Child Abuse Story From D.J

by D.J
(Detroit , Michigan, USA)

I haven't found an abuse story like mine yet. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally abused by my brother, emotionally and mentally by my mother.

My brother was hit by a car when he was 5. Through my mothers guilt, she allowed him to throw balls at me, whip me with ropes and sticks, tie me in my room for 8 hours at a time, punch me, drown me in the pool, pin me down on my bed or the couch, throw anything that was near him at me, burn or shoot anything I cared about (like my dolls, toys). The whole time he was treated like he was my father.

I was once getting whipped by a stick in the basement of my house by my brother, so I thought I would pull my pocket knife on him to get him to stop. He screamed when he saw it, and my mother ran to us and took away my knife. She let him continue.

He beat up my friends, cousins, neighbors, my father, mother, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, pick a person. He even fought the police. My mother just let it continue. My mother would slap the crap out of you if you told anyone at school, or called the police. I use to call her mafia queen - you know: you tell, you die.

I am now an adult, and my brother is still the same (not as violent as he was, but he still has his moments). He recently threw my mom and dad around, and they are 78 & 76 years old. My mom thinks the world of him and thinks nothing of her other 4 children. She gives him whatever he wants. He does nothing for anybody, and my mother gets mad if you don't serve him. She raised him thinking he is king of all, and if you think otherwise, he will beat you up. It has affected his whole life and mine.

The mental abuse is so thick in my family. My mother can't even communicate with me without mentally and emotionally abusing me.

I watched my brother beat my brother-in-law's head into a brick wall. He beat up my dad on 3 occasions. He threw his friend out of the tree fort everyday for fun. He beat my friends head into a steel door. He slammed my mom's fingers in the door, burned half her body, and threw her down the stairs. He fought with my other brother, and my other brother didn't seem to get hurt, but between the two of them, on several occasions, broke up the house fighting. He threw plates and chairs at my mom almost daily, kicked our family dog, strangled another friend, threw a steel-toed shoe into my nephew's face who was 10 (my brother was 30), just to name a few of things I have seen.

I am 8 years younger than my brother. I remember when I was 4 years old, I was called bastard so much I thought it was a word to greet someone. My dad came home from work and we were getting ready to go to my aunts for dinner and what not. I said, "Sure bastard." My dad freaked and left me home while everyone else went to the party without me. I stayed home alone. All this doesn't even touch everything that has happened to me.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Annie

by Annie
(Kirksville, Missouri, USA)

I wasn't any more than 12 when my step-father brutally molested me. I was one of the lucky ones, though, because when I told my mother, she believed ME, and threw him out of the house. He went on to rape a 9 year old and killed her mother.

Then, when I grew up, I married a child molester (unbeknownst to me). When I found out, I divorced him, but it was too late—he had already molested our own daughter!!!

What has helped me deal with all of this trauma is the fact that my mother believed me, I sought out counselling for myself, and I have a lot of faith that God loves me.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Ashley G

by Ashley G
(Ottumwa, Iowa, USA)

Story of a Broken Child: 
When I was ten years old, I lost the child that I had been. My dad had been an alcoholic and a physical abuser since before I could really remember. But then one night when I was ten years old, everything changed.

Dad had let me stay awake with him to watch a movie. I was really happy. When the movie was over, we laid down and he turned the TV volume down. He then asked me if I wanted to play a game with him that he used to play with my aunt Shannin. I said yes. He told me to put my foot on the floor. I did, but he told me I was doing it wrong. He pushed my right leg up against the couch and pulled my left one down, spreading open my legs. I could see his silhouette against the TV's light. He whispered my name and I asked "yes?" He told me to stay quiet, to pretend I was sleeping. So when he whispered my name again, I stayed silent. I got this funny twisted feeling in my stomach, like something bad was going to happen. Then I felt his hand slide up my night-gown, and touch me, DOWN THERE. I felt this snap inside, like something shattered.

Suddenly, I was watching this little girl on the couch. A man was touching her where no little girl should be touched. I felt for her. To me, I just couldn't comprehend that the little girl was ME. He did this for a couple minutes, pushing his fingers inside, making it hurt. I sat up and ran to the bathroom. He followed behind me, demanding to know where I was going. He watched me pee, then followed right behind me as I went back to the living room. He grabbed me by the arms and started shaking me. My teeth clattered in my mouth. "Don't tell anyone about this, ok? It's our secret. You don't want me to go to jail, do you?"

Yes, yes, yes, yes... "No," I said.

"That's right, you don't want to say anything because you'd be a bad girl then. Now let's lay down."

I was sobbing as we laid down. He then told me he'd like it if I put my foot back on the ground so we could finish the game. I felt like throwing up. I laid still and waited, until I thought he would go to sleep. I then got up and ran to my mom's room. When I shook her, she sat up and started yelling at me. She stopped yelling when she saw my face. "Ashley, what's wrong..."

"Daddy, he touched me down there..." I pointed between my legs. She pulled me into her arms, and then Dad stormed into the room. I hadn't waited long enough.

"She's a fucking liar. I only touched her butt by accident. She's a little girl. She doesn't know anything about this!" He stormed out of the house, and I started bawling.

The next morning, I heard mom talking about it to my grandma. I didn't know what little girl she was talking about.

The abuse stopped for about a year, until I woke up one night with Dad between my legs again. I sat up real quick. He jumped up, trying to pretend nothing happened. I didn't sleep the rest of the night. The next night, I yelled at him to leave me alone or else I would tell. But I didn't tell.

The next night, as he moved the coffee table by my bed to make room where he could crouch by my legs, I felt like I was going to throw up. I begged Mom to let me sleep with her; she didn't understand why. Only when I started hallucinating that he was crawling on the ceilings and by the bed coming after me did she realize. But she still didn't save me.

I was abused and raped by my father until I was thirteen years old. The only reason the abuse stopped was because my mother died. She never did save me from him. My siblings and I were put into foster care. I had started cutting a year before she passed. Still to this day I struggle.

I've been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, post-traumatic stress, depression, anxiety issues, and anorexia. I've tried to kill myself at least five times, I've been admitted to inpatient treatments twice, and I've been sent to the ER countless times. I've lost friendships and loved ones to my diseases. I lost my childhood to a monster. He never apologized for destroying his child's life.

Less then a year ago, I overdosed on 1200 mg's of Zoloft (my prescribed anti-depressant) and slit my wrists. I should have died—my body went into convulsions—but I didn't. When I became pregnant with my son, I finally found a reason to live. I wanted to give him the life I was never able to have, a true childhood.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Addi

by Addi
(York, Pennsylvania, USA)

Cindy the Devil:
Cindy my "ex mother I call her" is a jerk...she used to like my dad, and then she started acting drunk and being stupid. They divorced after me and my family couldn't take anymore.

She wanted custody, but she was never going to get it...I didn't want her to. Now I live with my awesome dad...she lives with her stupid gay boyfriend...and now my life is messed up because she had to put me through this.

If you have a story like this, please post it...I'd like to read about others who have been through something similar.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Vanessa

by Vanessa A. Bo
(Toronto, Ontario, Canada)

When I was 11 years old, my "STEP-FATHER" sexually abused me. My mother was already at work and my sister was nowhere to be found. I was playing in my room. He came in and said that he wanted to lay down. He asked me to lay with him. I did not think anything of it. I was facing away from him, looking towards the window. He reached his arm around me and put his hand up my shirt. He kept rubbing my chest and I could feel his thing on my leg. He put his hand down my underwear and forced my legs open. He asked me if I was angry. I said no. I didn't know what else to say. He put his finger inside me. He made me touch his thing and then he left. He told me to never tell.

Well now he's dead and I'm telling the whole world! I hate him. I never got a chance to tell him that I hate him. I don't think that I can ever forgive him and I will surely never forget what he did to me. Sometimes I've felt like killing myself, but then I don't because that would only give him control over me again, even though he's dead.

I'm stronger now being 29 years old and I do a lot of journal writing and I also talk weekly with my social worker.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anna

by Anna
(England, UK)

I know that my story seems small - and compared with all of the other stories from everyone else it is - but it has had a big effect on my life, and reading other people's stories has given me the courage to tell you all....

When I was six, or thereabouts, my best friend's older brother called me into the living room and had his penis out. He told me to be a good girl and lick it. I wasn't sure what to do, and had no idea that what I was doing was wrong. I did as he said. I don't have any memory of what happened next. I assume that it ended at that.

I went home to my mum and told her what had happened, my best friend had told me that he "made her touch his willy and she didn't like doing it". My mum went to his parents (he was 16). They said not to tell the police; she did anyway, thank God. He was put on the sex offenders register for a mere five years and that was that.

I'm still very close to my friend. We're practically inseparable, even now. If I ever visit her at her parents' home and he is there, I just don't know what to do with myself...I don't think he recognises me, but we all know what happened. He has gotten two women pregnant and neither of them wants him to act as the child's father. One was already married and the other very young.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Hannah

by Hannah
(Maple Heights, Ohio)

When I was 5, I was abused by my dad. He would come home drunk and mad and would take it out on me and my sister and brother. He would hit us and say rude things to us.

Ever since then, it went on until I was 12. I am now 13. Everyday I wonder if it will happen again. So far it hasn't.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Alice

by Alice
(United Kingdom)

It had always been me and my mum ever since I can remember. We were close, I remember that. And I remembered that I loved that time when it was just us. My dad hadn't wanted anything to do with me and I'd never met him, but it was ok. I liked it being just me and Mum. She had been really young when she had me and we were like sisters.

Mum didn't start going out with anyone till I was at least 10 years old. When I was 11, she went out with this guy called Adam. I thought he was really cool at first. He would play games with me and he would take me and Mum out. He was nice for a while, and I loved spending time with him. He built up my trust, and I remember thinking that it was like having a real dad.

One night, a couple of months after she had begun to go out with Adam, she left us alone at home while she went out with some friends. He acted strangely and in a way that he hadn't ever before. He sexually abused me. He touched me that night, and I knew it wasn't right.

The abuse continued until he forced me to have sex with him. I remember being so scared, upset and ashamed. I didn't want to tell my mum what was happening because I thought she'd be angry with me. It continued for many years. I was sworn to secrecy by Adam. He said Mum wouldn't want me if I told her what he was doing. So I didn't tell.

When I was 14, I got pregnant with Adam's baby. It was to be expected, as he abused me nearly every week. It was terrible and I was so scared. I didn't tell anyone because felt so ashamed of myself. Adam found out eventually because he noticed the small bump that has begun to form. He called me some horrible names and disappeared shortly after. I have never seen him since.

Mum had no idea where or why he'd gone. Eventually, I told her what had been happening over the years. She was so shocked and had no idea. She helped me through it, and now I'm upset that I didn't tell her before.

I had an abortion and went into counselling. They have never found Adam. I'm still scared that one day he'll find me and do worse than he had done in the past.

I am 20 years old now. My mum supported me amazingly through the whole ordeal. I think that's how I got through it. I am very insecure and still have nightmares now, but I'm in a relationship with a wonderful man who is so considerate of my feelings. He understands what I've been through.

I wrote this story to let people who are being, or have been sexually abused, that it is NOT OK and should be stopped. But to also let people know. And that you can get through it and move on with life.

Thank you for reading this story.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Patricia

by Patricia
(Toronto, Ontario, Canada)

I've read about ten of these stories and you guys have convinced me to share as well. I'm still a bit confused about this part of my life and can't seem to make sense of it. I was abused by my dad at the age of 4 as well, but that's a different story. I'm thinking maybe if I read people's comments that maybe I'll be able to classify this as abuse. I read this one story and the guy said he continued to let it happen because it felt good. After I read that I decided to share.

I'll call him Jack. Jack is the father of my two cousins. He married my 1st cousin when I was 7. I am now 20, so you see, I've known him for years. My cousin ended up going psycho—she literally drove Jack's car off a cliff because she claimed that God told her too. Obviously, she's still alive.

My mom cheated on my step-dad with Jack, but they all knew about it. My mom started to stay over at Jack's, and I hated her for it. You see my nanny raised me, so when she died, my mom couldn't handle the stress. She had a mental illness that I suffered for. She was never around. And when she was around, it wasn't good.

I hated Jack, because at 14, I felt like I had no one because of him. I felt like my mom forgot about me. I had my two brothers, but I moved around a lot. I was alone, trying to find stability, while Mom stayed with Jack. I lived with numerous family members who didn't want me. I moved back in with my mom and Jack after my aunt Julie and uncle Ron kicked me out...I had no where to go...what was I suppose to do? The house my aunt and uncle lived in was disgusting, full of rats, mice, etc. I still remember how cold it was during the winter.

Mom was with Jack for two years at this point. I hated him to the point that if he asked me if I wanted a drink, I'd say go f*** yourself! I was an angry kid, not my fault, I know that now.

I remember one time Jack said, "Stay in the house, stay in the house!" as he ran outside. Idiot! 18 cops and rifles later, 23 pounds of weed in the house. Thanks for the warning. I'm 14 flushing 400 plants down the toilet...intense.

I've seen them fight to the point where my mom tried to run him over with the car. He threatened to burn the house down with us in it. He also said he was going to kill my dog...all talk, but still!

My mom and Jack broke up after we moved out of the dirty house. She finally realized she didn't need a man...she got somewhat financially and mentally stable. I was so glad when she got medicated. We used to fight insanely. She broke my dresser drawer over my back...there's worse but...old news.

It was my 17th birthday. Jack was friends with my older brother. He told my brother that he wanted to throw a party for me. So that day, my brothers and I went to Jack's mom's for my birthday and chewed these insane B.C mushrooms. I drank a lot too. The party animal that I WAS—I'm not a party animal any more—I stayed up longer than anyone else, and so did Jack. I could see that my brother was trying to stay up too because he'd always had this sixth sense thing with me...it's weird...like he knew something was gonna happen. He suspected more later when, on several occasions, I would sneak out of the house to see Jack. But my brother finally went to bed. That's when Jack started to tell me how much he was thinking about me, and about these dreams. He started to kiss me. I was hammered, so I didn't care. Somehow, we ended up in the laundry room with my pants off. He went down on me for a while, and then we ended up in the bedroom and just fell asleep.

The next day, he drove everyone home before I got up...we were hours away. I got up, got dressed and packed my stuff. He came back a couple hours later. He came downstairs and we just smiled at each other...he was my mom's boyfriend people!

We got in the car and drove for about an hour. We kissed a few times. I was 17. He was like 39, I think. We continued this for eight months, until I finally put an end to it. We would see each other about three times a week and have sex for hours. He showed me everything I know when it comes to that topic. He told me he loved me, but to me it just felt good, you know. Not only did he take my mom from me, but then he took me away from my mom. She doesn't know...thank god. The thing that I can't understand is that if he loved my mom how could he do such a thing to me? It's messed me up. I stopped going to school and hit a serious drug phase. He supplied my drugs...I could go on, but I think I've written enough.

Just so you know, I am now an "A" student, about to hit university!!!

Before commenting on the legalities of this story, please read comments written by Darlene Barriere for an understanding of Canadian law and how they relate to sexual abuse/assault.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Rachael K

by Rachael K
(Jackson, Mississippi, USA)

I grew up in South Mississippi with my older brother and younger sister, Josh and Katie. My parents drank a lot and were always high on some type of drug. My father was a big man and he worked at a construction company. My mother didn't work at all, and she would leave town for weeks at a time.

My father was extremely abusive. We would get a beating almost every night. I was always the one who got targeted because I was "bad luck". Josh tried so hard to take up for me, but he just wasn't strong enough. He always ended up getting us both in deeper hell. Katie was young so she was, in a sense, forgotten about.

I remember going to school and the teachers would see the bruises and gashes, but they never asked. I went to school crying. One time, a secretary asked me, "Why are you crying? Are you ok? Do you need to go home?" I replied, "NO! I-I-I'm fine. Please don't call my parents!" She just walked off! I grew up telling lies about the night before.

My siblings and I would hide in our room for hours, and then we would hear footsteps out the door. We would hold each other close and pray for him not to come in, but he did, every time. My father would grab one of us and then repeatedly hit us as hard as he could. He would beat us with whatever he could reach: belts, sticks, cords, certain rods, broken pieces of wood, anything.

He loved to hear us cry and he would beat us until we just gave out. I remember he beat me with an ice cane (an ice cane is a thin leather strap with knots in it that is wet) until I passed out. I woke up with gashes in my back and three of my ribs had been shattered. I was in the hospital for two weeks. Then they made me go back home!

One night, my dad came home and he picked me first. He slammed me against the wall. All I remember is pain so bad that I just wanted him to kill me. Three hours later, after my dad had left, my brother found me lying in the kitchen half dead, so he called the cops. The ambulance rushed to the house and picked me up.

At the hospital, when I woke up from a coma, the police officer informed me that they found my little sister Katie dead, beaten to death. Josh suffered a skull fracture and was in another room. I could almost see his reaction when he got the news.

I was eleven years old that fateful day and Josh was thirteen. Baby Katie was just four years old.

I am now eighteen years old, and I still have scars from my past, both emotional and visible. My father was put in prison for life. To this day, I still can't understand how a man could take three innocent souls and crush them into dust and still live with himself.

We still love you Katie! You are my guardian angel!

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Amanda

by Amanda
(Devonport, Australia)

I am 12 years old now. When I was 6 years old, my father would always come home drunk and abuse my mother. My brother, who was 6 years older than me, was always in fights with my father and he ended up screwed up in the end. My father would abuse me and my mother, but my brother always got it worse than me.

When I was 9 years old, it was worse than ever. I sunk into the back of my mind for a while. I started to become anxious easily, and I started to think there were cameras everywhere, watching me.

It's hard to recall every single event that happened. At 10 I grew sadder. I was depressed. I had experienced depression when I was 8, but at 10 I started to cut and try to kill myself. I became anorexic. My father was still beating me up. My mother and my brother started getting depressed too. At 16, my brother became very aggressive. He really was all screwed up.

Still to this day, I think there are cameras in this house, even when I don't really believe there are. It all makes me wonder if I'm stupid. I have feelings that my mother isn't really my mother because she turned into some freak that now abuses me. I see a psychologist, but I do not tell her much about some things, the things that are too hard for me to put into words, but I will now attempt to do so.

All the things that used to happen seem to be so far away. I almost feel like I can forgive my father. I trust him more than my mother. I feel she controls all those cameras watching me, and that none of this is real. I end up spastic on the floor, scratching at my skin and hurting myself. I cannot control it, but it's something that burns deep inside me. I hate my mother. I HATE her. It's almost impossible for me to express emotion in public because of my mother and what she has done to me and told me. I can't move to where my dad is because he is now in Thailand with prostitutes. Sometimes I think the devil has possessed me, even though when I compare myself to other people who are possessed it's not as bad. I just go into spastics or something and I can't stop hurting myself.

I have never told anyone about anything in the last paragraph above, and I have never before told anybody why. I'm going to tell you why here.

I created a mask. Not a real one. Just one to hide behind. Everything I live: school, social life, everything is basically a lie. My life is a lie. My mask protects me. The real me. No one knows much about the real me. They don't know I am lying to them. I am 2 different people. Outside my mask I am fake. Inside my mask I am real. I don't know how to explain this. I could sit here and try and explain all the differences, but I won't accept that inside me. I am a Christian, but outside my mask I am an Atheist.

I am still suicidal. I am coming into Grade 7. I do not know what direction is what. I spend most of my time crying beneath my mask. Really, my heart is bleeding, but deep down there is at least something real. I still live with a mother I hate. I live while dying inside.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Janet

by Janet
(Dover, Kent, England, UK)

It happened a very long time ago, during the War. I was evacuated to Lancashire from London in 1940 with my brother. I was 13 and he was 12. We were lucky that we got to stay together at the same place. We were taken in by a couple who ran a grocery shop. They were in their 40's and seemed quite pleasant.

We'd been there for a few weeks when I started to feel uncomfortable with the man (we had to call him Uncle H*****.) He came into the bathroom to go to the toilet when I was having a bath, but seemed more interested in looking at me. Then a while afterwards, my brother took some sweets from the shop without asking, and the wife (Auntie B****) found them. My brother admitted taking them, and I was also blamed for allowing him to steal them. We were ordered to our bedrooms and told to get into our nightclothes. I thought this was the punishment, but soon afterwards we were told to come downstairs.

Uncle H***** told us we were both going to be punished. Auntie B**** was sitting on a chair, and she called my brother over to her. She told him to remove his pyjama bottoms. He refused at first because he was wearing nothing under them. She grew more angry, and he eventually pulled them down. She pulled him over her knee and began to spank him very hard with her hand. This went on for what seemed a very long time. When she stopped, she told him to go to bed. He ran upstairs crying. By this time I was very scared.

Uncle H**** then said it was my turn. He said as I was older it would be a more severe punishment. I was told to remove my nightgown. I did this, although I was extremely embarrassed to be naked in front of them. I was made to lie face down on the floor while they took turns spanking me with their hands, then a belt and a slipper. After they finished, I was told to go upstairs.

The following week, I was told once again I was going to be punished yet again, but this time for not taking my shoes off indoors. Auntie B**** offered me an alternative punishment "that wouldn't hurt." Naively, I agreed to this. It was later that day, about 8 pm, and I was in my room. Auntie B**** came up and told me to get into my nightgown and come downstairs. When I did, I was surprised to see other people there. As well as Uncle H and Auntie B, there were another four oldish men and two women. I was told that they were friends and not to worry, but I would have to do what I was told or I would get the cane. Uncle H then produced one and swished it for effect.

Over the course of the evening, I was forced to participate in acts I still have nightmares about. A man took photos as I had to do what each of the men and women told me. The worst thing was my brother being brought down and the two of us having to play "mummies and daddies" while the others watched. To top it all, I was still caned, along with my brother, by one lady who seemed to enjoy it. The others all cheered her on.

The abuse lasted for a further six months, until we went to stay with another couple who were very kind. We never spoke of it again. I only came to terms with it when I decided to see a counsellor a few years ago.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Confused

by Anonymous

Ever since I can remember I've been put down, made to believe that I can't do anything right, that I'm lazy and fat. No matter how hard I try, I can't do anything right. It's no wonder I don't have a boyfriend or friends.

Ever since I can remember I've been made to clean the house, the kitchen, three bedrooms, clean the downstairs, vacuum, and sometimes cook while my sibling sits around on his days off and does nothing. After I clean, I hear "Oh, this is clean? You didn't do this right." I hear this even when I work hard. I also hear that I'm lazy in school and I need to get a job and despite the twenty plus interviews that I've gone on, I can't seem to find one. I'm very conservative in dress and hear constantly "Why do you dress that way instead of dressing with low cut shirts?"

All these years I've heard that I can't be a soccer player, which was a dream growing up as a kid. It feels as though I'm here just to clean up things and to be put down. Sometimes it seeps in deep and hurts.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Confused

by Confused
(New York, USA)

I don't know if I've ever been abused, but I have been going through a lot in my life. I have tried to kill myself several times, almost succeeded. I have major depression. I have some issues with my mother. My sister and brothers treat me like a stepchild. My mother never taught me anything when I was little. She didn't teach me about sex, menstrual cycles, or anything. Everything I know, I've learned from off the streets, my friends or from experience. After I'd been married 2 times and after having 3 children, she decided to try to step in to be a mother to me. I was a full-fledged adult. What could she have taught me that I didn't already know?

I have seen several physiatrists and several counsellors for years. We can't come up with an answer. My mother treated me very badly. All the counsellors say it was some sought of abuse. Something my mother did to me. I've wracked my brain trying to figure this thing out, but I've come up with nothing. This has been bothering me for years and is still bothering me, but not as much any more. I've learned to focus on Jesus and what He's been through, and He gives me strength to go on each time. What I have been through is nothing compared to what He has been through. That's what helps me make it through the day. I have to pray to God and ask Him to help me to forget this thing so that I can go on with my life. I was on the road to destruction.

I asked my mother on several occasions if I was abused, but she just ignored me and refused to talk about it. Now that she's dead, I will never find out. It has been eating me up for years. I have to forgive my mother and try to get on with my life, but somehow I keep going back to that same situation. It's like I'm stuck in a hole and can't get out. There are times when I do get out of the hole, but somehow fall back in. I have stressed myself out to the fullest.

I am 40 years old. I now have high blood pressure, I've got ulcers, I have high cholesterol, and I suffer major depression for which I have to take very high doses of medication. I have incontinence, problems with my eyes, and my heart. I was recently diagnosed with diabetes. I can go on, but that would be a book.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kelly

by Kelly
(London, United Kingdom)

I lie awake in my bed, with my eyes closed and my bed covers over me, hoping, hoping that he doesn't come into my room again. But he does.

I was 5 years old when my uncle started to abuse me. Both my parents had died in a car accident when I was 4 years old and I was sent to live with my uncle, my father's brother. I thought my uncle was the best person in the world at that age, and he was always good to me.

A few days after my 5th birthday, he came into my room and said he was sorry for not getting a birthday present for me. I told him it was ok. He then said that he could give it to me now. I asked him what it was. He told me he wanted to show me a special secret game. I was excited when he said he wanted to play a game with me and I asked how to play. He then told me to close my eyes and he'd show me. I did as I was told. Moments later I would feel his tongue in my mouth and his hand was sliding above my nightdress and into my knickers. I told him to stop because where he was touching me had hurt. But he told me this is what people who love each other do, and that my daddy did it to my mummy. Thinking it was normal, I lay on the bed as I allowed him to continue doing what he was doing to me. But as time went on I knew that what my uncle was doing was wrong. But I didn't know how to stop it.

My uncle continued to come into my room every night to play these special secret games for 5 years.

On my 10th birthday, I came home from school. My uncle had a friend over. He came over to me and kissed me on my mouth, like he had when I was 5 years old. He told me he'd brought someone over to play our secret game and said I had to behave and be a good little girl. My uncle pushed me against the wall. My uncle's friend came towards me and began to touch me. The man made me suck his penis. He told me that it would taste like a lollipop. I looked pleadingly at my uncle, as if I was begging him to get them all to stop. My uncle just laughed and continued to do what he did to me.

These games between my uncle and his friend and I went on until I was 12, until I had the courage to finally tell a teacher. I was examined by the doctors and they found signs of sexual abuse. My uncle was arrested, and I was placed in foster care. They never found my uncle's friend. I never knew his name and my uncle never admitted anything about him to the police.

I am 18 years old now and I live with my boyfriend. It took me 6 whole years to deal with what had happened to me. 6 whole years to learn to trust another man. I still see a counsellor regularly.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Delores

by Delores
(British Columbia, Canada)

Stealer of Innocence:  
You came in disguise; with money in hand, to a little girl, so weak and frail.

She was only three, when you invaded her tiny place; and she, didn't know what you did, only that; she felt so wet down below.

You satisfied your need, didn't stop to think; the loss of something so beautiful and precious, would destroy her trust and faith, in what was once; a beautiful part of her; her beauty and innocence.

Through the years; like sharks to blood, she fell prey to those who would use and abuse her.

You see what you did, didn't end there at that time.

You destroyed her innocence; gone forever.

You continued on, but she would never recover what was taken that day, the loss so great, never to know what could have been.

Though you are forgiven, after all these many years, the pain in her little heart remains.

The damage and pain will always remain.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Roger Dean Kiser

by Roger Dean Kiser
(Brunswick, Georgia, USA)

TOYS IN THE CLOSET:  
I can still remember those orphanage closets as if it were only yesterday. Those always-locked wooden doors were located in every building at the Children's Home Society orphanage. The closets were a very scary place for us orphans.

We boys spent several two or three-day periods locked away in those dark scary places, without food, water or a place to go to the bathroom. As a 6-year-old orphan boy, I have lain in the dark corner of those closets many times, with blood dripping from the head wounds I received from the house parents. Such beatings happened, because I did not wax the checkerboard floor correctly, left the soap-sock in the sink or forgot to flush the toilet. Even today at the age of 54, I still won’t enter a dark closet, without the aid of a flashlight or a lamp in hand.

It is true that we did get into much mischief as little boys. There was never anything for us to do. We had no toys to play with, so we made things out of sticks and cans, and we built army forts under ground. We hid in them for hours at a time, just to feel safe. Sometimes, we climbed up into the trees and jumped into the large clumps of bamboo bushes, crashing to the ground. It was a very dangerous thing to do, but it was fun. Besides, nobody really cared if we got hurt anyway. However, they did get mad if we were laughing aloud or if we were having any noisy fun at all.

One afternoon, I was instructed to go over to the main dining room. That was where the head matron, Mrs. W, lived. When I entered the building, I did not see her anywhere, so I walked over to the large hallway that led to her bedroom. I stopped at the dark entrance of the hall and stood there, quietly waiting for her.

As I nervously looked for her approach, I noticed the closet door next to the little bathroom was slightly ajar. That totally surprised me, as those closets were always locked. I took one giant step toward the door and pushed it open slightly with one finger. This was the only closet that we had not been locked in and we never could figure out why. However, as I inched my way very slowly into the small, long, slender closet, I finally understood.

For as far as my little eyes could see, there were presents and toys that went on forever and ever, all the way from the floor to the ceiling. There were tons of roller skates, balls, also lots of baseball bats and gloves. There were little cars, and some great big trucks that could really carry dirt in them. I saw some metal and plastic airplanes too; many looked like they could really fly. There were some that used real gas to make them go way up in the sky and they could fly far away. In addition, I saw lots of guns and holster sets. There were girl things too, like play dollhouses and little bitty clothes.

I stood for the longest time just wondering why Mrs. W had all this good stuff in the closet to play with. I started to play quietly with some of the little green toy soldiers. I lined them up for battle and they fought each other. Some of them died when they fell off the wooden shelf onto the floor. However, I made them come back to life, so I could play with them over and over again.

"What the damn hell are you doing in there?" yelled Mrs. W.

"Nothing, ma'am," I said as I placed my hands behind my back.

"Put your damn hand in the doorway!"

"That's going to hurt me again," I stammered.

Mrs. W had slammed my hand in the doorway once before, when she caught me looking into the kitchen pantry. I was taking one of her special boxes of raisins, because I was hungry.

"Put your damn hand on the damn doorway," she demanded, gritting her teeth.

"I can't, Mother W. It just hurts so badly when you do that."

I turned my eyes down toward the speckled terrazzo floor. Mother W grabbed me by the shirt collar and slammed my face into the bottom shelf where the toys were stacked. They fell everywhere as I crashed to the floor.

"Keep your little ass right here, until I get the damn bolo paddle! Do you understand me?" she asked firmly.

"Yes, ma'am."

As she disappeared down the dark hallway, I started picking up the little green soldiers that fell onto the floor. I noticed that some of the soldiers had blood all over them. I started picking them up as fast as I could, placing them into my pants pocket, so I could play with them later.

When Mrs. W returned, I said, "My teeth are loose. I’m hurting real, real bad in my face."

Her eyes got big and white, and then she went ahead and hit me with the polo paddle one time really hard.

"Get your little ass back to the boy's building and get up to your room. You stay there for the rest of the day!"

When I got back to the dormitory, I told all the other boys about the toys and presents in the closet. Then I went to the upstairs bathroom and wet some toilet paper, which I put into my mouth so the blood would stop and my teeth would not move around anymore.

