kept me from school because I had marks from them.

My mother always told me I would never be good enough to do anything with my life. She said too that if I left home I would die in the gutter somewhere.

I never got hugs from my parents, and my father never told me he loved me. I can only remember once my mum said that. My brother always hurt me, and my parents never stopped it. I would get hit by my parents because they said I must have done something to my brother.

Sorry that I have written way too much. I just need to get all this out there because my family doesn't talk to me now. They say it's all my fault, and I guess I need to know that they were in the wrong too.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous19" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous20

by Anonymous
(USA)

A Tiny Sense of Closure: 
I stopped thinking about my situations lately, for a while actually. I don't know why tonight it is affecting me. But, five days ago I moved to Houston to get out of my house near Philadelphia. I am living with my cousin for a while to get away from the awkwardness in my family, and the drugs and alcohol.

My mother and father lived in Poland, and met there. My mom is deaf, and I use sign language with her. They moved to Ohio and had me in 1990 (I am now 18).

My father recovered as an alcoholic in America, but met a new friend, and indulged himself in drinks every day. I remember he slapped me for switching a channel. I was three or so. My aunt told me last summer that I would always have bruises on my body and she finally confronted him. I remember my dad punched my mom in the face and me, my younger brother, who was 2 at the time, and my mother herself were in the bathroom, and she was sitting on the toilet, crying. I was so confused. He also pushed my mom down the steps one time and broke one of her index fingers. After the punching incident (the final call), he was taken by the police. I remember going to my aunt's house, and he would bang on the windows, and I would just stare at him while my mother and aunt shut the curtains.

From there, we drove up to Pennsylvania to move in with my mother's high school sweetheart, who is also deaf. We stayed there till I was in the middle of 3rd grade, and moved to another part of Pennsylvania. All I remember from that house with him starting out violent, not even, was forcing me to my room during my birthday party. For nothing big.

When we moved out of that house, where his grandmother also lived, I started experiencing abuse, again. They got married. He would touch me in weird ways. When I was 10, my mother went to Poland to visit her mother and I remember he asked me to sleep with him. When I felt his genitalia against me, I ran out. Never spoken about again. Just the awkward touches, and always grabbing me.

He started out with slapping me as a small punishment, but eventually, he started to yell horribly. Yes, deaf people can scream, loudly. And I eventually understood what he was trying to say. Everyday, every 5 minutes for years of my life, he would call me a bitch, motherfucker, that he hated me...more awful things. But literally every sentence included the word bitch, even when I was young. I told my mom, but...hmm. Also eff words were thrown in all the time. When I was 14, I wrote a few suicide notes, and had temper tantrums everyday. When I got home I would eat something, and if he caught me eating he would hit me because I was supposed to wait till dinner. If I drank a soda he hit me. Every physical event included verbal also.

I didn't have friends sleep over till I was maybe 16. My best friend for 2 years of that time never slept over until then. He never hurt my brother that much, and never after he was maybe 11 or 12 or so.

If there was something on the floor, he would rage and scream at me, chasing me around the house attempting to hit me. I have physically fought him numerous times. He had bashed my head into a Plexiglas window, where it shattered. He has punched me in the head, all over, pushed me onto my upstairs steps, and grabbed my hair, banging my head against the steps, to the point where I blacked out for a few seconds. I always ran away. In the kitchen he would push the table against my stomach when I was against the wall. He'd throw me to the ground and kick me. He once picked up an electric guitar of mine and attempted to bash my head with the end of it horizontally. I'm just listing a few incidences. My mother would watch, but never saw the worst of it.

My mother and brother would blame me for causing hatred in the family, but all I was trying to do by acting out against them, was to protect us. And I was so young. It hurt me the most when my brother would tell me to calm down because I was being a bitch.

One day last year, my mother called the cops for me, and for the 2nd time in my life a person that was supposed to protect me and love me was put in handcuffs for beating me. We went to court, but he came back after the end of the summer. We remained calm since then, but I hate it when my mom forces me to hug him, or say goodbye to him. Before, at night, if I didn't say goodnight he would say I was rude and that he hated me. The worst part of all of this is, seeing my mom, being beaten once. He has taken her by the neck, kept her in the basement for 20 minutes, maybe as a joke, but she was scared of the dark, and I tried to push him and push him, but he hit me away. Since I can hear and she can't, I can hear him calling her a stupid bitch, or a dumbass, or something bad...and she doesn't know, because I don't have the heart to tell her.

I've been to therapy, but I don't really believe in it. I used to write everyday, just lyrics, and I've always wanted to be in a band. But in 8th grade I got social anxiety. I could be normal with my friends and one on one, but not when I have to speak myself in class with everyone staring. I got panic attacks all the time. I don't want to get a job because I'm too afraid, I don't know why. I just get overly nervous. I drink everyday myself. My brother smokes too much weed, and we hardly get along and it kills me. Me and my friends have just turned ourselves over to alcohol. Since 11th grade I've been skipping classes and smoking instead. I don't believe in god anymore, but when I think about it I don't think I would anyway.

I know this is a lot of blabbering but it's just my train of thoughts. And there's so much more...I just hope one day I can improve...and not be afraid of people, or messing up, and maybe I can have confidence,, maybe believe in myself, stick up for myself. Maybe, one day. Writing and music is all that saves me. My best friend of 6 years doesn't even know half of this.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous20" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous21

by Name Withheld
(Texas, USA)

My story isn't half as bad as most I've read, but it has affected my life in many ways and to this day I am still trying to deal with it.

My parents divorced when I was 4 because of my father's alcoholism. My mother was given custody of me and my brother. She did her best to do everything she could for us, and we always had what we needed, plus more.

Trying to deal with being a single parent, she made many bad decisions with men. She was trying to find a father figure for me, even though my brother (ten years older) was always the one I looked up to. Over the course of my life I have seen about 10 different men come and go, and anytime I tried to tell her I didn't like the un-stable lifestyle she was putting me in, she would make me feel guilty and tell me I didn't want her to be happy.

When I was 11, time went on and she remained close friends with one of her ex's. We would visit his family and stay for the weekend, as my mom was very close with his sister. One weekend while there, I woke up in the middle of the night with him putting his hand down my pants. I was so scared I didn't know if I should scream or not do anything. As soon as I woke he ran from the room and I lay there in shock. I didn't know if I should run and tell my mom who was only one floor away, or if I should just keep quiet. I was even more confused because he was dating my mother before for about 2 years and I could never remember if he had ever abused me in that time or ever tried to, or if I had just blocked it out because I was so young and it traumatized me.

Over the next years of my life she has allowed many different men to move in our home, and since the abuse, I was always terrified that one of her boyfriends would abuse me. None of them ever did, but the fear was always there and I slept with my door locked for 5 years after that one incident. I never told anybody what happened to me, because I never thought it was actually considered abuse, but now at 18, I realize that has affected me in so many ways. I hope one day abuse is a thing of the past and no child has to go through the confusion, depression, and anger that many abused children feel.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous21" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous22

by Anonymous
( Location Undisclosed)

I'm a seventeen year old girl. After twelve years of physical and emotional abuse, with the help of a friend, I recently got out of my situation. I'm trying to help myself and change the way I think about the things that happened to me.

The first time the abuse happened I was five years old. I was playing with my little sister and we were fighting over something. All of a sudden my dad lost it and came over and grabbed me and threw me into the wall. There was blood everywhere. He screamed at me about how he was sick of me being selfish and fighting with my sister. He told me this was what would happen to me if I ever misbehaved. This was the beginning of a long road of abuse.

I still can't understand why it only ever happened to me. My younger siblings never got abused. He was so loving towards them. It was always me that was never able to be loved by him. Nothing I did was ever good enough. I tried so hard to do everything he told me to so he wouldn't have a reason to hurt me. He always found a reason though. Sometimes it was because I loaded the dishwasher in a way that the dishes didn't get clean. Sometimes I forgot to do chores. Sometimes I asked to be allowed to do things that he didn't think I deserved to do. Whenever he was stressed out at work he would hurt me. He would kick, punch, throw things at me, throw me into walls and furniture, push me down stairs, or slap me. Once, my wrist broke when I got pushed down the stairs. My fingers and toes have been broken by being pushed into walls. I've had concussions and I was always covered in bruises. I found out that I should never cry, fall down, or beg for him to stop because that would only make it worse. I learned to just wait for it to be over. Then, after he was done hurting me, he would ask me what I would tell people when they asked me where the bruises came from. If I didn't have a good answer it would happen again, and it would be worse. I got really good at making up stories of where they came from and hiding what was really happening. So many times I just wanted to scream out the truth of what was going on, but I was so terrified of him. I didn't have the courage.

At the end of last year, one of my friends came right out and asked me if my dad hit me. The whole story spilled out. She convinced me to tell. I got CPS involved and they came to my house to talk to me. After they left I got thrown down onto the cement for telling. CPS didn't find enough evidence against him though, so nothing happened. I guess my dad was fed up with me and life with us though because he left soon after that. He's left before and was always threatening to leave but he usually came back within a week. He hasn't come back and I don't really know what's going to happen. I don't want to press charges against him.

My mom blamed me for my dad leaving. She knew what was happening but she was never strong enough to stand up to him on my behalf. She begged me never to tell anyone, she always needed my dad. She suffers from bad depression. About a month after my dad left, my mom tried to commit suicide by taking a whole bottle of pills. Now, she's in the mental hospital diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety.

I'm still in high school, but I've had to step up and be the parents for my three younger siblings. I love them and I'll do anything for them but it's hard to take care of them all by myself with just a little help from my grandparents. I'm in charge making sure everything gets done. I try to act like everything's okay. I try not to let anyone see how hard it is to be the parent when you're only seventeen. On the outside it seems like I'm fine. I do really well in school and I have good friends.

I'm very confused about everything that's happened. I don't know what I did wrong to make my dad abuse me. I don't know why it only happened to me. I know I shouldn't blame myself because of my mom's suicide attempt, but if I hadn't told anyone what was happening she probably never would've tried to take her life. I pretend like I'm fine but in reality everything is a disaster. I'm trying to get over what has happened to me. I don't think it's possible to ever heal completely though. It takes such a toll on an innocent child. It messes up your emotions for life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous22" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous23

by Anonymous
(Kansas, USA)

Neglected and Abused: 
I was emotionally and physically abused ever since I can remember. Growing up was hell at home. I knew for sure going home I was going to get beat with a belt and there was nothing I could do to prevent that.

My mom would call me stupid, and would get mad if people said I looked like her. (Guess she thought I was too ugly?) Once I was cleaning, and I thought it might be fun to move furniture around (I was like 9). My mom screamed at me to put it back the way it was. She said, "This is my house, when you have your house, you can do whatever you want to it." From that day on, I never felt like I was at home.

Sometimes my mom would say that she wouldn't let my dad beat her, he would take it out on the kids. I always thought, then why do you let him beat us, don't you love us?

I became very shy and wouldn't talk to anyone at school. I don't remember my dad ever leaving any marks on me, but it was probably because he would always hit me in my back/butt. I used to hate my dad so much. I saw him as a monster, and I wished him dead so many times. I thought about telling someone about what was happening, but didn't know what would happen. If they sent me to a foster home, they would probably split my sisters and I up, and I didn't want that. I had heard too that sometimes it can be worse with foster parents, so I decided to not tell.

The physical abuse went on until I was about 11, but the emotional abuse continued. I had such a low self-esteem. I hated everyone, including myself. I wished to die so many times, and actually tried to kill myself twice. I felt so unworthy of everything, and felt that I could never live up to anyone's expectations. Saddest thing to me was that my dad would read us the Bible every Sunday and preach about how we need to obey our parents and be good...I thought, this must be such an evil God if he is allowing this in our lives.

I guess the positive thing about this was that I reacted to my situations by trying to find some escape. I found that escape in school. I was a great student who had college potential (as my advisor said). The fact that somebody believed I could do it drove me to reach for it. My dad did not agree for me to attend college, but I chose to go anyway. This is when I decided to stand up to my dad. Before this I always did what he said out of fear. I knew if I didn't go to college I was doomed to have the same life as my mother did (emotional abuse).

I ran away from home, and for the first time, my father cried in front of me, begging me to go back. I realized that he did love me, but I still didn't understand what he had done to me. He said he did the right thing. I cried so much. I missed my brothers and sisters. If it wasn't for them, I would've disappeared from my parents' life and never spoke to them again.

Eventually I did go back, because I had decided to go to another city for college in one year. It was not easy being back home. I wanted respect from my dad now, and it was not easy for him to understand. He had a "children are meant to be seen, not heard" perspective, and thought I would always be a child.

Before I left for college, my dad said he was sorry if he had ever hurt me. I guess he didn't want me to leave hating him. I took it, but didn't say anything. I was surprised he had said this and thought he might not be honest.

I went through a bad relationship with a guy and my parents helped me through it, so I started seeing that maybe they did love me.

When I started college in the new city, I decided to look for God because he had helped me through so many things, but didn't really know Him. At age 19, I became a Christian, best decision of my life. I prayed with friends for a year, and finally forgave my parents. I found amazing peace in knowing God and understanding that all things do work for His plans. I have been freed from chains in so many ways, but I'm still trying to heal pieces of my life.

I continued to have bad relationships, and finally decided to stop dating. I am just waiting for God to heal me completely, and I'm sure that special someone will come along one day.

I guess I don't really have anything more to say other than everything is possible and can be overcome as long as there is hope. I am now 24 years old, have a great job and am more confident in myself than I have ever been. I am working to be 100% healed and pray that God will use me as a witness to what his power has done and can do for others if they just trust and lay it all down for him.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous23" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous24

by Anonymous
(Location Undisclosed)

I don't know how to start. I don't even know if this is abuse. It doesn't even sound realistic or like any of the other stories on this site! And I only remember parts of it. It's probably just me being dramatic.

I was eleven. I was walking my dog on the side of the road. It was a little after 7:00 a.m. and I had to get ready for school soon. I was farther away from my neighborhood than I should have been, and close enough to the middle of a quiet and eerie road where it seem no one was around. I heard a noise. I got scared. I froze. A car pulled up next to me, it had a man in it with a gun. I remember the ring he was wearing and the pants he had on. With no seat belt on he quickly scooted over to the passenger seat and didn't waste any time. He put the gun to my head and I felt the cold metal against my forehead. I felt like I couldn't breathe. He held my arm in the death grip so I wouldn't run. He quickly lifted my shirt and touched my breasts and then went into my pants where he got inside of me. It hurt, a lot, (but also felt good). This is sick of me to admit.

The whole time he was talking, like he hadn't talked in years--putting everything out there. Telling me everything from, "You f'in move, you die. You tell your family, you die. I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE and no one will ever believe you b****" and then comments about my body parts that he touched. I didn't cry--not even when he made me touch him. I remember at one point he said "Your going to f'in rot, live in the hospital your whole life." Which to me clearly proved he was insane. I had no idea who this guy was! But at that point I was convinced he knew everything about me.

Something clicked in my mind after that. I knew no one was coming to save me. No one was even around and I had to get out or I would die. I realized that he had begun to slowly lower his gun all the way down to his seat and his grip was loosening, probably from being filled with such pleasure. I kicked the door as hard as I could which made him let go and me fall from the impact, into a stop sign (practically knocking it down). I felt really dizzy and couldn't see straight but I started crawling/stumbling home. I don't remember where the man went or how I got away without more of a fight. I also don't remember where my dog was while this was going on. When I got home I went and sat in my bathroom for a while. I cleaned up and came downstairs to go to school. Before I left I told my dad that there was a man, in a car... but that was as far as I got. Again, I froze. And never finished my story.

This was just a random thing that happened a few years ago and it'll probably never happen again. I can't prove that it happened so who would believe me anyway?

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous24" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous25

by Anonymous
(Location Undisclosed)

I've been reluctant to share my story here because I am not entirely sure if the event I am about to discuss constitutes a genuine instance of abuse or not. I decided to share my story after reading some of the other stories people have told, because my story has much in common with theirs.

About twenty years ago, when I was seven, my younger brother (he must have been around four at the time) and I went to church with our father one Sunday morning in the summer. During Mass, my brother, who was often very mischievous at that age, starting teasing me, pinching me, poking me, ignoring me when I told him to stop, and generally annoyed me, as he enjoyed doing back then. I don't remember exactly what happened next, but the two of us eventually started hitting each other, right there in the pew. My father stopped us almost immediately, but I could tell he was very angry.

When we returned home, my father let my brother play downstairs and then took me upstairs, where my mom was sitting at the kitchen table. In a furious tone, my father said to my mother, "Do you know what your son did today in church?" He then ordered me to walk over to her and tell her what happened, and then walk back to him. When I did this, he positioned me so that my front was facing him and my back was facing my mother. He said to me, loudly and forcefully, "I want you to know how bad you were today!"

My father pulled down my pants and my underwear and bent me over, so that my mother could see my bare bottom. My dad began spanking me with his hand, swinging as hard as he could. As he was spanking me, he kept shouting, "You were very bad today, do you understand?" and other things of that nature. The spanking went on for several minutes.

Although he was smacking me with all his might, what was the most painful aspect of this whole ordeal was having my pants and underwear forcefully removed from me, and being forced to remain in an exposed position in front of my mother. Being stripped liked that profoundly humiliated me, especially since I have always been a shy, sensitive, private person. The humiliation was so intense, in fact, that I screamed and asked my dad what he was doing when he was stripping me, and quickly entered into a mental state that could only be described as shock. My dad's behavior that day was extremely out of character for him; I had never seen him so explosively angry either before this incident or after it. From my perspective as a child, it seemed as though he had been possessed by a demon! I was astonished at how enraged he was, and the fact that he was directing his rage at me was deeply disturbing to me.

When my father finished spanking me, I ran into my room and started crying profusely – not so much because of the physical pain, but because I felt violated. I felt as though my body didn't really belong to me, that adults could expose and beat any part of my body they wanted to, and there was nothing I could do about it. That feeling horrified me.

Later on that day, we were supposed to go to a big family gathering for an occasion I have long since forgotten. Many relatives that I did not know that well were going to be there. Suddenly a deep, all-consuming fear came over me – what if my parents tell everyone there what I did, and how I was punished for it? The spanking itself was so embarrassing to me that I could not even contemplate how I would feel if all of those people – many of whom I really didn't know – found out about it. Then I thought about the possibility of my father becoming angry with me at the family gathering and giving me another bare-bottom spanking, this time in front of my other relatives. That very thought terrified me, and gave me what I know recognize as a panic attack. When my mother came into my room to check up on me (she saw how badly the spanking affected me), I begged her not to let my dad spank me in front of everyone that day and not to let anyone else know what happened. She said she wouldn't tell anyone anything and wouldn't let me get spanked like that at the gathering that day. She held true to her word; I did not get spanked at the family picnic, and my parents never mentioned the incident to anyone. To this day, my parents never brought up the incident to anyone, even me. It is almost as if it never happened.

Of course, I know it happened, and I will never forget it, due to the enormous effect it had on me. I am currently recovering from Social Anxiety Disorder, a psychological condition characterized by extreme fear of being embarrassed and humiliated in public. I don't know for sure if my humiliating spanking triggered my social anxiety, but I think it is more than likely that it did, since I never experienced the symptoms of social anxiety prior to that event, and when my social anxiety is at its most severe, I feel the same way I did right after my spanking.

Like some of the contributors to this site, I have a very strong sexual interest in spanking. My fascination with erotic spanking has been a source of tremendous guilt and shame for me throughout my life. I did not choose to be sexually aroused by giving and receiving spankings. I have tried to repress my spanking fantasies and desires, but that only made them more intense. It seems to be impossible to eradicate them. At this stage in my life, I am torn between the idea that my sexual interest in spanking is indicative of a damaged aspect of my sexuality that must be "fixed" and the idea that it is a fun part of my sexuality that I should be able to enjoy with a willing, consenting adult partner if I wish to do so. Right now, I am more inclined to side with the latter idea. I do not know, and probably will never know, if the childhood spanking I discussed here led to my fondness for erotic spanking. If I were ever able to know beyond all doubt that it did, I could not avoid feeling as though my sexuality was corrupted or damaged in some fashion.

Ever since I endured my father's spanking that day, I have wondered if it constituted an abusive act or not. I have wondered if he genuinely abused me that day, or if I just overreacted to it because I was too sensitive and weak. If it wasn't really abusive, though, why did it affect me in such a deleterious way?

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous25" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous26

by Anonymous
( Location Undisclosed)

Reading a couple of these stories has brought back a whole lot of memories. My story is different from a lot of these, and it's strange.

Back around when I was 3 or 4, my older brother began to molest me. It all started with a truth or dare game. I said dare, and (it's sick) he had our dog lick my vagina, then he said to let him. I did. I thought this was normal-not even being in kindergarten yet, I don't know what I was thinking.

We developed a code. Whenever he would want to do something, he would raise his eyebrows twice-I was then supposed to meet him in the bathroom or the basement where he would proceed to molest me by sticking his fingers in, markers, anything and everything. That went until about second grade. But by now, molesting was not enough. He moved to oral sex, forcing me to "lick" his lollipop. It was disgusting and humiliating but I did it, voluntarily. Again, that became boring. So we started to have sex. I was in fourth grade having sex with my brother. No one knew. It stopped in seventh grade. I had done everything sexually possible to do with my brother, and now I am ashamed of that.

Eighth grade came and I was angry. I confronted him and asked him why. He said he didn't know. But he went to our parents and told them some of the story. In the end, we went to court and he is now a registered sex offender and I had a restraining order against him.

Now I am a senior in high school, and we are beginning to talk again. I see him as a human being who made a HUGE and unforgivable mistake, but I believe in second chances. That's my story.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous26" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous27

by Anonymous
(Location Unknown)

My Mother's Nightgown: 
I have never shared this with anyone but felt compelled to tell you. First off, I am a heterosexual guy in my twenties. My father was a violent man too, towards my mother and my brother and sister. But it was the abuse that I witnessed that he displayed towards my mother that has left me scarred forever and has manifested in the most strangest of ways.

Ever since I was a child I could remember, my father beat my mother, even when she was pregnant with my little sister. I remember at first she would plead to him not to be beat her, but as I got older she just gave into the beatings and challenged him to beat her harder and even wanted him to kill her because she was in so much pain.

For some reason, when I was like five or six, I witnessed a violent episode that left my mother badly bruised. I also remember my mother that night being so scared and depressed that she ran from her bedroom to the kitchen to grab a knife, not to kill my dad, but wanting to stab herself. My brother and sister and I ran to her as she laid on the kitchen floor ready to plunge a knife in herself. We cried and begged mercifully for her not to kill herself. That was the night my strange habit started.

You see, my mother that night was wearing a pink nylon nightgown, and for some reason I could never forget that. A few days later while my mother was busy tending to my sister, I snuck into her bedroom and took that same nightgown and hid it from her. I think in my little childhood mind, I deduced that the nightgown she wore that night got her beaten, so if I hid it she would never get beaten again. She found it in my bedroom later that day. As she was asking me why I would have her nightgown, I tried to tell her: "I didn't want you to die." I don't think she ever made that connection because she kept wearing that nightgown. And every time I would see her in that nightgown, my anxiety would rise, knowing the chances of something bad might happen, and on many nights it did with the same nightgown playing a part.

That anxiety lasted a while, and when I was about eight or nine, that anxiety manifested into early puberty. That was when I would sneak into her bedroom, pull out the nightgown, put it on, and masturbate in it. But it was deeper because as I, an eight-year-old boy slipped on that nightgown, I would imagine I was her being beaten by my father. I didn't want my mother to go through all that pain, and by me transposing myself into the image of my mother I figured in my own warped childhood mind that my dad wasn't able to hurt my mother anymore.

Yes, I have long sought therapy, but the remnants of the pain are still there. Like anytime I see a woman in a nightgown in a horror movie I get a weird anxiety feeling that takes me back to my childhood. I guess I win the prize for the most warped childhood of all.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anonymous27" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous28

by Anonymous
(Dublin, Ireland)

I'm lost: 
I'm a 21-year-old man who has experienced an array of abuse as a child, which I feel has resulted in my lack of development as a person. I still don't feel like a man and I find it very hard to relate to people outside of my family. I don't feel comfortable in my own skin and I always feel I look like a freak. It's so ridiculous, as I find it so hard to even concentrate on a film as I get so scatterbrained! I have problems with my weight and eating and I throw up whenever I'm nervous, which is quite a lot!

I'm from Ireland. I grew up with very abusive and controlling Irish catholic parents. I have four older sisters and a younger brother who is my closest friend. Recently I decided to tell my sister, whom I live with, about an incident which happened to me when I was 8. It had been on my mind for some time but I never felt like I could talk to anyone about it. I had mentioned it to my ex-girlfriend when I was drunk one night. She pestered me about it the next day, but I refused to tell her the whole story.

It happened when I was at school. I was playing in the playground at lunchtime, and was called inside by my principal. He brought me into a classroom. My mother was there, along with another man. I was told that they were there to discuss my bed-wetting problems. This man asked me to take off my shorts, so I looked at my mother. She nodded saying that it was ok. I knew something was wrong as it felt so eerie. I was molested and felt up by this man right in front of my own mother and my principal! As a child growing up in Ireland, it was hard for me. I moved over from London when I was 6 and was bullied at school because of my English accent. I was never really accepted and I became very withdrawn. This incident confused me so much. I felt like I had done something terribly wrong. I believe this is one of the main reasons I have trust issues to this day.

As well as this, I was constantly abused both mentally and physically at home by my parents. I can remember coming home from school and hearing my father talk about how much he hated me and telling me I was useless and how I wouldn't amount to anything. My brother is the apple of his eye. He lets him do whatever he wants. He has always succeeded at everything I've failed at. My father views me as a failure. My mother was the same, and she has tried to control me my whole life. She has even refused to give me my birth certificate, which I need in order to get my passport for travelling next year. That's why I'm so anxious. I've never been able to bloody relax! I was tortured both at home and at school.

I want to confront my mother about the incident with the principal and that man, but I'm scared.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous29

by Anonymous
(Location Undisclosed)

Screw it: 
My parents divorced. My mom abused me. At four she left me at home with my brother, three years older...don't want to talk about it. Beat the crap out of me. Told me I was nothing. Titled me as "a bill". Told Dad what she was doing...locked me in closet and boxes, door...Dad said yeah right...left me.

Raped. Bulimia. Anorexia. Over-eating. Cutting. Suicide.
Tired of it. Incapable of love. Incapacity to be loved. Defective.

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Child Abuse Story From Anonymous30

by Anonymous
(Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada)

When I Was Around Eight Years Old, I Witnessed My 3-Year-Old Sister Get Abused. We Were In A Foster Home Mostly All Our Lives. She Wouldn't Stop Crying When They Put Her To Bed. I Tried To Comfort Her And They Came In. They Told Me To Leave Her Alone, She'll Be Fine. They Wrapped Her Tight In A Blanket And Left Her Alone. Still She Wouldn't Stop Crying. So They Took Her Out In The Living Room And Starting Yelling, Saying "Shut Up". I Took A Peek Out My Bedroom Door, Scared To Say Anything. Our Foster Father Was Hitting Her Constantly And She Was Screaming. I Went To Bed Crying, Listening To Her Wail. I Felt There Was Nothing I Could Do. We Went To Other Foster Homes, But I Hardly Got Abused. My Sister Always Got the Worst Of It Because She Was The Youngest.

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Child Abuse Story From AlwaysAnonymous

by AlwaysAnonymous
(USA)

I can't hide this in any longer. When I was around 2, I used to self inflict myself. Then, my dad and mom started beating me. First they just told me to take off my bottoms-underwear and all. Then they hit me with the metal part of the belt. But then they hit me with bats, slippers, poles, wood things, anything they could get hold of. I thought it was normal to get hit, and that it was my fault why I was hit. But, it seemed to get worse. Like one day, again, I don't know why.

My dad hit me against the doorknob and made my mouth pour out blood. Then he told me if I were to tell anyone, I would get in even more trouble. Then he would hit me against the wall, slap me across the face, and even punch me. Then my parents started having late shifts and my cousin started to babysit me.

Everything was as usual, all the beatings before I got there, the beating when I got there, but then there was the night time. My cousin began touching me. I was four at the time, and didn't think it was wrong. But he wouldn't stop and kept on doing that. I told him no, but he kept going. Then he went all the way. This happened several more times as he so-called 'baby sat' me.

I started getting depressed. I even told my parents, but my parents just said I was mental and that I needed help and that I didn't deserve to live and have this great family. I started cutting myself. I even made several attempts to kill myself. But I couldn't because it was too selfish of me if I did that. The school found out about me cutting myself, but I had this feeling that I had to protect everyone, so I lied and said some random showed me how to do it and I liked it. Ever since then, my parents have been emotionally abusing me. They tell me I'm not worth it, that I'm fat and I need surgery. I'm only 14.I'm living this lie-telling everyone it's all good.

My parents expect me to have A's all the time. If I have lower than an A, they hit me and say you're "stupid as fuck." And I always have A's, except for once or twice. All they say is, "Finally, you're doing something good in your life."

I can't talk to anyone about this, and not only that, I bottle everything in until I burst out, breaking down randomly. I can't ask for help, because I have that need to protect them. All I care about is my brother. My brother even tells lies to them and tells them I hit him, so they spank me and hit me with combs, brushes, whatever, even if I explain to them. But, my brother is somehow the closest thing to me.

Sorry for the long story,

<33AlwaysAnonymous

Reply from Darlene: Your parents are NOT telling you the truth. I think you've come to believe the lies your parents have been telling you. I think you believe you are worthless and unworthy of help. I think you are afraid of your parents and what they might do if you tell. I think you are afraid of what will happen to you if tell. I think these are the reasons you won't get help for yourself.

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Child Abuse Story From Jenah

by Jenah
(Chicago, Illinois, USA)

Abused by my dad - but I couldn't remember any of it: 
At 14 years of age, I found out my dad had been abusing my little sister and me when we were little. You are all probably thinking 'How did you find out? Did you not remember?' And the truth is, no I didn't.

My dad had been raising me and my little sister since the day my mother had died. I was about 6 years old when she died, my little sister was 4. From what I remember of the time dad took care of us was that he was always there and he loved us.

So, at the age of 14, on the anniversary of my mom's death, I went to the attic and looked into a box which had most of my mother's things, like pictures and other things. I found a tape in that box. I was curiously. I took the tape downstairs with me and I put it in the video player. Suddenly, I came across my sister and I running around naked in the house when we were little. Then I saw my dad in the video. He was naked too, and I saw my sister lying on the bed, and him touching my sister in the video. Then a few minutes later, I saw myself also lying naked on the bed and my dad also touching me.

I was shocked to see this video because I didn't remember any of this horrible event that took place. I felt sick. I kept wondering how I didn't remember this. How, if it really happened, did my dad manage to get away with it?

I decided to tell my sister about it, who at that time was 11 years old. I wanted to see if she remembered any of it or anything like that. When I talked to her about it, she burst out crying and confessed that Dad was still doing it to her. I was angry. I packed my sister's bags and told her to go to my aunt's. I packed my bags and waited for my dad to come home, to confront him. When he did, I threw the video on the floor and asked him why he did that. He fell to the floor and burst out crying, saying he did it because he loved us. I felt sick after hearing those words. I walked out of the house.

My aunt heard the whole story from my sister. When I got there, I heard my aunt on the phone to the police. The police came and took my sister to the hospital to get checked up, to see if Dad had been hurting her recently. After the check-up, the doctors told us that my sister had been raped about 24 hours ago. I cried for my sister a lot. My dad got arrested and went to jail. My sister and I haven't seen him since.

I am 18 now. To this day, I still feel guilty about my sister's experiences. I don't understand why I didn't remember the abuse. If I did, I would've stopped it from continuously happening to my sister. I feel I am to blame.

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Child Abuse Story From Amanda8

by Amanda
(Location Undisclosed)

I am currently 16 years old. I don't think I've ever told anybody my story. My parents know, but they don't do anything about it. I'm still forced to go by his house for dinners. My mom tells me to do it for my grandmother, and in the end I feel guilty so I go. I've been sexually abused by my grandfather more times than I can remember. The first three years he did it, I only remember bits and pieces. The rest was full of blackness and secrets.

The first time I fully remember. It was when he had to take his camper to the storage unit and told my grandma I was coming with him. We got to this place and it was just us. He told me to climb into the compressed camper. I remember it was hot and I felt sticky and cramped. I couldn't stand up or turn around for that matter. All I remember is my pants were being pulled down and something hard going into me. It hurt and I wanted to cry, but I didn't.

He kept asking me how it felt, and I didn't know how to answer. It was an awkward question to me, it still is today. When he was done there was wetness. He made me clean it up with some paper towels he had. He asked me if I loved him and I thought, well, he's my grandpa. I'm supposed to love him. Right? I told him I loved him, and he told me I couldn't tell anybody what he was doing. If I did, he'd go to jail and I'm not supposed to want him to go to jail.

I didn't understand any of it. I didn't know that what he was doing was wrong. I thought it happened to everybody and it was a part of life. I thought it was a big secret that granddaughters and grandfathers were supposed to keep and telling people would be breaking the law. He told me I would get in trouble if I told anybody.

I remember a couple times when he pulled me into a bathroom or crawled in my bed in the morning. He told me to make it count because this was the last time he was going to do it. I asked him what it was called, what he was doing to me, and he told me it was love. He was loving me.

I'm 16 years old and still have nightmares. I wake up from them, crying and in pain. I can't go back to sleep and it takes hours before I can be around a male and not be afraid.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Amanda8" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From No Name1

by No Name
(Location Undisclosed)

I was 12 years old and I was sexually abused: 
I was 12 years old. I was coming from school. I had to go to the restroom but I did not go because my babysitter would get mad if I got there late. So I started to go to her house. Before I got there I peed on my pants. I was scared to go to her house but I had to go anyways. By the time I got there she was mad because I was late already, but she saw that I peed on my pants. She grabbed my arm and pulled me in the house. She told me to take my pants off but I did not do it. So she took it of for me, but I did not have any pants to change. So she told her 15-year-old son to give me some pants or something to use wile my pants got cleaned. He took me to his room. He told me I had to pay for the pants. I told hem I did not have any money, so he started to touch my head and he was kissing me everywhere. I told him, "What are you doing, I am not gay?" He told me, "Yes you are, I know you like it." I told him that it felt gay, so I told him to stop that. I told him I was going to tell his mom. He punched my penis. I just fell down, and he told me that she was not going to believe me. He did stuff to me, but I never told anybody about this until now.

Right now I am 20 years old. I still have nightmares. That's how it started. It lasted abut 3 months. That is not the only thing that has happen to me. Sometimes I wish I was born ugly or not born at all.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From No Name1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Tiffany

by Tiffany
(Tennessee, USA)

He's not my Daddy, he's my Real Father: 
When I was very young, I don't know how old, my real father left me, my mother, and my brother to join the military. I remember talking on the phone with him when I was about three. I just remember feeling affection for him, and missing him. Recently, within the past few weeks, I have started having small clips of memories that don't seem real, but I know they are because of what he did later.

I remember laying on a bed somewhere, not at my home, and the smell of beer. I was wearing a big shirt (I was at least three, so everything seemed big to me), and it was mostly dark. I could see out a window. It was nighttime. I remember my real father leaning over me with his hand between my legs. Past that point, I don't remember anything else, but I get other flashbacks similar to that, just short clips of memory.

Now, fast forward. When I was 7, my mom married my stepdad (she was never married to my real father). He's still my stepdad. About a year later, my real father decided to try to come back into my life. He lived with my aunt, his sister, and we would visit him. It shortly turned into him babysitting us (my brother and I), then spending the night with him so my parents could go out or whatever. I remember specifically one day going straight over after gymnastics practice. I was still wearing my leotard. No one but my real father was in the house. He had pulled out the sleeper sofa in the living room. He laid me down on it, and pulled off the shorts I was wearing over my leotard. I told him I was wearing it and that I couldn't take it off, and he said not to worry. Then he pushed it aside and performed oral sex on me.

Another time, in the middle of the night, I woke up to him stroking my crotch area. I was still wearing clothes. I looked over to where my brother lay just a few feet away on the bed, sleeping. I looked at the blank TV and said, "I wanna watch TV!" He laughed and said "Let me play, first, then you can watch TV." I choked up, and I guess that he took that as me giving consent. He rubbed the area between my legs, stuck his fingers in a few times, then performed oral. I have no memory of anything more he did, if he did more. I know a lot of things were blocked out, and I hope to God they stay that way.

I remember crying one time when my mom said my real father was going to baby sit us. I begged her not to take me. She told me to sit in the living room and wait for her and my stepdad to get ready. I did. My stepdad went out to sit in the car, and my mom came into the living room. "I don't want to go," I whispered. "He did sex stuff with me." I was so embarrassed, tears running down my face. I thought my mom would be mad, but she wasn't.

She stopped and looked at me. "What?" she said.

"He did...S-E-X things with me..." I started crying so hard.

My mom called my stepdad back in. I don't remember what happened after that. The next thing I remember is sitting in a lady's office and pointing on a picture on a girl where he did things to me, and what he did.

After that, my mom said I would never see him again, that if I did, to tell her and he would be put in jail for life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Tiffany" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Tanya

by Tanya
(United Kingdom)

Abuse in the Family: 
My grandpa, my mom's dad sexually abused me from the age of 5 years old. My mom had me when she was very young, I think she was about 17 or something, so my grandpa wasn't really that old but I guess that's not the point.

My mom and I still lived with my grandparents. The abuse started when my mom was going to work. My grandma had gone out with friends that night, which left my grandpa to babysit me. On that night he tucked me in bed and gave me a toy. He said I was a very special girl and I deserved a special present. He told me to hug my toy tightly, and that's when he began to touch me. I didn't understand what my grandpa did was wrong at such a young age but I knew I didn't like it. When it was over he kissed my cheek and told me we played a special game and it was to be a secret.

My grandpa continued to abuse me but only when he had me alone. He would continue to give me toys when he hurt me.

When I was 10 I realised what my grandpa did to me was wrong, and for a while I let him do what he wanted to, because I was afraid. But then I wanted it all to stop and I told my teacher what was happening. Social Services got involved and I was taken away from my mom. They thought she was involved in the abuse inflicted on me, and although I kept saying she wasn't they still kept her away from me. Somehow a few months later I guess my mom went to court and tried to get me out of the care home Social Services had put me in. The judge never let me out of there but allowed my mom supervised access to me. When my mom would visit I would beg her to get me out of there. I remember looking at my mom, at how helpless she looked whenever she left me behind after our visits.

A year later the court case against my grandpa happened. I gave evidence against my grandpa but thankfully I didn't have to give it in front of the whole court. When the case ended the judge allowed me to go back home to my mom and charged my grandpa.

I got a lot of counselling after that. Things began to look up for me until I turned 13. My mom admitted to me that my grandpa did the same thing to her what he did to me. I got angry at first. I ran out of the house thinking 'how could she leave me alone with him when he'd done to me what he'd done to her?' After that day I slipped up. I ran away from home on numerous occasions and even cut school. I started to hang around with the wrong people. I took drugs and had sold myself for sex with random men. I began to get very violent as well and even lashed out at my mother.

Things went from bad to worse after that, until I hit rock bottom one day - the police arrested me. After that day I admitted to myself that I needed help. I got back into counselling and slowly the sweet girl I was came back. I felt bad at what I did to my mom. I went back home after a while and I sat down with my mom and apologised for everything I did to her. She broke out in tears and started to apologise too. My mom and I moved out of my grandparents' house after that and both my mom and I went for counselling, both separately and together too.

I'm still in counselling, and I am 19. My grandpa wrecked my childhood. I hope he hasn't wrecked the rest of my life.

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Child Abuse Story From JK

by Judy
(North Carolina, USA)

I was the youngest of five daughters and an identical twin. We lived in a very small house and often had other family members living with us. I can remember for two years, my bed was a pull-out couch that I shared with my twin sister. My mother was very controlling. She never supported any of us girls, unless we were doing what she wanted us to.

I can remember being in grade school and dressing myself in the morning and catching the bus, while my mother slept. My mom was always stressed. Dad worked nights and she stayed home playing both mom and dad. My sisters and myself were not bad kids. We never got into any real trouble.

As a child, I was very overweight. I was made fun of a lot, and always compared to my twin. When I turned fourteen, I began to starve myself. I remember always needing that empty feeling. I was a perfectionist and hated when people didn't like me. My grades began to fail. I remember my mother telling me I was a "f--k up" and that I "better be good in bed," because I "could not do anything else."

I always felt like a burden. My mom would put the bills on the fridge and remind us all how much we cost them. Her favorite saying was, "I hate my life. I hate you kids." It sounds sick, but as adults my sisters and I laugh about that.

The anorexia took 50 pounds off of me. When I went back to school the next year, people did not even know who I was. My mom tried to "snap me out of it" as she says. I guess reminding me that I was only doing this for attention was her therapy. I was not doing it for attention. I really did not know why I was doing it.

In high school, bulimia started. This monster would almost kill me. I was a pretty girl, but I did not date much. I did not like to be touched or kissed. I would get a sick feeling in my stomach and feel guilty. I felt different than the other girls. I hated myself and would often want to be dead, fade away.

When I was seventeen, my parents moved away and my twin sister and myself lived alone with an older sister. I put myself through senior year and had to graduate early and find a place to live. My mom and dad announced that they did not care if I graduated. So...at eighteen I found an answer while sitting in a bathroom at my sister's house. My twin sister and I began to talk about a dream we had more and more. It was flashbacks, really. We began to share the same ugly stories in detail. We were taken to the bathroom by a cousin and molested in the tub. A number of times. We cried and held each other. So, now I knew the self-mutilation had a reason. My nightmare had only begun. My sister and I drummed up the courage to tell my mom about the abuse. We almost died when she said, "Yes, I knew about it. The cousin was disciplined." I was so angry. Only one year before this, I sat at a psychiatrist's office with both of my parents and they said, "If she says she has been molested, she is lying." That was a hard pill to swallow.

At nineteen I met my husband at church. I became a Christian, and truly believe that is the only thing that has gotten me through. Eventually, my relationship with my parents would get better. But I have always lived far from them. They don't visit, and my two boys don't know them very well. I get up every morning with my boys. I enjoy life with them. I would rather die than ever hurt them in any way. Their childhood is so different from mine.

Forgiveness: Forgiveness is the process of ceasing to feel resentment, indignation or anger. Those are all hard things to do. I have forgiven, but not forgotten. It is the past, and it made me who I am; a loving wife and mother.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From JK" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Kelsey

by Kelsey
(South Holland, Illinois, USA )

I remember being 9 or 10 and taking a shower with my dad and he washed my body all over. I remember staring at his penis, thinking how big it was. I didn't know then about erections or anything. I don't remember much more than that at that time. Over the next couple of years, I remember he would try to touch me in places he shouldn't, but I avoided him pretty well.

I was 14 when he asked me if I wanted to come along on a business trip to Mackinac Island. He was in the real estate business, and was looking at some mansion to sell on the island. We toured the island most of the day, and I had quite of bit of fun with my dad. We ended up staying the night in the house he was going to try to sell. He then asked me if I would like to sleep in his bed with him. I didn't want to, thinking about how he had tried to touch me at times.

Later that night, he came into my bedroom while I was sleeping and put his hands under the covers and began touching me. I woke up and turned over, hoping he would go away. He didn't, and continued to grope me while I pretended to sleep. I decided to ask him what he was doing in my bed. He told me just to relax and promised that I would enjoy it very much. I started yelling at him to stop over and over. He was getting upset with me fighting back. He lifted me up carried me to his bed, took my nightgown off, and forced my legs open so he could give me oral sex. I was screaming as loud as I could, but it was no use. It was a big house with nobody else around. I finally had to give up fighting back and just accept it. He had total control over my body and how it responded. He was experienced, while I was never with a boy before.

After he finished, he stood up to take his boxers off. I had no choice but to stare at him. He had a look in his eyes that I will never forget, a look that terrifies me when I think about it. He said something about how beautiful my body was. He climbed on top of me and raped me all night long. I never said a word on the ride home. Just before we got home he told me never say a word about what happened or your "daddy will have to kill your mother. Besides, I know you liked it."

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Child Abuse Story From Stephanie

by Stephanie
(Surprise, Arizona, USA)

It all started when my dad left for work and never came back. He's gone and now I'm not safe. My mom started getting high and sleeping around with men. I lived with my little brother and I was about 5 or 6 when my mom started to abuse me. It's all very vague or blank.

I remember being beaten with anything she had in her hands. She threw me down the stairs, against walls, or even just on the ground. And with all this going on, I had to go to school and take care of my brother.

Soon I stopped going to school, and my mom beat me more because I was home 24/7. So then I started going to a friend's house. He and his mom took care of me, until the day he was hit by a car and died. I never went back there or saw his mom. I started just flat out running away, but running away didn't help at all.

I know how hard it is for kids to ask for help. Plus people don't listen...I wish people would start listening more. Even though I'm only 14, I've matured a lot. There are kids all around us being abused and we don't even know!

Stephanie

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Child Abuse Story From Patricia

by Patricia
(Palm Springs, California, USA)

Fear is what keeps child abuse going: 
I'm 62 years old. Can you imagine I've lived this long? Only by the grace of our Father God.

I was physically abused by my own mother, and the pain is embedded. She used a switch from a tree and cleaned it smooth, then she tied me up by my feet and hung me from the backyard tree and hit me with that switch. Sometimes she used a board with nails in it or a whip, whatever her mood was. Both her and my stepdad spanked me, not once, not twice, but till I screamed for them to stop. They never hit me in front of anyone. They would wait till we got home. I got so I would tell them, "Go ahead and hit me because I don't feel nothing anymore." I would just stand there and not cry.

School was my solace, my safe haven. My friends witnessed my bruises and told me to turn her in, but I was afraid.

I wasn't allowed to wear makeup or have a boyfriend. I could do anything when I turned 18. The door opened, and I left to go live in a foster home. This family took in girls. The reason for leaving was I was caught taking dance lessons from a friend in his garage. I was removed for a reason.

God bless
Patty

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Child Abuse Story From A Girl

by Name Undisclosed
(USA)

I was probably 11. I have a deaf cousin who is 5 years older than me and his mother, my aunt, had a drug addiction; she is dead now. Sometimes I would spend the night there. I think it's when my mom went out on dates. I would sleep on the couch and my cousin would pull my panties down and touch between my legs. I would pretend to be asleep and try to roll over, kick him off, in a 'sleep' way, but he would wait until I settled down and go back to it.

I don't remember how many times. I don't remember telling my mom, but I do remember my grandmother saying something like- she didn't want anymore of that hanky panky going on. She said it with a look like it was my fault. There was a lot of protecting my cousin, because he had it so bad. I was afraid to make a big deal about it because my cousin had a troubled life of his own, with his mother strung out. He lived with us on and off, when she couldn't keep it together. He was living with us when she died.

It was like I was supposed to let it go, there was enough trauma all around, don't make an issue out it. Much of my life as a child revolved around my aunt and cousin's problems. Whenever I complained, I got an answer like- 'did I want to trade places with him?'

I had never thought about those times until about 7 years ago, when my therapist asked if I had been sexually abused. I think it was the first time since that I had thought about it.

I haven't considered myself a victim of sexual abuse, but I was asked again today by a marriage counselor if I had experienced any physical or sexual abuse. When I replied that I had experienced a little bit of sexual abuse, she said 'a little bit', is that like being 'a little bit' pregnant. She wanted me to tell her about it, but I didn't want my husband to hear it. We see my cousin at the holidays and it's too weird.

I have forgiven my cousin. I know he has deep-rooted psychological problems from his own childhood. But what I don't understand is why my mom kept having me go over there, and why my grandmother didn't step in.

I know many people have had far worse happen to them, but I have never told anyone this and just wanted to put it down somewhere. Just stumbled on this site, and figured since it was drudged up today, I'd share.

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Child Abuse Story From Suzy

by Suzy
(Towers, Texas, USA)

Daddy's Little Girl, Suzy: 
I was four. It was a beautiful morning, and my mother had just come back from Dallas. She and her new husband were going to take me home, finally, but one month later, she left again. That's all I remember till I was 6.

The hits started out as taps on the back of the head, and became worse when I was seven. One week after I became seven, I made a mistake by swinging a chain and hit my little sister in the stomach. She cried and my stepdad came out. After my sister spilled out the incident, he picked up the chain and hit me on the butt, hard. I've asked my mom if he had ever done something like this before, and she told me that when I was three, (before my mom and stepdad were married) I walked in the middle of the street while a truck was heading my way. He darted in the road and grabbed me and pulled me out of the way. When the car passed he pulled down my pants and hit my butt so hard that later there was a black bruise. He was sent to jail and came back a month later.

Another week passed. I felt strong and told him he was a bitch. He hit me again and left another black bruise. Afterwards, the slaps got worse. Soon there were bruises on my butt, face, and the back of my head.

When I was eight, my mother left him and that was the end of that. I have been living with my grandmother and mom for four years, and one year she got drunk and beat me. My legs, my back, my face, and arms were all bruised. And now it's all over, and I can't forget it.

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Child Abuse Story From Raven R

by Raven R
(USA)

Most of my childhood was spent with my mom and her constant boyfriends. We never had a place to call home, and we were moving every two to three months from one house to another. Each house, my mom had a different boyfriend. When I was five she hooked up with a man named Tony.

My mom worked all day and went to A.A. meetings each night, so I was home alone with HIM. As soon as she left, he would take me into the shower and try to have his way with me. He would tell me that his penis was full of candy and that I had to suck and stroke it for candy. He also told me my mom liked it too. This went on for several months. My mom finally left him because he was smoking pot. I was so relieved.

To this day I've never told my mom. It would kill her to know she put her child in a situation like that.

Raven R. 16 years old

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Child Abuse Story From Jacqueline

by Jacqueline
(Indiana, USA)

Never Ending Story: 
My story is probably much like everyone else's. I, along with my two brothers, grew up in England, though we travelled a lot due to my father being in The Royal Air Force. I remember being beaten, kicked, punched and thrown against a wall since I was a tiny little girl. I was locked in a cellar for a day in complete darkness. I must have been 7 or 8...I still don't know what I did. We were beaten regularly and punished in a cruel sadistic way...but we NEVER cried. We knew not to make a sound. We never told anyone. We didn't tell our teachers or any outsider...we kept it in.

Sometimes he would grab us by the neck 'carry' us downstairs and then start beating us. The worst times were when we knew by the look on his face that he was going to attack us, but we didn't know when...it was agony waiting, and we prayed it would be sooner rather than later.

He verbally abused us, and up until recently (last 2 months) he still controlled us through fear...I stammered, got my sentences confused when I talked to him...I reverted back to being a helpless little girl again...I am a scared 45-year-old!!!

I was often told I was a mistake, disappointment, stupid, worthless. All my life I believed that.

My brothers dealt with things their way...we all have children. My daughter is beautiful, talented and smart; and we have a closer than close bond...I never once raised a hand to her. My brothers, the same...they adore their children, and again, never hit their kids...we broke the pattern. It can be done.

My younger brother makes my heart break. He is severely depressed and sees a counsellor. He brought things out in the open by getting up the courage to write to my father and tell him what he thought of him. He also mentioned that there is no Statute of Limitations on Child Abuse, and that he would see my father in court...an empty threat, but it made him feel stronger for a brief moment. My father then announced through his second wife that we were all ungrateful, worthless pathological liars and that he had never laid a finger on us and "we were all dead to him"...this made me think that even now, 40+ years after taking my first punch, he still thinks he is in control and that he is important...he messed up 3 lives...though there is a ripple effect...I have never spoken about this ever, because I felt scared, shameful and embarrassed.

Never-ending story (subtitle) sums my life up...there is no contact between my father and the 3 of us...but still I have nightmares. I am not very good around men. I am very claustrophobic from being shut in a coal cellar, and I am an over achiever.

No one ever recovers from child abuse. The physical and emotional scars fade, but never go away completely.

Any child reading this...don't keep it in. Tell someone. They will believe you. Trust a teacher, priest, anyone...but don't suffer in silence.

Jacqueline

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Child Abuse Story From BJ

by BJ
(Texas, USA)

It was early Monday morning, and I was getting ready for school. I was already a little late, and my mother was screaming to hurry up. I told her I was done and was ready to walk to school, and she said, "Stupid little B****! How can you be ready? You haven't even made your bed!" Scared, I looked over into my bedroom and said, "Yes, I did Mom." She slapped me so hard and hit my nose and it started to bleed. "Stupid little B****! Are you talking back?!" She grabbed me by my pony tail and jerked me around and pulled out some of my hair. She tore the sheets off the bed and made me fix it again.

Then she got mad and said I looked liked a tramp who couldn't fix her hair right. She started to comb it with a very old brush that had hard pointy bristles. When she became frustrated with my hair, she hit my head with it until my scalp bled. I cried, but I was scared to defend myself. I was scared that it would only be worse, and that I would be disrespecting her if I did.

This happened when my mother and father were first separated. I was nine. My father told me that no matter what she did, she was my mother. I hoped it would get better, but it would only get worse.

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Child Abuse Story From Beverly

by Beverly
(Chesapeake, Virginia, USA)

I am from a large family of 8. I'm the youngest. I've been told by my older siblings I didn't know what abuse was. They had been so badly abused before I was born that my dad must have chilled out.

I had broken my leg and there must have been 3 different stories to how it happened. I couldn't remember because I was only 2 years old.

Now that I'm an adult looking back, the beatings we got during our childhood were probably not as bad as the verbal abuse. My God, why would a grown man call his children losers or whores on a daily bases? (I didn't even know what these words meant) I guess this may explain why I never feel successfully even though I have been number 1 in sales in my company.

My mom died when I was 18. By then I was already married and had a one-year-old daughter. I will never forget when I was 10. I was helping my mom make her bed. She stopped and just looked at me. Then she said, "You are ugly." That really crushed me. I was by far not ugly, but from then on I believed her. I still do. I'm not sure if it was the words she said to me or that she never said sorry.

When I was 9 my mom got sick with cancer. It was never explained to us what this deadly decease was. It wasn't until way after she died that I understood.

I guess I was seven or eight years old when my dad stopped drinking.

I do feel I was mentally and physically abused, but it's what I saw and heard more so than what actually happened to me. Like my sisters were being sexually abused by my dad. I knew something was going on, I just did not know what it was.

I have so much anger in me when things are not going my way, i.e. when my sales are down or my checking account is getting low or when my boyfriend breathes the wrong way.

I'm writing this because, I need to. Thank you for listening!

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Child Abuse Story From DeAnna

by DeAnna
(Flatrock, Alabama, USA)

My story of abuse begins on my wedding day. MARRIAGE! What a cruel joke. I met my future husband at a football game. I was thirteen years old and he was twenty. I was just beginning to notice boys at the time. He came over with his friend and started paying me compliments. Before the night was over I was being raped in the backseat of his car. When he was through he told me to get out and go home, before anyone started looking for me. I walked backed to the parking lot and waited on my sister. I was bleeding and confused. I had no knowledge of sex. My mother never discussed it with me, and back in the 1960's, it just wasn't talked about. When I got home, I went and hid in my bedroom. If my Mother found out what I had done she would hurt me badly. To be more graphic, she would hit me and make me stay outside in the dark. But thankfully she didn't find out that night.

About four months down the road, my stomach began to swell up. My mother thought I had a medical problem and took me to the county Health Department, where I was confirmed to be pregnant. At thirteen years old, I didn't know what pregnant meant, either. The nurse told me I was going to have a baby. Furious didn't describe my mother that day. She beat the information out of me; I told her what had happened. I told her his name and she had the police track him down. It was either marry me, or go to jail for statutory rape. He agreed, and I was shipped off to the courthouse to marry him.

We moved in with my older sister, and as soon as we were alone he slapped me and told me how much he hated me. But as soon we went to bed, he raped me again. That became a pattern with us, beating me up, and then raping me. I refuse to call it having sex or making love.

During my seventh month of pregnancy, I ran away. I was fourteen, but I felt old. I packed some clothes in a pillow case. I had no money. I started walking through the woods, at the back of the house, until I came to the small town we lived in. I walked to this small diner at the end of town and hid behind some garbage cans. A homeless, older black man saw me and asked me why I was hiding. I started crying and told him my story. He took me with him and showed me a building and told me to go in and ask for help. It was the welfare Office. I ended up in foster care, after my baby was born. I had to give her up for adoption because I wasn't mature enough and didn't have the means to care for her. My mother refused to have anything to do with me, and my "Husband" and my sister were madly in love with each other, so he got a divorce from me and married her. Good luck to her, she'll need it.

