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I Was Being Abused
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"I want you to know that the abuse is not your fault. No one has the right to hurt or abuse you!"
Before I told, I used to wonder why does this happen to me? The following stories were told to me by kids who wanted to practice telling their story before they "told" on their abuser.
Jessica I just got straight A’s on my report card. Mom isn’t home yet so I’ll set it on her favorite chair; she should find it there. I’m so proud of myself, I can’t wait to see a smile on her face! But, that’s not what happens…. My mom just came into my room yelling like I had got myself kicked out of school. Although I haven’t, all I’m doing is sitting here working on my homework listening to music. I don’t understand what I did wrong. She’s telling me how worthless I am, how I don’t care about anyone else but myself. How I’m a selfish brat, that I can’t do anything right. Her face is turning red because she’s wasting so much air to yell at me. I ask her what I did but she just yells at me not to talk back. I am so confused. I’m only 10 years old what have I done wrong to deserve this? I’m an excellent student, I do what I’m told, I don’t even go around her! I’m too scared to, I might say something wrong or look at her wrong then she’ll go off telling me what a terrible child I am. Sometimes I just want to go to her and give her a hug let her know that I love her, but I can’t. I’m too scared. I don’t want her to make me feel so unloved and hated again. She’s my own mother but I feel she doesn’t want me around. I can’t tell my own mother that I love her. Shouldn’t I be able to? Shouldn’t I be able to talk to her about anything? I can’t even ask her for help on my homework. If I do she gets mad at me for making fun of her and calling her stupid. Why does she say that to me? Does she really think that? I love her I wouldn’t do that, I just need help. I would ask someone else but there isn’t anyone else around. I try to ask her again, but the yelling gets worse this time. “Why can’t you just leave me alone! You proved your point that I don’t know anything! You’re not good for anything but to make me feel like crap! You selfish brat just go back to your room!” I can’t believe I made her feel like crap? I can’t believe what a bad child she’s convinced me that I am. I go into the living room to try and apologize for
making fun of her. When she sees me she asks me what the hell I’m
doing out of my room. “I just wanted to say…” and she
cuts me off. “Get back to your room! I don’t want to see you
anymore tonight!” So with tears in my eyes, running back to my room
I say “but mom, I just wanted to say I’m sorry”. Well, there goes any happiness or joy or pride I had. She always manages to ruin any positive self-image I might be able to drag up. I guess I’ll keep trying to do well, keep trying to make her happy and maybe someday she’ll see it. She’ll believe that I’m a good kid. She’ll let me know she loves me. I can hope right? Jessica Jake I’m thirteen and living in Detroit with my mom, dad, and brother. My father is a drug dealer. He’s been selling cocaine as long as I can remember. He makes a lot of money, which is probably why he sells drugs. My mom on the other hand is an addict, she shoots up heron on a regular bases. My brother is my support network. We have each other’s back all of the time whether it is a bully at school or the pressures at home. My dad got busted. First his best friend got busted and took a deal to testify against my dad. Dad bailed out of jail and immediately went out and tried to kill him. He beat the guy up bad and left him for dead. I can remember my dad telling me that he thought he was going to beat the charges. Now my dad is facing drug trafficking and attempted murder charges. He is in jail and our household is becoming all the more dysfunctional with no money coming in. Now my dad is sentenced to twenty-five years in prison with no chance of parole. I don’t know if anyone who reads this will know what it’s like living with a junkie. Take it from me, my mom’s habit was getting out of control and there was nothing I could do about it. At fifteen I couldn’t wait until I was old enough to leave. I could no longer watch my mom slowly kill herself. Now I’m twenty and I’m a street kid. Jake Steven I remember it all like it was just yesterday, even though at least a thousand years have passed since it first started. I was only 8 but within a few weeks I had matured way beyond my young 8 years and my childhood was over! We were playing ball in an old dirt field and he came over and asked if we wanted something cold to drink. It was hot and dusty. We followed him into the old warehouse. I had those big windows with no shades and some of the windows were painted black. It was really cool inside. I don't remember how or why we ended up in the back room with him, but a couple of us did. He was sitting in a chair and just talking to us about playing ball and how hot it was. Then all of a sudden, he just unzipped his pants and exposed himself. It was scary and kind of exciting at the same time. Not that I was excited in that way, I was too young yet, but that we