I returned to my room, as I was told and played war games on my bed with the five bloody soldiers. However, they did not want to play very long 'cause they were already hurt and bloody. So two of the soldiers and me cried together and then I fell asleep, until the next day.

UPDATE! More information about this author can be found at Roger Dean Kiser

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Roger Dean Kiser

by Roger Dean Kiser
(Brunswick, Georgia, USA)

THE BED WETTER:  
How horrible it was to have to wear a sheet wrapped around oneself like a diaper for having wet the bed, and then, having to walk the horrible long 2,000 yards to the dining room at the far end of the orphanage grounds in Jacksonville, Florida.

We were all young, scared boys waiting in line, double-breasted for the daily ritual of marching to breakfast, dinner and supper. We did it day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year.

I will never forget the house parents doing that to me. I will never forget the girls looking at me as we marched past their one-storey dormitory. They spoke not a word as they stood in total silence, with their eyes looking down toward the ground. Nor was there a smile on any face or a giggle in any heart. Only the look of horror as they knew very well this day would also come for one of them if they wet their beds, just as it had come for the poor, topless, breastless little girl who had preceded me two weeks before.

For years, I sat with my face pressed against the six-foot chain-link fence. I was watching and waiting for someone with compassion to come by and take me away from this terrible place, but no one ever came. Oh, how those heartless acts almost destroyed me as a young boy. I have become a man with very little heart, a grandfather who is sad and so afraid to love.

Were these few drops of wetness worth drowning a young precious heart forever? Have I ever loved anyone? Yes. I will always love those children, who silently bowed their heads with respect and reverence, as I filed past them, half-naked like Caesar, The Great Bed Wetter.

UPDATE! More information about this author can be found at Roger Dean Kiser

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Roger Dean Kiser

by Roger Dean Kiser
(Brunswick, Georgia, USA)

ORPHANAGE ANGEL?  
"Father, we thank thee for this food. Amen," echoed the children's voices as they bounced off the walls of the large dining room at the Jacksonville, Florida orphanage where I lived.

Please let there be something good to eat today, I thought, as I watched everyone standing at attention behind his or her chair. Every child's eyes were shut and their heads bowed. Suddenly all was silent, just as it was at every meal that we kids ate, year after year, at this terrible orphanage. I watched from the corner of my eye as Mother W, the head matron, picked up the little gold bell and held it still for a second, hoping one of the children would accidentally sit down before the bell rang so she could send them away without their breakfast.

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling, sounded the little bell.

I watched as 50 children, six to a table, pulled out their chairs, being careful not to make a sound, and sat down. Each child sat down with hands folded in their laps, remaining totally silent until Mother W nodded her head so breakfast could begin. I reached down, picked up a piece of burnt toast and took very small bites. I continued to watch Mother W out of the corner of my eye as she ate.

How could someone who runs an orphanage hate and treat children so badly, I thought, as I continued to watch her every move.

All of a sudden, she looked up from her plate and looked directly at me.

Oh! God, please do not let her see me looking at her.

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-ling, went the little gold bell. Instantly, all the children stopped eating and the entire dining room fell silent.

"Evidently we have an IDIOT," she screamed, "named Dean Kiser, who thinks he can look around the dining room rather than eat his breakfast!"

I sat there motionless at my assigned station, my head lowered. I watched as the small beetle bugs moved around in my corn flakes.

Ding-a-ling, went the bell again.

I slowly looked up and saw Mother W motioning with her finger for me to stand up. I moved my seat back from the table, careful not to scrape the floor, and stood up in front of my chair. The entire dining room remained silent. The children sat perfectly still as she and I stared at one another.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" she screamed at me.

All eyes in the room were now upon me and they were as big as saucers.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?" she hollered again.

"I didn't say nothing, Mother W. Really I didn't."

"She's just a mean person," said one of the smaller boys who was sitting at my table.

"Get your ugly rear-end back over to your dormitory," she demanded.

Keeping my eyes to the floor, I walked to the door leading out onto the screened-in breezeway porch. I opened the door slightly and stopped. I turned around and looked directly into the eyes of Mother W. Her arm was outstretched in front of her, like that of Germany's Hitler, demanding that I obey her every order without question.

"I said move. NOW!" she screamed.

I moved not a muscle.

"NOW! NOW! NOW!" she screamed as loud as she could.

Then she reached over and snatched up the little dinner bell.

DING-A-LING, DING-A-LING, DING-ALING, DING-A-LING, rang the bell as she shook it above her head as hard as she could.

"GET OUT OF HERE! GET OUT NOW YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" she kept yelling at me, as she continued to ring the bell.

I opened the dining room door all the way and walked out onto the porch. I stopped and stood there, trying to catch my breath. I looked straight ahead, moving my eyes from right to left, looking at the large prison-style dormitories. Little babies were housed on the right, the girls on the left, and my own two-storey white and brick prison was directly in front of me. I placed my two hands on top of my head and began to cry. I ran as fast as I could toward my dormitory.

When I entered the building, I walked into the small kitchen located by the television room. I opened the little white drawer and took out a butter knife. I placed the tip against my chest, where I always put my hand while saying the pledge allegiance to the flag at school. I pressed the knife as hard as I could, but it just would not go into my heart.

"Can I help you son?" said someone standing behind me.

Quickly, I turned around and saw a young woman standing in the doorway. She was smiling at me. Her face seemed to have a glow about it.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Roger Dean Kiser," I replied, as I tried to secretly place the knife back into the drawer behind me.

"How old are you?"

"Eleven, ma'am."

"How long have you lived here in this orphanage home?"

"A whole bunch of years now," I replied.

"Do you know what love is?" she said, as she reached out toward me.

"It's a word you say when you like someone."

"Oh, it is so much more than that, Roger Dean."

She was smiling at me. She stretched out her arm and motioned for me to come to her. I walked over and stood directly in front of her. She reached out and placed her hand on the side of my face. My entire body tingled, and I felt warm and wonderful inside.

"Do you want someone to love you?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am, I guess."

"Then you have to be able to forgive those who do not love you. Do you understand what that means?" she asked.

"Not really."

"Can you say, 'I love you, Jesus?'"

"I...."

"You can say it," she said.

"I LOVE … YOU, JESUS," I screamed.

"And Jesus loves you, Roger."

I fell on the floor and cried as loud as I could. I just could not stop, no matter how hard I tried. Finally, I heard the other children coming back from the dining room. I raised my head to look up at the woman, but she had vanished. I got up off the floor, walked over to the sink and began to wash my face.

I have no idea who the woman was or where she came from. It was as if she just disappeared into thin air.

That incident occurred in 1956. I have never forgotten that kind look or the wonderful feeling she gave me when she touched not only my face, but also my heart. I will also never forget what it was like to be treated in such a horrible manner by the adults in that orphanage; terrible memories and feelings that still live in my heart today.

UPDATE! More information about this author can be found at Roger Dean Kiser

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Roger Dean Kiser

by Roger Dean Kiser
(Brunswick, Georgia, USA)

PETER COTTON TAIL:  
Easter has never been a good time of the year for me. The memory of my very first Easter was when I was living in an orphanage in Jacksonville, Florida. I was about 7 years old. I have never forgotten that day and never will.

The words to the song, "Here comes Peter Cotton Tail, hopping down the bunny trail" have a very special meaning to me. They bring back some rather bad memories—just about as bad as they can get for a little boy. Though I am now much older, I will try to tell this story as nicely as I possibly can.

I remember exactly what I was feeling and what I was thinking when I got up that Sunday morning. I will tell this story, not as a 54-year-old man would tell it, but like a little 7-year-old boy about that very sad Easter Sunday morning.

"Here comes Peter-Cotton tail, hopping down the bunny trail," went the words to that song.

It was about 6:30 on a Sunday morning when the matron knocked on our bedroom doors, and told all the orphans to get up and prepare to go to church. I walked into one of the two large bathrooms and began washing my face in the porcelain sink. All of a sudden, someone slapped me in the back of the head and told me to hurry along. The other boys were already lining up to march over to the dining room to eat breakfast.

I did not like going to church very much. You had to sit perfectly still on that hard, old church bench for over an hour. If you coughed or moved, the matron hit you really hard on the leg, leaving great big, black and blue bruises. I liked being a Methodist and all that, but they just hit us kids too much to be really good people.

However, I really did like Sunday school. It was fun, and I enjoyed learning about Jesus and what He said when He lived on the earth. I was the only child at the orphanage who could say all the books of the Bible by heart and in order too. I could say John 3:16 without even taking a breath. I liked holding the Bible 'cause it felt good to me, and I liked the shiny pictures and the red writing that told exactly what Jesus said.

After we ate breakfast, I was told I would not be going to Swain Memorial Methodist Church that morning. I was instructed to go back to the boys' building, change out of my Sunday clothes and report to Mrs. W, the head matron. After changing, I walked over to the dining room, sat down on the screened-in breezeway and waited for Mrs. W to come and tell me what to do.

All of a sudden, this strange man came walking out through the glass doors, which led into the large dining room. He was carrying armloads of colored eggs stacked on top of one another in big flat boxes. He told me that I had been chosen to help him hide the eggs, so the orphans could hunt for them when they returned from church. I was so excited, because I would be the only kid who knew where all the eggs were hidden. The nice man and I hid many eggs all around the large grass circle located in the center of the orphanage grounds. We also hid eggs in the large oak tree where Mr. B had once hung me by the neck and almost killed me.

After we hid all the eggs, we walked back to the dining room so we could get a drink of cold water. He and I sat down on the steel chairs in the breezeway. We talked about church and about me being a good boy, especially about me minding older people. We talked about church and Sunday school for about 10 minutes. Then I decided to show off by telling him that I could say all the books of the Bible. He had me stand up in front of him and repeat all the books. When I finished, he laughed and clapped his hands; I was laughing and smiling too. I was proud of myself. I was the only boy in the orphanage who could say all the books of the Bible. Because of that, I knew I was going to go to heaven one day. I planned to say them for Jesus and then He would hug me, just like He did all the little children in the Bible pictures.

The next thing I remember was being in the bathroom by the hallway closet with this man. He did not have any clothes on and he was telling me to undress myself. He said that because we hid the eggs and did not go to Easter Sunday church service, we had to get down on our hands and knees and be "cleansed by the spirit."

I cannot tell the rest of the story, because it is just too horrible to see in written word. However, I do know this: I will always remember that smiling, ugly, naked man standing up in front of me and singing those words, "Here comes Peter Cotton tail, hopping down the bunny trail. Hippety hoppety, Easter's on its way."

UPDATE! More information about this author can be found at Roger Dean Kiser

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Wendy

by Wendy
(Saskatchewan, Canada)

It took me a long time to realize that not everyone lived the way I did. Dad seemed to get angry a lot. Anything ticked him off. It was like walking on glass when you crossed his path. It was like a chance game. Go fast enough with skill and solemn-ness and you may get away without getting yelled at for not doing good at school or get a smack across the ass because he thought it was funny. I told him to stop. But that just edged him on. He just kept doing it - so I just came to accept it. My uncle did it too, so it must have been normal.

I wouldn't get to eat dinner or supper because I didn't help make perogies or help can food. It depended how mad he'd get whether it'd be for a day or a few. At 5'7", I would constantly either gain or lose weight: between 115 to 135. At the cost of also being called fat and a stupid-bitch-who-only-ate didn't help either. The doctor told me I needed to gain weight, but I couldn't get passed 135. I used food to punish myself in any way possible. I wouldn't eat when I thought I did something wrong, or I wouldn't eat when I was depressed, but then I would overeat. My weight and eating habits are still a constant struggle.

I never told anyone of the beatings I got or the neglect that came of my father and my mother. I thought it was how everyone was raised. Then, at 16, I moved out of my home without consent and began to start a new life for myself. I am finishing up my grade 12, and plan to become a hairdresser. Everyday is a struggle, but I am slowly relearning how to deal with the pain and the daily problems people face everyday that I don't know how to handle right.

My dad has disowned me. But my mom still seeks contact, even though I don't. My 14-year old sister still lives with them.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From M Hat

by M Hat
(New Mexico)

What's Wrong With Me?  
I was born with a F.A.S (Fetal Alcohol Syndrome). I was a cocaine baby. My mom was sent off to jail and I went to live with my grandma.

I was abused by my uncle from 4 years-15. Sexually abused. When he abused me, he would call me "retard" and "stupid." I just can't get over that. Was it my fault because I was born with disabilities? Is that why he abused me? I keep thinking it was, because all my life my grandma has called me stupid. I think that I must bring this onto myself because when I was twelve I dropped a china glass, not on purpose. I was born with severe tremors. My gram got so mad that she beat me and kicked me with her high heels on. She kicked me in my ear. I ended up in the hospital, but she wouldn't take me till most of the bruises went away. That beating caused me to rupture my right ear drum. I have to wear a hearing aide now. I know that I am stupid, but was she right in beating me?

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From M S

by Melinda
(Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada)

I was physically, emotionally, sexually and mentally abused. My mother started hurting me when I was a baby. She would pinch my legs when changing my diaper because I would squirm around too much for her. My father was a drug addicted alcoholic who was killed when I was five. I never knew him because my parents divorced when I was two. I found out about his murder when I was seventeen.

My mother, my grandma and her husband beat me for 14 years. I was a very weird child. I guess I would put it that way because I didn't know that the reason was the effects of my abuse. I started drugs and alcohol when I was eleven and became sexual at twelve. I was kicked out of daycare at six because I was doing sexual acts to another girl. I thought this was normal.

I have had seven suicide attempts between the ages of fourteen and seventeen. I am now turning twenty one, and still I struggle very badly with my past. But I'm in the process of making it better by getting help from professionals. I suffer from clinical and reoccurring depression and am on medication. I cannot begin to describe the pain I felt growing up, the pain I still feel. It is other people's nightmare and my reality.

My mother's boyfriends also abused me to a severe degree. I should also mention that my mother is mentally challenged with a brain capacity of a nine-year-old. She was told when she was sixteen that she should never have kids, as she would not be able to handle them.

I was a bed wetter for twelve years because of the trauma in my life. I was beat up for that as well, and called lazy and disgusting. I remember my mother would always let her boyfriends hurt me and she would never do anything about it. I was locked in a bedroom many times with the lights off (I was scared of the dark and the person knew this). I would scream and bang on the door. I would beg to be let out, but nobody would come. Then when they did come, I was forced to eat food that I thought was gross, like fish and tough meat. I couldn't eat tough meat because I would gag and choke, but they made me eat it anyway. I didn't want to eat fish because I didn't like the taste.

My mother ran away one time to a guy's place. She took me with her. Nobody knew where we were for two weeks. My mom and the guy would spend most of the time having sex, and he didn't want me bothering them, so he tied me to chairs and a bed with masking tape and ropes. The police finally found us because I guess I kept dialling 911 and hanging up so they finally came to investigate.

My mother was on welfare, so we were very poor growing up. Instead of paying bills and buying groceries, she would go out and by jewelery, makeup and clothes. There were many times our power and heat and phone were cut off. She was finally evicted when I was seventeen. I left home when I was sixteen.

When I was in grade two, I tried to tell the teacher that my mom was hurting me and instead of saving me from the abuse, she thought I was lying and phoned my mom to come down to the school. She told my mom what I had said, and of course my mom lied and denied it. I was scared as it was, and the stupid jerk didn't do anything. I had to go home with my mom where she beat the crap out of me for saying anything. When I say my mom beat me, I mean she really beat me up bad. She would kick me, slap me, punch my body, take my head and bang it on the stairs, scratch me, pinch me, slam me into walls and counters, and on top of that she touched my privates. I suffer from TMJ because my mom kicked me in the face and broke my jaw. It is still broken today, but not bad enough to get my jaw wired shut.

I have a dislocated jaw, and for treatment I need a splint and braces which is going to cost approximately $5000.00. I do not have this money and Victim Services won't help me because the incident happened too long ago. The police report has to be within one year and it happened ten years ago. This devastated me deeply, because I have to suffer from a dislocated jaw that was not my fault and nobody will help me.

My mother would only usually slap my face, but on one careless evening she scratched me. This was when I was in grade five. Finally I was saved, or so I thought. I told my teacher what happened and she phoned the cops. They phoned my mom and she had to come down to the police station. She confessed, which was awesome, but I had to go home with her that evening, which I think now is awful and uncalled for because she could have killed me that night.

I lived with my grandpa for two months. My grandpa is amazing. I love him so much. He was the only one in my family to never hurt me. After two months, I went home. My mom had stopped hurting me for about a month, and then the beatings started again until I was thirteen. I phoned the suicide hotline because I wanted to kill myself. They came and picked me up and took me to the hospital, where I was admitted. I then went to open custody for five months and was able to go home.

I dropped out of school and drank and did drugs for six weeks, then I realised I needed to be in school, so I went back. I was almost fourteen. Two weeks before Christmas, two weeks after my fourteenth birthday, my mother beat me so bad that I had to go to the hospital. They were going to put me on pain killers, but because of my drug addiction they couldn't, so I had to live with the pain. I ended up in foster care, then I went back home again. My mom stopped hitting me, but that still didn't stop my pain. I left home at sixteen and lived in foster care until I was eighteen.

I'm now in a relationship, and I have a four-year-old stepdaughter. I'm in my first year of the LPN program. I'm just now facing my inner demons and I'm a little scared, but I know that I will succeed in my future. It will be very good for me to let go and live my life positively. I've been off drugs for almost three years and off alcohol for four months. I have a psychiatrist and psychologist who are helping me tremendously. Thanks for taking the time to read my story.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Emily F

by Emily F
(Devon, UK)

For as long as I can remember, my mum has always been a drinker. Even when I was small, we used to meet Dad at the bus stop after he finished work, then mum would just disappear to the pub. Dad would play with us till bedtime. This went on up until I was 5 and my dad left. I was heart-broken, as I was Daddy's girl, but every time I said I missed him, Mum would say, "Well, where is he????"

Just a few days later, Bob from 2 doors away, was constantly coming round and wanted to play with us all the time. Before long, he was living with us, taking my dad's place.

Well, a few days later, my dad called. I wasn't allowed to tell him about Bob, so obviously, as a child I never did, but I did tell him they are always drinking beer. So then our 2 days to Dad's turned into 2 months. Then the police were at the door telling my dad that he had to take us home or he would arrested for kidnapping. So obviously, he had to bring us home. That was the last time I saw him, until I was 18 years old.

When we got home, Mum gave us a box of sweets and sat there, telling us how Dad didn't love us and we wouldn't be seeing him again, that he would be going to prison, but I knew Daddy did love me. Ok, she never went to the pub, but her and Bob were falling all over the place drunk. It used to scare us. Every time she got drunk, she got angry much quicker. It wasn't long before Bob was allowed to punish and smack us. That was always Mum's job. This "Mum" that I had come home to wasn't the same as when I'd left. She kept referring to my dad as whale meat. Soon after, I had to call Bob Dad. I absolutely hated him. He wasn't my dad. My answer to this was, "But I have a dad." And Bob said, "Yes, I'm here." I was confused.

Then I had to grow up quick. Before I knew it, they were getting married. They changed my name. Then I had my stepsister baby-sitting while they were in the pub, getting drunk, having a good time. If we needed them quick, they were in the pub. At bedtime, they would come home shouting and falling everywhere. Things would get smashed. Sometimes Mum would cry to me and my sister. We would be so scared. We would reach over each others beds and hold hands and were so quiet.

We did as we pleased. We spent a lot of time at a friend's place over the road. Our friend's Mum was always there and we always went along when they went out for the day to their nans. That was better than being round our mum and Bob because they were either drunk or asleep because they were drunk. The key was always in the door if we wanted to go home.

Then we got to about 10 years old. If we did the slightest wrong, he would hit us with his belt. He used this as a weapon, and Mum just let it happen. She never cared less, so the more this was happening, the more I was rebelling. The more I hated him, the more I never wanted to be there.

At the age of 13, I started running away from home. I thought they would not care. As long as they had some beer and a bottle of vodka, they wouldn't realise I was gone. But after a day, they would call the police. After about 50 times of the police picking me up, they thought something must be happening at home, that all this running away wasn't just for attention, which was what my mother had been saying. So the police interviewed my mum, and she told them everything was fine at home.

Oh don't I wish I never said that. Apparently, my mum never knew, but Bob started raping both me and my sister. He would even tape it on his camcorder, sick man that he was.

The police kept picking me up as a runaway, until I finally begged the officer not to take me home. He wanted to know why, so I showed him my arms. I had cuts covered on one of my arms, my other arm had cuts over half of it. He asked what happened. I admitted to cutting them myself. He then said he needed to take me to the station, and I agreed. He explained I was not under arrest.

At the station, I was asked why I did all these cuts. I told them I did it when Mum and Bob get drunk and fight and that when I'm naughty, he hits me with a belt and I also said he offered me 50 cigarettes for a blow job. I was so scared, I could say no more.

They sent a psychiatrist to talk with me. I was diagnosed with depression, which got worse and turned into manic depression. I went into foster care. My sister was questioned, and she denied everything. My mum never spoke to me for months, but when she finally did, she told me how much she loved me and how it would never happen again.

I moved home, thinking things would change, just wanting to be with my sisters, but it just got much, much worse. I put up with it until I was 18. My stepsister turned to heroin, so she was hated too. In the end, she lost her life to it, and it's all down to 2 alcoholics who can't look after their children.

After that, I was living alone. Kellie, my stepsister, was dead. I told the police everything. Bob was not prosecuted, as the rapes were no longer on the camcorder. I've not seen my family from that day, and wish never to ever again.

Alcoholics don't care who they hurt or what they do. All they see is the alcohol running out.

Thanks.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Emily F

by Emily F
(Devon, UK)

My tearful childhood:  
My mum had the bloke from 2 doors down round a lot after she and my dad split up. She was always in the pub with him, Bob, leaving me and my sister with the child-minder.

The weekend came, and my dad took us to my nans. I broke my heart to my great gran, who told my dad what I had said. He decided the answer was not to take us back for a while. He kept us for 8 weeks, until the police turned up because my mum wanted us returned. I was so sad because I wanted to stay with Daddy. That was the last time I saw my dad. My mum stopped access.

Bob from 2 doors down had moved in. He seemed just too nice. It was always, "Do you want a cuddle? You're such a special girl."

I got older and started asking questions. My mum just said she had never loved my dad and that she did not from the time I was born, so as a little girl, I thought it was my fault. Then she tried to poison me against him. She would call him "whale meat" and many horrible names. He was my daddy. I loved him very much. He was MY daddy, and she took him away from me. I will never forgive her for that.

Then when I was 10, I searched the house for my dad's phone number or address. Bingo. I found his mobile number in the back of the phonebook, so I called him. As a kid, I knew no better but to phone him off the house phone. I spoke to him and arranged for him to meet me off the train. At this stage, I was going to run away to live with my dad. You see, I had to call Bob "Dad," and he would hit me with a leather belt. I was so scared of him. I just needed my real dad. I knew he would not hurt me.

I was going to be meeting my dad on May 3rd, my 11th birthday, but on the 31st, the phone bill came in. My mum and Bob didn't recognise the number, so they went through the phonebook and saw whose number it was. They knew it would not have been my sister because she hates him. They knew it had to be me. As of that day, I never spoke to my dad. The phone number got burnt. I was heart-broken, fatherless, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Then bob started raping me. I realised when I was 18 I had to tell the police and put an end to it, and get on with my life. I have not seen my sister, Mum, Bob or any of the family from that day onwards.

When I was an adult, I left the county to find my dad, and luckily, found him within 48 hours. By that time, I was in a family of my own with a stepdaughter and partner. My dad took us in till we got our flat. He never wanted me staying at a bed and breakfast.

I will always hate my mum, because she took my dad from me for 14 years. Now she has taken my sister. I will fight and fight until I get her back, no matter what it takes.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story from Nikki

by Nikki
(Utah, USA)

I was 5-6 years old. I was the youngest of 4 children. My oldest brother was 12. My parents would leave him to watch us when they went out.

We had a family room in the basement and I went down there to watch tv. There was a computer in the corner of the room. My brother came down and sat at the computer while I was watching the movie. When I got up to go he got in front of me so I couldn't get passed him and he asked me to let him touch me down there and I told him no at first I felt scared and he wouldn't get out of my way he continued to beg me and said if you loved me you would let me and continued to make me feel guilty about saying no I ended up giving in and letting him do it and from that time on whenever we were alone together he would touch me and make me touch him he made me get naked with him in the shower I don't remember much else of that incident I felt alone and I felt like it was all my fault I wanted it to stop but I was too afraid to say anything.

When I finally got up the courage to say something, I am not sure how long it had been going on, but I remember one day my mom was getting ready to leave and she was going to leave me with my brother and I don't know what came over me but I was scared I didn't want to be alone with him again so I ran up to my mother and started begging her please mom take me with you don't leave me please don't leave me and that's when she looked at me and asked what is wrong with you tell me what's wrong and I just blurted out he touches me and she was so mad she ran into the front room and told him if he ever touched me again she would kill him. I guess that really scared him because he never even looked at me again after that. My mom did tell me to tell no one about what happened. It was like a big family secret. I didn't get counseling until I was 16 years old.

I am writing this so that other girls don't feel they are alone, and to tell them it is never your fault.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Mandy

by Mandy
(Calgary, Alberta, Canada)

When I turned one my father broke his neck, placing him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. We never had a close relationship. He would buy me things to replace spending time with me. Up until I was almost 5, I saw him every weekend, as my two older brothers and myself stayed at his home every weekend. It was in this townhouse that I was introduced to the man who would change me forever.

My father had a "friend" of his move into his home. His name was Tony. He gave me piggy-back rides, and played ball with my brothers. He was my babysitter when my father and brother went out to do boy things. The abuse started with him locking me in the crawl space below the home (which happened more times than I can recall). It terrified me because of spiders and monsters and those types of childish things. I once threatened to "tell", after which he held my head underwater in the bathtub.

I remember the first day the sexual abuse started. I was sleeping in my room. I awoke to him next to me. I don't know why I pretended to stay asleep. That first time all he did was rub his penis on my leg, and fondle me. The abuse after that went on for a few months, most of which I have blanked out of my memory. I can't remember no matter how much I try. I don't think he ever raped or penetrated me in any way. I think he also molested my brother, as he has shown many of the symptoms I have become so familiar with.

I remember telling my mom about it like it only happened five minutes ago. My father and brother had left the
house, and Tony had me alone again. I crawled under my father's bed and called my mom on the phone with the exact words, "Mommy, Tony's hurting me". She burst into tears. I was so scared. I thought I was in so much trouble. What seemed like 2 seconds later, my mom and her boyfriend were at my father's house. She made her boyfriend wait outside while she yelled at Tony, all the while I was still tucked under the bed.

Before I left, and right in front of my mother, his last
words to me were: "You like it".

I remember telling the police that nothing happened, and that he barely touched me, partly because I was ashamed and my mother was listening. I could never say in front of her what happened. I thought it was my fault.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Natasha

by Natasha
(London, England, UK)

Neighbour - Sexual Abuse Hell:  
My life has always been trouble since as young as I can remember. My dad left me and then it was just me my mum and her new partner. Then my little sis came along. We'd been waiting ages to find the right new home, then finally we did. It was a nice flat with 2 people above us (an elderly woman and her son) and below us a friendly couple. Everyone around us were lovely. Well, so I thought.

I was nine and my sis was about 1. After a few years went by, my mum and stepdad became friends with the people above us. The man was 43 and the mum was 63. They were always helping us out. And then for my 13th birthday, I told him I was getting a laptop for school work and stuff. Since I got the laptop, he was always telling me to get the Internet and always offering me help with it when I got stuck. My mum trusted them both, and because his mum was always there, it didn't matter. Well, so we thought.

After a lot of nagging and stuff, we did get the Internet because of how good it sounded. When we did, he told me to take my laptop up to him so he could sort it out. This went on for hours sometimes. I'd get quite fed up of it because that was like my Saturday night gone. And then he'd say, see you same time next week . . . there's loads more virus checks to do on it. I'm not dumb. I know how to do virus checks on it. I just didn't want to be rude. It got a bit weird after a while because when I left in the morning, and he wouldn't be far behind me or a bit in front of me. That was very odd because he never got up early. There was no reason to, apart from his dog, which was lazy! My stepdad started noticing, and said he probably fancied me and stuff. I told him not to be so stupid. But I was getting really worried about it.

Things were going the same for ages. When I got home he'd be online waiting. He'd talk to me about his past and how he only ever had two women in his life, which was weird because he was 43!!! He began to tell me his life story. I listened to him and he listened to me. I didn't see much wrong with it until one day, he had got really close to me. I thought, "Oh no, what's happening?"

Then, on the 4th of October, the whole mess started properly. He said to me, "You know, I have great feelings for you and I know you have the same." To be honest, I saw him as a father figure. I sat there and listened to everything he was saying to me. I tried to blank it all out, but he had his arm around me. I just didn't move an inch. I was in total shock. Someone I trusted and believed in saying all this to me.

We would be online and I would get loads of messages saying, "Nobody can find out about all this or you would be put into care, just like how I was. It's not a nice place," he said! That scared me. It was a nightmare. The worst possible thing ever, I thought.

The next time I spoke to him, he wanted me to go and talk to him face to face. When I got to the door, he started kissing me and more. I just really couldn't believe it. I was frightened that if I told I'd be put in care. I didn't realise his mum went on holiday for a week. That week was the worst. That was his week of freedom from her. He bad-mouthed his family, saying they're nasty, and if his mum found out what was going on, she'd turn on me and make my life hell.

As time went on, I lost all of my friends and hated my family. I did blame them for not realising what was going on. Well, my mum kept asking me why I'd changed so much. I would get home and just go straight in my room on my own and cry all night. I didn't have my own life. It was taken over. Every move I made, it was because of him.

He got nasty. He sexually abused me. Forced me into things I didn't want to do. The way he acted so normal towards my family, it was unreal. People started noticing something wasn't right. People I didn't even know would ask me in the mornings if I was ok because he'd often walk right beside or behind me. The way he forced me to do things I didn't want to do. Some days I could not walk, I was in so much pain because of him. That smile as he saw me in pain was sickening. I'd always get threatened if I didn't shut up. Just not say a word.

Once, I rebelled towards him. I said, "You carry on and I'll run away." He said, "You wouldn't have the guts to because I would find you." When he said that, I thought it would never end. Everything got worse and worse. He dragged me in the bathroom and forced me in the bath. I was so scared. His mum was only in the next room, letting everything happen. It got so bad that I wrote everything out and waited for it to be found by Mum. I went off to school. At break time, I texted him and said "It all ends here. No more, Arthur. No more. I'm free from you." I never did get a reply because by then the police had got him.

In a way, it still carried on. I saw him in town a few times while he was on bail, and he got his friends to threaten me. The worst person was his mum. I got spat on and called abusive names by her. It tore my family apart. I was left with hardly anything, apart from Mum and my sis. My stepdad wanted nothing more to do with me.

Now I'm 14, and I'm proud to call myself a survivor.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kori

by Kori
(Manitoba, Canada)

I don't know what to do. I'm lost right now. I honestly thought my life was normal, that everything I went through was normal. I've most likely learned to think like this from my parents.