Time marched on, and today I'm still searching for my child I had to give up forty years ago. As for me, I live by myself with my three dogs. I tried marriage again, but ended up with another loser, so I gave up altogether. I'm waiting on that thing everyone was so big on in 1968: "PEACE"

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Child Abuse Story From Jensel

by Jenny
(San Diego, USA)

I remember when I was 11, my mom would pinch and slap me like she does now. She would almost always speak to me in a mad and irritated tone that I always thought she hated me. She didn't even care if I cried, and would yell at me, demanding why I was crying. I never remembered her soothing me, drying my tears, or even apologizing. When I got my test results, she said horrible remarks instead of comforting me, saying my results was utterly disgusting and embarrassing, making me feel like she didn't care about me and thinks I should do better. Of course I should do better but that doesn't mean she can insult my grades. I've already forgiven her lots of times during my life in the Philippines. But now, I'm sick and tired of it. She doesn't care about my feelings but for her own. I understand she's stress, and mostly she'd take it out on my sister and I threatening to send us back to the Philippines where she can show me 'proper discipline' without getting in trouble. Because it's normal for a child to get kicked, punched, pinched, and slapped there.

Now that I'm a year older, things hadn't changed at all. She says that things would be better if I went back, so she didn't have to care about anything but her work. I don't know why she makes a big deal about me not buying school lunch even though I'm not hungry. She even said she'll stop buying me clothes and she refused to buy me new shoes even though I only have one pair that I've been using for over a year. I felt she didn't care about me at all. I was mostly emotionally abused because of the things she said. It's almost like she's saying she should have never had children in the first place. I was just being myself, although I spend my time on the computer reading about facts and other interesting things.

And before my uncle went back to the Philippines, I thought he was sexually molesting me because he'd put his hand on my thigh and would use his backhand to feel my breast. I was afraid to say anything, afraid he'd yell at me. He would always try to touch my butt making me feel extremely uncomfortable around him. I didn't want to tell anyone about it because I thought it was embarrassing. I hope that everything will change soon and that my mom would show at least a bit of appreciation on what I do.

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Child Abuse Story From Tim

by Tim
(Edinburgh, Scotland)

The Personal Effects of Childhood Abuse Upon Adulthood: 
My childhood was taken away because of abuse. My natural father sexually abused me. I went into care, and was then physically and emotionally abused by my foster mother, the person meant to protect me. I went through childhood feeling worthless and full of anger, which I was scared to let out.

As an adult, I find it very difficult to develop relationships, with the constant fear of rejection. I go through periods of feeling self-hatred and depression, especially facing up to things in the post.

I have grown up hating those who were meant to give me unconditional love and protection. I feel that individuals knew what was happening, but did not do anything about it.

My story explains why children need to be protected. Otherwise, they will grow up to be angry adults.

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Child Abuse Story From Macee

by Macee
(Texas, USA)

My parents weren't really in love when they married. My dad had gotten my mom pregnant with my older brother, so they decided they needed to be a family. My dad did many drugs, illegal and legal. He was/is a huge alcoholic. When my brother was only an infant, he would push him down and scream at him. I know this because people in my family have told me. About a year later I was born, and my dad was still an alcoholic.

My dad's a big guy. My mom didn't want to stand up to him, obviously. He would hit her if she tried to defend anything. When they would get in fights, he'd push her into a wall or punch her or do something else violent. My dad would cuss me out and scream in me and my brother's faces constantly.

My mom and my dad both would make these paddles out of wood, and they would make my brother and I bend over and whichever one would beat our butts, lower back and thighs until they pretty much bled, even if we seemed to cry a little too much. I remember getting screamed at and slapped and spanked continuously, and put in the corner for crying.

My dad would leave for many days at a time, and then come home drunk. My parents got a divorce. My dad threw my mom and punched my brother and shoved me one day. The neighbors called the police, so my brother and I belonged to the CPS for awhile. I told them we would stay with certain friends. My brother did, I just kinda wandered around for a few weeks.

My dad fought the case pretty good I guess, because we're living with him now. Every day though, he is sure to tell me how much I f**k up and how I mess everything up and he screams and yells and cusses at me. Every day.

To this day, I get depressed constantly it seems, and I have flashbacks from when I was a kid. I wish I was in a different family.

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Child Abuse Story From Hendrix

by Hendrix
(Maldives)

Sexually and Physically Abused: 
I am 30, married, and have two lovely sons. I count every day of my life thinking about how I grew up. Nothing seems to make me happy, even money seems to be worthless for me.

I don't remember anything other than abuse in my childhood. My dad physically abused me all the time. Whenever I saw him I felt so scared, until I married at the age of 21. My father would beat me up, even if I was hurt when I was playing.

I remember when I was playing with my cousins. One guy hurled a stone and it hit my right eye. I went running to Dad, eyes closed. I simply could not see anything, but he started beating me while my eye was bleeding. I am sorry, let me bear all those for myself, I cannot express anymore, it's just so hurting. My mom was so kind, that may be the reason why what I am today.

I remember always having desire for sex during my childhood. I always tried to experience different sexual actions. Why was I so different from other kids? Why was I trying all these? I remember I was sexually abused by different females several times, even my sisters and babysitters. Unfortunately, I tried to experience sex with male friends, female friends when I was just a KID! Can anyone tell me why I was behaving like that? Please...

I have so many incidents, but it will be too long.

Today, as an adult:

• I don't trust others, NEVER, to take care of my kids - even my wife. I feel she might do something that I don't like.


• I am preoccupied with sex, viewing pornography almost all the time, trying to have sex more than three or four times a day. After sex, I feel GUILT, no pleasure, not at all!


• Totally depressed with what I have experienced in my childhood.


• Feeling lonely and get hurt so quickly that even if a friend talks differently, I might think he is angry.


• I feel I have no one who cares about me.


• I hate this community, people and when I visit the place I lived, omg, I just feel so afraid.

I am from MALDIVES, but this paradise is nothing but a hell for me.

I have no one to share my stories. I simply cannot, not even with my wife. Here it is a taboo. No one will take it seriously. I am so low, though I have money, it simply does not make any sense. I have no happiness.

I am so grateful that I am able to share with others who are from most civilized societies. I hope someone will respond.

Take care, everyone. We didn't do this to ourselves. Maybe we were born at the wrong time, at the wrong place.

Cheers!

Note from Darlene: Hendrix, I moved your submission from the comments section of another contributor onto its own page here so that it would be more readily seen and read by my visitors. Perhaps some of them will comment as well.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Hendrix" can be found below. If you do not see the comments I've written, please be patient, as there continues to be a system glitch—in spite of being posted and approved, some comments are not appearing live on my site. Hendrix, I replied to your story June 11, 2008, comments titled "Effects of childhood sexual abuse..." Keep checking back to this page if you don't see those comments yet. I thank you Hendrix and my other visitors for your understanding while I work diligently at getting this malfunction resolved.

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Child Abuse Story From Ashley

by Ashley
(United States)

When I was 9 or 10 and up until around 12, my mom made it a point of walking into the bathroom every day that I showered. We had the type of shower with the clear glass doors. She would say I am just in here to get something. I'd complain, why can't you do this before or after my shower. I asked her why she was spying on me as it made me uncomfortable, but she was indifferent.

This was very embarrassing for me as a young girl. I started putting towels over the bars on the shower doors so you couldn't see in, then my mom would laugh at me and ask why I did that.

She continued to come in, but not as often.

She also would open the bathroom door when I was in there using the toilet. When I was 10?, she announced to everyone that I had pubes because she had just come into the bathroom and her eyes went straight to my private parts. Her eyes always did.

She also did these things to my oldest brother, but I am not sure about my other brothers. My brother asked my mom the same thing, why did she always come into the bathroom when he was showering and try to look in the shower.

Beginning at the age of 2, my dad beat me and this continued until I was 13 or 14. My mom would hold me down or kick me in the head while he wailed on me. I tried to call the police several times, but the phone was taken out of my hand and I would be in even more trouble.

I think about these things all the time and the flashbacks of certain scenes. It makes me sick to my stomach, and as an adult of 28, I have a personality disorder and am depressed, anxious, scared and have trouble in any kind of relationship. My mom denies these things happened and my dad will not discuss them, and this makes it even worse.

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Child Abuse Story From Brittany L

by Brittany L
(Roanoke, Virginia, USA)

A girl had to go through a hard life when she turned five. Her parents got divorced and she had to take care of herself. Her dad was nowhere in the picture, and her mom was out with her new boyfriend every night.

One day, the little girl woke up around noon time to find her mom cooking breakfast. This was unusual considering her mom was rarely home, but for the first time in a while, she felt genuinely happy. That is until the door bell rang. The little girl yelled she would get it, and instead of peering out to see who it was, she opened the door. Only to find her mom's new boyfriend standing in the doorway. The little girl instantly got upset, but showed the man where her mom was. Then she locked herself in her room. Before she had the chance to lock the door, that man was on his way to her room. He had told her mom to go get ready because they were going out to dinner and then dancing. So off her mom went, leaving them alone. At the time, the little girl was only 6 years old, but the man didn't care. He forced her into sexual activity, and told her if she ever told anyone he would kill her or hurt her more.

The abuse went on up until she was 12. When she told her mom, her mom refused to listen or believe her. So for the next three years, the little girl resented her mom. But when she turned 15, she grew out of it. But the memory of him will always be there, considering her mom married him after everything she had said.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Brittany L" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Pammy P

by Pammy P
(Chile)

I don't remember when but, I think I feared my father since I was born. From my first memories, I always remember him yelling at my mother or attacking her, and yelling and threatening me and my two brothers, one older than me, one younger.

Sometimes the threats became into beatings, sometimes don't. So I knew around the house for my own good I had to play and do things in silence, far away from his eyes, the better. If he called my name, I used to do the cross sign over my chest, and hope that I could walk through his dorm without being beat with his belt.

We could not tell anyone, and my mother told us he was a good father and she protected him, so for a long period of time, I really thought I was bad for hating a good father and doing wrong things, so that's why he beat me, because I was bad and stupid.

One time, I remember, since I have been in hell, I actually pee my pants because I was so scared, and he kept yelling and kicking me. My mom say nothing. She was there.

It would be too long, to tell all I been through, but, I'm at least glad that I'm far away now, that I have peace in my ears and soul, and that looking at websites like this, I understand finally it wasn't me, that I didn't deserve the way he treated me, that he was mean, and hurt me a lot. And when I speak with my mom on the phone, I can break the silence, and tell her he was a monster and he destroyed my life. And I don't care anymore if both don't like what I say, because I'm not lying.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Pammy P" are below.

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Child Abuse Story From Kim

by Kim from Cal
(California, USA)

Ongoing Saga: 
I am now 56 years old, have had tons of therapy, been on anti-depressants off and on for 25 years. My life has been a road of ups and downs, curves and straight aways. Right now I am in a down curve.

I have often felt that my tons of therapy had saved me from the effects of my abuse, but I realize after reading these stories, my experiences of growing up with a terrifying mother and a complacent father have definitely created a life that I struggle with on an ongoing basis.

My earliest memory of when my abuse started was when I was four or five. My father was a chemical engineer and he had been home for lunch. When I was young, I always had felt close to my dad, so when he came home it was a treat to see him. I remember playing in the drive way of our home, my mother may have called me in to take a nap, I don't remember her calling me, but as I walked through the door of our home, my mother, who had hidden behind the door, came out and beat me with some kind of kitchen implement. I remember I was shell shocked, it was so unbelievable. That experience must have traumatized me. I just remember saying to myself, "What did I do to deserve that." Not only did it shock me, but I never expected my mother to do that to me. Prior to that I never remembered being physically punished. And that is when it all started.

It happened when my father was away, and it was always a sneak attack from her. I remember one Valentines Day when my mother had a little party for some of her friends and their children. I remember feeling very possessive of some of my toys and I was upset that I had to share. Pretty normal stuff for a kid my age. When the party was over, my mother carefully shut the windows so the neighbors wouldn't hear. She yelled at me and then proceeded to yank me over lap and beat me again with a pancake turner. This is when I remember the start of having tremendous sad feelings. I remember crying a lot and then being told to shut up or I would have something to cry about.

Then as I got a little older, I remember my dreams about a terrible horrifying witch that lived upstairs in my house. I knew who that was, and to this day I still have dreams about the witch. She has gone away now, but I still feel her at some of the higher levels of this house—you can still feel the presence of her evil. I have actually been able to go up into her room now and look at where she slept, pictures of her (very nasty looking), even pictures of her relatives. I knew that this house was my home or my psyche and that I indeed had done much work on healing myself. Consequently, every time I had this episodic dream, the floors from the bottom floor to her bedroom, were being refurbished with other living space, or had been rented out to jewelery stores or home stores (interesting).

I know that I have had least three or four breakdowns in my life, most of them when I had lived at home and one when I lost the love of my life. I have had tons of jobs, money problems and depression off and on throughout my life. I have a college degree, which took me 10 years to get as a result of depression and money issues. I have been in debt, I have had money; right now I owe quite a bit and am dealing with the IRS. I decided to not to go into all of the physical and emotional abuse I suffered from at this time. I have been gainfully employed, unemployed and underemployed.

My story has been told so many times through the stories of others on this site. Some not as severe, and some as severe. It is so clear to me that child abuse is a huge issue, with monstrous effects. When I see a child that is clearly being abused, I have no fear going up to the abuser and talking to him or her. I know often the abuser is an untreated abused child him or herself.

Sometimes I get tired of fighting the fight, sometimes I just isolate. I try and be mindful of not setting myself up for being punished by others. I have learned to stand up for myself, and have conquered a huge amount of fear. Sometimes a situation may bring about an unwelcome flashback where I am in a terrified state and sometimes I still run away, or say something really awful. It becomes less and less, but the ramifications of child abuse are still with me.

In my family, my mother ran the show. She became bolder with her antics and abuse. My brother and sister and I were her little slaves. She always had chores for us. We always had a noose on us. It was completely suffocating. She was a perfectionist, and if I had one thing out of place in my bedroom, the whole room was torn up by her and I had to clean it all up after getting home from school. My father, I think was terrified of her as she threw a knife at him one evening during a discussion.

One morning after I had come in from a date in the previous evening, sitting at the breakfast table, my mother proclaimed, "I saw what you did last night, you little slut." I had done nothing, but had kissed my boyfriend at the door and then came into the house. My father, putting his paper down said to her, "Leave her alone, she is a good kid." My mother got up and poured a glass of milk on his head. He did nothing. My mother would take turns between us kids and turn her fury to my other siblings one at a time. We used to place bets on who was next. Horrible I know, but that is how we survived. Wow this was long, guess I had to get this off my chest once again. I'll write again. God bless you.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kim" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From George

by George
(Undisclosed Location)

Growing Up at Home: 
I'm now in my 30's and I've suddenly started remembering things that happened to me when I was a child. For the most part I don't remember the first 8 years of my life. I remember little clips though, and sometimes it is insane the kind of details that I can remember, details that are associated with these incidents.

I was a very sexual little kid. People don't like to admit it, but we're all wired to enjoy our sexuality no matter what our age. Anyway, during nap time I'd always take off all of my clothes except my T-Shirt. One day when I was four, my mom and my older brother came in where I was napping and my mom ripped the covers off the bed. I was exposed, half naked. I was embarrassed and humiliated. I was more careful after that.

When I was five or six I was out in the garage. Something happened and I said the f-word. He said, "We don't say that word. I'm going to have to paddle you". He walked over and picked up a piece of the 2x4 he was cutting up and made me turn around. I held onto the door handle while he paddled me with the 2x4.

I remember being 8 and bent over my bed. I don't know what I did. All I remember is the sound of my dad taking off his belt and the memory goes blank for me. I can't even talk about spanking kids because it just reminds me of how I felt when I was little.
My older brother took a lot of his anger out on me. One day he was angry, yelling and screaming with a knife in his hand. He threw the knife at me as I was sitting on the couch.

One day the older kids were talking about "blow jobs" on the bus and I wanted to know what they were. My brother took me down to the shed and took his shorts off and made me blow on his genitals.

When I was 14, my dad wouldn't give me any privacy in the bathroom. I'd be getting ready to take a shower and he would come in, making some excuse about needing to shave. I'd ask him to leave and he wouldn't. He'd watch me get undressed in the mirror. I hated having to take my clothes off with him there.

My mom didn't take care of me very well either. I rarely had clean clothes when I went to school. Sometimes she said it was my fault for not doing my own laundry. Elementary school kids don't do their own laundry though. She knew I needed glasses for at least two years before I actually got them.

I hated my childhood, and I'm still dealing with the things that happened to me during the first 8 years of my life. For years I tried to minimize what happened to me and say that worse things have happened to other people and that my childhood shouldn't have hurt me so much. It did though, and for most of my life I've felt broken. I'm just starting to feel whole again. It's a horrible thing to feel fractured in many pieces because of experiences that never should have happened to any little boy.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From George" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From CD

by Brent
(England)

I dunno if this counts as abuse in anyway, but I know that it's affected everyday of my life and still does to this day...

After my mum and dad split up, she met a new man, Shaun. They fell in love and did the usual and things were okay. He always resented my sister and me for not being his children, but seemed okay.

One day, I told him I was afraid of spiders. He grabbed the spider and put it in my face. When I ran away, he pushed me into the wall and told me I was pathetic, then threw me to the floor. My mum just shrugged. After that, things got worse. Constant threats and minor physical violence, but it was the emotional violence that hurt.

My stepdad pinned me to a wall, telling me I was worthless while my mum sat and watched. I started to think I was worthless, that I had no use, that if my mother didn't care, who did?

I contacted Social Services, and for a while things calmed down while they questioned me and my sister. We both told them what happened; she got hurt too. Eventually the case was dropped...not enough evidence to support the situation. That really devastated me, knowing that even the government didn't care. My father called me a liar...apparently it was all in my head, that nothing happened.

I went home and things got worse over the next few years. I would get threatened with beatings or strangled for just dropping a few pieces of dog food or I was pinned to a wall for forgetting to take the rubbish out. Meanwhile, my mum sat by discussing the day on her mobile. I felt even worse. I started losing concentration at school. I couldn't sleep because I thought he'd come in drunk and start yelling at me as he did once in the past.

Eventually he took things too far, even for my mum, when he threatened to kill my sister. He left for a while and things became pretty good.

He appeared at the door three days later, saying he was taking anger management classes. It didn't last, but Mum still took him back. I knew what it meant. A month down the line it would all start again, and it did. Just the small abuse first, being told I was a piece of shit and being thrown into doors or pushed over because I was in his way.

Then one day two months ago, he snapped when I made a comment about my mum. I said that she was annoying when she was ill as a humorous comment. He ran up the stairs at me, grabbed me by the neck and strangled me. I froze still in fear...I never could do anything. He threw my head into the corner of my sister's door then strangled me in front of my mum. That's when she realised he was doing wrong, and she kicked him out. He's still in contact but not together. I can't talk to him now, not after it all.

Because of this I still have regular sleeping problems. I have very low self confidence and I cower in fear the moment someone raises their voice to me. Sometimes I just wish I was strong enough to stop him. I don't want him to hurt me anymore.

I know by any means my story isn't nearly as bad as 99% of all cases here. I don't want sympathy, just needed to get it off my chest.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From CD" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Paulette

by Paulette Page Faile
(Woodstock, Georgia , USA)

I have kept this story "under wraps" for many years. But I have finally realized that I need to bring closure to what happened to me. It has affected my life since I was eight years old, which was my age when the horrible incident took place. I have suffered depression, anxiety, low self-esteem, withdrawal, and flashbacks, all these at different times of my life. And I now know, it affected my relationships, it made me terribly over-protective of my own children, and probably, because of what happened to me by a public school teacher in Akron, Ohio, I have been very defensive, without cause, and have made decisions on the basis of the abuse that was cast upon me.

I was in third grade. For no reason, my teacher decided to take me down to the boiler room, (basement) of the school, and beat me in the face, and arms, while violently yelling, and calling me names, etc. At some point, I was on the floor, begging her to stop.

While in the classroom, she was totally inappropriate in her actions. She called the white students "white trash" and the black students "black crows" and many other things to humiliate us. By today's standards, she would be guilty of inappropriate sexual actions, and contributing to the delinquency of minors. This teacher, Ms. R, was never held accountable for any of these actions. She kept on teaching, because—as the principal of the school told my mother, "Ms. R comes from a very prominent Akron family, and her brother is a county judge, it would do no good to report this to the school board."

I have carried this with me all my life, and now the story must be told, wherever I can let it be known.

Thank You for this chance.

Note to Paulette from Darlene: Paulette, I truly understand your need to name your abuser and the institution that was a party to that abuse; it goes a long way in the healing and recovery process. While I would love to provide you with uncensored opportunity to publicly expose your abusers, legal and liability issues that could affect my ability to continue my valuable work on this site have made it necessary to remove the reference to the school you attended in childhood, as well as the abusive teacher's full name. This was not done to in any way discredit you, your story, or the very real pain you suffered at the time, and well into your adulthood. I hope you understand the difficult position I'm in.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Paulette" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Tatiana

by Tatiana
(Texas, USA)

I have a pretty good life, but most of the time it's rough. My mom yells at me when I don't do anything and she calls me names and sometimes she hits me. She does drugs and I don't know if that messed up her mind or something. Like today the carpet man came (we got new carpet) and he unplugged the TV, but it broke and wouldn't turn on and my mom blamed me. She yelled at me and called me names and I had to fix it. I had to pull the 5oo-pound entertainment center out and try to fix it, but I couldn't and she got really mad.

When I was younger I had to go with her to her drug friend's house while she got drugs. It was a bad experience. One time we had to run from the police. That was scary. I have flashbacks sometimes.

I know this sounds weird but I think I have a gift of something because I can sense what is going to happen and it freaks me out.

My dad is in jail. He was on the news but I'm not gonna tell why.

When I'm at school these seven or eight guys touch me in the wrong places, like my butt, breast and between my legs. They pinned me up against the lockers and they rubbed on me. They want me to do things to them. I'm only 12. I can't concentrate at school because I'm scared of them, and because I have flashbacks of my life and my mom. I try to get suspended because of those boys, but when I do my mom yells at me and gets very very mad.

When I was 7 I called the police because she got really mad at me, but I'm only trying to get her help. It's not fair because she is nice to my family and her friends, but behind closed doors.........

My mom lets me watch her do drugs. I try to take it and hide the drugs but she always ends up buying more with money that should go to other things. I don't know what to do about my life.

Thanks for listening. God bless you.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Tatiana " can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Mashell

by Mashell
(Oklahoma, USA)

I have really been bothered the past few weeks, I guess most of my life. I never feel like I am good enough for anything or anyone. I feel inadequate and cry inside constantly. I have accomplished a college degree in health science which is what makes me feel alive. Being able to take care of/help others is the only thing I know that I can do and not be criticized or talked about behind my back, as I know for sure that is the one thing I can do that NO ONE can say I am inadequate.

It started when I was only 8 years old and only carried on for approximately a year, the sexual abuse that is. I had been physically and emotionally abused my entire life.

My mom and dad divorced when I was 7. I am the next to the oldest child of 7. I have an older brother who was my foundation back then, but he has isolated himself from the entire family and it hurts. My mom jumped from one loser to another, as I know she was suffering herself from alcohol and drug abuse. She and my father had 4 children together and she went on to have 3 more live births and numerous abortions. She met one man and was pregnant almost immediately it seemed and I thought, wow, maybe we will have a family again.

I was always a shy, quite girl and didn't have anyone I could really call a true friend. This man started bringing me home jewelry and little things and made me feel so special, because I had three sisters and they never received a thing. He would give my sisters and brother spankings for corrupting, and even though I was doing the exact same thing, he would NEVER spank me. I thought he just really liked me and for once in my short life I meant something to someone.

He had an old shed-like house he would frequent, occasionally with friends, where now I know it was marijuana they were smoking. Sometimes when no one was around he would call me in there and offer me banana flavored laffy-taffy candy, because it was my favorite. I remember there was what seems like a well in the old shed, some things are still a bit blurry. I wanted to look in it one time so he lifted me up and as he did he touched me wrong. Although he never made me have intercourse with him, he would rub and touch and make me touch him in ways I knew was wrong in the back of my head, but he said it was ok, and told me not to tell or we would all be separated from each other and it would be my fault. This continued for a year.

I remember my physical ailments starting at age 9. I had severe abdominal swelling, pain and occasional vomiting. I remember one time while I was in the restroom opening the door to find him leaning against the door, facing me, smiling and giving that wink he used to give me. I thought it was special, but was still sickened by all this. I finally told my mom about my illness and showed her my abdominal distention and she took me to a physician who diagnosed me with an ulcer and irritable bowel syndrome (IBS). I never told her of anything that had happened. My mom had always seemed to dislike me anyway, and I thought if I told her she would really hate me. She never wanted me and held it against me and used to tell me I ruined her body while she was pregnant with me, even overdosing while pregnant with me. Well, anyway they ended up separating, and I in an odd way almost felt lonely, yet so relieved. Looking at it now I know that is was because it was the only attention I had ever gotten from anyone. Those cringing feelings kept occurring. I couldn't even stand to look at myself in the mirror or take my clothes off to go to sleep. I always felt safer with my clothes on, as gowns and PJ's seemed to make me feel naked and vulnerable.

Life went on as always, with my mom only getting worse. She was so abusive and always on drugs. One day I had stayed home from school because of my stomach ailments. I came out of my room to find her and her friends shooting meth into their veins. I went into hysterics, and she gave me a pill to take and I went to sleep. I learned the next day it was a Valium.

My mom would be gone for days on end, and when she came home she was always coming down and was like a devil. She would beat me with whatever was close, be it a clothes hanger, yardstick or something like a vase she could throw. I always seemed to be her target out of all of my siblings. I was the one taking care of my one-year-old brother, a product of the previous relationship that destroyed my life. I loved my little brother so much. He gave me a reason to get up and smile in the mornings. I hated when I seldom went to school because all I could worry about was wondering if he was going to be ok with my mom all day. The funny thing is I worried about my mom constantly and felt so sorry for her. I couldn't even concentrate at school because of these overwhelming fears that something bad was going to happen to them. She would have parties all night long, then I would have to clean all day just to keep her happy. She would have some horrible men at these parties that would make gestures and remarks to me behind my mom's back. She would even go to the store and leave me alone with these guys she knew nothing about. By then I was around 11 or 12.

My mom ended up getting in trouble with the law and dumped us on a corner. My biological dad who had always seemed distant to me took the four of us. My little brother went to a family member. I never really could relate with my dad who was a recovering alcoholic and had really done a great job raising my sister's and brother. He kept a government job with good pay and was never mean to us unless we needed it. He was a wonderful father, but I just found that I was more comfortable with my maternal grandmother and grandfather. They were a safe haven to me.

When I was 13 I started having trouble getting my mind off of my weight. Without even knowing anything was wrong, I went from 112 lbs. to 70 lbs. I was put in a hospital at age 15 and had no idea anything was wrong with me at all. I thought I looked completely healthy and could even stand to lose a few more pounds. I didn't realize how bad off I really was. I didn't feel that I belonged there. I thought that I was fine and they should let me go home. I didn't stay as long as I should because I wasn't complying with any group and my family could never get together and have a family group. It would always end up with someone getting mad about one thing or another.

I continued to struggle with those feelings about food. I hated it!!! It was actually an enemy of mine. Looking back I know I was trying to die. I was scared constantly and never fit in. I was the butt of everyone's joke at school. I had NO ONE and didn't care anymore. I do remember a lot told to me by one particular psychiatrist in the hospital. I still rehearse a lot of it, especially "It was not your fault and NEVER try to convince yourself that."

Years went on and I lost my grandfather. I thought I would die from a broken heart. I began having horrible fears of death and feeling as if I were suffocating. I would always run to the ER. I was diagnosed with a generalized anxiety disorder with agoraphobia.

I still don't trust anyone, nor do I have any friends. I have had a promiscuous past, trying to find love. I find that I am attracted to older men, and even though I never feel safe or secure, I relate with them better. I am extremely clingy and can't seem to get enough. I know I will never find true love until I learn to love myself first. I have made major progress and am hoping that I will someday see myself as a worthy human being.

There are many, many people in this world who have suffered horrible abuse, some never live to tell about it, others are ashamed of how they will be deceived by others and looked down on. I wish I would have said something back then. Going to a foster home may have just saved me much anguish and pain, but that was my biggest fear then.

Anyone going through this, get away from it. Call the authorities, tell a trusting responsible adult, teacher, etc. I have much more I could elaborate on, but am getting tired of typing. Thanks for listening to me and allowing me to vent here. I do not tell anyone, I just bleed pain inside and try to disguise my pain with my smile that is so fake.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Mashell" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Matthew K

by Matthew K.
(USA)

Physical and Humiliating Abuse: 
My friend showed me this website and said I should write to you about my trouble. I'm 12 now, but when I was 7 I had to move in with my uncle and aunt and cousin. I don't even know who my dad is, and my mom is always very sick and lives with my grandmother in Ohio. My uncle is my mom's older brother, and they took me when my mom got real sick.

My aunt Maggie and cousin Heather who is only 17 are very mean to me. My uncle Dave has never hit me but lets them punish me when I get in trouble. I know I'm not that good a lot of times but when I get spanked they always make me take off my pants and underwear and sometimes, and sometimes they make me take everything off. This has been going on since I first moved in with them, and now that I'm getting older, it is more embarrassing.

Two weeks ago on a Saturday me and my friend Josh got caught stealing a model car. The police took me and Josh home, and my aunt sent me to my room when the cops were there.

***Explicit and graphic content removed***
My friend Josh is getting punished too, but nothing like I am. He said they shouldn't do that to me either, and that even his mom said it is abuse.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Matthew K" can be found below.

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Child Abuse Story from Sheryl Ann

by Sheryl W
(Wichita, Kansas, USA)

My father was my UNCLE...I just found out, I have a 3/4 sister and brother...Why ¾? Our mothers were sisters. My birth mother left me with grandma, while she went and found a husband. She had 2 more little girls before I was 4 years old. Her husband didn't want anything to do with me, so she had to put me up for adoption.

I'd been left at a hospital by my birth mother, and this lovely young couple from the nearest TOWN took me home...I cried for weeks. I couldn't eat. I hid in my room and played in the closet. I hated that woman who adopted me.

They tried to force me to eat; I'd throw up. She made me eat in the bathtub. They moved frequently when he got a promotion. I thought they were running away from someone. She yelled at me about everything. I never went on a vacation with them; they'd leave me for a week or two while they went on vacation. I got yelled at for talking to another young girl and telling her that her mother was pregnant.

When my adoptive mother got pregnant, I had to scratch her back and rub her feet, before the baby was born. Then I had to fold the diapers. Two more babies were born, and it continued. We moved, she kept me isolated from family and friends.

One day, I was late coming home from school. She was sweeping the floor. She hit me over the head with the broom, breaking the handle. He never knew what she did. She ran the household, he made the money. I went to 13 schools before college.

It's always been ALL about her...."How could you have done this to me?" is what she said when I called to tell them I was getting married because I was pregnant.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Sheryl Ann" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Luka

by Luka
(New Jersey, USA)

Almost Every Type of Abuse: 
I can pretty much relate to a lot child abuse types. All my life I've faced one or another from time to time. It may be hard to believe that someone could have been abused in almost every way and turn out into a kind gentle type. I have almost no mean bone in my body.

I completely find hitting children bad in almost every way. If they're really being bad like scratching or hitting then it's understandable to gently hit them. But anyway, enough about that. You see, when I was very little I can faintly remember things my mother did to me, but they are forever scarred into my head.

I remember her yelling at me for no real reason. She would yell at me for playing when I was a child. As well as laugh or cry around her. I have no brothers or sisters either, so I was all alone throughout my childhood. To top it off, I had no friends. I believe it was because of her.

She drives people away from me today too. Until 3rd grade, no one would hang out with me at all. I was abused by my peers in that way. As a child, I felt very depressed, but I wouldn't show it in school. My mother made me think I was a mistake, because she would yell at me constantly and blame me for things.

I became a very quiet person at an early age. My mother would keep me basically in the house all day long. And the only thing I had to do was watch tv or sleep all day long. I had no game systems or anything, because my mother wouldn't buy any of them. I have never gone to malls before. Or beaches or even the movie theatre. I still can't go to any of them. My mother won't take me. I have to buy my own game systems from income tax money. My mother would watch pornos in front of me when I was little. She walks me to my high school every single day.

It's really annoying. She drives me crazy everyday. 3 years and I can finally move out of the house.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Luka" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Emmie

by Emmie
(Temple, Texas, USA)

When I was just not even a year old I was hung in a closet just for crying because I didn't want my mom to leave because she was going to work. And then when my mother had my little sister Sammie, who is now in a mental hospital because of my mom, or our mom. I had to take care of her till it was time for school, and like every day, I was always late to school when school was just down the street. Then my mom had my blood-related sister Annie. Since she was 5 months she's been in a foster home, but because my mom is so good at lying she got my sister Annie back. It was very disappointing. And then her mother, my grandmother, said I couldn't be a part of the family no more. It was so hurtful to hear.

Then when I was 9, I was finally put in my grandmother's care on my dad's side and I was finally happy. When I see my mother I cry because it hurts me so bad. And now I'm 14 and trying to handle my own life and stop worrying!!!!!!!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Emmie" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Spades

by Spades
(Prescott, Arizona, USA)

The Story of my Life: 
I know what it feels like to be put down, yelled at, called names, raped, scared, and humiliated. I'm sixteen, and a boy. I can't stand being called my by real name, because my parents used to call it as they came. I was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused from the time I was 6 to when I finally got out of it at the age of 14. My entire childhood was taken from me.

It didn't start out with rape. My sixth birthday, my parents took me into my room and touched me. They said it happened to everyone, and that I would like it. I told my dad I didn't like, and he just laughed at me, saying I would like it later on.

Within a few weeks of that my parents made me start touching them. I would do it, because I was a little kid, and didn't know what else I was supposed to do. After that, they forced to have sex with them.

The first time my dad raped me I was six. I screamed as loud as I could for him to stop. He laughed at me. Then him and my mom kissed over me, saying that I looked sexy screaming how I was. Dad climaxed, and then he and my mother had sex. They left me there, curled up in a ball, bleeding, praying to god that it never happened again. I hated how much it hurt, and hated how I couldn't stop him from doing it. I didn't even know it was something you weren't supposed to do. All that I know is that I was scared, and it hurt, and I never ever wanted it to happen again.

My parents continued to rape me, yelling at how I "wanted it", and hurting me. My mom used to take a razor blade to the back of my neck if I didn't look like I was enjoying myself. I got into a habit of biting my arm to keep from screaming. To this day, I have a scar the size of my jaw on my arm.

By the time I was about seven and a half, they made me have sex with anybody who paid my parents. My parents would watch, sometimes participate. I got called a slut, and a whore. I cried every night when they left.

My parents home-schooled me. Mom was an assistant principal, my dad a lawyer. I'm dyslexic, and found that out when I was fifteen. I couldn't learn what my mom was teaching me. Things would come out wrong, and I would get beat. Once, my father stabbed a pen into my thigh for not being able to add right. I learned basic reading and writing before my mom gave up, and wouldn't teach me anything anymore.

I continued to get beat and raped without saying anything until I was 9. I looked outside my window, and saw three boys skateboarding. I was never allowed outside my room, for anything. I saw them, and realized that what was happening to me wasn't right. I asked Dad if everybody did what I did. He said no. That I was a whore, and I would never be anything better, because I was a retard and all I could do was screw people.

That night I tried to run away. I broke my window, jumped out, and started running. Dad heard me break the glass, and was waiting for me when I got around the house. I got my arm broken, my shoulder sprained, and raped by a clothes hanger. Dad boarded up my window, and put bars over it, so I wouldn't be able to get out again.

Things went worse from there. My parents decided they found it attractive for me to smoke, and made me do so. I tried to kill myself by breaking a bowl and cutting my throat with it. I remember crying, as I looked in the mirror with blood running down my neck, thinking that anything had to be better than my life.

I was fourteen years old when my parents brought in a man. My parents stood at the other end of the room. He started to kiss my neck. I had learned by that time that if I hid the pain, held in the tears and the cries, then it would end eventually, and they would leave me alone again. The man leaned over me, and whispered into my ear, "I'm a police officer."

I replied with, "Why the f**k are you telling me? Just f**k me and get it over with. Please."

Not even a minute after that, police officers rushed in, took my parents away in cuffs, and put me in the hospital.

I now live in a foster home, with three other boys who were physically abused, and who have become my best friends. I hate bothering them with my nightmares, because I hear theirs, and they always seem to keep it from coming out. I can't sleep without pills, can't touch people without having flashbacks. I smoke and I have terrible flashbacks. I skateboard. Just like I always told myself I would.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Spades" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Lee

by Lee C
(Phoenix, Arizona, USA)

My dad was a Korean War veteran and was shot many times, once in the forehead and out the top.

My earliest memories were of him beating my mom with a 2 x 4 and her crying, trying to climb the back fence to escape but she kept getting pulled off and laughed at. She finally moved out and could not tell anyone in fear for her life and the lives of me and my brother.

My dad found this Filipino lady and married her so she could get citizenship. She was just evil as it gets. That's when I really started to get beat. She hated me with a passion, and all Americans for that matter. She made me do home-school after I got out of school just to torture me. I would have to read huge books that I did not understand and write reports on them. She would get mad when I asked for help or did not understand words. She would slap me on the ears and spit on me, throw me to the ground and still make me read. Then she would make me write things like "I am stupid" a thousand times. I was so scared to sleep. I never showered. I was tortured at school from all the kids. When I would lash out at people, the school would call my dad, When I got home, and got beat for hours, punched, the belt with a huge buckle on it. Then my step @#$%^ would come home from work and strip me naked and spit on me, put out cigarettes on me. One time, she took my skid-mark underwear and stuffed it in my mouth and got my dad to beat me some more. I was black and purple. I had welts from chest to knees. I was forced to stand, staring at the corner. This happened countless times. I would be locked in my room for weeks, till I was healed enough to go to school. I once chewed a piece of gum for ten days straight as I lay on the floor, hoping to die.

They would praise my brother in front of me and shower him with gifts. He was brainwashed that I was a bad kid.

This is barely the tip of the iceberg. It went on for 15 years

When my grandma died, they took my inheritance and moved away. I never saw them again. I was very sick. Suicidal. I wandered the streets until I wound up in prison for 3 years for stealing a truck. A few years after I got out, I finally got the nerve to seek help.

I am on Zoloft, and it helps a lot. But I guess I appear normal on the outside, because my counsellor keeps telling me I'm doing better, and is there anything else I would like to work on. I tell her I don't know and that I have given up. She calls me a success, even when I tell her I am lonely, that I feel out of place, that have no aim in life.

I don't know where to go from here. I am completely exhausted with life. I have no more will to live. I don't know what to do.

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Child Abuse Story From Loren

by Loren
(Virginia, USA)

Where was god? 
I've been a victim since birth. My mother left me when I was born. I was born a drug-addicted child. I was adopted 4 weeks after my birth. I was molested at a young age by both male and female babysitters. When my adoptive mother fell ill, I was too young to understand, but matured enough to know she could no longer care for me. I was 9 or 10 years old.

All my life, my older brother was emotionally abusive to me. He made me feel as if I was never a part of the family because I was adopted. I felt ashamed of being adopted and hated myself. He made me feel as if I wasn't good enough for him, so I'd try to impress him and make him proud to call me his little sister, but he never did. It was always "my mother, my wife, my family." I was never included.

At age 11, I was sent to live with an uncle in Virginia. He was a religious fanatic. He forced me to convert to the catholic faith. I was made to say prayers 3x a day and fast daily. If I refused, I would be beaten with a stick or slapped hard on my face. I lived in fear every day. He thought he was doing GOD'S will by abusing me. I would try to win over his acceptance and pride. I wasn't good enough for him. He never told me he loved me or cared. Every month, when he would get a check for my care, it was never used for my wellbeing. He never bought me clothes or anything. I was afraid to even ask if I could have anything as simple as candy.

He wouldn't take me to wash my clothes at the laundry-mat when I needed to, so I'd go around wearing dirty clothes until he felt like taking me. I was always terrified. School was an escape for me. It was easy for me to hide my emotions. I was a totally different person. No one would have ever guessed my home situation was bad. I didn't have any physical bruising or cuts. I told no one what was gong on.

The summer before my 7th-grade year, my uncle took me to Florida, and left me there with a family friend. He never came back for me. I was there 3 1/2 months. The school I had attended had told my uncle that if he didn't bring me back, I would be reported a missing person. A neighbor and her mother drive up to Florida to get me. When I came back to Virginia, my uncle gave up all his rights of me. He said he was afraid he might seriously hurt me, but the emotional damage was done. I was put in foster care from the age of 13-18.

At the age of 16, my foster kicked me out, and my social worker put me in a group home. I remained there for 3 years. I felt unwanted and unloved. I became abusive toward myself and others. I purged myself and self-mutilated. I would often sink into deep depression and became bipolar. I attempted suicide and was hospitalized several times. Eventually, I was put into a hospital for troubled adolescents and adults for 6 months. I recovered, but then relapsed once I returned to the group home. I was kicked out 3 months after my 18th birthday. Since I agreed to stay in foster care until my 21st birthday, I was put in another foster home, where I was emotionally and sexually abused. I reported them and left.

Eventually, I got out of foster care and tried to get my life together. Because of years of abuse, I always thought I wasn't good enough in relationships. At times, I abused my partners. I have self-doubt and low self-esteem issues. I am working on trying to overcome my past. I am 19 now and I have found someone to love me and understand my troubled past. He helps me overcome.

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Child Abuse Story From Brittany1

by Brittany
(USA)

I am 15 years old.
And I have dealt with my dad for as long as I can remember.
I don't know if you can count what he has done as abuse.
But it emotionally drains me,
and messes with my relationships with other people.
At school I can't pay attention.
My friends complain because I wonder when they are talking to me.
My worse memory
I remember...
When I was 5 or 6,
I was running,
I can't remember why.
All I remember is running to my room.
I remember hearing my dad coming,
stomping,
behind me.
I ran to my room, scared.
My sister was in there playing and decided she was scared and hid with me.
I was racing to find somewhere,
anywhere,
to hide from him.
But before I could do anything he was in my room.
He stopped at the door.
I followed his eyes.
He searched for me.
I was hiding behind my bed next to the window.
My dad came over to me,
bent down to my level,
and was screaming,
baring his teeth,
I was watching his teeth crush together,
the spit flying out of his mouth toward me.
I can't remember what he was saying,
I don't think I heard it when he was saying it.
He then decided screaming wasn't enough.
He bounced my head off of his.
My head hit the window.
The glass didn't break,
but it was enough to make me fall to the ground.
I don't remember anything else.
I guess I was too young.
But my dad is 6'4.
At the time he weighed over 200 lbs.
He worked out everyday.
That is my worse memory....
That isn't the only thing he has done.
But that's the one I will remember forever.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Brittany1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Jo

by JO
(Gold Coast, Australia)

I'm a 34-year-old woman, married with two beautiful boys, and have been living with a secret I have never told anyone ever. I was sexually molested by a friend's brother when I was 8. The problem is I come from a wonderful family, but at the time, my mum was going through a lot of emotional stuff and my dad had a lot to deal with, supporting the family. I never talked about this to anyone, and looking back, I didn't even know what had happened was wrong.

I always tried to get a peek of what my parents did behind closed doors to see if it was like what had happened to me. We moved a lot so I was taken away from the situation, but suffered emotionally. I couldn't stand anybody touching me, especially my dad. I couldn't bear having his arms around me. He could never understand why. "WHY DO YOU HATE ME?" he would ask. Things got so bad for me fighting with everyone that I went to stay with my grandmother for a while.

As I got in my teens I couldn't handle going outside and preferred being in the dark of my room. My brother would tease me about this and say I was weird. If only he knew that I laid in darkness in the room next to his, praying to god to help me. I couldn't bear it if anyone ever found out; they wouldn't believe me, and if they did, they would be disgusted.

I started having chronic headaches due to the severe stress of keeping it all in. I have made a career out of keeping this to myself and try so hard to help others and keep busy so I never have to think about it. Many times my family have said I'm secretive and won't let them into my life. Even my husband keeps asking why I won't let him in. BUT I can't. I would rather die than let them know. I really think it would KILL me. I still believe to this day if I told any of my family, they would have me committed for being a liar or try and take my kids away. I adore my children and cherish them. I have always hid behind a mask of makeup and make out like I'm someone else: a bubbly happy, upbeat person. But I am starting to fall apart and doing things that are totally irrational.

I get so much from reading the stories on this site, and hope someone gets something from mine.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jo" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Maddison

by Maddy
(USA)

A couple of months ago I went over to my best friend's house to watch our favorite movie. Her dad decided to watch it with us. I didn't object because he was recently divorced and wanted to spend as much time with his daughter as possible, and I trusted him. Halfway through the movie he put his hand on my thigh, which made me nervous because I didn't like people touching me, but I let it go. But after a couple of minutes he put his hand on my genital area and started stroking it. I was really scared so I went to the bathroom.

When I came back out he did it again! My friend noticed I wasn't talking a lot and kept looking over at me. Every time she looked at me he took his hand off me so she never saw anything. After about ten minutes of stroking, he started to grope my breasts. I raised my hand a little because I was surprised, and he stopped. By then my friend got tired of the movie. She took me to play on her computer. Her dad came in and told her to brush her hair because her mom was coming to get her soon, so she left. While she was gone he told me not to tell anyone or else he'd go to hell and that he was sorry, then he hugged me and told me I was very important to him (I guess because I stuck by his daughter through the divorce that was very hard on her). Then he asked if I was alright and I just said yes because I was really shaken up. I left right after that and went home.

I never told anyone anything except my best friend who wanted to call CPS. I convinced her not to because I was afraid that he would find out, and I didn't want him to loose his job or his daughter (whom he never hurt). And it was really embarrassing for me. I did tell my mom that the dad gave me a bad feeling and she told me not to go over there anymore. I'm really scared though because I see all my neighbors often and we have a lot of parties and pot-lucks and I know I'll see him soon because we have one coming up. Now whenever a grown up touches me I get scared. I don't like being around grown men a lot because I'm afraid they'll hurt me.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Maddison" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Ace

by Ace
(Location Undisclosed)

Here is my story that I wish to share with the readers of this site. I am a 34 year old male. I came across this site from a Google search and read the stories of my peers on this site, and I was moved to tell my story.

When I was about 6, I was involved in an accident in my parents' home and my infant sister died. Well, to put it this way, I really don't remember it, but, I was playing with the baby and she fell off the bed and she passed away in her sleep. She died from the fall, or the effects from the fall, later that night.

Also, when I was 5, I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. All of this comes into play when a parent wants to abuse you emotionally and physically. My dad, who has since passed away 16 years ago, turned to alcohol to deal with the loss. Alcohol served as the catalyst for his abuse of me.

For many years, he beat me and said things to me that were not so nice. Yes, I lived in a hell, and I became more and more despondent and disconnected from the world. I never felt like there would be an end. What angered my father even more was that when he would beat me, I didn't have the capacity to cry or cry out in pain. After years of abuse, you become numb to pain. A person can get used to it. I know I did, and it only angered my father more.

My body has scars, all daily reminders of what has gone on in my life. The worst beating I received from my dad was when he came home from work, and his circular saw was laying on the garage floor. I didn't DARE touch any of his things, and he'd remind me not to, but there it was, circular saw laying on the floor.

Suddenly, I was jolted out of my room by his loud booming voice for me to come to the garage, and walked nervously towards it. The moment I opened the door, my dad grabbed me by my hair, threw me on the floor and demanded to know why I took his circular saw down and left it on the floor. I didn't answer him, because if I didn't take the blame for it, I'd get it worse. He wouldn't listen anyway. I remember looking up at him, and he was yelling and screaming at me, and I saw him pick up the saw. Wham, I remember the darn thing slamming against my left ear and I saw a flash of light and the next thing, I woke up and found myself lying on the garage floor. Thank god the circular blade had a safety guard, otherwise I would have had a huge gaping scar on my skull. Nonetheless, I was beaten up. At the time, I didn't realize he hit me with the saw, dropped it, picked up a winter window scraper from his truck, with a long plastic handle, and beat me with that.

My eardrum ruptured, my left ear was pretty much mangled and reminded me of hamburger. I had huge bruises all over my body, my body hurt, and my wrist was sprained, I think from trying to block the blows. I laid there for several minutes, trying to inspect the damage. I was so scared to look in the mirror.

My dad screamed out the door for me to clean up the mess before I could come inside. I cleaned the garage the rest of the day and evening before I came inside to clean my own self up. My 4 brothers and sister were out with my mother and I was the only child home, as I was always left home with my dad. A lot of it had to do with my being diabetic as well, and they would keep me home because they didn't want to deal with my blood sugar while they were out. This incident happened when I was 11 years old.

After cleaning the garage and rearranging everything all day, I could barely walk by then, as I was so dizzy from being hit in the head, my dad told me to clean up. He said it in this very sincere and caring voice. I knew he felt sorry, but, the damage was done, and I knew he felt ashamed. But I walked to the bathroom, cleaned myself up as best as I could. I checked my sugar level, snuck some food out of the fridge, and ate and went to bed.

The next morning, I awoke with my pillow, literally stuck to the left side of my head. I didn't realize I was bleeding inside my ear. I never asked to go to the hospital, because I knew it was my fault. Later, during the day, my oldest brother told my dad he took the saw down to use it and didn't put it away. My father said it was ok, that he had put it away, and explained to the rest of the family how he and I cleaned up the garage. Hiding the bruises was easy for me, but I couldn't explain the huge head injury I had, but nothing was ever said. As I said, I could deal with it, and I did. The recovery time for that injury was a few weeks. Thank god it was summer, and I didn't need to be in school.

I went through years of abuse, neglect, and yet I have the tools to get through life and move on, somewhat. I still feel bad at times, but with years, it is getting better. As a child, I truly believed my parents when they would tell me that I was nothing more than a burden to them. I am still dealing with that aspect of my diabetes, but, will feel better about it, any day now.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ace" can be found below. If you do not see the comments I've written, please be patient, as there continues to be a system glitch—in spite of being posted and approved, some comments are not appearing live on my site. Ace, I replied to your story June 10, 2008, comments titled "No blame to shoulder..." Keep checking back to this page if you don't see those comments yet. I thank you Ace and my other visitors for your understanding while I work diligently at getting this malfunction resolved.]

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Child Abuse Story From Tess1

by Tess
(Holland, Michigan, USA)

Screwed Up Life: 
I have an addiction to sex which I think may have started as a result of abuse. I don't want to use it as an excuse. I know I am at fault too.

I was only 6 or 7 years old when the abuse started. I stayed the night at my cousin's house. My uncle came into my bedroom at night to "tuck me in" bed. He started blowing on my belly so I would laugh. He didn't stop there and before I knew it his head was between my legs. Stuff like that happened a few more times when I was at his house. Then I stopped going over there. I hated him so much I would rather not play with my cousin than have him do that to me.

Then when I was 10, I was molested by two people at the same time. My teacher assigned me to help him with grading papers after school once a week. Three others were also chosen for 3 other days. This was something I volunteered for, but I had no idea it was a trap. He would lean over me while I graded papers. He would rub my neck and shoulders. I didn't care about it, he was my teacher. Then my paper came up. I had a few wrong, but he told me to write down an A. "It would be our little secret." I was so excited that he would do that for me. The next few papers I graded, his hands went under my shirt, both front and back. He played with my chest (even though there wasn't much there). Before the end of the year, he was going into my pants with his hands while I sat on his lap. Finally, oral sex was being used on me. If more than that happened, I have blocked it out. Either that or I am confused with what was happening with my grandpa. He was molesting me pretty much the same way. He also went as far as oral sex, both giving and receiving.

I was beginning to think that this is what men did to kids. All of them told me it was OK. All of them told me it would be our secret.

The teacher was caught molesting another girl when I was in the sixth grade, so he was sent to prison. I never mentioned anything that he did to me. First, I didn't know then what molesting really meant. Second, I still thought it was fine, even though deep down I knew it was wrong.

I couldn't catch a break though with men, and I even think I wanted the attention. I started wearing very revealing clothing when I was barely a teen. My grandpa was becoming very old and stopped touching me. I think he had a mild stroke or something because it suddenly stopped.

Now for the part I am so sorry for, the part that I think about every day. It's my fault for what happened. I again think I wanted the attention. I became obsessed with showing off my body. I knew I was beautiful. I would change my clothes with my door open so that my father would walk by and see me. I loved teasing him with my body. I became the biggest "Daddy's girl". I would sit next to him and drape my legs over his. I wore shirts that let him see what he wanted. I wanted him to touch me. I was trying to seduce him. I am so sick. I don't know what was happening to me. He ended up touching me. When he did and I didn't reject, he took it a step forward. He performed oral on me. When I didn't object to that, he had intercourse with me for a whole night. I was 14 years old when he slept with me. The next day he couldn't even look at me in the face. He was either ashamed of what he did, or felt he was beyond me afterwards. He barely talked to me again after that. To this day he barely speaks to me. I can hardly blame him.

I ended up sleeping with every boyfriend I ever had pretty much on the first date. I became known as a slut at school. I betrayed my best friend, and slept with her father when I was 16 years old. I just hopped in his bed when he was sleeping one night. I knew no man would reject me. A few weeks later, he ended up raping me in the basement of his house when I came over to see if my friend was there. He told me she was in the basement. When I went down there, she wasn't around, and he raped me.

Now I am 25 years old, and have been married and divorced twice. I am the biggest loser in the world. I can have anyone I want, but I will never be involved with one person.


Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Tess1" can be found below. If you do not see the comments I've written, please be patient, as there is a system glitch regarding comments going live on my site. Tess, I replied to your story June 9, 2008, comments titled "Not your fault..." Keep checking back to this page. I thank you Tess and my other visitors for your understanding while I work at getting this minor malfunction resolved.

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Child Abuse Story From Shannon3

by Shannon
(Oregon, USA)

All in One: 
I am the only child. My parents divorced when I was three. My mother obtained custody of me. I do not exactly remember the timeline, but she would often leave me alone at night, and I would cry and cry and be scared when she would leave to either get drugs or meet up with boyfriends. My mother was smoking marijuana by herself and with her boyfriends, and I would play with the red bong (water pipe) in her bathroom when she wasn't around.

As I got older, about age 11, I was a pawn told to ask my dad for child support by my mother. I was upset and felt so bad.

At age 12, everything went wrong. I was raped by my best friend's brother. This happened approximately 2-3 times. I was scared that I might be pregnant, so when I was grocery shopping with my mother, I was caught stealing a pregnancy test. Not wanting to get my best friend's family involved, I lied and told my mom that it was a guy from the local skating rink.

My mom and I started having physical fights, so I went to live with my dad. I then found cocaine in his things. I confronted him, and he denied it was his or that it was cocaine, I don't remember. But I had it sold, and it was cocaine.

My dad married my awful stepmother when I was age 15. We competed for my dad's attention because he was never there, working various shifts. The only thing that was good at the time I was 15 was when we smoked marijuana together with my friends. My dad knew and didn't care.

I got pregnant twice, had two abortions. I then got pregnant again at 16, and had my first child at 17. The man I was with at 15 was 19. I moved out at 18 and lived in a very scary apartment with this man. He would beat me and got arrested 3 times, but I always took him back. It took a long time for me to finally get out of that relationship.

In conclusion, I didn't want to be with another male, so I had a 5-year relationship with a female. I knew I wasn't gay, so I left and married a man who was terribly emotionally abusive. He grew up in a religious cult and tried to brainwash my son and I as well. It worked with me, and I am still recovering. But I went to college and got my Bachelors degree. To this day, aside from my children, it is my best accomplishment that no one can take away from me.