were seeing a man touching himself. He asked if we wanted to touch him and we said no. He asked if we wanted to take down our pants down and we said no to that too. We just watched him for a little bit, and soon he zipped himself back up. He gave us fifty cents and asked us not to tell anyone and we went back out front to where the others were. Later, of course, we told the others, it was funny. We all laughed and it didn't seem so scary anymore. We went and bought some ice cream. A couple days later it happened again and within a week I was setting on his lap. It didn't seem much longer that I was touching him, and he was doing things to me. It didn't seem to last long 10-15 minutes at the most. Then, he would always open up his wallet and give me $2.00, and he would bring me small gifts. Some months had passed before he introduced me to some
of his friends. Several years had passed and, now, at 12, I really knew what they were doing was wrong. But, they kept telling me that it wasn't. Didn't it feel good? Didn't I feel loved? Did they ever hurt me? Didn’t they take good care of me and buy me things. Who else was doing that? By the time I was 13 I was beginning to grow afraid of them. Or, maybe it was that I was afraid that I was going to be caught. More and more I knew it was wrong, but I didn't know how to get out of the situation. I was afraid to tell anyone what I had been letting them do to me. I blamed myself. I would see them parked outside of my school or my house and become scared to death. I can remember one time in school, I think I was in the 7th or 8th grade; I went to the bathroom in my pants. I was totally out of it, completely lost in a different world with no way to get out. I think I must have thought if I go to the bathroom in my pants the teacher will think something is wrong and they will fix it. But, that wasn't the case! They just took me out of class and with the help of the nurse cleaned me up and sent me back to class. It was only a short time after that, when I began to believe that everyone knew what had been going on. What they were doing to me! I thought that people could just look at me and see what they were doing to me and what was happening. Not a day went by that I didn't feel ashamed, didn't feel cold and lost, didn't feel alone, and didn’t feel hopeless. I didn't feel that I could trust anyone. I was only myself and there was no one else. Then, it became that I trusted them, they were there to comfort me, to help, give me money, buy me small things, in my lost world, they had found me and were taking care of me. But, a day didn't go by that I wasn't afraid of being caught. I didn't want them to come around for fear of being caught, but I wanted them to come and take care of me. Make me feel better. When I was 15, we moved about 200 miles away to a new city. I felt a cleansing, I was new again, whole again, I finally would be safe, no one would find out and that the horrible secret I'd been living would now be dead! We'd only been settled in our new house for about a month or so when I saw their car parked outside. I couldn't believe that they'd found me! How had they done that? How could they possibly know we were here? I didn't go outside that day or the next. I set in the corner and cried all day. When my mother would ask me what was wrong I just told her nothing. Why didn’t she ask again? I began to withdraw more and more. I didn't want to make friends as they might find out. Yes, they could see it already and they didn’t want to be friends with me either. I couldn't go anyplace for fear “they” would find me. Life wasn't worth living! Over the next couple of years they would pick me up at least once a month or so, I was 17 now and basically a full grown adult. More than nine years had passes since that first day in the warehouse, and I didn't see my life getting any better. I don't know that I ever really thought about suicide, but I know that I did want to go on living like this! Just before I turned18 I joined the military, I knew that I would be safe now. I went to boot camp a couple thousand miles away. Yet, I still felt unsafe, in the back of my mind they were there, what they'd done to me was there! And, everybody knew. Over the next 5-6 years I served in several different areas and while I never saw them again, I felt that they could just show up at any time. I was sure that they were going too. Yet, many years would pass before I finally came to the realization that when people looked at me they didn't know what they did to me! I got married and had two wonderful boys. Everyday it plagued me, how would I protect them? How would I keep them safe? The military sent me for a tour of duty in Europe, and after several months I noticed that I wasn't "afraid" anymore. I was 27 years old and for the first time in my life I felt safe, I knew that they couldn't get me anymore, I knew I would be alright. Also, for the first time in almost 20 years, I felt that I could really live, really breathe, really be me. What was that? What was I going to do and who was I going to be? Steven |
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You
may wonder if your life will ever get better? Or, if you will ever have
the courage to tell someone?