I feel sick about all the stuff that's happened and the stuff I've done. I've seen my stepdad and brother get into fist fights more than once, even while I had friends over. I've suffered abuse from my entire family; my mother, stepdad, and the worst from my brother. He'd hit me all the time. When I was younger he molested me more than once and told me he'd tell on me if I told anyone. I've always been scared of him. He's verbally abused me so much, calling me a faggot and a queer so many times, it hurt so much. My mother never did anything; neither of my parents were ever around much. They worked all the time, or were gambling. On some weekends they'd leave for up to 12 hours just to gamble. My dad has never really been a part of my life. I'd see him occasionally and we'd talk here and there. I've gotten used to them never being there. The abuse has only stopped now over the past two years, but now my entire family is disconnected. Nobody talks to each other.

Some stuff that really bothers me is when I was younger. I did sexual acts with one of my female cousins, and my stepbrother. I've done stuff with my male cousin for as long as I remember. At first willingly because I liked it, but I knew it was wrong. At times I just couldn't say no; I didn't know how to. I don't know why I thought this was normal. I feel ashamed and disgusted about this.

A few nights ago, I was startled awake at 4 in the morning. It was my male cousin. He was drunk and standing over me in my bed. I don't even know what he was doing at my house. He wanted to have sex with me. I started shaking. I felt so cold suddenly. I didn't know what was happening. I was so anxious. I locked myself in the bathroom for an hour, then slept in the living room that night. I feel scared to open up about this with my family. There are secrets everywhere. My entire family is messed up on both sides of my family. Abuse and neglect is everywhere. Nobody talks about anything. My mother sometimes tells me horrible events about her past, as if it's an acceptable thing to do. She has never gotten help, nor has my stepdad.

I was always aware of all the stuff that's happened. But I now feel like I'm seeing it all differently. Like a veil has been lifted. I have no idea the extent of how these events have affected me and how horrible these things are.

I'm 19 now and everything feels like it's unravelling. I honestly thought University would make me happy and 'normal'. I thought I wouldn't feel so uneasy, uncomfortable, and empty all the time. That I'd finally have closer friendships. I thought I'd finally have the confidence I wish I had. It's just getting worse though. I've noticed that the littlest sounds or people speaking suddenly make me jump out of my skin. I'm shutting out my friends even more. I can barely remember my childhood; there's so many missing memories that I'm beginning to wonder what happened back then. I've spent the last two months feeling completely numb, suffering break downs, and occasional suicidal thoughts. I know I need help, but lately I get these loud horrible thoughts. They tell me I'm a f**king idiot, that no one will believe me, that I'm making a big deal out of nothing, that I'm making all this up, and that I'd be wasting the therapist's or counsellor's time. Sometimes I try to fight these thoughts, and then my mind goes wild. Even now as I write this, my thoughts say I should just suck it up and quit bitching. Sometimes I believe them. But I can't trust my thoughts at all anymore.

I will be getting help. I know there is more to life. I want to know who I really am under all these horrible thoughts and feelings. I have to stop this endless cycle of abuse and neglect, or else it's just going to go on forever.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Caylee

by Caylee
(Texas, USA)

Lost his Trust: 
I was raped just this year, 2007, by my uncle. I didn't really think it would get that far. He would mess with me a lot and tell me I looked sexy. He would tell me that I should put on a low cut shirt and say other nasty comments, but I didn't think it would get that bad. He offered me alcohol and money so I wouldn't say anything. He would ask me if I had a condom. The night that he did it, I didn't sleep at all. I didn't call anyone and tell. I just laid there in his house and cried. I cut my wrists in several places.

The next day, I went to work and I was just crying a lot, trying to hide my emotions. They told me I could leave. The next day, I went to school. My teacher called me out in the hallway and asked me what happened. I said I'm not supposed to tell or I'll get in trouble. She kept asking questions, which led to what happened. She told me she wouldn't tell anyone, but that was just to get me to feel better. She had to tell someone by law. That night, the police show up at my house. I wasn't home, so they told me parents what happened. I was scared to go home. I felt embarrassed and ashamed. I knew it was my fault. I could've stopped it, but I chose not to.

I immediately started counselling, but it wasn't helping. I tried to commit suicide and was still cutting, so I went to the mental hospital. I was diagnosed with anxiety, depression and post traumatic stress syndrome. I was put on 6 medications.

I've learned now that it's not my fault, and this will only make me stronger in the future, and that I have so much more to live for.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Beth

by Beth W
(Ballwin, Missouri, USA)

My 2 brothers and I were raised in the 60's and 70's. Our parents were strict Catholic and our dad was a strict military man.

From the age of 2-18, when we misbehaved we were taken to our dad's den and our dad would take off our pants and underwear and whip us with a belt. Then we had to stand in the corner, bare-bottom, until our dad said we could get dressed and come out of the den.

Our dad had no shame in spanking us when we were caught fighting each other. We were both taken to the den at the same time, where we had to undress ourselves. Our dad would line us up, bend us over the sofa, one by one whip us with the belt, then put us in the corner. If we talked while we were in the corner, we were whipped again.

I was 6 years old when I threw a tantrum at the grocery store. My dad grabbed and me and spanked me all the way to the car. When we got home, my dad took me to the den, whipped my bottom, then I had to stay in the corner all day.

We were spanked over every little thing. I was 7 years old and my brothers were 9 and 10 when our dad found spilled Kool-Aid on the floor. We were all called to the kitchen. Our dad asked who made the mess. We blamed each other. Our dad told us to take off our pants and underwear, turn around and bend over. One by one we got a whippen. Then Dad asked again. My 9-year-old brother admitted he had made the mess. Me and my other brother were sent to the corner, while my dad whipped my 9-year-old brother again.

When we went to the Catholic school, the principal would spank the kids with a paddle when they got sent down to the office. If we got paddled at school, we got whipped that night again, and then the next morning before school we got another whippen.

I was 8 years old. I was late coming home for dinner. When I walked in the kitchen, my dad pulled down my pants and panties, leaned me up against the counter top, and right in front of my mom and brothers my dad beat me with the belt. After dinner, I was sent to bed.

Every Saturday morning we had a list of chores to do. We only had an hour to do them. When the hour was up, we had to go stand in the den while our dad checked our chores. If they were not done right, we got a whippen, then we had to do them again, then we got another whippen and had stay in the corner all day.

From the age of 12-18 we received a whippen every day. In the summer, we were sent to our grandparents' house for a month, where our grandpa also whipped us with a belt.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Violet

by Violet
(New York, USA)

My earliest memory is that of my dad giving me a bath, both of us laughing and splashing and having such fun. I don't know how young I was, what time of year, nothing. It's one of the only good memories I have of him. Things went downhill from there, really.

My dad has severe bipolar disorder, something which he blatantly refuses to treat. I'm sixteen now, and as far back as I can remember, he was swinging back and forth between manic (hyper, overtly aggressive, violent, super-happy sometimes) and depressed (passive-aggressive, needy, suicidal, and utterly miserable). These mood swings would come on like a bolt of lightning; when he was manic, he would go from happy and laughing to furious and screaming in ten seconds flat. When he was like this, there was his way, and the wrong way ("his way or the wrong way" seems redundant to me now, but he honestly believed his way was perfect).

Back then, there were a few "shames": Shame on ME if I didn't agree with him on everything and anything possible (including his opinion that my mom was a bitch); shame on ME if I didn't allow him to dump all his problems on me; shame on ME if I didn't forgive every other insensitive and diminutive thing he did on the basis that he was "ill". His medicine was a matter of whim to him: the side-effects made him feel "yucky", so he refused to take them, and then demanded sympathy for his "plight". He also decided that I would make a good mother, and went about switching roles with me, acting like a child while I had to take on all the adult responsibilities.

It got arguably worse when he was depressed. He would call ten times a day, crying and begging forgiveness for everything he ever did. Not that I could choose not to forgive him; he ever so subtly hinted that he might not survive me "rejecting" him. I was to accept every hollow apology, every forced hug, on the grounds that he might just drop dead if I didn't.

Forget about him taking responsibility. He would either rationalize, shift the blame, or oh-so-conveniently "forget" the event. I, by they way, wasn't allowed to have feelings. He complained that I was boring and wimpy "like your mother." He complained that I was more fun when I was younger, why couldn't I be like that? If something he said upset me, I was immediately labeled a "drama queen" and taunted for it relentlessly by him. For he was perfect and therefore could not hurt anyone in any way. He begged for, then demanded money, only to use it up on his manic shopping sprees. He even once or twice took MY money out of my piggy bank, when I had close to $100 saved up (my allowance, by the way, was $2).

My mom didn't help matters much. He had his claws even deeper in her than he did in me, and it showed. She would force me to see him, give him (an obviously mentally-unstable, sometimes violent person) hours alone with me, force me to see him in the hospital (on the grounds that "it would tear him apart if I didn't, and it would only be a little while anyway"), as if I MYSELF was his medicine. She was dead-set on cleaning up every single mess, and when she inevitably failed, I had to step in and help. He was especially good at pushing her buttons, and they would get into terrifying screaming matches—he threw things at her, too, and even smashed a family heirloom. Whenever I tried to confront my mom, out would come the excuses: "He's sick, sweety, try to be more understanding." As if his problems were thanks to my inability to be perfect. He threw things at me, too, and did things like yanking hard on my arm. Luckily, it didn't go farther than that, at least physically. But he wasn't the only issue.

Family friends were going through a divorce, too. Actually, looking in, the mother was fairly emotionally dysregulated, and the father was just horrible. The father was violent, and the mother would scream. I was friends with their kid, who became my "boyfriend" early on (at like 8 or 9 years old). He desperately needed to talk to someone, and that someone became me. His parents were playing tug-o-war, and he was the rope. I don't know when exactly he started in on me, asking for sexual favors, but neither of us were more than 9. I dreaded seeing him, because he would always make me go to his room, and start pressuring me for kisses and sex. When he was pressuring, he would act so sweet and understanding, but that sweetness would dissolve in public, where he acted like I was worthless and annoying. He bullied me, not like calling me names (the main bullies took care of that at school), but instead by isolating me from him—he didn't want to be associated with the school looser. I wasn't about to give up on him, though, because he was all I had. I literally had NO FRIENDS AT ALL.

Things are finally better, now that I'm in high school. I've finally figured out that I'm not responsible for my dad’s moods, and that I have no control over him. Therapy helps, as does the fact that he's in self-imposed exile from me, waiting for me to call up and grovel to him (he's not talking to me because I got angry at him because he blew me off for a whole week and then acted like there was nothing wrong with it, and I dared to suggest that there was).

I'm not going to call up and grovel, and I can only hope that his massive ego holds out and he doesn't call before I can convince my mom (or, more likely, find outside help) to do something to stop him from coming back when the impulse hits him. My mom is better. She's gotten over some of her denial, too, and has admitted that she didn't do the right thing, although she still holds that she had no other choice. I still have things to work out, like my issues with trusting people, but I'm better than I was. For the first time in my life, I've tasted contentment, and I can be thankful for it (and deal with the bitter taste of my fear of my dad).

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Diane

by Diane C R
(Coquille, Oregon, USA)

I was 4 going on 5 when I started being molested by my uncle. I remember him coming to stay with us while my father was away on Guard Duty, which was quite often while I was young.

The first thing I can remember is him giving me a bath. He then sat me above him and he performed oral sex on me. I asked him what he was doing. He said he was giving me kisses. He was the adult; I believed him. Besides, my parents never talked to us about inappropriate touching.

My uncle would find reasons to send me to my room while my mother was gone. He would tell my sister to stay in the living room and watch TV. He would have me touch him, and that was the first time I remember him penetrating me and how bad it hurt and I was bleeding. He got angry and told me that I was a bad girl and that I needed to take a bath and get clean and told me that I was never to tell anyone especially my parents or they would punish me.

The sexual abuse went on for 3 years. I cried when I had to be left alone with him, but was too scared to tell anyone what he was doing. Finally, one day it stopped when he moved away, but the damage had already been done. As a way of making myself feel better, I would eat. When I was 9 years old I started to gain weight, because I was trying to protect myself from being hurt by other men. If I was fat, nobody would hurt me like my uncle did.

Things were good until I was 13 years old, when my cousin started touching me while I was sleeping. He would cover my mouth with one hand, and then he would grab one of my hands with his other and put it on his genitals. He would fondle my breasts, and just as quick as it started, he stopped and said if I made a sound or told anyone he would just deny it and nobody would believe me. I knew he was right about nobody believing me because in their eyes, he could do no wrong. So every time I would spend the night at our grandparents' house, I tried to make sure he wasn't there. He lived with them, and if I knew he wasn't home, I would spend the night, but sometimes he would show up in the middle of the night and especially if he had been drinking he would come to where I was sleeping and fondle my breasts and put his hands between my legs and touch me and that was all he would do until one night he came home drunk and again while I was sleeping he forced himself on me and told me to keep quiet.

That went on for a year, when I finally told him what he was doing was wrong, and that if he didn't stop, I was going to tell and I didn't care if anyone believed me or not. I knew the truth and that's all that mattered. He never touched me again after that day.

Unfortunately, as a result of me keeping it all inside and never telling anyone for fear of punishment, I now suffer from PTSD, depression, panic and anxiety disorders. I will have to spend the rest of my life taking medication just so I can have some semblance of a normal life.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Joe

by Joe
(London, UK)

My mum and dad split in the first year of me being born. I lived with my mother till I was about 6 years old. I was emotionally and physically abused by my mum and her new partner. Both had become heroin addicts.

One time, I saw them melting powder on foil with a lighter in the living room. My stepsister and I played up and Mum got her lighter, grabbed my arm and burned me with it. I remember screaming and pulling to the floor.

I remember being in the car quite a few times when Mum would say, "Shut it. No one wants to hear you sing!" I forgot, and she would punch me or try to smack me in the head - she could get very angry sometimes.

Mum was furious when I had accidentally found her heroin and spilled it. I got a 'hiding' (a threat I got a number of times) and also got burned for that as well.

There were many fights between both my mum and her boyfriend. One serious incident, I remember standing at the top of the staircase and seeing her boyfriend with a knife and my stepsister trying to stop it amidst a lot of shouting and screaming.

The house itself always stank of smoke and was very unhygienic - I politely asked my mum if there was any spare clean bedding, as the ones on my bed had lots of urine stains on them. She pinned me to the wall, pulling me back and forth. "Are you telling me my house stinks of piss, you little shit!" she shouted in my face. I felt very embarrassed. I didn't know what to say, and quickly apologized.

At a private garden place, which I'm guessing my mum and her boyfriend were going to get drugs, there was a minor car crash. I wasn't strapped in. I remember flying upwards and my head hit the back of the front seat - the feeling on my head was like no other pain I'd felt. They didn't take me to the hospital though.

I missed about half my schooling for the first two years, as my mum either didn't take me to school or I was brought in really late - I felt bad, and even a few years later, I would get upset for being late to things.

There were a number of raids into the house from police and also heroin dealers. I felt very frightened, and thought I was in trouble and was going to get hit or taken away.

One time, a fire happened in the bedroom because cloth had been left over a lamp. My stepsister and I found it through smelling the smoke. My mum dumped the whole thing in the bath, and my stepsister and I had to clean it out in the end, as we wanted a bath.

My mum and her boyfriend went to prison a number of times for either drug offenses or credit card fraud. There was a point when they were both in at the same time, and I lived with my dad. I visited her in prison, and I was in tears a fair amount. At one point, I saw her cell, which upset me the most.

At my primary school, an incident occurred where my mum pinned me to a wall and said, "You've ruined my life, you fucking idiot!" The school staff were quite alarmed. With her behavior so exposed, the school phoned Social Services.

My father was often denied access to me by Mum, even though legally I was to visit him once a week. He was concerned through hearing from other people that my mum would lock me in a room for hours and leave the house. I would often run away from him for the smallest of things through fear of what I'd experienced already. My Dad went to court to gain access. A court case ruled that I was to live with my father from that point on.

I saw my mother only on weekends. I was exchanged at a train station half way. On one of these occasions, I witnessed my mum and her boyfriend take my dad to the ground and beat him up. Her boyfriend was on top of him punching him, and my mum was kicking him everywhere. I wanted to get out of the car and stop it, but I couldn't. I felt frightened of what could happen - and I felt really bad for not doing so. I gradually saw less and less of my mum, as she seemed disinterested in seeing me. Contact completely phased out within a year.

My father is a musician. He got me into music, giving me piano lessons. I also joined the local choir (leading up to head Chorister!). I also got into composing music. But my father suffered serious depression. He would sometimes blank me completely, and just sit for hours in the living room like he was in another world. He would have serious mood swings and seemed intensely angry. I was quite fearful of that. His eyes seemed to change, which was a sign for me to keep out of his way.

At nine years old I was sexually abused by a 59-year-old man for two years. Other boys were also involved in this too. I don't feel I want to elaborate on that though; the court case only ruled him 9 months in prison, as he pleaded guilty in court. This information got around my school, and I received a lot of bullying for this, day in and day out. The situation was ridiculous. Being constantly reminded of this event, it was time for me to move on and look for another school.

My father found funding from charities for me to go to a boarding school called Framlingham College. I was so excited by the prospect of even just going there to get my new uniform! The music department was good, with choirs and orchestra and big bands and even an organ, which I had lessons on. I became known for playing film themes at the end of Chapel services! I saw Framlingham as a dream world where I could be away from the unstable world of my father and all the people of my old school. I talked to my dad very little throughout my time at boarding school. I found his depression difficult to deal with. I wish I could be at Framlingham all over again, but I guess you have to move on.

Next I came to London. I got into Trinity College of Music to study musical composition. It was a lot of hard work and strenuous for me in my first year at Trinity.

On my 18th birthday I had a call from my mum, saying she wanted to get in touch and build a friendship. She had abandoned one addiction heroin for another - alcohol. She would drink vodka straight, and I found her to be totally irrational at times, with matters like wanting me to lie to my father that she was not giving me any money so he wouldn't think he could pay less. After a while my mum began to ignore me again. It was becoming clear to me that this relationship HAD to end. I wrote her a letter, underlying all the factors as to why I felt the need to take such a strong decision. I wasn't expecting a reply, and there wasn't one.

I am now in my final 4th year of my music degree, and I am finding things quite tough, though things are going ok.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Margret

by Margret
(Asia)

When I was 7, my mom got remarried after my dad disappeared. Then a couple of months went by, and my "new" dad started beating me. He said that I should go burn in hell. Everyday after school he would hit me until I started to bleed. This was still happening by the time I turned 12...I started to do drugs and drink and have sex with strangers. My stepdad started to rape me and I didn't tell anyone because I was scared of what he would do! Time has past since then, and now I'm 17 and he is in jail...finalllly!

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Tania

by Tania G
(Carson, California, USA)

When I was born, my mom and dad had broken up. I live with my mom now, but I don't like it. When I was 3, my mom got a boyfriend named l*****. He is very mean and I hate him with all my guts!!!

He used to always go in my room at night and do what he called "the routine." I hated it! I tried to tell my mom, but she never believed me. When he found out I was telling my mom, he started to physically abuse me. I had all kinds of scars. When people asked me how I got them, I said I fell because I was really scared to tell them the truth.

One day, I didn't start my period. I found out I was pregnant. I was only 13!!! My dad found out, and my mom's boyfriend went to jail. I don't talk to my mom, because I hate her too after not believing me.

Now I am 15 and happy with my baby and boyfriend!

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Sara

by Sara
(United Kingdom)

I think I was about 3 years old when my dad started to sexually abuse me. This is as far back as I can definitely remember something happening, but it could have happened before that. He used to look after me when my mum was at work. We used to play games together, and I loved it. We played a game where one of us would pretend to be a doctor and we'd examine each other. This started off normally. I'd take his temperature and look in his mouth and stuff.

One day, he was examining me and he said he needed to check everything was OK 'down below.' I didn't know any different. He started putting his fingers inside me. He'd say I needed medicine, but instead of putting it in my mouth, he'd put it in my vagina and then remove it with his mouth. I remember feeling uncomfortable, but he said it was what all daddies did to show their little girls how much they loved them.

This progressed to other games, in which he would encourage me to see if I could make his 'snake' hard by touching it and watching it grow. I then had to see if I could make it 'spit' by stroking it and licking it. This went on for years, until he said he wanted to know if it would spit inside my 'little holes.' When this started, it happened more and more often, and although it hurt, I was 9 before I realised what he was doing was wrong. But even when I told him to stop, it didn't stop him.

When I was 10, I got home from school to find my dad stood there with about 5 of his friends. This was the first time he was violent with me. He told me they were all going to play our game. I tried to run, but between them they managed to catch me and beat me until I lay on the floor where they tied me down. They then took it in turns to rape me. This happened lots before I ended up pregnant when I was 13. I finally managed to tell a teacher what was happening, and she got me help. I was sent to live in a foster home. I suffered a miscarriage.

I was happy, until my foster mother died and I was moved to another foster home when I was 15. My foster father raped me several times before I ran away and lived on the streets. I prostituted myself for 6 months, until I was 16 and managed, with the help of a friend, to get a job.

I am now much happier. I have a place to live, a job I love, and I am single. I can't trust men. I don't want a boyfriend or to get married or anything. I can't stand the idea of anyone touching me intimately. But I survived, and for that I am glad.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Brian

by Brian H
(Southgate, Michigan)

When I was only an infant, my older brother dropped me on the edge of a coffee table. When was only 3 years old, he took a car cigarette lighter and pressed it to my leg. My parents didn't really do anything about that.

When I was 4, up to the time I turned, 8 he sexually molested me. He told me if I ever told my parents, he would kill me. He snuck in my room one night and covered my mouth with his hand and put a knife to my throat and said I never liked you I wish mom and dad never had you. The next day, I told my parents. They said I was making this up.

When I was 4 years old, my brother dug a hole in the neighbor's backyard and he pushed me in it and started to throw dirt on top of me. When I started screaming for help, he pulled me out of the hole. I tried telling my parents what he did, but he just said I fell in a hole and he saved me.

When I was 5, he made me stand on a chair as he tied a rope around my neck and tightened it. Then he started kicking the chair so that when I would fall my neck would break. Things got worse as I got older.

When I was riding my scooter around his house, he pulled out a spear as I was coming towards him so I would run into it. My dad saw this and just turned his head.

My dad used to teach me and my brother how to shoot a gun. He told us if we ever pointed it at anyone we would never shoot again. One day, my brother pulled out a shotgun and put it to my chest. I told him it wasn’t loaded. He said, "You're right" and loaded the gun with 4 shells and put his finger on the trigger. My dad saw this and he just yelled at my brother.

When I was in the sixth grade, I hid my dad's gun on him and I never shot a gun for a long time after that. I guess he meant it was ok for my brother to point a gun at me, but if I hid a gun, I wouldn’t shoot after that.

My brother use to make notes to beat me up all the time. One day, my brother pulled out a pair scissors and tried to cut off my privates. I could never figure out why he was this way to me. He always told me he hated me and how much he wished I was never born.

One day, me and my brother were watching a movie in his room when he pulled out these metal darts and started throwing them into my leg. I always tried to tell my parents about these things, but they always thought I was making it up.

I wasn’t just abused by my brother. I was abused by my father emotionally. He would always go so far to prove how stupid I was. He used to help me with my homework and he would yell at me the whole time. One year for Christmas, I got a toy helicopter and a tool bench. I took a screw driver and chipped a small piece of wood off the floor. He saw that and grabbed my helicopter and jumped on it so hard to where the batteries were bent.

I used to have really bad acne, and my dad always told me how my face looked like the moon or a golf ball. I used to be fat, and my brother would walk by me and grabbed my stomach. My parents would just sit there and laugh. I finally told my mom about my brother molesting me. She called me a liar. My dad was so convinced that my brother was a perfect child, he did everything with him. I was never invited to join them at all. I told my dad I wanted to join the marines. He kept telling me that I would never make it. He always made it seem like I was never good enough and could never do anything right. I was never as good as my brother.

I had to live with my brother hurting me for a long time. I never told anyone what he did because I was always afraid of them saying I was lying. To this day, my brother still puts me down and so does my dad. A year ago, my brother had a kid, and now I worry if he is doing the same stuff to him as he did to me. I told my brother that, and he said he did that because he never liked me.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Courtney P

by Courtney P
(Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada)

When I was 8 years old my mom was living with her boyfriend, me and my brother. One day my mom left for a few days and left me and my brother with her boyfriend and his friend. My mom's boyfriend's friend took my room and made me sleep with my mom's boyfriend, where he raped me. I didn't tell anyone for about a week. I finally told my mom. I was taken to a hospital, then to court. My mom's ex-boyfriend only got a slap on the wrist. Now he lost his job and he's not allowed out of Canada.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Desere

by Desere' Lynn
(Flint, Michigan)

When I was a little girl, my mom was married to my first step-dad. He was a really bad guy. I was about 3 1/2 when he started to come into my room at night when I would be over there. I had no clue what was going on. I remember him saying to "drop your pants." I was scared, but I did because I knew he could get very angry quickly. He was always yelling and swearing at us. That first night, he touched me and from then on it got to be more as I got older. I was only around him for 3 years. Sometimes he would hit me and my mom.

One time, I was eating with my little sister. He came out and started yelling and told me to take my thumb out of my mouth. Then he hit me in the face. It left bruises and scratches on my face. My mom never believed me, and still thinks I only imagined it. I know I didn't.

As I got older, I only saw my mom and her new husband 2-4 times a year, until I moved in with her. When I did, she called me and my sister and little brother names and swore at us. She would grab or hit my little brother. Then she would grab me and throw me onto my bed or something. I was always distressed and trying to protect my little brother because he was only 1-3 and he was mentally behind. I started to get very depressed.

I have learned that the past is the past, but it is never gone. Also forgiving is hard, but nothing will happen if you don't. Now I just got done with high school. I still have problems because of my mom and ex-stepdad.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Ray

by Ray
(Oshawa, Ontario, Canada)

My name is Ray. I was 15 years old when my EX-uncle sexually abused me. I am 54 years old now, and I'm still trying to deal with this.

I was 32 when I started to have "Flashbacks". The abuse I received still controls my every day life. I have had trouble interacting with people, trusting people, allowing people to get close, etc. For years I have been in therapy, support groups, seeing psychiatrists and one-on-one sessions with counsellors.

For so many years I thought I was to blame. I thought I did something to deserve what happened to me. It took years of therapy to realize I did not deserve it. I trusted this person, and he took advantage of that trust.

For a long time I asked myself why he chose my life to ruin. Maybe it was because he and his wife never had children of their own. But whatever the reason, I wonder how many other lives he's ruined.

I feel like I am in prison (an emotional prison) and this pervert put me there. For me there is no parole, but he is a free man.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anne

by Anne
(Illinois, USA)

It started when I was around 8. My brother, who was 11 years old and my cousin who was 13 at the time, would make me remove my clothes and dance for them.

Although I was warned by my parents about modesty, etc., it really made me feel good that they showed an interest in me.

Pretty soon, along with the dancing, they had me perform oral sex on both of them and made me promise not to tell. Fact is, I looked forward to doing it and even coaxed my brother a few times to continue with me on his own.

Today, I am in my late forties. Not a day goes past that I don't think about it, which makes me feel dirty and uneasy, especially when all the family gets together.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Sarah G

by Sarah G
(Norwich, England, UK)

My secret is out. I spoke out 3 years ago. I'm 32 years old. I've been abused in one way or the other half my life. I kept quiet, because I thought I would get in trouble. I didn't realize until 2 years ago that none of it was my fault. I was just a little girl. I didn't know right from wrong. I thought I was a special girl. Now, later on, I find out I am not special. It was wrong! I didn't ask for it in anyway. They took away my childhood. They nearly took my life when I was 19. I fought on. It has not been easy. But I'm still here, going strong, still fighting on. Now I'm stronger than them cuz I can tell my story without the tears, even though it's took me years.

I remember when my secret came out. My life turned upside down. It was hell. I could not do anything... had to get professional help. I was really low and scared. I didn't want to live. I stopped going out. I could not even speak on a phone (that may sound silly to people). I still have not beaten that yet!! I know I will one day. I have an eating problem too. I have had it since I was 19, but sometime last year, I was told that my body was shutting down. I was going die if I didn't start eating. At X-mas I weighed just 6 stone (84 pounds). I was skinny, I ached all over, cuz I was so ill. It affected me in many ways...my memory, I couldn't sleep, I would lie awake crying and wishing someone could take my pain away.

Then I done something really stupid. I tried to hang myself. That was the lowest I have ever been. I only stopped because my daughter came up the stairs. It made me realise the bad men are not worth it. I had to get control of my life quick, before it was too late. It made me come to my senses. They were not worth losing my life over!! I thought it was over!!! How wrong was I?

About 4 years ago, I met some one new. I told him my story. He tried to help me overcome my demons. I was with him about 6 months, then it all went wrong. He was no different from my family. I used to have a bad back, so he put deep heat on me to ease it, but when I woke up, (yes he got me knocked out with it) he was having sex with me against my will. It happened for about 6 months. Each time I would wake up, he was either having sex with me or touching me places it was not nice!! He didn't always wait till I was knocked out. He would just wait till I fell asleep. Then I woke up to having him on top of me. He was stronger than me. I could not stop him. As a result I became pregnant, twice. The first was an Ectopic pregnancy. I nearly died through that. Then I was pregnant again, but this time I miscarried. I was sad at the time, but now I know they happened for a reason. I would not have wanted a rapist's baby !! Yes, he got away with it. I was not brave enough to go to the police!!! I now wish I was!

I can't look back at the past, but I can look for a happy future!!!

I kept it a secret for years. I don't really know when it started. When I was 7, my uncle got caught doing things by my brother. My brother told my Nan and auntie what happened. They made me and my brother lie to our mum and dad. They said we were lying. Nothing got done either. I stopped seeing them there and then.

When I was 12, my brother had sex with me!!! While this was going on, my dad was abusing me too. Dad stopped when I was 15 and pregnant (not by any of them...I had boys force themselves on me at school).

At 19 I took an overdose. My youngest was 6 weeks old at the time!!! But I still kept quiet. I only stopped seeing Nan and Uncle and Auntie, but I carried on as normal with my brother and dad up until April 2 years ago, when I did tell someone. They blurted something out, and all hell broke lose. It broke my family.

I've seen councillors. I've even got a psychiatrist. I have no dad, no brother!!! I'm on tablets. I don't know how long for yet. I live each day as it comes. So there is my life (yeah, I missed some stuff out). I haven't got long enough!!! At the end of the day, I've got my 2 girls and they are my life. If I didn't have them, I wouldn't be here now. I would have given up long ago!!

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Alyria

by Alyria
(Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, Canada)

It started when I was 7. My brother, who is 2 years older than me, my mom, and me had just moved into a new house. It had a storage room type thing beneath the stairs in the basement. The first time my brother asked me to go into the room with him, I didn't question it. Even at only 9, he had a history of extreme violence. My mom and I had built a life around making sure he didn't get upset, to make sure no one ended up in the hospital, including my mom. I remember being cold, and being scared. I remember wanting to leave, but being too afraid of what would happen if I did. He started touching me, and it felt uncomfortable, and then it hurt. I ran out of the room. He didn't say or do anything about it, which I was thankful for. I didn't understand what had happened really, so I tried to forget it. But everyday after, he would try again and again. One day when my mom was out, he handcuffed me to his red bunk bed, and said, "Now try to leave the room." As we got older, he became more violent and harder to control. The smallest thing would set him off, and the sexual abuse continued.