As of now, I have three children and am alone. I need this time, as I have been codependent for the last 12 years. I have a great job as a Social Worker, and given what I have gone through, am able to have empathy for survivors of all types of abuse.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Shannon3 can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Note from Darlene: I am currently working on creating e-books which will provide my visitors access to specific and relevant child abuse information more readily. As this project will require a great deal of time and focus, I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of offering comments on all submissions. Please do not take my lack of response to your story personally; I mean no disrespect, nor is it intended as an invalidation of what you have endured. Indeed, I am honoured that you have chosen to post what has happened to you on my site. Whenever time permits, I will endeavour to provide supportive and validating replies. I hope you and my other visitors will continue to offer words of support and encouragement to the many contributors who have courageously shared of themselves through this site. I thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

Darlene Barriere
Violence & Abuse Prevention Educator
Author: On My Own Terms, A Memoir

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Child Abuse Story From A

by Anonymous
(South Carolina, USA)

The first time I remember being abused I was 4 years old. My dad took me on a fishing trip for my birthday. I was turning 5 the next day. He backed his truck up to the water, and we sat there for a while. Then he got up and took my fishing pole from me. He picked me up and slid me down to the edge of the tailgate. He told me we were going to play a game and it was a secret Mommy couldn’t know. He pulled my panties off and I squirmed away from him. He jerked me back down on to the truck and told me I needed to be a good girl for Daddy, and that he wanted to show me just how much he loved me. I didn’t really understand what was going on. I just felt like something was very wrong.

He started touching me. He unzipped his pants and made me touch him. He made me put his thing in my mouth. He grabbed my head when I tried to pull away. I was choking and gagging. I remember something coming out my nose and I couldn’t breathe. He laughed and told me I was such a good girl. He still had a funny look on his face. He told me we were going to try something else.

He made me lay back and pulled me all the way to the bottom of the truck. My butt was hanging off the end. He put his mouth to my privates. I pushed him away, but he grabbed my arms and pulled them up above my head and told me it was his turn. He pulled my legs apart and started to push inside of me. It hurt so bad. I started to cry. He said baby don’t cry, I’m just showing you how much I love you. I tried so hard to stop crying, but it hurt and I just couldn’t. He kept pushing it in and out my whole body moved with his from the force. It seemed like it lasted forever.

When he was done, he wiped my face and held me. He told me I was such a good girl and he was so proud of me. I was very confused, but happy I had pleased him. He smiled and smiled. After that, he said we needed to clean up in the lake. The water burned, but Daddy said it was very important so nobody would know our secret. He told me that they wouldn’t understand and I would get in big trouble. We went home, and I didn’t say a word to anyone.

That was just the beginning of my abuse. It went on until I was 17 and left home. I tried telling many times, but nobody would listen. My own mom said I was a liar, and that nothing like it had ever happened. At 18 I got pregnant and came back home. I was raped for the last time when I was 21. I am now 22 years old, and struggling with every day of my life. I’m not sure of where to go or who to turn to.

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Child Abuse Story From Polly

by Polly
(Ontario, Canada)

Did anyone experience something like this? 
I am having trouble sleeping tonight, so I thought I would rant a bit about some things that are often on my mind.

My father was mentally ill for several years when I was growing up (when I was between 8-18, though he is much better now). I mean actual delusions/hallucinations. Unfortunately for me, a lot of them had to do with me. He would tell me that he could hear my thoughts and that they "weren't good" and he would sometimes snap at me even when I had been completely silent. Every mistake I made (i.e. fork slipping at dinner) to him was "designed to drive him insane" and sometimes he would make me leave the room or the kitchen because of this. I had to eat in the basement once.

He threatened to kill me once for taking a shower(?). I locked the door as quickly as possible and stayed completely quiet. I had to sit in the dark for about an hour. Sometimes I wonder what would've happened otherwise, though I realize that's morbid. (He was only physically abusive to me on a few rare occasions - i.e. once he chased me and dragged me down the stairs for making a joke he didn't like. It was an innocent joke that I can't even remember now)

Our relationship really deteriorated. I was afraid of him (who wouldn't be?) so I would just try to be as quiet as possible when around him (but how could I win? He could hear my thoughts anyways). Then he would gain my mother's sympathy by complaining about how I refused to speak to him. He would tell her I was doing it out of spite. He wouldn't even walk beside me if we had to go somewhere together...but every chance he got, he constantly criticized. I am scatterbrained, but an excellent student...yet I was convinced until very recently that I was an utter moron (I heard about how stupid and "useless" I was constantly).

His temper was so unpredictable and insane that once he barged into my room and ripped out one of my drawers, emptying its contents on my floor because I dropped a gum wrapper by accident in the kitchen.

He also used to turn off the water and electricity on me. I don't know why. Try telling your teacher THAT one when you don't have your essay done!! (I didn't tell my teacher that, I just made something up, ha.)

Probably the thing that hurts me the most is this memory: When I was 14 he was angry at me one morning before I went to school. To punish me, he took out all these X-mas presents (several years worth) that he never opened and just left them outside of my room. I think this hurt me because it shocked me to see how early his hatred began. I felt incredibly stupid because I didn't realize that he hated me that much until that moment. I have anxiety around this idea. I sometimes worry people secretly dislike me and I wonder where I got this idea from? (Even though he has on several occasions told me he doesn't care about me. Once on a family vacation, in front of my mother and sister, he told me he would be "happier if I didn't exist". Nobody said anything. But before the X-mas event, I guess I had always hoped he didn't really mean it.)

I fear X-mas every year because of this. It fills me with cold dread. Every time I think of this memory, I feel like there is a weight on my lungs. I see the memory very vividly, as if it's happening. I kind of feel nauseous and I imagine having to step over those unused presents to go to school. I remember hesitating before I stepped over them and seriously considering just shutting my door and pretending they weren't there. I think walking over them officially ended my childhood (dramatic I know, but I'm a sensitive type).

I think what would make me feel better is if my family had ever stood up for me. They DO behind closed doors. But it doesn't feel the same to me. I've heard my mother quietly pleading for him to be nicer behind closed doors, and it makes me angry...like, why couldn't you say that when that crap was going down? Whenever his anger was directed towards either of them, I stood up for them. In fact, the only time I ever swore at the man was when he was bullying my sister (I couldn't come home for about 3 days as a result, but I feel it was worth it). When I heard him call (my very intelligent) mother dumb, I told him to treat her with more respect, and then I got yelled at by BOTH of them. Hmph!!! There's the self-righteous part of my rant!

Really, I am okay I think. I have close friends whom I have always considered to be my "second family" and a very supportive partner. My life is moving in a positive direction.

But I still have these nights when I feel anxious and sad and unable to stop thinking about these memories. I suppose that's normal? During the day I usually have enough distractions (school, work, whatever it may be) but at night when it's quiet, I find myself ruminating.

I think about the idea of forgiveness. I love my father despite his flaws. I know he feels guilty for what he's done and I have no desire to see him suffer. I try to be kind to him and I genuinely enjoy spending time with him now. But it's so hard to put the past to rest. Sometimes it feels like the past must have just been a bad dream - nobody in my family ever talks about it. I wish they would because instead, I have to use the Internet to vent.

:)

I hope everyone is taking care, thanks for reading! (Long, I know.)

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Polly" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Rebbeca P

by Rebbeca P.
(Location Undisclosed)

I am a 40-year-old female who has only in the last 4 months acknowledged that I was sexually abused as a child. I had the memories, but I was hospitalised after being raped at age 18. My mother told me that one of my friends said the police said I was still a virgin, so rape had not occurred. Unfortunately, I did not question this statement, which of course also meant I must not have been sexually abused. It was only when I got in contact with a counsellor I had seen as a teenager and she reassured me that my father had been abusive and that my memories were true.

Well, what a 4 months I have had. I have gotten very sad, but I have not been able to let myself get angry yet, as anger or emotions for that matter were not allowed as a child.

My father I now believe was a pedophile. He touched and photographed me from as young as I can remember. I think I was around 7 when he penetrated me. At about age 7, he allowed and filmed others with me. The filming included doing sexual acts by myself, with other children, men and sometimes women and animals. I was often made to re-enact scenes I was made to watch of adults having sex. Once I was older, I was aware that he was being paid money for people to be allowed to do as they pleased with me.

During my teenage years, on two occasions when I defied him, he arranged for me to be raped as punishment. One of these times was the one that landed me in hospital at 18. I don't know how much my mother was aware of, but I do know she knew my father was having sex with me; but all she wanted to do was to make me say that it didn't happen.

Unfortunately, this childhood has left me with very low self image and respect. I believe this is why I ended up with a husband who was also very abusive and took pleasure in allowing and encouraging his so-called friends to rape me. It took me 16 years, but I am so happy to be able to say I am abuse free and intend on remaining that way.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Rebbeca P" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Rebecca P Part 2

by Rebecca P.
(Location Undisclosed)

I have been reading some other stories people have written to you and it has helped me, so I thought I would write more about my story (see Child abuse story from Rebbeca P) in the hope it might help someone else.

My earliest memory is not of the actual abuse but of the knowledge of it. I was 3 years old and going to kindergarten. The toilets did not have doors on them and I was too scared to go to the toilet, and would wet myself in preference. I remember knowing that bad things happened when your panties were pulled down and someone saw.

I spent most of my childhood wishing and praying that I would die. There were not many good things I remember from my childhood, all I knew was the abuse and neglect. I think this even though it sounds sad that I never got to have fun and just be a kid like other children was what made me survive. I did not know what I was missing. I thought what was happening to me was what happened to other children and it was only me who did not like it. I was told often enough that the only reason I was born or still alive was to do these things, so I believed it. I now am starting to realise that I was not responsible for what happened, that I did not do bad, that bad was done to me, but I can't often see past the "I deserved it" bit.

But there is hope.

I logically know that I didn't deserve it, but it is the feeling that I have trouble getting rid of. Reading others' stories, there is not one that my heart does not reach out to, that I don't truly believe they were mistreated and did not deserve what happened to them, so all I have to do is believe it for myself.

I was thinking about writing about times things happened and all the things that I endured, but I have changed my mind. I do not wish to upset readers, or worse give ideas to abusers. Instead, I will try to write about the effects and the feelings that occurred because of what I endured.

I was always so so lonely. I often felt like a just wanted a hug. Once, I was even so desperate, I went to my mum and hugged her. She shoved me away, saying something like, "What the hell is the matter with you? Are you a lesbian or something?"

I was always too scared to make friends because I thought I was just rotten and dirty and bad. I never felt like I belonged. I felt that there was something really wrong with me.

During the abuse I got very good and leaving my body and watching from the ceiling. With other people, my father used a name that was not mine so I pretended that name belonged to my imaginary friend and that it was her that these things happened to, not me. I spent a lot of the time in make believe. I would imagine a nice loving life for myself and then pretend the real life was the made up one.

I thank you, Darlene, and anybody who spends the time reading what I write and for allowing me to have a voice.

Note from Darlene: To my visitors, I offer my apologies if there is any confusion regarding the spelling of Rebecca's name. The first part of her story is under spelling of Rebbeca, while this Part 2 is spelled as Rebecca. Both are the same person.

Rebecca, you'll note the first paragraph of your submission is not included here. It has not been deleted; rather, I've taken the liberty of moving it to the comment section of your first story, as I felt it would flow better on that page. Feel free to leave additional comments there, or on the comment section of this page. While I cannot actually reply to all comments (there are thousands on this site), rest assured I read every single one of them.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Rebecca P Part 2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.


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Child Abuse Story From Simply Me

by Kel
(Utah, USA)

I am just me and I am very very proud of that fact. I'm a 14-year-old girl (so close to 15) who loves to read, hang out with my friends, surf the net, play video games, babysit, and be me! I am not a survivor of child abuse. It happened, and I hated it, but I choose to be me and not a survivor. I will not let that be me.

I was maybe seven when it happened...I don't really remember when it started. My brother molested me for about five years, so the details aren't all there.

I am the oldest girl out of a six kids. The next girl wasn't born until I was five, so I grew up with boys. We would always make up pretend lives and roles, like we were soldiers or something else that most girls my age weren't interested in. I loved playing with my older brothers and my younger one. It was fun.

When I was in first-grade, it stopped being so fun. My oldest brother, who was probably about 11 at the time, led me away from the other two, telling me that I had to be quiet because we were on a secret mission. We ended up in the bathroom, where he locked the door. I didn't think anything of it at first. Nothing happened the first few times, except him staring at me with a really weird expression.

About maybe the fifth or sixth time, he told me to get in the bathtub and close the curtains. I did not really understand. I stood there for a few minutes, then I felt someone come up behind me and put a hand up my shirt, pulling it off. I tried to scream, but he put his other hand over my mouth and hushed me. He turned me to face him, pinning me against the wall. I don't think he took off any of his clothes that time. All he did was kiss me and rub my chest.

Steadily, he would remove more clothing. Next were my pants, then my underwear, then his shirt, his pants, then finally there was no clothing between us.

The last time he did anything in the bathroom was the first time I saw his penis. I had seen my younger brothers' because we used to have to take baths together, to save time and water, and I had seen a neighbor's (he was 13) because he thought it was funny to flash me every time he saw me. It might have gotten to full-blown sex then, but I blocked most of it and can't remember much.

It never happened in the bathroom again, but every night, he would come in my room naked and make me play with his penis. He'd pinch my private parts and laughed when I cried out in pain. This continued until the summer before sixth grade. After that, he stopped and never said or did anything like that to me again.

I got over it for the most part. I can still laugh and smile. I never got depressed. I didn't need a therapist or counsellor to get stable. I stabilized myself and I'm pretty happy.

But notice I said "for the most part." There is still a part of me that won't let go. The part that gives me nightmares, the part that makes me sick to be touched for too long, the part that gives me a warning signal when a guy get's too close. The part that makes me human.

I apologize to you if you classify yourself as a survivor of abuse, but I honestly don't think that there is such a thing as a survivor of abuse. Abuse takes something away from everyone who has dealt with it. IT kills your heart and then leaves you a shell. Some people don't get over this, but it is possible to wake your heart up and move on, even if it is only a tiny itty bit, as long as you move on you'll be okay.

I think that because of what happened to me I am not the same girl I was before, during, or right after the abuse. I think that I was a different person during each stage. First an outgoing little girl who loved to talk, then a shy awkward kid, then a confused pre-teen with a mixed idea about sex, boys, and family. Now I'm simply me: a shy, read-aholic teenage girl who does horrible in school, can't stand to be touched by people I don't trust. A teen who can't wait to start a career in child care and raise a family. That's me now. A little of each person is still in me. I am really loud with friends. I'm shy around other kids my age. I don't really know how to feel about sex, my brother, and boys.

If you're reading this, thank you. Only my closest friends know about this, and I guess I did this because it feels good letting it out and telling my story.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Simply Me" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Layla

by Layla
(USA)

When I was 5 my parents got divorced (my mom died a week later, strangely enough) and I went to live with my dad. I had always been big for my age and was told that I was a fat ugly pig and he was the only one that would ever love me. For the next 8 years he would hit, punch, kick, and practically enslave me. I went to school, but he would force me to wear thick long clothing to hide the bruises.

During gym I would go into the bathroom in the girl's locker room to get changed so that I wouldn't die (he told me if I told on him he would kill me). When I got my period it got worse. He would rape me then turn on the stove and put my arms and hands over it until I screamed. Once he made me get naked, stand in his bedroom while he knifed my breasts and under area. The scariest part was that he was smiling the whole time.

School just got worse. I was so thin that the kids called me anorexic, and I started to stuff my pants so that they wouldn't get blood on them or fall down. My grades got so low that they put me in special education, but I still failed terribly. When I turned 13 I just gave up. I was so low that my notes in school consisted of curse words: "I hate my life" and other derogatory terms about my life, my dad, and myself.

One day, the teacher was passing by and he saw them, so he sent me to the office. I trusted the principal, but was scared stiff to tell her anything. Two hours later when school ended, she let me out of her office but told me that if I wanted to talk she would listen. That day I decided to prove that I was being abused so I didn't go on the bus. I went into the bathroom and stripped down to my last layer of clothing (a t-shirt and shorts). I didn't want to startle the principal so I stuck my head in and told her I wanted to talk. She looked at me with such a caring look that I broke down and told her everything. She called Child Services, and that's the reason I'm still alive.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Layla" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Jason

by Jason M
(Forest Park, Illinois, USA)

I feel like other adults knew I had been abused and they used it to their advantage. Whenever I would hear about another kid at school getting spanked I would wonder how it was any different than my stepfather beating me every day after school. And because I thought about that, I came to the conclusion that I would continue to be beaten for the rest of my life. There was never much communication between my stepfather and me, so him beating me was unpredictable. I couldn't make any sense of it. I thought he was crazy. This is getting hard to write. When I would wait until my mother got home from work before going home he would sit on the couch and stare at me in an insane way. He was staring at me, and I think he was furious that I didn't come home that day and give him the opportunity to beat me.

On another occasion my mom, me, my sister, and my stepfather were all at home in the same part of the house. Sometimes it seemed as if he would become a disciplinarian and it seemed like he was overseeing the worst children in the world. This occasion was one of those times. He started an argument with my sister about some ridiculous thing and he then dragged her like she weighed nothing across the floor into the bathroom and slammed the door. He did it like it was totally justified. It was the scariest time in my life. I was so afraid. I couldn't think about what was going on. I don't remember any noise coming from the bathroom, but my sister was crying and screaming and then it was quiet. My mother wasn't perfect but I didn't know why she didn't stop him. I thought he was going to kill my sister and me. Later on that day or possibly right after, he let her out of the bathroom. She yelled hysterically to my mother that she said he couldn't touch her. I thought, does she mean that my mother had told him to beat me that way.

I don't think that was the end of him beating me. My mom saw him drag my sister across the floor like an object and she never confronted him or said it was wrong to my sister. She never saw him beating me regularly, but she saw him beating my sister that day and he still lived in our house for a long time after that. The only time she ever had him arrested was when he hit her. Because of that I thought him abusing us was accepted and my life belonged to him. He manipulated me to think I belonged to him and that I should follow the way he lived his life.

I had a girlfriend that once told me that I frightened her. She told me about a friend she had and that her boyfriend was hitting her. She said she thought I could become an abusive man. When she told me this, I thought she knew about what had happened to me when I was a kid and that she was trying to control me. This goes back to me thinking that adults knew that I was abused and used it to control me.

I saw my stepfather when I was maybe 21 and my blood poured out of my body. I hadn't seen him in years. He didn't threaten me and he didn't seem to intentionally try to scare me. But I felt like I was 10 years old, and even though I knew I was older, I knew he could hurt me all over again if he wanted to.

I know have choices in life, but at times I think I don't have any control of what happens and the things I do. I considered suicide to avoid hurting anyone, but more just so I could stop being hurt. I don't know what to do. Life is so hard.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jason" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Jason Part 4

by Jason
(Illinois, USA)

My stepfather molested my sister. I used to hate to see it but I was grateful that it wasn't happening to me. He used to beat me. he was so angry at me. He is the reason I am afraid of people to this day. My mom knew he was molesting my sister but our life was awful before that. It was just a change. Things didn't get worse. It was more of the same. He would beat me because he could. He hit me in front of my mom once and she totally ignored it. I was so scared of him. I never went home before my mom got home because he wouldn't hit me when she was there. He only hit me the one time whne she was there. My friend grew to hate me because I would never leave his house. He must've betaen me everyday for awhile until I started coming home late. I can't get rid of this feeling. Why would he do that to me? I didn't do anyhting to him. He started beating me as soon as he moved in. People look at me and they know what happened. I was nine years old when he started beating me. I now know that he sexually abused me too. Things were missing from my room but he was never in my room when I was awake. He had to go in there when i was asleep. He was touching me on my buttocks when we were playing basketball and said something very nasty. It was something I'd heard before but I didn't realize it. I know he molested me. Just thinking back to him touching me that one time gives me a feeling that he had been touching me while I was asleep. I woke up and my anus was sore in the morning. It hurt really bad. I told my mom and she said why? She said why would it hurt? I think she knew. There is no other way it would hurt unless he was touching me. I'm 26 yeras old and i live with my mom. I don't have a job and i dropped out of highschool. I'll never be able to survive on my own. Just please don't hurt children. I couldn't do anything to save myself and be safe. I don't think I can ever get over what happened.

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Note from Darlene: If I have not left a comment on your story, please understand that it is not personal; it's just that my hectic schedule no longer permits me to do so.

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Child Abuse Story From Jason Part 3

by Jason M
(Forest Park, Illinois, USA)

I want to disclose something that weighs on me very heavily. That is the abuse I received from school administrators and law enforcement in my hometown. Because of my neglectful and abusive home life I had to repress other memories to cope with my life.

Systematically I was forced to drop out of school by neglectful teachers and dishonest school administrators that lied about my academic performance. Throughout my school years I was labeled as gifted although I was failing classes all the time.

My physical abuse was apparent at school and teachers did nothing. My fifth grade teacher saw that I wasn't able to sit down due to being beaten by my stepfather and he did nothing. Since when is it the child's responsibility to report abuse at the age of ten? I was asked in an insincere way if everything was alright at home and I gave no answer.

MY MOTHER WAS TOLD THAT MY DEPRESSION WAS DISRUPTING OTHER CHILDREN AND THAT I SHOULD BE PUNISHED FOR NOT INTERACTING WITH THEM. I was pushed along through school and I learned nothing. I was put in gifted classes to make sure that I would fail. When I got to high school I had no understanding of any classes. Again I was called disruptive because of my depression. I was treated as a troublemaker and singled out every day. I was a white male at a school that was one hundred percent black. I was threatened by students and I was threatened by a teacher.

I want to add the abuse by police officers. On one occasion my mother was being beaten by my stepfather and I was hit. My mother comes out of her room and tells me to call the police. When the police arrive my mother denies telling me to call them. It was obvious that there was abuse at our house. The police officers tell me that calling the police is only for serious situations. The one police officer yelled at me, "...as a f**king child to not call the police if it wasn't an emergency." When I called them I told them my mother was being beaten. Is that a joke? Does that seem like something a child would joke about?

Later in life I was arrested for something. A police officer told me that he knew that I had an abusive stepfather and that it didn't matter. They had known all along. Why this weighs on me is that I see horrible things happen and I know these people will never be brought to justice. There will never be any justice for what happened to me.

All of these things happened to me. I have lied to myself and I have lied to other people to try to salvage some form of life for myself.

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Child Abuse Story From Rose

by Rosella
(Pensacola, Florida, USA)

I was not the one abused, but it was my niece. Here is the story very brief. I grew up with a brother and a sister, and I was the oldest. My mother has always favored my sister which is the middle child. She always has helped my sister but when it came to me I was left to fend for myself.

My mother suffered a stroke about five years ago and now I am here living with her and taking care of her. My sister has stolen from my mother (her social security check) and has taken from everyone in the family. I'm just trying to give a little background to bring you all up to the present.

Last week, my sister was fussing with my niece about something I consider minor. Anyway, my sister took an iron bedpost and beat my niece in the face, on her arms and hands. Then she took my niece and dropped her off with all her clothes over here at my mother's house. My mother has a tiny three bedroom, and my niece is now sleeping on the couch. When I saw my niece she had all kinds of bruises on her hand, face, and arms. When her dad found out he went to the police with his daughter to report my sister. My niece texted me and said that she was scared. I told her do you need me to come down there and sit with you. She said yes. When she finally gave her story, my sister ended up going to jail for battery because my neice is 18 years old and considered an adult. To make a long story short, she ended up dropping the charges on her mother, and now my mother and sister are mad at me, thinking I manipulated my niece into putting her mother in jail. They actually were talking about putting a lawsuit on me. My mother has not even spoken about the fact that my sister beat her child with a bed post! Now my sister is not speaking to me and my mother is not really talking to me. That's my story. I am 43 and my sister is 40.

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Child Abuse Story From Nancy3

by Nancy
(USA)

Sometimes I wonder if my story is as bad as others. My parents would downplay it and laugh when I reported them. I was beaten with a 'paddle', a wooden spoon, and a belt. I was whipped into a corner, pleading. At 11, my stepfather took me over his knee and paddled me. My mother told me I was "a disgrace" and "a witch" and told my sisters and brother that I was "a border" and not part of the family. My grandfather touched me when I was around 9. My behavioral issues started then, but I was just blamed for them. My mother told me she hated me and she never hugged me. She forced my father's family out of my life (we are together again). I was told over and over that I wasn't stupid, just dumb and that my parents 'loved me but did not like me'. They would say that love was a mountain and that I was chipping away at it.

I was promiscuous at school, often going in the bathroom and stripping, then flashing other girls. I touched myself dramatically in class and allowed boys and men to feel me all the time. I was put into my first mental hospital when I was 14, and then another right after. I was abused in both, mostly the first one though where two separate grown men showed interest in me. There was no sexual contact but there was 'dating'. I continued the abuse on my own by dating abusive men and becoming an alcoholic and a drug addict.

I am doing well now. I am clean and sober and in a healthy same-sex relationship. I am still in therapy, and probably will be for a long time.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Nancy3" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Angelina

by Angelina
(Beaumont, California, USA)

My aunt that took care of me married an abusive husband: 
NO! I yelled as I tried to grab his wrists, but he quickly overpowered me. I fell to the ground. As determined as a 5-year-old girl could possibly be, I didn't give up and went at him again, thinking I would push him, but that quickly changed when I went to go lunge at him. He picked up a pan and swung hard. I slid across the floor and didn't move. He came to my side and started kicking me in the ribs and stomping on me like a welcome mat. He reached for the pan and hit it against my head...things faded to black.

I woke up late at night and went to get off my bed, but my legs suddenly got a sharp pain in them and collapsed underneath me. I fell and made a loud thud noise as Ruthie rushed in only seconds prior to my fall. I looked up to her and saw the damage that he had done to her face. I looked scared and she could see it in my eyes. I touched the bruises and blood on her forehead. She flinched in pain. She said nothing as she tried to get me back to bed. Suddenly a huge hand came from the darkness and we both screamed. It was Rick. He squeezed Ruthie's arm and she put me down quickly. He said in a harsh, dark voice, "Let her get back in her bed by herself, she's done it before." Ruthie looked in my eyes and I motioned my head to leave me here. She didn't argue with him for my sake and got up slowly and walked away. I used what was left of my strength to try in get in my bed. It really hurt and I figured my muscles were probably just tight and sore. I couldn't get in my bed and just said to myself that I was just going to have to sleep on my floor...and with that I drifted off.

Next morning

I woke up to a sharp pain in my stomach and looked up. Rick must have kicked me. "Hey brat, we're going to an art show. Get dressed," he said. I did as fast as I could, but that wasn't enough for him. He slapped me and sneered, "Could you go any slower?"

Back then I was only a small child when Rick and Ruthie got married. A few years later is when he started abusing Ruthie. I never knew better and was a very stubborn and strong-headed child that thought I could do anything. When he slapped and hit Ruthie I tried to end it. I'd do anything to stop him from hurting Ruthie because she gave everything she could. I'd do everything in my power to stop him. I'd bite, push, hit, or even try to slap him. It didn't do anything but make him angrier. And then he'd take it out on Ruthie, not me.

After a couple more years he'd start to push me around, until one day he beat me so bad and left me sprawled on the floor. From then on he abused you and you fought back. Ruthie was never the same and I blamed myself because when Rick hit her you'd hit him, but you made it worse and he took the anger out on her.

At night when the fights first started I couldn't fall asleep because of the yelling and screaming, but after awhile I got so used to the loudness, I'd wait for the argument, then the yelling and screaming and it put me to sleep...like an every-night lullaby.

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Child Abuse Story From A Little Mouse

by A Little Mouse
(USA)

I found your site by accident and I thought, finally I can tell someone about the abuse that continues to play through my mind over and over and over, and has for over 20 years. I wrote a long detailed post about what happened, then I deleted it. I still can't tell anyone a detailed story. I can tell a more generic one.

My dad started raping me when I was 14 and continued until I ran away when I was 17. There were times he was brutal and hurt me badly. He did some permanent damage to my body. But there were other times he was gentle and it felt good. I feel so guilty that sometimes I liked it and wanted it. I still feel confused by my emotions. I'm 39 years old and still think about it and have dreams that relive it.

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Child Abuse Story From Michelle2

by Michelle E.
(Whiteman Air Force Base, Missouri, USA)

Sexually Abused as a Child: 
I was sexually abused as a child. I was only 7 or 8, I don't remember. I do remember who did it and where...I have suffered for 30 years with this and finally "opened a shut door". I thought it was my fault. For 30 years I thought that I did something to provoke my abusers-they were my babysitters' sons...

They gave me candy and treats to begin with, and it started with kissing and led to being sexually abused. They were in high school and I was only in the 1st grade. To this day I remember their names and see their faces.

I didn't realize the impact that this "secret" has had on my life. I became promiscuous in high school, and have suffered self-esteem issues to this day. I have been battling bulimia for 15 years. I have lost a husband to suicide, a child to SIDS, remarried an emotional and physical abuser, and lost my son to my sister. I feel like my life is out of control.

I just started counseling, and still have a hard time believing that this wasn't my fault. I have a daughter who is 9, and I have never let her stay with a babysitter. She lives with me. Without her I would be lost. I have so many voices in my head always telling me what a horrible person I am. I am hoping that by connecting with someone or some group I can hopefully get on with my life. I have never shared my experiences with anyone until now. I am ashamed. I am embarrassed. And I am lost.

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Child Abuse Story From Unknown

by Name Undisclosed
(Location Undisclosed)

I am sixteen years old. When I was eight I was left in the care of two uncles. I thought I could trust them. They touched me in places a child should never be touched. Told me I could yell and scream all I wanted to. That no one was going to hear me. I cry every night wishing that it never happened. Sometimes I thought it was my fault that they hurt me in that way. But as I got older I came to realize that they were just sick. No child should ever have to go through that. Somebody needs to put a stop to all the abuse going around. For me it's too late. It's been too long so I don't have the physical evidence. So I have to deal with the pain of knowing that they are probably out there doing it to someone else.

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Child Abuse Story From Amanda

by Amanda
(Flagstaff, Arizona, USA)

My Memories: 
I am now 24 and probably realized for the first time that my childhood was different when I looked back to the earliest memory I had of my childhood.

My earliest memory explains a lot. I was about 4 years old and was living in Minnesota....my older sister and I were sleeping in our room and I remember hearing the door open, two people came in and didn't say anything or even turn the lights off. They didn't have to I guess because I knew it was my parents. I was on the lower bunk so they went for me first I had not comprehended what was going on but I do remember getting hit that first time, the pain of the belt buckle hitting my back is something I will never forget. All I could do was cry and scream "What?" over and over again. At this time my sister had woken up but my dad was standing by the ladder for the top bunk so she couldn't run and get away. She was screaming hysterically. When they were finished with me, it was her turn. She had pressed herself against the back wall so it would be harder to hit her. My parents tried to grab for her and pull her closer, and while doing that they would let the belt buckle whip around to try to strike any possible part of her. She would kick at them but was only able to fend them off for so long. I didn't do anything to help her. All I could do was lay in my bed and sob, trying to not make any noise thinking they would forget I was there.....I hated myself for a long time for that

That night was never spoken about again...to this day I don't know what we did, but that was unfortunately just the first in what would become a terrifying routine in my life. It was always my mother, I am convinced my father was always too scared to stand up to her so he would either hold us down or just sit in the other room and ignore us. I distinctly remember a time when my mother was beating me because I hadn't done a good enough job with my chores. She had me on the ground and was beating me with her fists, then she ripped off all of my clothes and made me redo my chores naked in front of my father....I was in the 6th grade. I remember looking at him hoping he would help me but nothing was ever done.

I always believed my mother suffered from OCD or something like that....everything always needed to be perfect and she would freak out if it wasn't. Ever since an early age my sister and I would do chores around the house my mother was raised that way where the kids did the work so that is how she raised us. I know we tried but being in the second grade and having the responsibility of mopping, vacuuming, doing dishes and cooking meals was hard to live up to. Those were usually the reasons we would be beaten, nothing was ever good enough. I remember having to wake up at five in the morning and get my parents breakfast ready and making sure that we made their lunch the night before. We would make their coffee put it in the thermos, and get all of their things ready and laid out on the dining table so my parents could grab them on their way out the door. We would then go and make my parents bed, collect their laundry and start some wash, we would then have to get ourselves and our little brother ready for school. We had a list of chores we had to accomplish before we left for school and then my brother would get the bus for elementary school and my sister and I would start our walk to middle school around 7:30. That was our daily routine.

On good days we would get home, do homework, finish chores, and get dinner ready before our parents came home.....but we had only few good days. On the walk home from school we would turn a corner and you could see our house down the street about 5 houses down. Our world would crumble when we would see my mom's car in the driveway. We would stop walking and freeze in horror because we knew she would not be in a good mood. The walk up to our house would heighten the pains in our stomach and any joy and happiness we had from that day would be gone. Walking into the house we would see piles on the house made up of things that were not cleaned or put away properly. Our rooms would be trashed, homework would be ripped up, dolls or items we had kept were usually destroyed.

We would be yelled at and told we were stupid, worthless, lazy, and ungrateful. She would threaten to take our animal and gut them in the backyard with a kitchen knife because we were too irresponsible. I particularly remember one day I was getting ready for school and it was my job to empty the container from my little brother toilet trainer in my parents bathroom. I had forgotten to do it that morning. My mother began to scream at me and had trapped me in the corner of the bathroom and poured the container of my brother urine over my head and would not let me shower or change before school. She had also tried to drown my once by holding my head in a bucket filled with pine sol and water because I was not scrubbing the kitchen floor well enough. I think she made sure to do stuff like that just with me because I had always had a fear of water growing up and this was the best way to teach me a lesson. When I was about 15 she had kicked me out of the house for the night but I had nowhere to go so I sat on the front porch and she would walk past me and call me names and threaten me and say I was trespassing and she would chase me away with a knife but I would always come back, I was too stupid and scared of what would happen to me if I ever tried to get actual help. The night would usually end with me pleading to stay in the house begging them and saying I would be good from now on. One night she said that they wanted to drop me off in a foster home so I they would finally be rid of me. I begged them to let me go and find people who wouldn't hurt me and would help me and that I could find people to love me, My moms response was one that defined my childhood....she looked right at me and said that no one would want me to I had to stay with them because it was the only choice.

I had opportunities to tell teachers, friends, doctors and police, but I never did. I was always scared of what life would be like without my mom, of what would happen because no one would want me. When I had gotten older I had started standing up for my self, she would yell and threaten to hit me and I would beg her to hit me so I would have a reason to hit her back. I could never get the strength of my own to just hit her with what I felt was no cause. I could never hit someone for no reason. A lot of anger built up inside of my that I still deal with today and I take it out on myself I punch brick walls non stop and only quit when I cant feel my hands anymore because they are so swollen. I know it's her I should be mad at and hate, but all I can do is hurt myself. The beatings finally ended when I moved 4 hours away for college. At that point I guess my mom had started getting help and talking to someone but I had never known she was seeing someone for her problem. One day she came to me crying, asking me to forgive her and I sad yes and let her hug me knowing that I could never forgive her but I didn't want to hurt her.

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Child Abuse Story From Ariana

by Ariana
(USA)

When I was younger my parents went through a divorce. I was about 2 years old when it happened. My mom started dating a guy. I don't really remember what I thought of him at first. He was an alcoholic. My mom worked the night shift at a treatment center, so me and my older brother were left alone with him.

I remember coloring when the guy turned on a scary tv show Goosebumps, are you afraid of the dark? I remember asking him to change the channel but he didn't, instead he sat me between his legs and forced me to watch the show. To this day, being 18, I still cannot watch horror movies. I am not sure if this is from him or not.

Another time, I remember being half asleep half awake, when he came into my room smelling like booze, and he laid on top of me. After that I don't remember what happened.

I would see my dad on the weekends, and one time, I was giving the guy a hug and kiss goodbye. He stuck his tongue in my mouth...I was 4 years old.

Whenever I would color or anything and get marker or paint on my hands, he would spank me and I would be sat in a corner for a long time. I never told anyone till I was 13, and I told my mom. I'm not sure if she believed me or not. She never married him. She married someone who is very nice to me instead. I told my real dad, and now he feels guilty because he suspected that there was something going on, but never asked me about it. He tells me he remembers me clinging to his leg when he would walk me up the stairs to my mom's house.

To this day when I see this guy I get the chills. I am actually now dating a relative of his. My boyfriend is his nephew. He knows what happened. He doesn't ever want to see the guy again. No one talks to the guy that abused me, but people ask me if I remember him. I just say yes. I don't want his family to judge him for what he did to me.

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Child Abuse Story From Susan1

by Susan
(Location Undisclosed)

I'm now 19 years old. I was abused by my Aunt Jackie what seems like my whole life. I believe it all started when I was a toddler, though my first memory of abuse occurred when I was four. I remember her saying something like, "Oh, you're four and I'm fourteen". Though I didn't know my numbers then, the phrase somehow stuck with me.

We went to our grandparents' often, and Jackie, the youngest of my father's sisters and the last one at home, was always there. She was slender and kind of pretty, but the only thing important to me was how sweet and affectionate she was to me--a far cry from how I was treated at home, with my very strict father and my nervous, over-wrought mother.

Aunt Jackie could play the piano, and kept an electric keyboard in her bedroom. Like all children, I loved to try and play; and this often landed me in her lap, with me playing the keys and her playing with me. Though I learned to be ashamed of it later, I must admit that I almost always looked forward to my time alone with Aunt Jackie. I believe this fact is the hardest, most shameful thing I've tried to overcome: How I could have enjoyed her affection so much at the time. I think if she had been physically abusive as well, perhaps I would have made the connection--to have understood that I was being victimized. But Aunt Jackie was always gentle and sweet with her affection.

We lived a good distance away in those early years, so I would assume the encounters were probably infrequent; but in later years, when we moved just down the street, Jackie was always around, manipulating my time until she could get me alone. Unfortunately, I was most often willing and eager to cooperate. I loved her so. There were walks in the woods, Drive-in dates; and fruitless lessons on her bedroom piano. While I don't think it is important to reveal what she specifically did to me, it would always culminate with both of us completely naked; there were deep kisses, endless fondling, and some oral sex on her part. But Jackie never hurt me or forced me. She would make up games for us to play, like me being a tiny baby nursing and fondling her breasts as she fondled me.

My last encounter with her was when I was thirteen. We were parked in her car and she could tell how uncomfortable I was with what she was doing. Though I was a teenager, I still did not know the facts of life and I was so confused. Afterward, and from then on, I would ignore her and refuse to be alone with her. This aloofness later turned into disgust, and later hate. Teachers at school told us that we should tell when we are being abused. But, how do you come out and admit that your whole life had been one encounter after another? Worst of all, how do you justify the disgusting fact that you were a willing (and often a very enthusiastic) victim in a gay affair. Yuck!

The scars from my preteen years are deep. Though I did turn out pretty (so I'm told), my shyness and timidness have led me into a coward's life--at least as far as personal relationships go. I am still a virgin, and so screwed up I don't even know if I'm "straight" or not. Though I do hate Aunt Jackie, I do miss her affection; and believe me, admitting this is so very hard. I want this affection back so badly that I worry I might resort to becoming just like her. I am just too ashamed to get help or confide in someone, too scared to tell my parents (with whom I still live).

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Susan1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Alyssa For My Mother

by Alyssa
(Palatka, Florida, USA)

I am 12 and a girl. I do not get abused. I am about to tell my mother's story.

She grew up in Oregon in the Wallamet Valley. My mom has 1 older brother, 2 older sisters, and 1 younger sister. Her dad was a pilot and rarely home.

My mom does not remember a time when her mother was not beating her. She was beaten with wire hangers, dragged up and down the stairs by her hair, and her head was smashed up against the wall. She refers to her mom as evil. We barely ever talk about it. She does not mind talking about it, I just feel uncomfortable talking about it.

Once she remembers being pretty far away from her house and hearing her sister screaming from her mom's beatings.

I recently told my friends that my mother was beaten as a kid. They thought I was lying because my mom is as normal as can be. She has gotten over the fact that her mom beat her.

Just 3 weeks ago we went back to Oregon to visit her brother. He has a wife and 2 kids. He lives a couple miles away from his mom's house. We do not go visit her mom because she was "Kicked out of that family" along with my Uncle and Aunt. The last time we visited her mom was 3-4 years ago.(We do not keep in touch with her sisters because they have mental issues like their mom.)

My mom has been married for 28 years to my dad and has five kids of which I am the second youngest. We live in Florida now.

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Child Abuse Story From Jessica6

by Jessica
(Fairfax Station, Virginia, USA)

Abused as a Child: 
I was molested for many years as a small child, at the hands of a man that married my mom when I was 5 and adopted me when I was 6. He began molesting when I was 8 and it didn't stop till I was 12. I finally told someone at my church and they told my mother. She threw him out of the house that day, and spent the next year making sure I was ok, and that he was as far away from me as he could be. He was arrested that day, but he only served 3 months in jail...the 3 months that he was awaiting trial. Other than that, he is re-married to a woman who knows what he did, but married him anyway, even though she had 2 daughters, and then they had one together. He is a sick man and he will never be "better." But I am!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jessica6 can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Nancy

by Nancy M G
(Edmonton, Alberta, Canada)

I was about 4 in kindergarten when my oldest brother, about 14, sexually abused several times. He would pull up my shirt, pull down my pants and he would make me put my mouth on his privates. He never stopped till I was 4 and a half and he moved out on Feb. 1st. But he still comes and visits and we're in the very same house he abused me in and I'm sleeping in the very same room he abused me in and that's why I get mad really easily. I don't trust anyone. I haven't told anyone about it because I don't got the nerve. I'm ten now and I still remember it, and I really wanna tell my mom but I'm too afraid.

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Child Abuse Story From Josie

by Josie K.
(West Plains, Missouri, USA)

When I awakened, I had several tubes and monitors attached to me. I was a scared little girl of only eleven. A doctor came in and I asked him where my mommy was. He told me she couldn't be there, that my grandparents would be coming to take me home. My grandparents arrived, and I asked them when I would see my mom. Grandma said not for a very long time, and I cried at the thought of not seeing my mommy. I could not remember what had happened.

My mother had been physically abusing me since I was six, when my younger brother passed away. She said it was my fault and I had to pay. I just thought it was her way of grieving. So I let it go on without telling anyone. Her favorite item was the belt, and it was used daily on me.

On that crisp autumn day, my mom told me that she would end our pain that we felt for my dead brother. She grabbed the sharpest kitchen knife she owned and slit my throat quite deeply. I screamed at her to not. Then she did it to herself. The neighbor heard me scream and came rushing over to find us covered in blood. She called 911. I survived, but my mother was pronounced dead.

I still have the scar from the knife cut. Every time I get my hands on a knife, I reopen the scar until my husband stops me. He knows I hurt, but he doesn't know how badly. I want my life to end every now and then, so I can see my mom. My husband holds me tight whenever I feel this way and assures me I need to live for him and for my future twins, who will be due in two months. I plan to raise them with loving care and let them know Mommy won't do anything to hurt them or herself.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Josie" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Aurelia

by Aurelia
(USA)

My father was a tyrant in our house. Everyone listened to him and everyone was afraid of him, including my mother, although she never wanted to admit to it. I remember being beaten at 5 years old for not sharing food and toys with my younger brother. My father locked me in my room all day and told me and my mother I wasn't allowed to eat that day and then left to work. My mother didn't go behind his back and feed me. Then at dinner, he made me watch as the rest of them ate dinner.

As I got older things got worse. I was forbidden from crying ever, so when I would get hurt as I child I tried desperately not to cry, but when I got caught once for crying, my father hit me. As I got older and started using the computer more, I would use chat rooms and other things popular in the 90's to speak to friends on. He caught me once and threatened to beat me if he found out I was talking to boys. By this time, I had begun to notice that maybe this wasn't right, that maybe he and my mother were wrong. My mother wouldn't stop him from doing anything. I began to notice my mother didn't care when I sat on the small sofa next to him in his office and the sofa slid and he barked at me to get off. While his co-worker was still in the office I told him sorry, and to relax. After his co-worker left, he slammed me against his desk and yelled at me that I was making him look stupid in front of co-workers and friends. I asked her why she never stood up for me. She told me that he's my father, he can do want he wants and that she wasn't going to start a fight with him for no reason. He also never wanted to spend any time with me, although I would ask him always to go to coffee or dinner or something to maybe save our relationship. No, he preferred going out with his 20-year-old co-worker.

I worked with my father from 16 years old. He often showed me affection there, in front of his employees. There wasn't much between us at home, unless he was angry at me. At this age I was also very depressed and often thought of suicide, and attempted many times over the span of 3 years. I also couldn't control my anger. I would snap at my brothers, my mother and other people for the little things.

When I went to college I had a few scholarships and wanted to go out of state. Eventually, I left and went back barely every 3 months. My father was pleased with me, truly.

After I graduated I went to work. I haven't seen either of my parents since I graduated college. I saw them at my wedding and they asked why I never went home anymore. They think I've forgotten the emotional and physical abuse I suffered. I haven't spoken to my father in 2 years. My brothers told me he's been trying to get in contact and doesn't know why I won't speak to him. After my brother's told him what I believe, he denied ever hurting me and that everything he did I deserved, and it was my fault. He thinks I should have been afraid of him as a child.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Aurelia" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Pokie

by Pokie
(Moulton, Alabama, USA)

I was babysitting for my brother, while his wife was in the hospital. I was fourteen years old at the time. One night after I had gotten the kids to bed, I fell asleep on the sofa. My brother came home drunk after being out with his friends. I was awakened by a pair of hands on my breasts. I screamed and he put his hand over my mouth and told me to shut up before I woke up the kids. He said, "I have to have some %&SS?! I haven't had any in two weeks." He forced himself on me while I begged him not to. I couldn't get through his alcohol-soaked brain. I think he thought I was his wife, I'm not sure. After it was over, I cried for hours. My brother had always been abusive to me and my sisters and we were afraid of him.

I heard him get up the next morning. I got up and told him I was leaving. He said, "You ain't going no where. I have to go to work." After he left, I took the children down the road to our house. I told my mother I was sick and couldn't watch the kids that day. She made me do it anyway. My mother loved her drugs too much to care about anyone but herself.

Two months later, I discovered I was pregnant. I was a virgin when my brother raped me. Hell broke loose when my mother found out! I lied and told her the baby belonged to a boy at school. I gave her the first name I thought of. She got on the phone and called the parents of this boy and told them she wanted money for support. I felt bad for him, but I knew if I told her it was her son, my brother, (not a stepbrother) that had did this to me, she would hurt me physically in a bad way. When my brother found out I was pregnant, he called me a whore and a slut, and wanted to know who the little s.o.b was that I screwed. Isn't that ironic? I had problems with the pregnancy and was ill on regular basis. When the time came to give birth to my brother's baby, I almost died. I never got to see that baby. She was born with an enlarged head, no feet and no hands. I stayed in the hospital for two weeks. My mother had her buried in a box in our family cemetery. When I recovered, I went out to the cemetery. I gave her a name and had an emotional breakdown in the cemetery. I was put in the psychological wing at the hospital where I finally told someone about my ordeal with my brother and my mother. This all took place back in 1974, when this sort of incestuous abuse wasn't talked about or thought of.

When I turned sixteen, I ran away from home. I married the first person who asked me. For twenty years my life was: married-divorced, married-divorced. I couldn't have a normal relationship with anyone. Since my brother raped me, I feel so dirty and haven't been able to ever feel clean. I have a lot of hatred for my mother and brother. I will never be able to forgive them. Today, I am married to husband number seven. I have three children of my own. They all have different fathers. I later found out my brother molested my older sister and she is keeping it a secret. She's very much afraid of him. As for me, I am far, far, away from them.

I am forty-eight years old now and I kick myself for not exposing that animal. But I was just a child and afraid. I only want the worst for him. I'm writing this story for Brandy, the little angel who was the real victim of incest.

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Child Abuse Story From Jessica G

by Jessica G
(New York, USA)

After reading some of the other stories, I felt compelled to write my own story; for what, I am not sure. I do not have to deal with the abuse anymore, mostly in part, because of a restraining order against my father. It prevents any physical, emotional, or verbal abuse for one year, and by that time, I will be out of the house, thankfully to college, which I have been waiting for for years.

I can not complain about my life. I’ve never had to experience poverty; I always had food to eat, clothes on my back, and more than enough toys. My parents never divorced, and everyone was healthy. From the outside, everything seemed perfect. But however perfect anything appears, there is always something hidden in its closet.

Growing up, I was sheltered from my family’s skeletons. The inner turmoil that shook the foundations of my family called my attention, for one can never overlook such things, but it never consumed me.

My parent’s often fought, but how uncommon is that? I loved my father, as any young girl would. He was my knight in shining armor, and I was his princess. But it never lasted. As often as the wind changed, he would transform, from my knight into the dragon, breathing fire and destruction upon everything in his path.

Everyone in my family lived in fear of him. His demands were almost impossible to meet. The house had to be perfect. On many occasions, he'd come home and rage about the condition of the house. We would never have family or friends over in fear of his actions; we were never sure how he would behave. In numerous incidents, he'd throw all of our toys in the middle of the room, often times breaking them, because our room wasn't clean enough, and we'd have to start from scratch. I also witnessed him verbally denounce my mother, and physically abuse my mother and older brother. I could only watch and listen in fear. I was too small and helpless to do anything.

As I got older, the abuse became more apparent, and targeted towards me as well. I had been so sheltered up to this point that I was not expecting it. He would set impossible standards for my grades; above a 90 in everything. My room had to be clean. If I went out I had to tell him: who I was with, what I was doing (for the whole duration I was out), how long I would be there, what parent was home. I literally had to give him a 10-minute time frame of what I was doing (i.e. I watched a movie at {friend's} for 1.5 hours, walked to pizza and back {30 minutes}, etc.) He made my life a living hell. On top of that, he'd continuously break out in rages, destroying objects, and emotionally degrading me. He'd call me a bitch, a cunt, saying I was sneaky and a weasel because I asked my mother's permission to do something, and a slut because of the clothes I wore. I got to school late, and he pulled me out of class and screamed at me. But while all of this took a toll on me, it was the physical abuse that got me the most.

The first time he ever hit me I must have been 15 (I was lucky), and we were in the car. I can't recall the exact reason why, but we got into an argument. I was yelling at him to let me call my mother. He said no, mocking and mimicking me. When I went to dial, he snatched my phone and choked me with it, leaving bruises on my neck. He immediately apologized, saying how sorry he was, and I let it slide. After all, he was my father. How stupid I was.

The abuse continued. Everyone in my family walked on eggshells around my father, terrified of when he would lose his temper next.

As sad as it sounds, the happiest times with my father were when other people were around, because I knew that he had to behave, and his public image was/is very important to him. To this day, everyone thinks my father is an awesome person; so nice and caring, and very funny. All I can do is look at them with a sad nod, and think of how misled and conned they all are.

I grew depressed, and began cutting myself. To this day, it is a battle not to go back to that addicting habit. But at the time it made me feel in control and let me release some of the pain I could not tell to others. There was only one person I could trust, which was my new boyfriend. He was my saving grace, although our relationship was abusive in itself because of our young ages (it was extreme jealousy and belittlement that he constantly delivered to me, and I stayed because I was dependent).

The final straw with my dad was an incident involving me. For a long time I've had guilt over getting my father in trouble, although now I see it was a necessary action.

It started out as a fight between myself and my sister, stupid stuff. As I grew increasingly frustrated, I left the car and went back into the house (we had been going out to eat) when my father came in after me. We began to fight. I announced that I wanted to leave the house (he was always telling me to find somewhere else to live, and even kicked me out at 15 for about a week). At that point, I was so frustrated that I didn't care where I went, as long as it wasn't in that house. I left my room and went to go downstairs. He went to stop me, reaching over the banister grabbing my hair. I slipped through and continued down. He raced around and put me in a choke hold, getting ahead of me and blocking the door. We continued to fight. I tried to push around him. He grabbed me by the throat. He pushed me back. I hit my head on the stairs. I was shocked. I froze. I had my head in my hands. He yelled at me. He smacked me twice in the face. I could see the blind rage in his eyes. Never was I so scared in my life. He yelled at me to get upstairs. I complied.

After, he calmed down. He became the nice father again. He asked me not to tell my mother. He told me how sorry he was. He told me how much he hated himself and he was trying to fix it. Then I felt my head. I discovered a huge lump on the back of my head. I lost it. I said how he'd told me all this before, and that I was going to tell my mother. He told me he would lie; my word against his, and that he would tell them how crazy I was with my cutting and behavior.

To sum it up, I ended up calling my brother and a hot-line to talk about what happened. They both called CPS, who came to my house. The whole time I felt guilty, as my younger sisters and father blamed me. He got depressed, which made me feel worse, but I carried through with the restraining order that my mother set out to get. To this day, he hasn't had one incident, which sometimes scares me. Has he truly changed, or is it brewing beneath the surface, ready to emerge as soon as one year is up?

The whole situation is a hard memory to live with. Sometimes I feel like I've grown up before my time, maturing faster than most others my age (I am now 18). There are many times (almost every day) that I feel like I exaggerate the hardships I've dealt with, feeling like a complainer. There are so many others who've had to deal with worse that I ask myself, who am I to complain?

I want to become a psychologist, to help others deal with situations like mine, and also learn about myself. All I know is that I am who I am today because of my experiences in that house, some of it good, and some bad, but I am going to use it as a learning block. I love my father, who doesn't? But I know that he will never change. There is no reaching out to him. Unless he has the desire within himself, there is nothing anyone else can do. I truly feel sorry for him. How pitiful his life has become. I hope that one day he will be able to see what he has let himself become and what his actions have done to our family.

Reply from Darlene: Our fathers are cut from the same cloth, Jessica. I understand all too well what you've lived with: the abject fear; knowing that no matter how well you do, it's probably not good enough; the comparisons that no matter how hard you try to measure up to, they are impossible to meet; the mocking and mimicking in order to bait you into a fight so that he can exert even more control, and release of explosive anger and hostility; the simmering anger that detonates into rage over the littlest things; the not knowing when you enter the house if you or someone else has done something that will result in a some kind of a beating; the broken and in-a-heap furniture; the countless holes in the walls; coffee dripping off the ceiling and walls after he threw his full cup in a fit because someone even dared to challenge whatever he said in that moment.

Then...all violence is followed by the "honeymoon period" where he is so deeply and tearfully apologetic for all that he's said and all the damage he's done; the acrid smell of wet stucco as he repairs the holes in the walls, then of paint as he wipes away all the evidence with a few strokes of the brush; the melancholy, lump-in-his-throat "I'm so so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I hate that I do this. I hate myself for doing this. I didn't mean it. I'll never do it again" speech that has become so commonplace that we all know it's full of empty promises.

Then...then...those empty promises are followed by yet another, deceptively calm, threateningly sinister speech: "You know, if you hadn't argued with me (or done whatever it was that you were supposed to have done) I wouldn't have had to do what I did." It was always someone else's fault that he brutalized and terrorized; never his fault, never any accountability or responsibility taken.

The remainder of Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jessica G" can be found below.

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Child Abuse Story From Amanda

by Amanda
(Illinois, USA)

It all began when I was six years old. My stepdad came home from work and he was in one of his "moods". He took it out on me. We got into an argument. I wanted to go to bed because it was already 10 o'clock at night and way past my bedtime. He got mad because I told him I didn't want to clean my room right then. I don't really remember what happened next, other than the fact that the next morning I had a bruise on my face the size of a grown man's fist. My mom asked me what had happened, but I was too scared to tell her, so I told her I fell down and hit my face. She didn't look convinced, but I guess she bought it because she dropped the subject.

From then on, it seemed like everything I did angered him and somehow made him so furious that he felt the need to beat me by slapping my face, spanking me to the point where I couldn't sit down, and once I told him "No" when he was mad and he threw me into the staircase and nearly broke my back and neck. I couldn't walk straight for two weeks.

But one day, he made a mistake and pushed me down to the ground in front of my mom. Well, they always fought after that, every time she saw me with new bruises or cuts or scratches. But every time that she wasn't home or she was at meetings for work, he would get mad and blame their fights on me. Then he would hit me again and again. This continued until my mom had enough. She began divorce proceedings. My stepdad got so mad, and he blamed the divorce on me. He didn't just physically abuse me; he abused me verbally, emotionally, and mentally as well. It took me two years before I told my mom about the previous abuse because I was so scared of him. To this day, I still am.

I went through three different counselors, one for the divorce, one for the abuse, and one for the depression and stress. I still see one for depression and stress because I still have to visit my stepdad every week and every other weekend. Each time I see him, he makes me feel so worthless and insignificant, that I come home in tears and then I won't eat and I won't sleep.

After ten years of putting up with the abuse from him, I decided that I am no longer going to be scared of him...I will no longer be afraid to stand up to him and fight back when he tries to make me feel bad. I will not let him win anymore. He took my entire childhood away from me and he destroyed my past and present. He WILL NOT ruin my future. I won't give him the opportunity. He doesn't deserve the satisfaction of winning.

