How it all started

March 7th, 2013 by Voice

From a time before I could remember, I’ve been tormented.  At home, my father would abuse me -not physically, but emotionally and verbally.  But that hurt more than the real abuse my step-mother would give me on a near-daily basis.  I was moved from the front of the front of my family’s love, to the basement of our new house, while my stepsister got a real bedroom, with a heater, with a real floor, a real bed, and a window.

Every day I woke up to objects being thrown at me because my new sister didn’t want to touch me -afraid she would catch what I had.  I wasn’t diseased.  I wasn’t sick, I promise!  Is what I would tell her.  She would laugh at me, and lock my door so I would have to use the back door that was covered in spiders and mud and who knows what else.

I told my father about this the first time it happened.  He just laughed, calling me a fucking idiot for making up stories about her.  We were family, act like it.  So I went to school with bruises and cuts and tears and even broken bones from my stepmother.

No one cared.  They just laughed and called me names, shoving me down stairs and into corners.

My first friend wasn’t really a friend.  Sure, she saw the bruises and the pain, but never said anything.  She just told me it was part of growing up.

This was in third grade.  I wasn’t that old when I first started hating myself, started crying myself to sleep wishing my knight would rescue me -or even my grandparents, who had told me they would help.  They never did.

No one ever did.

It wasn’t until highschool that I actually started harming myself.  I couldn’t cut.  I can’t stand seeing the sight of my own blood, so I burned.  254 burns and ten years later, I’m still burning.

There are burns on top of burns, even some in places I was sure someone would see and hoped they would.  I needed help, but no one would listen, no one ever would; not when you were the 200lb girl with glasses and dirty clothes that were hand sewn.

It wasn’t until my last year of highschool that the dam finally broke.  A girl stabbed me in the hall, yelling out “Oh look!  The stupid dog’s bleeding, better call the vet!”  afterwords.  You’d think someone would help, get a teacher or principle, or even stand up to the girl for harming some innocent student.

You ever heard nearly a hundred people laughing at once?

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9 Responses to “How it all started”

Most recent comments shown, ordered chronologically on the page.

  1. I’m really sorry for you, but none of this is your fault so you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Can you get away from it now? People are stupid assholes.

    • It may sound silly to say, but I can’t escape anything nowadays. I was deemed unworthy to live on my own by the state due to having gone to an institute too many times at a young age. I still have to live with my father, who has only gotten worse.

  2. I am real sorry about this. Try talking to your gramps again maybe they would undrstand you nw that u re older

  3. Here is my direct line if you feel like talking to some one who cares. +2348100661236.

    • I very much appreciate it, I just would hate if I were to bug you, it wouldn’t feel right to me butting in on someone’s time.

  4. This kind of thing makes me die a little inside. Some of the nicest people in the world get treated the worst. I can no longer go to a public school because of my anxiety but if I ever saw someone miss treat someone like that I would make sure it was known that it was not alright. And for your father he should not even have the right to be called a father. A father should care for there children not let them suffer. My father never abused me he abused my brother every time I would get in his way he would stop and my brother to this day thanks me for saving his life. He such a strong person now not that scared little depressed boy. For your mother again has no right to be called a mother. She is sick just like my dad was and you need to get out of there. Only bad things can come from you living there I hope you know that there are people who care I care I know I don’t know you but I want to be your friend I may not know the pain of all this but I do want to help.

  5. You are amazing, You survived a hell that most of us have never unknown. You are so much stronger than you know.

  6. Reading your post reminded me of a book I’d read : ‘ A Child called “It” ‘, by Dave Pelzer, a memoir describing the horrific abuse he endured at the hands of his mother. If you haven’t already, perhaps get a copy of and read the book. Of course, it may not necessarily reduce your pain, but it could give you some hope of surviving this, and building some sort of life. In some ways, your situation may just be even worse, but please hold on – you’ve endured so much for so long, and yes, as you’ve indicated, when you thought things couldn’t get worse, you are treated even more inhumanely than any creature should ever be treated – but I believe you do have the strength – hang in there, do what you have to to prove your competence and ability to live independently, and there is hope for at least some sort of decent life – after all you’ve endured, you really have to give that, give yourself a chance. Please keep communicating – there are people who, at least to some extent, can identify with what your life has been like, and otherwise, simply empathise and offer support / assistance. Please take care …

  7. Voice,

    This abuse makes me angry. Cranky Faithless reporting in. A lot of peepsicles when confronted with pain have no idea what to do. They don”t want to deal with it so they just totter about their lives. The only good thing about your tale is that it has passed now. It will hurt for a long time yet. But past you is not who you are now. Are you speaking to a counselor? Has your situation improved? I wholeheartedly hope so.

    Even if you still in such a malignant situation you can take small steps. No one cares? Your talking to peeps on the internet. One even gave you his direct line. (Shudders at spambots). They care. Heck even I can can scrounge some empathy to sit beside my indignation. Poverty (Little by little you can work for money.) just a small step now.

    Take care and all the best.

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