Just after I turned 9, we were living somewhere new. My brother had built a cage under the stairs. He seemed to like being under stairs the most. By this time, my mom worked all the time and was hardly home, and we didn't have a babysitter. My mom said that he was at the age where we could be left alone safely, and she had run out of people who would stay with us due to my brother's violent behavior.

My brother would make me strip down to my underwear and sit in the cage after breaking glass in the bottom. Sometimes he would throw beer bottles through the bars of the cage so they would hit the back wall and shatter near or on me. The bottles shattering against the wall weren't that bad. It was very rarely that I would get cuts from those particular ones. Sometimes he would keep me in the cage all day until about 10 minutes before my mom would get off work. On those days, I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything till my mom got home. While my mom was at work, I was only allowed out of the cage that he so cautiously had locked, when he wanted to 'have fun.' By this time of course, I was still trying to fight him off, despite my many trips to the hospital and my mom's several visits to the hospital because I had pissed him off.

I remember the first time I successfully fought him off. My mom was already at work. When he came to get me from bed to go downstairs I kicked him in the genitals and ran to my friend's house (which was only a half block away). That night after supper, my mom was watching TV with me while I was trying to color. I looked up from my coloring book, and then all I felt was heat. It was like my head was suddenly overly hot and something was running all over my face, in my eyes and in my hair. My mom was panicking. My brother had attacked me with a hammer. I was taken to the hospital. When I got home, I couldn't tell my mom why it had happened, so I just went with the it-was-probably-an-accident theory for her, but she knew it wasn't. She yelled at my brother the next day. After he had beaten my mom with a metal vacuum cleaner pipe for making him miss his TV show as punishment for the hammer incident, he was sent to live at my grandmother's house (she was the only one he would never hurt or even raise his voice to).

The sexual abuse continued through forced visits to my grandmother's house. Though I loved spending time with my grandma, my brother was still there. He would tell my grandma and mom that we were watching a movie, though it would usually end in one of them coming to the door because they heard crying. The door was always locked, and he would tell them I had fallen off the bed, or that we got to rough play fighting. I felt like I had to go along with it. There was no way I could get the key to two locks and undo the chain lock before he could seriously hurt me, and I knew he would; he had done it before.

When I was 11 or 12 we moved to a small town called Dalmany. To my dismay, my brother came with us. My mom claimed that he had changed and wasn't as violent anymore. This would have been convincing for a while, if he wasn't still sexually abusing me. After we moved, I suffered sprained wrists, broken bones, fractures, and a couple broken ribs. As my mom didn't want to believe he was still violent because he wasn't violent to her anymore and because she never actually saw what happened, she said it was just me being clumsy, that I was a very "accident prone" child.

I met a boy while living in this town. I liked him very much, though he was around 17. Strangely enough, he was my brother's friend. He said he really cared about me. He told me all the time how much he really cared about me and that he wanted to be with me and that he wanted me to date him. I liked the attention. He protected me. He would always yell and make my brother stop beating me up when he was around. When he was the one to stop my brother from hitting me, nothing bad ever happened. It would just stop until the next time I pissed my brother off.

Now that my brother had this friend, (another boy) there were fewer days when he would abuse me. I was happy he was popular. But it wasn't long until he told this boy that I liked this best friend of his. He told him what he was doing to me.

One day, my brother took me out to the playhouse in the backyard. He began trying to take my clothes off. When I tried to leave he hit me and threw me on the bed, which wasn't very difficult for him considering that at 12, I weighed about 85 pounds and he weighed about 190-200 pounds. All I had on were my bra and underwear. As he was trying to take my underwear off, this guy I liked walked in. I was embarrassed, but so happy at the same time. All I could think was that wouldn't let this happen. That he would do something. That he would help me. That he wouldn't let him do this to me ever again. He did something, alright. He grabbed my arms and held me down while my brother took off my underwear and continued to rape me. It became a regular thing with this guy who had always said how much he cared and would never let anything happen to me. He and my brother would do whatever they wanted to me.

My brother claimed the basement. He told my mom he wanted to be more independent. She took it as a good sign. It had its own entrance through the garage, a kitchen, living room, dinning room and bathroom. The bedroom was like four of my bedrooms.

After a while, when I was about 13, my brother started having parties. He would invite his friends over and he would lock me in the room with some of them, always only one at a time. I figured it out pretty fast. I had to. If I wasn't 'nice' enough to them or if I didn't smile enough or if I just wasn't good enough, they would tell my brother. I have to say, it wasn't a big deal while everyone was there. After all, I still got to party with them and stuff. But when the party was over and they went home...well, let's just say I learnt real fast how to use make-up to cover up a bruise and find very believable reasons why I just couldn't go to volleyball practice that day. It finally ended about a week after I turned 15.

I am 19 now and have a 2-year-old son. I tried to tell my mom what happened, but she just said she didn't know, and pretends that she still doesn't know. My brother is now in jail for trying to rob a bank. When he phones my mom, she still expects me to talk to him, to say hi. She expects me to go and visit him. But I don't. I let my mom believe what she needs to in order to cope.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Wendy

by Wendy
(Bonaire, Georgia, USA)

I was never hit, never sexually abused, I was not neglected. I did however witness my stepfather hit, kick, punch, yell at, scream at, and beat my mom until she passed out. I have read many of the stories on this site, and none of them have been about witnessing abuse.

I thought I was over the hurt and helpless feelings, until I was asked to state one of my favorite memories as a child. I could only think of the hurt, feeling helpless, feeling alone (even though I have 4 sisters), feeling as though he would hit her one more time and she would die.

I am not sure how to make peace with this matter. I would like to move on with my life, but some days it is all I seem to think about. I pray for all who have to endue any type of abuse and I pray that the abusers see their wrong and stop abusing.

Note From Darlene: Wendy, I moved your story to this location, rather than leave it with the general comments, in order to provide an opportunity for my visitors and me to help you with our supportive and encouraging words. You'll find the link a couple of lines down.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Pammy

by Pammy
(Alberta, Canada)

Brotherly Love:  
I was 8, my brother was 12; we were at my grandparents' house, staying for a weekend. We had set up a tent in their yard. My parents let us stay in it together, along with my cousins: a girl same age as me and a boy same age as my brother. My brother loved my girl cousin. They got along great and he always treated her nice. Me - he was not interested in me. He treated me with dislike and was cruel.

One night, my girl cousin was sleeping and my brother asked me to let him feel me. He said that he would love me if I let him and my cousin touch me. I would have done anything for my brother. So of course I let him. All I remember was him telling me to relax and do what he wanted. From there on, it was intercourse, when and whenever.

I was very scared during the nights. I would take hours to crawl into my parents' room just to sleep on their floor; if the floor creaked, then my parents would wake up and tell me to go back to bed. Instead I went into my brother's bed, but of course there was a cost. The abuse continued....

Then when I was 10, my grandparents (father's parents) were staying with us. While my parents and grandmother were out, my grandfather, whom I loved greatly, came into my room and proceeded to put his hands up my shirt. He told me that I was a pretty girl and growing. He wanted to go into my pants to see if I had "hair" yet. I told him to stop and he did, but not after telling me that I was a bad girl. I waited a bit, then left my room and went downstairs. I told my brother, who had been watching TV at the time - I told him that Grandpa touched me. He said that he did not believe me, and that if I was telling the truth, I needed to tell Dad. (This is the same brother who was abusing me as well.)

When my father came home, I called him downstairs and told him; he said, "So long as it was Grandpa, there was nothing wrong with it." I was devastated. If he did not believe me and said it was okay, what would he say about my brother?

The abuse finally stopped with my brother when I was 12 and had started my period. I shut away the abuse, choosing not to acknowledge it or believe it - I made up a story to my friends about a boyfriend to whom I lost my virginity...I think I believed it myself.

My life was a mess, drinking too much, I did 30 days in jail, countless one night stands, I was bulimic, and very very angry. It was the birth of my son at age 26 when things came crumbling down. I tried to kill myself 3 times by overdosing. All I could think about was how I was going to protect him if I could not protect myself? How could I fight for him when I could not fight for myself?

My husband told me that I needed to get help. I went into weekly sessions for the next 2 years. I told my parents; and they asked my brother about the abuse he inflicted on me. He admitted it freely. They still have a wonderful relationship with him, and I still feel like I am the outcast of the family.

I am the only one with problems. I am the only one that needs fixing. My father says that he can't remember me telling him about my grandfather; my brother remembers. So I am trying to heal and move on. I no longer speak with my brother. My parents cannot speak of him to me. I am still the only one in therapy.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Jessica

by Jessica
(West Virginia, USA)

School Speech to Remember: 
I am not from Canada, but from the United States. I was working on an honors speech class - problem solutions speech. My topic was on Sexual Child Abuse, and I was looking for a good website and I found this one. Reading all this stuff made me remember how it was when I was sexually abused. I'm gonna be 16 only three days after Christmas 2007, but I still remember like it was yesterday.

I was living with my mother in apartments. My mother, who of course had no idea of who her father was or had never seen him, leaned on my uncle's father. He was tall, had very thin short light blond hair. It reminded me of baby chick hair because it was so thin and it looked like it glided in the air as he moved. And his eyes were so gentle. I had always known him as Granddaddy, for I was only young when I had met him, before I knew the truth about him not being my mother's father, before I knew other things.

I can't remember how it all began, but he started to mess with me when I was only 4. Touching me, pressing his hand on me, whispering in my ear fun little games, always wanting me to play with him and go places with him. I had not known what this was going to lead up to. One time, when things began to be really sexual, he started to touch me in places I had no idea he was not supposed to be touching. He touched me between the legs and told me to take off my pants so he could rub me. I never told my mother because I didn't know what kind of situation it would cause. But as time started to go on, I knew that what he was doing was so wrong. I was only 5 years old, but I had a lot of common sense, partly because I needed it.

When I was at the house with my mother, she would leave me alone with my baby brother, or my granddaddy would be there, or a lousy baby-sitter who would make me take care of my brother. My mother was not responsible at all. She would drink, party, do drugs, and bring home many many different guys. I would never stay in the same place for a year, or even half a year. My mother started taking me to Granddaddy's house on the weekends or on nights when she wanted to go out. But his house was 4 hours away from where we were. I remember I was crying so bad one time because I didn't want to go. She asked me why, but all I said was that I hated him and did not like him at all. She still made me go. When I got there, it was really late and I was really tired. He made me sleep in his bed. I kept telling him that I hated him, that I didn't like him. I started crying, until we got to the bed. He told me to take off my clothes and to get in the bed. And then he started to play with me that whole night.

When I was in the second grade, my mother and I moved in with him. But one night, I lay in bed with no PJs on. My mother came in and pulled off the covers. She asked me why my PJs were off. I told her that I was very hot. Two weeks later, she asked me the same question again. That's when I first told her that he was doing this to me. She got so mad that we left that instant. It was a 4-hour-long drive that I was happy to be on, to go home again to see my daddy and his parents, whom I called Grandma and Pappy. Only then, when we got there, we went to the police office for a long time. Most of my family was there to support me. I only came to realize that this man had done the same thing to my mother and she denied it all her life. But I live with my dad now, and it's for the better.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story from D.J.

by D.J.
(British Columbia, Canada)

When I was three till about five or six, I was watched by relatives a few times a week. My cousin used to have me come into his room and he'd ask me to lie on the ground. He would then lay on me and move around. He would offer me things if I'd lay down with him. This went on for way too long.

I was so ashamed and scared growing up. I have blocked most of the memories out of my mind, but now that I am an adult with my own children, the thoughts and pain are coming back. I feel paranoid for anyone to watch my kids, unless I totally trust them. I have suffered in so many ways over the past many years. I have panic attacks. I suffered from Bulimia. I used to jump into bed over and over again, sometimes more than 100 times, all through my childhood (OCD – Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). Now I am on antidepressants, and life still isn't quite right. I still obsess over everything. I am an addicted shopper and it seems with everything I do, it becomes my complete focus.

I grew up with fantastic immediate family, but they never let me deal with this as a child. Now as an adult, I realize all the things that I missed out on from my youth. Although I have many challenges everyday, I am a very lucky woman with my own fantastic family now, but every once in a while I feel the need to talk about my experience. I would never expose my abuser—he's a married man with a lovely family—but I am going to get myself some help.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Carol

by Carol
(Las Vegas, Nevada, USA)

I was abused by my father. He raped me and sold me to this other man. I was 11 years old. He beat me. I am 44 now. I left home when I was 16 and never went back. I still have bad dreams, and I have to tell myself they are just dreams. There is no recovery of this. The pain never goes away. I wish someone would tell me how to end the pain. I am a survivor, but there is no getting over it, is there?

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Skinny

by Skinny
(Ontario, Canada)

The first I remember was being kicked in the mouth at the age of six. My father bought a farm around that time and made me work like a man, if I didn't he would slap me and kick me around. I tried all my life to make him happy, but all he ever did was beat on me and make me work. He gave me a sick calf because he said it was going to die. The calf grew into a full-sized steer before he sold it and kept the money.

I grew up knowing I was not as good as others, taught that other people were more important just by the way my father treated me. I could never do anything right, it was just done and that's all, but if it wasn't done right I would get a beating of some form. I had a bladder condition and very often wet the bed, but my father was sure I had control of the matter and would strap my bare legs with an electrical cord. So badly did I crave love and acceptance that sexual abuse became a common attention.

I lived in a daydream most of my school days for want of a better life. When I finally got away from home, I continued a pattern of trying hard to be accepted by peers. I drank steady, did drugs and ran around with other misguided people. Confusingly, at the same time I had a reputable position at work and was engaged to a very wonderful lady who worked for a police force. An accident in my Cadillac put a whole new twist on my life, and in a distorted neurotic state, I turned away from stability to be a wandering free spirit, still drinking and drugging in an effort to find myself.

For years I traveled a path of self-destruction, hoping, often praying, to be rescued from endless scorn and psychotic terror. In my own mind and heart, I know life would have been more understandable and tolerant if not for what I went through in the controlling, hurtful grip of my father.

I don't hate anybody. I just feel sad that child abuse is a reality of life that causes much harm even after the last physical blow has been dealt.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kelsey

by Kelsey
(Holt, Michigan, USA)

I am 16 years old. My uncle molested me when I was 10 years old. I had stayed the night at his house, playing with my cousins. He was always staring at me. He called me names like "daddy long legs" and "skinny princess." I was tall for my age and was like a foot taller than his daughter who was a year older than me, so I guess that's why he called me those names. After I took a shower and was walking to my cousin's bedroom, he told me that I had to sleep with him in his bed since my aunt was gone with my mom for the night. I didn't care too much because I was only 10 years old and thought nothing about it. I was in bed for a little while, almost asleep when my uncle came in to go to bed. I couldn't help but watch him get undressed, because I think he wanted me to watch, and he was totally naked when he hopped in bed. He knew I was awake and wanted me to cuddle with him. I was scared because he was naked, but he didn't mind at all. He held me super close to him. I could feel his thing on me. He asked me if I wanted a massage, and I just shrugged my shoulders. He took my clothes off and started rubbing my back and legs. Before I knew it he was kissing me and even licking me. I was shocked. I laid there motionless while he did as he pleased to my body. He flipped me over so I was lying on my back while he kissed my front side. He went down on me and gave me oral sex and everything else he could do to me. I didn't get any sleep the whole night because my sick and perverted uncle had to molest a ten year old girl who trusted him before that night.

The next day, I sat on the couch and prayed that my mom would show up. I didn't feel safe to sleep on the couch. My cousins thought I was sick or something and just watched TV with me. Finally my mom came and I could go home and sleep.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Lori

by Lori
(Austin, Texas, USA)

My father:  
When I was about 13 years old, my father came back into my life after getting divorced when I was 6 years old. He and my mother got back together. I was excited to have a dad in my life. He wanted to get to know me again, and ended up taking me to the movies every Friday night.

We always sat in the back row and he would rub my leg and arm. A few weeks later, he would be touching my body all over during the movie. Eventually, he would put his hand down my pants and rub me. He did this every movie, every week. He had me scared to death to say anything. I didn't want to lose my father again.

A few weeks later, during the movie he got down between my legs and performed oral sex on me, right there in the theater. I was scared of having someone see him doing this to me, but at the same time, wanted to scream as loud as I could. After the movie, in the car, he did it again to me for almost an hour and kissed my body all over. This continued every week. He even had me do stuff to him during the movie and in the car afterwards. He would do stuff to me at home as well, when he had the chance.

I finally told my mom when I was 14, and she kicked him out of the house. She didn't want to report him though. I don't know why. I wish I could get the courage to tell the police what he did to me for almost 2 years.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Royal

by Royal
(Littlerock, Arizona, USA)

I'm 26 with 4 children: Leah, Raven, Kiana, Gennises. I always told myself that I wouldn't do what my parents did to me. At the age of 1, I was raped by my dad, Dan. I didn't know anything growing up, but I knew what they were doing to me was wrong.

At 4, my mother had my sister Rachel. I found myself in an awkward position, asking slowly about everything, but they seem not to answer. Once my sister was old enough to get in trouble, she started to get beat. One night I said that this wasn't fair. My mom said life wasn't fair. She said it wasn't fair how dad always beat her.

Now 6, I still didn't understand why dad always hit us. My sister Rachel, age 4, saw Dad beat Mom. She went and poured bleach on Dad, Dad got so mad that he poured bleach back on her, left her hungry for 2 days, beat her, raped her, and Mom didn't do anything about it.

Age 9, Dad beat me and Rachel. I packed all our stuff. All there was left were our beds. We ran to my friends Karolyn and Kaitlyn's house. I begged Mrs. T, their mother, not to bring us back home. She asked why. I told her I'd prove that my parents abused me.

At 11, I moved back in. I called Dad Dan. He didn't want me calling him that, so I kept on. I was taking a bath. He came in, went to the bathroom, took his clothes off, and raped me. This time, I fought back. Mom was yelling for him to stop. He tried to drown me.

At 15, I moved in with Grandma Jean. I got pregnant 2 years later. My dad wanted me to forgive him. I never did. When I told anyone I could that he beat me, even police, he always said "she's lying", and when they left he would beat me and beat me. I told Grandma Jean. Now he is in jail.

Now 11 years later, he wants to act like a father and a grandfather. I write to him, but I'm never trusting, forgiving, or thanking him for nothing. Now my mother lives in New York City. The kids still keep in touch. I told my children never to hit your kids.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story-Francine 21-08-07

by Francine
(San Ramon, California, USA)

Those Who Were Supposed to Protect Me:  
Even when I was little, Grandma Olga and her husband/sidekick, Grandpa Anatoly (a.k.a. "Big Guy") would come over to visit me. Sure, my grandparents were good to me, but they never stopped the beatings from my parents! They felt that every kid needs to be punished when he/she misbehaves, otherwise, does bad.

One time last year when Grandma came over, I immediately ran up to her for some help because my parents were brutally beating the shit out of me. But all she said was, "If you stopped being a troublemaker for good, then your life would at least be a bit easier. Just because you don't like your parents at all, this doesn't mean you get to make up stories like this. No granddaughter of mine will ever be saying things like that!"

I hated my grandparents after that incident. They were supposed to protect me, but instead they betrayed me!

I was only 7 1/2 years old when my mother, in a crazy fit of rage, beat my pet mouse to death with a flyswatter. It was a white mouse that I'd been raising after I had discovered him eating the seeds next to the peach tree in my former backyard (I used to live next to Golden View when I saw him). That little mouse would crawl up to my lap, only for me to pet him. That mouse must've been my only friend, outside of school. Anyway, that incident made me realize that whenever I tried to take an animal home to keep as a pet, my mother killed it!

Whenever I tried to watch cartoons (I was still a kid), my parents turned off the TV and then either beat me or locked me up in my bedroom, where I had been kept for 5 1/2 years. They won't allow me to love anything!

Back in the seventh grade, my mother sent me to school in turtlenecks everyday. It was her way to humiliate me! The kids would laugh at me and call me "Turtleneck Girl". This continued until one of my para-educators, Mrs. S, took the matter into her own hands because she was very concerned (actually, I'm autistic). She sent me to the ladies' locker room and had me change my (green) turtleneck into my P.E. shirt. When I thanked her, she immediately sent me back to class, but not before she firmly warned me, "In the future, I don't want anyone making fun of you anymore. Got it?", to which I agreed. When my mother came to pick me up, she saw me in the P.E. shirt and immediately was furious. First of all, she stormed out of the car and screamed at Mrs. S for interfering and said, "I will raise my daughter in my own way, so mind your own beeswax, Cindy!" Then she took me home and beat me up for accepting charity.

But now that I've had to turn to the psychologist at school, I feel that things are slowly starting to get better. So if you need help for yourself/your loved one, do what Mrs. S did, cuz she saved my life!

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Francine 03-09-07

by Francine
(San Ramon, California, USA )

What Falls on Deaf Ears:  
My parents were extremely brutal, although my dad doesn't hit me as much as my mom did. My mother was raised with extreme physical abuse and severe emotional abuse, both of which were at the hands of her parents.

One time, when my mother was either 12 or 13, she tried to run her own brother with a knife, for which her parents brutally beat, humiliated and even grounded her for several years, so she decided to take out these horrible feelings upon me. My parents said to me, "We're going to teach you about the beauty of pain and you are going to be our slave for the rest of your life!" They always treated me and my brother as hired help, forcing us to serve their every whim. Well, not as much him as they did me! I came from a very dysfunctional family!

As for my relatives on my mother's side (some live in NY while others live in Israel), they wouldn't help me because they felt that every child had to be disciplined whenever he/she does "bad". I hate those people for not saving me from my brutal parents. Even my grandmother Olga always chooses to believe my parents over me! I also have some friends who were abused, too, although their abuse at the hands of their parents was not as severe as mine really was!

My uncle Oleg (my mom's brother) had witnessed my mother bullying me only a few times, but he really couldn't do anything because whenever Oleg (or my brother Allen) tried to stop my mother from hurting me, she said to him, "If you stop me, I'll beat you up as well!"

As for Grandma Olga, like my dad, she and my grandpa, (the Big Guy) just stood/sat back and did nothing. They never tried to stop my mother. They didn't even hug me or tell me they loved me. "You guys! What do you think you were doing, making your mother so angry like that? Will you smarten up for once? Now you'd better run off to bed before Momma sees you, sweetie" was all they would ever say to me.

I hate to say this, but this is all I could ever say about those people who were supposed to wake up, open their eyes and help me. Thank you so much for listening.

Thanks for your site, Darlene!

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Sad, But Happy Now

by Sad, But Happy Now
(Tampa, Florida, USA)

A girl that was sad, now happy!  
When I was ten years old, I had a mom that did not love me. She called me names and she told me, "You're fat" and "You're ugly." My dad did not love me either. He hit me and called me names too. I was so sad. I cried a lot. I always used to think of my mom and dad as my heroes when I was 4 years old.

Now I am 16 years old. I am happy to say I am now on my own. ^_^ I have a boyfriend that I love a lot.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story from Kailum

by Kailum C
(Kitchener, Ontario, Canada)

From the age of birth to five my life was good. I lived with my mother then. My mom and dad separated previously and had an official divorce when I was five. The battle for custody started and my dad won. My mom was an "unfit" mother, yet my dad had been reported to F and CS (Family and Child Services) for beating us on weekend visits.

My dad started beating me more frequently than my sister. If I told the truth, I got beat. If I told a lie, I got beat. I could never do anything right, so I started to act out at school. I was a little terror. So the frequent beatings turned into everyday beatings. On top of the physical and emotional abuse from my dad, I got emotionally abused by my stepmom.

I am not saying my mom had no faults. She did wrong too, but she never laid a hand on me or my sister. When I was seven, my mom's boyfriend sexually abused me for almost a year. This is the only time in my life I can ever remember my dad being supportive of me.

The beatings went on, and when my stepmom left my dad--I was 10--they got worse. My dad ended up beating me so bad, my sister and I were put in foster care. I hated it. I ended up becoming so angry that I would punch holes in the wall.

A year later, my grandma came and brought me into her house. For the first year or two I was the worst. I threw temper tantrums almost every day. I was just plan hurting inside and I didn't know any other way to deal with it. I lived with my grandma six years. We had an argument and it was the "straw that broke the camels back" as the saying goes. I was sent back to live with my dad. That was when I was 16, almost 17. The first month was great. I thought he really changed. Then things went downhill. We argued a lot. He tried to control me and I would rebel. He would then belittle me. It hurt. My grandma never did that, she treated me with the utmost respect.

Once, we got in such an argument that he beat me. After that I lost all respect and trust for him. He started grounding for a month and that turned into 2 then 3. At the end of three months, I went to the library and came home on time and he told me I was grounded for another month. I couldn't take it. I lost my temper and called him a f-ing a**hole. He kicked me out. I am now back with my mom and I am the happiest I have been for the past year.

I can honestly say I do not hate my dad. I do not like him, but I do not hate him. I only love him because he is my dad and for no other reason. I have lost all respect for him and I do not trust him.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Paula

by Paula
(Topeka, Kansas, USA)

I don't ever remember feeling good about myself. From my earliest memory, all I can remember feeling is that there was something wrong with me. I felt like an alien. I obviously wasn't human because I couldn't ever do anything right. I never fit in with other children, and to this day I feel as if I am standing on the outside of a bubble. Everyone else in the world is in that bubble. I am just looking in, knowing that I don't deserve to be in there, where the normal people live.

My father was verbally and physically abusive to me all my life. He would come in my room when I was sleeping, throw off the covers and start yelling and beating me. He complained about everything I did. It wasn't right, good enough, etc. If I moved one little thing that belonged to him, even a pencil on his desk, I would be punished severely. One time, I accidentally broke his radio and when he found out he pinned me to the wall and tried to punch me in the face. I turned my head at the last moment and instead he punched a hole in the wall. He was a psychology student when I was younger and would use what he learned to experiment on me. I was treated like a prisoner in my own home.

I watched a tv show one night when I was about 11. It was a story of a retarded girl who had been sterilized as a child so that she wouldn't have children. She had been sent to a mental institution to live. My father told me that he was going to send me there and that I would never have babies if he could help it. Then he laughed. I was hysterical and ran to my mom, screaming. She always tried to stop the abuse from happening but never succeeded. As much as I know he was the one responsible, I still can't forgive my mother for not getting us away from him.

Today, I am proud to say that I have three wonderful children who will never feel the way I feel. I have not followed in my father's footsteps and have done everything I can to break the cycle of abuse. I refuse to speak to my father until he can admit what he did to me and apologize. I deserve it.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Maggie

by Maggie
(Walkerton, Ontario, Canada)

I started being physically abused at age 2. It got worse when I started kindergarten at age 5. I was being beaten with belts and extension cords, slapped and knocked into things, and thrown across the room. I sometimes went without anything to eat. I was an outcast at school. I never had clean clothes, and sometimes I had to wear the same clothes for 3 days in a row. I was hit with sticks, switches, and leather belts. They didn't care where it hit me. A lot of times it would catch my back, but most of the time it was my face.

When I was 3 years old I started being sexually abused by my dad. He would come into my room and say to me that this is what all little girls got. That it's what Daddy's do to little girls, but that I had to keep it a secret because people would be jealous. He told me I was special, and that I was his "little toy." I didn't know better.

He walked into my room one night, laid me down on the bed, took off my clothes, and he undressed. I remember he was kissing me all over. He was rubbing me and he put his fingers inside me. I was crying. I kept telling him to stop it hurt, but he kept saying he had to do it because it's what Daddy's do. He sat me up on the bed and stuck it in my mouth. I remember pushing away, but he held my head and forced me to have oral sex with him. He did that for awhile and then did oral sex with me and penetrated me. I remember crying and screaming. This went on all night.

Each time he would walk in my room I would hide and curl in the corner. I was scared. I remember another time when I was 8 years old, he had friends over and they took turns. I was done front and back many times.

When I was 13, I remember one time coming home from school and they were in my room, 5 of them, including my dad. They had a camera and they videotaped it. My dad forced me to do it. I was raped over and over by the other guys and my dad had his hands all over me, inside and out. His mouth was everywhere. I ended up getting pregnant, but had a miscarriage because they punched me in the belly.

I was raped, sexually abused, physically and emotionally abused so bad that in 5th grade, I started cutting myself to relieve the pain. I was terrified and scared. Now I have a child of my own. I live in Canada, and am married to a wonderful man. I am doing great. I will never forget what they did to me, and I will never get over it. I will never forgive them.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Vicki

by Vicki
(Johannesburg, South Africa)

Not ashamed, but feeling guilty:  
I was fondled by a much older man (not family) at the age of about 5 or 6, and again by another man at the age of about 10, and yet another at the age of 12 or 13. The scary part is that I always thought it was no big deal, since I enjoyed it each and every time (especially the oral sex).

I remember starting to masturbate at the age of about 8 and still do it today (I am 30). I lost my virginity at the age of 15. I had a whole lot of sexual partners, until I fell pregnant when I was 19. I am married with 2 kids, but I would much rather masturbate than make love to my husband. Also, I look at other men and would want to have sex with them, but only that, no commitment.

Is this all because of my childhood experiences?

Note from Darlene: What Vicki describes and asks is not unusual. I have posted this story and question because I am frequently approached with this highly sensitive and discomforting subject. Please keep this in mind and read my comments before providing your advice, or your words of encouragement and support.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Sarah F

by Sarah F
(Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada)

When I was 12 1/2 years old, a friend of my mom's was living with us. My sister and I looked up to him as a father figure. Sometimes he would baby-sit us, and after she was gone, he would either come into our bedroom or else he would be waiting in the basement. He would make me take off my pants and he would stick himself inside my ass and then I would have to use my mouth on him. This kept on happening for a couple of years and then it stopped.

Until one day, when we went over to his place. He told my sister to go watch tv and then he made me perform oral sex on him. There were even times before he moved out that he made me do this on him before I could have a Freezy or something like that. My mom never even knew that it was going on, because it would only happen if she wasn't there.

I am now 27 years old and I still have trouble trusting guys.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Amanda

by Amanda
(Dawsonville, Georgia)

I don't know when my mom's emotional abuse started. When I was in eighth grade, mine and my mom's relationship got real bad. It was probably because that was when my sister got more physically abusive. She would hit me and shove me. Once she hit me with the phone and left bruises on my elbows. Another time, she chased me out of her room with a hanger and started hitting me with it (but she was allowed in my room; Mom's rules). She's two years younger than me and I could never stand up to her because my mom would get mad. She never believed anything my sister did was wrong, so I never told on her. My mom would tell me that I was lying if I ever told on my little sister. So I stopped talking to my mom.

After that, I never seemed to do anything right. I was always selfish and mean and rude. I think the comment that hurt the most was when she told my I was the most hateful child in the world. It hurt even worse when I told her that it hurt me badly and she just said, "Well, you are." We weren't even fighting and she wasn't mad at me, that I knew of. She would call me a b****, and she said if I got my eyebrows done I would look like a hooker.

I never thought my mom would hit me, but she did. It truly felt like a metal baseball bat was colliding with my head. My food went flying across the table and I was almost knocked out of my chair. I was really scared. She's also hit my arms and legs, but my head is where she likes to hit me the most. And I should note that she doesn't hit me often, but when she does, it really hurts.