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Child Abuse Story From Ms N

by Ms. N.
(Dallas, Texas, USA)

When I was a child: 
When I was only 5 years old my stepdad did the most terrible thing you can do to a child. It was the morning of my birthday and I was turning 5. My mother had made me my favorite breakfast that morning (pancakes and bacon). After breakfast, I went into my room to put on my birthday girl dress, when the MONSTER walked in and blocked my door with a chair. He was staring at me like I was a piece of cake he wanted to eat. He picked me up into his arms and lay me gently on my bed. He started to run his cold hands up and down my legs. He kept getting closer and closer 'til he stuck his ice cold fingers in my vagina. He told me not to scream, so I listened. Now I wish I hadn't. Unzipping his pants he made me take off my panties and lay on my bed naked while he touched himself. After he finished he made me put his penis in my mouth and suck on it. Still to this day I wish I wasn't alive!!!!!!!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ms N" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Courtney G

by Courtney G
(Holiday, Florida, USA)

My Life: 
I was the middle child in the family. I lived with my dad in Haverhill with his girlfriend Shannon and her two kids and my big sister. I was about 3 years old. Every time I showed any affection to my dad around Shannon, she would pull me by my hair and beat me upstairs in the spare bedroom. She would smack me and hit me till I cried. She said if I told my dad that she beat me, I would be dead. I was the only one in the house that was beaten and abused.

I always got in trouble for thing's I didn't do. My big sister was always rude to me. She used to punch me and hurt me and tried to suffocate me under my blanket. I tried asking her why she did it to me, but she would just yell at me.

My mom drank a lot and popped pills (her medication). She worked at a restaurant somewhere in Andover. She got home late and always fought with my stepdad. They would argue about their friend's son, about him giving my mom AIDS or something. They always invited creepy guys over to smoke pot.

Every morning I never wanted to get up out of bed, and my mom would beat me with a brush on my head or back when I wined. Those brushes always broke. I had welt marks on my back. She always felt bad afterward and tried to hug me, but I was afraid to go by her, and then she'd get mad again.

When I lived in Lawrence, I had a best friend. One time, I spent the night out at her house. Her dad was drunk. He touched me in places that I wasn't comfortable with. He pulled my panties down and tried touching me. He was doing it to my best friend, his daughter, too. I was only 6 or 7 at the time, in first grade. I didn't know what to do or what to think, so I let him do it. After that, I didn't wanna tell my mom or anyone at all.

About 5 years passed. I was 10 or 11, and living with my little sister, my mom and stepdad. My big sister had moved down to Florida with my real father. I was kind of happy. We lived in the ghetto part of downtown Haverhill, where there were shootings and cops. We lived in a one-bedroom apartment. We girls slept in the same queen-sized bed, my stepdad slept on the couch. I didn't get beat as much.

Then we moved upstairs to the 3rd floor and got a two-bedroom apartment. Everything was going good, until me and my stepdad got into arguments. I felt threatened by him. I was scared he would hit me because he was always drunk and high.

One day, I was crying because I wasn't feeling well. My mom beat me in the head with her fist. It was the first time in a whole long while. I was sick with MONO and hadn't gone to school in 3 week's. My mom didn't bother to call the school and tell them I wasn't going to be at there for a while. She made me get out of bed. Even though I was sick and dizzy and ready to pass out, she made me clean the house because DSS (Department of Social Services) was coming. The social worker said if I missed any more days of school, me and my sister would be taken away.

I wanted to move down to Florida with my dad, so he came to pick me up. When I first moved down, I met a really great friend named Ashley B (see Ashley B's story) Her mom didn't like me at all. She said if Ashley hung out with me, she would've gotten pregnant. I was so sad because we weren't allowed to hang out.

Me and Ashley were always made fun of in sixth grade. Everyone would bully us and call us mean things like "SLUT," even though I could never get a boyfriend because I was so ugly. Sixth grade was the worst.

I'm still friends with Ashley to this day. I am now in eighth grade and I'm 13 years old, going to be 14 on Sunday, May 4, 2008.

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Child Abuse Story From Kyra

by Kyra
(Colorado, USA)

A child of the 1970's - by Kyra: 
I was brought into this world by deceit. My mother married my father when they were both 18 years old. They met in college and dropped out to get married. I was told by my mom that my dad used a lot of drugs before I was born. My father never wanted children, and my mom knew this. She got pregnant anyway by not taking her birth control. She and my dad were 22. I don't remember my mom and dad ever being together. They divorced when I was 2 years old. My mom had full custody of me. My dad was not in my life much, until I was 15. (I had tried to commit suicide and was sent to live with him and my step-mom.)

Let's back up....

The reason my dad did not want to have kids was because he was brought up in such a terrible situation...my grandfather would molest my dad. My grandmother was a successful realtor and would be out of town a lot. These were the times that my dad was subjected to abuse. I was told that my grandfather would tie my dad to a tree and leave him there to wet himself. I am not sure of the full extent of what was done sexually to my dad, but I know it was bad.

I guess my dad was afraid to show any kind of affection towards me. I still have an awkward relationship with my dad. I keep more in touch with him than he does me.

Life living with my mom was very dysfunctional. I think I have been molested. I was about three. I remember being in this apartment with some man. He was taking pictures of me on these blocks. The next thing I remember is lying on his bed, pulling a sheet over my head because I was being shy? Not sure what had happened. My shirt was off.

Another time I remember my mom brought home some guy from a party that we were at. I think I was about 8 or 9. He was really nice to me, and I was afraid of the dark. I had asked him if he would lay with me in my room until I fell asleep. While laying there with me, he started to rub my leg and rubbed himself against me. I wasn't really sure what he was doing, but I started to feel weird and uncomfortable. My mom then walked in and told the guy to come with her. She looked at me, and I remember she looked like she was mad at me. Some years later, I asked my mom about that night. She said, "Yeah, that guy was weird." I was so hurt that she didn't really show any emotion. I guess I should just be grateful that she walked in when she did.

My mom had a lot of boyfriends. She would leave me alone a lot to party. There were times she would have me at the bar with her on school nights. I would sit there at the bar and drink Shirley Temples and play video games. I was very used to entertaining myself. I watched my mom be beaten by a boyfriend. This guy she was with on and off was a drug dealer. He did some time in jail. During this time, my mom met my brother's dad. My mom got pregnant with my brother when I was 12. My step-dad became physically abusive towards me. We had a lot of fights.

I didn't mean to be so long-winded. I come to this sight a lot, and I thought I would share my story. Thank you for having this web-site.

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Child Abuse Story from JC

by JC
(Texas, USA)

I really didn't come to terms that I had been abused since I was a child because the reality of it was too much to bear. I think part of me had known that what was happening to me was wrong, but another part of me knew that I was helpless and no one was in my corner.

My mother, who "raised" me as a single parent, severely emotionally and physically abused me all of my life. Outsiders who did not go home to live with her like I did really held my mother in high-esteem - they never believed that she was capable of such things. Don't get me wrong...my mom provided materially for me, but she treated me worse than an animal when we were behind closed doors. I was never fooled by the display she would put on for others. It was like she was a completely different person at home.

My mother neglected me up until the age of ten, in favor of men she would date. My mother would leave me several nights a week with aunts or cousins so that she could go and fool around with these men, men who always treated her badly in the end. I remember being home, but I don't remember it ever feeling like home because so many men went in and out of our house, almost like a revolving door. As soon as she met them, these strange men were in our house, my house, invading any semblance of home that I thought I had. Some men acted like I didn't exist; others were downright mean and rude - and what was worse was that my mother allowed them to be mean to me. So, while it wasn't neglect in the sense of no food, shelter, basic care, it was neglect in that she always pawned me off to relatives so that she could go out and date men. If you look in my baby albums, you will see at least 10-15 different men, some holding me, that she dated during my childhood. I shudder to think of how stupid she was to let those men around me with as many perverts that are in existence. You see, I feel as though I raised myself, nurtured myself because my mother acted as if she did not have a child, until she saw how she could misuse me for her benefit.

My earliest memory of physical abuse is when I was about 5, when my mom would wash my hair. My mother would wash my hair in the kitchen sink and make me lie down on the kitchen countertop while my head lay over the sink bowl. If I ever squirmed or moved (y'know, things that children normally do), she would grab my hair tightly in her fist and slam the back of my head into that metal kitchen sink. If I ever cried, it only intensified her actions. So, I learned to not feel anything after a while or to cry.

Other times my mother would beat me, literally with her fists, often by punching me in the chest, head, or back. I have been beaten with belts, wire hangers, scratched (with lasting scars to this day), had objects thrown at me, kicked, and spit on, just to name a few instances. My mom was just out of control...she would primarily beat me over math homework because I did not understand how to do it. She claimed I was being obstinate, so she was going to beat me until I "knew" it. She also had no problem beating me in front of other relatives, like she was trying to prove that she was powerful or something. Despite my crying and screams, my relatives just looked on and never stepped in or anything.

I believe she had some sort of psychological break around the times I was 8-15 because she was always angry. I have never known my mother to be a happy person, ever. I have always felt like she resented me, if not completely hated me. I have never really felt loved by her and I cannot say that if she passed this moment as I'm typing, that I would feel any sadness.

On top of the physical abuse, my mother would verbally humiliate and abuse me. I have been called every name you could think of - my mom got creative and soon started using the fact that I was bi-racial against me. So, for instance, she would say stuff, unprovoked, like (Oh, you're just stupid/crazy/dumb/stubborn like your Mexican father). She always claimed I as better off without him (and I agree) but I see my situation as being screwed either way because she was no upstanding parent either. My dad wasn't there, my mother was present but wasn't there...I have never had anyone who really loved me. It's sad...but I know that I am worthy of being loved even if no one nurtured that feeling.

The abuse was every day in varying degrees. Some days it was just total put down sessions. She would flip for no reason and begin tearing me apart verbally. Other days she would flip out and beat me. Some days it was both. She would pick me up from school and I could not ask her how her day was because she would curse me out and belittle me. I remember very clearly being told as soon as I would get in the car, "Shut the fuck up because I don't feel like talking to you today." Again, I was met with that every day.

My mom would also make it a point to humiliate me in front of others by shaming me or shouting at me in public. She caused a scene one day in a store when I asked her to look at a cake. She turned around, yelling in my face, "Shut the fuck up." Later, after I got angry and ignored her in the car ride home, she said I deserved that because I knew she was on a diet and I was tempting her. Oh yeah, my mom has also blamed me for her body weight, as if I was the one who impregnated her and forced her not to exercise after she had me.

My mother is very selfish. She was determined to always "win" an argument with me. She would take pleasure in ruining dreams in an instant. Honestly, it was like I was being raised by another child. She is just a very emotionally stunted, immature excuse for a woman that I am disgusted to call a mother.

When I told people how she treated me, no one believed me at all. My family knew about this and never said a word to anyone. What is sickening is that my mother worked for CPS and APS - so she knew what she was doing was wrong. Instead of getting help, she targeted me for years to be her personal punching bag and was intent on destroying me.

Though I feel like I am fine on some levels, I still have a lot of problems resulting from her abuse to this day. Deep down, I feel like I hate other people. I have trouble making friends or having relationships. I am always fearful, and I give up very easily in most situations. Also, I am always angry or numb. Always. I suffer from depression and have been to counseling before - I need to continue to go. I tried to kill myself at 11 and my mom didn't even notice to care that anything was wrong with me.

If I wasn't being abused at home, I always was bullied at school as well. I was sexually assaulted at a summer church program that my mother forced me to go to, and I was severely sexually abused by a boy in my eighth grade class. All this...she never noticed. When I told her about it, she laughed and joked that sarcastically, "Well, at least you survived!"

I don't believe that forgiveness is always necessary...I will never forgive my mother for what she has done to me. I am 23 as of now and I still struggle with my childhood everyday - I cannot escape it. I just wish I had a mother who loved me.

Today, I am a grad student going for my doctorate in psychology (big surprise, huh?). Even though I am performing well, the effects of the abuse are hard to shake. My whole life feels as though I have just been existing but not really "living", almost as if I am numb to everything around me. Sometimes I just pass by things unfazed...almost like I have spaced out on everything. Ever heard of the 50-yard-stare...that's me 24/7. However, I am making it...doing okay for myself and I just keep going on...I mean, why not after all this? What could be worse?

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From JC" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Melody

by Melody
(Chicago, Illinois, USA)

Sex all the Time: 
When I turn 10 I started developing my breasts and my butt. My stepdad always looked at me in a wrong way. On my 12th B-day he invited his friends over. I had to go to the bathroom. When I came out, one of his friends grabbed my mouth so I couldn't scream. They brought me upstairs and laid me on my bed. One by one they raped me. It was painful, and I was really scared.

Now that I am 14, I am still scared. Til this day, I have flashbacks. Right now I am living with my foster parent. I happy where I am at.

Note from Darlene:
I am currently working on creating e-books which will provide my visitors access to specific and relevant child abuse information more readily. As this project will require a great deal of time and focus, I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of offering comments on all submissions. Please do not take my lack of response to your story personally; I mean no disrespect, nor is it intended as an invalidation of what you have endured. Indeed, I am honoured that you have chosen to post what has happened to you on my site. Whenever time permits, I will endeavour to provide supportive and validating replies. I hope you and my other visitors will continue to offer words of support and encouragement to the many contributors who have courageously shared of themselves through this site. I thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

Darlene Barriere
Violence & Abuse Prevention Educator
Author: On My Own Terms, A Memoir

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Child Abuse Story From Marie

by Marie
(Massachusetts, USA)

Yale, CalTech, Superior, Dad: 
My ex-husband's abuse was of me (wife) and of our oldest daughter. The abuse was emotional and eventually physical. I believe that he has an enormous and unhealthy need to one, be superior to everyone around him, and two, to have only his needs and his opinions heard, spoken, or implemented. His need to be the top dog is so strong that even compliments of him threaten him and cause him to utter put-downs to the complimenting person, just to keep them below him in the hierarchical world he clings to maintain. Even today, post-divorce, just after the story of Jennifer Hudson's tragic losses, my oldest daughter herself said to me, "Mom, what Dad did to you and me wasn't anything compared to what happened to J. Hudson's family; what Dad did wasn't abuse."

One day on the way to a ski mountain, Dad asked daughter to put her ski boots on. Two minutes later he snapped "What's wrong with you, they're not on," and he threw his right arm around and hit her so hard on her thigh, she wrote in her journal that she thought her leg was broken. But she desperately held back the tears.

A few months later, we were at Cape Cod. It was winter. The kids played the game where you run close to the waves and run backward away from them as they threaten to soak your feet. The waves won once, soaking daughter's feet. In the car, daughter was crying. Dad pulled over saying, "Get out of the car and walk home." Mom got out too. Dad eventually was embarrassed and let them back in the car. He later pinned her against the desk, causing a scar on her back that lasted a year. She wouldn't show it to anyone.

He called me a loser. He told me I wasn't sorry when I apologized for saying things that upset him. He threatened to put me in jail, even on Christmas morning. He wrote letters that alienated his parents and mine for several years each. He hated all of our neighbors, and actively drew lines saying, "Do not cross", and put string out delineating our property line, and he dumped leaves on the other guys' property, all to show how his property is more important than getting along. He wrote my friend whose daughter bullied my younger daughter, alienating my friend from me until I reached out and repaired that. Even now he forces his ways on us, and our parenting coordinator doesn't seem to see a problem with this. Even to her, I seem to be the problem, not him.

I let him do whatever he wanted, as that was the only way to keep him from being angry at me or us. My opinions or desires were never good enough, so I never pushed. Until he started yelling at me how horrible I was, or what (untrue) things I had said or done. Since both he and his mother had told me to be stronger, I corrected him. Of course, this made fights. Standing up for myself was not good.

Eventually he left, but only after he had completely decimated my and daughter 1's confidence.

I really want to send the years of exact words from his mouth to a movie producer. I loved the movie Enough; this is how I feel. But, I think the subtleties of Emotional Abuse would be brought to light through a movie version of his actual words, my idiotic and fearful allowance of his put-downs and demands, and would be done with the hope that survivors of this could acknowledge their scars and let the rest of the world know that they should not be afraid to intervene. They could literally save someone's life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Marie" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Earthlake

by Earthlake
(USA)

I survived what is referred to as ritual abuse. My perpetrators were my parents...my mother and father...others I didn't know as well. The abuse took place in the basement of our home...my home was bought in the 1950's by the Catholic Church and it has been home to an order of nuns since then...a high school was built on the property after my parents sold it to the church and it is still operating now.

My mother's family was wealthy and very well known in the state I grew up in and elsewhere. All the money in the world didn't make a bit of difference for me as a child growing up in the family. The ritual abuse occurred while we lived there...I was 3 and it lasted until I was 5, when my parents divorced. All I really want to shout out to the world at this point is that innocent children were killed...I saw it...I survived it...I have been completely unable to expose the truth, although I have tried everything I could think of. I am the only living person who can speak for those who lost their lives at the hands of my parents and the others...no one cares and evil has in fact won out over good...there is nothing I can do anymore...everyone except my mother is dead and she has never said, nor will, say one thing to incriminate herself in regards to this.

Money and power hid our abuse...it happens...the only one who came to my aid as an adult was a nun who used to live in the house and said she had to leave because she felt horrible in that environment...she sensed what had happened and told me that when she went into the basement of the home, she and the other nuns could not handle it, even when they tried to perform healing ceremonies to combat the evil they felt.

My mother raised us as Christian Scientists after the abuse...of course that meant we weren't allowed to see doctors or anyone other than Her Practitioner...well done Mom, you found another avenue to keep help away. When I was a teen I finally got help from the boarding school counselor where my parents had sent me...this was the beginning of years of counseling and recovery to heal...after integrating a personality of many fragments and a horrible case of PTSD I can say I survived....many others like myself did not survive the therapy it took to heal from abuse like this, so I was lucky.

I am still to this day terrified of my mother and have nothing to do with her...my greatest hope is that she dies before I do...I hope some of the fear will subside when she is gone. I am truly sorry that I was unable to expose the truth during my life time...they hid everything too well and there is nothing that can make them talk.

Now my mother is a Buddhist...she believes herself enlightened...she now uses Buddhism to cover herself and again she goes unnoticed...who would suspect a humble Buddhist ever murdered innocent children? Certainly not you...and that is why evil wins...it is clever and it hides well...it is smart.

When I recently hired an ex FBI agent to investigate some things for me, he interviewed my mother...a couple of weeks after that she opened up a new trust for me with a whole lot of money...she has always used her money to influence people...she thought it would hush me up...It didn't. I resent it and find it disgusting...MOM, here's the bottom line...you killed 2 babies and a man...you did so in the basement of the home that still exists today and is an ever present reminder to me, the one survivor who will tell the truth...because you wouldn't take the consequences of going to jail...you lied your whole life and you continue to...no Buddha, or Christ or Krishna will be able to rid you of what you did...you were willing to sacrifice my mental health so you wouldn't have to go to jail...you lost a daughter and you deserve it...you will come back in another lifetime...maybe then you will be ready to tell the truth and then you will be able to set yourself free. God knows you need to be set free.

Sincerely,
Earthlake

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Earthlake" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From V

by V.
(Location Undisclosed)

I am a 24-year-old female. I don't remember how old I was when this happened. I think I was younger than 10. The person who did it is a family friend and is 3 or 4 years older than me. He would often come over and play at our house as he saw us as his 2nd family.

One day we were watching TV. I was sitting in the corner of the couch with a pillow on my lap and he was lying on the couch with his head on the pillow. My mother and little sister were also in the room. As we were sitting there he put his hand on my belly under the pillow. Then he slid it up under my shirt and down under my pants. Finally, he slid it down into my underwear and started touching me. I remember being really scared, but I also remember that it felt kind of good. I started getting wet down there and he pulled his hand out and looked at it disgusted. He didn't put his hand back, just wiped it on his jeans or something and I think we went back to watching TV.

He was supposed to sleep over that night. He, my older brother, and I were going to sleep on the pullout couch. He insisted that he wanted to sleep in the middle because of the bars on the sides. I remember being terrified that he would touch me again in the middle of the night and not stop this time. I raised a big stink about how I wanted my brother to sleep in the middle, but my parents just looked at me kind of confused. I don't remember what happened from then on. I don't know if I just slept in my own bed or if I slept downstairs with them.

I put it out of my mind and didn't think about it until I was a junior or senior in high school. I could never tell anyone what he did to me. My mother looks on him as a second son and it would break her heart if she knew. I couldn't do that to her.

He eventually went to college far away for about a year. I never really stopped seeing him as a friend and the summer he came back, he and I hung out a lot. We would go out at night and look at the stars and we even went skinny dipping once.

One day he was in my room lying on my sister's bed and he asked me to come lie down with him. Ever since the day on the couch I was nervous to be around him, but I went and lay down anyway, my back to his chest. He put his hand on my thigh and then started squeezing and rubbing my butt. It made me uncomfortable so I decided to put a stop to it and got up.

Eventually, he confessed to me (in front of my mom) that he had a crush on me. He still made me nervous though, so I told him that I never really thought of him as more than a brother, but I felt put on the spot. I think it really hurt his feelings. He moved to California not long after that.

I was always an outcast in school, so I've never had a boyfriend. I've only ever kissed one guy and it was kind of an anonymous thing in a club. I've wondered how my life would be if I had agreed to date this guy despite what he did to me. Our families are still in contact and I could call him and tell him I'm interested. I think maybe he did what he did because he was just a horny, curious teenager and I can kind of understand that. I don't know, maybe I'm just desperate for a boyfriend.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From V" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Pat

by Pat
(Atlanta, Georgia, USA)

The abuse in my home grew deeper and deeper as my paranoid father and highly co-dependent mother grew worse in their respective diseases. I did not like my father as a child, but things really began to go downhill when I became a preteen. I was critiqued, made fun of, and harangued and belittled in a kind of kangaroo court where Mom would sit and sort of dignify the proceedings. I was a good student and had political opinions (my father had TREMENDOUS political opinions; I wanted his admiration). He would hear some opinion from me that he didn't like, something that he could probably have taught me a lot about with a little bit of patience. But instead he would brood for a day or so and then blow up. I'd be forced to sit in the living room for a couple of hours and listen (and try to defend myself) as he grew angrier and angrier. He could be so furious, the veins would pop out on his forehead.

After one of these episodes I would sob on my bed for a long time. My mother would come in, rub my back to calm me down, and tell me I HAD been a smart-aleck. And, Dad DID love me. I was upsetting Dad, and she couldn't fail to support Dad. Even when he tried to choke her, maybe 8 years later, she still went back to him.

Returning to these haranguing incidents, sometimes he would become so agitated that he couldn't go to sleep (the incidents' were invariably at night) and so he'd make sure we could not either. He'd wake us up to restart the argument. These episodes were like nightmares. I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea how uneven the contests were between a 13- or 14-year-old girl and an enraged grown man. If my brother or I ever said, "It's not fair," my father would cackle and say, "Who ever promised to be fair? Life is unfair."

My mother also used to invite me into their bed--the middle--and say she would scratch my back. After a little while she'd get up to go fix breakfast. I wanted to bolt out of bed but feared my father would say something sarcastic, so I'd turn my back and go to the edge of the mattress. He would pretend to be half asleep and then run his hands in my pajamas to feel my breast. I froze as though I felt nothing and after a few minutes would get up and never say a word. I felt sure if I told my mother, she would have criticized me or scolded me for making something up.

My father was a master at ridicule--I was embarrassed by being tall, and he'd tell me I must have stepped in manure because my feet were so big. (When I was pregnant with his first GRANDCHILD, he inquired, "Who's going to make your maternity dresses, Ahab the Tentmaker?") Once when I was little he stood with his wise-acre brother in front of the fireplace (with me nearby) and said that the best way to teach a child not to trust anyone was to set them on the mantel and promise to catch them if they jumped--and then move aside and let them hit the floor. I was under 7 when he told this charmer of a story; I remember where we were living.

My mother was closer to normal, but she would not leave my father and did not protect us. My younger brother was forced to lie in bed at night and listen for my father's footsteps in case he had decided to attack Mom (I was away at college). She put a 14-year-old kid through this, and she had alternatives, including a wealthy father and a hometown to escape to. But she wouldn't. She could say terrible things too, that made my shaky self-esteem even more tenuous. She made me feel un-girlish, as though I was a failure, while she rattled off stories of dates she'd had as a teenager. (She commented once that because I was tall, and a girlfriend of mine was tall, we might be lesbians--this was in the late 1950s.) Once she and I were standing in front of a plate glass mirror, in line for a movie, and she said "Look, my ankles are thinner than yours!" She told me at least a dozen times that her dentist, during WWII, said she had such beautiful teeth he'd clean them for free if she couldn't afford it. Meantime, my teeth were quite crooked. I was humiliated about that but they never found the money to send me for orthodonture. Finally, I had my own teeth straightened when in my 40s.

My father's most dramatic attempt at violence was when he tried to kill my brother, who was only a young teen. Dad grew so furious he went to his workroom and got a monkey wrench to hit my brother in the head; luckily my brother was able to escape.

A few years later, my father threw my wedding presents on the front yard (I had recently married and was living in a small apartment). He called me at 11 at night and stood in the doorway with a shotgun while I picked the things off the lawn. It is lucky really that none of the three of us--mother, daughter, son--was killed.

I could go on and on, but couldn't we all? My father was in a mental ward twice, briefly, and my mother once. I'm very lucky that things were not as bad as they were for some people. But I feel as if my father was a wild animal, and my mother was the party who shoved me in the cage with him and locked the door. I'll never be free of it, but I have worked to recognize when spells of terror are really flashbacks. I have given up thinking much about my father, but wish I could somehow salvage my mother. I'd appreciate comments, and thank you so much for this site.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Pat" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Kristy

by Kristy F
(Las Vegas, Nevada, USA)

The fear never stops: 
From the time I was 5, I suffered at the hands of my physically abusive father, and until I was 14, I had to deal with the sexual abuse of my brother, who was 1 year older than me. And to top it all, my mother had Münchhausen Syndrome by Proxy...she made and kept me sick for her personal attention and gain. I had nowhere safe to turn.

I was the youngest of three. At home, we were all beaten on a daily basis, being woken up with either my father putting his cigarette to the smoke alarm or by running into our bedrooms with pots and pans. If it was the weekend, we would be given a toothbrush and had to scrub the house down, while both my parents would do their drugs or drink and yell at me, telling me how worthless I was.

At the end of the school day, after being teased by the kids at school, I would have to share the bathtub with my brother. This went on until the age of 8, where he would "do things Mommy and Daddy did." Once, he tied me down to my bed and stuck random things inside of me.

I was born with severe ear problems. My ears wouldn't drain by themselves, so I always had to wear ear plugs anytime I went into the water. But my mother would put droplets of water in my ears to keep them infected, and then she would always rush me to the E.R. I can remember my ear drums popping 3 times from being so infected.

Around Christmastime, when I was 8 or 9, my uncle came to stay with us, and he stole from my father...my father kept us home one day from school and beat us with a belt for 3 to 4 hours straight...made us go take a nap, where we all huddled on my sister's bed, only to be awaken with more beatings, beatings to the point where we couldn't go to school for a week. All he had to say was "sorry" once he found out it wasn't us.

I am 26 now. I struggle every day with the low-self esteem that they pounded into my head. I struggle with the memories of the daily physical and sexual abuse that I had to endure from as young as I can remember.

Darlene's comments are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Kristen3

by Kristen
(Australia)

I am 28 years old. I grew up in a very patriarchal family. My father was very much the head of the house. There was an aura of authority about him. My mother was both submissive to him and saw her role as to look after his needs and to train her daughter (me). The roles were reinforced through rules and punishments.

I am bit embarrassed about writing here. I was not sexually abused and I did not have the absolutely terrible life that your other writers had. I do need to let this go and I hope that by contributing this that I will be able to move on.

I was always a fairly quiet and obedient daughter. My whole life my parents were incredibly controlling. I was always expected to behave and to be quiet and respectful. My mom controlled every aspect of my life. Clothes were a really big issue. She would buy my clothes and each day picked out what I was to wear right, down to underwear. She controlled my hair style. I was never allowed to talk back or even ask questions. To ask a question was seen as defiant or questioning their authority. Their authority was reinforced with painful and embarrassing punishment. They controlled what I did and where and everything.

At the time, I did not always understand it. In some ways it was just natural. In some ways I liked I; I was part of a family.

Shortly I will describe some of the rules and punishments but before I do that I need to say a few things. Firstly, I am not depressed and although from time to time I have cried my heart out, I am not about to go and do anything drastic. The next thing is that I did not grow up feeling bad or sorry or even scared. In fact, quite the opposite. I felt very secure. I felt intensely loved. Maybe that is why I do not want to go and get the authorities involved. For although, by the standards of the world, I was abused, I do not want to break up my family.

Why am I writing this? Well...I am lonely. I have this need to off-load, and I am thinking more and more and it goes round and round in my mind. I wrote this and re-wrote it over and over again, thinking I could deal with it on my own. Sometimes it read a bit like a book. I guess this is, in a way, deliberate and sometimes partly because I have re-written it so much. I cannot talk to the people that I know.

I have a couple of fears about talking to people that I know. One fear that I learned very young is that I can lose friends. People get freaked out. Just when you really need support and you talk to someone, they retreat. I need a hug and they are 'outta there'. So I learned not to talk for that reason.

The next reason I also learned young is that when you tell someone something, they will tell others. And I do not want to break up my family, as I already said. Now I could talk to my husband and my family, however, I am still under their authority and I just have be quiet and not bother them.

I am not sure that I should talk much about my life right now, although it is both why I want to talk and why I do not want to talk face to face with a counsellor about anything.

OK...so where to from here?

One method of control was the cane, the rod of correction.

Another method of control was having to ask permission. I had to ask to speak: "Mom may I ask a question?" "Mom may I tell you about my day at school?"

Another method was the bathroom. From as early as I can remember, I had to ask to go to the bathroom. Sometimes she had a schedule of times when I was allowed to go. Other times she would say, "Learn to hold it. You never know when you will need to hold it". This was combined with having to wear diapers. Especially to bed. Even into my late teens, I was sent to bed and once in my bedroom, I was not allowed out for any reason. I was not to call out. I was not to make any sound. Sometimes I was allowed to read. One reason I had to hold it was so as not to bother my parents or embarrass them. If we were out in public, say at the theatre, then disturbing them to ask if I could go to the bathroom was not permitted. Later I would learn that another reason to hold it was so that I would not interrupt my husband's pleasure by needing to go to the bathroom. I had to be ready to respond to his need and not keep him waiting.

There were strict controls on where I was allowed to go and when. My mom would drop me at school and pick me up. School was my free time. I loved it. But even there I had to be careful. I was a bit of a loner. I could not have close friends. If I wanted to go out somewhere, I would have to ask permission to ask a question, and then if it were granted, then ask if I could have a friend over or go to a friend's house. My mother would say that she would ask my father. If I dared ask at a later time, if my father had considered the request, I would be punished for nagging. I would just wait and wait, hoping that they would say yes. The answer would come at the last minute. So I'd get my heart set that I could have a friend over, and then at the last minute they would say no. So I would have to tell me friend not this time. So finally gave up asking.

Kristen

Note from Darlene: 
An error resulted in two pages with the same name. I have therefore had to delete the first posting of Kristen's story (showed up as Kristen2 in the automated notifications and on my blog page earlier today) in favour of re-posting it as Kristen3. Please accept my apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused Kristen and the rest of my visitors.

Sincerely,
Darlene Barriere

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kristen3" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 2

by Kristen
(Australia)

I was writing about rules (see Part 1 of Kristen's story). There were a lot of rules. There was a lot of punishment. To me rules and punishment were both important. I both hated it and loved it. It was me. It is me still. I don't know what order I should write in. There are so many things. Rules, punishment, family, everything. Like the reason I do not want to see someone is that I do not want my family broken up. What is normal. What is right. What makes the ways of the world any more right than other ways. I do not want to be the person who is responsible for breaking up the family.

Clothes were a really big issue for me. My mom would choose all my clothes. Sometimes we would go shopping together, but still she would just make the selections. It was dresses and skirts only. No pants ever.

On weekdays I wore my school uniform. The uniform included a dress for class and the choice of a sport skirt or shorts for PE. I was one of the few girls who wore the skirt for PE.

On Sundays we went to church. For church I wore a long skirt. For modesty. On other days, skirts were usually above the knee. Sometimes I wore very short skirts. They were to teach me about modesty. To sit and stand carefully and respectfully.

Everything had to be approved. I would model new clothes for my father. He would sit in a chair in the lounge room and Mum and I would be in the hallway. I would put on whatever new clothes she had bought me. I actually enjoyed the attention. I would twirl and smile. It was fun. Mostly fun. As I write this, I have some memories that are not so good. As I became older, standing there in bra and panty sets was humiliating. There was such an emphasis on modesty, but underwear was seen as OK. "It's just like a bikini," Mum would say. She had lots of little sayings.

It is morning. I am in my school uniform. It is a dress. I stand in the hall near the front door. My school bag is beside me. I am ready for inspection. I must be clean and neat and tidy. My mum is looking at me. She looks at my hair still neatly combed. She decides the style. Some days it is a ponytail, some days it is pigtails. She likes pigtails. I hate pigtails. It makes me look like a baby. Today it is a ponytail. I am feeling good. My shoes are polished. I hold out my hands so she can inspect my nails. They are clean and smooth as required. "Turn," she says, and I turn and she checks that from the back it is still neatly combed and my dress is not creased. "Turn back," she says, and I turn back to face her. "Lift," she says, and I lift my skirt and she checks that I am wearing the right underwear. There are rules for everything, even underwear. Under my school dress I must not wear sports briefs. Under my sport skirt I must wear sports briefs. Under a short play skirt I must wear sports briefs. Under a formal dress or skirt I must only wear white. It is very important to keep to the rules.

Every day I had to weigh myself on a set of scales in the bath room and mark my weight on a chart. My mum and father did that too. It just seemed normal.

I was always hungry. Meals were small but nutritious. There was never any junk food in our house. I also had to eat slowly. I had to not start first and not finish last, but also not finish too quickly. I must not keep my father waiting by finishing last and I must not make him feel rushed by finishing too early.

Speak only when spoken to and sit quietly. I was expected to practice being quiet. Move slowly and quietly through the house. Certainly no running. At the table I sit and eat what is put in front of me. If someone asks me a question, I must smile and answer them. I must keep my answers brief. They do not want to hear my whole life story just because they asked what I did at school today. If we have visitors and they engage me in conversation then I must converse with them but be aware of when they tire of me. One of the effects of this was that I could not ask for things at the table. Just eat what is presented.

I was expected to be a servant to all. Before a meal, I would help in the kitchen. Cooking and setting the table. After a meal, my mum would tell me to clear the table and help clean up. We did this together. Actually I liked it. We worked together. These were less format times than at the table, and usually I was allowed to chat with her. I would go and advise my father that the meal was ready. We would wait for him to be seated before bringing in the food.

At other times I would help with cleaning. Our house was always absolutely spotless and tidy. I learned at a very young age that I had to only play with one toy at a time and to put it away after. Toys left lying around would result in punishment and the toy being thrown away or given to the charity shop.

There were many forms of punishment, and these blurred with forms of control, and in many ways they were both.

Sometimes I would be made to stand with my nose to the wall. Just staring at the wall. Nose just lightly touching. Standing still. If I wiggled or squirmed or tried to look sideways, then chastisement would follow.

Sometimes I would be told that we are going to have a quiet weekend. Or a weekend of quiet reflection and fasting. This meant no food and no talking or noise for the whole weekend. Just water and a piece of paper with the times when I was allowed to go to the bathroom.

Well, that's it for now. I will write more. I need to talk about being submissive and being punished and being married and lots of things.

Kristen

To Darlene: Thank you for letting me write some more. I would really like to thank you for your kind words. I am sorry I did not thank you when I blurted out my request to write more.

Reply from Darlene: You're very welcome, Kristen. And from my perspective, no need to apologize; although I completely understand and appreciate that you feel the need to. I still hold you in very high regard.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 3

by Kristen
(Australia)

I want to write about so many things (see Part 1 and Part 2 of Kristen3's story). I saw a posting from Vicki2 about how she was a willing participant, and that is me too. I also want to write about the cane.

I am not sure when I actually was caned the first time. I was smacked often by mum and that was from as young as I can recall. I may have been caned a few times when I was about 5 or 6, but the first time I remember was when I had just turned 11 and they told me that when I was naughty that I would have to wear a punishment costume and that I was to be caned. The punishment costume was a one-piece swimming costume. I did not only wear it when I was being caned. Sometimes I had to wear it and stand with my nose to the wall or doing extra chores. It was a symbol of their disappointment in me.

A nice day:

It is 5:30 pm. Father is due. Mum and I are getting dinner ready. We are dressed for dinner. A dress, tights and polished shoes. Just like we would if we were going to a restaurant. We are listening for his car. We hear the car and we move quickly to the font hall and stand at the door. Mum opens the door as he walks up the stairs. Mum and Dad kiss then Dad gives me quick kiss and a smile. He is pleased and I confess, I feel good. I feel loved, secure, pretty.

At other times I accepted things as necessary to make me a better (whatever that means) daughter. A beating may be painful, but necessary to be better. Being made to wear clothes that I found embarrassing was necessary to do away with self-centered feelings. One day I was to be someone's husband, and I needed to focus on others and not on my own feelings.

Another day:

It is 5:30 pm. Father is due. Mum is getting dinner ready. I have misbehaved. I spoke with a nonchalant tone of voice. She told me I am to be punished when my father gets home. She sent me to change into my punishment costume. I am standing by the door in the one-piece swimming costume. For modesty you understand. It would not be appropriate for a man to see me naked. I am shaking, for I know what is to come. I need to pee but I dare not say anything for I am to be quiet. I am shaking. I shiver. I hear the car. My mum comes over and opens the door. We stand there. I feel so exposed. I want to run but I just stand there. My father hugs and kisses my mum. He gives me the quick kiss that I normally look forward to. I feel rotten. I am a bad daughter. I have failed.

My father says, "Wait Here". He and Mum go into the lounge. They talk. He calls me. He asks do I understand what I did wrong. I nod and repeat the words that my mother had said. "I spoke nonchalantly to Mum." I then add, "I am sorry for being rude, please accept my apology." He then says that he is glad that I understand that I have done wrong and that punishment will help me remember for next time.

"Bend over the couch," he says. I am shaking. My legs are like the sewing machine. My lips are quivering. My eyes are watery. My arms are shaking. There is a huge knot in my stomach and my chest is tight. I feel cold and I feel like I want to vomit. I need to pee.

I walk to the end of the couch. I bend over and put my hands on the arm rest of the couch. My father asks, "Do you need your mother to hold your hands?" I hate this question. I nod. My mum sits on the couch and grips my wrists. She looks me in the eye. I look at her. I am not allowed to close my eyes. I must look at her. My father has the cane in his hands. I feel it on my bottom then nothing, then my bottom explodes in pain as the cane hits my buttocks. I let out a small scream and gasp and force my mouth closed. Screaming is not allowed. Again and again. Four, six and sometimes eight times in total. My lip is shivering uncontrollably. I am sobbing. It is over. I turn and hug him as required. I look at him and between the sobs and deep breaths I stammer, "Thank you for correcting my behaviour." I turn to Mum and force out between the sobs again, "I am very sorry Mum for my rudeness." "You may go to your room," my father says. I ask, "May I go to the bathroom." He nods. I go to the bathroom. I squat so that my bottom does not touch the toilet seat and I pee.

I go into my room and I lie face down on my bed. My mum comes in and sits beside me and pats me on the back and runs her hands across my bottom. "Time to change," she says. I stand beside the bed and take off the costume. I am nude. Exposed. She holds my nightie. She tells me to turn away from her. I am being inspected. She is looking at my bottom. She turns me back and hugs me. She runs her hands down my back and across my bottom. I hug her. I sob. I am so so sorry. After an age, she separates from me and she puts the nightie on me.

Sometimes I had an awakening. But it was short-lived and half-hearted, and in the end, I would tell myself that I am just being rebellious and then confess to my parents and receive an attitude correction.

I lie on my tummy and push my face in my pillow and I sob and sob. Why. Why. Why. I feel so small. Why me. I have failed. I have disappointed. I am no good. They love me so much and I am so so bad. I fall asleep.

I said at the start that I was a willing participant and I realised that I did not get to that bit. I need to write more but that will have to be another time. Some of what I wrote today I had already written and rewritten and rewritten again as I had tried to work through this on my own, but even so, it is mentally exhausting and so I need a break. Thanks for listening.

Kristen

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 3" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 4

by Kristen
(Australia)

I mentioned in my last message that I had not really gone into the willing participant thing (see Part 3 of Kristen3's story; see also Part 1 and Part 2). I do want to write about it but it is quite hard for me because it gets to the core of my identity. For so long, even now, I have believed that women should be submissive. I was proud of being an obedient and submissive daughter and later wife. Other women would ask my advice and tell me how good I was. I would even talk with women's groups about the importance of being obedient and submissive. It gave me identity.

Going back in time, there was a turning point when I was 16. I used to attend a bible study at church. I remember sitting in a circle and the leader read a passage about the roles of men and women and children. There was discussion about being obedient and submissive. Some embarrassed giggles by some girls and comments by others about how old fashioned and sexist it was. I was quiet as always. It was not my place to voice my opinion. They know that and just carry on as if I was not there. I knew that I must sit quietly and learn. I knew that especially there I must sit quietly, for if I do otherwise, word will get home to my parents. The girls treat the discussion as a joke. Some girls talk about how they control their parents and joke about how they can manipulate them and get them to buy things and how they sneak out and lie to their parents. Others talk about how their parents think they are obedient but that they are not. They know nothing about how they should act or honour their parents. I sit there and in my own mind I develop a new resolution. They know nothing about obedience or submission. Quietly, without saying a word, I decide in my own heart that I am going to stop rebelling in my heart. I am going to be that obedient daughter. I am going to accept my parents' decisions. I am going to be the best most obedient daughter and one day be the most submissive wife to a wonderful man that will be provided for me. At the end of the evening, my mum picked me up from the church.

While we are driving, I ask permission to talk about what we learned that night and she said yes. I tell her about the discussion and my resolve to be totally obedient. I apologise for the rebellious thoughts that I have harboured.

When we get home, Mum takes me down the hall and tells me to stand outside my father's study. She knocks and goes in when he calls. After a few minutes the door opens and she calls me in. She says, "I think you should tell your father what you told me in the car." I stand before them and repeat the story. As I am listing off the rebellious thoughts, tears are running down my cheeks. I feel genuinely sorry that I have been having such bad thoughts.

When I finally finish, my father stands and hugs me. "That is such wonderful news," he says. "You are really ready to be totally obedient." I nod. It is true. In my heart I have made this decision. I really really really want to please them and to do the right thing. "You know when we punish you," he says, "that your mother has to hold your wrists, that this is symbolic of rebellion." I mumble. I had not thought of that. I shake my head. He tells me, "To your room and put on your costume and come down to the lounge room."

I don't understand. I look from Father to Mother and back and forward looking for a reprieve. There is none. I turn and I walk in a daze. My head is spinning. I am confused. I remember in my room, on my bed was my punishment costume. What? How? Was I going to be punished anyway for some infraction that I was not aware of.

I remove my clothes and put on the costume. As always, I am shaking. I walk downstairs. Holding the rail. Willing my feet which feel as heavy as lead.

In the lounge my father and mother are sitting on the couch. "Do you know why you are to be caned," he says. I shake my head, "No, I am sorry." He then tells me it is to cleanse me. To start again. If I am really ready to be submissive then I must never resist my parents in any way. This is to be part of my training. Now that I have vowed to be submissive I must be willing to accept this. I nod. It makes sense. It is like an athlete training. An athlete must run until it hurts. A daughter must submit through the pain. "This time your mother will not hold your wrists. Bend over."

I bend over. The cane whistles down and lightning bolt of pain sears through my bottom. Again and again. My legs are shaking. I am gasping. The tears are flowing but I do not scream. I am breathing heavily. I am holding my breath. Finally he stops. "Stand up," he says. I stand. I am still shaking. My legs are like jelly. I step towards him and collapse into his arms and hug him as I have been trained to do. When I have regained some strength I turn and hug my mother, who is now at his side. She helps me walk back upstairs. It is slow and I am shaking.

We remove my costume. My bottom is black with bruising and the welts of raised skin are visible. I stand there naked while she gets my nightie. She smiles at me. She puts the nightie on me. She hugs me. Then I lie on my bed. On my front. She dims the light and leaves. I bury my face in my pillow. I cry and cry and cry. I am so confused but there is no thought of rebellion.

So now for the first time I had been beaten not because I had done anything wrong but to demonstrate submission. They knew that I could pass this test and I passed it. Many others would not pass. I am strong. I am good. This is not the last time. There are more times when I have to be beaten. It is weird using that word. I never used it before. Other words would be used. Demonstration of submission. Test of obedience. Reminder of a quiet heart. Help to develop a submissive nature. I remember knowing that I could not tell others because the world does not understand and the police would get involved and at the same time talking with girls who were just so rebellious and yet they were talking about wanting to be submissive and me just thinking they need training. They need to feel the pain to understand submission. I lived it. I loved it. It was me. I was the best. I do not recall ever asking to be beaten but I do recall being told that I was to have a correction and just quietly accepting it. No longer feeling sick or shaking the way I had before. Just quietly in a sort of detached way not really being aware of anything other than walking or changing or obeying instructions. I do recall feeling relief after the pain had died down. A feeling of starting a fresh. A feeling of being new and totally without any burden. Like watching the sun rise from a mountain top.

So here I am now. I am married and I am questioning my identity. I am questioning me. Am I wrong? I am submissive to my husband. I try to do what he asks. I know he loves me. I do not want to get authorities involved because I do not want to break up my family. I will be all alone. I have read many stories of horrible abuse on this web site and the one difference is that in all the other cases, the bad things were done for the pleasure of the perpetrator that was their motivation. In my case, my parents loved me and believed that they were doing the right thing for me. How can love be abusive? Love is painful. In my case, physically, and for others love can be emotionally painful. Pretty mixed around hey.

Anyway, that is all I can write for now.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 4" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Kristen3 Part 5

by Kristen
(Australia)

I am now 30. I am up and down. I love my parents. I love my husband. I love my children. I have a big beautiful house. I have lovely friends. I don't have to work but I do work two days a week. I love my husband but he is in charge.

He lets me work those two days. It provides so well for the family. Sometimes I disapoint him. Sometimes he corrects me and I am torn. I accept his chastisement but at the same time I know that it is not seen as right.

He told me recently that I was frigid, boring. I do what he asks everything he asks. Always. I try so hard. I wear the clothes he wants me to wear. I do the things he wants me to do. I never resist him. sexually or any way. Even if it hurts. I want to be a good wife. His wife. To do the right thing. I keep the house clean and tidy. Pretty dumb hey. What am I to do. I do what he asks but it is not what he likes. I used to be so proud that I was a good wife and that my sacrifices, my pain, was a demonstration of my submission to him and that he loved me unconditionally and completely.

Anyway thanks for letting me write.

kristen

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Child Abuse Story From Anon

by Anon
(Scotland)

Greg - otherwise known as 'Dad' 
It was always my mom and me when I was growing up. I didn't know my dad, he wasn't around. My mom had told me he died, whether or not that was the truth I'll never know. But when I was 6, my mom and I moved in with her boyfriend, Greg. I didn't really like him, and I never had a say about moving in with him. We just packed our bags and moved in.

A month later, they married. After they got back from their honeymoon, my mother and Greg sat with me, and my mother told me Greg was now my father and I would have to call him Dad. I didn't want to. But I learnt I had no choice the day I called Greg by his name. He came towards me and started to beat me something awful. He told me if I ever called him Greg again he'd punish me like he had before.

The beatings from Greg got worse as the years went on. He would beat me over the smallest things. My mother knew about the beatings, but she never stopped them. I guess she was being abused by Greg too, and felt too weak to stop him. I pleaded with my mother to leave him, but she wouldn't listen.

Then I turned 12 years old. I had come home from school. Greg came towards me and told me to take my clothes off, including my underwear. I didn't want to, and I said no. I saw him take his belt off, like it was a warning that if I didn't do as he said he'd hurt me. So I did as he said. When all my clothes were off, he walked towards me and said 'look at how you've grown' and then he stroked my breasts that were developing. While he stroked my breasts with one hand, he started to touch my bottom with the other. Then he stopped touching me for a moment and pulled me down to the ground where he forced me to lie down. Then he raped me. After it was over, he told me that no man was allowed to touch me but him, and that if I ever told, he would kill my mother.

Greg continued to abuse me both physically and sexually as the years went on. I finally found a way to escape. I applied to boarding schools without my mother knowing, and I finally got in one of them. On the day I was packing to leave, I begged my mother to go with me, to move to the area my school was in. She said she had to be here with my 'father'. On my last night, Greg came into my room. He said, as it was my last night, he wanted to spend time with me. He began to touch me. I tried to push him off. Luckily, we heard my mother walking around, so he stopped.

The next morning I left without saying goodbye to my mother. Instead, I left a note saying sorry. When I came home for the holidays, I felt somewhat stronger and managed to find ways to escape from Greg. I could see how unhappy my mother was. I would beg her time and time again to leave. On my 17th birthday, I'd had enough. I gave my mum an ultimatum: him or me. She chose him. So I left the house and never looked back.

I am now 19 years old, and I am in college. I go for counselling now to help me deal with what Greg did to me. I haven't seen my mother since I left that day, but I hope she's OK. I pray to God every day that she'll finally see sense and leave that horrid man.

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Child Abuse Story From Casey

by Casey
(Charlotte, North Carolina, USA)

I don't like the child abuse that goes on in the world. It makes me very sad. I just can't take it any more. It's just too freaking sad to handle...I can't handle it. I know how these kids feel because I'm emotionally abused in my house...I don't have anyone that I can talk to about it, which makes it even harder...so I have to handle it all on my own...but it could be worse, I could be sexually abused too.

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Child Abuse Story From Michele

by Michele
(New Orleans, Los Angeles, USA)

I'm the middle child. I have 2 sisters. We were all abused, mostly by my mother, but my father chipped in from time to time. My dad was in the military, and I now realize he was an alcoholic. He was never home. If he wasn't away on military training or schools, he spent all of his time at the gym or playing sports. I think he didn't like coming home to a bunch of females. He very rarely spoke to us. Almost all of our dealings were if it was time to beat us. I remember always being very afraid of him, but wanting him to love me, even if he didn't like me. I knew he didn't like me.

My mother was/is very controlling, manipulative and mean. My mom was obsessed with us having sex or liking boys. If there was any sign of us having a boyfriend, she would strip us naked and beat us. Sometimes she would just have a bad day and beat us. Her favorite weapon was a belt or a wooden clog. When I was 14, I spent an afternoon with an older boy I was not allowed to see. My parents found out and immediately accused me of having sex. They called me b***, slut and told me I was filthy. They closed all the doors and windows and told me to go to the back bedroom and take off all my clothes. They took turns beating me, kicking me and knocking me down. I was covered in welts and scars for almost 2 weeks.

On another occasion, my mom saw me playing outside with a boy. She punched me in the eye in front all of my friends. She dragged me to the car, asked if my eye hurt. I said "no," so she punched me in the other one. She sent me outside the next day to play (which she hardly ever let us do) with one black eye and a busted blood vessel in the other.

We never knew what would set her off. Once, I drank from a soda she left in the fridge. She lined us up and asked who did it. When she found out it was me, she made up an exaggerated story and sent my dad into a rage. He came in the room, picked me up by my collar until I almost touched the ceiling, started yelling at me and then, all of a sudden, let me go. I remember my head hitting the wood floors and blacking out. That's how it usually happened. She would tell my father some outrageous lie and he would beat us after she did. I called it the "tag team."

Once, she forgot my oldest sister was attending a track banquet and accused her of being with a boy. She picked us up and drove down a dark, secluded rode, near our house and started screaming and slamming on the breaks at the same time. I remember being in the front seat and hitting my head several times on the dash. She was saying she was going to hurt us when she got home. My older sister got so afraid, she jumped from the moving van and ran. When we got home, my mom had the nerve to call the police! When they questioned our neighbors, they told how my mom was always beating us. Nothing ever happened. But, later on that night, there was a news story showing my sister accepting an award. She never apologized. She beat my sister when the cops found her.

I ran away so much, she called me "the track star." I did everything I could think of to make my parents like me. I played sports and always finished in the top 3. I participated in Speech & Drama and never, ever saw them at a track meet, basketball game, play or awards ceremony. The more I did, the more my mom mistreated me. She said I thought I was too smart and better than the rest of them.

I used to pray that my dad would see what my mom was doing. I'd ask God to make him like us enough to make her stop or just step in and help us. I don't know why I thought he (my dad) could help me when he was part of the problem.

As a kid, I would get this tingling in my hands when I was afraid or had a feeling that one of them was going to hurt me. I'm 31 years old, and I've recently started getting that feeling again. I have nightmares and believe I'm having anxiety attacks.

I'm so sorry this is so long. This is the first time I've got up the nerve to do something like this. I know I need help, but I'm afraid my parents will find out, or that I will have to confront them on it and mess up everything in my family. Everybody gets along okay now, I don't want to mess that up for my sisters.

Thank You so much for letting me get this out.

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Child Abuse Story From Pamela

by Pamela
(Wisconsin, USA)

Abuse Happens By School Teachers And Peers As Well: 
I am a 35-year-old survivor of abuse, both emotionally and sexually. My sexual abuse started at the age of 4, when my parents who worked dropped me off at the babysitter's. The woman's husband was a higher-up in the military. The guy would make me go into the bathroom with him and make me suck on his penis. He never progressed past that because one day, I told my parents about it. They confronted him and his wife, and told them that if she didn't give up her daycare business, they would report them to the police.

Second instance of abuse was from a friend's sister, who was in high school at the time. She made me have sex with their dog and used clothes hangers on me. It went on for a while, her threatening me to beat me up if I told. But I already knew it was wrong and told a social worker at our school about it. The girl was placed in foster care and got the help she needed. I found out later, after she apologized to me, that she was abused also.

The emotional abuse started from the day I started school till the day I dropped out, but it got worse when I went to this one school in Wisconsin. At least in my other schools the teachers would try and help me! When I went to St. Croix, the bullying got worse and worse through the years. I was stabbed with pencils on the bus, called fat, stupid, retarded, they even made fun of my appearance! Nothing I did was right. Even my teachers got in on it.

One time, I was in class and I refused to do some math homework, so my teacher took me down to the principal's office. I had to see the counselor, but instead of trying to help me, they belittled me by putting a desk in the front of the office. The counselor said he would make me do the homework even if he had to ram it down my throat. The teacher and the counselor were laughing about it all, while I was sitting their within ear shot.

Just before I went into 7th grade, I remember telling my teacher that I was gonna be in band and her writing a big memo on the board while telling me she was not gonna let me be in band because I would not understand it anyways!

Again in 8th grade, the abuse continued. This one teacher loudly pronounced in front of the whole class that I was stupid. Everyone laughed at my expense.

School was a miserable experience for me, as I was learning disabled (LD) and never really had anyone to stick up for me! My teachers chalked it up to the fact I was not trying to make friends. During the last year of school, I remember my teacher calling my friend in to the classroom, saying that she needed to talk to her because she was pregnant. Later, I found out she had told her that she should not be friends with me because I was gonna hurt her baby!

When time came for graduation, no one told me that even with LD you could still go on to college because there are universities that except people like me, people with learning challenges. I was basically told I would be working as a bagger all my life, and that I was not capable of making good money, or having a nice job that paid! In essence, my teachers and school passed me just to get me out of there. Years later, I went back to get the documents I needed for the extra time on GED tests. My school blew me off and just laughed.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Pamela" can be found below. If you do not see the comments I've written, please be patient, as there is a system glitch regarding comments going live on my site. I assure you, I have replied to your story: I posted June 2, 2008, comments titled "No laughing matter..." Keep checking back to this page. I thank you Pamela and my other visitors for your understanding while I work at getting this glitch rectified.

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Child Abuse Story From Courtney

by Courtney
(Green Bay, Wisconsin, USA)

It happened to me so many times...by my stepfather!!! It started when I was 13, and ended when I finally was pushed over the edge and I told on him at the age of 15, almost 16. And to be honest, to a certain point, I wish I had not said anything, because even my own mother didn't believe me!!! She thought I was making it all up. And I always wonder why she didn't or couldn't tell that it was happening.

