Ashamed of Me

by idontwantthecredit, but called "Fleabag"
(Location Undisclosed)

I was severely abused as a toddler. Both of my parents received 7 years for charges including rape and attempted murder. In 1970, it was very hard to get a conviction for child abuse but someone found me unconscious.

I was in a loving foster home until I was adopted at age 3. My new mom and dad were not like my foster home. I wanted to go back so bad. I kept hoping someone would find me or come looking for me.

No one ever did. I wasn't missing and there was no way out.

My dad left the situation quickly. My mom scrambled to take care of me on her own. I had been talking too much and was forced to wear duct tape on my mouth by two family members. I was shamed for talking, my name being called "mouth" to remind me not to speak. My voice was taken and all but gone.

I was left home alone countless times while my mother went to work. I stayed in the house and went through everything. The food cupboard, where I tasted everything repeatedly: flour, sugar, bakers chocolate (yuk) etc. I also rummaged through dressers and closets. Since I wasn't spoken to very much, I felt curious about the people in my house.

I shared a room with a sibling of the opposite sex who was five years my senior. He had been adopted at birth. His room was catered to him. I was just in there.

My first sitter had been a friend of the family. I was left behind by the wife and was alone with the male. He pulled out his penis and asked me to touch it. I was horrified. I refused. I told my mom. She slapped my face. I was told I was dirty for thinking such thoughts. I knew then I wasn't loved. I never went back and the friend moved away.

I stayed home alone for hours every day. I eventually found codeine cough syrup and I tasted it. I really liked it. It was like candy. So I drank all of it. It had been replaced and I found it again and again. I had no idea it was the reason I was so extremely tired. No one talked to me about it or anything else. My mom took pictures of my head falling in my food. I was so painfully alone especially when anyone was around.

I watched animals get tortured to death, shot repeatedly or thrown off the roof or strangled and starved to death by my sibling.

There are no words.

I was humiliated for wetting myself and was locked nearly nude with a throw pillow stuffed in my underwear stretching them out all the way.

I was kicked out of kindergarten after two weeks because I was not ready. I enjoyed being around the toys but I knew nothing of social anything.

I flunked first grade. I didn't have social skills so I was teased endlessly. They named me "fleabag" because I stunk. I got ready for school by myself and had few clothes. I picked through the dirty laundry for them. I thought everyone had dogs that went pee and poop in the laundry pile. I reached to the bottom where the poop was dry and I could pick it off.

I was raped four more times by more different men. All of them friends of the family. All different circumstances. I was so angry and silent. Why does my body have to change? I can't stop these attacks. I never knew from whom it would be from next.

I was praying not to be born, that it would all go away. Why was I so bad? I was considered suicidal and placed in the hospital. I wanted to go anywhere away. But I was told if I told they would shock my head. So I was silent except for saying repeatedly "no one likes me".

I ran away in sixth grade never to return. I hit the streets. I used drugs. I got arrested. I told men I would do things for drugs or money. I couldn't stop it from happening anyway. I wished them dead. I wished myself dead. I begged people to kill me.

But I didn't die.

I married a nice biker man. I work on chores and stability so I can show him I love him back. I get SSI so I'm a system sucker. But I'm safe, and after 20 years of that safety I'm learning to relate to people verbally. I like it.

I've always been treated with love in my marriage. Yet I find comfort in being alone and quiet. The worst part of my life was that duct tape at three. It took away my expression of who I am.

I'm so ashamed of me.

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stories on this site are true. While I cannot guarantee
this, I do try to balance the need for the submitter to be
heard and validated with the needs of my visitors.

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From Victim to Victory
a memoir

How I got over the devastating effects of child abuse and moved on with my life


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