She hasn't hit me since my dad found out that she had hit me. My parents are divorced and they despise each other so much that they can barely talk. That is until my dad found out about all the stuff she was doing to me. He was furious!

I'm still going through this, but I only have a few more years. My dad has told me that I could move in with him, but I really don't want to leave my friends, so I haven't. I don't talk to my mom or my sister, at all. If we do happen to end up in a conversation, it turns into a fight. It's always my fault. I never win and she always gets the last word. That's why it's better if I keep my mouth shut.

Hopefully, one day she'll see that she's really hurt me and she'll apologize. Until then, I can't do anything but forgive her.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Connie

by Connie
(Missouri, USA)

November 15, 2007: In order to clear up some misconceptions regarding Connie's story, I've written an important message below. Please scroll down to "Note from Darlene" for that important message.

What follows is my very crazy story. If I didn't live it, I might not believe it!

I was born in 1983. Before I turned one, I was thrown across a room by my father, resulting in a severe head injury that required a shunt to be put in my head to drain blood from around my brain. I also was put on morphine for the pain for a little over a year and had to be weaned off. I was sent to live with a foster family until I was three.

I don't know how old I was when my father first started to sexually abuse me. I was too young to know. But the first time I remember my mom "finding out," she took me to a counsellor. I opened up and told the counsellor what happened. Not long after that, my mother made me go back to her and tell her I was a liar and that nothing had ever happened. For years I was molested by my father, and my mother knew! She would tell me to wear shorts and that it was my fault that he did it and that I was a little slut. She treated me like "the other woman." I could see the hate in her eyes. It made me so sad that my own mother hated me...there were many times she would "find out."

One time we had people living with us, and they saw my father in my room...I don't remember how she got out of that one. But the sexual abuse finally ended when my mother found a new guy. She used me as an excuse to get rid of him. She acted as if she never had a clue, and had just found out. It worked. She got rid of him and got to play the role of a victim.

Five years later when I was 15 (this is where the story starts to get confusing for me), I started dating this guy for 2 weeks. His mom sat us down and said that they were moving. My mom told him to come stay with us. I was totally shocked!

He lived with us for about 8 months. One day he got drunk and raped me. He then "pretended" to pass out on top of me. I ended up pregnant. I was only 16. I was scared to death, so I did the unthinkable, and gave myself a miscarriage. He was apologetic and said it would never happen again. But about 2 months before I turned 17, he raped me again. I couldn't bear to go through another miscarriage...he was back at his dad's after that. I didn't hear from him till I was 5 months along, when I went to his job and found out that he was with another girl.

When I found out I was pregnant again, I called one of my mothers ex boyfriends that I was close to. Before he hung up with me he said, "If you ever go to the hospital, make sure you tell them you're allergic to morphine." I was so upset at the time, I didn't ask him why. I just said ok.

When I went in to have my daughter, I remembered and told the nurse I couldn't have morphine. My mother was standing right there and didn't say a word. I had almost forgotten all about it. My boyfriend at the time (not the baby's daddy) saw that what was going in my I.V. was morphine. I called the nurse in and told her I couldn't have that. They took me off of it after three days of having it. I didn't sleep for a week after that. I went through what I believe was withdrawal. I didn't know what was going on, so I freaked out and ended up in a mental hospital for about a week. (I still don't know how morphine works. If anyone could tell me what the effects are of this drug in my case that would be greatly appreciated.)

My mother's ex boyfriend who had told me to make sure I didn't receive morphine came and saw me soon after this incident. I told him I was given morphine at the hospital when I had my daughter. I realized at that moment that I had told the staff that I was allergic to morphine and that they had given me a bracelet. I also remembered that I didn't have that bracelet when I left the hospital, which brought on another memory (funny how the brain works). I wear glasses and had had a C-section. My mother had taken my glasses for me. When I asked for them back, she started looking through her pockets of her flannel and pulled out something red and something else that looked like scissors. She got all panicky and left the room. My mom smokes pot, so at the time I just figured she brought her pipe and was freaked out she had just pulled it out in the hospital. I now believe with a 100% certainty that she pulled out my bracelet and the scissors she used to cut it off. There is no way that damn thing just fell off my wrist! But my question is why. Why did she take that bracelet off me? I have thought of some reasons, but they are as crazy as this whole story!

I'm just so tired of thinking about all of this. I know it's an unbelievable story, but I lived it. I wish I had a reason for all of it. I believe my ex boyfriend got me pregnant for a reason. I believe my mother gave him money to do it—my money, actually, about $4,000.

There is just no reasonable explanation for it. Or is there? I have thought of everything from my mother trying to gain custody of my daughter so her and her new husband could have a child, to her trying to make me look incompetent to take my money. And it's not even a lot! Or maybe she just wanted to see me suffer because she hates me that much.

The reason I wrote this is that I need someone's opinion. And the crazy thing is, this isn't even my whole story, this is just what's bothering me the most. I know I need counseling just to straighten it all out and move past it, but I don't even know where to start with all that. And I have absolutely no money for that.

Note from Darlene, November 15, 2007: There is a great deal of confusion regarding Connie's story that I would like to clear up here:

• Connie was NOT embroiled in a custody battle for her daughter with her mother.
  
• Connie's daughter is NOT in any danger.
  
• Connie does NOT live with her mother. She lives with her husband and her daughter.

Please, before making any comments on this, or other stories, consider the story carefully. Don't make assumptions. Assumptions only serve to create frustration for the story contributor, frustrations that go against the purpose of posting here. Before posting your comments using the form below, by all means, click onto the link that will take you to the existing comments. Just don't assume that those comments represent the truth of the story.

I want these support forums to provide support and encouragement to the people courageous enough to share what has often never before been shared. I've said this before, I'll say it again: Make this a soft place for those courageous people to fall.

I thank you all for your contributions and your understanding. Together we can and will make this site a profound and insightful experience for child abuse survivors all over the world.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Chanelle

by Chanelle
(England, UK)

Visions. Voices. Blurred images. All is combined, in a fiery trio of a flashback.

Pain. This heart-wrenching, tearing-apart, intense, soul-wrenching pain. The pain of having parents who don't love you. For twenty one years, living the illusion that you were the problem. Always introspecting, reflecting on ways to soften, soothe, encourage them to love you. So you try and be the pleaser, the protector, the saviour. All ends up futile. They still find reasons to reject you. They manage. They succeed. Twenty one years of living a lie. It's as though you awaken from a coma. Literally there, emotionally inexistent. Invisible. Dust. They hate you. They hate your essence. They hate your very being. Your existence. Everything about you. You.

Those foggy, piercing, unclear, voices. Those haunting words: "Why were you born? All you ever do is trouble." Then there are more voices. Louder, more of a shrieking kind of sound: "I cannot wait for the day you die. That day will mark the first day of peace. We'll all celebrate with a huge party."

Images. Floaty images cascading over my mind. Above me. I am not there. I choose to suppress. Suppress the torment. Deny. Happy facade. Happy exterior. Fake. Concealed plants, of truth, pain, rejection, seeps in. The memory wants some acknowledgement of validity. Self-doubt creeps in. Denial sucks out the truth. Like a vacuum. Sapping the truth.

Chest pains. Difficulty breathing. Brick-like sensations in the throat. You wanna cry. You wanna cry for that baby. The little innocent baby that felt invisible. In despair. Unimportant. You wanna cry for the little girl with the thick bronze-like hair bouncing, and those deep, intricate green eyes that witnessed so much. Those emotionless, empty, hollow expressions from Mummy. The leather belt prying on your smooth backside. Those sarcastic verbal and non-verbal messages from Mummy about you "never making it" and emphasising her point that you will definitely be a spinster "coz, who is gonna want you anyway?"

That soul-wrenching cry emanating from your little siblings mouth. That piercing scream for help. For protection. So you run in. Too late. The tears already accumulating on their satin, pure, holy faces...oh how you want to vacuum out their pain, how you want to comfort them. Wrap them up in cotton wool, in myriads of layers and protect them. Envelop them with warmth, love. Unconditional support. To love them for everything they consist of. Their holy, satin traits. Their holy, satin features.

I'm nauseous of slavery. The slavery of trying too hard to obtain the approval of my mummy and daddy and that of others...I am nauseous. I am nauseous. I am sick of vomiting out the sarcasm, the hurt, the abuse, the pain of seeing my precious siblings in pain, oh so much pain. Now, I want freedom.

I want and aspire to be free. To free myself of others' conceptions of me. I want to rejoice in my own identity. To be me, to love me, to care for me, to heal me. To energise myself, so that I am overflowing with love and giving, that will automatically seep into my gorgeous siblings and those satin features and bold, pain-filled eyes of those who have suffered pain. The kind of pain that haunts you for eternity. But also the kind of pain that is softened, soothed with just one iota of unconditional love, warmth, validation of the self. The precious, holy, self.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Gabriela

by Gabriela
(Australia)

I am 18 years old. I am smart, beautiful and I can make people laugh. God blessed me, but I paid a price for what he gave me and for what I have achieved now that I'm older, in return for my innocence, my childhood. I am scared to write all of this, but I might as well write if I can't say it, speak it. I'm not crying. I think recently in the last year is the only time I've cried over my childhood. I am strong. I control my future and who I am and no one can take that away.

I came to Australia from a war torn country with my family, my mother, my brothers, my sister and a man. The man is not my father. He is not my ONLY abuser, but only one of them. He is my brother's father. I don't know my father, but I loved this man, I remember that. I would have been 4 years old, and I loved to suck my thumb. It comforted me. It was the most natural thing in the world for a baby, a child. This man hit me; he hit me so hard, I can't remember how hard. He hit me because I sucked my thumb.

One night, I was alone with my sister. The man was there. He saw me sucking my thumb, so he made me put chilli on it and ordered me to suck it. He would say such cruel things to me. I was "scum" because I was a 4-year-old child who liked to suck her thumb; that makes me laugh.

One night, I was sitting at home and we were watching TV. He was sitting on the other couch opposite me or next to me, I'm not sure, but he threw a chair. I started to cry and cry and I ran to my mother. She asked me what happened and I told her. I told her how that man had hit me with a chair. They fought. He left that night and didn't come back. I remember my little brother crying for his papa. He left, and I wonder till this day if my mother blames me.

After the man left, things became so hard for my mother. She couldn't speak English and she had no money. She told me this year when we were talking and having a heart-to-heart that she thought about killing herself and killing me and my siblings. We lived by a river when we first came to Australia. She told me she wanted to drown all of us. Things where so hard back then, and the only thing that stopped her was the fear she would live and we would die, or she would die and we would live. So our family began a new and difficult start, and so did a new kind of abuse.

I asked my mother when I was 10 or 11 what I could do to make all the bad dreams and memories go away. She told me to pray, pray to God and beg him, ask him to help me forget. So I prayed and I begged and I forgot. I forgot enough to stay sane, but not enough to forget completely.

I would have been 4. It would have been almost immediately after my brother's dad left that I started to masturbate. I don't know how it began, but it happened. I still feel so ashamed. I would rub myself up against the sofa or against something hard. It felt good, but I don't know how a child of 4 years could feel sexual pleasure. My mother caught me once. She hit me hard, and then sent me to have a bath. I'm 18 now. I haven't and don't touch myself. I can't. Even if I wanted to, it would bring me no pleasure.

In the same year, my brothers and my sister would engage in sexual activities with each other. Never penetration; I suppose minor in a weird way, but still, I believe this is some form of abuse. We were children. I don't remember much, as I try to block it out for my sanity. What I do remember, I would never tell. I am ashamed, but we were babies, children. It happened, and there was no one there to stop it. I love my brothers and sisters and they love me. We have a good relationship. I know they remember what happened, but I won't ask, and we won't ask each other. I would never tell anyone. Not my husband. Not my kids. No one. I love my brothers and sisters. We were children. This is how I protect them. I can live with this, but I won't say more.

I would have been about 6 when my uncle came to visit. As stupid as this sounds, I can't remember which one! I can't remember which one to be angry at or to at least be cautious of. My youngest brother, my sister and I were in a dark room. It must have been my room. I can remember being on top of my uncle and I think rubbing on him, then my sister would do this longer. Maybe it went further than that, but I can't remember. What a blur. But I know he molested us. I feel it.

My cousin molested my sister for a long time, I'm sure. She never said anything, but I could feel the tension between the two of them. No one knew but me. I know because at that age I knew sex. I knew sex was pleasure. I knew it was fun and wrong. And I knew that what was happening between my sister and cousin was wrong. Or at least strange.

I have this feeling that I can't let go, that I was penetrated as a child, but by who I don't know. I feel the pain and the discomfort, but I see no face to the man on top of me. I can't see that face, I can only feel and I know because of my sexual behaviour in the past and today.

I learned to be seductive and sexy, manipulative and mean. I had something men wanted, but who took it. I once saw a movie about a woman who was abused as a child. She couldn't remember details, but one day, she just did. It just happened. Her abuser was her father. She felt it. I hope that doesn't happen to me. I don't think I want to know.

I had sex with a boyfriend of mine when I was 13. There was no pain, nothing. I became obsessed with sex. He was only 2 years older than me, but I wanted it and I got it, whether or not it was right for him. It was this feeling of needing the release, nothing else. But I gradually became scared of myself. I would have these attacks where I became uncontrollable. I broke up with him because I was scared of what I wanted and he was helping me get it. I care for him still. I worry I hurt him or damaged him somehow. I feel sorry for that every day. We were both still children; one with a complex issue.

I started having sex more often. I became very experienced. The men I would be with later taught me how to act and perform in bed. Then one day I was raped. A few friends and I were at a party or gathering. We were drinking and people were having intercourse. I was raped by a man who would have been about 28. I was 15. I was terrified after because he left the room and left me to the mercy of his friends. After it happened, I ran down the street screaming. I had let this happen. They were animals, pigs, filth, but I had waited for something bad to happen before I learned....

I will stop now!
I could write for days and days to tell you my story, but everything I need or want to say couldn't be told in a lifetime. I come from a family where women are sexually abused, beaten and treated like crap. My grandmother and her mother all experienced terrible things. My mother, as well. And all worse than what I experienced in my short life. We are strong women, and although my mother made mistakes and it's still so painful to think about the past, I know there is nothing she could have done. I love her with all my heart.

I feel like I'm 30. It doesn't seem right that it's only been such a short time since this happened, but it is. I still have problems with sex and reading about sex and watching, even if it be a scene in a movie. I feel uncomfortable. I get uneasy. Sex is difficult for me now, so I know I still have healing to do. I probably always will.

I am studying social work to help people like me. I want to try to help the people that weren't protected. The only sad thing about all of this is that I am not unique. My story is so very common. My biggest fear is that my children will experience what I went through, but I pray it won't happen. When and if I do have children, I believe god will protect them.

I control my future. My past does not control me.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Annie

by Annie
(Corsicana, Texas, USA)

I'm only 13!!! I was only a baby when this started. My dad would fight with my mom and throw her around. Eventually, I had to live with my dad. I hated it.

When I was 5 years old, my dad would go out and drink every night. He had a friend to stay with me every time. I was very imaginative at that time, so I'd imagine that there were ghosts around and then run to my dad's friend. He would tell me to climb in bed and take my clothes off. At that time, I was that dumb. I did what he asked. Even now, I remember him telling me to spread my legs open and stuff like that.

I turned 7, and once again I was left at home with him. In the middle of the night, my dad's friend woke me up and tried to do our "routine." I told him to get lost. He started to abuse me. When my dad came home that day, he saw the scars. I told him what happened. My dad got in a fight with him. The man called me a slut and left. My dad eventually sent me to my grandmother's. My dad would not ever talk to him again......unless he was drunk.

Now that I'm thirteen, I know that I'll always keep that memory forever.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Tiana

by Tiana
(New South Wales, Australia)

My story might not seem bad...but it's something I will never forget. I wasn't the only one going through it at the time, but my little nephew can't remember it. I was only 5 years old and my nephew was 2. He lived with his mother, his new born brother and stepfather. Every weekend I stayed there.

One night, I was sitting on the lounge with my nephew when my sister's boyfriend came out and pulled his pants down and shoved his ass in my face. He started to talk dirty and lots more stuff. A couple days later, he got angry at my 2-year-old nephew and shoved him in a dog kennel, and then wet him with a hose when the weather was only 15 degrees. My nephew then got really sick.

Whenever my mum would go over to see them, my nephew would be locked in the room, not allowed to come out. Sometimes my sister's boyfriend would be in there...we now think that he was sexually abusing my nephew. I wasn't made to keep it a secret, but I was only 5 and I didn't know it was wrong.

I'm now 13, and it was only last year I told my mum. She promised to keep it a secret, but she got really angry because if I had told her when I was young she would have charged him, but she said it's to late now. I see this guy around all the time. It was only a couple weeks ago I saw him with his girlfriend and he was walking my way. When he saw me, he turned around and walked the other way and kept on turning back, looking at me. When I told my mum, she said he had done the same thing to her a couple of days before.

I hope this guy trips and dies...because child abuse is wrong!

Every night when I sleep, that is all I dream about. It is something I will never forget!

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Yonda

by Yonda
(California, USA)

Betrayed: 
I moved to America from Russia with my mother when I was 5 years old, shortly after my father died in a car accident. I simply love to learn new things, and quickly picked up the English language.

My mother had always been kind to both me and my sister, Juliana, who is my twin. But after my father's sudden death, things changed. Though my sister and I are twins, one huge thing is different: I have cerebral palsy and use crutches to walk. Due to this, my mother would always be calling me "cripple" or "stupid," saying I was simply a waste of time and space. She was also physically abusive. She would hit me with anything she could find: belts, extension cords...anything. I sometimes wondered why me, yet not my sister. Most of the time, I simply thanked God she was safe from my mother's rage.

I remember one summer clearly, when I was 6. Both my sister and I were at the babysitter's while my mother was out of town. The babysitter took my sister and me swimming. She asked why I didn't want to swim. I simply shook my head no. Thinking I was just afraid, she told me she would help me and that I would be ok. She took off the shirt I was wearing over my swimsuit and saw the big purple marks from my mother's belt. She asked what happened, and I told her I fell. She just left it at that. It bothers me that some people can be ignorant enough to see marks like that on a child and not do anything. It all ended when I was 16, when my mother threw hot oil on my back. I still have scars.

After that incident, the police stepped in and my sister and I went to live with my grandmother in California. I am now 19, and both my sister and I are attending college. Though the past was dark, the future can still be bright.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Sharon

by Sharon
(Peru, Indiana)

I have never mentioned this to ANYONE in the entire world, but I was sexually abused as a child. My mother's friend, Gary, abused me from when I was 9 to when I was 11. I didn't tell my mother because I knew in my heart she wouldn't belive me, also the fear of being "spanked". Her version of a "spanking" was a stick, belt or fist taken to the bare body. That isn't love. It isn't "discipline". IT IS ABUSE!! and must be stopped before our youth is destroyed.

Thanks for listening. Peace.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Danielle

by Danielle
(Fort Worth, Texas, USA)

I was four years old the first time my dad beat me. He got mad because I broke a toy of mine. I can remember him yelling "Are you stupid??" Do you not appreciate things?". From that day on he thought it was necessary to beat me constantly. My mom and him were split up. I never told my mom about it though. Both of my parents were on drugs at the time so I didn't think she would care.

After I turned about 8, my mom went to prison, leaving me with my dad. So for four years my dad, and sometimes even his friends, beat me. He even started to sell me for drugs. He was good about not leaving visible bruises, so when I went to school no one asked questions. I told no one except for a few friends who were also going through similar things.

When my mom got out of prison my dad would not allow me to go live with her. He said if I told he would kill her. So I kept it mostly to myself. But the year I turned 14 I told one of my best guy friends. He said that he would have never guessed that was going on. And he asked if I needed help. I said no, and told him I could take care of myself.

Then one day during the summer, my dad beat me very badly with a pipe. He broke 3 of my ribs. My back split open and was bleeding really bad. After he was done and went to sleep, I left and went to my friend's house. When he opened the door he quickly got me in and told me I would be ok. Him and his brother took me to the hospital. I still lied for my dad, but my friend said that I could come live with him, so I did.

My dad came for me once, but my friend told him that I wasn't going anywhere, so he left. That easily. I couldn't believe it. All those years, and it was that simple.

I'm still living with my friend and have been doing well ever since I left my dad. I'm 15 and a straight A student.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Amanda

by Amanda
(Austin, Texas, USA)

I never would have dreamed I would end up like the kids on the news programs that had parents who hurt them. But it can happen to anyone. October 15th 2005 was the day it all began.

It was my 15th birthday, yes my golden birthday. I had a good day. I had loads of friends there and we had an amazing time. But the day flew by. Soon enough it was late and I was cleaning up the garage where the party was held.

At my party my "crush" went up to my parents and asked permission to date me. My father was not thrilled, but my mother quickly answered with "Of course!"

As I was cleaning up the garage, I heard my parents arguing inside the house. I tried to ignore it. But then I heard the front door open and I could hear it very clearly now. "Elizabeth, I'm gone after tonight, I'm gone! You are unbelievable. She is only 15!"

I had started a fight just to be with a boy.

I fell to my knees and began to cry as my dad stormed out of the house, carrying his suitcase. I watched him leave for good, but that was only the beginning of my nightmare.

Soon my mom began drinking, and became more and more stressed. She began to scream at me for no apparent reason.

Then on Christmas day, she realised it was time to show me. "You little b***h. You f****d up my life." Then she hit me.

I promised it wouldn't happen ever again. It did.

In June of 2006, I was at a pool party, but I wouldn't take off my clothes to get in the water. All my friends kept saying, "Amanda, you're beautiful. Just get in!"

So I did. As I walked to the pool-side, every one of them stared. My best friend's mom, Kelly, took me aside and asked about the bruises. I told her what had happened. I stayed with them for a few weeks. When I went home to get the rest of my belongings, it happened.

I was trying to hurry so I could get outta there as soon as possible. I heard the latch to the door of my room. I turned around. My mother had a gun in her hand. It was aimed at me. I was so afraid. Then. Bang! The gun went off. I felt a sharp pain in my lower abdomen. She had shot me!

She is in jail now. And I am slowly recovering, but I'm better. I live with my auntie. And we are strong.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Scott

by Scott W
(Maine, USA)

I'm seventeen years old and I currently live with my girlfriend. About a year ago I was taken away from my mother. My mother was a twisted, wretched woman who enjoyed the psychological and physical pain of others. My father died in a car crash when I was thirteen. After my father's death, my mother went into a destructive downward spiral.

My mother became increasingly hostile towards me and my only companion, my puppy, Sunshine. She started beating Sunshine for no reason at all. Sunshine was everything to me. I had only had him for a little while, but we fast became friends. Meanwhile, my mother began to scream at me for no real reason. No matter what I did, she found an excuse to punish me.

As the days wore on, my mother became more and more abusive. Soon, there was no happiness left in my life. My mother pulled me out of school so she could have a tighter reign over my life. I was miserable. The only ray of hope I had left was my dog Sunshine. My mom started using drugs. It started with pot, but heroin quickly became part of the picture. I can remember many times watching my mother get high.

While she was high, she was the most abusive. She soon started to beat me. It was the most horrible part of my life when she first started to physically abuse me. My mom began to feed me less and less. By the time I was 15, I was barely eating enough to survive. I was reduced to eating rotting food from the trash. Sunshine became skin and bones, and could barely walk due to malnutrition. Still, he was my only companion in this dark time. I don't know how I would have survived without him in the beginning.

The day after my fifteenth birthday, as I was going down the stairs, I tripped and fell down. This caused me to break my leg. Instead of bringing me to the hospital, my mom just made a primitive brace for my leg, gave me some aspirin and sent me to my room. I cried for days out of pure pain, but still my mother did nothing. My leg never fully healed, and I walk with a limp to this day.

I clearly remember one day after finishing my chores, my mom got high on heroin. She stumbled over to me and began screaming at me about how worthless I was and why I should just die. I decided that the best thing to do would be to try and escape. I tried to make a dash for the door, but it had only been a few months since I broke my leg. I made it a few feet before I collapsed in pain. My mother came up to me and started to punch me and kick me.

"Obviously this form of punishment isn't quite working," my mother sneered. She snatched a steak knife from the nearby kitchen counter and grabbed Sunshine, who was whimpering near me, trying to comfort me. She rammed the steak knife into Sunshine's rib cage. He howled in pain. My mother threw poor Sunshine at me with a horrible grin on her face. My only companion in the whole world was covered in blood. It was the saddest moment of my entire life. I could tell that Sunshine was dying. I stroked him as tears welled in my eyes. Sunshine died an hour later in my arms. My last ray of hope had disappeared.

About a month after the incident, a policeman came to our door. We didn't know why he was there, but a few months ago I found out that my neighbor had suspected child abuse due to my screams being heard. The policeman asked me and my mother some questions and walked away. My mother suspected I had something to do with this, so she pounded me repeatedly in the chest. The bruises would last for months.

The next day, the policeman arrived again. This time he was there to take me away. That moment was probably the best day of my life. My mother pleaded to keep me, saying that it was all a big misunderstanding and that I got the bruises from falling down. For the first time in my life I summoned up the courage to stand up for myself. I told the police officer all the horrible, evil things she did to me. The police officer handcuffed my mother and drove us both away.

Because of the extreme circumstances, the court declared me a legal adult. My mom is in jail for six years (not long enough). I currently live with my girlfriend, who I met about six months ago. Besides Sunshine, she is the only person who really cares about me.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kristen

by Kristen
(Connecticut, USA)

Everyone is kinda in denial. I don't think my story is crazy extreme as some of the ones that I have read. I just remember getting teased endlessly by my dad and brother as a kid, and it wasn't just a joke.

My mom yelled and hit and is very controlling, and she doesn't know how to be nice. She manipulates me for medical attention. Ever since I was little, I've been constantly chronically sick...food allergies, major stomach problems, anxiety, depression, and now I have all that and thyroid and PTSD and dissociation issues.

When I was 16, my mom wouldn't help get me into a rehab facility when I had anorexia. All my mom ever tells me is that she always did the best she could...I know she is mentally ill, but I'm the kid and I needed help. She is just plain hard on me, but she lets my brother get away with hell. He works more than he goes to college. If I did that, I would get a load...they are paying both our college tuitions, thank god, or else I would have totally left. My brother gets away with being a plain a-hole and I'm a nice person. I'm just troubled, but somehow I'm the screw-up who can't do anything thing right. My dad doesn't even want me to go to doctors. Sometimes I feel so bad that I can't even make it through the day without taking naps or I oversleep. He just tells me to deal with it. Basically summers are hell and being at home is hell. Commitments suck for me. I have the hardest time having a committed relationship...hasn't happened yet.

Before I come home from college, I start getting nightmares. My dad told me that he would never come home because he didn't want to deal with my mom and that he didn't stick up for me because he didn't want to fight with her. But he's still an ass any way.

I started cutting at 15. It's a high. Don't ask why. People wonder, but I can't explain. It's sick, I know. I love danger. I laugh when I do something dangerous. I like sticking needles through my body...piercings. I've binged hardcore and OD-ed on charcoal pills...yes, hard to do...but 20 a day for 1.5 weeks screwed my liver up. My mom didn't want to take me to a doctor, then she didn't want to take me to a hospital, and then she didn't want to take me to rehab...hmmmmm...is that still the best she could do? I became an alcoholic. I'm very bitter. I can't even drink like regular college kids. I've got that "let's get trashed" personality, which is bad.

I got clean this August; all by myself, I may add. But off course, my mother still wasn't happy and some people found out and all hell broke lose. Then later, I heard no one believed me anyway...good grief! I'm taking meds now...but really, I just still feel plain lifeless and lonely...just not suicidal. I wanna be left alone half the time and the world is shitty. But art makes it better...pass it on!

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Ana

by Ana
(Oakland, Califorina, USA)

As many immigrants looking for a better life, my parents came to U.S.A. We are originally from EL SALVADOR. I was only 3 when my dad left our country. When I turned 5, my mom left our country and left my two older brothers and I in charge of my half sister Patricia. I have another half sister. Her name is Liz. She is the oldest of all of us, but at the time, she was too busy working and taking care of her grandparents and her 1-year-old baby. Even though Patricia had two babies, she didn't have a job or a place to stayed, so my parents think that she will be good for the job of taking care of my two brothers and I.

At the beginning, the relationship between Patricia, my two brothers and I, it was ok. But suddenly she start to change and become aggressive. Everything we do, it was wrong. At first, she will start yelling at us and call us names like "stupid", "dumb", "idiots." And then the physical abuse started. Soon the fights between my two brothers and Patricia started. Those fights always finished when someone was bleeding or very badly injured. Then my older brother Bruno start stealing the money that my parents send to my half sister so that she buy food, clothes, pay bills and school for us.

I was 6. My brother Bruno started to sexually abuse me. He take out my shirt and than pulled down my pants and underwear than he tall me to lay down on the bed. He also removed all his clothes he start kiss me all over my body. He penetrate me. I comply. Because of the pain, he apologize to me and take himself out of me. Every time we were alone, it was always the same. He also made me use my mouth on him. The sexual abuse continue until I turn 7.

Later, my two brothers spend more time outside the house, but always keep stealing the money from Patricia. Then she become a prostitute so she can earned money. The sexual abuse started again. Patricia also physically abuse me and emotionally too.

I come to the U.S.A when I was 14. I try to kill myself many times. Right now I suffer from depression and I been diagnosed with PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). Right now, I under treatment with a counsellor.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Maria

by Maria
(Beaverton, Oregon, USA)

I was only 11 years old, living with my mother's parents in Oregon. My mother lived in California. I moved with my grandparents because my grandmother wanted a companion and I was her favorite grand-child at that time.

One of my mother's brothers, who was at that time 23 or 25 years old, would tell me that he "loved me like a woman, not like a niece." He would kiss me on my mouth, and stick his nasty tongue into my mouth. He tried to do this about 10 times. He would also hit me. He treated me like a woman, his woman, not a child. He would make me cook for him, take his shoes off, and prepare the shower for him. This happened for about 3 months. I couldn't take it anymore. I finally told a friend from school, and she told me to get help, so I did. I couldn't go back with my mother, because my stepdad molested me when I was 5 years old until I was 9. I went into foster care for about 7 years.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Laura

by Laura
(United Kingdom)

Until I was 10 years old my life had been very happy. I lived with my mum and my little sister, who I adored. One day, my uncle was babysitting me and my sister while my mum went out with her boyfriend. We had been watching TV for about an hour when my uncle told my little sister it was time for her to go to bed. He carried her upstairs, and I continued to watch TV in the living room. I ended up going upstairs to use the bathroom, and heard a noise coming from my sister's room. I walked up to the door and heard my uncle telling her that it'd be a secret. I didn't know what they were talking about so I opened the door a little. I saw my uncle standing there naked, trying to get my little sister to touch his penis. I opened the door fully. He turned around to face me before telling me to go away.