I remember, he would come into my room at night, and do his disgusting things to me. He would make me do things just for him to see. He liked to watch me do stuff. And when he was done watching, he wanted to do things himself. Then when he was done with me, he got up and looked at me with a face of power and said "Don't tell Mom, otherwise you won't see her again!" I felt ashamed, and I still do. I froze up every time. I couldn't move. I was so scared that I just sat there while he had his fun with me.

I remember waking up every night, screaming and crying from the nightmares I would have because I would wonder, Is tonight another night? I still have nightmares and flashbacks. I can't enjoy anything anymore because of him. I didn't even go to my aunt's wedding!! She was so disappointed in me.

He has ruined my life. He has everyone believing that I made the whole thing up. There are times when I start crying and can't stop. I hurt and I feel like I'm nothing. I feel unwanted. I can't trust anyone, not even myself! I don't understand why I just froze up. I wish I had the guts to stop him...but I lived through it. I'm dealing with life now! So I'm strong, and I want him to know that! HE CAN'T CONTROL ME NOW!!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Courtney" can be found below.

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Child Abuse Story From ZM

by ZhiMin
(Montreal, Canada)

I did not have a childhood and teenage. I was living in a room completely black without a light. I thought there was no future for me. I attempted suicide one time. However, every time when I imagined my mom crying in front of my tomb, my heart was broken. I could not do it anymore, so I told myself that I live for my mother.

My father started to beat me up when I was 3 years old. I still remember; the giant kicked me who was rolling on the floor. My cousin thought that my father was playing football with me inside the house, No, I was the football.

Usually, we have meals three times a day, well, I got beaten up three times a day. Tell me about it how do I feel when I was walking back home?

Age of 10, I was dreaming to be a dancer and an actress. My father kept telling me that I am not qualified. As a result, I did not believe all the love letters that I received from 12 years old. I laughed at a boy who mailed me a huge card with a love poem, I passed it in the class. You know what? because I do not believe that I can be loved! It is impossible for a man to love me!

Many times when I saw my father abuse my mother, I have the desire to pull a knife to kill him. Then I kept telling myself that I can not do that, it is not worth of losing my freedom because of this mad dog. So, I waited until one day I can leave home.

At age of 18, I decide to end the nightmare. Finally, I pulled out a knife and chased my father. I told him, now it is about time, either you die or I, and I do not wish to live anymore. He was scared. He could never see and imagine how violent that I could be.

I have so much anger inside me and I have anger arrangement problem. I suffer so much the consequence.

9 years ago, I decided to move to Canada by myself and finally quit this home. I learned more and more about child abuse. Only at this time, I realized that I am the victim of my father. Not only me, my sister and my poor mother.

I talked to my sister and my mother and share my knowledge. We, the very first time started to talk about the family violence and expressed our feelings. My sister confronted to my father and my mother also. However, I still do not feel like to do it. I just ignore him, because I see him only every 3 to 4 years.

When my sister was pregnant, I gave her a book about how to educate baby. And two of us swear that we will never never abuse our children, that is our revenge to our father to prove that he is wrong! As a matter of fact, my sister never abuse her children and she is a great mother!

My mother still stay in the relationship, however she learned how to defend herself against my father. A few years ago, my father beat my mother up with a stick and broke her arms. After this, my mother finally stood up to claim her dignity and her territory. The reason to stay in this relationship was because of us. She did not want a divorce and raise us in a bad environment. Only after these years, she realized that she was wrong. A man almost destroyed three women. Because of our father, a violent man, three women, my sister, my mother, and I all attempted to suicide. Luckily, we all survived.

I almost fell into a relationship with a violent boyfriend. I learned so much about myself and learned how to let out my anger. Today, I gain the peace and I am able to love and have my own family.

The dark is passed. My healing is done. What can I do for those who are still suffering? I am a filmmaker. I decide to make films to tell stories and call the attention to those hiding-in-the corners.

My first film is a student film called Break the Chain. Now I am preparing a short film called On the Way Home. Let's do something to prevent child abuse and save those who are still living in the black box.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From ZM" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From KatieLynne

by Katie
(Pennsylvania, USA)

Hit Me More: 
I came home from school, and my mom was already in a bad mood. I wanted to go into my room without talking to anyone. She said something about my dad. I ignored it. She said it again, and I asked her to stop. She pushed me. I fell against the wall. I told her to f*off and go to hell. She pushed me against the wall and started screaming at me at the top of her lungs. She pushed me more and more. Before I knew it, I was on the ground and she was standing over me. I pushed her over so she was off of me. She pulled my hair and shoved me back down. I got up, but she pushed me back down again. I laid there and cried till she was done screaming at me. Over and over again, I could hear her screaming at me. Then she used her key and sliced it against my face and down my cheek. A big spot of blood dropped. I saw that my cheek was bleeding. I got up and went to bed and cried myself to sleep.

Darlene's comments to this story are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Samantha B

by Samantha B.
(London, Ontario, Canada)

Sexual Child Abuse: 
I was a happy child, friendly and trusting to anyone, which I found to be my fault. I was only in grade school, not even 7. I was living with my mother at the time. My parents were separated and I spent weekends with my father.

I was happy with my mother, but she had problems. I know now she had her own emotional problems that led her to seek a spouse in the wrong places, or friends that were not good to be around.

One night after the babysitter left, I lay in my room listening. I could not sleep until I knew my mother was in her bed in the next room. I heard she had someone over that night. They were arguing. I lay trying to listen, but even if I heard what they spoke, I would not remember a sound they had made. I think it was an hour later. I lay awake still knowing my mother was not in bed. I watched out the window at the storm that had slowly come in, the lighting flashing, the thunder booming. I loved the sound of the wind blowing the rain hard against the roof. It was peaceful.

I heard it then, footsteps outside my door. Hoping my mother was going to bed I rolled over to fall asleep. I didn't hear her door, I heard mine, thinking only that she was checking in on me and my little sister. Then I felt him, his hands moving over me. I thought I was dreaming, but knew I wasn't. He rolled me over. "Make a sound and I'll hurt you," he told me when he saw I was awake. I remember his voice rough and deep. He only whispered but his voice was screaming in my mind. I knew it was wrong, I was told about it at school. His hands ran under my nightgown, pulling it up so he could see my body. I felt paralyzed. I couldn't move, couldn't think. I could only breathe and watch in horror as he touched me. My mind was screaming no, but I couldn't even mouth the words. He pulled off my underwear and climbed over me. Tears ran down my face. I knew what was going to happen. I turned my head to see my sister lying there peacefully sleeping. I looked back at him, pleading with him to not continue. "If you wake her, I'll do it to her too," he told me. I did my best to not make a noise, not even breathe too loudly. I did not want this to happen to her. I did not want her to be put through this. I just lay there crying silently as he had his way, staring up at the ceiling, hoping it was all a dream.

When it was over he left. I heard him leave the house. I lay there until the sun came up and I knew everyone was still asleep. Seeing some blood on my clothing and sheets, I gathered the dirtied laundry and I ran down the stairs to put them in the wash. But my mother was stirring, so I ran and hid them under my bed. When it was safe I would soon throw them away to be rid of the evidence.

The week went on as I tried to get the night out of my head. I claimed to be ill and stayed home from school. Two weeks went by and I was back to normal, being happy, but not trusting. I was afraid of stormy nights after that. My mother thought nothing of it.

Years went on and I blocked the night altogether from my memory.

One night when I was 11, it was storming out badly. I now lived with my father; my mother thought it best, as she needed help and was unable to care for us the way she wanted. The nightmares started then. I remembered every moment from the night it happened. I woke, crying to myself, clutching my knees at the corner of my bed, feeling as if he was there in my room. I was only plagued by the nightmares when it was storming outside. I coped with them in my own way: crying until I felt safe to sleep.

Soon the nightmares became more frequent. A few times a week I had the dreams, waking up afraid and crying. I began to feel depressed and began to cut myself, once on my leg for each nightmare. Soon my thighs were covered with marks. I began smoking to relieve my stress. I secretly stole cigarettes from my parents and smoked whenever I had a dream to replace the cutting.

As I hit 15 years old I had the dreams every night. I cut myself, smoked and began to do drugs to ease my pain. I had also become anorexic and purged anything I ate. I started dressing in a gothic matter: the bracelets and arm bands covering my cuts.

After my first attempt of overdosing, I was put into counselling and on medication for depression. For years I suffered through my father telling me I had no reason to be sad or to hurt myself.

I was 16 when I finally told my 7th counsellor what had happened to me, and said I would tell my father in my own time, when I felt I could. She agreed and said if need be, she would be there.

It was after work one evening. I met him at work and said we should go for a late dinner together. He was glad to go, loving the times we spent just with each other. I was open about what happened to me. We ordered our food, and when I knew no one was close to hear, I told him.

"Dad, just listen. I need you to just listen."

He didn't answer.

"I know you keep saying I have no reason to be sad, no reason to hurt myself. I do."

He didn't reply.

"I was raped as a kid. I think I was 5 or 6. It happened during a storm, that's why they scare me. I wanted to wait until I felt ready to be able to tell you. I needed to be able to trust myself to tell anyone. I felt ready to tell you now, 'cause I know I need help. I know that by telling you, you will know why I feel this way and know why I do what I do." I was crying now. "I wanted to be able to have you know why, and to be able to help me through it now." I couldn't breathe now; I was crying too much.

He was silent for a moment. "I'm glad you told me. It's too late to do anything about what happened, or to be able to find him," he told me (and I knew it was true). "But we can help you get through it." He reached out and held my hand.

I ate my entire meal that night and did not purge. Since then, I have stopped cutting after seeking proper help for my eating disorder and my nightmares. After years of trying to deal with it on my own, I knew I couldn't do it alone.
I soon moved back in with my mother, knowing to better deal with my pain I had to be with the one I was with at the time. I never told my mother what had happened to me. I feel like on some level she already knows, and she is still suffering from mild depression, so I do not want to cause her more pain.

I was 17 when I finally stopped having nightmares and stopped cutting and started eating. I was pregnant when I felt better. I had made the mistake of forgetting a condom one night with my boyfriend. And now I'm glad I did. Because of having to care for myself to care for the life inside me, I got better.

Now I am 19. I am no longer plagued by nightmares. I no longer harm myself, and I eat healthy every day. I am strong. I don't trust people too quickly anymore (which I find to be a good thing). I have studied self defense to prevent it from happening again, and will put my daughter in these classes as well to prevent it happening to her. When she is old enough I will tell her my story so she knows to be careful about people she does not know. I'm happy now, and if it was not for that night many years ago, I would not be who I am today. Going through something so wrong as a child has made me a stronger person today.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Samantha B" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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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.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Richelle B" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Rachael C

by Rachael C.
(Blackpool, United Kingdom)

From the age of 5-7 I was sexually abused by my mum's boyfriend, although there was no oral sex. I still feel the hurt now. It did go to court and he was sentenced to serve 3 years but only did 1. What kind of punishment is that?

My mum stood by him and would have rather seen me in care than let a family member take care of me, so in the end my uncle and his wife took very good care of me. A year later I moved back in with my mum in a new house with my 2 brothers and her numerous boyfriends. I received 3 thousand pounds compensation, which my mum spent on herself within a month. Then she got a new boyfriend and we moved house, and that's when it started again, this time more severe, sometimes every night. I was a total mess after what had happened the first time. Nobody would believe me.

Funnily enough, every time something happened, my mum would receive money or a new appliance or a night out, and she was usually downstairs when it happened. Then she got sent to jail for benefit fraud and served a year and a half. By this time, he was having oral sex every night with me and I couldn't do anything about it. I just drank and went off the rails.

Eventually, I met a friend who is now my best friend, and after 4 years of close friendship, I told her and she urged me to go to the police, which I did because I finally had someone who believed me.

I suffered from when I was 8-15. It was all ready for court, then I was told by my mum he had been acquitted and that that was the end of the matter. Again she stood by him. Shortly after, I moved out. She divorced him a year later. He paid the costs and she got nothing. Apparently she got engaged to numerous other blokes and got re-married 3 years later. I have to put up with her ex-husband trying to run me and my kids over in the street and shouting obscenities at me along with his first ex-wife and their daughter. That went on for 5 years. I informed the police, yet they could do nothing. It was ripping me apart.

Then a week ago, a lady who had been looking for me for years finally managed to contact me to tell me he had done the same thing to her when she was 11-15. She was his first ex-wife's sister. She is now 45, and that was 33 years ago. We went to the police, and all we could do was wait. When news came, I was filled with anger and disbelief. My mum had lied to me. He hadn't been acquitted; it hadn't even got to court. He was charged, but my mum had had something to do with him getting off. We are now waiting to find out what is going to happen.

I'm 21 now. I have a fiance and 2 children. Even though it feels like everyone is laughing at me, I am willing to put myself through it now because I'm more mature, stronger and I now have a right to know everything. In the last 6 weeks I have lost a baby, had surgery, passed 5 GCSEs (exams in United Kingdom to obtain General Certificate of Secondary Education) and heard news from the police. They can keep throwing stuff at me, but I won't let it pull me down. It hurts like hell, but after 6 years of not knowing, the truth is coming out. I think I'm finally going to get peace.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Rachael C" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Vicki1

by Vicki
(Location Undisclosed)

I was abused by my mother's father: 
My mom took my grandmother to a funeral when I was 11 years old. I was not allowed to go because my grandmother said, "Kids should not go to funerals." So, I had to stay at my grandparents' house with my grandfather.

My grandfather called me into the kitchen after everyone had been gone for some time. He kissed me on the lips and stuck his tongue in my mouth. I was disgusted, but was afraid of him because he was a very large man, so I didn't say anything.

He rubbed my newly developed breasts, and he began to shake. I was scared, sick, but at the same time...aroused. (That is the part I feel so guilty for).

He stuck his hand under my shirt, then into my pants, then inside me. I got away and left the kitchen, but ran into one of the bedrooms. He followed me and repeated what had happened in the kitchen. He tried to put me on the bed, but a car door slammed, and he left.

That night, I cried and cried. I got up to go tell my mom what happened. I walked over to her bedside, and I knew she would never believe me.

This behavior by my grandfather continued for almost another 5 years off and on.

I married the day after I was 18, had a baby nine months later, then got up the courage to tell my mother what had happened with my grandfather. Just as I had predicted, she did not believe me. She yelled at me that I had NEVER loved her parents, and that I was trying to divide her from her family. She barely spoke to me for the next few years. I lived next door to mom AND my grandparents.

My grandfather became very sick. He was dying of heart failure and had come home to spend his final days. He sent for me. When we were alone, he told me he was sorry. He died a few days later. At the funeral, my mother and I stood by the coffin. Bravely, I said, "Mom, I didn't lie to you." She said, "I know."

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Vicki1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Chuck

by Chuck
(Portsmouth, New Hampshire, USA)

I am a fifty-year-old man who within the last couple of months in 2007 realized through the help of going to therapy that I was abused as a child. I was abused physically and mentally by my father, sexually abused by many different adults who abused their authority over me over the years. I was abandoned by both of my parents and when I was out by myself, I realize now that being a child younger than the age of ten that I was a prime target for all different types of abuse. I have been used and abused by many people in order to satisfy their own needs at my expense. There is still a chunk of time I can't account for, only bits and pieces from my cruel past. So far, I can remember over ten different events involving different people at various ages.

The last series of events occurred when I was about 14 or 15. This manager (Herb) and I worked at a toy store (in Mt Kisco, NY) of all places. One day, Herb had me straightening and cleaning a storage area, and I found a stash of girlie magazines. He catches me in the act and I beg him not to tell anyone. He never told anyone about me, outside his circle of friends. So, for many months, a friend would visit him, and I would be introduced to this friend and I wouldn't or couldn't say no. During these events, I was excited and even enjoyed parts of the events, and of course there were parts that I didn't care much for too. I have years of guilt, shame, problems with relationships, and feeling numb about my feelings. As a matter of fact, I have told a couple of people aside from my therapist about my abuse, and I still feel numb.

I am angry that I have wasted so many years of my life feeling numb and not knowing why I always felt different. Now, I am also going through a period of not being sure about my sexual orientation, if I should stay married (after 27 years to the same person), who I really am and what I want to be when I grow up.
I often wonder how I made it through life to end up here. At my age, I find it difficult that I have to almost re-learn and learn so much about myself in order to have a more meaningful life in the twilight of my life.

After I typed this story and have read it a couple of times now, I don't have any emotion, maybe a little sad, but for the most part I'm still numb.

I see to my therapist almost every week and I am waiting for enough men to sign up for a men's support group. I find that my one-hour session with my therapist goes by so fast each week. We are still trying to find a way in order to break this very hard and numb shell I have accumulated over the last 40 or so years.

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Child Abuse Story From Brittney

by Brittney
(Lebanon, Oregon, USA)

I have 9 sisters and 2 brothers. My mom had been very sick with kidney disease, so we moved in with her ex. He started raping all of us, mostly me and my baby sister who is only five. Her name is Ana. She has cerebral palsy and autism. She didn't understand what was going on. We never told a single soul, none of us. He got caught one day picking Ana up from pre-school. He had thrown her down the sidewalk stairs, and the principal came out.

Here we are, after my mom's recovery. I am in the 11th grade, getting straight A's. If me, Brittney, can do that...so can anyone else out there!

And now here I am, writing a story about my life, that I want to get published when I am 18. :D I pray to god I will, because someone needs to understand that no matter how badly you're abused, there is always someone out there with an open ear, waiting to listen.

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Child Abuse Story From Vicki2

by Vicki
(Orlando, Florida, USA)

The abuse started when I was approximately 3 years old and continued until sometime in my 16th year. My step-father was the first. I can remember him showing himself to me and telling me the names of all the "parts". He would make me fondle him, and he would touch me. Usually he was drunk when this occurred, but there were times he was sober. My mother was not around – she was always at work when he approached me. Sometimes he would pick me up at school and take me down a back road. I don't remember the specific words he said to warn me not to tell, but I clearly knew I was not to tell anyone, especially my mom.

As the years went on, I had a vicious love/hate relationship with him. I wanted so much to have a normal, loving father, and I hated him for ruining that. We never talked or had anything to do with each other. He certainly was not there for me emotionally. The only thing he did was provide for me financially.

There were other men, as well, who abused me. My real father met me when I was 11—I stayed a summer with him and his family in Washington. He treated me like a girlfriend, kissing me and holding my hand. I wanted him to love me and hoped he would let me come live with him – anything to get away from the violence in my home with my step-dad. My step-dad was loud and mean, a vicious drunk. In comparison, my real father was soft spoken, funny, handsome, and I desperately wanted him to love me. But as time went on and he continued to treat me like a girlfriend, I understood that it was not to be.

My step-dad had a country band, and I would go with my family to hear the band play music at various bars and clubs where I grew up. It was a racy lifestyle for a child, and teen. I was hit on by older men all the time. They would dance with me, and flirt with me like I was an adult.

Other men abused me - men from church that I respected and looked to for help.

It has taken me years and years to understand how much I need therapy. The abuse affected me in every way possible. Now I'm just trying to get back in touch with that little girl that was so mistreated and abused. And show her the other side.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Vicki2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Lea

by Lea
(Pennsylvania, USA)

I am 15 years old. I was physically abused by my mother. She was the kind of person who would seem nice to everyone else, but then when the door closed and it was just me and her she would become literally my worst nightmare. I also have 2 siblings, but they didn't get beat nearly as much as I did.

One of many stories I have is: I was 2 and my little sister was 1, and she was coming from somewhere and my mom was sitting right next to where my sister was but instead my mom wanted me to get her. I went to get her but "I didn't get there fast enough" and my mom started beating me with a 4x4 piece of wood. My older brother finally called the police and they came and they immediately called the ambulance. They arrested my mom and she was put in prison for a year. One year. I was nearly dead when the EMTs got there and they said it was a miracle that I lived.

I was also sexually abused by the babysitter my mother hired. He already had a warrant out for molesting children, but my mom didn't care. I later had to testify against that man. If you're wondering where my dad was at through all of this, he was working. He drove trucks and didn't have custody of me (until the 4x4 incident).

I haven't seen or heard from my mother in 12 years. She abandoned me and I am forever emotionally scared. Not only from being abused, but from her leaving. Now I'm so jumpy I can't even stand it. I cry over everything and I have thee worst attitude. Nobody understands that I have soo much anger built up, and without seeing my mom and asking her questions that I need answered, I'm never gonna be happy in life. I always try to push people away to see if they come back 'cause I really don't think I'm worthy of anything that can possibly be good, because so far nothing good has happened.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Lea" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Stephen

by Stephen H.
(Bridgnorth, United Kingdom)

At the age of 7, whilst on holiday with my parents, my mother informed me that I had been sleep walking and that for my own safety she would tie me to the bed at night to prevent me from sleep walking. This ritual continued until I was about 12 years of age. I was also subjected to other forms of abuse, including sexual abuse involving bondage, namely that my mother would tie my genitals with string. I was also made to wear very tight swimming trunks at night. I was not allowed to bathe alone. My mother would also assist me in the toilet.

Both of my parents were domineering and heavily relied on physical punishment as well as being verbally demeaning. My sister who is 15 years older than I, was/is almost certainly neurotic and my brother who is 2 1/2 years older also has personality difficulties, many of which he has discussed with me in the past. This includes a need to be spanked and visiting prostitutes for bondage.

Today I also have a need for bondage, CBT (male genital torture) and spanking. Nearly all of my relationships with women have been unhappy. I find Vanilla sex completely unrewarding.

From the age of 6 I was withdrawn and found it difficult to integrate with other children. I suffered school phobia and came to the attention of the truancy officer. Indeed, I can remember the police visiting my mother. During a conversation with Mrs G, the school truancy/welfare officer, I reported that I was being tied to the bed and to the loft hatch. She ignored this and it was never acted upon; such is authority.

I was also a victim of bullying, and in return I bullied anyone I thought was less than me. I would often get into trouble for being in fights and became increasingly violent at school. This culminated in my expulsion for trying to stab the gardening teacher with a garden fork after he hit me around the back of the head during a lesson. I left school and idled the day away. I understood that I was requested not to return to school.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Stephen" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Cree

by Cree D
(Decatur, Georgia, USA)

What I been thru still affects me til this day. My mom used to work her butt off to support me and my 2 brothers, and til this day, she lives with HIV from the man who raped me for the years he was with my mom.

He used to touch me. One day I was playing with my toys and he hit me and made me lay down. He forced me to have sex with him until I started to bleed. I was only five then. It kept happening until I was about twelve. As soon as I hit middle school, my mom ended up leaving him for her own reasons.

Then I met my true love, (I thought) Tommy. One day, I skipped school to go out with him. He took me to his grandma's house, tied me up and raped me and then took me home like I was trash. Come to find out he was 21 years old, but told me he was 17 (that's what he looked like to me). My mom ain't know the pain I went thru, so by then my whole self-esteem had been destroyed.

Now it's 2008. In 2007 I was raped by my next door neighbor. He went to college now, but he invited me over and as soon as I got in his room he pushed me on the bed, forced my hands up and put Vaseline on my private part and forced himself inside of me and when he was done I ran to my best friend, Chasity's house, bleeding and hurt. I wanted to straight up kill myself. I thought I wasn't worth nothing.

But now I'm 18 years old, and in love with my girl, Tiara. I'm openly lesbian and couldn't be happier. She helps me every day and I love her.

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Child Abuse Story From Callie

by Callie
(Washington, USA)

Shattered Trust and a Terrified Little Girl: 
I was about a year or two when it all started. My mom and father just split up and I had to visit his with my brother every other weekend. It started the first weekend we where there. It all seemed fine at first, eating Wendy's and watching Disney movies. But then bedtime came, the time of day I grew to hate in the house. He would come in the room and quietly wake me up and take me to his room. He would put me on his bed and tell me that he had been hurting and only I could help him. So as I wanted to help just like any little girl would like to help her daddy.

He said I wasn't big enough yet to help in the ways he needed me to...yet...so he would turn me over and started anal rape on me. I couldn't scream, he had covered my face in the pillow. After that, I cried every time I had to see him. I had told my mom, but the police didn't do anything.

Years went by until I was five or six. He started putting objects inside of me, but he never went deep enough to take my "innocence" away.

I am now 19 years old. I live on my own. I know where he lives and he has contacted me once. I have filed a complaint and he is no longer allowed near me or my family.

I don't hate him for what he did. He is a sick man with issues, yes. He does not deserve to die or to be harmed in any way. The reason I think this is because he's living with a big man that was also in jail, so my father is learning his lesson very well.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Callie" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Andrew

by Andrew
(USA)

When I was 10, my father (who was the only one I lived with) started to sexually abuse me. He would abuse me in every way possible. The most often way he would abuse me was in the shower.

He would come with me in the bathroom and watch me undress. He would watch with intensity at my crotch area. He would turn on the shower and have me get in. He would leave, locking the door behind him and go get his swim suit on. When he would come back, I was always terrified. He would step in the shower with me and then grab my penis, squeezing as hard as he could. I would scream, but he would just laugh. Sometimes he would make me bend over and he would run a finger in my anus. It would hurt so I bad I would cry. He didn't seem to care. We would get out and he would run with my clothes. So I was left naked. I would have to run up to my doorless bed room to get clothes.

One time I remember distinctly was when we went to a restaurant with a whole bunch of people I didn't know but who were my dad's friends. We sat there eating when I felt my father pulling my legs apart and unzipping my pants. He then put his hands in them. He sat the whole dinner fondling me. Near the end, he asked me to go to the bathroom while he talked with his friends. I didn't want to disappoint my dad, so I left. On my way back, the guys at the table were all looking at my crotch area. I sat down at the table again. The guy across from me asked if he could see me naked later. I said no, but my dad gave me a death look. He said that the boys were coming over to play with me. At home, he had me undress and lay on the couch while each of the men touched me inappropriately.

The last time my father sexually abused me I was 15. I was in bed, sleeping. He came in and said he wanted me to sleep with him because a murderer was said to be on the loose (it was a lie). I went into his bed and fell asleep (or that's what he thought). He reached over and grabbed my penis. Pure pain. He then tried to take my pants off. I "woke" up and told him I was going to my room. He yelled at me and turned on the lights. He held me down and took off my pants. He then got on top of me and started touching me. I was in pain and screaming. He didn't listen. He flipped me over and pulled my butt cheeks apart till the skin at the top ripped and I was bleeding. He stuck his finger in as he could and moved it around. I felt my insides were being scrambled. Then he grabbed me by my penis and dragged me down the hall, down the stairs and onto the kitchen floor. He yelled at me to clean up the mess, naked. I did what I was told while he took pictures.

I called the cops a few days later, and he was arrested and went to jail. I was lucky to survive. I was taken to the doctor and they diagnosed me with a infection in my groin.

I am 16 now. I tell my story because I didn't speak out soon enough. Once is enough. Tell soon.

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Child Abuse Story From Brett

by Brett
(Alaska, USA)

I'm 16. I'll be 17 in two weeks. I don't have any brothers or sisters, and my mom died when she was having me. It's only been my dad and I.

Every day he finds a reason to hit me, punch me, kick me or do whatever else he feels like doing. I tried to run away two summers ago. When I got about a mile outside of town, my dad caught up with me on the side of the road. I couldn't even look him in the eyes, I was so afraid of what he was going to do. He punched me in the face and threw me in the back of the truck. My nose was gushing with blood. It was an hour drive back to the house. I pushed myself up against the back of the truck, trying to get away from him but I couldn't. He got into the back and kicked me out of the truck. The real damage happened when he got me inside. He kicked me, threw me against the wall, held my head down and just wailed on me. He ripped his belt off, holding me by the neck and beat my legs with the belt. I could feel my skin welting. I couldn't breathe with all the blood. He knocked the wind out of me. I was gasping for air. He wouldn't stop. I screamed. I begged him. He broke my jaw, 4 ribs, busted my lip, broke my nose, and gave me more bruises then I've ever had from one of his beatings. I'll never run away again.

He has these "friends" that he sends me too, or they pick me up from school. They do whatever they want to me. My body is numb with pain. I blackout most of the time now...sometimes it's so painful that I can't stop shaking. They tie me up, spank me until my ass is black and blue. I've had to get stitches. My ass bleeds. I dream about it every night. I wake up sweating and screaming.

I burn myself. I drink and pop pain pills every day just to get through the day. I just want it to stop, but who would believe me? I'm all alone...

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Child Abuse Story From Ralph

by Ralph
(USA)

I came from a family of 5 other children. I was the only boy. I was 5 when my mother used a belt on me for the first time. I received 6 swats that time. After that, my mother would punish me for any little thing using the belt. The whippings got longer and harder. Because I was a boy, my mother felt that I should be belt-whipped and caned to get the message across. This went on until I was 18 and left home. My mother would draw blood and leave welts. If that was not "the best", she would have my sister watch, count and participate in my punishment, as well as anyone else who wanted to whip me. My family did not see anything wrong with me getting whippings as severe and harsh as they were. Mother did other things to me that I will not get into now.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ralph" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Tess

by Tess
(USA)

I can't believe I'm doing this, finally. I've never told anyone about my abuse before. I have been through so much in my short life so far, I don't always no how to handle it. But I guess I'll start from the beginning.

I have been a foster child ever since I can remember. My father died and my mother was "unfit," as they said, so I've been popcorned home to home. The first few were okay, but then I arrived at the worst one when I was about 5.

There was a mother, a father, and they had twin boys who were 14. At first it was great and everyone was nice to me. Then, the mother went out to dinner with some friends. I slept in the room right beside the twins, and late at night, Max, the younger twin walked in. He told me to be quiet, or he'd get Matt (his brother) and they'd beat me up. At first I thought he was kidding, then he got on top of me and started stripping down my clothes. He touched me in uncomfortable places. I didn't know what to do. Then he made me suck his penis, and when I didn't, he called Matt in. Matt got really excited and stripped off his clothes. Max got on top of my head and forced me to suck, nearly suffocating me. Then Matt started touching my privates like Max did, and then he started sticking his finger as deep as he could, making me cry because it hurt so bad. They were in my room torturing me for at least 3 hours, then they heard their mother come home and they ran back to their beds.

I couldn't tell anyone, because I thought what they were doing was because I was bad. But they came back a couple nights later with new ideas. This time their father would come too, but only when the mother went out. The father would "tickle" my privates, and they kept telling me they did it because they loved me and wanted to keep me. Thank the Lord, I was sent to the next foster home a month later.

I have seen so many families in my 15 years of foster homes, but that was the worst.

There was one family, a couple, who would hit me if I didn't do everything perfect. When I messed up, they would make sure I had it in my head that I was nothing, and I would never be loved by anyone.

Some families gave me the independence of fending for myself. But I am truly happy where I am now. It's a nice, they're nice, but I doubt they'll be my parents. But I'll find my parents someday, and when I know they're the ones, I will tell them all of this. This is good for healing, but I really need to tell it to a person.

Thanks for reading everyone. I hope my story has either helped you realize the hell of abuse or at least the stupidity of some foster agents.

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Child Abuse Story From Ramesh

by Ramesh
(Braintree, Essex, UK)

Was abused since 3 years old: 
I am writing this story about my life. I was born in London but was taken back to this Asian country where my parents were and left me there with my relatives care. I didn't get any love from my parents. After 2 years in London my parents came back home to this Asian country. By then I was mixing with the wrong kids and had no parents to guide me in the right way.

One day I was playing with the kids outside my house where we had a coconut tree. I climbed the tree and started throwing peanuts for my friends to pick up. On that night when my mum came from work she burned my left leg for not giving some peanuts to my sister. Since then I had a torn ear, broken arm, cut on my arm and was ill treated since. I did not get any proper education because I can't stay with my parents, even when I am older because of the abuse I had since I was young. I don't deny saying that I was naughty when I was young because my parents were not there when I needed them. Now anywhere I go they keep abusing me. I am so unhappy with all this and don't know where to go for help to put all this behind me. It keeps haunting me now, even though I have my own kids. I don't know how to get this out of mind.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ramesh" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Savannah

by Savannah
(Texas, USA)

Sad to say, I have been a victim of child abuse. I have been physically and sexually abused by my stepdad. It all started when I was around 7 years old.

I have always had a habit of getting in trouble, no matter what age I was. I had gotten in big trouble this one time. I came home with a note from the office saying I had gotten written up. My mom was always working and she was hardly ever around. So when I gave that letter to my stepdad, he was pissed. He started cussing and telling me all this stuff, then all of a sudden he slapped me hard in the face. I start crying. He told me to shut up. I kept crying, so he got his leather belt and started beating me in the back with it. I was so messed up. I couldn't get up for a couple of hours. My brother had to help me up.

Eventually, it became a daily routine. I would always go home, knowing what to expect. I grew to know what to do. I would cry my hardest and beg him to stop and he would. That had stopped for a year or two. Then he started telling me all kinds of things like, "Damn, you look good" or "I'm glad you're not related to me so..." And he would start touching and trying to grab me. I would avoid it as much as I could because I knew it wasn't right.

Then one day, he took it to the limit. He made me take off all my clothes. He said if I didn't, he was going to beat me and take them off anyway. I don't even want to say what happened next. Every day I think about it. I tell myself that it was just a dream, that it really didn't happen, but I know the facts. It did happen, whether I like it or not.

As to this moment, I have told my three best friends and my boyfriend. I trust my best friends with my life! I know they are all guys and I'm the only girl, but I Love them! My boyfriend is my stepdad's ex-best friend. I have fallen for him so bad, and I have known him for about a month. But he is my lover and I love him. He has helped me get away from my stepdad. He has helped me go through that experience more than what anyone has. The only problem is, he is older than me. He is 26 years old and I am only 16. But this guy means the world to me! I trust him with my deepest darkest secrets!

Anyway, just to say I do know what all you young people have or are going through. Let me tell you from experience. Hang in there as long and as best as you can. You will make it through this. Just believe in yourself. G-d be with you and good luck!

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Child Abuse Story From Anon

by Anon
(New South Wales, Australia)

I was seven years old. It must have been around Christmastime, or some form of holidays, because my dad's mother, his sister and her son (my cousin) were visiting for a few days. The last time I'd seen my cousin (who was about 10 at the time) we had to share a room. I was on a mattress on the floor, and he was in his bed. He kept saying that we should have sex, that that's what big kids do, and that I wanted to be a big girl, didn't I? I kept saying no. I didn't really understand the logistics of it all, but all I knew is it was something I didn't want to be doing.

On this occasion staying over at our place, my cousin started asking up again. Dad had set up a sleeping bed for him on the landing upstairs, which was just down the hall from my room. Before we went to bed, he made me ask my dad if I could sleep on the landing too. My dad said no (still to this day, I wonder if this was the reason). I kept saying no to my cousin, and went to bed. He came into my room and climbed into bed with me.

I blame myself still, even now that I'm 21, because I could have said "no" more. Instead I gave in, because I didn't know what was going on. I just wanted him to go away. I blame myself, because even though I didn't want to, I made it consensual by letting him. Sometimes when I tell this story, I tell a different ending, because I'm so ashamed that I said "fine" and I tell people he was much older, because sometimes I'm afraid that no one would believe a 10-year-old would do that to a 7-year-old, that they don't know what they're doing.

The next time I saw him I was 14, and I was quiet and withdrawn the whole time, like I always am. He asked me what was wrong. I said "nothing." How could I tell him about the years of pain he had caused me? How could I tell him I suffered from self-mutilation, anorexia, depression, relationship problems, fear of being alone with men, fear of abandonment which has plagued me to this day? How could I tell him he took away my childhood? How could I tell him that when my friends tell funny stories about losing their virginity, I have to make one up so I don't have to tell them it was stolen when I was 7?

I am disassociated from this story and exactly what happened. When I think about it, it doesn't hurt me, but the repercussions of the fact that it did hurt me have stayed with me all my life. My boyfriend has been through a similar situation with his cousin. When he tells me the stories, I feel pain for him, because I know he feels the same way about being disconnected from these things that happened. I hurt for him and what happened to him, because even though he doesn't show it, I can see him hurting in his every day activities. I'm sure he can see it in me too.

One day, I hope to be able to cry my own tears over what happened to me, and then be able to completely move on. I want to believe that even though I said yes, that it wasn't ok, and that he knew I didn't want to.

I wonder if he thinks about what he did to me. I wonder what he tells his girlfriend or wife, and if he's had kids, is he is doing it to them? I wonder if he feels guilty about what he did, and if he would give anything to take it back. Seeing as I will never again in my life see him, I guess I'll never know.

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Child abuse Story From Jessie

by Jessie
(Location Undisclosed)

I grew up seeing things a girl of such a young age should never really see or experience. But it all still happened anyway. And I never did a thing about it.

My dad had always been physically abusive to my mom. I always saw bruises on my mom's face and her arms and legs, but I never said anything to her about it. But at the age of 5, I heard loud noises from downstairs and came down to see my dad lay into my mom. I was scared and just kept myself from being seen. I watched in fear as my dad kicked and punched my mom. He finally stopped, and then I saw him grab a can of beer, which was not a surprise to see—he always drank a lot—and then he picked his coat and left the house. I ran to my mom and helped her up. My mom said it was ok because she did something bad and Daddy punished her.

I kept witnessing the violence and never did anything. I also heard the yelling and beatings from my bedroom late at night.

One day I stood in my regular hiding spot and watched as my dad beat my mom again, but something was different that day. That day I watched as my dad ripped off my mom's clothes and raped her. I didn't understand what he was doing, but I knew it wasn't ok because she was crying. After my dad stopped, he picked up his can of beer and left the house. I stayed in my spot for a while. I watched as my mom finally got herself off the floor and got dressed. She saw me and knew I'd seen something. She told me it was ok, and Mommies and Daddies did this a lot. I knew it wasn't ok. I might have been a small child, but I knew there was something not right.

My mom left one night, and I woke to find I was alone with my dad. I didn't understand why she left and didn't take me with her. My dad began drinking more and more, and at 7 years old I ended up taking care of him. I cleaned up his puke when he'd throw up at night, and somehow learnt how to cook.

One day I came home from school to find my mom back in the house. I saw her and my dad kiss, and I saw my mom happy, but I knew that wasn't going to last. The violence and sexual abuse towards my mom continued happening. My mom kept leaving and coming back. I hated her for not taking me with her. My mom got pregnant after my dad raped her again. For the 9 months of my mom's pregnancy there was a bit of peace in the house, until the baby came.

My mom left again one day, but this time she never came back. And she left the baby with me, who I took care of.
Now the abuse was turned to me. My dad, who had his beer can in his hand came to me and sat by me. He asked me if I loved him. I said yes, just to keep the peace, because really, I hated him. After that he pulled me towards him and forced me to sit on his lap. Then he kissed me on my mouth. I was very scared. I told him to stop, but he didn't. Suddenly, he forced me to lie down and began to touch me. I didn't cry. I didn't do anything. I didn't want to be beaten like he had beaten my mom all those years, so I just lay there as he performed oral sex on me. I was only 9 years of age.

After that day my dad told me I wasn't going to go to school anymore, and that I was to stay here and look after him and the baby. My dad continued to do things to me and force me to do things for him. A few weeks after, I was in my bedroom and he came in and told me I was to move into his room with him. I didn't want to and said no. That's when he first beat me. After that, I was forced to move my things in his room. That night in bed he raped me.

The abuse continued for a long time, but I made sure my sister didn't see any of it. When I was 13 I heard my dad had been in a car accident. My baby sister and I were taken away into care while my dad was being treated. I felt strange being in a foster home - everyone was so nice to each other. I'd never experienced that in my whole life. But I liked it. A few weeks later my dad was better and he came to get us. I didn't want to leave and said we weren't going anywhere. The social worker was called and I was questioned about why I didn't want to go home. I didn't mention the abuse. I should've, but I didn't. But I did mention the drinking and I said I couldn't live like that anymore. It was finally agreed that we were better off where we were until my dad got off the alcohol. He never did. That suited me fine. I was happy where I was, finally.

I am now 20 years old. As far as I know my dad is still alive and is still drinking. My mom never came to get us in all those years. But you know what? I don't care. I hate her. I hate both of them. I grew up way too early because of them. Sure, none of those things were her fault, but she left me and didn't look back at all. I only hope I never put any of my kids through what I went through growing up.

Thank you for letting me share my story.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jessie" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Dave

by Dave
(United Kingdom)

I am now 45 years old, and yet only last week I was again in therapy, this time with a different professional, receiving counselling for yet another aspect of something that was ruined as a result of my childhood abuse. Sadly, that is my sex life. I am not wanting to sound crude when I say this, but even to this day, and after being married for almost 24 years to a most wonderful patient and understanding wife, I still retain a fear of close intimacy (for want of better wording).

My story in brief...

When I was around 8 years old, I lived in a house with my mother, my baby sister, and the man who I always believed was my dad. I found out years later that he wasn't my dad. Up until then, things were ok. We were well provided for, as he was a skilled carpenter and earned good money. Looking back now, although I never realised it at the time, my younger sister was always the center of attention. While she was downstairs receiving a fuss from him and my mother and visitors, I would be upstairs in my room for hours, playing with the latest train set or racing set. At that time, I was content with this, but in reality these gifts were a ploy to keep me out of the way. Still, things were quite good in general. He, nor my mother, ever hurt me then.

On one occasion whilst he was away, my mother had everything removed from the house and left with a younger man who was later to become my brother's dad. He'd already got my mother pregnant, so my sister and I were uprooted. We moved not that far away, into what had at one time been a corner shop. It was a miserable run-down place. I hated it. This was when things in my life took a turn for the worse.

We had only been there for a few weeks, when it became apparent that this new man in my mother's life had a built-in evil streak. My sister at this time was, I think, almost three and a half years old and had just got out of nappies/diapers. I, however, had started to wet the bed.

One day, after I returned from school, he turned around to my mother and told her that seeing as my sister no longer needed her nappies, he thought I should be made to wear them instead. My mother was smitten with him. She would do anything to please him. To my shame, she went along with him. As a result, I was forced, after several beatings and through fear of more of the same, to accept my fate. So, every evening I was put into nappies by them. My sister had just started at nursery school, which was attached to my school. The man spent ages teaching my sister to go tell all the other kids about her big brother in nappies. Fortunately for me, she never had any real contact with kids my age. This was done just as a way of keeping up the shaming ritual. I remember lying in bed night after night, crying until I fell asleep, then in the morning, waking up in a wet nappy, and again the tormenting would begin...

Although he earned reasonable money, he was stupid with it. He would spend it on stupid things, like cars and tropical fish. He was always getting laid off from work as a scaffolder, and so he and my mother would end up arguing. As a result, my mother never had enough money. She started sending me to my grans house after school with a note to borrow some money. The trip entailed travelling in the dark and catching two busses to get there. I used to get off the second bus in the same place every time.

One day, a man approached me and offered to walk with me. This was the start of my sexual abuse. He would meet me there with sweets and chocolates, and then we would take the secluded shortcut alongside the old church, as if he was helping me to get to my gran's quicker. He started asking me to do things to him...other than to say that this went on for several weeks, until my gran and grandad got to asking about the ever-growing amount of chocolates and sweets that I kept turning up with, I will stop, as the details are still painful.

I remember getting to my gran's the last time it happened. Soon, my grandad was up and out with the dogs. My gran was on the phone to my mother. All hell let loose. Needless to say it stopped, and so did my late-night bus trips.

A few weeks later, my mother gave birth to my step-brother. As a result, things got worse, not only for me, but also for my sister. Even she was starting to get regular slappings and early bed times. It was quite obvious where their affections lay. From this point on, I encountered some terrible physical as well as mental abuse, but far too much to keep brief here.

I am currently writing a book about my life from these early days through to the later years.

I joined the army at 19, to escape my past troubles, but then ended up fighting in the Falklands. It was through the trauma of that experience that I started having counselling. It was this counselling that led to me opening up, and thus getting all the other help that I needed. To this day I remain on antidepressants, not because I'm depressed, but because I wouldn't be without them...!

Luckily, I have a good marriage, although we couldn't have kids. And I have lots of real close friends. And some close real family members. Asked if I would change anything from my past, that would be a difficult question to answer; it's my past that has made me what I am today: An honest, kind, caring person, who gets a lot back from making other people smile.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Dave" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Sarah1

by Sarah
(Chicago, Illinois, USA)

What I'm Going Through: 
]I live in a home where physical and emotional abuse are as normal as breathing. There isn't a day that goes by where I'm not told that I'm worthless and a piece of shit. There isn't a month that goes by where I'm not hit and beaten up.

I just turned 16 exactly a week ago. I'm not beaten up as much as before, but it's still abuse. I've grown up where hitting your kid and wife to me seemed normal. My dad always slapped me and hit me with his shoe and belt. As long as he didn't hit me in the face with an object it was good to him.

My mom also had her share with me. I remember when I was 13. She got on my back and stomped on it. I couldn't walk for a couple of days. Writing all these things down is bringing tears to my eyes.

Just today, I was sitting down in my room and my dad walked in and said, "You tell strangers you want to ruin our lives on purpose" and he started pushing me around the room and pulled my hair.

I've thought about committing suicide many times and about running away, but I have nowhere to go and nobody to turn to. The memories that this is bringing to me is horrible and I cannot continue writing anymore. Please pray for me. In two more years I will move out. My mother just asked me why I'm crying since this whole thing is my fault. Please pray for me. I would love nothing more than to move out of here. Two more years that I cannot wait for.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Sarah1" can be found at Comments below.

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Child Abuse Story From Grace2

by Grace
(Canada)

From Hell and....Back? 
Hello! I've been surfing on this website, which I found accidentally. God or the Universe surely brought it to me.... I was sexually abused by my half-brother (the oldest son of my father by a first marriage) and by my mother's best friend.

The abuse happened back-to-back when I was around 5 years old. I don't know which came first, but I do distinctly remember my mother inviting her friend, Fatima, for some tea. I was on the balcony. I was wearing pink and white striped shorts. She came also outside on the balcony, opened my zipper and stuck her finger in my vagina. I was dumbstruck, and as if this had been the most natural thing for her to do. She closed back my zipper and went back in to sip her tea. I felt wronged, but I didn't say anything. I was too shocked. I thought to myself that since my biological mother trusted this woman, then she could not have done something wrong to me; so I put it away.

Shortly after, my half-brother abused me. He took me one day into his room. He was much older than me (he was in his 20's - my father remarried my mom when he was in his 40's and she was 21). I was used to listening to what he told me to do. My parents raised me that way, some dumb cultural thing.... He put me on his bed, he told me to lift my skirt. Next thing I knew, my undies were down and he used his tongue on me. After that, I just left the room.

After these episodes, I had recurring nightmares. We used to live in the same town in the same apartment building as the whole family: my father's 4 children from his first marriage and his 2 children from his second marriage, and me and my little brother. We used to go hang out at the second apartment of the 4 eldest children a lot. For some reason we moved to Vancouver, and I discovered when I confronted my parents at the age of 20 that I had told them that both the half-brother and her best friend had sexually abused me, and they did nothing about it. They did not believe me.

I suffered from nightmares where I would relive minute by minute the ordeal with excruciating precision and pain. I became extremely withdrawn. I never went outside, nor did I have friends outside of those I saw at school. I became reclusive and extremely good in school. I developed depression and tried to commit suicide when I was 13 and 14. The social worker from school came with me home to discuss my problem, and I'm sure had she been given the opportunity to dig deeper she would have found out all, but my mother ran around the apartment claiming I had been possessed by the devil and that had I gone to church more none of this would have happened. They fired the social worker a week later, saying we did not need her.

Now in the meantime, Fatima, my mom's so-called best friend, had vanished. She will never go to jail. The half-brother however continued to visit us (his father, stepmom—who is my mom—and me) continuously for at least a decade. All while they knew what had happened to me. Because of culture, I was forced to cater to every need like a servant. If he wanted breakfast, I had to make it. If he wanted a cup of tea, I had to make it and bring it to him. Not only that, but being the only computer literate person in the house, if there were computer issues, I was forced to sit next to him so I could fix the issue once he was gone. I felt uncomfortable, but I could not bear the thought that my parents would let him come home had he really abused me. This forced me into developing two personalities: one which could cope with the fact that he showed up and forced me to cater to his every need. I also became obsessed with school and performing well because it was the only place I was valued as an individual. It was the only place I got praised, and the only place I felt safe.

I saw Oprah one day accidentally. Two brave young girls had confessed to their mother that the neighbour from a "good background" that she had trusted as their babysitter had been abusing both of them sexually. It was my wake-up call. I confronted my mother about it, and she broke down in tears and confessed I had told my parents when I was 7 and we had moved away from him. I was so angry. Words failed to express how angry I was, but I was also relived that I had not been the crazy one for 15 some years. I was 20 then. I am now 21. They still did not believe me. Sick thing is, my half-brother showed up some time soon after, and my mom tried to forced me to go say hi to him. I realized the only person who gave a hoot about myself was obviously my own self. I said no, and I stayed in my room that entire weekend. The half-brother likes to stay over during whole weekends from Friday to Sunday night.

My parents never really came to it. My father's first words once I had told him what his son had done to me (which he had known about since I was 7) was that he could now consider the page was turned. He was amazingly hurtful and insensitive. He did not even say he was sorry for what happened, and most importantly, that it wasn't my fault. Even worse, the day after he asked me to contact his eldest son because he wanted his Outlook Express computer issue fixed ASAP. I stared at him, shocked. When I saw he did not understand, I stood up said no and walked away from him.

My mother's first reply about Fatima's abuse was: "Well, if you had been smarter, you would have told me" and then she added "I don't want to see the family name dirtied in the newspapers" about the half-brother abusing me. I was so hurt and had not enough strength to fight what they said. I trusted them, but soon after again, my abuser paedophile half-brother came back home and received all the warmth his father and my mother could give him. I was shut in my room that entire weekend. I could not go outside because he was there. I did not want to see his face. I literally starved for an entire long weekend in my room. I had to call from my cellphone my own home so my mother could bring me food. She found it funny I had resorted to calling the home phone from my cellphone to ask for food.

A year later, my father apparently suffered amnesia and had forgotten everything, because he invited his eldest son over again. Even my mother was shocked. I pulled a fit and he apparently said he did not hear me the first time around. I felt sick. Very sick. He promised his son would never step in his house again, nor would he have contact with him. That was last year. His eldest son came back again; and more recently two weeks ago. I found out because I overheard their phone conversation.

I don't know how I have made it so far without doing drugs, prostitution, self-mutilating. I had very low self esteem, especially about my body. I hated my body, because in my mind, it had been the cause of the abuse. I know better now. I console myself through writing stories and drawing, otherwise I don't think I would be alive today. Honest to God. I go to school. I am attending one of the best Universities in Canada, which I pay for with government loans. I'm majoring in a subject I adore. I don't think I can forgive my parents for the hell they put me through, nor can I ever forgive the half-brother for the horrors he put me through intentionally. He does not deserve mercy. Don't get me wrong. He doesn't have any power on me. I'm going straight with my life, not focusing all my energies on this b*****d (excuse the language) he doesn't deserve even a second of my thoughts. I'm learning to love myself again, to trust others, to accept and to interact socially with people and all the rest he wanted to take away from me.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Grace2" can be found below. If you do not see the comments I've written, please be patient, as there continues to be a system glitch—in spite of being posted and approved, some comments are not appearing live on my site. Grace, I replied to your story June 10, 2008, comments titled "Forgiveness is NOT what you think it is..." Keep checking back to this page if you don't see those comments yet. I thank you Grace and my other visitors for your understanding while I work diligently at getting this malfunction resolved.

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Child Abuse Story From Dayna

by Dayna J
(Jamaica)

Sexual Abuse by Dad:
I was sexually abuse by my dad. I am glad to know that I am not alone in the world that has been abused. I got abused when I was only 13 years of age. I felt very mad when I was telling someone and they didn't believe me. I got mad and ran away from home.

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Child Abuse Story From Ty

by Ty
(Alabama, USA)

There's a lot that happened and half of it I don't remember, so unlike the other stories, I can't tell an actual story. It's more of examples and little bits of abuse and stuff that have happened to me in the past.

I'm 13, and since I was real little, probably since I was born, I was sexually, physically, and emotionally abused, along with medically neglected.

First things first, I'm a dwarf. I'm only about 3 feet tall. I have a twin bro and he's average sized, so you can see how I became the target. My bro was abused as well but not as bad, not nearly as bad. I also have a number of medical problems, diabetes, ADHD (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder), epilepsy, and hemophilia.

My first memories are my parents pretty much insulting me. They always told me: "You're not worth the air you breath" or "You're lower than dirt" or "You're not even considered human" and worst of all and most common, "midget" along with "munchkin" and "oompa loompa". I was never one to take something sitting down, so I'd talk back as soon as I could talk. I think that's when they started to sexually abuse me, to get power over me. If my mom was on her period or one of them wasn't in the mood: "Oh, I'll just get Ty" and I'd be raped or be subjected to oral sex or something. Or if we were low on money, some hooker would pay to have sex with me and my parents would hold me down. But once again I'd fight back. So my parents started beating me, and my brother. My dad would heat up a chain and whip it across my back. I'd retaliate by heating up the oven and throwing fire crackers into it. I nearly blew up the kitchen several times.

My parents would beat us with sticks and chains, just out of anger, and I'd just fight back. It was an ongoing war. Probably not the smartest plan, but still, better than nothing. The sad thing is my parents weren't addicted to anything, nor did they have any mental illness, they were just evil.

My parents never got stuff for my medical problems, I'd have 20 seizures a day, and my blood sugar was almost always over 200. Sometimes my neighbor who had diabetes would give me some insulin if I was feeling funky. I went into a diabetic coma twice. And I'd bleed for weeks 'cause of my hemophilia. School became my refuge. I loved going to school.

Finally it all came to an end when I was 9, in a weird and painful way. My dad had hired a hooker once again, but when I got angry and refused, he got angry. He got out a plank of wood 3 times my size a hit me. I was too beat up, so I let the hooker do what she wanted. Some oral sex and whatnot. My dad and mom started insulting me, saying I was worthless and weak and disrespectful. When they left later that day I turned on the stove and put a pot on filled with gun powder. Well that burned and exploded. Nearly once again blew up the kitchen. My parents came home and blew up. My dad took out the blow torch. I was introduced to the hot end of it. I was burned on the right side of my face, neck, shoulder, most of my chest, right arm, and lower abdomen. My bro was fed up. He called the cops. They got to my house and put my parents in cuffs. Even though I was taken away in a stretcher, it had to be the happiest day of my life.

Now I live in the best place in the world. I live in a home for abused and neglected kids. There's about 150 of us here, but it's a home environment home. I'm getting over my anger problems that I've had from my parents calling me names. So life is looking up. I came in with hatred and anger in my eyes. Not anymore.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ty" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Natalya

by Natalya
(Michigan, USA)

I am broken apart inside. I always felt that what my mother did to me was cruel and way out of proportion. My mother would get very mad at me. She always let me know that she hated me and regretted the day I was born. When she begins to yell, she thinks nothing affects me at all and that I don't take her seriously, but her words hurt. They've hurt since I began 9th grade.

I haven't been doing too well at school. I can't even help it anymore. I try but I'm just not a 4.0 student. I think I have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) but never will she take me to be analyzed, because if I had ADD, she would be embarrassed and never admit to the fact that there was something wrong with me. Instead, so she just calls me "lazy" and threatens me.

I hate report card days. I began lying to her because I am so scared of her. I begin to stutter when I speak. I'll ill do anything to keep myself from getting hit. When she finds out I was lying about something, she attacks me. This isn't right, is it? She threatens to run a knife through my gut. She hits me with a belt and leaves bruises and will never stop. When I beg her to stop, she uses very vulgar language. I feel that I am scarred for life. My arms have a bunch of scratches and welts on them from last night. I have fingernail prints around my neck...she tried to strangle me. She throws me on the ground. She punches me very hard, and I feel helpless because I can't get her off of me. I usually cry myself to sleep, with the echoing in my ears of her harsh, vulgar words. I have to go through this a couple times a week. I truly hate my mother.

I am 16 going on 17, and she still beats me because I don't get good grades. If I just wasn't trying, doesn't she think well maybe I would have really tried by now?

I can't wait to get married to get away from her. I will never in my heart forgive her. The only thing good about my life is my boyfriend, whom I love much more then my own mother. I plan on marrying and leaving with him. I just don't feel that what my mother does is right. She really goes psycho on me, and will hit me with anything close to her when she rages. I think she needs help, because it's not normal.

The only time I feel really safe is at school. My home is not safe at all. It's very terrifying, because I never know when she will bring up a past fight to trigger her. She will hit me about the same thing over and over again, because when she thinks about it she gets infuriated all over again. I never know when she'll go crazy on me yet again. It's gotten so bad that a couple times she spit on me.

My father is never there for me. I feel like I'm completely alone. The things she says to me only get harsher, and when she whips me with the belt, she goes as strong as she possibly can. When she hits and punches me and slams my head into the wall, it's as if she is fighting for her life and will not let herself lose. I really hate her. I can't go tell a service about her, because I would pay for it for the rest of my life and risk not seeing or talking to my boyfriend for a very long time. I could really use some support. I think I am depressed by this and desperately need help.

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Child Abuse Story From Christine Part 3

by Christine
(Akron, Ohio, USA)

This is the third story I have submitted about my experiences with a psychologically abusive mother who has all the traits and characteristics of a narcissistic parent (see Christine's child abuse story for Installments 1 and 2).

I am 41 years old, and I have finally come to accept the reality of my mother's cruel behavior. She will not suddenly change, accept responsibility or show remorse-ever. I can, however, take responsibility in how I manage the permanent injuries she left in her wake.

I realize that I will always struggle to some degree for the rest of my life. But I have changed my view due to some significant turning points within myself and active research. I realized that by not letting go of the pain and dwelling on her vicious acts, I was allowing her to remain in control. I refused to let her hold the strings to my emotions for the rest of my life.

I confronted her with this two years ago when she pulled one of her sneak attacks by verbally assaulting me. I firmly told her that I would no longer cry and crawl away, I would defend myself. I also explained to her that I would not allow her behavior to affect me or my life. I completely disarmed her, and her shock was obvious. The party was over, and she knew it. She told me to leave her house. I have not seen her since. I guess I wasn't "fun" anymore.

I started reading books and researching on the Internet. I felt comforted that I was not alone in my mother's specific brand of torment. I have discovered that she is a narcissistic parent. I have always felt the frustration in trying to explain the calculated, methodical abuse to others. It is hard for people to grasp that kind of orchestrated abuse. I felt relieved when I discovered that I am not alone and there are common threads among other victims. The hell I lived through actually has a name, something tangible to grasp onto.

I have also faced the unhealthy behaviors I have as a result of my experience. I feel stronger now that I stay vigilant in reversing, modifying and correcting those behaviors. It is tiring at times to have to analyze my perceptions to make sure I maintain a healthy perspective. But I have had many positive outcomes by doing this.

I still have to work on my parenting skills. I am overly permissive with my children out of fear I will hurt their feelings. As a result, they do not respect me. They know I am a pushover. I am not doing them any favors by being this way. I need to step up and be the parent I need to be.

I hope sharing my steps in healing will help other victims. It is not fair that we have to work so hard at life and healing due to another person's actions. But fair or not, it is worth every battle to have some peace in life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Christine" can be found below. If you do not see the comments I've written, please be patient, as there is a system glitch regarding comments going live on my site. Christine, I replied to your story June 6, 2008, comments titled "The "struggle" is not necessarily a life sentence..." Keep checking back to this page. I thank you Christine and my other visitors for your understanding while I work at getting this minor malfunction rectified.

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Child Abuse Story From Mary

by Mary Chonowski – “Pierce”
(Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA)

Pierce conjures up a myriad of triggers for me. It landed me in the Hospital for two long weeks after the molestation ended back in 1992, and it was mortifying.

The piercing pain of the enemy knife - to the piercing, searing pain of flames - to the piercing cry of Society's little girl that was thrown into the Crawlspace for what seemed like hours.

For years, the prophetic chain of pierces seemed to continue in one long line...........and my brother never gave me a break from any of it. For many years, the abuse continued: Spiritual abuse, Emotional abuse - any type of abuse - I have been through it.

I suffer from P.T.S.D. (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) because of all of these pierces, and P.T.S.D. is a Mental Illness. It is a miracle that I have survived all of it.

Just as the Morning Wind kisses the dew, and the Sun comes up to frighten the Darkness away, I have found happiness, and have come into the future. I have found a place of Work in Milwaukee, and the people who work there have been in the same boat as me.

The pierces have finally ended, and I am among friends at work.............and no more pierces anymore. I am in a safe place, and work hard. I socialize with people who have been hurt as I have been, and they are great.

Mary

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Mary" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Jodie

by Jodie
(Scotland)

When I was a little girl, around about 6 years old, something unforgettable began to happen. It was to be the start of a long journey through Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, anxiety-provoked seizures, and admission as a teenager to a Young Person Psychiatric Unit known as YPU after suicidal ideation. All of this had a story behind it, sexual, physical and emotional abuse for what seemed like forever.

The hardest part to all of this was that I was too young to fight off my old and wrinkly step-granddad. I begged him to let me go and to stop, but because he was older, I couldn't fight him off. He was too strong and heavy. Many people say to respect your elders...well, that was exactly how I was brought up, respect your elders and don't speak unless spoken to. People say that you learn and pick up personalities from different people throughout your life. I guess I learnt the hard way, trust what your heart tells you and don't trust those who hurt you because it leads to much more difficult stuff like trusting people, especially trusting yourself.

Some of the things that happened to me were quite unbelievable. I was strapped against a fence and blind folded (terrorised). Attempts were made to drown me by being held down in a bathtub. I was locked in a small cellar in the dark, to the point of me banging my head off the brick walls and taking seizures to get me out of the situation for a while. Never mind him undressing me and having sex in my dad's room. Putting a gun to my head and showing me how to kill myself through jumping from bridges, cutting my arms and legs, hanging myself with a noose and taking overdoses. Never mind banging my head off walls and solvent abuse. It's a bit extreme, I know, but when it comes to the crunch, I have no control over myself. I go off and do it because I feel it's the only power I've got. I'm not always like this. I just tend to have low mood and stuff. I have good days and bad days. It's just the bad days are too extreme as I tend to run away and attempt suicide whilst being caught by police and sectioned, etc. It's a crap life sometimes, but I suppose they section/detain me for my own safety.

The person who abused me is in my head 24/7, constantly worrying me and abusing me in my mind. He walks with me and watches what I say. He tells me to do stuff I don't want to do because he knows that I love my family and that he would kill them if I talked about anything. That's not all he's said. He's said much much more. It's more than scary....

I guess ending up in the YPU was really the crappiest time of my life, although it helped in the long run to keep me safe and secure from the outside. It's nowhere to be for a 16-year-old though. It's not like any other mental health hospital. This one is different. This one goes out of its way to help and support the young person through a hard stage in their life. I was there from September 2007 to January 2008. It certainly made me act more my age.

I guess the final part to this story isn't completed yet, and won't be for another few years. I'm on the long road to recovery through psychiatry, psychological and many other therapies, including family sessions, meetings, hospital appointments and police work to get this mess sorted out, if it will ever be.

In conclusion, I say to all:

You'll never forget the past, but with help you can learn to put the bad to the side and try to live the life you're meant to be living. Not one in the past.

May god be with every child moving from childhood into adolescence who has gone through any trauma. And may the guilty people be prosecuted for what they've done.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jodie" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Mary1

by Mary
(USA)

My story all started when I was a little girl, maybe 4 years of age. It all started because my mom was cheating on my dad with a man. He used drugs and so trouble began already. My dad knew it, and he got in a fight with that man, and then got sent to jail. My dad himself was a troublemaker. He was a striper, for god's sakes, and an almost pro boxer/kick boxer. I guess my dad said he didn’t care any more, so he left me and my older sis and my 2 older brothers there with her.

Now she was with this MAN, and she ended up cheating on HIM with his brother, and HE got mad and all I remember is most of the time from there on, HE was home, always smoking a drug. I don't know which one, all I know is HE used a pipe. He would close the hallway door and keep my 2 older brothers out in the living room with HIM. He taught them to do drugs. They were 12 and 10, and were already used to a bad life.

My mom ended up having a baby girl, my half sis. He never hit her, but if we wanted to go to get wet at my babysitter's house he didn't let us. But she said for us to do it, so we did. When we got home he was really mad. He sent me to a room and my 2 older brothers in another where he beat them. Then came to me. He talked to me, and then I remember a foot go to my chest, and me flying to the wall out of breath, trying to not cry and trying to breathe quietly so he wouldn’t hurt me more. He smacked me and slammed the door shut. I cried as softly as I could, but that only made it harder to gain my breath back from the kick.

My mom would get home and we'd end up in the hallway, making sure my mom was okay because he always got mad and broke things. He tried to kill my mom after they were done doing drugs in the living room. We rushed out to help her, glass all over the floor, him holding my mom with a knife in his hand. Every time we got hold of the phone, he'd toss her and grab a bat. I'd hide me and everyone else, hoping that the police would find him there in that little apartment. They never did. When they left we all were scared cuz he had already disappeared.

We'd go to bed scared, trying to lock everything. But me, I slept next to a window and a door so I'd feel if he were watching me from the patio. I'd cry myself to sleep. Sometimes I'd be sick and she'd take care of me, but this breathing thing next to my bed, it helped me breathe and I'd feel better. Next day everything would be back to normal, but not all the way.

Now my brothers were at an age of curiousness and so I was their toy. First time they looked, then they touched and then they raped me. I never told anyone till this day cuz I believe they didn’t know well enough.

I used to spend most of my time at my lovely babysitter's because I felt somewhat safe. We got really close to one another. We only talked about what happened once. HE came to her house looking for me. She said I wasn't there and so he left. She had me hide in the house till he was gone and wait for 10 minutes till it was safe to come out. I felt somewhat safe cuz he wasn't there because other than that her son would rape me.

One day she walked in and my pants were down and I was pulling them up. But I didn't cry cuz I thought that was normal cuz my brothers did it to me and now him. He hid in the bathroom. She thought I was taking off my clothing and so she got mad at me. I said nothing.

Note from Darlene: Due to the heavy volume of traffic and submissions to this site, I have been unable to fully edit this post. From here down is content as submitted by Mary, unedited by me.

and once after a longtime she moved to a new home and a niece came to live with her and once he brought a stray dog home ugly and mean it almost bit me so she got made and wet the dog so it could leave he said no and almost hit her we ran in and closed all doors and windows she called the police we waited in the bathroom once we closed all the windows and doors but we could still hear him trying to get in the house the police came and took him to jail after that I never stayed with her my mom would come and get me I would be sad then happy just to see my brothers and lil sis doing so well we'd play around and me I was a sensitive kid so they'd flick a dime at my face it would hit it and I’d cry they'd laugh and find it funny the lady would tell my mom if she had money for her but she would say no and the lady would say okay and that she'd love to have me any time cuz I was such a good help and a great company when we got home THE MAN would do the same thing and we'd sleep on it he'd calm down fall asleep and my mom would wake me up when he was home and asleep and we'd try to leave and I guess my mom found a guy and started to date him it made it worst cuz now HE'd be more made but this GUY would try to help us escape it didn’t work we'd be going from motel to motel but HE would always be searching for us everywhere she'd talk me to my grandma on my dads side and everyone else idk from my grandmas I went to my uncles from there with my dad and back home my older sis was also a hero cuz she took care of me (even though I didn’t now were she was half of the time)I remember once I had a real bad tooth ace cuz all I ate was candy and apples when I was home everywhere else I ate junk as close as id get to food my older sis called my mom like always she was at "work" so she took me to the dentist she caught my mom with drugs once took the bag and called my grandma on my moms side(during everything else no one took me to school so now im behind one grade after when I went with my grandma she took me to school) they hade enough evidence they took all 5 kids away from my mom and called my dad and told him we'd be with my grandma safe and sound now witch parent would change for us and get us back my mom never showed up 2 court and took a mommy and me class so wed go but shed talk drug test and shed be clean I really thought my mom wanted us wanted me but she never got a ride to court and she stop going to the classes my dad met an ANGEL and he changed she helped him change he did everything he needed to during that time my grandma saw a girl on my brother and yelled at him and slapped him and me she used to pull my hair cuz I didn’t like to get my hair done and so we decided to move with my dad everyone except my older sis I think she chose the right decision cuz my brothers ran away and when they use to live here they always told me thing I was ugly and many more one of my brothers ran away and came back pail white I thought that was okay so when my dad was holding him down and my step mom was calling the hospital and cops I ran down stairs and told them to stop my step mom slapped me on my face ever since I moved with my dad no one ever hit me at all except 4 that once now my 2 brothers are gone they never changed there ways my dad and my step mom tried everything nothing worked at all one of my brothers 19 he’s bin gone the longest and the others 17 he’s bin gone for a while but not as long as my brother that is 19 today 6/28 in this house all I see is bad memories 1 of my stepsisters gave me a tattoo and no one believed me that she did it my dad and step mom cut it off now I have a scar my step mom had a baby and the other day her 2 daughters fought for her graved her in a harsh way so now a gain social workers are coming but before my baby half sis was born them 2 always got into fights fist fights bad one the cops always came and always come I don’t want to live with my dad any more I never see any of my family cuz my dad says there a bad influence and they don’t like my step mom 2 and my mom never comes around my lil sisters will do fine cuz I believe in them and I know they will and hopefully everything turns out well im 13 and I went threw all this all my life think its time for it to stop but at school for the people that don’t know my story they think im mature for my age in my head I say its cuz the past made me who I am and also things that happen now

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Child Abuse Story From Tina-Lou

by Tina-Lou H
(Triangle, Virginia, USA)

My stepfather started the abuse when I was 12 years old. I am now fifty years old. He never raped me, but would grab my breasts, and in the morning, would get me out of bed by slapping his morning erect penis against my face. After a few times, I would get up early and lock myself in the bathroom.

When my mother had my sister by him and she was in the hospital, he made me sleep in their bed. He didn't do anything, but I was terrified anyway. I left home at sixteen to get away from it.

He just died on January 27, 2008. My mother just turned really ugly and said he never touched me and I am a liar. I called him on it one night when I was visiting them, and after some drinks for courage. I confronted him. He admitted it, but said I had been "flaunting myself" to him...I was 12 years old and terrified of him. She denies that conversation ever happened.

Is she in denial or does she honestly not believe me? When she told me this yesterday, I just about lost it. I don't know what to do, if anything, but it is really messing with my head right now. I live in Northern Virginia so I am going to see if there are any support groups.....

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Tina-Lou" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Ashley

by Ashley
(Illinois, USA)

I think my story...isn't as bad as others, and because I think that, I don't like to tell it. I always feel like I'm complaining and being self-centered, but I'm getting over that and telling people how I really feel. I'm 16 years old right now, I actually just turned 16 last month. I don't quite know how to start so I'll just say that I was abused by my brother from the age of 7 to the age of 15. At least my therapist calls it abuse, and when I read things about Emotional abuse on this website, I figured I actually was abused.

You know the saying "death comes in threes," well...that's how it started. When I was 7 years old, my father died, then my sister, then my dog. All of them passed away within 3 months of each other. My brother, Chris, who is 6 years older than me, took it really hard. I don't remember which order it happened in, but he attempted suicide and ran away. I think he attempted suicide first. I had to see the affects of that, the consequences of his actions.

I don't remember how long it took, after he came back, for the abuse to start, but it did. My mother is a nurse and works nights. She didn't have anyone to look after us when she left for work, so she left us alone. That's when it would start, as soon as she shut the door and her car would pull out of the driveway.

I can only remember a few collective things that happened, and not in order, either. My counselor says that I've blocked them out of my mind, and I know she's right. I remember, one time, when we were fighting, I don't remember how it was started, but I was running from him and he was chasing me with a wire hanger. I tried to get to the bathroom, the only door inside the house with a lock on it, but he grabbed onto the knob before I could open the door. He started to beat my arms with the hanger, so I would let go of it, and after I curled into a ball to protect myself, my arms over my head, my knees to my chest, he beat my bare legs. I remember crying, crying for someone to help me, but no one came.

There were times when he would threaten me with knives, threatening to stab me, slit my throat, kill me, kill my dog. All throughout those 7 years of my life I've had to protect an animal. There were countless times that he would kick my dog, throw him, threaten me with him. He's only a little 6 lb Maltese. That dog has stuck up for me more times than anyone ever has. To this day, he's still wary of my brother around me.

One time, 4 years ago, I was yelling at him for stealing my money again. I was 12 years old, he was 18. I trapped him on the stairs, mad that he had taken my money. My dog barked at him, so he picked him up, and held him over the railing, threatening to drop him. I didn't think he would do it, but he did. He dropped that little dog over the railing. I don't know how he survived, but he did.

My brother has tortured me for years, but I just thought that's how sibling rivalry is supposed to be. I thought that, until 2 months ago. There are so many things he's done. He's tried to burn me before, because his friend said that I tried to slap him, when my intent was to take back the money he stole from me.

There have been countless times when I've had to call my family to take me away from him because I didn't feel safe. The other times, I thought he would only harm me, but there was one time when I thought he would kill me. My friends laugh when I tell them the story, not that he tried to kill me, but with the object he tried to do it with, but I see no humor in it.

I was 14, and trying to take back the laptop I was using to do my homework on. I pushed his shoulder and complained. He set the laptop to the side, shoved me to the ground and picked up the first object he could, which was our Hoover vacuum. He held it in the air like a baseball bat and looked down at me like he was ready to swing, he set it down and I ran out of the house, calling the first number on my phone, which was my friend. She picked me up. I called my mother to tell her where I was going. She was mad at me for calling someone outside of the family.

About my mother, I told her every time Curt did something, every time he hurt me, and most of the time nothing would happen. But, sometimes she would take out her belt and start slapping him with it, and then he would fight back and overpower her. I've been hurt multiple times trying to protect her, and now I just feel betrayed by her. She knew this was happening, she knew and she didn't do anything about it, which hurts a lot. She didn't want me to call anyone outside of the family if I was hurt and needed to get away. She got mad at me when, the one and only time, I called my friend to pick me up. I recently told one of my aunts about it, and she was sad and a little angry too when I told her that I called the first number on my phone. My counselor says that I should've done whatever I needed to, to get away and that what I did, calling my friend, wasn't wrong. But my family seems to think it is. My brother had moved out of the house December 2006. I thought he was gone for good. He was 20 and I was 14.

Throughout those 7 years, my brother threatened me with knives, beat me with plastic bats, shoes, sticks, his own hand, kicked me, tried to burn me, threatened me by threatening my pets, pulled out my hair, stole my money, blamed me for being mauled by a dog, and strangled me.

Recently, I was in rehab, because of depression, a suicide attempt, alcohol abuse, and addiction to pain killers. I've had 8 past suicide attempts starting at the age of 9. I've tried to inhale gas fumes, hang myself, slit my wrists, overdose, drown myself, gas fumes again, slit my throat, and the recent one was overdose. While in rehab, in a program called Options, I was there from 9 a.m. until 3 p.m. and allowed to go home after that. When I was being interviewed so they knew what I was there for, I was mad at my mother for saying, "My son terrorised her, but he was suffering from depression also." My counselor says that, besides for the mentally insane, no one is excused for their behavior. I agree with her. My mother was making excuses.

While I was there, I had a confrontation with my brother. I was ready for it. I was ready for his apology. At this point, I was a week away from being 16. My brother was 22. I thought this would go reasonably well. But it didn't quite go as planned. I told him that I was in rehab for a suicide attempt. And he said that he knew, but he didn't know why because he had it worse. When I told him that it was because of him abusing me, he exploded and said that I was using him as a scapegoat and that I deserved whatever I got because I was annoying. My dog heard the yelling, and getting into the old habits, jumped in front of me, grabbing Chris' pant leg and pulling. He threatened my dog, and I threatened to kill him. That's when my mom stepped in. I yelled at her to get him out of here, to get him out of the house. After one night of him gone, he was back in. That's the second night in a year that I slept with a knife in my room. But I got over it, and I was only in rehab for a week.

My mom and I came up with a plan that I wouldn't talk about it while my mother wasn't there, and we haven't talked about it since. I feel that my mother thinks, "You've discovered this, talked about your feelings, had counseling, had rehab, talked to your brother, now let's sweep this back under the rug." I don't want to push it under the rug. I can't anymore. I'm not healed. I'm still depressed, suicidal thoughts still brush my mind. My counselor and the rehab place wanted to put me on antidepressants, but my mother refused.

I talked to my counselor again, and she said that since it happened at a young age and lasted for near half my life, that I might be depressed for the rest of my life. That scares me. I don't want to die by my own hand, it's against my religion. I don't want to be content or sad my whole life, because right now, that's all I ever am, content or sad, and I've been getting increasingly hostile. Whenever I talk about it, I cry a lot. I've cried five times already just ranting. I can't seem to get out of this container where all I do is cry or yell. I'm scared of what type of parent I'll be...I don't want to abuse my children, and I'm a violent person already.

I've never told anyone this before, but when I was 12, I touched my 4-year-old cousin in his private parts, once because I wanted to see it, but that's no excuse. I cry myself to sleep near every day because of that, because I'm so deeply sorry, but I don't want to tell my family because I'm scared they won't love me anymore. I don't want him to end up like me. I don't want him to have to live his life thinking about what I did. I'm so sorry for it, and I feel like the scum of the earth for it. I am the scum of the earth. He doesn't deserve to end up like me, he never deserved for me to do that. I hate myself for it.

I'm sorry for wasting your time, and writing so much, none of it probably makes any sense. Other people have it worse than I did, and I'm here complaining, trying to gain sympathy. I'm just as bad as my brother, with the exception that I own up to it, and I'm so deeply, incredibly hurt and sorry.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ashley" can be found below in Part 1 and Part 2.

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Child Abuse Story From Katiana

by Katiana
(Canada)

I was 5 years old. My mother was abused many more years before I was even born. I heard them constantly fight, yelling at each other every night. My father would always look for ways to get my mother to crack, but he never found one, not yet.

I was at first only neglected, but soon my dad found one simple way to get to my mother: me. After that, my neglect turned into verbal abuse, then physical and then sexual. I was 5 years old when he physically and sexually abused me, only 5. He constantly made threats, then one day we left.

We were left homeless for 9 months, staying with friends in run-down apartments because all of the women's shelters were full. The day we left we stayed at a hotel. About 2 weeks later I had my 6th birthday in a hotel. My mother let me see my dad, with supervision of course, but I still wanted to see him since my memory of the abuse didn't show up until a couple of years later, when he was long gone. He told me that he got his friend to follow us. He knew exactly where we were staying. We escaped, and then one day he disappeared, leaving no note or a goodbye. I was just some little thing he could use. He never loved his daughter. He destroyed my childhood.

For 5 years I hated everyone, everything and myself. Then in grade seven one day, my mom and me got into a fight. I went into the kitchen and found a knife. I held it to my chest and pushed, but something stopped me, one thought: Even though I cared for nothing and had no friends, I knew one day the sun would finally shine on me. And so it did.

After 5 years of hatred, two suicide attempts and 5 friends backstabbing me, I turned my life around. My mom and me are happy, even though we must still hide from him in case one day he'll come back. We both know that when that day comes, he will kill us. Nothing will stop him from doing that. NOTHING. But today I'm happy to report that we haven't seen him since the day he left, and that I won't let one speck of hatred into my life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Katiana" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Jennifer2

by Jennifer
(New York, USA)

RAGE: 
I was emotionally and psychologically abused from a very young age. From as far back as I can remember, my father would take out his rage and anger on me. He would get in my face and scream, scream at me for hours, call me names. He constantly told me that I wasn't good enough, I was fat, I was dumb, I was a liar, I was lazy. Then he would apologize, and I was supposed to say "It's ok". He would scream at my mother. We would have to lock ourselves in the bedroom time and time again while he went on screaming cursing rampages that lasted for hours–throwing things, breaking things around our house. And he was controlling, keeping me isolated from other kids and other people. I was always scared and always angry. And today he expects me to forget about it–like it never happened. BUT IT DID HAPPEN AND I DON'T CARE IF YOU'VE CHANGED!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jennifer2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Millie

by Millie D.
(Saint Louis, Missouri, USA)

Who wasn't I sexually abused by, that's the question. I was sexually abused by 3 uncles, a cousin, and Mom's boyfriend. It all started with Mom's boyfriend, Kenny. Kenny did everything but have actual sex with me. He always would abuse me when my mom went to the store, if he babysat, anytime he was alone with me for more than 5 minutes. He touched me, did oral sex, made me touch him. He even touched me under a blanket when my mom was 10 steps away making dinner.

My mom also had a child with him, my half brother, Jay. To this day I cannot forgive her for having that baby. She found out about Kenny after my sister told Grandma. Mom did not believe us. We were liars. Kenny was great. He gave her the son she wanted.

We then moved in with Grandma, and Mom stayed with Kenny for a year.

The uncle abuse began within months. Uncle L. would lay on top of me, clothes on and "dry hump" me. This happened once. Uncle D. would touch my vagina, stick his fingers in it which burned so badly. He always asked me to put his penis in my mouth. I wouldn't. He made me touch it several times. Uncle M. touched me once and never did it again. This all happened from ages 5-9, and I thought it was normal. My grandma still does not know to this day that her 3 son's did this, she only knows of Kenny. I did receive about a year of therapy, but did not return because of cost (so I was told).

My husband has no idea of any of this. And I feel better just throwing this story out there. I have a very normal life now.

I hope everyone who has been abused will know that a normal life is not impossible after abuse.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Millie" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Jessica7

by Jesscia
(Laredo, Texas, USA)

It started when I was around the age of 4. My older sister had already become sexually active, and almost every night for about 2 years she would use me to complete her sexual needs. Up to this day no one knows about that.

Then around the age of 7 to the age of 12 my dad would violently beat me and my 5 other siblings, including my mom. I still remember that every day before he would get back from work we would go to our rooms and put layers of pants on so we wouldn't feel the pain. Unfortunately, he would always hit us on the back. He would beat my mom nearly to death. It wouldn't matter where we were.

At one point I started cutting myself. I did it for 3 years, not for attention or anything, I just needed to feel something. Things had gotten so bad that I became severely depressed and tried committing suicide three times.

Although things got really bad when I was in 8th grade, my sister brought her boyfriend to live with us. Things were good, till one night when he was supposedly drunk, the night that he tried molesting my lil sister but I put my body in the way and started molesting me instead. I was able to get away and get my lil sister into my room. All night he was outside my door in just a shirt trying to open the door. I couldn't sleep that whole night.

The next day I told my sister and my mom what had happened, but they did nothing. My sister chose to believe her freakin' boyfriend instead of her own sister. He stayed there for a couple of weeks until she finally kicked him out cuz she noticed that he was payin' more attention to me in an awkward way.

At the age of seventeen I had gotten with this guy, and it was only for a month but he had gotten really obsessed that I broke it off with him. He now wants me dead, but this guy helped me out and we became really close. We were together for like 4 months...why so short...well, I wasn't expecting him to take steroids and beat me outside of his church.

So now I'm 18, and a bunch of this stuff I've told no one and I don't think that I ever could. It's hard to forget about everything, but I just live my life in front of people as if I've lived a normal happy un-abusive life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jessica7" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Steve1

by Steve
(Location Withheld)

Abused by Music Teacher: 
There is hardly a day goes by without my remembering my music teacher, who was a great friend, but who abused me when I was 13/14.

I would go for organ lessons and during the service he would try to get his hands down my trousers. It was a bit of a game - he adopted the classic abuser's strategy of not forcing, but waiting until I removed my hands from protecting my privates, in other words he waited for me to give permission. It was at the same time abusive and thrilling. I was ashamed of enjoying it and the way it made me get an erection. I remember being surprised when he got through my underpants and started stroking my penis. 'That's only something I do in private' I thought and determined that he would not make me orgasm. It was all very confusing. Especially about who was controlling whom.

In those days (1970) there was little support - I went to a child help organisation who advised me to wait until he got married!

The abuse was extremely mild (he just masturbated me) compared to many other folk's experiences, but it had consequences.

I would go home and replicate what he had done to me on my brother (2 years younger) which has had lasting effects on us both.

It has made me realise how the abused can become abusers so easily.

My abuser is dead now. I still have not come to terms with my enjoying it so much, neither have I found out if he had any other 'victims'.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Steve1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Onion

by Onion
(United Kingdom)

I feel so sad reading some of these stories of people saying their abuse wasn't that bad, or questioning whether it was abuse or not (I understand though that this is a stage we all go through).

Abuse and its effects are written in our hearts and souls. I wasn't physically or sexually abused, but I know that what happened to me was very, very bad. This is because it was my mother who did this from the day I was born. I was emotionally neglected and psychologically abused. I write this to share my pain with anyone else who thinks that "it wasn't that bad."

My childhood wasn't about the big incidents, but the everyday things: It was about having a toothache and curling up on my own because I knew I wouldn't get any sympathy. It was about not being told "I love you." It was about not getting cuddles, birthday parties, friends over to play, or any choice whatsoever in what I might like to eat, wear or do. It was about having normal childhood problems (like wetting the bed) where I was made to feel that I did it on purpose. It was about the fact that Mum never asked me how my day at school went. It was about me telling her (scrunching up all my courage) that I wasn't happy at school, and then being told that there was nothing wrong with the school and if that if I was unhappy it was my fault. It was about her not even looking at me. It was about her convincing everyone else that I was just a problem child. It was about that look on her face when I was hurting, which confused me; I was an adult starting to heal when I realised that the look was contempt and pleasure. I am healing now and you can too.

Darlene's comments are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Cassie

by Cassie
(Austin, Texas, USA)

I was abused from long as I can remember as a child. My father was always a violent raging alcoholic, yet never actually hit me. That all changed when I was 5.

He went from yelling at me and locking me in closets, to beating me on a daily basis. If he couldn't find something I did wrong, he would simply make something up. I also suffered an injury when I was 5 as a result of being in a car with him when he was drunk. Due to this I have limited use of my right side and left arm to this day.

I was about 8 when he began sexually abusing me. One night, he insisted that he would give me a bath instead of my mother. She was far too afraid to argue with him, so she didn't really make a big deal about it. I, on the other hand, didn't want him seeing me bare. Due to the trauma I had endured, I almost never spoke, but when he told me he was going to bathe me I simply said, "Mommy." He then told me if I fought him he'd "cripple me the rest of the way." I cried as he touched me and fondled my genitals.

After that, he would give me a bath and touch me almost every night. My mother knew something was wrong. Usually, when he was not there, I was happy as any kid, even with a disability I was always happy when he left. I felt safe. But once he started to sexually abuse me, I was always depressed. I even turned cold against my mother. I knew she knew what was happening, and I hated her for not helping me. I wouldn't even look at her.

As time moved on, I became more angry and rebellious. I stopped caring if my father beat me. He'd call me "crip" due to my shaky slow way of walking, yet I ignored everyone's existence, even his. When he'd come into my bedroom and start to touch me, I would fight, kicking and biting him. As a result he would simply beat me into submission.

Then when I was 12, he went too far. He was angry because I had gotten a 93 percent on a test. That day, he punched me so hard in the stomach that my spleen ruptured. He panicked when I fell unconscious. He called 911. In the hospital after surgery to have my spleen removed, the doctor was shocked at the marks all over my body. A few days later, a lady from CPS came and questioned me. I spoke to her and told the truth to protect my mother. The cops soon arrived. He was sentenced to 56 years in prison for drugs and child abuse.

I now live with my mother in Texas, and life is pretty pleasant. Now I know I am safe.

Darlene's comments are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Sam'Lee

by Sam'Lee
(Ohio, USA)

Nobody cares except me: 
I am 16 years old. My child abuse began when I first came to America. I was born in the Philippines where apparently they allow child abuse, but now it is banned, but some people still do it.

When I came to America, I was just about 1-2 years old. I didn't know anything because I was a little Filipino girl who only knew how to talk Filipino, not English. I came to America and lived with my aunt because her brother (my father) had been murdered because people in the Philippines, in our neighborhood, were jealous of our family because we had "balik-bayans" which were Filipinos who come from America that visit our home in the Philippines and gave a lot of gifts, money, food, etc.

There are times where I lay on my bed just thinking about my past, but I will never forget the times my mother abused me. Everyone sees me as a happy girl but inside, I was falling apart. I remember when I was very little, when I just started 1st grade. My mom yelled at me because I didn't know how to do 1+1. That's because I couldn't understand English yet, so that's why I didn't understand much when the teacher was explaining. From then on, I never asked my mom to help me with my homework.

Then, I remember a time when I was about 4-5, when my mom slapped my face so hard that she knocked me off my feet and I fell to the ground. There were so many times my mom beat me that I can't remember them all. I just remember the ones that were bad. I even remember when I was little that I saw one of my mom's small perfume bottles and tried some on because that's what little kids do when they're curious. Usually a mom would say, "Don't put that on, you're not old enough" and just laugh. But what my mom did to me will always be on my mind. When she went to tuck me in my bed, she smelled her perfume on me. She freaked out or something, and told my older brother to go get the belt. She whooped me so hard that I screamed at the top of my lungs. She's even taken hangers, or hard shoes, just about anything that is hard, and beat me with them.

There was a time, when I took her phone but technically it was mine, and she yelled at me for taking it. Then, she got so mad that I could feel the flames coming out her mouth like a dragon. I ran upstairs to my room, and locked the door. She came upstairs, and actually kicked, and hit the door so that the door would open. I kept on screaming and screaming to my dad downstairs but he didn't do anything. He just stayed there. Since my dad didn't help, I just finally opened the door. My mom came running at me with a plastic broom. She beat me with it until the plastic broom broke and my legs were bleeding. When the plastic broom broke, she got another one and beat me again.

Another time that I remember was when I was about 4. My mom & I went to the mall. As a kid, I would always want candy, that's what most little kids want. Well, my mom & I were in the store and I saw a 50-cent lollipop or a dollar maybe, and I wanted my mom to buy me one. Eventually I cried while seeing my mom buy her earrings and things for herself. When we got home, she was pissed at me. So, she took me to take a bath. But before I got in the bathtub, I could see steam coming out of the bathtub. I dipped my feet in the water, and it was very hot. My mom forced me into the hot water and dumped the hot water over my head. I cried so loud...it was burning hot.

But there will always be a time in her reign of abuse that I will never forget: The day she smashed my head into the glass table.

My morning started out as a little 3rd-grader day. Take a shower, get ready for school, and ask for my lunch money. After I was done getting ready, my mom was still asleep, so I woke her up, and asked her if there was any breakfast. She told me to go and look on the table. When I went to look, all I saw were the leftovers from the night before. I thought when she meant breakfast, that she already cooked my breakfast. So, I told my mom that there was no breakfast. I have no clue what she got mad at. The fact that I woke her up or the fact that I told her that there was no breakfast. She came downstairs, charging like a bull. She told me to sit down on the chair and to look in front of me, which of course were the leftovers. I told her that it wasn't there because it wasn't breakfast, it was the leftovers. My Lord, she took the hair in the back of my head, took a good grip of it, pulled it back and pushed my head into the table forward as hard as she could. I blacked out for a few seconds and woke up crying, and my head hurting. I went to go look in the mirror, and saw that my forehead had black, blue, green & a violet color because she knocked my head into the side of the glass table.

So many times that she has abused me and not even once has anybody tried to help me.

I called the police one time to say that my mom hit me. A policeman came over (the policeman was actually the guy who arrested my brother about a million times) and did nothing but take my mom's side. From that day on, I never trusted the police ever again. I still remember the policeman's face. And also, from that day on, I always said to myself that I will get back at my mother. Not in a cruel way but put her in jail for doing what she did to me.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Sam'Lee" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From A Broken Soul

by Name Undisclosed
(Location Undisclosed)

I know my story isn't that bad and it probably doesn't even belong here, but I have a lot of anger and sadness in me that doesn't go away, and I think it might have something to do with how I grew up.

Both of my parents grew up in physically abusive households at the hands of their fathers. Really, the only problem I have is with my dad, but my mom is the one who lets it happen.

Since I was very young I have had the constant pressure to be perfect in all aspects of my life. I have always been afraid of my father, not so much because he was abusive (since I was beat but normally like every other child, although sometimes he would pull my hair or choke me and my sister) but because of how he would verbally lash out in anger, threaten me and terrorize me.

When me and my little sister were younger we used to have cats, which we loved. He would grab them and smash their faces against the ground or walls and beat them or just hurt them until they made this crying sound that to this day makes me wanna throw up. I just felt so helpless and hysterical because I couldn't help them. I know the abuse wasn't being done to me but it still hurt. I have also been called stupid worthless and told that I won't go anywhere in life despite the fact I'm a good student and even recognized for it at school. I was told that I don't deserve to get the awards and things I do at school and that I'm just fooling everyone else. He often made me watch while he "disciplined" my sister, which hurt worse than when he did those things to me. He has forced me to degrade myself and stare at the mirror after I'd been crying and call myself a screw up. He has also threatened to cut off all my hair and make me wear the same clothes to school every day. Growing up I have always been afraid of him and afraid to mess up or make the smallest mistake. I have strived to please him but nothing seems to work. I jump whenever he calls my name, even if he's not angry at the time. I hate being at home. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep, but I don't know why because it's not that bad. A part of me wants to hate him, but a part of me knows that he grew up worse so I should be grateful.

I'm 16 and I'm about to graduate soon, so I'm happy to leave the house and be free to start my own life, but I feel guilty leaving my sister and my mother because I love them dearly. A part of me thinks the whole family will be better off without me too.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From A Broken Soul" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Sad

by havetobeanon
(USA)

The man who tortured and raped me when I was a child is a police officer today. I also witnessed him rape his step-daughter, sexually abuse his step-son and beat his step-son with a paddle for an hour and half while he lay naked over his knee. It's truly disgusting that such a person would be in that kind of position of authority. I attempted to complain to the internal affairs at this man's department, but nothing came of it because I couldn't prove my story, I guess.

I had contacted the girl, now a woman, about doing something about this person, because not only is he a police officer, but he also married another woman who had two young children. But this woman claimed she didn't remember the rape or the abuse. She sounded as though she was scared to even talk about this guy. I guess I don't lame her. I was only at their house a few days; I can only imagine the kind of hell she and her brother went through day in and day out.

I wonder just how many children have been abused by this guy over the years. Please be careful who you report to or turn children over to. If the people in authority are supposed to help but they are actually abusers, it is a very scary world for kids.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Sad" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Jenny Part 1

by Jenny
(Missouri, USA)

I have held these memories in for my entire life until tonight. I am 30 years old, and I'm not really sure how old I was when this happened, but I remember it very clearly.

My step-grandfather sexually abused my sisters and I, as well as our mother and our little cousin. Jim, (the step-grandfather), has always been around as long as I can remember. My grandma and grandpa divorced before I was born. The first time I can remember was when we had spent the night with Grandma and Jim. I think I must have been around 4 or 5. I remember my oldest sister telling my mom that Jim had touched all of us while Mom and Grandma were sleeping. I can still smell his cigars. Even writing this, I feel nauseated.

The vivid memory I have was when I was 11 or 12. Grandma and Jim had come to our house for a visit, and my bedroom was in the middle of the house...between the living room and kitchen. In order to get to the kitchen or living room, you had to walk through my room. I didn't have a door on it because it was actually a dining room that my parents had turned into a bedroom (the house was very small). Jim always had an enormous key chain on his belt buckle, and this night it's what kept me from being raped. Everyone was in bed except him. I was in my bed and Jim was in the living room, watching tv. I heard the tv go off and heard the keys rattling. He walked through my room to the kitchen. I heard the sink turn on, then off. Then, the keys again. It got louder and louder, then stopped...right next to my bed. I heard him breathe. He started rubbing my legs and I froze! I didn't know what to do!!! I wanted to scream for my mom and dad who had just gone to bed, but I couldn't! I started moving my legs around trying to get him to stop...and it worked. He walked back to the living room and into the bedroom he was staying in with my grandma. As soon as I knew he was in the room, I ran as fast as I could to my parents' room and told them what happened. I slept with my parents that night. The next morning, I woke up to find my grandma and mom talking about it. My grandma told me that "he was probably just checking to see if you were ok." I knew better and so did my mom.

Later, I would be told from my mom that he had sexually abused her for years and my grandma always called her a liar. He also abused my little cousin. She is several years younger than me. One night she was spending the night with me and I told her about Jim. She lived with my grandma and Jim, (her parents are on drugs to this day), and she told me of the abuse she had suffered. She told me that Jim had come into her room when Grandma was gone working midnights. She said that he kept the lights off, but he held a lighter up to her privates so he could see what he was doing. She told me she thought he was going to burn her.

To this day, my grandma is still in denial. She still lives with Jim. Jim is now on his death bed with cancer. I don't hate him. I actually forgive him, even though he's never apologized or admitted anything. He will meet his maker one day and answer for all the damage he's done.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jenny Part 1" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Jenny Part 2

by Jenny
(Missouri, USA)

I debated on whether or not to include this part of the story, but decided it may help someone.

Jim, (my step-grandfather), molested me, my sisters, my cousin, and my mother, as I stated in Part 1 of the story. What I didn't tell you, was what happened to my mom.

When I became an adult, my mom told me of the abuse she had suffered. When my grandma would go to work at night, Jim would either put in an X rated movie or bring out the dirty magazines, and make my mom watch him masturbate. He would show her his penis. He actually had sexual relations with a goat at one point.

My mom still struggles with the pain it has caused her. She is now 50 years old. She never finished school because of this. She was extremely violent towards other kids during her childhood, which is why she was kicked out of schools. She started smoking cigarettes at the age of 7. She quit about 7 years ago. She has always been a good mother to us, but she has always had a short fuse. I remember one Christmas morning she had made a huge dinner and one of my sisters wanted to go back to bed to take a nap. My mom threw the entire dinner on the floor of the kitchen and stormed off. We didn't get to have Christmas dinner that day.

My mom is addicted to pain medications and her brothers all have substance abuse problems. I don't know if my uncles were abused by Jim.

My point in telling all of this is that child abuse, or any abuse for that matter, has lasting effects on people. It's so hard to move on. There's no way to ever forget the abuse you've suffered, but I believe with all my heart that there is hope!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jenny Part 2" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Koran

by Koran
(Location Undisclosed)

Still in the game today: 
I can't believe I'm writing this, mostly because, I'll admit, I haven't entirely been out of this "stage" of my life. I'm still there, it's still happening to some extent, but if there is anything I am more sure of, it is this: I don't want the help, I don't need the help.

"Abuse" is a pretty simple word, is it not? It's quite obvious what abuse is; on the contrary, not to my parents. If I approached them right now, saying, "Hey, you abused me!", I'm not sure that they would take it well. In fact, I'm quite positive they wouldn't take it well. Similarly, they wouldn't believe it.

In my father's mind, I doubt he questions himself. I doubt he thinks he has done much wrong, and I doubt that he thinks he is doing anything wrong right now.

There was hitting in my family, but I was never a part of that. I have two half sisters; to them, my biological father is their step-father. I never quite recognized this, seeing as I knew them all my life, and their biological father deserted them at a very young age.

My father has directly said that they are "not his." He doesn't consider my two older sisters his children, and that has become apparent with the fact that he has physically hurt them and failed to physically hurt me. When they were young, he made them work. He blamed them for everything. I, on the other hand, was "special"—I was still young and cute. I was not quite the victim.

Time went on. My parents moved me in the second grade nearly six or seven states away, to where I am located now. They did it overnight, without warning; just like that, the home I had known was gone. All my friends, my teachers, everything I knew so well were absolutely gone.

Why did they do it? We didn't have the money to stay there. We lost the house, or we were about to. I don't quite understand it today.

I miss that place, even now, six years later. It feels like a part of me was missing, and the fact that I wasn't even given the chance to say goodbye was worse.

My parents brought me to my grandparents' house. For every summer, I visited my grandparents, 6 or 7 states away. This was completely routine. As I stepped into their house at only seven years old, I had no idea that I was relocated at all; I thought it was only a short visit.

My parents left. It was a bit peculiar that they drove me there, rather than my grandparents making the trip up the country to get me (the usual way things went every summer). I was young and naive, though, and I didn't question it.

Again my parents had lied to me. They didn't come back. I saw them a few small times, but over a course of about one and a half years, I was left with my grandparents to live there and start school there.

I realize I may be taking this personally, but essentially this was a big step in my life; not because I moved, but because I was left behind. My younger sister, only four years old, was the only one my parents took in themselves. My two older sisters and I remained at my grandparents' residence. Ultimately, it was the point in my life where I just became "another bitch" and no longer the precious daughter I was.

One and a half years later, they bought a house in the same town. I didn't have to switch schools.

My dad, by then, had become an alcoholic again. He had drug and alcohol problems from when he was a kid, but I had never seen them until this time in my life.

He drank all the time. He allowed convicts and illegal immigrants in the house to work for his business, making the home a welcome-place to strange, threatening people. I wasn't comfortable at home—how could you be when there were strange heroine-addicts talking to you, peculiar scummy folk giving you weird looks?

I became a victim of not physical abuse, but emotional. He said things to me that still hurt today. I still remember when and where it happened, let alone how old I was—many insults stay with me in such a vivid picture.

When I was in the fourth grade, I raised money for a fundraising charity by walking around and asking people for donations/orders. He got mad at me one day and ripped the checks to pieces; I had to go back to every single customer and lie to them about why I didn't have it.

When I was in the fifth grade, only ten years old, he told me not to bother in life. He told me that I would be shot or mine-bombed by an Iraqi before I had a chance to live life. It's a wonder what vulnerable children can believe.

He had never remembered my birthday once. In the past six years, he must have asked me how old I was, let alone the date, nearly 30 or 40 times. My mother does the same, though I think she knows it deep down.

He called me fat when I was 9; it scars me today. I've lost weight by myself and am now fit, but even now, I look in the mirror and see what he had said. It's rather odd; I know it's not true any longer, but I still see that picture today. It's hard for me to look at pictures of myself when I was little because of him.

I'm a bright kid. I won't lie; I've got quite the talents in art and writing and everything else. My parents have not seized to take advantage of such. When I was eleven years old, my father bought me a "present"—the only thing he had ever hand-picked for me. What was it? Professional, $200 web design software. I never understood the damn thing, nor do I want to. Three years later, today, he still calls me useless and a waste because I have not made a website that has fit his satisfaction...though I have made about 6 different ones, just to please him.

I've designed postcards, business cards, websites, logos, truck designs, everything IMAGINABLE for his little "business". He was never happy. Just about two days ago, I honestly approached him and said, "Dad, everyone wants to please you, but the reason nothing gets done is because you are not happy with anything we do."

He told me that I don't TRY, and that I can "go fuck myself and go to hell."

He would make me sit and read the same how-to web page over and over again, as if repetitive reading would make me comprehend what adults take high school and college courses for.

My mother never defends me, let alone my sisters. She is a victim of his verbal abuse, too.

He thinks he's always right. He says the most vile, inhumane things to us. He threatened to kill me when I was 10. And, worst of all, he thinks he is right, and we are wrong.

He sees us as the enemy, whereas his only true enemy is himself. That man wouldn't know happiness if he ATE IT; misery is his only way. And likewise, misery has seemed to become a way of mine, a way of my mother's, and even a way of my ten-year-old sister's.

I'm afraid of him; not sure why. I'm tired. I'm sick on the inside and I have let people know that. My own grandparents, who have always been supporters of mine, defended him when I told them once that I was having suicidal thoughts. His mother still defends him—I am the lazy, useless, horrible problem child.

Keep in mind that my GPA is a 97.6 and that I have never gotten into trouble in my life.

It isn't fair, but I deal with these problems. I can't go to friends' houses, and forget about having friends over to mine! I don't even have my own BED; I sleep with my 10-year-old sister while my parents get the master bedroom. All these little things add up.

I realize that I don't have it as bad as some do. I'm not beaten to the point of being a bloody pulp. However, inside, I am twisted and hurting every single moment, every single day.

All I know is I will rise above; I will be somebody in this world who will make a difference, and I will prove to all of these people—everyone who ever destroyed me on the inside—that they were wrong. I'll rebuild my inner strength and I'll have what they all failed to get for themselves: happiness.

Though I still go through things today, "help" as in a counsellor or police is not an option. Been there, done that; didn't do a thing.

I can't change my father. I can't change my mother. But I CAN change my life.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Koran" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Rachelle DM

by Rachelle DM
(North Carolina, USA)

I can remember the first incident. I was 5 years of age. My mother was a teen. She abandoned me to my grandmother to raise.

I was playing in the living room. My grandma was working, and I was left with my partly deaf and blind uncle. He was the babysitter. He was old, around 72 years old. My mom's brother, "the molester," was around 17 or 18 years of age. He told me it was time to wash clothes. He told me to take my clothes off so he could wash them. He was my uncle, my favorite uncle, so I listened to him without any idea of what was about to happen.

He told me to climb into the bed until the clothes were done, then I could put them back on. He took off all of his clothes and climbed into bed with me. He began performing oral sex on me, and then he proceeded with intercourse. He tried to force himself inside me, but it would not fit, so he used excessive force to widen me. I screamed in pain so loud that my half deaf uncle heard me, and he was outside. I could see him out in the yard from "the molester's" bedroom window. I was screaming so loud, "the molester" put a pillow over my face to quiet the screaming. He finally ejaculated, and rubbed it on me. He got up, put his clothes on, and left the house. I got up from the bed, but when I tried to walk I felt pain. I could not walk normally, yet no one in the house noticed. And I had been told not to tell.

This incident was the first of seven, by five different people, one of which was a female. The others were male, including my bio-father when I was 13.

I am not a normal person today. I am 28 years old with 3 kids and I'm on my second marriage.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Rachelle DM" can be found below.

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Child Abuse Story From Amy

by Amy
(Brisbane, Queensland, Australia)

My Life: 
Since I can remember, my family has been, to put it nicely, dysfunctional. My father was an alcoholic until I was twelve, and then was really sick and couldn't drink anymore, so he turned to other means, such as drugs. My mother was a severely depressed person who never saw past her own hurts to see that others were hurting too. Both my parents were physically and emotionally abused as kids. I wish that was enough for me to realise and forgive them. But it's not.

As far back as I can remember, I remember fear. It is my most prominent childhood memory. A constant fear that left me unable to move and speak when it gripped me. My father was unpredictable, and would often come home roaring drunk, and pick fights with my mum, most often than not, resulting in violence and brutality. From a young age, my father always lumped me into the equation when he was angry, not my elder sister, just me. He never liked me very much. When he finished thrashing my mother, he would bash me.

I was never cradled by my mother, or told that it was ok and that I would be ok. It was me that ended up doing this for my mother. I remember cradling my mother in my arms as she sobbed. I remember wiping away her blood and telling her I loved her, and that she was ok, secretly wishing she was hugging me and cleaning me up...I never cried because if I did, my mother would become angry at me and tell me I had a perfect life. So I learnt not to cry, not to show pain, not to show emotion.

At first, Dad's beatings where followed by long periods of sorrow and nice things, where he would buy gifts and apologise. It never lasted. Soon, this period didn't exist anymore. He became more violent, more unpredictable. There was no such thing as a nice period. As he became more unpredictable and out of control, so did his beatings. He stopped making sure he would only do body shots so no one would see. He stopped getting the pillow out to punch us in the face. He stopped caring and just began slugging at everything.

The worst memory was when I was 16. My father had my mother on the floor and was straddling her, one hand choking her and the other punching relentlessly. I had been hiding, but I jumped out to help Mum. He knocked me back and I hit my head on the kitchen table, knocking me out cold. When I woke up, I was in a pool of blood where my head had been cut. Dad must have laid into me while I was passed out, because my whole body was welted, and my left arm was visibly broken. I could see my mother, and I thought she was dead. I cried and tried to move, but I was too weak. I just lay there, wishing I too would die. Eventually, my mother got up, without even looking at me and left. I heard her bedroom door shut and her tears begin. I knew I was expected to go comfort her, but for once I didn't. I just lay there. I took myself to the emergency room and told them I had fallen down the stairs. They questioned me over and over again, and social workers came, but I stuck to my story because my fear of my father was far greater than my fear of life itself.

These ordeals became more and more often. The violence became worse. I would go to school and make up excuses for the bruises. I ran into a pole. I fell down the stairs. I even made up that I had been in a fight with some kids my age. Sometimes I would say the same thing twice, forgetting I had used that excuse before. Eventually, the school realised things were not ok, especially one special teacher, who talked to me, and made me feel special and loved.

One day at school, my teacher came into the class and told me to come with her. I didn't object; I had often talked in class times, not about anything to do with home, just about life. Like I said, she made me feel what I imagine parents feel like. But we ended up going to her office, and I was greeted by child safety. I was petrified. I told them about the violence, because I felt I had no choice, but I didn't tell them everything. In fact, I barely scratched the surface. But at the end of the day, we all knew it was too late. I was 17; there wasn't much they could do. They couldn't take away 17 years of abuse. And my parents didn't want help. They yelled at the child safety officers and told them I was full of shit. I moved out shortly after I finished school.

I'm 19 now. Sometimes I just try and forget, try to block it out. My mind is good at pretending I am like everyone else. For 17 years I lived a lie, but now I am thinking I will go and talk to someone. It's a lonely existence being abused. No one really wants to talk about it. It's taboo. Even I find it hard to talk about, and I lived it.

But then this barely scratches the surface, but then such is life.

Darlene's reply: Amy, what you described about your father's violence and then his 'being nice period' is so very typical of abusers. They repeat the cycle of violence (the triggering event {his drunkenness}; the violent episode; then the "honeymoon" period) over and over. But as time goes on, the violent episodes become more intense. They escalate. They happen more frequently. And as the frequency of these violent episodes increases, the honeymoon period becomes shorter and shorter, until it disappears completely.

I am so sorry you were witness and direct victim of your father's unprovoked violent rages. You didn't deserve to be put in such a horrifying situation.

Read the remainder of Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Amy" below.

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Child Abuse Story From Emme

by Emme
(USA)

No One Ever Listened: 
I was born and raised in a little town in Mississippi, where a Good beating was heartily accepted and encouraged. My brother Nikki and I were the children of the town drunk and the dregs of society in the eyes of the mommies. We could hear them whispering things like: "That's the same dress she's worn for a year" and "That poor boy has another black eye" or the favorite, "Someone should help those poor kids." They had no idea, the pain and the suffering that we suffered in our little shack of a house on the edge of the bayou.

I was the little maid, cleaning and cooking and such. There is a photograph of me when I was 4 years old, in a dirty, shapeless, ragged dress that had one sleeve ripped off, holding a broom and sweeping the porch. There were clear welts on my exposed shoulder. My brother was the little handyman, fixing everything he could with his tiny little 7-year-old hands. Anything that was not done correctly warranted a good beating with a belt.

I remember those times that I escaped a beating, and lay in our bed, hearing the snap of the belt and my brother's screams. If there was a chore incomplete, I was beaten. But there was another punishment for me. If I did not clean certain things, like if I didn't clean his room, then this punishment was enforced. I would get down on my knees and have his penis shoved in my mouth. I would cry and cry and cry and he'd laugh. My brother once told me to bite down as hard as I could, and I did. He screamed and threw me off and beat me so bad that he split my tailbone, broke my nose, cracked a rib, and left angry welts all over my body. I never did that again, I just stayed stationary. I knew that I was being hurt, but it was all I knew, so I never questioned.

Then there was the "8 rounder". I shudder to think of it. It was the most brutal beating I ever had, though it occurred many times.

Nikki was getting older and hated to see and hear my pain. I hated to see and hear his, but I was so helpless. But by the time he was 13 and I was 10, the "8 rounder" was falling upon him mostly as he covered up as much of mine as possible, while my other punishments escalated to a punishment for him, too. We tried our best to comfort one another by cuddling close and telling how much we loved each other.

When I was 14, Nikki decided not to come home right after school. I received the immediate beating while the rest was saved for later. When he got home, he marched him right down to the basement where I lay, sobbing and bleeding. He roughly tied Nikki to the chair and said "If you're not man enough to take the punishment, then maybe you're man enough to watch someone else." Nikki bucked and screamed for him to beat him, that I did nothing wrong. I tried to crawl away, but his hand caught me by the hair and dragged me to the whippin' pole. He tied me there, as I cried and cried, and said, "This is not me beating you, little bitch. This is the bastard over there." Nikki screeched once more, begging and pleading. "Don't hurt Emme! Please don't hurt her!" still echoes through my mind. I could hear him sliding off that strap, that awful strap, and I heard it whistle through the air. As it landed on my back it felt like fire, but I held back my scream. He hit again. I finally screamed at the last one in the succession. As he continued to hit, I continued to scream, and Nikki continued to scream. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, he dropped the belt and untied me. I slumped to the ground, my bloody back screaming. "You Bastard!" my brother screamed. He smiled an evil smile. "And I'm not even close to done." He took off his jeans and underwear. He spread my legs and dug into me. I screamed in agony as Nikki screamed. After a few thrusts he was finished, so he untied Nikki and left for the bar after locking us down there. Nikki rushed to my side and held me in his arms. I cried and cried and we cried together. He told me that he was gonna kill him, but I told him no. He was our father! Nikki yelled at me to stop being so stupid, which reduced me to tears. He held me tight and stroked my head, shushing me and promising everything would be fine. Of course I wasn't. I could not walk without help for 3 days after that, and then this punishment seemed to become regularity. I would be beat and raped and my brother was forced to watch. This continued until my father's mysterious death 4 years later. There was a usual go through the motions when my father was found, shot in the head, suicide style. I think he killed himself...but I wonder if it was revenge for all those times...