I refused, and said I wasn't going anywhere. I remember being so terrified, but I wasn't going to let him hurt her, I couldn't. He said that it was none of my business and that he could do what he wanted. I have no idea what came over me, but I walked up to him and started touching him like he wanted my sister to. I remember him smiling at me and he followed as I walked out of my sister's room and back downstairs. I just didn't want him to hurt her. When we got back into the living room, he sat down next to me and started to stroke me. I tried to move and get away, but I couldn't. He said he could always go back upstairs again; I couldn't let that happen. He told me to touch him again, which I did, as well as sucking him like he wanted. I just couldn't let him go back upstairs and hurt my sister. Eventually I let him undress me and he had sex with me. The whole time he said that I must like it, otherwise I would have stopped him. I was so confused. I wanted him to stop, but I couldn't let him hurt my sister.

After this time, it happened every time he came to babysit, which seemed to be more and more now that my mum had a new boyfriend. She spent all her time with him, leaving us with my uncle. After about 6 months, my mum and her boyfriend split up, and I was so happy. My uncle didn't have to babysit us anymore.

Six months later, she got another boyfriend. She said my uncle was coming to babysit again. I remember breaking down and crying so much when she said that. I was begging her not to leave us with him. She asked me what was wrong and I tried to explain what had happened. She called me a whore and a slut. She said I had led him on, asked him to do it by leading him from my sister's room. She said that he probably hadn't wanted to do anything to her and I had given him the idea in the first place, so it was my fault. I was devastated. I thought she'd stop it. I thought she'd be pleased I'd protected my sister, but she didn't care. As soon as she left, my uncle was at it again. I just wanted to die, but I couldn't let him hurt my sister, so it went on until I left home at 18 and took my sister with me to live at my friend's house.

My mum tried to get me arrested for kidnapping my sister, but I told the police what had happened and they arrested my uncle. But they let him off because they didn't have enough evidence. My sister had to go back to my mum. My sister came around to my place all the time, and every time my mum went out, we arranged she'd come and stay with me so my uncle had nothing to do with her. When she turned 16 a year later, she moved in with me.

Now she still lives with me and we're happy. I remember what happened every day and feel guilty for not stopping it, for letting him do it. Although I knew what he was doing was wrong, it always seemed like he was wrong for trying to do it to my sister. I still feel like I deserved it, by leading him on. I know this isn't true, but I can't help how I feel.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Maria L

by Maria
(New Jersey, USA)

My father died in a car accident before I was ever born. My mother had always been depressed; she was on anti-depressant medication until she got remarried to my stepfather and abuser, Jay. Jay didn't let my mother take any sort of medicine because he didn't "believe" in it.

One day when I was about five, she killed herself. After that, life started becoming very, very bad for me. The first time Jay ever hit me was right after my mom's funeral. I was crying in the car and he said he "Couldn't take it" and just punched me in the stomach. I sat in the car during the burial. After that, it kept on getting worse and worse. He would hit me all the time over and over again.

When I was seven, he started getting really creative with ways to hurt me. He would make me kneel on piles of salt or oatmeal and beat me. He would also lock me in closets and in our super small bathroom down stairs, for hours on end. To this day, I suffer from severe claustrophobia.

Shortly after I turned 8, he started sleeping in my bed, not with me, just in my bed. Slowly, he started touching me, making me sleep naked and pushing his fingers inside of me. I was about 10, I was in bed asleep...I woke up to the sound of Jay slamming the door. It was about 3 a.m. and he had been drinking. I jumped out of bed and ran into my closet. I closed the door and sat there. I listened to him come into my room.

It was the way he said my name that I remember the most. So singsong-y.

He found me. Grabbed me, yelling. Yelling so much, so loud. I cried. He pulled me off the floor and starting hitting me. He threw me onto the bed and punched me in the stomach. I couldn't breath. He kept on hitting me. He pulled my clothes off, then his. I tried to run, but he just held me there. I started screaming. He covered my nose and mouth with his hand. I lost control of my body. I began to flail. I kicked him. Somehow I got off the bed. But he caught me and grabbed me and threw me to the ground and raped me. Afterwards, he locked me in the tiny bathroom for two days.

After that, he would have sex with me at least twice a week. It killed me, because I would never stop him. Jay has held lighters to my hands and feet, and in the worst case, in between my legs.

I hate myself and refuse to be loved. I also flinch. Very often, I have flashbacks. I am still in high school and it is very hard to still be this scared of life.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Maria L
Part 2

by Maria L
(New Jersey, USA)

I was told by my therapist to do a little homework. She told me to write down my thoughts on child abuse. Exactly what I feel, how I feel them and why I believe I feel that way. So I did it and I wanted to share with everyone.

Abuse: I feel as though I am failing as a survivor. I am hearing all of these stories about amazing women and men who overcome child abuse and sexual abuse, some who even make good of it. Jay has died and yet, he still has complete control over my life, who I am, were I go. I feel that I have failed or, I am failing as a survivor. Now, I have been told many times that I am not. And that I get, but for years I have felt as though I do not deserve to be loved. How is one able to get over that? Is it even possible?

Surviving: I want to feel happiness, hope, pain and love. I want to forget, I want to have my slate wiped clean and learn to live again. The littlest and simplest things have begun to set me off. Everyone tells me he can never break me. Therapists say his goal was to control. If that is the case, he has won. Even in death he continues to control me, he continues to dictate my life. How is that recovery? I do not believe I am a survivor, only a victim.

Lily: My baby half-sister, who died of SIDS. My therapist believes her death caused Jay's anger towards me. That because I was not his, I was undeserving of his Love. And my mother believed that if it weren’t for me, my father would have never pushed her into marriage and thus never starting this chain of events. This simply states that I have caused what has happened to me. Also the reason she ended up killing herself.

High school: Is a time of exploration. A time to create friendships, relationships, new experiences. It’s the "greatest years of your life", and I am spending them terrified to live, terrified to feel to hope and to love.

Tyler: My boyfriend. Two days ago, he saw the burn scars (Jay used lighters a lot) on my feet and back. He freak out and has become too protective of me. I want to be protected, but I don’t. I am confusing him and myself. He is spending time worrying about my well-being rather than himself. I feel as though I am spiralling down and pulling the people who care down with me.

Maria, my aunt: She took me in. She saved my life. She gave me a way to escape, and the encouragement to feel again.

And for that I am forever grateful.

Note from Darlene: Maria, keep up the hard work! You are definitely worth it!

And hats off to your therapist for giving you this "homework." Writing all your feelings about child abuse and why you believe you feel those feelings can be highly therapeutic. What you've written will provide your therapist with a very clear picture of what direction your sessions need to take.

Last but not least, I give a standing ovation to Maria, your aunt, for taking you in and giving you love and encouragement during a time in your life when you needed it most. She certainly fits my definition of an angel.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Brian

by Brian
(Canada)

I was abused as a child from a very early age by my father who was an alcoholic. My mother and father split-up when I was just a baby, and my twin brother and I were left in the care of my father.

I remember what it was like as a child, lying in bed at night, waiting in fear for my father to come home from the bar. Because I knew what was going to happen once he walked through that door.

I can vividly picture it and hear it as I write this today, the swearing and the rage, the dishes and stuff being smashed, him rushing up the stairs to yank us out of bed to yell at us and beat us and berate us, and make me or my twin brother clean up everything.

One night he came home drunk. He was mad because my older sister didn't bring the laundry in off the line. He kicked in her door and smashed stuff in her room and beat her. The next day she tried to commit suicide. She was fourteen or fifteen at the time.

Everyday was like living in hell, because you didn't know from one minute to the next when his rage would erupt upon you. I could be just standing doing the dishes, and he would walk over and slap me across the head hard and curse at me, and say demeaning things.

I came home late one time when I was in grade 5. He was drunk and beat me with his belt till I was black and blue. The next day I could barely walk to school because my legs, back and arms were bruised and swollen so bad.

That morning in class, the teacher noticed something was wrong with me, and came over to my desk. She could see the bruises on my arms and back through the white shirt I had on that day. She asked me to come out in the hallway, where she asked me what happened. I told her, and showed her the bruises.

She reported to the principal, who in turn reported it to the children's aid society. They came and took us to a foster home. We were there for 8 months, and then we were brought back to my father to live with him again. Why, I don't know, because the abuse just started all over again, and continued until I was old enough to stand my own ground.

The day I stood up for myself, I was peeling potatoes with a knife. My father walked by and cursed at me and hit me. I got so mad at him, I told him that if he ever hit me again I would kill him, all the while pointing that knife at him. The abuse still didn't stop, until one night, when he came home drunk. He had rushed upstairs and started hitting me while I slept in bed. I got up and we wrestled. I hit him back and he fell downstairs. He got up and went to his room. I moved out the next day, and went and to live with my best friend and his family.

Till the day my father died, he never acknowledged or said he was sorry for the abuse.

As a survivor of child abuse, I had to believe in myself, and realize that this was not my fault, so I could find forgiveness and heal myself. It has taken me the better part of the last 30 years of my life to heal from child abuse.

I never will have closure, but I have healed and have great understanding of child abuse and how it affects us into our adult years.

What is most important is sharing my story, so we together can bring awareness to this issue and many other issues that affect our children today.

Thanks for reading my story.....You are in my prayers and have my love and support.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kaitlyn A

by Kaitlyn A
(Loveland, Colorado, USA)

Confessions of Self Injury:  
It started after the whole blow out with me being raped as a child. It tore my life apart and made me hate myself as a person. It made me feel like I was nothing but a sex toy. It kills me every night when I sleep. I have flashbacks and what not.

When I was 12, I had heard of people...my friends, more to say, hurt themselves to get rid of the pain...so I wanted to see if it actually would help me any.

That night I went home. No one suspected a thing. My mom left for work, and after I laid my little sister down for bed, I went into the bathroom and turned on the water. After I undressed and what not, I got into the tub. I kinda stared at the razor, thinking if anyone would ever suspect a thing. I wasn't prepared for the consequences I was about to receive...I never thought that far ahead. I did pick up the razor and I did cut my wrist. The blood scared me at first...then it kinda excited me...call me morbid, I don't care. I don't listen to judgemental people anyways.

About 5-6 months later, I actually confessed that I cut myself. I was stupid to do that. I had told someone that was my mom's friend instead of telling my boyfriend. He told me he wouldn't tell. Then what does he do? He tells my mom everything. I was so pissed off beyond that point. I didn't self-injure myself till I got to Colorado. My mom's friend was such a dickhead to me. I was unreal. He called me an idiot and told me that I need to make my life worth something and that I needed to stop hiding behind humor when I wasn't. He said he wanted to be my friend. I rolled my eyes to that because he wanted me to talk to him first, before I talked to anyone about hurting myself, and then he gave me this lecture about how me and him are alike. I just brushed it off because he wants me to talk to him, but yet he talks to me like I am stupid and not worth anything. Then all my problems started up again...guess it's my life, eh?

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Grace

by Grace
(Phoenix, Arizona, USA)

So Ashamed:  
When I was 8, my parents were very lax about supervising me. I would go to my cousin's house. My cousin was 3 years older than me. He and I would walk down the road to his grandfather's house, and then we would take his boat to a small island. For a long time, we just played cards there. But one day, he brought a blanket. He told me to lie down on it, and told me he was going to make me feel really good. I said no, but he insisted, and I gave in. He reached over and pulled my panties down and took off his underwear. He made me play with and suck on his penis, and he kissed and licked my privates for hours. Sometimes, after I had played with him for a long time, he would try to make me eat what I now know was cum, but I never did. Sometimes, when he was down on me, he would put suntan lotion on my anus and then put his finger into me. I think that I might have had an orgasm a few times, but I'm not sure.

This went on until I reached Junior High, and got the nerve to say no. Even though I know it was wrong...it felt so good. The guilt I now feel over wanting those feelings again is so enormous, that I find myself overeating a lot when I think of it. I'm heavy and wish I could stop the compulsive eating.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Lily

by Lily
(Bristol, UK)

I am now 40 years old and happily married with 2 children. My parents are both dead and my sister is mentally unstable.

Ever since the age of about 11, my father would abuse me. He was an alcoholic and would continuously go out with girlfriends (even though he was married to my mum at the time) and come back really late at night. This was when the abuse usually happened. He would abuse Mum as well. She did whatever he said and never stuck up for me or my sister.

My mum was totally useless. I was the youngest in the family. My sister, who was 9 years older than me, was the strong one in the family. She would always protect me and took whatever my father did to her to prevent me from being hurt. Ever since I can remember, he would hit, punch, kick and sexually abuse her. He did this to Mum too. But my sister never let him touch me. I had been hit by him, but she wouldn't let him sexually abuse me the way he had abused her and Mum.

When I was about 10, my mum committed suicide. I remember not ever feeling upset that she was gone. She had never shown any love towards me or cuddled me like a normal mum. My sister was more of a mum to me then she ever was. I remember feeling totally angry that she had left me and my sister with him, alone. Mum had been useless, but at least she'd been there.

My sister took even more abuse from him, and then he began to punch and kick me as well. I would go to school, and when we had sport, I remember feeling totally embarrassed when I had lots of little bruises all over my stomach and legs where he had pinched me again and again. The one time that he had given me a black eye, my sister pretended to take me to school, as she did every day, but then we went back home and she bathed my sore eye and promised that one day we would leave.

Looking back now, she was so strong for us. She was amazing to have been hurt so badly just to protect me from him. When she was 23 years old she left for a while because she wanted to get away. She wanted to take me with her, but he wouldn't let her. She went away to university, but promised she would back to get me from him. I cried. I ran away the night she left. I had no idea where to go, so I just hid in the shed. He found me there about 5 hours later, and he was seriously angry. That was the night that he sexually abused me. I cried and he hit me. I howled and he punched me. This continued for about 2 months. Every day he would call into school and say I was ill and couldn't come in, and then he would sexually abuse me, hit me, punch me and then lock me in the cupboard.

I became a sort of servant to him. He would make me cook and clean for him. One day I cooked something wrong, I don't really remember, and he punched me and locked me in the cupboard. I heard my dad let someone in the door and then I heard the shot of a gun. My sister let me out of the cupboard. I saw my dad lying on the floor, bleeding. We left and went to the police. My sister was taken into custody and questioned. I was asked so many questions that it's hard to remember them now.

Eventually, my sister got cleared of the charges as she was said to be mentally unstable and the attack had been in 'self-defence'. I was put into foster care until I was 18, and then got a job. My sister was put into full time care because of her mental health as a result of the trauma.

My life was so disrupted by the whole thing. My sister's life even more – her childhood was completely destroyed. I have been able to move on and put it behind me. But I still hate my parents for what they did to her and how they completely destroyed her life. She was the nicest and friendliest person alive, but she's no longer that way. I am all she has, and yet she barely knows who I am now.

I cry a lot, and just retelling this story is horrible. I now go to schools and share my story with other children. I let children in schools know that if something similar is going on then they MUST tell someone. This is the huge mistake that me and my sister made. We were ashamed and we shouldn't have been.

Thank you for reading my story and any comments would be gladly received.

Lily

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Nancy

by Nancy
(Ohio, USA)

My childhood has always been very difficult for me to talk about. I always feel like no one will believe me. Everyone who knew my father loved him. They didn't know how he was. He used to tell me I was a stupid, worthless dog that nobody wanted around bothering them. He said I was a whore like my mother. He used to beat me and kick me and spit on me.

One Easter Sunday when I was 5 years old, he tore off my new dress and beat me with his belt while I was naked, until I peed all over the floor. Another time, the school called my mom because I had a badly infected injury and they said they would call the authorities the next time I came to school like that. My father came home and found out and beat me horribly over it, and then made me swear not to tell anyone about what went on at our house. I never told anyone until after he died.

I was terrified of him. When I heard his car coming up our driveway I would take off running, trying to find a place to hide. Under a bed or in a closet. Once, I hid under our house for a long time, but he found me. He couldn't reach me, so he threw rocks at me until I had to crawl out to him. I quit hiding from him and I started saying in my mind over and over that I wasn't a real person and what was happening wasn't really real. It helped me to handle it.

Along with how my father treated me, my mom took me to an eye doctor who used to take me into the exam room alone and close the door. He would tell me what he was doing was normal, that doctors were allowed to touch their patients like he had to touch me. He would unzip his pants and undo my clothes and he did bad things to me, touching me and things. After I was an adult, he went to prison for sexually molesting other kids. I had not even thought of what he'd done to me, but now I remember it clearly. It wasn't that I didn't remember before, I just never thought of it. I always remembered it though. I never told on him because I was really afraid and ashamed. I was so afraid my father would find out.

I have severe depression and suicidal thoughts at times. I also deal with terrible nightmares. I can't sleep in the dark, and I get scared easily. Sometimes I burn myself by putting my hands in hot water. At times, though not very often, I have heated up a fork and touched my skin with it. Since I had my son though, I've been trying not to do something so weird. When I think of doing it, I reason my way out of it. It's very difficult for me to look at a man when I'm trying to talk to him, because my father never allowed me to talk or raise my eyes in his presence. These things are all really true. I hope what I said was okay.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Joe

by Joe
(Tucson, Arizona, USA)

It started at the age of 7. My neighbor's kid and I were really good friends, and his dad was so nice to me. Now I regret ever meeting him. I was so comfortable with him and he was like the cool dad on the block.

One day when I was ditching school, he took me in. He said, "let's watch a movie." While watching, he brought some popcorn and sat very close to me. He put his arm around me. At first I didn't mind. Then he began to touch and rub me. It tickled. Then he gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, "I love you." It felt weird when I tired to leave. He over-powered me. I'm not willing to discuss the details.

When I went home I felt dirty and unclean. I tried to forget about it. My friend would invite me over, but I would never go over again.

About two years later, he died in a drive-by shooting. I am still unsure of what I felt, and will never forgive him. I continually go to San Javier church and pray to forgive him so I may be forgiven, but I cannot forget or forgive that horrible experience.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story from Ber

by Amber
(Alabama, USA)

Ever since I was 2 years old, it has been obvious that I would be a musician. I started playing piano at 3, and I have never given it up. But music is somewhat tainted for me now.

I started competing when I was 6, and if I didn't do well enough, my brother (3 1/2 years my senior) would beat me. Sometimes with his own belt, sometimes with our dad's. I always knew that after a performance or competition, if it wasn't perfect, I would be punished. He would also sexually abuse me; I remember him feeling me up, rubbing my privates, kissing me...and the whole time, I thought he was doing it because he loved me.

My parents turned a blind eye to this behaviour. As for themselves, the only way they punished me was by spanking me until I couldn't sit down for a few days. I grew up believing that whenever I was bad, I lost their love, and the only way I could get it back was by being punished. My parents spanked me until I was 17 years old, and the only reason they stopped then was because I stopped misbehaving. Even now, whenever I am around them, if I mess up, they slap me or tell me that I am worthless.

Because I believed that my brother treated me the way he did was because he loved me, I started looking for the same kind of love in other relationships. I have endured 5 different relationships in which I was hit or molested. I felt, to the very core of my being, that I was no good and deserved this kind of treatment, because that was the only way that people could love me. I blamed myself for what these men did to me.

I am now in college, 700 miles away from home. Since being here, I have come to recognize my abuse as what it was, and I have begun to change the beliefs that were so ingrained in me by my past experiences. I have been blessed with wonderful friends who have supported me as I go through counseling and experience many different emotional problems. I have also been blessed with a couple who have practically adopted me, who show me what real love is. They tell me all the time that I am precious and valuable, and that they love me unconditionally, no matter what I do. They don't let me get away with doing less than my best, but they never push me down or treat me as though I am worthless. I am getting stronger, and life is so much better now than it ever has been.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Sara

by Sara
(Texas, USA)

My mom was more strict than you can imagine. I have 3 sisters. One was 19 at the time, one 15, and my twin sister and I were 14. We were not allowed to talk on the phone. We were not allowed to have friends. When we started school, we were not allowed to go outside unless it was to get the mail. We did all the cleaning and chores around the house. My dad ALWAYS worked and was never around because of it, and my mom only cooked and made sure we were doing the right things.

It seemed like every day there was something to be mad about. If there wasn't, she would find something. This led to beating after beating after beating. Me and my sisters were only good girls because of fear, not because of choice. Studying was our only priority. We would go to school, come home, study, eat, study, take a shower, and then study until bedtime. If we didn't have homework, we would study in advance. We were not allowed to talk to each other while we were studying and we were not allowed to get up. Our mom assigned us separate rooms to make sure that happened. When we got a B on our report cards, we got beaten. My mom only wanted a grade of 95 and up. Once I got a 90 and she yelled at me.

My freshman year in high school, my mom started to lecture us about "them." We would constantly ask mom, "Who are they?" and she would always respond, "The third world." As the days went by, the lectures became longer and more frequent. Nobody ever wants to think of their mom as crazy, so we didn't. The beatings got worse.

I remember once, she started beating my sister while my sister was sleeping. She also started to do weird things around the house. We finally found out who "they" were. She was referring to the government and their conspiracies. My mom became a paranoid schizophrenic. We called the cops on her, and they took her to the mental hospital. A few days later she was released, but she refused to take her meds because she didn't think anything was wrong with her. Day after day she would put a guilt trip on me and my sisters. "I do everything to take care of you all, and in return you put me in the hospital." She told us that our dad was the devil and that she didn't trust us. She would lock herself in her room for hours. The beatings progressed. My dad ended up leaving the house and got his own apartment. A year later, we went to live with him.

Six months later, my dad was diagnosed with Hepatitis B and liver cancer, and he died.

The funeral day was the first time we saw our mom since "running away." She wanted to burn my dad's will, so she took us to his apartment to find it. We all four ran into the house and locked both locks. She stayed locked out of the apartment for 5 hours, in the heat. I remember running to one of the rooms, crying and covering my ears because I could hear her outside crying, "Annie, let me in. I love ya'll. Please let me in." The police finally came to escort her off the property. This was the last time I saw her.

Fast forward to now. After 9 years of no communication from aunts and uncles and other relatives on both sides of the family, we finally got one. My uncle from Virginia found my twin on MySpace. He emailed us every day. He told us that Mom wasn't doing well. She was homeless and nobody would take her in. She was getting beaten up by other homeless people and she got raped. We all decided to chip in money to get her an apartment, especially since winter is coming. She and my other uncle are living in an apartment that a lot of us are chipping in for. They say that so far she's behaving. I still don't have the courage to face her again yet. My Virginia uncle finally came into town on Thursday to spend Thanksgiving with us. I missed him so much; he was one of our favorite uncles. He asked us if we wanted to go to Houston to visit our grandma (Grandpa died and I didn't get to see him, so I agreed to go to see Grandma.)

My grandma is the cutest little thing now. She's lost a lot of weight, she's nicer and she kept smiling. She was so happy to see us. She's in a wheel chair. My cousin, who also lives with my grandma, is now 32 years old. I have not seen or heard from her in 15 years. I had the best time. The drive was longer than the stay. We stayed for like 2 hours, but it was worth every minute of it. I HAVE MY FAMILY NOW.

As far as my mom goes, I don't really know how to go about getting money for her. She refuses to sign any documents for benefits, like my dad's and her own retirement, because she's paranoid. If there are any suggestions as to how I can help her get benefits, please let me know.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Girl Not Broken

by Girl Not Broken
(Greenville, South Carolina, USA)

What I didn't want to believe:  
This all started when I was a baby. My brother was molested by the father of my three sisters. At that time, I didn't know this had happened to him.

My brother was two years older than me, so I looked up to him . . . until he started molesting me. He started by trying to put his penis in my mouth. He tried to make me have anal sex. Thankfully, he didn't know what he was doing, so he didn't do any major damage to me . . . at least not physically.

After that experience, there was another boy that was a lot older than me who would come to my grandmother's house. He would have me feel on his privates as he did the same to me. I never told this to my family. I still see him around.

Since my dad wasn't ever in my life, I believe that I grew to think that what my brother and that boy did to me was a type of affection that guys showed you when they cared.

After both those experiences, things got rough in my family. I was placed in a foster home. When I was 7 years old, a 16-year-old started molesting me while I lived in that foster home. I thought that if I told, I would get in trouble. I have no clue why I thought that.

The 16-year-old did as he pleased, although he never made me perform any sexual acts, just touch and feeling on him. Now that I think about it, it seems that I enjoyed the feelings . . . at least I thought I did, but I really didn't. It's all so confusing. It has affected me majorly, because I don't know how to approach a guy without thinking that he only wants sex.

The only thing that keeps me sane through all this is that I am still a virgin. I haven't had any sexual relations because I cannot bring myself to allow my heart that much misery. I am so afraid of getting my heart broken that I try to stay away from guys. I don't know what to do.

I'm currently in college. I don't have a boyfriend, not that I need one, but at times I get really lonely. I believe that every guy will hurt me, and if they don't hurt me, I find a way to make sure they do so that I can stay away from them. I know this may sound strange, but I don't know how I'm supposed to be treated by a man. I can't look at my mother's relationships. A lot of her relationships were unhealthy.

I'm scared. I'm scared to go on with my life, because I feel that I will allow a guy to do what has already been done to me, and if that happens, it will tear my heart and soul to pieces.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Heather

by Heather
(Texas, USA)

When I was 6 my mom, dad, and brother were living with my Grandpa, his wife, and her 2 grandkids. Their 2 grandkids (a girl older than me, Alisha, and a boy my age, Jordan) lived with them because their mother was on drugs and couldn't take care of them. My Grandpa gave me more attention than them because I was his "real" grandkid and he hardly ever saw me. Alisha didn't like that. She was a perverted child from the beginning, and she corrupted the mind of her younger brother. At the time, I didn't know anything was going on. But she would have us play these games that in retrospect were quite sexual. She would make him and me touch each other.

After a few months we moved out, but I still spent a great deal of time at their house. Alisha didn't like that. She constantly tried to make me look like the bad guy and would always get me in trouble. I became very quiet and shy, afraid of getting in trouble. Not only did they try to make me the bad guy in my grandpa's eyes, they would hurt me for no reason.

There was one time when we were sitting in the car and Mary (grandpa's wife) went in to the store and left us alone. I was just sitting there and Alisha sat on top of me and had Jordan sit on top of her. I screamed and cried because I could hardly breathe. Things like this also made me more quiet and more afraid. I also cried at the drop of a hat.

Then we moved to another state. I began to heal, blocking most of the memories from my mind. Regaining the personality that was shattered by fear. Then when I was about 10 we got a call from my Grandpa. He wanted me to go on a trip with them. My mom said I would, and off I went.

You would think that they might have changed a little but they didn't, well . . . maybe for the worse. Jordan was obsessed with me. Always making crude comments about wanting to rape me, and at times would tell me everything he wanted to do. Alisha, still quite jealous, would play horrible pranks or hurt me, making me look like a baby. There are many things that happened on that trip that I don't remember.

At one point I fell asleep on a bed while Jordan was in the room. When I woke up I felt weird, like something had happened but I'm not sure. At one stop, Jordan and I were made to sleep in the same room. He kept trying to make me do things the whole night.

One day I was in a room, lying on the bed. He walked in and locked the door. He got on the bed and I scooted away from him. He got on top of me and started touching me. He put his hands up my shirt and started undoing my clothes. I tried to fight him, but he was stronger. He made me touch him and was all over me.

I haven't seen them in a very long time. I am actually starting to recover. I am still haunted by my past. I am becoming who I need to be. I won't lie. I have been quite depressed and I am still battling serious depression. But by the grace of god, I made it through. And I am who I am today.

Note from Darlene: Stories that depict children harming children do not fall into the category of child abuse. My decision to post Heather’s story was to identify for my visitors that her parents and grandparents were neglectful, which IS considered child abuse, when they did not intervene to stop the inappropriate and harmful behaviour of the other children.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Ally

by Ally
(South Africa)

I emigrated at the age of 6, but from the age of 4, I had a psychotic stepfather. You learn to not lose anything, break anything, make any noise (not even cry, or he would give you something to cry about). A few of the times that I remember, he would beat me so bad I couldn't go to school. When at school you can't tell the teachers because you don't speak the language and you have a sense of fear that lasts for 5 long years. You start to think it's normal and you learn to show no fear. You watch him break your mom's nose and beat her up.

Eventually he leaves your mom with 3 kids, whom she does not look after. You have to teach yourself to brush your teeth and brush your hair and look after your younger siblings. Then she starts dating men. Some are nice, but don't last long. Some turn out to be evil in disguise. One molested me for 2 years whenever my mom was at work, which was all the time. She's a workaholic. She believes if she provides food, money and a roof over your head, she's done her job.

One day when I was 11, this man hit her. I called the cops, and he moved out the same day. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

Eventually you learn to just do what needs to be done. Just when you think it's going to be fine, she marries again. This time to a man younger than her, a man that has never had kids. So he doesn't know how to act or talk, so he tries to put you down and calls you stupid. He soon leaves.

When you are 13, all this bombards on you at once and your mom tells you that you were a mistake, and denies that her ex could have ever abused me. And you start rebelling and doing dangerous things because you figure "How much worse can it get?" Then after a year or two of going in a downward spiral, you realise it could get a lot worse. Eventually, I figured out that it's not anybody's fault and I had to move on and stop sulking.

I've been happy for a few years, but now I can't stop worrying about meaningless stuff and I freak out when I loose anything and it's all coming back to haunt me. It's not fair. I thought I got over it. But then again, life is not fair. What can you do?

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Aidan

by Aisling
(Boston, Massachusetts, USA)

It's hard for me to call it child abuse, because my father just did what he thought he was supposed to do. My dad is a sweet man, but he was raised in poverty in Belfast in a culture that taught him to use corporal punishment beyond what we now consider appropriate. The only punishment I ever received was the belt. He had me bend over the sink in the bathroom while he beat me. He always apologized for having to do it before he started, and I think he meant it, because he only ever looked sad, he never liked to beat me.

My mother died when I was a toddler, so he had nobody to help him decide what was appropriate. I would have purple marks from the middle of my back down almost to my knees for something I couldn't help, for example one time I lost my schoolbag with all my school books in it.

When I was 14, my dad met my step-mom, who is wonderful, and she was horrified at this type of punishment. I think Dad was relieved that she wanted him to stop. He told me a couple of years ago (I'm now 32) that he was sorry he was so hard on me, he just didn't know what else to do and he was worried I would be wild with no mother to look after me.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Tim

by Tim
(New Zealand)

Since I was 5 years old we had a male family friend about 13 years old who lived with us. He often looked after me when my parents were away. He used to supervise me during baths/toileting, etc. I remember one day, he showed me his penis and asked me to suck it like a "lollipop". At that age I had no idea what was happening, and went along with him, perhaps partly excited about discovering the unknown sexual knowledge. He did it every opportunity he got and kept telling me not to tell my parents. He even 'rewarded' me by sucking on my privates after he made me suck his. Even at that young age, it did feel good, so I went along with the abuse. All this lasted at least a year, till he left our house. No one knows this happened to me. But this wasn't the end.

I was subjected to other events of a sexual nature later in my childhood, and from females more than males. Like a teenage babysitter who asked to see my privates and then exposed her genitals to me. Another one who asked if she could touch me there when I was 8 (I did refuse at this age). And my 55 year old grandma who managed to caress me as a teenager. She would "lovingly" touch my thighs and advance to my privates and touch it through my clothes or underwear. Or she would "playfully" tickle my thighs all the way till she got much further than she should have. Once, she made me massage her legs and asked me to go "higher" till I reached her privates. This lasted from 13 to 16 years.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kaleigh

by Kaleigh
(Missouri, USA)

Where do I start? My mom wasn't always bad. She herself had been emotionally abused, along with her three siblings, by her mother when her father went off to fight in the wars. That doesn't excuse her behavior. The difference between me and her is that I don't make excuses for my abuser. My mother grew up with low self-esteem, and that led to her marrying my step-father.