I am happy to say that though my past was rough to say the least, I am happily pregnant with my second child. I am not married. I get sperm donations from one man and I have the ability to experience the joy of motherhood without any fear for my children. Nikki is also not married, but adopted one boy from an abusive home much like ours. We live exactly right next door to each other and raise our children together, and we have NEVER ONCE RAISED A HAND TO THOSE CHILDREN. And they are the best children in our town.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Emme" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From TM

by TM
(England, United Kingdom)

Sexually Abused by Father: 
I was sexually abused by my father when I was 7/8 years old. I blocked out how many times it happened or how long it actually went on for. I remember few experiences but have to think really hard, but I hear with trauma you block out and can't remember...and as I was growing up I thought, did I actually dream these occurrences up and make them worse perhaps? (I'm 23 years old now.)

I told my sister cos I thought we were caught one day when I was laying innocently on him while watching the tellie. She made a remark, calling me a 'baby' and just snapped inside. I told her out of nowhere. She is 8 years older than me and made me tell my mum. I thought she wouldn't believe me. I thought she'd think of me as another woman or something. But she did believe me and kicked him out of the house, but did not report him or tell other family members.

I have two brothers and one sister. I felt so guilty that it was all my fault why they lost a father, but I later realised that he made his own choices and that it was his own fault. We don't choose to get abused even though I (we) think that cos we don't object that much or at all (who are we to stand up to a grown up??). Two years ago my sister said he done it to her from 5-15 years old, but she didn't even realise what he was doing till the first time she had sex. She had no concept. I hate him more for her sake, not my own.

My mum suffered a mental breakdown soon after this and has been mentally ill ever since (even though the last 2 years with medication it has become better and it's been the longest time she has been well). She was in and out of mental hospitals, making me be angry with her (and feeling I'm the reason why she went mad!) for so long. I find it hard to be affectionate towards her still to this day, even though I know she loves me. So my sister became a second mum and brought me up.

I have been in a six-and-half-year relationship with my boyfriend and have looked for sex elsewhere, even though I don't always enjoy it. I thought of men as objects to feel in control of. Even though I love my boyfriend I found it so hard to commit properly without others. Porn, online chats just talking, rarely meeting from online, getting to know them quickly and having sex; I feel I am very provocative and I just don't want to be this type of person anymore. It's a secret life of my own, but now I realise it's a problem...wonder if it stems from my upbringing....

I think every week (and have nightmares) about fighting with my father and what I'd do if he was in front of me, but it has got better. The best thing I did was say I was not to blame for this, that it was all him, and confronting him when I was 19 years old as he begged for forgiveness (which I just can't) and said how sorry he was. I later learned he was abused by a priest when he was younger. I could never dream of doing what happened to another child. He lives 10 minutes up the road, but I never bump into him, luckily...I'm sorry to go on. Thank You for the other stories. I feel so much better when I read those stories. It shows people are not alone.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From TM" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Ashley3

by Ashley
(Illinois, USA)

From Two People I Thought I Could Trust: 
I am 16 now. When I was 8 and until 12, off and on I was sexual abused by my brother. The first time was on vacation and we were staying at my aunt and uncle's. Downstairs was one bed that I had to share with both my brothers. My little brother was sleeping and my older brother scooted him over and told me it was okay and to start doing things to him that I never imagined myself doing. Using both hand and mouth that night, I was so scared what was to come next.

When we got home it just got worse. He would come in my bathroom, so I started locking it when I realized it was happening every night. But he still found a way in: a knife, or a pin and I just cried in the shower or when I was going to the bathroom.

Then there was another time he told me to get under a mattress with him and another time where it happened when he was in a rocking chair. I was so scared. I thought I was going to get in trouble or they wouldn't believe me. Until one day my mom finally asked me if something had been going on between me and my brother. All I could do was start crying, so at that point she knew something was going on.

The second time this happened was with my uncle, this year, on the day before my mom's birthday. He came over when I was babysitting my brother and sister. I was washing the dishes. He came up behind me and started rubbing my shoulders. Then he went down my back. Then he put his hands in my pants, and I did nothing. I was so shocked, I couldn't move. I thought, why would he after all we have done and all the times we had so much fun going to movies, games, and anything I wanted to do he would do. Then he later took pictures of my butt on his phone and my phone. Then I moved away from him, going to another room. That's when he touched my butt. Then I went into the bathroom and he was telling me this story of this woman he f**ks and he was comparing my breasts with hers then he grabbed mine and said how mine were different than hers and while in the bathroom he texted me and said what's wrong? be brave then I texted my friend and told her to call me and she did and that's when he said he was leaving.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ashley3" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Mark

by Mark
(Amherst, Massachusetts, USA)

Whenever I did something wrong or if my mom got irritated at my behavior she would give me what she called "a good hard spanking." They were in fact ruthless beatings. She would place a chair in the middle of the living room, then grab her wooden spoon or hairbrush and drag me kicking and screaming towards the chair. I would then be stripped of my pants and underwear and lectured while she waved the spoon or brush at me. She would tell me things like:

"I am going to beat your bare bottom so hard you will not sit down for a week" (or until my bare bottom was black and blue).

"When I am through with you, you are going to wish you were never born."

I would then be put across her lap and she would begin to beat me. I can still remember the sting of the spoon, the sound it made against my bare skin and my body going rigid from the shock and pain of the first few spanks. Then I would struggle, scream and beg her to stop, but she would continue to beat me until I had exhausted myself and was just laying limp across her lap.

I remember living in fear of displeasing her and getting another beating. I would mostly try to play outside or hide in my room.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Mark" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Mark Part 2

by Mark
(Amherst, Massachusetts, USA)

I have written elsewhere on this site, my experiences about the physical abuse I suffered from my mother (see Child abuse story from Mark). There is an even darker side that I could not bear to write about until now. I think I can finally say that she sexually abused me as well.

Like most boys, I would have erections for reason other than being sexually aroused. Sometimes I would have them when she pulled my pants down for a spanking. She would fondle me before putting me over her lap, or even after she placed me there so could not move. I think she went as far as masturbating me. Naturally, I could not understand the feelings and sensations that went through my body, that I now realize are associated with sexual arousal. To be at that heightened state awareness and then inflicted with a painful beating was confusing, to say the least. This is all I can write, I can not think about this anymore right now.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Mark Part 2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Anna

by Anna
(Formerly from Lynden, Washington, USA)

When I was 16, my mother suddenly apologized to me. We were on the way home from my therapy appointment. She told me she was sorry she never protected me, and that she knew I was telling the truth, because one day after I was born, she came home from work to find my dad "doing stuff" to me (her words). Until then, all I'd ever heard from her was what a whore I was, how evil and fat and ugly and stupid and any number of insults. She used to drag me up the stairs by my hair and lock me in my room. That was when I was in high school. In fact, one night during a north-easterly storm, she locked me out of the house until I brought a non-existent bowl home from her church.

I guess what I'll never understand is how so many people knew, and no one did anything. My family doctor even told me HE knew, but he didn't feel it was his place to report it. The church across the street knew, the youth pastor, the youth leaders, teachers, relatives, parents of the few friends I was allowed to have.

I was sexually abused. I was tortured. I was physically abused, emotionally abused, psychologically abused, apparently from the time I was brought home from the hospital until my escape at age 23. My mom regularly killed my pets. She thrived on having a sick family. She'd regularly slip drugs into our food and drinks. She was an alcoholic with the religious zeal of a schizophrenic.

My dad, he was just plain sick. My mom diagnosed him with bipolar (the more extreme of the two kinds). Her psychiatrist friend would regularly supply her with medicine for us all. My dad kept a brief case of me in the basement. I discovered it one day. It had test results (like IQ tests and the SATs and things like that), pictures of me that he drew when I was sleeping, pictures of me that he took, a pair of my underwear, photocopies of my journals.

This is all over the place, and I'm sorry about that, it's how my mind works.

I've been in therapy for almost 20 years, from the age of 13 (the first time I tried to kill myself). I've been in the psych hospital twice. My arms are covered with scars from self-injury. A doctor I saw said I was walking evidence, because I was covered with scars (internally and externally) and healed injuries that attested to the abuse I grew up with.

Thankfully, when I turned my dad in back in 1994, I did it to the Lynden Police, but also to the sheriff. The sheriff reported it to CPS, because my parents were foster parents. CPS investigated (two independent investigations) and determined that I and the 30 previous foster kids were telling the truth about my parents. Somehow, when we all reported it ourselves, it was made out that we were lying, but when I went to another city to report it to a sheriff, it was determined we were telling the truth.

I moved across the country, and shortly thereafter, my dad quit his job, made my mom quit hers, and put the house up for sale. They bought a house 3 miles from where I was living. I had to go into hiding. I've been in hiding ever since.

My dad is still looking for me. He told me once, "If I can't have you, no one can." After he shot my dog, I knew he was serious. Now I regularly do obituary searches, to see if I'm officially free.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Anna" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Jozey

by Jozey
(Fairbanks, Alaska, USA)

My mom was having unprotected sex with my dad for 2 years. She was a drug dealer and my dad was always in and out of jail.

Finally, after those 2 years, she prayed to God to give her something so that she can be responsible, and it would help her change her life around. Then she became pregnant with me. My dad was in jail the day I was born. My mom's life changed because of my birth. She would go place to place trying to find somewhere to stay. My Grandma, her mom, didn't want to help her, she was always drunk and since she worked at a bar, she never was home for my mom. My Uncle, my mom's brother, babysat me a lot so that my mom could find ways to help us get through things. My Uncle has always been a second dad to me. I was almost taken away from my mom twice by child services. It's by God's grace that I wasn't.

When I was about a year and a half, my mom married one of her guy's friend's best friends, Michael. When my mom met him, he was so nice. Shortly after they got married, his true self came out. He would always drink, and he was on meth for the first couple years.

Since I grew up with him, he was my daddy. Now I still kept in contact with my real dad, although, he's been in and out of jail more times than I've had birthdays.

When I was 2 going on 3, I was running through the house and he had his cigarette down by his hands. Well me being short then, I ran straight into it. The doctor said that if it had been any closer to my pupil, I would have been blind in that eye. I have a little spot on my eye still. In that same year, my mom had my little sister, Kimber. He still yelled at me, and he started to smack me. I don't know when he started to hit me, except that I was really young.

When I was about 4 and Kimber was about 2, my mom had my other little sister, Brooke. Michael never hit them like he hit me. The earliest that I remember the most was when I was either 7 or 8. I had messed up somehow with the dishes. Kimber and Brooke were at the table eating. He cornered me into the wall next to the table and started to hit my stomach like it was a punching bag. About 10 minutes later, he dropped me and my sisters off at church for Missionette, where my mom was.

I never told my mom about the times that I got hit, but I think that she knew about them. The only person that I really told things to was my best friend Sarah. We've been best friends for about 13 years now. She has been there many times while he hit me. Once he tried to hit her, then her dad, Bob, came over and chewed him out. My mom would have taken us away from there, but she had nowhere to go and everyone told her that he was the only thing that she would ever get. What's really messed up is that Michael's parents are the pastors of the church that I grew up in. I grew up thinking of God in a messed up way. I no longer like the Assembly of God.

When I was 8 almost 9, we moved from California to Florida so that we could be missionaries. Now this didn't mean that he stopped. They actually kept going. And getting worse. I was always getting in trouble at school and at home. I was such a troublemaker. But my mom has always told me that I'm a nice kid. And I am. It's just that I seem mean because of all the hurt that I've been through. Michael wasn't only physically abusive, but verbally too. He used to tell me that I was a waste of time, that I was a brat, that I would never be good, and more.

After being in Florida for 3 years, we moved back to California. Michael was back at his old job. My mom became the youth pastor, and my sisters and I went back to school.

For 6th grade, I went to a Christian school called Immanuel. One day, I had forgotten to do my homework. My teacher, Mrs. B, got really mad at me and told me to grab my things. She took me by the arm and was going to take me to the next classroom to do it (my homework). While we were walking, she started to get madder at me. She had her nails done, and they were the pointy round ones. When she was yelling, she started digging her nails into my arms. I kept telling her that she was hurting me, and she kept digging them in deeper. When I finally got out of her hold, I stepped back. When she reached for me again, I stepped back again. Then when she reached for me again, I turned and started to run. When I looked behind me, she was coming after me. I yelled at her to leave me alone, and she stopped. My first thought was to run to the office. When I got there, they suspended me!!! Then they called my parents, and said that my dad was on his way. I got really scared then. When I saw him pull up, I saw how pissed he was. I almost wet my pants when we go in the car. All the way home he was yelling at me, telling me how much of a screw up I was. Then he slapped my face. I kept flinching and leaning closer to the door. When we got home, he told me to go to my room and that he would be in there later to deal with me. Then I heard him and my mom arguing. I was home schooled the next semester.

Then the mine where Michael worked closed down. He was out of a job for 6 months before he put his application on the internet. Then the mine in Alaska found it, and they moved us up here October 2003. Just 2 months before my 13th birthday.

Whenever Michael beat me, he would come in my room about 20 minutes later and say that he was sorry, and that he loved me. I believed him. But what I realized was that he never really hit my sisters. But they were always scared that if they messed up, he would hit them too.

One day, my mom was getting on my sisters case about something. In anger and frustration, she slammed her hand down on the counter. When she did this, I screamed at her to stop. When I realized that I had yelled at her, I started saying sorry and begged for her not to hurt me, to not kill me as I ran upstairs. I locked myself in the bathroom. Our doors were very thin. She was yelling at me to open the door, and I kept crying and saying I didn't want her to hurt me or kill me. She punched 1 hole and kicked 2 holes in the door. I finally unlocked it, and then ran to my room and hid in the corner. When my mom came in she was almost in tears. She was scared. My mom has never hurt me. When she finally calmed me down, she figured out that I had had a breakdown. When she moved my pillow for me to sit down, she saw that I had a paper filled with bible verses about fear. Even when I was little, I would yell, "In Jesus' name, leave my family alone" whenever my mom and Michael would fight.

In September 2005, when I was 14, my mom finally divorced Michael. I remember that when they told me and my sisters, I smiled. For about 6 months, I still went back and forth between his house and hers. When he wasn't mad at me, everything was fine. We had fun, laughed and everything.

One night, he got really mad me and hit me so hard that I thought he broke my nose. It was swollen for days. Then one Saturday, we had to clean the house. He told me to clean my room, then when I was done to do the laundry. When I was done, I folded the extra blankets. If there wasn't enough room in the hallway closet, we were supposed to put them in my sister's closet. Since she was cleaning her room, I put them in front of her door and told her that when she was done to get me and I'd put them away. Then I went downstairs and started working on the laundry. He went upstairs to check the room, then yelled at me to get my lazy ass up there. He told me that I didn't clean under my bed, and then he pulled everything out of my drawers, the closet and from under the bed. He told me to clean it all up, then I had to help my sister clean her room. He called me a lazy bastard. After that day, I told my mom that I wanted to stop going to his house.

My mom got re-married in December 2005, and I got a new dad. We butt heads every now and then, but he's better than any dad that I've ever had.

Now Michael calls Kimber fat and yells at her mostly. He only yells at Brooke sometimes. Every time they come back over here and I see them crying because of him, I get more strength and courage, and less fear, to talk to him. One day I will tell him that what he did to me was wrong and he hurt me. And I will tell him that I have forgiven him, and that because of him, I have become who I am today, an amazing young lady. One day, I will be able to do that.

My mom has stood by me through everything and loves me to death. I have never stopped loving her, and unlike most 17-year olds, or most teens, I love my mom and I'm so proud to say it. I would be lost without her. I am 17, but my mom, and many others, tell me that I am more mature than most adults. I still have a hard time with relationships and guys. But I have two amazing best friends, besides Sarah, and both of them are guys.

To any one who is reading this, if you are in an abusive situation, get out. It can ruin your life. God has helped me through my problems. I know that He can help you through yours.

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Child Abuse Story From Luani

by Luani
(Pennsylvania, USA)

After Being Molested: 
I got molested at 3 years old by my 2nd cousin. And I just couldn't get over the fact that every male in my family wanted to touch me. I suffered this all of my life, and now at age 16, I have become promiscuous but I don't really enjoy it emotionally or physically even though I want to. I don't know how to get over the past and learn to have a healthy sexual relationship.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Luani" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story from Bianca

by Bianca
(Ontario, Canada)

The reality is that is an adult I did not realize how affected I was from the years of physical abuse I incurred as a child. I was physically abused violently by my Italian parents. Products of abuse themselves, that was all they knew. If a child misbehaved, you had to physically punish them to teach them to never do it again. Funny thing was, I never did learn. I was abused quite badly.

I recall the severe beatings I got when I urinated in our dining room because I was not allowed to leave the room. I got belt beatings, electric chord beatings and beatings with a broom stick. I was beaten so badly physically, mentally and emotionally that to this day I still have low self-esteem. I was a very sad and depressed little girl. I was suicidal at times. Due to my childhood, I have never amounted to much in my life.

I am currently in therapy to help me seek out healing, but I find that I have also created a mess in my adult life...it is filled with dishonesty (fear) and I do not trust people very well. I do not expect people to feel sorry for me. I am trying to heal from all my pain. But for some reason I cannot let go. I have created such a mess. I wish I knew where to go from here.

My relationships as an adult have been self-sabotaging. For some reason, in a sick twisted way, I believe I deserve to be continuously punished as a form of not deserving. I learned that I loved fantasy and created a life of fantasy to survive the pain I was in. I still do not understand why I am the way I am now, many years later...but I am learning to forgive and trying to heal myself so I can create what I hope will be a life of honesty, trust, happiness and peace of mind.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Bianca" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Jennifer

by Jennifer B
(Nebraska, USA)

My child abuse started when I was 3 years old, when my mom got out of prison. After she got out, she met this guy and they started dating. Soon, she got pregnant with my little brother. I'm not sure how the abuse started, but all I know is that it did start and went on till I was the age of 10.

We moved to Arkansas with him, and it still kept happening. I remember this one time, my mom was at work. Me and my brother were supposed to be taking a nap. He came in and pulled out his penis and told me to suck it. I told him no, and luckily, his mom was coming down the hall, and so he went out.

I was sexually assaulted I would have to say over 200 hundred times. I tried to tell my mom 3 times, but she always told me, "No he didn't. Stop lying" and stuff like that.

We moved again, and I met some friends. I started drinking because it was the only way to cope with what happened to me. I always drank and ran away from home and stuff that, stuff I could do to hurt my mom and him for what they did to me! But all that changed on May 5th 2006 when I decided to run off so I could go drink.

We were all sitting at the table. I jumped up and ran out the door. He came after me! I was running so fast that he didn't catch me! But I stopped to hide and he found me and he got on top of me like he used to and I don't know what happened but I remembered all those times he was on top of me and I started screaming "Get off me. Get off me. Get off me." My mom finally came down there. I was telling him to "Let me go or else I'm going to tell on you!" I screamed at him. My mom just looked at him as if to say, "What is she talking about?"

I told the cops what happened, and still no one believed me, till I took a lie detector test. I got sent off to Geneva Youth Rehabilitation Center in Nebraska for my problems. My mom told me she was sorry for not believing me. He is now in prison for what he did. He's 57 years old and doing 40 years. So he is going to die in there.

I forgave him for what he did to me...he is my little brother and sister's dad.

After I got out of Rehab, I went back and met the most amazing guy you could ever imagine! We have a daughter together. I'm 16 now, and the nightmare has started all over again. My mom has started dating his son! I'm so scared for my daughter. I pray to God that the same thing doesn't happen to her! I don't know why my mom would do something like that to me again. My mom and him won't let me take my daughter to see her dad or anything. My boyfriend, my baby's daddy, is the best thing that has ever happened to me. The reason my mom wont let me take my daughter to see her dad is because her stupid boyfriend doesn't like him! I wish my life would change! I'm just so scared! But I pray to God every night and ask him to help me and help me to keep my little girl safe from harm.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Jennifer" are at the link below.

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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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Child Abuse Story From Deb

by Deb
(Laurel, Maryland, USA)

A volcano. That's it. I finally exploded. I'm 41 years old. My Parents divorced when I was 5. My Mom's best friends son (we lived with them through the divorce) died that same year at the age of 4 from leukemia. My Mothers rage was constant.

My father was inappropriate with me and my last therapist said I am an incest survivor emotionally and more than likely physically. Muscle memory began releasing as I trained to be an actor. It was like earthquakes in my body. My mentor would say, "it's just energy let it go". And I thought I had.

I have recovered memories of my Mother chasing me down our narrow hallway. She was four times my size. It was my goal to make it to my room, which was at the end of the hall. If I could get inside and close the door I could put on my headphones and listen to music. This also meant that they would lock me in from the outside. Some of that lock remains in the doorjam today. I tell myself it wasn't really abuse because it wasn't a deadbolt. It was a latch with an eye and eventually I just pulled it out violently by yanking on the door.

For the times I didn't make it to my door, I could try to turn around and make her laugh about something. Shift her mood and turn it into more of a tickling thing. But, most times she grabbed the lower parts of my legs, tackled me to the ground and would either pull my hair, pinch my arms, dig her nails into my skin, or slap my face.

She was my red-faced stampeding drooling monster who could appear in an instant.

She slapped my face quite often. She wore rings on every finger. When I was 16 she tried to get my Stepfather to help her flip me over on her bed so she could "beat my ass". I blacked out. I don't remember what happened except when I realized what was going on I was on top of her pinning her down with her whimpering like a scorned puppy, "get off of me".

She is ALWAYS the victim.

One of the things she used to say was, "this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you". What a lie that is.

The most damage was done with her verbal abuse though. And my Stepfathers. Every night every night every night. I "couldn't do anything right". It always ended with me apologizing. Always. It was always about trying to make them feel like they were "right" and I deserved "punishing".

I have read so many books. Become successful in my own light. But the problem is they are still verbally abusing. When I go to visit, and I am expected to visit EVERY holiday, they will berate my 94 year old StepGrandmother in the same way they used to do me. They will scream at her. She lives three streets away, does their laundry, and cleans their house.

Two weeks ago I went over to help them. We were supposed to meet at 4pm. My sister left at 3:50 and we had to wait until 5pm to do a 10 minute job. I expressed my concern as it is the only day I have off with my Spouse and I was ambushed with accusations that I don't visit enough.

My sister is 29 and still LIVES there and has not built a life for herself and it seems they resent the fact that I have many successes. They ignore them as often as possible.

I confronted my sister (which is a no no because she can be just as stupid as she likes apparently...she was given everything I was not as a child, she's 13 years younger than me). I told her I thought her actions were rude. She said she "doesn't like waiting around for people". I asked her how it was waiting around when we had set a time. She said that she thought I was rude.

Now, instead of playing my role and just grinning and bearing it, something in my spirit snapped. It just shifted right there on the spot. The volcano came to VIVID LIFE! I went out and confronted my Mother about how my sister thought it was rude that I didn't come by more often. Then my Mother proceeded to raise her voice.

She was next to a grill with a huge cooking utensil in her hand and I stepped in to about 1" away from her face screaming, "I can yell louder than you now!". I swear I wanted to hit her the way she used to hit me. And that is not who I am. But it's like this warrior came up in me and wanted blood.

We left.

I've written her two letters. The first finally stating what I think was criminal abuse on her part. I also confronted her about her reaction when I told her that my father had molested me. She said, "we tried to warn you about him but you wouldn't listen to anybody". I replied very calmly at the time, "I was the child and you were the adult".

I feel hatred. I mean REAL hatred. A volcanic eruption with lava too hot to touch and a pathway of black ashes. Leveling.

In the second letter I told her that her rage was not my responsibility. That rageaholism is a real disease like alcoholism. Except instead of taking a shot of vodka, she takes a shot of endorphin every time her face turns red. My Monster.

I told her that I love her for getting me to this planet. And I told her that I now have more rage toward her than I could possibly muster up the energy to control. I told her I didn't want to hit or hurt her.

I certainly understand elder abuse now.

The only thing I can do is keep a safe distance. Love them from afar. Visiting that house is like a veteran going back to Nam for all of the pertinent holidays. I've been out of there for 22 years, and I have now promised myself that I NEVER have to go back.

I told her that statistics state she will probably blame me for being hurtful and stick to her co-dependent world. But, it was my hope that she would grow with me and get help.

In all of these years I've always been the one viewed as "needing to talk to someone". I have talked and talked and read and studied and written plays and had one published, and performed and written music and exorcised the demons. She has not done one thing to heal.

I know that I can't heal for her. I can't absorb her pain and until she acknowledges and apologizes I cannot forgive her hostile attacks on me through my entire childhood. Not to mention her passive aggressive diminishments and back-stabbings into my adulthood.

She's my Mother and I hate her. I really hate her. I'm waiting for it to pass. When I feel bad about it I just get depressed and can't get out of bed. When I just let myself hate her it feels better than depression. But, this is never what I wanted for myself.

It's like it was all under control and then the volcano erupted and every action was still there, the pain was still there, bubbling into a frenzy, the only thing new was the release. And I want to keep it productive. I won't allow myself to turn into a violent rageful person. Now that I know she is my main target I feel much more gentle about the rest of my life. I hate to scapegoat, but I don't think I am. I think she caused me GREAT pain. Spiritual violation.

I do believe in process and this is process.

I do know she can't hurt me and yet I am terrified of her and wanting to go on the offensive for survival purposes. I'm witnessing all of this with detachment as much as I can and hoping it will lead me to higher ground.

I want to finally be free without guilt but I know what they are thinking and saying. I know it's stupid and it shouldn't matter. It's just after total abandonment from my Father I was trying to hold onto my Mother. She is violent. She is still violent and my spirit has said, "THAT'S IT!"

I feel off kilter. Like I'm recalibrating true North on my personality compass. It's very disorienting.

Note from Darlene: Due to the overwhelming number of story, commentary and query submissions, and the countless hours required to maintain this ever-growing site, I regret that I can no longer offer comments on all submissions. Please don't take my lack of response to your story personally; I mean no disrespect, nor is it intended as an invalidation of what you endured. Indeed, I am honoured that you have chosen to post what has happened to you on my site. I sincerely thank you for your understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Sapphire

by Sapphire
(Location Undisclosed)

When I was 9 me and my family moved to a small town in Utah to help my aunt who had MS. The town had a population of 1,500 and most of the people were Mormon. We finally found a place to live in an apartment building. We were the second ones to move in because it was new and not many new people moved into the town. The only other people who lived there was a nice old lady who had cancer or something, and the owner, Paul, a 40-year-old man who lived by himself.

I remember the owner Paul would have me come help him fix the other apartments. We would paint or I would watch him install sinks and bathtubs. Me being 9 loved this. He would buy me small gifts, and I remember he bought me this pretty purple bike. I trusted him so much. I looked at him as an uncle. He would tell me he loved me and I would say it back he would hug me and I would hug him back.

I had lived there for about 3 months by now and nothing had happened. I just graduated 4th grade. I'm not sure if that timeline is exactly right though because now I'm 14 and I've tried to block everything about that out. My memory is really scattered.

The first time I think he did anything inappropriate was after he brought me this tiny dress that I thought was wonderful...now that I think about it, it was probably some kind of lingerie. He took me to his house ((which was right behind the apartment building and right across the street from the high school)) and told me to undress to put it on. So I got down to my panties, still completely trusting him. He told me it was a special dress, so I had to take them off too, so I did. There I was, naked in front of him. Before he let me put the dress on, he took me into his lap and touched me. I found this kinda strange, but he said my daddy had never done this for me so somebody had to. After that he let me try the dress on. He let me put my regular clothes on, but before we left he made me promise not to tell my family anything that happened because my little sister would get jealous and my dad would be mad at me and then I wouldn't be allowed to come help him anymore and he would have to take the bike back.

As you can imagine, it got worst from there, but I'm not ready to get into those details. I'm not sure how long it lasted for, but I remember one thing led to another and he would soon be the one naked. When I first saw him naked it scared me because I'd never seen a man with an erection. He made me kiss him down there and do other things, then he would do the same to me. I would cry about it, but he told me to be quiet or he would tell my family all the bad things I'd done or he would kick us out and we would have nowhere to go. Soon after, when he would come to get me so I could "help" him with the apartments, I wouldn't want to go. I couldn't tell my dad that though because I was scared I would get in trouble. So I saved my tears for him when he started touching me.

The last time it happened was when he tried to enter me, but it hurt me too bad and I cried and begged him to stop and he said that was my fault too. He called me names and he hit me right under my private parts, leaving a huge bruise on my leg. He hadn't realized that he hit me that hard this time. So he stopped trying to enter me and just went on touching me. After that he told me to stop whining about how bad it hurt and to get dressed because there was something he wanted to show me, and then we had to go to an apartment and work for a little bit. The thing he wanted to show me was in his front room. It was a huge gun he had locked in this table thing. But he said he would take us hunting and shoot me like he did to other bad people if I told anybody. He said it was my fault and I had been horrible and naughty.

The next day, right after school, I went to the old lady's apartment to hang out with her because I thought he wouldn't be able to find me. I was wearing a little skirt and tee shirt because it was still very hot out, it was late august I think. She (the old lady) noticed the bruise under my skirt and asked me what happened. I began to cry and said, "Nothing, I just fell off my bike." She gave me something to eat and told me it was time for me to go home.

A day or two later, CPS came and to talk to me and my little sister. I guess she had called them, not realizing that it hadn't been my single father but the owner. I told them I really did fall off my bike and my daddy had never touched me down there (that was the truth) except for the bike part. I remember my dad saying he couldn't handle losing us for no reason, so we had to move back to where we came from. From then on, my dad didn't let me go anywhere till we moved because he was kinda the paranoid type even though he was a great daddy.

That's my story and sorry I skipped some major parts of the abuse because I can't handle righting them....

But I had to type this now because right now I'm in counselling for self harm and an eating disorder, and next week I'm gonna tell her what happened and why I am how I am....

Thanks

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Child Abuse Story From Nikki

by Nikki
(Erie, Ohio, USA)

My Abuse: 
I think my abuse started when I was 13 while camping. It may have started sooner, but I don't remember anything before that. I slept in a trailer in the same bed as my dad, and my younger brother slept on the pull-out couch with my mom. The bed was small so it was too tight for both my parents to sleep there. I was quite skinny, so I slept with my dad because he wanted the bed too.

All I remember of the first night was waking up at four o'clock in the morning with my dad's hand rubbing my back underneath my shirt. He told me to go back to sleep, so I did. I woke up about an hour later, laying on top of my dad. He had only his underwear on when he slept, but I thought he was naked because I felt his penis pressing against me. He had taken off my shirt and unstrapped my bra so that I was laying topless on him. I tried to move off of him but he held me and whispered to me to go back to sleep. This went on every night during that week, and my mom never noticed anything because my dad would have my shirt back on by the time she woke up.

Stuff like that went on after that trip. I could feel my dad's eyes undressing me when he looked at me. He would make it an effort to compliment my body when he had me alone in the car or something. Every chance he had, he would brush into me or pat me on the butt. Before long he would reach down my shirt to "check if my bra fit right." He would soon just keep his hands on them and fondle me.

My mom asked me once if anyone ever touched me where they shouldn't. I had a chance then to end the abuse, but I told her no. I think I was scared to tell her, and at the same time I didn't think it was too big of a deal what my dad was doing to me.

I was wrong though about thinking it wasn't a big deal. My dad continued progressing on my body, and began telling me what he wanted to do to me. I knew he wouldn't try to because he was afraid of getting caught. Whenever I screamed from his touching, he would get all worried and tell me he was sorry. But he kept trying to almost blackmail me in letting him do whatever he wanted to me. He would offer me rides to the mall, money, even a dog if I let him touch me anywhere.

For the most part, the fondling came to an end in the next few years. He would touch me sometimes, but I would tell him I was going to tell Mom. He was afraid of that, and it was stopping.

But when I was 15, I was trying to get my driver's permit. I could drive only if I sat on my dad's lap. This was the first time he put his hands in my pants. I had to let him or else he wouldn't let me drive. I had to have a certain amount of hours before I could get my license, so I would drive up and down this gravel road, while my dad fondled me.

It didn't stop there.

When I finally had my license, I needed a car. My dad offered to buy me a brand new Dodge Neon. The catch—I had to sleep with him. I lost my battle fighting my dad's obsession with my body. I first let him fondle me in the car, and then I willingly slept with him just so I could get a car. He slept with me a few times after that. I had no more will to fight against him. I was tired of always fighting.

I feel like I let myself down. I know he shouldn't have done what he did to me, but I still feel like I could have told my mom, or somebody.

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Child Abuse Story From Abi

by Abi
(United Kingdom)

My life of abuse: 
I don't remember my mother hugging me, kissing me, or even drying a tear from my eyes when I was younger. I don't even think she did that when I was a baby. All I remember is her kicking me, pulling my hair, punching me. I never understood why my mum beat me. She used to tell me I was ugly. She'd lock me in a tiny room if she had a party. She told me if I made a sound she'd kill me.

When I was 7 years old my mother abandoned me. I never knew why she did, and I didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing that she did leave me like that. Social Services came and took me away. They put me in a home. But my life there never got better. In the home I was in, I was sexually abused by the man running the home.

When I reached 10 years old, I moved into another home. I hoped the abuse would stop there. But it didn't. I faced more physical abuse at the hands of my foster parents.

At 13 years I'd had enough of the pain I was going through, so I ran away. I slept on the streets. One day, I met a man who was so nice to me. He was older than me, and he offered me a place to stay. He said he would look after me. I believed him. After settling in his house for a month or so, the man introduced me to drugs, and forced me to take them. When I was all doped up he told me he owned me and forced himself on me. I was too weak to push him off, so he raped me.

The next morning when I woke up, I found myself lying in his bed next to him. He was awake, stroking my leg, asking if I enjoyed myself. He promised me there would be more of it to come. After that day, he kept me locked in the house. I couldn't escape. I was his slave.

I did finally escape after a few months. I went into a hostel, where a woman gave me an address of a place for abused women. I went there. I got counselling, and when I was finally ready, I moved into a place of my own.

It's taken me a long time to realise what happened to me wasn't my fault. So I thought I would share my story to other girls who have been in the same situation.

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Child Abuse Story From April

by April M.
(Malvern, New York, USA)

I was born in England and moved to New York with my mom and brother Ricky when I was 5 years old. I am 13 now and have only seen my father one time since then.

When I was 7, my mom got married again and we moved to a very nice house. Gene, my stepfather, owns a convenience store and works mostly at night while my mom works it during the daytime. He was and still is very nice to me and Ricky, who was only 4 at that time.

When I got home from school, he would give me and my brother a bath, and at the same time he would be in the shower. As I got a little older, I realized he was exposing himself on purpose, as I would see him naked very often, and he would arrange to see me naked a lot also.

When I was 8 or 9, he started to bathe me alone, without my brother. He would wash my entire body with his hands and soap. I got very embarrassed. At first he told me it was ok, and my mom said he could give me baths. I told my mom, but she just told me he's my daddy now and it's ok. Then, after a while, he would take me into his room after my bath and wipe skin lotion on my body. This went on for a few weeks. And then one day, as I was getting a bath, he went into the shower and then took me into his room and made me rub him with the lotion while he was naked. He has never made me have intercourse with him, but we do have oral sex. I know it is wrong, but I got to the point where it is ok and I never told anyone, except my one girlfriend who said I should tell my mother. He is very good to me and my brother and buys us stuff all the time, but I know now that he does that to keep me from telling on him. I feel bad too, because I know my mom really loves him and he is very good to her. I think if I tell, it will really hurt my mom.

Should I just tell him I don't want to do this anymore and see if it stops so I don't ruin my family? My brother doesn't even know what's going on. He loves Gene, as do I. I know he has pictures of me naked, and I don't know where they are, but if my mom ever finds them, she would really be mad at me.

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Child Abuse Story From Whitney

by Whitney
(Canada)

When I was only about 4 or 5 I remember one of my cousins touching me and making me touch him. It happened when he and his family visited our house or my family visited his. He would go off with me to play or do something and then he would touch me, say inappropriate things to me, and make me touch him. He also performed oral acts on me and tried to get me to do that to him. He was 13. I only remember it happening maybe 4 times, and to be honest, I don't know why I didn't tell. I don't recall him telling me to keep it a secret, but I somehow knew it was bad and I wasn't supposed to tell. Then our family quit seeing his as often. I just tried to forget what happened and move on, I guess.

Then when I was perhaps 8 or 9, (it's really tough to remember my age after trying to not think about it for so long) a different cousin started abusing me. He would have been 14 or 15. I can't say how many times it happened, but it was frequent and ongoing for 3 years. My brother and I saw this cousin nearly every weekend during the spring and fall, all summer, as well as several times in the winter. I don't know how my brother didn't notice, as we all hung out together, but because we were all close and did everything together, I guess me spending time alone with my cousin wasn't out of the ordinary.

My cousin would touch me and get me to touch him and told me it was a secret. He came on hunting, fishing, and camping trips with us, spent lots of time at our cabin, and spent his summers on our farm. When we stayed at our cabin, which was most summer nights, he would get me to come lay with him on his bunk and touch me, all the while my brother was in the room. During the day, he would find ways so that he and I were alone, away from my family and specifically my brother, and he would again touch me and have me touch him. This continued until I was 12 and he got a girlfriend.

A lot of my memories are somewhat foggy, and sometimes I think that perhaps these things never really happened and it's my head screwing with me, but I know deep down that they did.

I am now 18, and just recently I told my family, my long-time boyfriend, and my best girlfriend that I was abused (no specifics, as I'm very ashamed and embarrassed by it). They want me to get help and have the cousins held accountable. I have also recently been diagnosed with depression, and I will be meeting with a mental health worker soon, but I just don't know how to talk about it even though I know they can help. Also, I don't blame or hate my cousins for what happened, so I don't want to tell and get them in trouble or screw up the family because of how people would view them after they knew. I know in my head that it's not my fault, but in my heart I feel responsible because I think I liked the attention from them so that means I wanted it. I'm also worried about how people, such as my family and friends, will view me once it's out in the open. I don't want to be thought of differently, but I still feel that I should tell. I hope one day I will be ok with what happened and be able to live normally and be happy with myself and life itself.

Note from Darlene: Due to the overwhelming number of story, commentary and query submissions, and the countless hours required to maintain this ever-growing site, I regret that I can no longer offer comments on all submissions. Please don't take my lack of response to your story personally; I mean no disrespect, nor is it intended as an invalidation of what you endured. Indeed, I am honoured that you have chosen to post what has happened to you on my site. I sincerely thank you for your understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Andrea

by Andy
(Toronto, Ontario, Canada)

I don't really remember when, but it must have been around 2 years to 4 years old. I was an angry, fighting, emotional kid growing up. I liked to lie, about stupid things. I had 7 brothers and sisters, when in reality I only had 1 sibling. Many things. I didn't steal from work, I gave away to friends. I had very abusive boyfriends. I often had many problems. I usually confided in FOOD. I grew up hardly having friends or keeping them. I would usually take things out on my parents. I tried to commit suicide. I was charged with making harassing phone calls to my boyfriend's family. When I was about 22 years old, I had some nightmares that made me remember what exactly happened.

After counselling, I think I am not perfect but better adjusted. I went to school. I have three degrees, but my communication skills lack, so I have a hard time expanding in the fields.

I am lucky. I have a loving and understanding husband and 4 kids. But my life is always, and will always be, a turmoil battle. It is not one thing that does not affect the memories of how the person totally damaged my life and has left me with a mess that I always have to clean up. The only thing is, I am confused now about who really was the abuser. I once believed that it was the babysitter's friend, but I just found out my Uncle was convicted of Molesting his stepdaughter; he was actually visiting my family around the time I was 2-4. Either way, whomever it was, ruined my life.

I have always used food as a comforter to my many issues. Now I am 100 lbs overweight. Just my life has never stopped being a never-ending battle. And depression is always in the background.

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Child Abuse Story From Jenail

by Jenail
(Alabama, USA)

It all started when I was about 4 or 5. I always stayed with my grandmother. My mother wasn't ever really there. It all started when I was sitting in the room, playing with my doll. My cousins and my aunts and uncles stayed there too, which is still the case. My cousin is 8 years older than me. He began uncomfortably touching me during my years of 4 and 8. I was possibly being molested by my older cousins. They made me play games with them, such as hide and go get. I was too young to know better, so I approved to anything they told me.

One of my cousins that is two years older than me once forced me to suck his penis. I didn't really know better at that time. I guess because I was too young. Then one summer when I was 7, my dad came to pick me up. This was the first time that I had ever seen him in my whole life, because he had been in and out of prison. On my visit with him, he dropped me off at his mom's house (my grandma). That's when I was touched by my other cousin. I felt so uncomfortable with him touching me. I kept telling him to stop, but he held me down fiercely with one hand, while his other hand was working all over my personal private parts. The lights were off. Me and him were the only ones up. I felt like I was left in the dark. I never told a soul about this because of my deep fears. It's just disgraceful.

Then there is my mom. She constantly beats on my brother and I. She says mean things to us, like she wishes we were never born, and she'll send us to heaven or hell. She even tells us she hates us. She gives all the praises to my baby sister, who she thinks is better. But now I think I am overcoming my fears and nightmares. I'm hoping everything is becoming better. I am now 13 years old.

I stay thanking God for helping me make it this far. And I pray that He makes everything better for all the others in the same position or even worse. May God bless you all that are reading this. I pray that He makes it better for others that are in the same position. Thanks

Sincerely,
Jenail

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Child Abuse Story From Son Undone

by Sonundone
(Colorado, USA)

Mom Molded Me: 
At 4, my life was confined to the walls of our house. Dad left for work, and I was awakened and brought to my parents' bedroom by my mother. I began my day sharing the bottle of vodka that always accompanied my mom's start of her day.

I can remember waking to her whispers and her determined fingers between my innocent legs. She forcibly introduced my lips to her freshly lit cigarette as I slowly ascended from dreamland. I felt her kisses, heard her panting urgent words of need and importance that I was one of the privileged and lucky children in the world who got to ignore and bypass the normal progression into adulthood and in so, also got to dive head first into all the indulgences and opportunities of adulthood, that other youngsters could only observe and dream about someday sampling.

I can't recall the details or hardships of the beginning summer of her undivided attention before my fifth birthday in August, but I can recall with great detail and blossoming pleasure my solidified adaptation to all of the grown-up activities and physical transformations that my mind and small body undertook that quickly had me sharing and understanding the very same needs and desires that seemed to be in control of my mom's daily agenda and priorities.

I know that I very quickly came to share and enjoy every facet of Mom's daily pleasures and pursuits as far as waking up each morning and joining her in her bedroom for our first cigarette and joint 2-hour sexual melee together, that progressed with our mutual vodka-induced drunken oblivion and all day free-for-all that included the unplanned mindless chaos that often left me in charge and in control of the afternoon's itinerary and agenda when her vodka- generated condition left her in a mindless, incapacitated stupor that put me in the dominant role of the 4-year-old alpha male for the day.

I would share her drinks and see her pass out as she lay beneath me in bed. I would take her cigarette case and light myself one and then force her to take and smoke one, just like she made me do when she first got me hooked on them in the beginning of my new secret daily fun with her.

I remember watching her pass out and then forcing her to smoke her cigarettes in the same way she did with me in the beginning, when she made me guzzle vodka until I was hammered and then slammed me full of smoke-injected kisses cuz she wanted me addicted and lusting for her cigarettes so she could use my need to manipulate me to do other things and fall with her into our joint drunken fun and games each day.

By five, I was a smoking, drinking little copy of an adult that had me licking her as she drove to the store and smoking nearly two packs a day and going through half a fifth of vodka a day.

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Child Abuse Story From Flower In The Attic

by Flower In The Attic
(Pennsylvania, USA)

I was raised by a single parent who was insane. She was very educated and bright, but demented. Her parents gave her lots of money, and she kept me out of school (even though I begged to go) and mainly home-schooled me. She used brainwashing and threats that she would kill our pets, my grandparents and herself if I left home or told of her mental and physical abuse. My grandparents and family didn't intervene, even when she clawed at me at family gatherings.

When I started to get prettier, she got angrier and kicked me out of my bedroom, down to the basement. I had to sleep on an old mattress, next to an old oil heater. There was no bathroom.

Finally, I did one brave thing. I convinced her if she bought a P/C, she could meet a man online for herself. She bought the P/C, and I would sneak online in middle of the night. I made friends online, and they helped me escape home.

The week before I left home, my mother shoved me down the cellar steps. She came after me with an ice pick and gouged my temple. She said she would kill me. She said she should've aborted me. She called me the devil. That was my final impetus to leave; I was sure she was getting worse and would kill me.

I left my hometown for 10 years. I did amazingly well at functioning. Sadly, the man who rescued me from my mother was nice for 2 years, but then he turned sick and twisted. Since he kept telling me he saved my life and rescued me, I made myself his grateful, unpaid assistant. I did everything he wanted me to. He ended up slapping and shoving and hitting and choking me. He verbally abused me. The abuse I suffered growing up, he would throw in my face. He hit me for stupid reasons (such as I had to leave his apartment to buy Xmas dinner, but instead he said I had to stay and help him wrap gifts for his 20 relatives. I was going to spend Xmas alone, and yet he still wanted me to help him...he choked me and said it was my fault because if I wasn't defective at wrapping gifts, I could've left and bought my dinner.)

And yes, I was in therapy for a long time too. I spent perhaps over 150k over the course of 10 years with top NYC shrinks.

I returned to my hometown after 11 years of being away. My grandmother was sick, and I still cared about her. Plus my ex-boyfriend was tormenting me, saying he would take a machete to any guy he saw me dating in his 'town.' So I wanted to flee, and I thought the wounds had healed from the abuse in my hometown...bad bad bad idea to return to this town. I've emotionally fallen apart and I'm unable to do my job. I'm deeply depressed. All I do is have nightmares that are triggered by the abuse. Weird how moving back opened all those wounds.

It's too late to sue, because statutes of limitations have all run out. The only reason I did not press charges was because my grandparents begged ne not to. (My mother tried to injure her dad when I fled home, and her parents finally came to terms with her insanity.)

My mother ironically is always taken care of. She is still in her house, and has a state-appointed guardian. I have spoken to the guardian, Ms. H, at length. She does not express any concern at how dangerous my mother can be.
My mother harasses her neighbors, and the police have come to her house 25 times this year alone, according to others. But no one does anything.

So I moved back here. I had a very stressful job, and I am currently out of work. So now I have to come up with 5k-6k FAST. The mortgage is getting way behind. I have turned to my mother's brothers. They told me since my dad was dead, that if I ever need anything, they would help. They both have money, but now when I asked them for a loan and offered to pay a generous 15% back, they are ignoring me.

My grandmother, who died in the spring, knew about the abuse. She figured out how bad it was after I fled home. She left me as a co-beneficiary to my mother in a small trust. Now the lawyer is refusing to advance me any money, even though that was my grandmother's oral directive. (She didn't write it in the trust; she left it at his sole discretion.) The lawyer is AWARE of the abuse and does not care. Man that is cold.

So I've tried everything to come up with this money (even asking my abusive ex-boyfriend, who I spent a lot of money on over last several years) and was approved for a home equity line of credit (HELOC). The HELOC was turned down by the bank on Christmas Eve. It turns out that my credit report still shows a debt from 5 years ago that I have a cancelled check for.

I have really tried and am faced in next two weeks with losing everything. But you know what? I am being BRAVE. I am not afraid of anything anymore. I am no longer being silent about the abuse. I tried to explain to my family how abusive my mother was in the past, they just say to move on.

Moving back to my hometown, I have finally been hit full-force with a flood of memories. (Sleep deprivation to the extreme, chased, beaten, locked in the cellar or outside of the house in the dead of winter, jagged edge of cans forced into my face, forced to stand still and not move, falsely imprisoned in her house.)

I no longer am going to deny abuse. As of today, I'm sending a letter to all immediate family members about my life growing up. If they still don't want to help me, that's fine. But at least everything will be laid out in the open. I'm not going to beat myself up any further. Moving back here, I AM SO SO SO proud of myself to be functioning and not a complete basket case.

I no longer care who knows about the extreme abuse I was exposed to. It happened to me. It still haunts me, but I will not let it own me. I will not let it quietly taunt me. I will shout out what happened and cleanse myself with the naming.

Wish me well!

Child Abuse Story From Mary3

by Mary
(LaFayette, Georgia, USA)

I am 41 years now and have raised five wonderful children. I learned from being abused while growing up that I would be good and loving to my children. I turned the tide and turned out to be a good mom.

It all started when I was three years old. My father started molesting me. I didn't know what was going on but in my heart I knew that it was wrong. Later my mother went to work when I was five and I had to take care of my two sisters and baby brother. I became the woman of the house. My father was a drunk and he would come home and while Mom was at work he would sexually abuse me. I had the job of changing my siblings' diapers, keeping their bottles full and potty training them. We moved to another town and the abuse got worse.

My father beat my mother daily. My mother took her anger out on us. The first thing my father did when we moved was to tear off the bathroom and take out the hot water tank. We had a shed out back that we went to the bathroom in. We lived in subdivision. We didn't have a way to take a bath or to use the bathroom. Later that year he had the electricity turned off. My father was a block-and-brick mason, working for his own company. However, his money did not come to take care of us.

My parents started leaving us at home for weeks at a time and with no food. I was the oldest and had to cook whatever had been given to us as canned food. We had a Coleman cook stove and we had one can of Coleman fuel. We used it to cook with until the fuel ran out, then we just ate out of the jars cold. When my parents did show up they would fight and us kids would get in the middle of it. I would try to break them up and my parents would turn on me.

My father started abusing my little sister. I would lie in bed next to her bed and listen to her beg and cry and plead with him to stop. I was devastated. I didn't know what to do. The sexual abuse continued. During this time I did as I was told. I got up and got my siblings ready for school. I instructed them to eat every bite of their lunch because we didn't know if we would get any more food. I found out that they served breakfast at school and we started going to breakfast. So school food was very important to us.

I did great in school, however my siblings did not. I didn't realize until I was grown that I should have helped them with their school work and helped them in school. My sister that my father started abusing started doing drugs at the age of 8 years. I knew she was doing them but I thought it was her only way of coping, so I didn't say anything. My sister turned out to have a learning disability and needed special education classes. My parents refused to go to the school and sign the papers and allow her to get help. She to this day has never learned to read. My little sister and brother didn't get passed 7th grade in school. They can read a little but not very well.

My parents never bought us clothes. We wore whatever was given to us no matter what it looked like or how big it was.

My parents continued to fight. They separated several times. One time during their many separations, we tried to tell our mother that our father was abusing us. She didn't believe us. She said that why would he want you ugly slut when he has me. My mother would yell at us and throw things at us. She never hugged us or showed us any tenderness. She would bring any man she could find into our house and sleep with them in front of us.

During our childhood we did without the basic things in life, and survived. We had never been to a grocery store until I was eleven years old. My mother got food stamps and welfare. When the food stamps would come, my mother's parents would come and take us to the store. My mother and grandmother would go into the store and come out with a large bag of pinto beans, coffee, cream, sugar, 20 lbs of flour, 20 lbs of cornmeal, fifty pounds of potatoes, and four boxes of macaroni and cheese. The rest of the food stamps were given to my grandparents. We did not get any more food for the month. The next month would roll around and the same thing would happen.

Then one day we went down to pick up the food stamps at the welfare office. On our way back home, I told Momma to pull into the WinnDixie. We got out and went into our very first grocery store. We didn't know that you could buy the foods that we got at school at the grocery store. We were amazed at the foods that you could buy and eat at home. We spent all of Momma's food stamps on food. From then on I made sure that the food stamps were spent in one day on food for us. My mother drew welfare on us kids since we were born. We never saw a dime of it. That all went toward my parents' partying and living the good life away from us. My siblings and I didn't know that how we were being raised was wrong. Back when we were growing up nobody talked about child abuse, and that it was wrong to starve your children.

I remember when we moved to the new house, and we started a new school. I made a new friend on the bus. Her name was Jana. We were friends on the bus. At school she didn't talk to me or have anything to do with me. I was okay with that. I understood why the other children didn't like me. I didn't dress like them or have the stuff that they had. Finally, in fourth grade I made a school friend in this overweight girl named Linda. She was nice to me, and later another overweight girl named Connie joined our group. We all were good friends. In the sixth grade, the popular girls that were in Jana's group turned on her. I took up for my friend and she joined our group.

That year we went to visit my aunt who lived outside of Atlanta. She lived about two miles from the county dump. She said we could go to the dump after it closed and see what we could find. So after the dump closed, her husband took us to the dump site and let us out. We all climbed down into these huge trenches and started going through the garbage, one bag at a time. Luckily, I hit pay dirt. I found a lot of clothes and shoes. I gathered them all up, and after two hours of going through all that garbage, my uncle came back and picked us up. I had found enough clothes and shoes for me and my siblings for the next school term. We went to school the next year proud as peacocks with our garbage school clothes on. My friend Jana told me one day she said, "Your clothes are better this year." I felt bad because my friends had never mentioned how bad my clothes had looked over the years.

One my thirteenth birthday my parents had been separated, and on the weekend before my birthday my dad came back home. I was very upset. I did not want him back in our lives. As long as he was gone, me and my sister could sleep in peace. However, that Monday I got up and got ready for school. I had not spoken to my parents all weekend and they knew that I was not happy with him coming home. I started out the door to go to the bus stop and my mother walked over to me and said, "If you don't like it here at home you can leave". I thought about it all the way to school. When I got to school I confided in my friend Tammy. She said if you leave I am going with you. I left school. Me and Tammy hid out at her grandparents' house and made our way back to her house that afternoon. By then the school had contacted my parents and the police. Me and Tammy were walking up toward her house. My parents came up the road. My dad stopped the truck beside us and my mother got out. She grabbed a stick off the back the truck and came around the truck and grabbed me by the hair and started hitting me with the stick. She busted my head open. She grabbed my arms and started slapping me in the face. Out of desperation I broke free and started to run in the woods. The sheriffs department was pulled up behind my parents and did nothing.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Mary3" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Valerie

by Valerie
(Houston, Texas, USA)

I grew up in child abuse. It started when I was in elementary school. I was in head-start at 5 years old. Yes! I can remember this day because it changed my whole life around.

It was after school on a Monday, a day I had taken a bath...my dad took me in the shower when I was little. My mom said he had to, but if only I knew he really didn't want to, I would have tried showering myself. After my bath, I went to my room and lay down. My dad came in later that night. He started to rape me. I screamed, but no one heard. No one heard me crying for my daddy stop. I remember the pain.

It wasn't only my dad, it was my stepdad. He took care of me since I was 2. So I have always called him dad.

I am now 15. He always told me not to tell anyone. He threatened to kill me and bury me 6 feet under my room. So I stayed quiet, until I went to middle school. I stopped wearing jackets. I always wore them because he left bruises on me, four finger marks. I didn't know what to say when anyone saw them, so I just walked away. One day, a teacher saw them. I had known her for 2 years, and I finally went up to her and told her. She started to cry, and she gave me her cell phone number to call her if I needed anything. So I gave her my cell phone too. She told the office because I said I would try to help myself. Then my mom came and yelled at the school and she yelled at me and she said I was lying. I didn't say anything, and I still can't say anything, because everyone thinks I am lying. I waited 11 years to tell someone, and then it turned out no one thinks I am telling the truth. Then everyone wants me to be all happy, like nothing ever happen. WRONG! I am killing inside! The teacher I told still thinks there is something wrong because the bruises are still there.

I am in child abuse still. I have to wait 3 more years. If there is anything I need now is to hope to god I can have a better life. Give me a definition of BETTER! I need help but I can't get it.

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Child Abuse Story From Bethany For Damien

by Bethany
(United Kingdom)

Guilty: 
I was never abused. I have a good family and good friends and I always have. However, I still feel a horrible guilt about something that happened when I was 10.

I was always smart and maturer than the other children in my year, so I didn't fit in. I was bullied by a lot of kids in my class, for being different. But my best friend Melissa had so many friends that were popular, and I wanted to be like her. I was pretty, but I couldn't straighten my hair and do my makeup like her and her other friends, so in a bid to win their friendship, I started to become just like them.