He had no problem telling her bullshit and putting her down, and in turn delivering the same blows to me and my brother. Always yelling at us, pushing us, kicking us if we didn't move fast enough, and withholding food when he could get away with it.

I was six. My brother was four. It still continues, and everyday at college, I hope I never have to return. I dread the holidays when the dorms shut down and I'm forced out.

We were forced to move to a new town when I was in second grade. During that time, he enjoyed calling me and my brother "bed wetters" and "warthogs", "cry babies" and he even called me a "cry baby ass bitch" on my seventh birthday, in front of some kids. I cried in a corner. When school started, I marched to the counsellor and told her what he had said to me. She didn't even look up from her papers. In a flat, dead voice she said, "There's nothing I can do." That day, I knew I couldn't rely on anyone but myself because they wouldn't even believe me. I stopped telling. That summer, he tried to suffocate me, and when I bit him to save my life and then told my mother, she didn't believe me either; sent me into a 'time out'.

When I was a teenager (middle school) was when he pulled out the "fat" card. Always sneering at how I looked and how "heavy" I was getting. I weighed 160 pounds due to P.C.O.S. (Polycystic Ovary Syndrome), which I didn't find out about until later. But not loosing the weight didn't help me cope.

By the time I was in high school, I was completely withdrawn and couldn't do social things well. I couldn't understand how kids could be so carefree. And every night I would whisper to myself, "God, if there is a God, let me go to sleep and never wake up."
And when I did open my eyes every morning after, I felt so depressed that I thought I was going to cry. But I had forgotten how to cry; I can't do it even now. I feel if I give into any emotion, I am weak.

I've also developed a tendency to focus on one "best friend." I want to be with that "best friend" constantly, but my choices have always ended badly; they always put me second to themselves.

I can't even contemplate any physical relationships. I feel worthless and not worthy of someone else's love. But what I want the most is for someone to hug me and always be there for me, no matter what.

As a college student, I am almost on my way out forever, out of the put downs and humiliation by him in front of my own family, where no one will even speak up. I've had to learn how to defend myself verbally and mentally since I was six. I sometimes rage inwardly at the girl I could have been if my mother hadn't married him and had waited for someone who would have truly loved her and us.

I feel bad about leaving my brother in their clutches. I try calling him any chance I get. He's in therapy now because he's 'rebellious.' I wonder why? The counsellor says that it's his (and I use this term sneeringly and disgustedly) parents' "divine right" to punish him. I thought we got over that in the middle ages, that's why we don't have kings over here. I wanted to go knock him one. My brother can't disconnect like I can. He feels too much and he was left hurt when someone said that these people could do whatever they wanted with him. Kinda how I felt with his counsellor.

Throughout school, I've been driving myself constantly so I could "get out" and get a job immediately after college. I will continue to do so because I will not rest easy until I'm beyond it all and maybe then I can start over. Learn how to be human again and let it all fade. Because if I don't do this I will die. I know that for a fact. My living pisses them both off to no end; they've both told me so. SO I am going to continue and I will be what they cannot be: a good person.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Nancy

by Nancy
(Ohio, USA)

The abuse that took place in our home wasn't just against me; my mother and brothers and sisters were all abused. Many nights I lay in bed listening to my mom begging him to stop hitting her, her usually soft, kind voice was a sad whimper, "Please don't hit me, please stop." It haunts me even now.

What was worse was when he would come drag me out of bed, literally, in the middle of the night and start the inquisition, "Who was here today? Where did your mother go? What road did she take? If a man was here, what color was his hair?" That one confused me, and I remember saying brown, because most men have brown hair. Well, he beat my mom terribly over that answer, though no man had been to our house at all. This was worse because of the guilt I felt and because sometimes Mom would ask me, "Why did you tell him that?" with her face all black and blue. The guilt was heavy and long-lasting, maybe never-ending.

My father hated us all and told us so, but it was my older sister, the one I loved so much, who he developed a special hatred for. Maybe it was because she looked just like Mom. She'd walk in the room and he'd say, "I hate your guts. I should just kill you now." She had a nervous laugh and when he was beating her with his belt she would laugh. I would beg her in my mind to cry. I freely cried, but I don't think she could. The beatings seemed so much worse when they were happening to her. "Please Sissy," I'd whisper to myself, "just cry. It will end sooner if you do." But she couldn't. Many times I sat with her, examining her burn-like welts and bruises. I still can see them. I had them too, but hers are the ones I can still feel.

Even when the abuse happens to someone else in your home, it's like it's happening to you in a way. I remember their abuse clearer than my own. I told another of my sisters who was older than me of the worse day, when our father was abusing her and she had to leave home that day and she never came back. My sister didn't remember any of it. I not only remember it, I can close my eyes and see it. Many nights I've dreamed of it.

I told some of my story here before, not long ago, and everyone said such comforting, helpful things to me. I really appreciated it very much. Thank you.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Emily

by Emily
(New Brunswick, New Jersey, USA)

When I was 6 my mother died. I was one 13 children. I was the second youngest. After my mother's death my father started to just take his anger out on my younger sister and I. I was 7 when the abuse started and my sister was 3. He would beat me until I couldn't move anymore.

At the age of 10, my uncle came and lived with us. Our house was small so my younger sister and I were forced to share a room with him. Two weeks after he moved in, my sister got sick and my father had her spend the night in my older brother's room. My uncle told me to lay in his bed with out my clothing on. He raped me. I remember yelling a lot that night, but none of my 12 siblings came in. He did this almost every night for about 3 or 4 years. I never told a soul. My uncle told me if I did, he would chop off all my fingers.

When I was 15, my father killed himself. I was glad to be away from my abusive father, but I new I was now sentenced to a life with my uncle. I was ordered to go school everyday come home, and clean the house. He would beat me for hours, then he would make me have sex with him. If it wasn't good sex, I would have to sleep outside nude.

After my father's death, my younger sister wasn't abused anymore, only I was.

When I turned 20, I became pregnant with my uncle's baby. I moved out 9 months later. I had a baby boy I named Nathan. A year later, my sister moved in with me. Four months later, my uncle got married and had twin boys. Eight months later, he killed himself. I'm glad he won't be living with his sons and hurt them the way he hurt me.

I'm now 37 and I m happily married. I have 4 children (3 boys and one girl). I always tell my children of the risks of mean people coming to hurt them. I feel they're safe. And yes, my eldest son knows my uncle is his father.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Patricia

by Patricia Johnson Grosse
(North Ridgeville, Ohio, USA)

I was the victim of terrible child abuse. My father was an alcoholic. He abused my mother, sisters, and me. My third sister was only 9 months old when he shoved her off the top step. My sister broke her left shoulder. A year later, he shoved her off again. This time she suffered an identical injury to her right shoulder. She suffered brain damage at some point. She was very bright as a toddler. My sister is now mentally retarded, and she has agoraphobia and panic disorders. I myself was almost hung at age 8. My father went into a rage over nothing. He grabbed hold of me, tore down a clothesline, then made a noose out the rope. He placed the noose around my head. If it weren't for my younger sister, I would have died. My mother heard me crying out, then rescued me. She called the police, but the police did nothing.

When my mother was 9 months pregnant with my youngest sister, my father kicked her in the stomach, and then stabbed her under her right breast. She broke 2 ribs. My mother ended up carrying my sister for another 6 weeks. My sister survived and is now a beautiful woman.

My father left in May 1968. Before being gone for good, he tried to break into the house, but I managed to block the door. My grandmother called the police. When the police arrived, they had a warrant for his arrest. I cut my feet from the broken glass. He never returned after that. My mother raised the 4 of us to be happy, productive women. We lived normal lives with no more abuse.

After nearly 40 years, my father contacted me, wanting me to call him. I have forgiven my father for the abuse. However, I can not trust him after the horrific abuse I suffered as a child. I don't remember what he looks like. I just want to remember the happy years after he left, the happy years with my mother, my sisters, and my maternal grandparents. My father's family is a wonderful family. I do not blame them for my father's abuse.

If any one is in an abusive situation, please get out fast. I have witnessed abuse. You can save yourself, but you have to get away from the abuser. They generally do not change.

I lost my mother to cervical cancer in 1989. She acquired syphilis from my father. The doctor believed the cancer was from the syphilis.

I am happily married to a wonderful man who was raised by a wonderful mother. There is hope.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Stacy

by Stacy
(Undisclosed)

I started getting sexually abused when I was 15. My parents got split up and I lived with my mom and my stepdad.

I was just sitting in my room looking at the view out my window when my stepdad came in. My mom was at work at the time. He forced me down on the bed and sexually abused me. He said that if I told anyone, he would kill me.

I moved out of the house when I was 20. I didn't have the money to move out any earlier. Now I'm 26, and I'm telling everyone.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Hannah

by Hannah
(Stillwater, Oklahoma)

When I was little, my mom would bring home so many men and they would be drunk. After a while they started hitting me. So when I was five I got taken away. I never had a real mom or dad. Until I got adopted when I was 7. I'm 15 now and it still scares me when I think about it.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Carole

by Carole
(California)

It started from day one. Mom was a prostitute. I do not ever remember Dad living IN the house. But he was there often. Both Mom and Dad had sex with all the kids. Mom got paid to let her boyfriend's have sex with us.

I spent most of my childhood locked in a closet (except to be let out to have sex and be beaten).
I had a daughter and a son. Dad was the father of both of them.

When I was almost 13 the law caught on to Mom and her boyfriends. One night she took off and I never saw her again. The state sent me to live with Dad.

I started school when I was 13. I did not know much. It was hard to catch up. Other kids made fun of me.

The sex and beatings continued until I was 18, when I left home. Teachers knew something was not right. But no one reached out to help me. I felt so all alone.

From day one I had to pay for everything on my own - food, braces, school supplies, clothes and college. I finished high school, went on to college and got a Masters in Social Work and a B.A. in math. College was a struggle because I had to work twice as hard to get good grades. I graduated with a 3.0gpa.

I am married to a really nice man. Yet, I feel so all alone all the time. I feel like I live in a world that no one else can or will ever understand.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Faye

by Faye
(New York, USA)

I don't really know if I have been emotionally abused, but it seems like it is the case. I was born in the United States. By age three, I was brought to my mother's homeland, somewhere in Asia, by my grandparents. As I grew, they told me that I was brought there because my mom wouldn't be able to take care of me. They said it was because of her work.

As I grew, my grandmother became more critical of me; overreacting to the slightest mistakes and assertion of rights. My relatives would join in by mocking and through verbal assaults. My mother neither called nor sent money for my education and expenses; and so my grandmother had to shoulder this. She was very angry about it. She kept a tight leash on me, restraining my social activities. They told me that my mother had abandoned me and she didn't want me.

After a few years, I went back to the U.S., only to find out that my mom had a new family; my relatives never told me about it. During my stay, my mother was cold and aloof toward me. She humiliated and compared me to others in front of other people; I turned out the way I did because of her irresponsible parenting. She said that I reminded her of the "mistake" she made. I was confused about why she wanted me there.

Now I am in college, taking psychology. Through psychology, I've come to understand myself; and hopefully, I'll find a way to help and heal myself. I think I am on the right track, but sometimes old wounds do resurface.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From L.L.S.

by Linda
(Buffalo, New York, USA)

When I was 4 years old, I was an innocent child. Life was already difficult at four because of the abuse I saw between my parents and the verbal and physical punishment I saw them inflict on the other kids. When I was five, (until I was an adult) I became a target of my mother's paranoid delusions and schizophrenic episodes.

During the time I went to kindergarten, my mother tried desperately to control my relationships with others at the school by telling me horror stories about why I must not trust anyone there. If I did, she said they would fool me into thinking they were my friends. Then they would use any information I told them to kill my family, or even worse, convince me to do it. She said, "Kids aren't your friends, and don't you tell any family business to anyone, adult or child. If you do, I'll find out and you'll get a beating you'll never forget."

I believed her because it looked like my older siblings were complying. But they did so out of fear. The punishment for coming home and talking about a "friend" at school was a merciless spanking or whipping. She would make me go places and watch her delusions, and when I said I saw nothing, "It's not happening" she would flip and tell me that "they" had "gotten a hold of me." She would say, "Now you're defying me, and you'll be punished until you admit they (the general public) are giving you drugs and turning you away from this family."

Of course none of this was happening, except in her psychotic mind. But the various forms of punishment, from seclusion, starvation, workload, beatings and constant, hateful, verbal abuse continued because she believed I was lying, scheming, and sneaking around.

My siblings and I were never allowed to have kids over to play with. We were denied the fun of childish things like: birthday invites, sleepovers, talking on the phone to friends or riding around the block. It was a secluded life, under constant mistrust and surveillance. Even glancing toward other kids or touching one's mouth in public was her reason for physical punishment, in addition to the ever-present emotional abuse. She was scary. It was abnormal. I could go on and on.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Tabitha

by Tabitha G
(Pennsylvania, USA)

The devil that took my innocence away:  
I have been living with the nightmares of what my father and stepmom did when I was 5 year old. But my abuse started before that.

My real mother, who left me with my father when I was three, told me just a year ago that my father had been touching me and fondling me since I was six months old. But I don't remember that. I remember when I was 5 years old, my father came into my bedroom and would start kissing and fondling my private parts and pull up my nightgown and tell me to not say anything. He would have sex with me and beat me so that I would do what he wanted me to do.

I remember I was nine the first time I tried to tell someone. They called my dad and told him what I told them, and when I got home, I was met by my father. He had a belt and said, "Now you're going to get it, you trouble-making b@@@@," and he started beating me and told me to pull down my panties and stuck it in me and jammed it and went faster until he made me bleed.

The next day, he kept me home and called the school to tell them I was sick. My stepmom was at home with me, and she would beat me and abuse me too. She would hit me with wooden spoons, and burn my hand over a hot stove just to teach me not to touch flames or fire. She would make me eat soggy cereal, and if I didn't eat it, she would force it in my mouth and make me swallow, and if I puked it back up, she would leave it there for when I came home and make me it then.

I'm now 30 years old and I still have flashbacks. I was taken from my father at ten years old, but the abuse didn't stop there. I was dragged through 47 foster homes and 3 group homes. Foster parents weren't told of my history. They just thought I was a bad apple.

While in foster care, my foster dad molested me because I got a bad grade and he felt that was the appropriate punishment for me. My foster mom sat by to watch him have sex with me. I cried and screamed, "Not again. God let me die."

I was fifteen when the courts decided my dad was well enough for me to come home for a weekend. The nightmare started all over again. My father raped me, and this time, the rape came with a package attached to it. I went back to my foster home, and again acted like I normally did, which was a raging, angry, hurt kid. This time, I learned who I could trust.

My foster parents had a kennel where they bred and sold dogs. There was a little dark brown and caramel dog named Hershey. I told Hershey what all had happened, and my foster mom overheard. She called my caseworker and my visits stopped with my dad.

A month later, I was examined by a doctor because I was bleeding down below. I just thought that I wasn't having my regular period. That's when I came to find out I was pregnant with my brother-son. Nine months later, I put my brother-son up for adoption.

At eighteen years old, I tried to give my dad a chance because I was still blaming myself for what he had done. I went back to his home from foster care because I was no longer welcome in the system. It started all over again. He would come into my room and beat me and rape me and tell me I would never be good enough for anyone. I finally kicked him and told him he was going to die for what he had done to me and ran out.

Three months later, I found out I was pregnant with my daughter. No matter what the flashbacks were of that god-awful night and what he had done to me in the course of my life, I loved that baby.

But the system that was supposed to protect me and keep me out of harms way did the opposite of that. They took my child from the hospital when she was three days old and put her in a home. They said I would do the same things to my baby that that monster did to me. They ruined my life as a kid, and they were back to make sure I suffered more by taking my child away, not returning any of my phone calls or letting me see her. I am paying for something I didn't ask to have done to me by the system, by my family and by everyone around me. People made me feel like everything that happened to me was my fault, and that I am not good enough to be alive.

I have been torturing myself by cutting since I was five years old. It's away of punishing myself for all the wrong-doing I did, and for being a bad little girl. You see, I had a baby girl by a man that at the time I thought I loved. My baby was seven months in-term and 14 hours old when she died in my arms of congenital heart failure. Child Protection Services had the nerve to show up at the funeral and say they were there to make sure my baby was dead.

I have been married to a guy for five years now, and I have a stepson who is eight. I am a survivor of abuse.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Dee

by Dee
(Ohio, USA)

I was abused growing up, and now my life is often very difficult. I experienced sexual abuse, physical abuse and neglect. I don't like talking about it. I try to live a normal life, but I don't think I know how. I really want to not think about it, but it's just about my first thoughts in the morning and last at night. It is always there.

What do people do to cope besides kill themselves? I spent my teens taking drugs. I want to clear my head of all of this. What helps? I really need to know.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Paloma

by Paloma
(San Antonio, Texas, USA)

When I was 16, I thought I was in love. It started out beautifully as in every relationship and I loved him. After moving in with me, we had a bunch of problems.

We would always fight and he would treat me bad. He would go to the club with his friends and then would come home drunk and would hit me.

I couldn't ever escape because nobody was ever home for me to run to when he did this. I never told my mom because she would murder him. He always thought that having sex made everything better.

It didn't matter where we were at, he would get drunk, and if I looked at him the wrong way or did anything he thought was bad he would slap me or hit me. He would put my self-esteem down and call me a whore, bitch, and just ugly things.

I was 17 years old when I got pregnant by him. Still he would hurt me. I would leave him repeatedly, but I would always fall for his words and promises. There was once when I was pregnant when one of my friends died and I went to his funeral. He went crazy and hit me like a psycho!!

When I had our baby, things changed. He fell in love with his daughter. He knew that if he did anything to me I would leave him. He just wanted his daughter.

Now I'm 3 months pregnant and once again he's hurting me. I'm leaving him already. I know I have no future with him and I just don't love him anymore. I cry every night because, even though I've only gone into brief detail here, he's done horrible things to me.

I can't anymore. I feel tortured to have to be with him. I hope that other women in the same situation can speak out and tell police or somebody who can help them.

We can together help one another and protect our children from sick-minded people. We can do it.

Note from Darlene: Though this story depicts domestic violence, I have chosen to include it in this category because it also depicts Witnessing the abuse of a parent, which is a form of emotional child abuse.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Belinda McQ

by Belinda McQ
(Dublin, Ireland)

I was six years old when my mam and dad started to argue. We didn't have much money back then so my mam used to send me into our neighbour's house for sugar, milk, things like that. He seemed like a nice man. Kind. Always wanting to play games and tickle me. I remember making animals from cereal boxes in his house and playing darts in his bedroom. I've never spoken to anyone in detail about the things he did to me, not even the doctors who tried to help me. Sometimes I used to say little things, and when I'd see their reaction, I'd stop. It made me feel ashamed of who I was.

I'm not a selfish person, but I am when it comes to my pain. I can't share it with anyone. They wouldn't understand. I want to love the person inside me fighting to get out everyday. I will never forget what he did to me. I trusted him, and now I have good and bad days. It upsets me. Sometimes I go into trances where I hate myself. I think if I had stayed away and not gone back, then I could trust people and not let the past drag me back. I am still hurting, but it's my pain. It belongs to me, and nobody can make it better. Only me.

I will continue to fight the past and make the most of my future for my two beautiful girls, and hope someday I meet a guy who is strong enough and supportive enough to see me come out the other side. I want to live everyday like it's my last. I have lost too much time to want to waste it now.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Danielle

by Danielle
(Pittsfield, Massachusetts, USA)

I grew up with more than one type of abuse:  
I grew up not really knowing what love was. I thought love was hitting, because they said they did it to "protect me".
I grew up not really knowing what love was. I thought love was hitting, because they said they did it to "protect me".

When I was 6 years old, I had a stepfather. He used to beat me every day from the time I was 6 until I was 9 years old. He told me if I ever told anyone he would kill me, but first he would kill my brothers and sisters and make me watch.

One day, I tried to tell my mom, but she wouldn't believe me. When she left that night, I got one of the worst beatings of my life. But what I don't understand is how she "didn't know" because I had bruises all over my body and face every day. Where did she think they came from? He used to pick me up by my hair and ears and throw me down. When I was down, he used to kick me and yell at me to get up and stop crying. I soon learned not to cry because when I did cry, the beatings were worse. It used to piss him off when I cried like a "2-year-old". He also used to rip my clothes off and beat me naked, which was the worst.

My mom always had different boyfriends and has been married quite a few times. Another one of my ex-stepfathers used to make me sit there and watch him beat my mom. I was 9, and I didn't know what to do because I had just gotten finished being abused myself for three years.

I was never fed, but here in the town I live in, we have a thing called church dinners. I used to walk a mile there and a mile back to get one meal a day. On Saturdays I didn't eat because the dinners were too far away, so I used to eat my dog's dried up food, until one day I got caught and I was beat for that too.

My mom used to have sex in front of me with several different guys, and it always made me feel so uncomfortable.

I used to get made fun of and beat up at school for wearing the same clothes everyday, but the thing is, I only had 2 pairs of pants and they both had holes in them everywhere, and 3 oversized stained shirts that went past my knees. The only benefit to that was in the winter time, I was a little warmer. I had sneakers that had holes in them and the soles were falling off. I had no underwear at all.

My mom used to smoke weed in front of me and drink to the point where she'd be completely "smashed". Four months before my 11th birthday, my mom went to jail. I was put into a foster home in Lee. For Christmas I was given coal. On my birthday they locked me in my room and put a dresser in front of my door. They had me wake up every morning and be outside by 4:30 a.m. so I could milk the goats and put fresh hay in their den, and feed the cows and the 2 dogs.

About 2 weeks after my birthday, I moved to a different foster home in Beckot. I loved it there. They treated me so good, but a couple months before my 12th birthday I went back home with my mom. It was good for a little while, but then she got back with her ex (the one that used to make me watch him beat her). It went down hill again from there.

When I was 15, we moved to a different apartment building. Throughout the time I was back with my mom, I made several suicide attempts. I was 15 when I was raped by a group of guys. They raped me every day for about 6 months. I missed so much school because of it. It all ended because I attempted suicide again, only this time it was much more severe. At the time, I was into drinking and smoking weed to try and take the pain away, but that wasn't the answer.

On February 2nd, 2006, I overdosed on 85 Tylenol PM's. I was anorexic at the time and extremely underweight. But then I started to think about what I had done and I was afraid to die, so I went to Burger King to get fries so I could throw them up. I waited in line for about 5 minutes, but by the time I got up to the register, the cops had come in from both entrances and circled me. One of the guys I worked with (I worked at Burger King) had called 911 because I had told him what I did. And since I was reported as a run risk, they sent the cops to get me. They caught me and handcuffed me, then they put me in the back of the car and started to go to the hospital.

When I got to the hospital, I was kind of loopy because the pills had started to take effect. They handcuffed me to the rails on the side of my bed and took a tube and shoved it up my nose and down my throat to give me charcoal to absorb the pills. I'll never forget that feeling. I went into a comma and I was having seizures. They called my mom after getting my information from Burger King. They told her I wasn't going to make it and they wanted to put me on a breathing machine. She wouldn't sign permission for it. They told her if she wanted, she could stop by and see me to say her final good-byes. She didn't come. Instead, she was with the guys who had raped me. I came to find out they used to pay her to go downstairs while they had their way with me.

As you can tell, I survived. It's a miracle, because with that much poison in my body and being so underweight, I should have been dead!

After that, I went to a psychiatric hospital, and then to the crisis stabilization unit, then to the key shelter, then to the key program for a year. Then I went to a foster home. I was abused yet again, so they stuck me in the s*t*a*r*r program until they located a new foster home. I now live there.

Today I am 17 years old. I am completely against abuse. I used to read other peoples' stories, and it helped me out, so I wanted to write one myself so hopefully I can help someone else out. I want to make a bad experience into a helpful one for others. I try to help people out as much as I can, and this is hopefully one of the ways. And remember, you're never alone. There are hundreds of people who have been through this too!

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Torrence

by Torrence
(Brighton, UK)

Daddy's Dates:  
When I was a little girl, I always used to think of my dad as my hero. I thought he was a wonderful father. But it wasn't until I was about 7 years old that my sister and I saw a side to my father that we didn't like.

One weekend while my mum was cleaning up the house, my dad suggested he take me out for dinner. He said he hadn't spent much time with me in the past few weeks and he wanted to take us out. I was thrilled. Mum was happy he wanted to spend some time with me so she agreed. I was so excited. My dad came up to me and told me to dress up really pretty because he was going to take me out for a meal. So I ran upstairs and put on a pretty dress. Then we went out for dinner. When we were in the restaurant, he told me he wanted to take me out for dinner like this more often. I smiled at my dad and nodded happily. He then said that we should give our outings a name. He suggested we call the outings Daddy's Dates. I never knew what he meant by that, being so young, I just thought it was like a club name.

After dinner, we went for a drive. The car had stopped after a while. I asked why we'd stopped. Dad said he wanted to play a game with me. He told me to get in the back seat. I did as I was told. He got out of his seat and followed me at the back. He sat next to me and then told me to sit on his lap. When I got on his lap, I felt him stroking my leg. He moved his hand up slowly from my leg up to my dress and started to kiss me and touch me. I didn't like it. I cried when he touched me because it hurt. After a while he stopped and gave me his handkerchief, and told me that he enjoyed playing the game and it was a special game between me and him and I wasn't to tell anyone. And I didn't. I was too scared, and I knew that what he did to me wasn't right, even though I was too young to understand it.

Daddy's Dates went on for a long time, and he even included my 5-year-old sister in them. But he hurt me more than he hurt my sister. I don't know why. I suppose it was because I was the pretty one. The 'dates' didn't stop until my dad died of a heart attack when I was 12.

I never told anyone about this, especially my mother. My sister and I never discuss it either. This is the first time I have shared such a secret.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Flo

by Flo
(North Carolina, USA)

I am an adult survivor of emotional, physical and psychological abuse. My mother told me she never wanted me. My father had left when we were very young. She and her girlfriend would leave us parked in the car while they went into the bar and drank (telling us they had a flat). She and friends, and our stepsister locked us in the bathroom while they played cards and we were made to sit in there with no lights on. My alcoholic older brother played the "ace of spades" game, where he would flip cards over and if you got the ace, he and my mother would lock us in a "backroom". I remember screaming and begging to be let out, as they laughed.

We were hungry, cold, and sent to school dirty, where the kids ridiculed me endlessly. My teeth were crooked, so she called me "Bucky Beaver". As a teenager, I had to go to the dentist alone and have them fixed; they turned out pretty.

We were left home alone so much, truant officers came, but no one helped. We were instructed to keep quiet if anyone came to the door. We were afraid someone would come and hurt us.

She hit us, beat us...it was basically being tortured for 18 years. She has no remorse, never tried to make it right. I will not have anything more to do with her. But it is a long grieving process still at 48 wanting my mother, or a mother, and knowing I had no mother, and no father. However, I have God, who wants me, so that is how I have to deal with it.

I am in a help group, desperate to recover. Some days are better than others. I just hope that people think about what you do to your children, so they don't have to suffer like I do. When I was young, I don't remember what age, I used to think if I had the nerve to jump out the window, I wonder if she would love me then. Or maybe my suffering would end....But I know God didn't let that happen so I will someday recover and help others.

God bless you all, you who suffer and you who help the suffering.

Flo

Child Abuse Story From Sad Girl

by Lans (alias)
(Missouri, USA)

I never liked my step-mother. She never liked me, and she was quick to show her displeasure when I came each summer to visit my father and my little brother, who is only three or four years younger than myself, I'm not exactly sure--we've grown apart.

We were staying with my step-mother's parents and her little brother, who was fifteen at the time, for the weekend. I remember looking up to Raymond. He was 'cool' in a four-year-old girl's mind. I could almost say I had a crush on him. But hardly in a sexual sense.

He told me we were going to play, 'Aladdin', which was my favorite movie--it had just come out on video. We built a 'fort', that was supposed to be Aladdin's home, which was a futon covered with a sheet. Raymond told me I was Jasmine, he was Aladdin, and we had just gotten married. And, as all married couples do, had to have sex on the first night after their marriage. I hardly had any idea what he was saying, so he talked me through it.

I honestly don't remember most of the details, but I do remember a few...I think I may have tried to block most of them out... But, what I do remember, unfortunately, was him making me, 'use my mouth', which I protested. I had tears in my eyes--it hurt. He was big, and I was small...

He tried to make it up to me by touching me, sticking his fingers, and eventually his tongue inside of me, and no matter how much I squirmed and whimpered he kept on until I was trembling and crying.

I remember he had his erection in his hand, and he was over me, getting ready to take more of my innocence when my step-mother actually came to my rescue. Out of nowhere she pulled the sheet off of the futon and saved me. But, that wasn't the end of my ordeal. She grabbed me roughly by my arm, leaving a bruise before dragging me, naked through the house in clear view of all of my relatives, yelling about how nasty I was before taking me downstairs and beating my backside with a belt, yelling at me, "Why would you let him do that to you, you nasty little girl! You're disgusting! Look at you!"

My Dad stopped her, thankfully. But...I was still traumatized.

Years later, three or four to be precise, I experimented with my little brother. It was consensual. If he would have said stop, I would have. I didn't touch him, I simply...looked. I was curious...as was he, but when my stepmother caught me, it was a repeat of my last 'offense'. Only now, I was forced to write line after line of, 'I will not touch the no zone'. On a piece of paper until my hand ached horribly.

To this day, I regret what I did to Sammy, I can't take it back. And I forgive Raymond for what he did to me--I know now his father did the same to him at the same age I was, but I know how 'messed up' I am, and I pray to whatever God is out there that Sammy doesn't turn out like me.

Sex and the like has become such an important part of my life. I cyber, I fantasize sexual situations involving a minor and an adult in sexual acts. It's...something I can't imagine my life lacking. I can't hold a steady relationship...I've developed a pornography addiction, and other...flaws, which I can't even admit as an anonymous writer. I hate myself...and no one knows. I think this may be the first time I've ever spoken out about what TRULY happened to me twelve years ago... I lied to my many therapists, and my parents, and friends. No one knows the real me...I don't think I even do....

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Little Miss Scarred

by Jodie
(England, UK)

I was never loved. Well it never felt like it. Not by my mum or my dad or anyone. My parents split up when I was three, and everything was turbulent for years after. I didn't see my dad at first for a long time. But when I finally did see him, emotional and verbal abuse started immediately. It only happened to me though. He loved my brother and my sister. Just not me. What was wrong with me? I will never know. It wasn't till I was seven that he started to hit me. He used to do make sure scars and bruises wouldn't be left in obvious places.

I remember when he first attacked me with his belt. His anger ran through him like a raging sea. He aimed the belt at my back and whacked it, hard. The pain was so intense. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. But before the pain could stop and I could understand what had just happened, he struck my back again. Only this time, harder.
The pain soared round my body in waves. I felt so bruised and battered. I didn't even have the energy to cry or to make him stop. I just let him carry on. I just let him take my innocence. I let him get rid of his anger, and he knew it. And because he knew it, he didn't stop. He beat me till I was 10 and then I escaped.