One of the things the girls did all the time was degrade everyone they classed as beneath them. They were bullies.
One boy they bullied was Damien.

Damien and me had been friends for a very long time, and it was no secret between us that we liked each other, but his clothes weren't label and he came to school looking scruffy so the girls hated him, even more so because he too was intelligent, so I made him keep our friendship secret. (I can only imagine how that must have made him feel.)

Weeks passed. I became more and more like those girls. I was still smarter, but I used the sharpness of my mind to cut through anyone I didn't like. I was so nasty, and I didn't even realise it. Me and Damien grew apart for a while, and the girls started to make fun of the strange bruises that were appearing more and more on him. I was too involved in my own selfish try for popularity that I didn't read the signs.

When it was almost the end of year 4, he asked me out, quietly. But Jenny (one of the girls) had heard it, so I, desperate to make sure the next year wouldn't begin like the last, laughed in his face and called him pathetic and a loser. I still remember the look on his face. I remember the words he said to me in my nightmares: "You're right. I wish I wasn't so worthless."

He didn't come to school the next week. Our teacher informed us he had been taken away by social services because his father had been abusing him.

I hate myself for what I did. I had been his best friend and I let him down and made things worse.

I've stared cutting myself to feel better and I intentionally provoke people so they will hit me. I even like to be dominated by my boyfriends just so I could have some control in my life. I know where Damien is and I want to go see him, but I don't know if I can face him...

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Child Abuse Story From Schyular

by Schyular W.
(Los Angeles, California, USA.)

Really, it all just happened. Looking back now, it seems like a distant memory that had torn its way into me like some kind of parasite.

It all started after my 6th birthday. I am the twin to the more favored daughter in my family. Julia was always the one my mother adored. My father, on the other hand, turned a blind eye on the family entirely.

My mom, brother and Julia had gone to the store, while I got to stay home, due to a little headache I had gotten. My dad was on the couch, and I was on his Lazy Boy, just trying to get my headache to go away. I can't remember entirely what happened, but I'll try my best here.

He had asked me if I had wanted a lollipop, and I said yes, so I got off the chair and walked over to him. He ripped off my skirt, and threw me onto the coffee table...then, he ripped off most of my clothing, and held me down while he entered me, and raped me, leaving behind my blood and wetness. He made me clean it up, and then slapped me whenever I missed a spot.

It went on until I was 15, when my boyfriend got involved. My dad tried to molest me while he was there, and my boyfriend bashed him a lamp.

We're married now with two healthy wonderful children, and, sometimes, only sometimes, does that thought occur to me.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Schyular" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Caitie

by Caitlin
(Syracuse, New York, USA)

I'm a 14 year old girl. I think I'm being abused by my mother. I'm now a freshman in high school, and sometimes that's the only place I feel safe. I hate when report cards get sent home, because my grades aren't good. They are low, but I try very hard to get good grades.

I think my mom needs help. I think she's bi-polar. I told her that I think I might have ADD, (Attention Deficit Disorder) but she doesn't want to take me to get checked out. She says, "No, you're just lazy. There's nothing wrong with you." And my father doesn't do anything for me or my sister. I'm too scared to tell people what's gong on because I know that I'm gonna pay for it.

When my mother gets mad, she yells at me and hits me with anything. She's even used hangers because I wasn't done hanging my clothes up. She threw me on my bed and just started hitting me over and over again. She even tells me and my sister that she wishes she never had us. She uses vulgar language, calling us names like "bitch" and "whore" etc.

She gets mad when we start to like a boy or a boy starts to like us because she can't find a man for herself. Sometimes I just cry myself to sleep. She thinks that when she's yelling at me that I think it's all just a joke. She thinks that I'm not listening and that what she says doesn't hurt us. She's even thrown us against the wall. She always gives us dirty looks, and I'm honestly scared for my life and my sister's life and I don't know what to do!!!

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Child Abuse Story From Emma

by Emma
(USA)

I am 18 and I am tired...deeply tired: 
I don't remember it quite clear, but I was first sexually molested when I was just a little girl. Maybe seven or eight. It was in a garage. The man was my father's close friend. Whenever my father talked about him, he referred to him as his brother. The man's mother died when he was a young teen and my father's mother took him in as his own. When he and my father were eighteen, they moved together to LA. They roomed together and started their American dream together. They were parted for several years after my father and mother were married.

I was maybe six when this man was introduced to me. He was a round man. Bald, short, fat man. Fat cheeks, fat legs, fat hands, everything. I liked him from the start. He became my uncle. Since our home was a one bedroom place, he was left to sleep on the living room floor. Two blankets were his mattress and along with a pillow and another blanket, that became his nightly and complete bedroom.

I would daily go into our garage to play with my dolls. I had exactly two dolls. One was a thin blonde, while the other one dark, with dark hair. My best friend often came over to play. We would build the doll's house first, compare to see whose was the best, and then we would always be too tired to even play. Socks, wood blocks, and little pieces of cloth were the main construction pieces of our houses.

He took the opportunity one day when both my parents were working. That day he took the day off, so he was the one who picked me up from the babysitter. That would be half an hour before my mother was to arrive home, so my parents didn't see it as an inconvenience. I was excited to go home of course. After my cheese sandwich, I raced him to the garage. I took the blonde doll, while he took the dark one. I beat him to the garage of course. We sat down and I started to build the doll's house. Then he carried me and took me to the green sofa we had down there. I looked at his fat face and he told me he wanted to play a different game. Lucky son a bitch, I had my mini skirt on, so he didn't have to take off my pants or anything. He began by touching my legs. It tickled and I didn't see anything wrong. "Do it again," I told him while giggling. He did. This time, he went higher than my leg. With his fat index finger, he moved my underwear aside and began to 'massage.' He then smiled at me and moved his finger inside me. Very concerned he told me to tell him if it hurt, then and only then, he would stop. It didn't, so he didn't stop.

The next time was when I was ten. He was my thirteen-year-old cousin. We were at my grandparents' house. We were watching cartoons. We were sitting between the two beds my grandma had in that room. He closed and door of the bedroom and came back to sit next to me where he formerly was. He turned down the volume and placed his hand on my knee. He told me stand up. I did everything as he told me. He then pulled my shorts down to my ankles and 'examined' me with his fingers. Curious, I thought. He then pulled his pants down and his briefs and pushed me closed to him. Even before we touched, he had an erection. He kept moving me to and away from his penis, which I totally saw it as funny.

The next day at his house, he told his mom he wanted to show me the birds upstairs, so my aunt allowed us to go. He pulled his pants down and showed me his penis, as if I hadn't had a good look at it the previous day. I looked at him and asked what he was doing. He said nothing, while he pulled his pants back on. He then told me that since he had showed me his, that it was only fair of me to show him my private area. Even before I had a chance to respond, he already was trying to pull my pants down. I tried pushing him away, but he was too strong. I screamed at him to stop, telling him I didn't like the game he was playing. His mother came upstairs pretty quick. She asked about my screaming. He simply said it was the tickling game that had made me scream.

That same year accounted for my third. This time it was with my twenty-something-year-old cousin. I had slept over at his house. He slept in the same room as my aunt. That night, I slept with my aunt. In the morning when I woke up, she told me she was going to be right back. While she was at the store, I went over to my cousin's bed. He started tickling and hugging me. We laid face up, and then I noticed he had an erection. I asked him what that was. He laughed. I was curious, so I grabbed it and squeezed it. He made a groan like he was in pain. So I stopped. I slept in my underwear, so that's all he had to pull down. He got on top of me and tried to have sex with me. Of course his penis was too big, so it didn't fit. He then told me lay on my belly to try from behind. As soon as he tried, his next door neighbor's daughter, my friend, walked into the room. She was shocked at the sight. He put my underwear back on, while at the same time telling the little girl that I was not ready to go out. She immediately left. I never found out if she knew what he was doing to me. "Let's play," I told him. He dressed me properly and told me, "If someone asks, we were just playing."

I am 18 and I am tired...deeply tired...

Note from Darlene:
I am currently working on creating e-books which will provide my visitors access to specific and relevant child abuse information more readily. As this project will require a great deal of time and focus, I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of offering comments on all submissions. Please do not take my lack of response to your story personally; I mean no disrespect, nor is it intended as an invalidation of what you have endured. Indeed, I am honoured that you have chosen to post what has happened to you on my site. Whenever time permits, I will endeavour to provide supportive and validating replies. I hope you and my other visitors will continue to offer words of support and encouragement to the many contributors who have courageously shared of themselves through this site. I thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

Darlene Barriere
Violence & Abuse Prevention Educator
Author: On My Own Terms, A Memoir

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Child Abuse Story From Linda1

by Linda
(Location Undisclosed)

When I was 30 I started having memories of childhood sexual abuse. Up until that time, I did not have any memories and still don't have full memory of the abuse. I am 51 now and still healing from the awful abuse that my father put me through. It included sexual intercourse at age 3 and also threats and satanic worship. My mother was never aware of the abuse, and when I told my family, everyone thought I was lying about it. My father denied it and our somewhat fragile family splintered into many different pieces. I felt so guilty for telling that I have wanted to die several times.

Twenty years later, our family is still fragmented, however, the abuse is not denied anymore by anyone. The saving grace for me was and is my relationship with Jesus. My spirituality helped me get through all of the pain that I experienced. I have asked God many times why I went through such trauma and pain, and I keep realizing that as a social worker, I help people all of the time and many, many, girls that I have helped is because of the firsthand knowledge of what that type of experience does to you.

Note from Darlene:
I am currently working on creating e-books which will provide my visitors access to specific and relevant child abuse information more readily. As this project will require a great deal of time and focus, I regret that I can no longer continue the practice of offering comments on all submissions. Please do not take my lack of response to your story personally; I mean no disrespect, nor is it intended as an invalidation of what you have endured. Indeed, I am honoured that you have chosen to post what has happened to you on my site. Whenever time permits, I will endeavour to provide supportive and validating replies. I hope you and my other visitors will continue to offer words of support and encouragement to the many contributors who have courageously shared of themselves through this site. I thank you for your understanding.

Sincerely,

Darlene Barriere
Violence & Abuse Prevention Educator
Author: On My Own Terms, A Memoir

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Nina

by Nina
(Minnesota, USA)

I was born into a very dysfunctional family. My dad was an abusive alcoholic and my mom very co-dependent. For the first five years of my life, I watched my mom being abused and would sometimes "get in the way" of my dad's rage. I had concussions and a broken nose. She suffered more, and I was always there to take care of her, that was my job. The worst was the demeaning things he would say.

When my mom finally left, we were both in such a low place. All we wanted was a "good" man. We found Adrian. He was a recovering addict/alcoholic. He was nice and fun and everything seemed to be going well. He really respected my mom, and I could tell that she loved him very much.

When I was about 10, Adrian started sexually abusing me. I told my mom, but she was in denial and ignored it for a while. Finally, she kicked him out, but I always sensed that she didn't want to. After he went to treatment for sexual abuse and served some time, she invited him to move back in. I was shocked! She was my mom. She was supposed to love and take care of me, protect me! This was the point in my life when I stopped caring.

For the next 5 years of my life, I would allow anything and anyone to take advantage of me. I began doing drugs and drinking. I was very depressed. I overdosed 4 times in attempt to kill myself. I sought male approval and accepted sex as love. I felt the need to be wanted by a male. To receive attention.

My freshman year of high school, I met Marc. He was fun and liked to party. He was into drugs and I didn't see a problem. As time went on, he became very controlling and started doing more and more drugs. It only got worse. He forced me to do very horrific sexual things. One time, he tied me to the bed and began to cut me with a knife on my arms, legs, stomach, and inner thighs. He smeared the blood all over and had VERY rough sex with me. I was crying and screaming. This was just one of the many things.

After about 2 1/2 years, I found out I was pregnant. I told Marc, and he was excited. I was confused by this, but went along. By this time, he was a full-blown meth addict. After about 6 months he had killed my baby. He was high and beat me. This is when I finally left. I was so traumatized and depressed that I got very involved in drugs. I wanted to control my life and have fun. Ha! My life was everything but fun.

The summer before my senior year, I met someone else. Erik was fun, cute, respectful and a pastor's son. I thought he was perfect. He listened and understood me. Everything was going ok, until about 6 months ago when I realized how depressed I still was. I had never really worked out any of the chaos in my life. I just hid it all away. I went to the hospital and was diagnosed with severe depression, post traumatic stress, and anxiety.

After treatment for my mental illnesses and drug abuse, things were looking up again. Erik and I were, and still are, doing great. I really love him. My mom and I are building a relationship, and I am starting to go back and look at all the shit in my life. I realize it's not my fault. I'm learning ways to accept and understand things.

I will be eighteen years old in less than one month. I don't know where my life will take me. I am still at the beginning of my recovery. But I have confidence that I will not learn how to survive life, but live it.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Nina" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Ami

by Ami
(Illinois, USA)

My evil abuser: 
My dad started physically abusing me when I was 3 years old and kept doing it until I was 13. If I did something wrong-like break a toy or spill some water on the carpet-he would pick me up and bring me up to his room. It became like a ritual.

He would say: "Why must I disciple you?"

I would say: "Because I am a bad girl and I broke my toy."

Then I would have to strip down to bare skin. Then he would say: "Belt, wrench, or yardstick?" I would go find my choice, and then my dad would beat my butt with it until it turned purple. Then he would make me sit naked on the wooden kitchen table for 1 hour, or til he thought I had learned my lesson. Then, he would have me return to his room and he would use his bare hand on me. This hurt the worst because my skin was already tender.

When I was 13, we started having to change for gym class and my teacher saw my scars and bruises and I was put in foster care.

I am now 32 years old. I don't even know if my dad is alive.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Ami" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story from Louise

by Louise
(Melbourne, Australia)

I am not really sure where to actually start...I have lived with my memories of being physically, sexually and emotionally abused for my whole thirty years. I am not even sure if I should be sharing my story in this forum, but something in me (not sure what it is) is pushing me to; otherwise, I feel as though I am going to explode. I have not shared my story perhaps to the depths that I will be doing so here, but I will share with you a glimpse of my experience. I feel like I could write a story with my life...

From as early as I can remember I was physically and emotionally abused by my father. My earliest recollection of being sexually abused was from the age of seven by my father and a male cousin, through until I was fifteen, when I was removed by child protection and placed in foster care. My mother (and brothers) chose to support my abusers, which is why I was the person who had to be removed from my family. My three years in foster care were frightening, lonely and unsafe. I feel as though being placed in foster care was another form of punishment from my family for speaking out about the "family secret". My three years in care consisted of numerous placements, multiple admissions into a psychiatric hospital for suicide and depression, which included being dosed up on medication and shock treatment.

By the time I was 18 years old, I was placed back in the family home, as there was nowhere else child protection could place me as an adult. This is when the cycle continued again. I was beaten, raped, tortured and punished for "humiliating" and "bringing shame on the family name". My father, cousin and two of my cousin's friends continued to abuse me up until a couple of years ago...sometimes on their own and sometimes gang raped....

I don't want to go into too much detail about the ways in which I was abused, as I am not too sure I will be believed, but in brief, I have been kidnapped, held hostage by some of these people and on numerous occasions locked and tortured in the cellar at the bottom of the family home for days on end. I have been "safe" from their harm for a couple of years now (not sure if I will ever feel safe again) but not without having to undergo multiple abortions and serious medical problems due to injuries. I now suffer from severe anxiety/depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Every day for me is a battle of survival. I live with shame, guilt and constant fear. I am lonely because I have chosen to shut my friends out. I have hit my lowest point and been hospitalised twice in the past month with severe panic attacks. I have constant flashbacks and dissociate for most of the day that I am awake. I am not too sure how much longer I can go living like this. Something has to change, but I am just struggling to see the light.

Like I said earlier, I really feel like I could write a novel about my experiences. I have never spoken about my abuse like this, as I have not had positive experiences with counsellors. I have, however, found a wonderful counsellor who is exactly the person I have been searching for over the past 30 years, but at this point, I'm not sure if I will continue seeing her as most of my sessions are consumed with me either dissociating or having flashbacks...an experience I don't want anyone to ever see me do; but at the moment I can't control them. My counsellor doesn't mind, but I do.

I am so sorry for such a lengthy story; it wasn't my intention, but I thank you sincerely for listening. It does mean a lot...

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Louise" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Julia

by Julia
(Cincinnati, Ohio, USA)

I have never breathed a word of this out loud to anyone, ever. I've always been too ashamed and embarrassed. I was sexually abused by my older cousin who is 4 years my senior, from the time I was 6 until I was 13 (I am 24 now). It would always happen when we would take trips to St. Louis to visit my grandparents. My uncle and cousins would always visit at the same time to bring the whole family together. Because of this, my cousin and I usually would end up sharing the same room to sleep. We had separate beds, but I can remember the first instance of abuse after my mom and dad kissed me goodnight, and shut the door. He waited for a minute, then crawled into my bed with me. I remember thinking this was a game and giggling. That was until he lay on top of me and began kissing me and dry humping me while fondling my breasts (which I really didn't have at the time.) I was so confused, and scared. Luckily, he heard someone coming down the hall so he quickly got off of me and jumped back to his own bed. He didn't attempt to come into my bed again that night.

I can't remember all of the different times/ways he abused me, but I do know it was every time we saw each other at family get-togethers. Unfortunately, he lives in a different state, so any family get together meant that we usually would be sleeping in the same house as well, which made it easy for him to abuse me.

I can recall another instance when I was 11. By this time I would fly to St. Louis in the summertime to spend a week or two at my grandparents' house. I loved it. That was until my cousin began doing the same. I was upstairs in my room that I slept in, and his room was across the hall. He had about 4 guy friends over that day, and I remember him calling me into his room. I didn't want to go because by that time I had fully developed and was regularly subjected to his friends making comments to me about my breasts, and my body. This made me very uncomfortable. He kept calling me into his room though, and finally said that he had something really cool to show me. I was curious, and stupid, and walked across the hall to his room to see. No sooner had I gotten in the door way when one of his friends shut the door and stood in front of it. My cousin instructed his other friends to grab me and put me on the bed. They did so and began pulling my clothes off and my bra and panties. I was laying there naked and they were just all smiling at me. My cousin began fondling my breast while one of the other boys got on top of me and started kissing me telling me how beautiful I was. This is when I was raped, not once, but by all 4 guys, my cousin included. It was mortifying. I didn't scream, I only cried quietly, they were holding me down and at first I tried to struggle to get away, but they were much stronger than I. When it was all done, my cousin threw my clothes at me and told me to get out of his room, that I was bugging him and his friends. I ran into my room and locked the door and sat against the door for hours, naked, gripping my clothes and crying, confused about what had just happened.

Later that night, when I came down for dinner, I was relieved to know that my cousin had gone to one of his friends' houses to eat, and my grandmother had made my favorite. I could barely eat. She kept asking if I was okay and if I was feeling ill. I finally just told her that I had a horrible headache. She helped me to my room and gave me some milk and aspirin. I laid there in that bed for most of the night. I don't remember falling asleep, I just remember staring at the door knob so afraid that it would turn and my cousin would be on the other side of the door.

There were several instances before and after that experience, but that is the one that has stuck with me. I have never been the same since. I am married now, own a house, and have a beautiful son. I feel I am living a normal and happy life on the outside, but on the inside, the pain is still there and hurts just as bad as it did that horrible day so many years ago. I don't think I will ever be able to tell anyone, not even my husband. I can't tell you the relief I feel however, from finally writing this out. It's a first step to a long road of recovery, I believe. =)

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Julia" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

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Child Abuse Story From Heather M

by Heather Mcalpine
(Oregon, USA)

I am 30 years old. I'm a survivor of severe childhood trauma. My abuse started when my mom left my dad when I was age three. My abuser's name is JAMES W. S. He raised me from age three to thirteen and a half. This man brainwashed me by cruelty, torture and degradation. I have so many memories of this crap that sometimes it haunts me, especially in the middle of the night.

I remember when I was seven years old. Jim beat me with a belt so hard that the tops of my legs were black and blue, green and yellow. He was such a control freak that basically he beat me that bad for the fact that I wouldn't eat my cream of wheat. I hated cream of wheat and still do!!!!!!!!

As I got older and began to form an opinion, the beatings got worse. When I was around eight years old, we went boating for the day at Lake Selmack. We went pretty early in the morning, so we fished for a little bit and had some fun. Then, as it got later, I took a nap while we were on shore in a secluded area. I woke up to my mom and stepfather having sex. When Mom realized I had woken up, she started asking him to stop, but he wouldn't and didn't.

My mom worked all the time at a restaurant in town. Jim would get fired consistently for being a hot-head. Then Mom got promoted as second assistant manager at her job, and then I saw less and less of Mom. Once she got promoted she worked 16 hours a day salary pay. I only saw her on Mondays and Tuesdays after school. As Mom made more money, Jim spent it like it grew on trees. He developed a bad drug habit that escalated into more and more abuse.

When I was nine years old I met Jim's mother's boyfriend FRANK R. during summer, while Frank and Jackie, Jim's mom, came to visit from Carson City, Nevada. Frank was so nice to me. I used to fall asleep in his lap because I felt safe. Then Frank and Jackie invited me to visit for a month or so. So I went. I thought, Hell yeah...beatings-free-summer.

Sure enough, within three weeks, shortly after Jackie got a job at the Nugget, Frank started babysitting me. One month of vacation with Frank and Jackie turned into about two months worth of child rape. Every time Jackie went to work, I was Frank's little rag doll. I got back from Nevada at the end of the summer. I tried to tell my mom and Jim, but didn't know how. I didn't even know exactly what happened to me to try and explain. Anyways, I told mom and she came home from work and called the cops. Mom filed a report and nothing seemed to happen. Jackie called a few month's later because she was ill and was hooked up to an oxygen tank. Jim dropped everything to go see his mom in a motel room in California. Jim, Mom and I took a trip to see her and to confront Frank. Know one ever believed me, not to mention Mom and Jim felt sorry for Jackie, so there was no confrontation. Once again I was forgotten about. Jim used to say I probably liked it when Frank was raping me.

My mom was a very beautiful woman who had a kid at 16, and took care of herself. Jim used to make her stay in her bedroom while his friends would come over for drugs, because heaven forbid, my mom was supposedly screwing everyone. He cheated on Mom for years. Mom would find pictures of women posing on her truck in the mountains, not to mention I'd nark on him.

Things really took a change for the worst when mom quit her job and we moved to Lakewood, California. Jim got into crack cocaine and became incredibly schizophrenic. He would say there was writing on the clothing, end tables, walls, everywhere. It would supposedly say my mom plus some other man. He was a real sick-o. He used to tell me that my mom was a slut and a whore and I'd grow up to be just like her. He told me that for years.

One Saturday night during summer, I stayed up late watching scary movies, and I woke up to Jim down my pants. I was twelve. When I'd cry, he seemed to laugh and think it was funny. One time he said something regarding Mom and me doing something weird in bed because Mom was talking in her sleep. When I was 12, Jim repeatedly molested and beat me. Then he started talking about how we couldn't have sex because I'd get pregnant. I started confiding in my friend, Gen, and she told the school counselor. He called me in his office and asked me if it was true. I said yes, and they picked Jim up and took him to jail. The part that really sucked is it all went down on my little sister's 1st birthday. A social worker took me home that evening and released me to Mom. After the lady left me in Mom's care, Mom started yelling at me, calling me a liar. Saying, how could I do this? She was so concerned about welfare fraud that she didn't seem to really care about me. Jim called from jail on his one phone call deal as they were booking him. He called collect, and stupid me handed Mom the phone. She asked him if it was true and he said no. Then mom made a comment regarding maybe we should just send her away. Mom treated me like crap for three days. She was always mad and rude when I would come home from school. I wanted Mom to like me so much that I said I'd lie to make her happy. So I did. I said it was a lie and that I was jealous of their relationship. The abuse continued.

I have so many bad memories, sometimes I wish I would just get them erased.

Mom and Jim didn't split up until we moved back to Oregon. Jim would travel back and forth doing construction work with his brother. Mom met someone else, and then she left. She would still let Jim see my sister whenever he wanted. When I was a teen, I used to go with my sister to visit her dad just so nothing ever happened. I'm 12 years older than my sister.

Thank you for letting me post my story. Sometimes it can be a little comforting knowing you're not alone....

I'm a parent of a 7 1/2 year old boy. My son is my pride and joy. He's my everything!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Darlene's reply to this "Child Abuse Story From Heather M" can be found at Comments below.

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Child Abuse Story From Calindy

by Calindy G
(American Fork, Utah, USA)

God help me please!! I'm just a child. What did I do that was so WRONG?! 
God, I don't even know when the abuse started. I guess my earliest memory was when I was 3. I was sitting on the stairs of my parents' home, watching my parents argue. Then I watched my mother hit my father so hard blood went everywhere. His face was just RED!! I remember screaming and being picked up and hauled out of the house.

Then it goes black......

I don't remember the year, but my mother was living in a trailer in Nevada with my sister and me. I remember her going to the bar and leaving us home alone. I was only 4 or 5 and my sister was 6 or 7. I remember waking up one morning and finding my mother on the living room floor, passed out and naked with a man. I woke him with a kick to the head. I got into trouble for that. I remember my mother sneering and saying, "Meet your new daddy, we got married!"

I remember being beaten for simple things, like I got gum in my hair and needed help getting it all out, so my mother grabbed me and dragged me into the bathroom and cut all my beautiful blonde hair off. I looked like a boy. When I cried, she smacked me and told me this is what I got for bothering her. Needless to say, she had more children. Two more in fact. My little sister and my little brother.

I remember being taken away many times, but always returned to my mother and her husband because again she had won over the courts. My biological father was fighting tooth and nail to get my sister and me. Since he had no rights to the youngest two, he couldn't do anything but pray for them. I know I spent the majority of my adolescent life in foster care. From the time I was 3 until 7 I was in and out of them. From 7 until 8 I was in one steady. They wanted to adopt me. I know my siblings where almost placed up for adoption, but my mother got them back.

There were countless nights of my 3 siblings and me sitting in a car outside the local bar, waiting on her to finish her "drink," but sometimes it was hours!! My siblings were just babies. Some of the times we had a 2-month-old and a 1-year-old to watch. My sister and I were just children ourselves.

One time I remember, we hadn't eaten in awhile. Mommy forgot to cook. We lived in a home that you couldn't even walk through. It was covered in dishes, and clothes and dog feces! It wasn't even human for the rats that occupied my room with me. My sister had gotten hungry and went and stole a candy bar and pop from our stepfather. He found out and hit her so hard across the face that she was black and blue from her ear to her shoulder. My mother covered it with a scarf. And sent us to school. The cops were called, and we were taken again!

Then I remember being locked in my room. I needed to use the bathroom so badly. I found a lunch box, you know, the old metal kind. I used it for a bathroom and then had to get it out of the house before anyone knew. My sister covered me with a blanket so I had some time to do what I needed and wasn't scared. She also put her ear to the door and listened for movement so I didn't get into trouble. My stepfather and mother never found out about that. I don't think I have told anyone that.

I don't remember much of my two younger siblings growing up, except the last night I was actually in physical custody of my mother and her new husband. The house was surrounded by many cop cars. My oldest sister was placed in one car, I was placed in another. My mother was standing in the doorway, holding for dear life to her two precious angels.... They placed them in different cars then too. I remember my stepfather out back yelling at the cops, "If I can't live here then she can't either. I'll take it all." He was cutting the wires to the back of the trailer so nothing would work.

My stepfather was one of those men that would drink and do pills. He loved it when it would storm. The bigger the storm, the bigger his "get wasted" times would be. He would be so drunk, he would come into my sister's and my room and pull us out of bed and beat on us. Although he never touched the children that were "his"!

During the wire-cutting scene, I got placed in one foster home, my sister in another on an air force base, and well the younger two, I don't know what happened to them...all I do know is my brother at 6 months old couldn't sit up alone, and my little sister couldn't talk that well at more than a year and a half old. I got to see my sister during our weekly counseling sessions. It went on for more than a year like this.

Then one day, a man in a car drove up to my foster home. All of us children where outside playing since it was summer. A man with bright red hair got out of the car. I knew right then and there it was my father. He had come to take me home. It wasn't like the other times, he wasn't with my case worker, and he wasn't in his semi truck. He was in a nice pair of slacks, a white shirt undone at the sleeves and rolled, and a pair of really shiny black shoes. He just opened his arms and I went running. He told me he was there to take me home. Back to Illinois!! Back to my family.

Nine years.....

Still no word on her. I am 17 at this time. My father has remarried. My mother, from what I hear has also divorced and remarried again too. This is husband number 5!! I finally found my mother in Southern Utah, of all states. She lies to me and tells me that she has been looking for me. She has sent me many packages, and letters and things for Birthdays, Christmas, Easter...the list goes on. But I know different. My address and number stayed the same for years. Never changed.

I moved back to Utah in April of '98. I was 63 days from turning 18. I moved in with her, and things where ok. That is, as long as she had her pills and I didn't breath a word. Things went sour and I was kicked out just 3 days before turning 18.

I turned 18, got involved with a man and was married August of '99. Since that day, my mother has tried to have me arrested, has tried to take my children away from me, has called DCFS on me for nothing. All because I finally realized she is a very sick woman, and I can't surround myself with that.

I am now 27 years old. I am divorced. I have 2 children of my own. I still have nightmares of the abuse! The neglect! But life will get better. As of March 2008 I have cut all ties with her. She doesn't have my number or my address, so she can't find me! I went into hiding! I live my life like a normal person. I am just careful not to put anything in my name so that she can't locate me and try to "make things better!"

I hope by sharing my story it will help me release my fears of the mother and stepfather that have been haunting my dreams for years now. I just want to enjoy life and not be afraid of my past!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Calindy" are at the last link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Carmen1

by Carmen
(California, USA)

I hate him for what he did to me: 
I am the middle child of 3 daughters. My father only hit me once; however, day in and day out he would knock the wind out of me with his hateful words. For some reason (maybe he wanted a boy and was disappointed, maybe I reminded him of someone he hated, maybe I was too sensitive) he singled me out. His tone, his abusive language, every time he looked or talked to me it was with rage; however, with my sisters he was pleasant and would compliment them.

I remember it was my 15th birthday and I put on my dress and did my hair. I was happy. I walked out to the living room and my dad looked at me and didn't say anything. My sister followed in behind me and he said to her, "Wow, you look so pretty." It was "my day" and with that sentence he destroyed it.

My sadness turned to hate, an intense hate. I prayed daily that he would die in an accident at work and never come home. I was happy at school, no parents around. As soon as I stepped foot in my home, I could feel the big black cloud over my head, just waiting for an explosion of anger from him.

Today, he asks, "Why doesn't she call me?" I have absolutely no desire to pick up the phone and talk to him. If we see each other face to face I am civil. I have children now and yes, they can push your buttons, but I love them. I would jump in front of a bus for them. I can't see how a parent would have hatred toward a child. How awful for a child to believe that instead of the parent jumping in front of the bus, the parent would push the child in front of the bus. Because of him I live with this anger; it's always with me, just boiling right under my skin, ready to explode if I feel I am being attacked. I took so much for so many years. I guess a part of me can't take anything now.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Carmen1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Alice

by Alice J.
(California, USA)

My Unhappy Life! 
My mom didn't know better. She was 16 when she first had my big sister, then my big brother and then me...finally my younger sister! My older sister and brother had a different dad that got into drugs and was mentally ill. She left him and met my dad.

At first she thought he was a nice guy, until he started beating my bro. I got beaten too, but not as bad as my big bro. My bro couldn't do anything or he would get beat.

I remember one day when we were outside playing. The neighbor broke a window. He blamed it on my bro. My dad made him stand in a corner and wet the belt and told him to pull down his pants. He beat him whip after whip...my bro was begging him to stop, but he didn't. My mom couldn't do anything cuz he also beat her.

One time, he was high and tried to hit her with a beer bottle, but he missed and broke the window. The neighbors called the cops and took him to jail. I haven't seen him in 10 years.

This next story, I was touched by Dad's friend. I looked up to his friend. He was "cool". Well, I had finished eating and was finishing my Kool-Aid. I went outside and my dad was drunk. He gave me half of the beer. I went inside again. I was so buzzed. I saw my dad's friend follow me. We sat at the table. My mom was sleeping with my l'il sis. He then started touching my chest and then trying to go lower. I was 4...my mom came in before he could do anything else.

That night, I was dreaming I was being touched over and over again...I woke up and threw up. He was sent to jail when I was 11. I never saw him again.

This story, I was sexually abused I was 7. I had gone to my cousin's house for a little while. I looked up to my cousin because he was soooo nice to me. He took me into his room and he asked, "You wanna play under-the-sheets with me?" I said I didn't know how to play. He told me just to take off my pants and undies. So I listened. He then fingered me. I told him to stop. After, he told me not to tell or he would hit me. So I kept everything a secret.

I turned 13 last month, in April!

I love you Danny (my big bro). You're the best thing that ever happen to me!

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Alice" can be found below.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Krystle

by Krystle
(Ottawa, Ontario, Canada)

My Hell: 
My mother and my father decided that it was time to divorce when I had just turned 4. My memories up until this point are very foggy as is to be expected of someone of this age. From what I remember, my mother kicked my father out right before Christmas. I remember asking her over and over, "When is daddy coming home." After that everything changed.

At this point I was still very young and I do not remember everything that happened to me. My life seems like a bunch of photographs that have been forced together to try to create some kind of story line, some semblance of normality. My mother started seeing someone who she called "her very special friend." I had no idea who this man was, but I knew I didn't like him.

At first everything seemed harmless. I remember being very sick, and him singing to me. The song was Tears in Heaven, by Eric Clapton. I know that this song is aimed at a totally different form of loss and heartache, but till this day the song still brings me to tears and reminds me of all the hell that I had to go through when I was so young that I couldn't even understand the emotions of such a powerful song. It took awhile for his true colours to come out...obviously he didn't want my mother to know his true colours this soon.

I have many blank spaces in my memory that I simply can't piece together. In these cases I just assume the worse and figure that I simply cannot cope with the truth.

I do know that when things started getting really heated I was about 9 years old. My mom used to come into my room every night and give me a back massage. For the longest time he would help her, and at the time I didn't know any better. I thought this was what all fathers did, and as far as I knew, he was my father.

After awhile he stopped visiting my room when my mom did. She would come in and say goodnight to me and then go to bed. She would tell me that "my father" was coming in soon to say goodnight and that I should be good and say goodnight like a good girl.

After about 10 minutes he entered my room. He started massaging me like my mom would, starting at my shoulders and working his way down...but he kept going down, and down, and he didn't stop, he was then using his fingers so hard and fast that I couldn't keep from crying...that was the first night. While he was leaving my room he said, "You filthy pig. Look what you've done to my fingers. You're such a filthy little bitch that you're dripping for me. Well don't worry, I'll be back for more."

From here on my life was hell. This happened on almost a nightly basis, and if it wasn't sexual it was physical. I always had a bruise, or I was too sore to walk. I was constantly living in fear that someone would find out.

I finally got fed up and decided I was going to move to my real father's. It was a scary process. I had to stay hidden for over 6 months as my step-dad was looking for me.

Now I am 20 years old and living on my own. Everything for me is over, but I'm afraid for my sister that it's just beginning. He is her father so I always told everyone he would never hurt her because she is his child. I was wrong though, and now I'm responsible for her pain. I could have prevented her from going through what I did. I never thought it would happen to her....

Reply from Darlene: Krystle, today I'm trying a different approach. Today, for the benefit of you and all my visitors, I offer an exercise to do on paper. This exercise is a glimpse of what I am currently working on with regard to a healing program. I do hope you will find it helpful.

Krystle, your personal truth is: 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad.' This personal truth is a thought, Krystle, a thought that needs to be questioned. Ask yourself if you absolutely know for a fact that your sister suffered at the hands of your stepdad because of you. An answer of either yes or no doesn't matter; neither is wrong.

Now answer the question: How does your body react when you believe the thought 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad'? Perhaps your chest tightens or your heart pounds so hard it feels as though it's caught in your throat, perhaps you clench your jaw or feel the need to punch something. Write down all that your body experiences when you believe the thought 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad'.

Now answer the question: If it was virtually impossible to have the thought 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad', who and what would you be? Perhaps your answers will read something like:

• peaceful
  
• guilt- and shame-free
  
• able to move on with my life
  
• I'd be a 20-year-old woman having an Internet experience with a woman named Darlene Barriere

Now think of one "healthy" reason to hang on to the thought 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad.' When I say "healthy" I mean a reason that does not cause you or your body any form of stress.

There will never be even one healthy reason to hang on to ANY unhealthy (stressful) thoughts. It is not humanly possible.

Now consider 3 "healthy" (non-stressful) reasons to drop the thought 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad'. Don't TRY to drop the thought. That's not what I'm suggesting. You can no more drop the thought than you can drop the need to breathe. Just find 3 reasons TO drop it. They might read like:

1. I'd be a better sister if I didn't have this guilt and shame because I'd be more available to my sister when she needs me most.
   
2. I'd be free of the guilt and shame and then be able to move on with my life.
   
3. I would be able to really help my sister emotionally because I'd be emotionally healthy; after all, we've been through the same thing.

When we believe our thoughts, they grip us and won't let go. When we believe our thoughts, they cripple us and render us incapable of helping ourselves or our loved ones. We become blocked. But when we question our thoughts and then reverse them, we are then open to alternatives, and we become more able to do the things we really want to do. In other words, we become "unblocked".

The next step is to reverse the thought. Reversals are done in three ways:

1. to the thought itself
   
2. to the other person
   
3. to yourself

In the first reversal, 'I am responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad' becomes 'I am NOT responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad.' Could this be just as true as your original thought 'I AM responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad'? Give at least 1 but preferably 3 reasons that this is true. Examples:

1. My stepdad was the person who molested my sister; not me.
   
2. My stepdad knows the difference between right and wrong because he made me keep it a secret and also made MY SISTER keep it a secret.
   
3. _____ fill in the blank.

Krystle, it's been my experience that reality is much more compassionate than our thoughts about that reality.

Now reverse the thought to the other person: 'My stepfather is responsible for the abuse my sister suffered at the hands of my stepdad.' Give 3 examples of how this is so. Examples:

1. I was the child; he was the adult. I did not know any better. As the grown up, he DID know better for both my sister and me.
   
2. I am not responsible for my stepfather's actions; HE is responsible for his own actions.
   
3. _____ fill in the blank.

Now reverse the thought to yourself: 'I am NOT responsible for the abuse I suffered at the hands of my stepdad.' Examples:

1. I have no way to know that anyone would have believed me if I had told.
   
2. I was too young to know how to tell someone.
   
3. By the time I was old enough to tell, I thought no one would believe me or that they would blame me for what he was doing.

Remember Krystle, your answers are about your personal truth. It is NOT about morality. It is not about what is right or wrong. It's about what you believe deep down inside. Only when you allow those deeply buried beliefs to surface can you question them. As long as you are afraid to allow those thoughts to surface (and then question them), those thoughts will continue to block you and prevent you from doing the things you want to do. They will block you moving forward. They will block you from helping your sister now.

I've provided examples based on the story you submitted. In truth, I can't answer these questions for you. I can only open you to possibilities, and then ask you to apply questioning to each of them. Consider your own personal truth, and then recognize how these thoughts block you from having an emotionally available relationship with your sister. Consider how these thoughts block you from being emotionally available to yourself. You see, Krystle, when you believe your unhealthy thoughts, you project the residue of those thoughts onto yourself and others.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Krystle" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Joanna K

by Joanna K
(Miami, Florida, USA)

So what? 
Right now I am 13 years old and have suffered abuse for my whole life, mostly from my mom. When I was young, she would hit me for random reasons. She would hit me for blaming my brother that he was the one to spill milk or something like that. She just likes my older brother better. Now he is 22 and still depends on my mom. Actually I won't call her my mom, but my nightmare.

I remember once, she got mad at me for telling a joke. She said, "If you are going to say these stupid jokes under my room, you would let me hit you. Because these jokes are really stupid, and make you stupid. I don't want people to think you're a down." My mom doesn't even know that child abuse is illegal in America.

I am scared to tell her how I feel. When she has her period, she is so evil. She gets mad at everything. Last time I forgot to put the dishes in the washing machine, my mom started hitting me. Not only that, she hits me, she kicks me and hits my head really hard...sometimes I am scared that one day I am going to get brain damage and she will throw me out of the house. I am so scared of her. The only thing she likes to do is hit me. She hates me so much that I AM going to run away from my house and find a better family to live with.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Joanna K" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Kristen1

by Kristen
(Location Undisclosed)

I know what I am about to tell you is my own fault, but don't know what to do and can't tell anyone what's happening to me. I live in a rather bad area. I just turned 16, and admit I am no angel. I take drugs sometimes, mostly meth, and did have sex a few times last year with a boyfriend.

I was at a party one night, about 5 weeks ago, and the guy who had the party was a drug dealer in the neighborhood. I didn't know he sold drugs til that night. I didn't really know him well but he used to go to the same high school, but dropped out a year ago. I accidentally found where he hides his drugs and before I left that night I stole them. At the time I was pretty high and didn't realize what I took. There was lots of cocaine, ecstasy and meth in the bag I had stolen. Somehow he and his friend found out it was me. On my way home from school a few days later he grabbed my arm and made me go to his house. He and his friend kept asking me where the drugs were and when I denied taking them they started to beat me. They didn't hit my face but kept punching my chest and stomach. I was so scared and hurt I promised to give them back that night. They told me they either wanted the drugs back or 30 thousand dollars, which they told me was street value. It was a Friday and they told me I had to bring back the drugs by 8 pm.

I live with my mom and sister. My mom is a waitress and works Friday and Saturday nights because the tips are better. I got the drugs and went back to his house to give them back. When I went in it was just him and his friend. I tried to leave but he hit me again in the stomach and I fell on the floor. Then the two of them started taking my clothes off. I started to scream and cry and he kept punching me and telling me to shut up and put a knife to my throat. They both stripped me naked and raped me. They also made me give them oral sex. I must have been there for hours and was forced to snort coke. When they finally let me go he told me he would kill me if I told anyone or ever tried to steal his drugs again.

I went home and showered and cried all night. The next few weeks I didn't even go out, I was so afraid. My mom kept asking me what was wrong, but how could I tell her what I did or what happened. She never found out I was taking meth and drinking sometimes since she was usually working when I did. A week and a half ago I went to the movies with a few of my friends on a Saturday afternoon, and stayed at one of my girlfriends' house for awhile afterwards. When I was walking home he pulled up in his car and started talking to me and asked me if I wanted some meth or coke. At first he was nice to me, but when I said I was going home he grabbed me and made me get in his car. He knows who my mom is and knew she worked that night. He took me back to his house and tried to be nice to me at first. I was afraid and started to cry and he hit me again and told me to take off my clothes. I was crying uncontrollably but did as he said. He first made me snort coke again and raped me. He left me on the bed and told me not to move or he would cut me. I was so terrified I couldn't stop crying. When he came back in he gave me a glass of water and started talking to me like nothing happened. I kept trying to pull the sheet over me since I was still naked but he would pull it away from me and made me sit naked on the bed. After about a half hour his doorbell rang. He told me not to move and when he came back he walked in with his friend and some guy I never saw before. The rest of that night they took turns raping me and one of them even raped me anally. They finally let me go home around midnight.

I haven't told anyone what is happening and I'm afraid he will come after me again. I hardly go out since, only to go to school and have even stayed home a few times from school telling my mom I'm sick. If I tell someone what's going on I'm afraid he will hurt me or my mom and sister who is only 13. His house is only about a mile from where I live and I even go to school a different way so I don't run into him. Both times I was raped he told me he knows where I live, before he let me go. Now I'm trying to get my mom to move somewhere else but she said we can't afford it. I keep telling her nothing is wrong but want to cry every time she asks me. I'm just afraid they will do it again.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Kristen1" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Brian2

by Brian
(Northern California, USA)

The Hand of My Mother's Boyfriend: 
I was abused when I was eight years of age. I was a happy child overall. My mom was a single parent and raising three boys. She met a new boyfriend, and right away I could sense something about him that was not good. Even though I was only eight, I was the acting man of the house. To him, I was in the way. He treated me poorly from the very beginning. Me being of strong will and determined, I didn't back down from him. I can remember the first time he laid a hand on me. It was over him poking holes in the ceiling of our house that was owned by my grandmother. I told him that he shouldn't be doing that, and he slapped me in the face. I ran outside and went to my grandmother's to tell her about it. She called my mom, and my mom's boyfriend lied and said that I fell.

Shortly after that time, we moved to the next town over. That is when things got really bad. The whole time frame for the abuse was about two months total, but for the longest time I thought that it was two years. My brothers and I were not allowed to go to school or even go outside. I barely had the chance to come out of my room. When I was allowed to come out, it was to eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches or to be beat with whatever tool that he decided to use. He would throw me against the wall or door and then hover over me and choke me. I would voice my opinion about the way he was treating me, and then I would get hit even harder. When we lived in a house that had a basement, he would put me in there without any light for up to an hour. I would be given ice cold showers and be forced by his hand to stay under the shower head. One day I was taken into the dining/living room and a paper bag was placed over my head and then I was hit several times by a mini souvenir baseball bat by the boyfriend. He said it was my two-year-old brother. I also got spanked repeatedly by belts and a rope.

While I would be in the bedroom with my middle brother, I would often tell him that one day I was going to escape and get help. I assured him that I would return for him and our family. I never did escape the way I dreamed I would.

My grandmother would come over about once a week and drop off the mail. The day she dropped off the mail felt different for me. I remember her walking up the sidewalk and she was there for a short time. She left, and sometime later in the day, she returned with the sheriff's deputy. I was so happy to see them show up.

My brothers and I were turned over to Child Protective Services and then taken to live at my grandmother's house. Before that, I had to go the substation and have pictures taken of my body and give a report of what all happened. I am thankful for that day. If that day hadn't come, I stood a good chance of not being here as a survivor to tell my story, as others here have as well. I had received bruises all across my buttocks, a soft spot on the back of my head, bruises all over my body. With being kept in isolation and not having to go to school, it didn't matter if the marks were visible or not.

I can honestly say that I am fortunate to have the family and the support of others through my misfortune. Without them, I would not be the man that I have become today. I have been able to overcome many obstacles along the way. It hasn't always been easy.

When I was 23, I did a report for one of my fire classes to become an instructor and I did my report on child abuse and prevention. It was one of the hardest things to do in my life, to stand up in front of my peers and present something that was so close to my heart. I tried not to mention my story, but I felt led to, and it was such a relief. Several of the people in class that I work with on a daily basis have been in similar situations, and my report helped them. I think it is important to reach out to others that have gone through what we have and let them know there is a brighter side at the end of the tunnel.

Thank you,
Brian

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Brian2" are at the link below.

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Child Abuse Story From Sandy

by Sandy
(Illinois, USA)

I was sexually abused by my oldest brother starting at the age of 7. One evening I was hanging out in his room and I sat next to him on his bed. He was 15. I remember him sliding his fingers into my shorts and telling me that I was like one of his girlfriends (who I of course admired; besides, I thought it was cool that he was paying attention to me).

The next night, I went into his room and sat next to him again. I was looking for the attention and I wanted to be his special girl. He slid his fingers in my shorts again. I did not wear any underwear so it would be easier for him. He was surprised and began fingering me. His friend came over and my brother told him what a big girl I was. How I let him do that to me. I remember thinking how cool I was to be in there with them. I really liked the attention.

I next remember him taking me in the bathroom when no one was home and making me suck his penis. He put toothpaste on it when I said it tasted bad. I still can't to this day brush my teeth with toothpaste. It makes my mouth numb. I think I blocked out what happened next. I remember waking up in an empty, freshly painted apartment in our apartment building (my dad was a maintenance man in an apartment complex and my brother worked with him). I was wearing only panties and an undershirt. My brother's friend was there. I don't know how I got there. But I remember my nipples were so red and hurt so bad. And every time I took a step on the carpet I was getting static electric shocks. Now, as an adult, I think they must have had me on the new carpet and my body must have been rubbing against it. I am afraid they raped me, and that I have blocked it out.

I did not tell anyone about it for 14 years. I told my mom when I was 21. It caused a lot of pain and fighting. She has not confronted my brother yet, nor have I. But after I told my mom, my brother disappeared. We did not see him for 11 years. I blamed myself that someone told him. I still feel a need to protect him for some dumb reason. We were reunited with him 3 years ago, but do not see him regularly. He told my mom that he knows something happened between us, but he does not know what? I don't know if I believe it. I don't know if I can ever confront him.

Today I went to the doctor for irregular menstrual bleeding. The paperwork the doctor had me fill out asked if I had been sexually abused. I marked no. I just could not mark yes.

I found out that the friend that was with my brother was in prison for sexually abusing a family member, his daughter, I think. I pray my brother has never hurt anyone else.

It has been 30 years. I think about it every day. One thing I have never heard anyone say on this website that I struggle with is the fact that reading abuse stories sometimes turns me on. Is it because that was my first sexual experience? Is it because my abuse was not painful, but made me feel special? I would never abuse anyone. I have 3 kids, and the thought makes me just cringe if anyone hurt them.

I was also assaulted by a man I was babysitting for. I was spending the weekend with them. I was asleep. He came into the room and lifted up the blankets. He began licking my vagina. I was 11. The room was dark. I had my period. I am not sure he realized. He went out into the hall, and I heard his wife say, "You have blood on your face." He replied, "I just scratched myself." I can't believe that she didn't think that was weird.

The next morning, he tried to massage my shoulders. I yelled at him, and his wife scolded me and said that was not nice. I apologized and said I did not feel good. She took me home later that day. They never called me to babysit again.

Then in high school, I had a teacher who took me home with him while his wife was on vacation. It was the summer after graduation. I thought he was a good friend, a mentor. He was helping me with financial aid for school. He had given me a $500 check for graduation. While sitting on his couch, he leaned over and started kissing me. I stopped him and he apologized, but I felt more violated then than ever before. I really thought I was special to him, but it became obvious, not so much.

I have been married 17 years to a great guy. He is wonderful to me. But I still look for approval from sex. We had some problems about 8 years ago, and I had multiple affairs. I just felt so loved that others wanted me sexually. I know it is wrong. But I also feel it part of being sexually abused. I don't think I would cheat on my husband again. But it is day by day.

I hope my story has helped someone. I think it will help me.

Darlene's reply: Sandy, your brother misused his power. He took advantage of your naivete and your vulnerabilities. Of course you wanted his approval and his attention; those are perfectly normal needs and wants from a sibling at that age, especially when that sibling is so much older. You would have seen that he had privileges as a 15-year-old boy that you may well have wanted for yourself. But the issue of siblings, how they interact, emotional and physical attachments, etc. is beyond the scope of this forum. While you didn't say if you were neglected by your parents, it should also be noted here that if you weren't getting your needs met by your parents, then you would have looked to get those needs met elsewhere, such as with your brother. Sandy, you were 7. There was no way for you to know and understand that what your brother and his friend did was wrong; nor did you have the power to stop either one of them. Besides, what your brother was physically doing to you actually felt good. It's very easy for a young child to connect what feels good sexually to a physical attachment; and to further imprint those feelings into sexual desire that follows into adulthood.

I commend you for your honesty, Sandy. Only WITH honesty and acknowledgement can change come about. And I sense that you want change.

The remainder of Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Sandy" can be found below.

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Child Abuse Story From Sharon2

by Sharon
(Leeds, United Kingdom)

I grew up hating my mother, longing for the days when my gran or my great aunt would come and take me away; though it be a short while spent with them, it was a time without beatings.

My mom suffered from depression. She would get tablets from the doctor and take them all. She would be high for days. I would have to look after my younger brother and 2 sisters. I was scared to sleep in case I never heard her calling me, because if she called and I never came I would be severely beaten...I was 10 years old when this happened.

I remember my gran buying me a Timex watch for X-mas one year. I was so proud of it. One day my mom decided to stomp on it saying, "Tell the time now you little bastard." I was heart broken.

The amount of times I went to school with black eyes and severe bruising...everyone knew my mom had been responsible, but no one said anything. My brother was 2 years old when he was left in a pool of his own blood. She thought she had killed him. My aunt had to go make sure he was still breathing. My brother has had problems all his life, he appears punch drunk, getting beatings from both my mother and stepfather, only my mother ever laid a hand on me. My 2 younger sisters never got hit. I remember one time she was beating me with a belt cos she couldn't find her purse. I was begging her to stop, but the more I cried and begged the more vicious she became. She was subjected to beatings and rape from my stepfather, so I guess she took her frustration out on us. Weird thing is I know she loved all of us. She died 10 years ago from cancer at age 56. My stepdad died at 48, 22 years ago.

So many more rotten things happened...I could go on about them all day. Like the time my mom dragged me out of bed and beat me black 'n blue, then wouldn't let me go back to sleep because I played with her lipstick. I was around 7 or 8 years old then...but then there where the times when she would wake me up so I could see the snow. One time she woke me up to let me know the dog had pups, then my dad drowned them....

When I turned 16 I ran away. I could stand up for myself so the abuse stopped...although I would never dream of assaulting my mom, I did grab her arms a couple of times to stop her from hitting me.

Darlene's comments to this "Child Abuse Story From Sharon2" can be found at Comments below this submission. Depending on system activity, there are sometimes delays in comments going live on my site; but rest assured, they do eventually appear. So if you don't yet see them, I hope you will return later to read what I, and possibly others, have written. I thank you for your patience and understanding.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are STRICTLY prohibited, and could result in being banned from making further comments on this site.

Child Abuse Story From Faith

by Faith
(Lufkin, Texas, USA)

My childhood was somewhat saved...my mom raised 5 girls by herself. She is one of the strongest people I know...when I was born my mom had already had three lil girls. I'm second to the youngest...my dad was our abuser...I remember bits 'and pieces, but my mom and my older sisters tell me the story.

The abuse started when my mom married my dad and they were on their "honeymoon". That night my mom was waiting for my dad in the hotel, but he was taking a long time to do whatever he said he was going to do, so my mom went to check on him. She found him in another room with another woman. My mom was so furious with him and yelled at him and he took her into their room and for the first time beat her and told her it was her fault for being nosey. That night my mom realized that the rest of her life was gonna be hell...she didn't want children knowing the way he was...but my dad would force her to have sex and get pregnant...he wanted 5 children.

My mom gave birth to five girls. We all lived in a very lil trailer on a ranch. Me and my sisters stayed in one room, my parents in the other.

I remember my dad coming home one late night, stumbling. He was drunk. He told my mom to get up and cook him something, so she did. When she took the pan to the table, my dad grabbed the pan and hit her in the face. Me and my lil sister were on the couch, crying. My older sisters tried to take us out of the room, but my dad made us all stay to watch him beat my mom. My oldest sister was 15 at the time. She tried to help my mom, but my dad slammed her face against the fridge and broke her wrist. He would make us bring him belts and shoes, that way he could beat them with it. After that happened, the next morning my sister talked to all of us and told not to talk about it in school. We didn't.

One night when my dad came home drunk and high, he came to our room and started rubbing me and my lil sis. We started to cry and woke up my older sisters. They saw what he was doing, and tried to help, but dad slammed my oldest sister down on the bed and said, "You think you can save everybody?" He raped her in front of all of us. I was only five and my lil sister four.

The next night, my older sister called us all to the room. She had a plan. She told us she didn't want our dad to hurt us anymore. That night when my dad came home, he started a fight with my mom. Like always, he was beating her so bad. I hated to see my mom like that. She did everything for us and my dad...my dad made us all kneel down and watch him beat my mom with the phone...he finally noticed that my oldest sister wasn't there. Before he knew, the cops were there. We had set him up. My mom took that beating so that my sister could sneak out the window and call the cops. I remember about 5 cops trying to handcuff him.

The next month we went to court. They sentenced my dad to 50 years for 5 sexual assaults with a child, 1 rape charge and domestic abuse. He was also charged for other crimes on top of that. That happened when I was 5.

I'm 23 now. I haven't seen my father since. I live a good life, and so do my other sisters, except my oldest. But I pray for her...I understand why.

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Child Abuse Story From Katie1

by Katie
(Missouri, USA)

Teen child abuse...DFS doesn't believe me: 
I'm 15 about to turn 16. My parents have custody of me but they shouldn't. Both of my parents abuse me physically and emotionally. I'm 9 weeks pregnant, but my parents do not know that. Right now I have 6 visible black and blue bruises. I told my coach at school, who made me tell my counselor, who called Social Services. The Social Services worker sat there mocking me and saying it was pretty much my fault because I break the rules at my house and don't l