My scars are still present on my soul and, unfortunately, the memories will be there for eternity.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From M Hat

by M Hat
(New Mexico, USA)

Just me, M Hat:  
I am seventeen. I am a self-mutilator. I am stupid. I am fat and ugly. I am deaf in one ear. I am blind in one eye. I live by myself on the street, in shelters. All those sentences describe me, how I view myself and how I am.

My family thought it was okay to sell my body to make drug money. My grandma thought it was okay to beat me, even to go as far as beating me in the head. That's how I lost my hearing. My grandpa thought it was okay to use my body from the ages of 4-16. So did my uncle.

You may ask, "Where's her mom and dad?"

Well, Mom was high on alcohol and cocaine, causing me to be born with loss of vision, trouble holding things, severe tremors, and memory problems. It caused me to be born with palsy (not being able to move any body parts). So, my mom is in jail till I graduate . . . thank god (or somebody).

Dad was a rapist. He raped my mother. I never met him. I know, you're probably thinking I didn't need to know all of her history. But to understand my feelings, you have to know my situation. I honestly and truly wish that I was never born (not a death threat) just my thoughts. I couldn't commit suicide, too wimpy. I just wish I could have had another life. I look at people and think, why couldn't I be them. I guess I will end there. Not much of a story, but I had to get it out of my system.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kelsey

by Kelsey
(Manty County, WI, USA)

I'm not sure if I was abused or I was not abused. When I was little my mum would always say that I was stupid, and that I'll never amount to nothing. Or that I'm fat and stuff like that. I was completely scared out of my wits when she would start hollering because sometimes she would smack me on the head and I'd run and cry, and she'd normally say "Shut the fuck up, or I'll give you something to cry about".

Also when I was younger, I was friends with this boy. We were about three. Just this year, I think I understood why he did what he did because we had a molester on our street. He used to touch me in places that shouldn't be touched. He would also make me suck his penis. I would have to let him lick/touch my vagina.

In first grade I met Jade and we became friends. Once when I slept over at her house, she locked the door in the basement and made me take my clothes off and she'd touch me and then she would make me touch her. Otherwise she had threatened that she would make me walk home at one in the morning. I was only seven. I was scared shitless.

Another time when I was going into fourth grade, I had acne and I wouldn't let my mum pick at it. I was covering my face, and she was smacking my hands for a good solid ten minutes until she finally gave up.

Another time was when I was going to Six Flags with my friend. The night before, I had to get a swimsuit. My mom was starting to call me fat and ugly. On the way home I was pretty much crying my eyes out because she was just screaming at me. I finally told her to shut up. She just kept going on and on. When we got home she said she was sorry. I told her that I couldn't just forgive her. Then she started calling me a bitch because I wouldn't forgive her.

Again, my mom started yelling at me because I had acne. I couldn't help it. But she keeps thinking that I know how to prevent it and crap. It's just sometimes what she says, it really hurts. If it is abuse, I wouldn't say that it's that big of a deal any more. I'm used to it. That's all there is to it. It's not that bad any more.

Anyone dealing with really bad abuse, don't let it keep happening. Instead, try to find help.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Tati

by Tati
(Los Angeles, California, USA)

Ever since I was a little girl I got beat. My own grandmother was in this. Every day I got home I had to go through 3 strong people beating me. I am 14 going on 15 and used to take drugs, but I'm fine now. I now live with my aunt and I'm doing fine. Those 3 people who abused me are in jail for life. Thanks for reading this.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Kari J

by Kari J
(Gage, Oklahoma, USA)

When I was a little baby, my dad used to beat my mom right in front of me, and then throw me across the room. Most of his problem was alcohol. As I got older, it seemed to get worse. My dad started putting guns to my mom's head, but for some reason, he didn't pull the trigger. As the years went by, everything kept on being bad.

When I turned 11, my mom and dad got a divorce. My mom got a new boyfriend, and they were nice to each other at first, until they lived with each other. My mom's boyfriend would beat her up, and then threaten me. It was horrible. He would throw me across the room, bloody my face, and hit me, until my mom would do something. Then it would just get worse.

When I turned 12, my mom's boyfriend's cousin raped me. It was the worst experience ever. I had nightmares for years and took counseling. I slept at other places, other than my house. I could not think. All I wanted to do was kill myself. When he touched me it hurt. I wish I could have moved, but he had a hold of me. I didn't move cuz I was so scared. So finally, when it started to get worse, I got the nerve to scream HELP! My mom and stepdad did not hear it cuz I had a problem of sleep-talking and they didn't know what to think. The guy's name was Patrick B. He was 28 at the time, and got served 18 years in prison.

Now that I am 18, I am scared cuz he will be getting out in a few years, but I am trying not to let it bother me. When he gets out, hopefully I will be married and have kids.

Some more good news is that my stepdad got help. He doesn't drink, he takes anger management, and he is not abusive now. He takes care of me like I am his own daughter. So if anyone has ever been abused, don't worry. Everything will turn out okay, just pray.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Chris

by Chris
(Undisclosed Location)

I am a guy. I'm depressed and asocial, and that's because there's not as much wrong with my self image as there is with my view on others and the world. My story started ten years ago.

I was a regular kid, my mother might have been a bit overprotective, but I still had friends, and did well at school. When I got to about ten years old, something bad happened. A friend of mine, Evan V* molested me, and it caused me a lot of pain, and I practically had a breakdown when I was 11. What was worse, was the fact that later on, maybe the next year, I had found out that this then ex-friend had abused a friend of mine as well and there were these other guys that were older than Evan* that had abused him too, messed up huh? Anyway, he went around and lied, spread rumors and pinned me as this monster, when it had been him all along, and I of course was too scared to say anything. Over the course of the next four or five years, I had fewer and fewer friends. People claiming I was a kiddy-fiddler, when I knew, and Evan* knew that wasn't true.

Years later, when I was 17, another friend of mine was raped by Evan* as well, and he said he was depressed and wanted to slit his wrists.

Just before I turned 18, I withdrew from so-called 'civilized society', and went off on my own, convinced I didn't need people, since they had put me through hell. I started to hate people, something that I hadn't done before. Embittered and twisted, angry and depressed, I lived alone for two years, until I thought, I just don't bloody care any more! I started to go out again, and forced myself out the door, kind of harsh, but I wanted to live my life, something that I felt I had never really had. It felt good, I got bold, until those words found their way back again.

All of a sudden, everybody where I always used to hang out glared at me, whispering to each other. Choruses of derogatory words were all that I heard, but I still went, even though then, I hated them more than ever. Until one day, you know when you hear someone say something, but you fear that you're wrong because you're paranoid? It was then that I felt so unhappy, that I left.

I started to see a therapist, and her only words were that I should have come years before.

People that try to tell others like me to change and get out and do things, I do, I try, but it's just not that easy, believe me.

*My therapist said I had to give him a name, may not be his real one.

Note from Darlene: Due to privacy and liability laws, I removed Evan's last name in favour of an initial.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Darlene Barriere

by Darlene Barriere
(Kamloops, British Columbia, Canada)

I was 12, almost 13 years old the first time I was molested. I was babysitting at the time. My mother had volunteered me to sit for her friend's two children—one who was a little girl of 4, the other who was a baby boy of 8 months—while my mother and her friend attended an Al-Anon meeting. For those who don't know, Al-Anon is a support group for the spouses of alcoholics.

I knew the little girl loved to dance, so I brought a couple of my music albums so that she and I could dance before it was time for her to go to bed. The baby was already asleep when I got there.

The mother of these children was on welfare. She had no luxuries to speak of. She wore no make-up. She cut her own hair with a pair of dull sewing scissors. And the only two dresses I ever saw her in both came from the bins at the goodwill store. She had no telephone, no radio and no TV. The only electronic equipment she owned was an old record player.

The cupboards were bare, except for two cans of tomatoes, generic brand macaroni, a pillow-sized bag of puffed rice, powdered skimmed milk and two boxes of baby food. Buckets and pots and pans littered the kitchen floor, strategically arranged in an effort to keep rain water at bay, rain water she often heated on the one working burner on her stove in order to draw a warm bath for her children. The landlord had replaced the faltering hot water tank with an unpredictable used one, so she constantly had to turn the main water valve off. The back door leading to the kitchen was off kilter and wouldn't lock. I had once overheard her tell my mother that her alcoholic husband offered no child support, and that she suspected he was "doing things" to her daughter. She also said that thankfully, she hadn't seen or heard from him since her son had been born. I wasn't sure what she meant by "doing things," but I knew whatever it was, it was bad.

An hour or so after my mother and her friend had left, and after I had put the little girl to bed, I heard a racket coming from the kitchen. My heart leapt into my throat; it was too early for my mother and her friend to be back from their meeting. Besides, I hadn't heard my mother's car pull up in the driveway, and I knew they would have announced their presence as soon as they entered the house.

I tiptoed toward the children's bedroom to make sure they were okay; I was relieved to see both of them sleeping soundly. I slowly made my way to the kitchen, praying, hoping on hope that it was my mother and her friend, and that I was being ridiculous and afraid for absolutely nothing.

I peered around the kitchen doorway to see who was in there. A balding, big-bellied man was stumbling through the maze of pots and pans, carefully protecting the six-pack of beer he had tucked under his right arm. I couldn't call the police. I didn't know what to do. I didn't even know who he was.

"Where are my goddamn kids?" he said when he caught a glimpse of me at the doorway. "I wanna see my goddamn kids."

I was terrified. "I'll call the police if you don't leave," I threatened, gathering up all the courage I could possibly find.

"Ya? And how do you think you're going to do that with no phone?" he replied with a laugh. He tripped again on one of the pans sitting in the middle of the floor. His six-pack was still safely supported by his right arm.

"Please, just leave," I said. My whole body was shaking.

"This is my house and I'll goddamn well leave IF and whenever I want to," he replied, coming at me. "Now where are my kids?"

I couldn't stop him. The guy was as big as a house. So I stepped aside and followed him through the hallway, toward the kids' bedroom, still pleading with him to leave. I tried to block him from entering the bedroom by squeezing myself between him and the door jamb.

"Well, aren't you the sexy little thing," he said, groping at one of my breasts with his free hand. I wanted to puke. My heart felt as though it would jump right out of my chest. All I could think of was protecting the kids.

"Why don't we talk in the living room," I said, trying to lure him away from the bedroom.

"If it means watching your sexy ass, lead the way," he said invitingly as he grabbed and squeezed one of my butt cheeks. My knees were trembling so bad, it took everything I had to stop myself from dropping to the floor.

"Put some music on and dance for me," he crooned as he paced the six-pack of beer on the end table. He plopped himself on the couch and reached for one of those beers. Then he rifled through his pockets, looking for . . . something. When he found his keys, he used his keychain to open the bottle.

"Dance for me," he said, this time more forcefully. "I wanna see you wiggle that cute little ass of yours."

I wanted to protect those kids; I did what he wanted.

He guzzled from his open bottle of beer. "Show me more leg," he ordered.

I needed to protect those kids; I did what he ordered.

"Higher," he said, licking his disgusting lips.

I had to protect those kids . . . .

He put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed me into his right side, nearly in a head-lock. Fear and the stench of beer and sweat and car oil turned my stomach sour. He forced me toward the second bedroom. He threw me onto the bed and flopped himself on top of me. I couldn't breathe. His hot, wet, rancid tongue made its way from my shoulder to my neck, all the way up to my ear. I was sobbing. My brain was screaming "Stop!" but my heart was yelling even louder Don't let him near the kids!

"You want me, I know you want me," he whispered in my ear. He ran his filthy paws over my breast. He rubbed himself against me.

"Please don't hurt me," I said in a barely audible cry.

Suddenly, dead heavy weight on my chest. His head fell on the bed beside my ear. It took all my strength to heave him off of me. My virginity was still intact.

When the mother of the children got home, I told her that her husband was passed out on her bed, drunk. "I protected the children," I said. "He didn't touch them. I promise he didn't touch them." She was near to tears.

I didn't tell her that I enticed him into the living room. I didn't tell her that I had danced for him. I didn't tell her that I didn't fight him. And when I got in the car, my mother could tell that something was wrong. "What happened?" she asked me, her eyes the size of silver dollars.

I told her that her friend's drunken husband had let himself in through the kitchen. "He passed out on her bed," was all I said.

I was twenty-four years old before I learned that what happened was not my fault, that "letting" him do what he did to me did not make it my fault, and that I had nothing to be ashamed of. But you see, until I was twenty-four, until my therapist helped me put things into proper perspective, I really did believe that I had everything to be ashamed of.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Amanda

by Amanda
(Kentucky, USA)

One night, my stepdad tried to have sex with me. He tried every way possible to get in my pants. He told me I could have all the freedom I wanted and that he was in love with me. He told me that if I didn't have sex with him, he'd go downstairs, pack all his things, and leave without saying anything to my momma. I refused to do it.

Later on that week, I told my mom about it. She told me that she would sit him down and we would talk about it. She didn't believe me. He came home and made it sound ok that he did it, like it was no big deal. Everything he was saying made no sense. My mom just believed everything and let it go. She didn't yell at him, no cops, nothing!

I knew my life was only going to get worse from there. Before all that had happened, we would get into fights. The first time we ever physically fought was when I was in the 5th grade. My mom didn't believe me then either. We would fight at least 3 times a week and it would always be "my fault" that it started, even though he put his hands on me first.

After I told, my stepdad would try to find ways just to put his hands on me. One time, we got in a fight because I wouldn't dump out HIS nasty spit-can from were he spits. He had told me that night that he liked to fight me because it turned him on. Things just got worse. Everybody in the house turned their backs on me.

The night of my prom, I fought him in my dress! He and my mom had kicked me out because I had yelled at them for how they treated my little brother. I had come back to get ready. My little brothers eyes got so wide and the youngest got tears in his. They were so afraid for me. My brothers told me to leave because my stepdad would be back, and he had told them that if I came back, he'd bring his niece over to fight me. While I was getting ready, he came home and I came out to get hairspray. He was on the phone with his neice. "Oh yeah, she's here," he said to her. "Are you on your way over?"

"Go ahead and send her over here," I told him, "because after it's all over, I'm going to have you and Momma locked up because I'm sick of this."

He grabbed me by the neck, bent me backwards over the couch. "You gonna keep hollerin at me girl," he said. I kicked him in his bad knee, the knee that he had surgery on about 3 years ago. His grip let up. I pulled myself back up off the couch. I punched him in his face. He punched me in my side. He slammed me to the floor and climbed on top of me. He put his hands back on my neck and started to squeeze and choke me. My mom was standing there the whole time, watching. My best friend, Ashley, came running in and started yelling at me, telling me to calm down. Then she told him to get off me. After Ashley came in, my mom called the cops, but she called them on me.

There were many more fights that were the same—or even worse—than that one.

I am now 17 years old and I feel like I had to grow up too fast. I look back at my past now that I'm away from them, and I'm proud. Proud that I stood strong every time. Proud that I made it through.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Antigone

by Antigone L. White
(Columbus, Mississippi, USA)

Child Torture:  
I was only a baby when the abuse began. I don't remember much, but the last years of my pain I do remember.

I can recall being scared to get dirty and play because I knew my momma would beat me till I could not feel anything. She would tie me up to the bed so that I could not move, so that I could only go around in a circle.

I didn't experience the "all-American" childhood life, because at just six years of age, I was terrified. She would sit on me and make me eat cold grits, not in the morning, but in the night. And she was a big woman.

I recall one time when she had me take a bath. When I got out, she beat me while I was wet. I didn't know a lot then, like I do now. I used to think that it was all my fault, especially at such a young age.

Another time, she rammed my head into a TV, and I ended up with a bruise above my eyebrow. That's when I began to wear bangs to cover up my scar. I would have to wear stockings and turtlenecks when it was hot. That was her way of hiding the bruises. I suffered so much torture from her. Even though at six years old I was ordered to stay with my daddy and his mom—I was raised by them—I still cried for her for about five years.

Now I am 19 years old. I had a baby when I was 16, but I didn't fail school. I graduated on time. Now I attend a community college. My major is nursing.

My mom and I don't talk, but I still love her.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story from Iowa Girl

by Name Undisclosed
(Undisclosed Location)

When I was about 6 or so, my mom's boyfriend started to get drunk regularly. But then he started to get angry when he was drunk. He would physically abuse me and my brother for everything, for something as simple as spilling milk.

One time, he shoved his hand down my brother's mouth for no reason...my brother had to drink salt water to fix the cuts...and my mom never did any thing about it for 5 years...

Now I am in foster care, and my mom is still with that nasty man. And now my brother lives at home now too...but I want to stay in foster care. I love my family to death, but my foster parents do so much good for me. I am sixteen now and I am doing great. And I haven't been abused for 2 years.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Katelyn

by Katelyn
(Indiana, USA)

My mom was never happy until she met this man. But the sparkles in her eyes and the smile one her face led me to believe he was perfect for her. So, a couple years later we moved in with him. Day by day, I knew he wasn't what I thought he was. When my mom wasn't around, he would start to throw me through walls and hit me. It got so bad that I was taken to the hospital once. They always blamed it on me. I finally got the guts to tell someone about what was going on, and now I live with my dad. Though the scars are still there, emotionally and physically, I'm happy now.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Gina

by Gina
(Hicksville, New York, USA)

I have empathy for anyone who has faced any type of abuse, whether it be physical, mental, emotional or ambient {character abuse}. I have faced all four from my father, and the truth is; the abusers do not have self-esteem. They rob you of your innocence - and are completely selfish and un-fair. A common phrase you will hear from them: "Well, life is unfair."

I never understood abuse. It was something I couldn't quite point my finger on. Was it my fault? Why does this seem so distorted? Why do I know something is not right, yet I can't escape...?

My father abused my mother physically, mentally, emotionally - all the type of abuse that usually are related with a narcissist. He wasn't even on drugs or alcohol, and yet he was this MEAN. He must have been deeply hurt. As a young child between the age newborn to 6th grade, I don't remember much. What I do remember is being told:

"You klutz, can't you see?"

"The doctors must have left a few screws in your head from the brain surgery, that's why you're confused." (I had an aneurysm removed at approximately 10 years old.)

"You're just like your mother."

"If it's not you, it's him."

"You don't say it like this, you say it like that; you sound stupid."

"You rotate the paper towel this way!" (I was being shown how to clean.)


I remembering being:

- hit across the face for no reason

- screamed at if a pan was left in the sink

- screamed at if the closet door in the room was open

- screamed at if the drawer in the bathroom was left open

- hit with a belt in the middle of the night because the backdoor in the house was unlocked

This is my story...

My parent's divorced. My mother brought my brother and me to a safe home where we stayed for a few weeks while my mother filed for divorced. My father fought for custody (power, control, attention) and lost. We lived with my mother, but she had substance abuse problems and could not take care of us any longer. My brother and I decided (in 6th & 8th grade) that living with my dad would be best.

It started off rosy. My brother and I had a rough life before then and still. My mother would hardly come to see us, so if that was the case, my father would go ballistic (it was always a grand drama in the house). He started asking perfection of my brother and me. We needed to have "RULES" aka "Abuse Vents." He called us f**ked up kids. "We couldn't listen and couldn't do anything right."

Eventually, the abuse got worse and worse. There were nice times, after an inflicted occurrence of outbursts. He slapped me in the car after picking me up from work at age 17 or 18 because he was picking a fight for no reason. I didn't say anything back, and that outraged him. He threw me down on the floor a few times if I was on the computer late at night. But what hurt the most were the comments he made about my free thought. I would say something and he would say, "You don't say it that way, you say it this way." It was over nothing serious.

I couldn't take the abuse anymore, so I moved out for 7 months at 20 years old. I soon forgot about the mad-man and moved back because I needed to get my feet back on the ground. (OH BOY!) I recall moving back at 21. PURE HELL! I figured at that point, things would be better because I matured and was responsible.

If a closet door in MY room was left open (abuse)

If a drawer was left open (abuse)

If we forgot our house key (abuse)

If there was a pan or dirty dish in the sink (abuse)

I used to get off the bus from work, walk miles and miles to the mall so I could come home about 9:30 pm to go into my room and go to sleep. I recall numerous times coming in the door to a raging lunatic with a frying pan in his hand, spitting, face red because it was left in the sink (mostly from my brother). But, the point is, he was insane.

One night the backdoor was left open. It was around 2 in the morning. All of a sudden I hear, "THE BACK DOOR WAS LEFT OPEN!" I was getting whipped with a belt. He was going back and forth to my brother's room and mine, hitting us, until I screamed and ran out of the house. The next day, I went to work...and started crying. It was a miracle time in my life. I spoke with a close co-worker and she insisted I speak with someone. That someone strongly encouraged me to get out of the house. I found an apartment.

I still continued a relationship with my father afterwards (when you don't understand the abuse, you just don't understand the cycle). He was nice, won me over with grocery buying, things I needed for my apartment. Slowly, emotional abuse came back. Innocent "suggestions" about what I should do with this, or that in my life. Then criticisms, then blow-ups...slights, demeaning comments. But in his eyes, "I WAS OVER-REACTING." He told me that my perceptions "WEREN'T RIGHT." He was still in control because he knew that I knew physical was obvious, but he didn't know that I knew all other abuse is just as bad!!!

Examples of verbal, emotional abuse from 21 - 26 years old:

- My dad was "helping me" by taking me to the insurance agency for my car (after I told him I ran into a jam and he insisted on me telling him, so he can "help me") asked me where the bank was. I pointed to the ATM machine which had my bank's name and said "Dad, there's a bank!" In an evil, mean tone, "That's not a bank, that's an ATM machine; how can you be so stupid?"

- My dad was "helping me" by taking me to the DMV for my car. He asked me about a car part. I called it by the wrong name. He went into the same exact abusive mode as he did with the ATM machine...totally over-reacting, embarrassing me.

- If I would say I went to my friend's and watched the boxing game, he would laugh condescendingly," It's NOT A BOXING GAME; IT'S A MATCH."

I'm 26 years old now, and have been doing research on this for the past few months. Other than the abuse, my father displays extreme narcissistic traits: Everything is all about him, negative talking about everyone. When he isn't abusive towards me, it's all the BAD, poor me stuff in his life. I can't believe the extremes of this.

I stopped communication with my father at 26 years old because I knew he wasn't going to change. I tried to talk to him about the way he treats me. He said I was over-reacting and ungrateful. I can see right through his acts of kindness.

I just hope that anyone dealing with this doesn't think it is their fault. It's been so painful. I read the article on here about the mother who was in jail and said that her son was over-reacting (see Exchange with an Abuser). My dad now asks, "What do I have to do?"

Narcissistic people have zero self-esteem. They rob us of our true feelings, thoughts, persona...and somehow when we stop communication with them, the outside world just doesn't understand. This is so serious, BUT in other ways NOT ABOUT YOU, it's about them...they project how they feel about themselves onto you.

I forgive my father for his distorted view, because without it he would be a normal, loving person. I hope this helped.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Name Undisclosed
(Undisclosed Location)

I am 16. When I was 10, I lived with my mom and stepdad. At the time my real dad was in jail. One day I was home alone, and my stepdad came home early from work. I think that he was a little drunk, but he came and gave me a hug and kiss. I was happy and didn't think anything of it because he is usually like that. He asked me was there anything in the fridge that he could make for us. I told him I didn't know. He said don't back-talk me, and then he pushed me. I was very upset.

I told him that I was calling my mom to tell her that he hit me and he said no you are not and he told me you walk around here like you are a grown up so I am going to treat you like you are grown and he grabbed me by my arm and pulled me towards him and he sat me on his lap and then he started to kiss my neck and face and I told him to stop but he made his grip even tighter and he said I am going to teach your little ass a lesson and he started to pull my top off and then he said you are starting to get breasts that's my little girl and then he started to touch and lick my breasts and neck and then he forced his tongue into my mouth and down my throat.

I kept telling him to stop but he wouldn't listen.

Then he laid me on the floor and put all of his body weight on me and then he pulled my pants and panties down and then he pulled his pants and underwear down then he told me you know you like this I am about to put this whole thing in you and teach you a lesson and then he took my virginity and then he told me to suck it and he made me do it until I just about threw up.

This "little game" he called it went on for about year, until I told someone and got help. Now I am doing better. I live with my mom and everything is fine.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(United Kingdom)

Why I Don't Believe in Religion: Ever since I was around 8 or 9 years old I can remember crying in my room most days. Thinking back, most of the causes were small arguments with a sibling or parent which evolved into me being made to feel stupid and unimportant. I soon believed that it was impossible for me to have a truly happy day. Each time something good happened to me, as soon as I got home, I was back in my room within hours, feeling my heart ache.

I don't remember many specific arguments, but the pain I felt from each was sharp. It feels like there is a knife in my heart, and each negative comment twists it further in. At the age of 9, I sometimes thought that god or whatever was up there must simply hate me, and I thought of ending it all at times. As time went by, I came to a conclusion that there was no god; there was no higher force that would help me. We are alone in our lives, and death is the end.

I am 15 years old, and I regularly think about suicide. It's only the fact that I have good friends and that I can leave home in 9 months that has kept me going for this long; and that gives me the strength to pull out of this.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(Calgary, Alberta, Canada)

Why me? Why did god have to do this to me? Was I his playing doll? Am I getting punished? What did I do wrong to deserve this? These questions run through my head every minute of every day of every week.

I'm 14 years old. I live a pretty much normal teenage life ,EXCEPT for one thing. I get a type of punishment at home that's more painful than being grounded. It's called Physical Abuse, or Corporal Punishment.

I live in a world of fear, but not hate. I know my parents are doing the wrong thing, but I don't hate them for it. I just...don't want them to continue doing it. I have a 10-year-old sister, and we are soooo tight! It's really painful for me to see her go through the same stuff I go through. Of course, she doesn't get it as much because she isn't in Junior High yet, and she doesn't have all those tests and marks yet. But it's coming within a year.

It hurts me so much for her to witness the beatings, and sometimes she gets beaten too. I still remember when I was 10 and she was 7. She got in trouble for something, and my dad got the shoe horn out and started whacking her with it. I stood in front of her and yelled at my dad to stop. He started to pick on me and said if I ever yelled at him again, I would die.

My sister got bruises from her legs to her arms. I got a bruise on my left eye, numerous bruises on my legs and arms from his various furious whacks. But I didn't care, I was just glad my sister was okay. That's all that ever mattered to me. My sister was the closest thing in my life. I WOULD die for her, literally.

You must be wondering what I do at school. Well, this may sound crazy, but I searched up Physical Abuse on Google and found a site that listed symptoms and signs to look for when someone gets abused. I found them, and did the opposite. Instead of being withdrawn from friends or always looking sad, I became the class clown and slopped on a smile every second. I laughed at everything and did the usual teenager stuff.

Whenever I had a night where I was beaten so badly or had bruises all over me (I called them the "Rough Nites"), I would wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans to cover them up. When someone grabbed me by the shoulder or gave me a pat on my back, I would ALWAYS flinch with pain.

I always lived my life with fear, fear of having someone find out what was going on at home. Fear of having the "Rough Nites." Fear of me and my sister beaten to death. It seemed that no matter what I did, 'Someone' would get hurt from it. If I told and said something to someone about the abuse, my parents would get hurt. But if I kept it in then me and my sister would keep getting the same treatment. It's a hole that I can't get out of no matter how much digging I do.

My life is in confusion, danger, stress, and pressure. My parents expect me to be perfect. I try, but I'm not. It's hard to live up to expectations that I know I can't reach. It's hard to live in a life where you go home not knowing if you'll be at school the next day. It's hard when you go to school having to mask everything up. It's hard when you have so much pressure on your back and no one can help you.

It's hard.

Life is tough. But why did it have to be so tough on me?

My point is: If you are reading this, and you are feeling sorry for me . . . well, I don't know why you feel sorry for me. I live each of my days to the fullest and keep the smile on my face. I try to forget about the past and just be myself. That's hard when you have true horrors in your past that can't be forgotten. But I try, and that's all that matters.

"Pain and Tears will rub away sooner or later; But Emotions and Feelings will leave footsteps."

I'd like to thank my friends for the support and love they give me; without them I wouldn't be here.

I'd also like to thank my sister, my AMAZING, WONDERFUL, AWESOME sister. If she wasn't born, I wouldn't live at all. She's my lifeline and I love her more than everything in the world combined.

Thanks everyone!
<3 I love you all <3

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(West Virginia, USA)

What happens when no one believes you: 
I've read a lot of the stories on this site, and they are amazing. You are all so brave for sharing.

My aunt is a co-worker who helps many unlucky children out. I also had a family secret. It killed me to not be able to share it with anyone. All the pain buried deep inside caused many emotional problems in my young life so far.

My father went off into the navy. He wasn't always home to take care of us, and when he was home, he was never around. When he finally got an in-home job he became very unhappy. He seemed to take it out on me. I eventually became a family protector and helped out my brothers. He used to say he never wanted to be around me and used to wish me to leave. He would always say that you're the reason I smoke and you're the reason this and that.

I am older now and have learned to handle pain by burying it and putting a happy mask on. For so long it was the family secret. I know it was not right, but he is still good at it. He could say those things, and then turn around and be nice, so I never knew if it was classified as abuse or not. I loved him, but eventually he walked out. It was the most confusing life I had at that point and time.

Much of my life has included thoughts of suicide. I tried to get some help and better understanding from teachers and others, but when they talked to him, he made it seem as if I was lying. I never received the help I needed. Soon, after almost getting my life back on track, I was raped. I had to prove it to people, and they started believing me.

I still have trouble today, but at least I know I wasn't lying. I can help other people. I believe the children who come to me for help. I hope this inspires people and helps them.

Thank you all for everything and keep praying for people and myself and I will pray for all of you!

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(United Kingdom)

My story is nothing compared to what other people have written, but I have to get it out somehow. I've never confided this to anyone except for one person, who acted as if they didn't care. So from then on, I've kept quiet.

As I've grown up, (I'm now 15) my sibling has always hated me. I've never known why, but I've been beaten so many times by this sibling that I can't even begin to think why I deserve it. Some people might think my sibling is jealous, but there's nothing to be jealous of. My sibling is really clever and my parents love my sibling, their first born, whereas I'm just a mistake and a failure.

My parents did nothing to stop the beatings. After all, they'd never wanted a second child. Their contraception had failed, and my mum didn't like the idea of an abortion, but they still tell me I'm a mistake. Once, after my sibling had pushed me down the stairs, I asked my mum why my sibling did it. She just told me that it was my fault and I deserved it, so I should keep quiet. So at school, I've always kept smiling and acting, and so far, I've been able to keep it hidden, as well as the cuts and bruises I've made on my own. I turned to self-harm when I was 11...it's become a bit of a habit.

But, in my third year at school, when I was about 7, my teacher would constantly try to feel me up and used to touch me. He never raped me, thank God, but it's stayed with me.

Then to add to it all, this year I started dating the most perfect guy. I was so in love with him, but I really have a hard time trusting people. I never let myself kiss him. I may be over-reacting, but when we broke up and he kept threatening me, I thought it was my fault, as I never let myself be comfortable with him. I just hoped he might have understood.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(Ontario, Canada)

A Life of Abuse: 
I was abused for as many years as I can remember. And the worst part about it was, I didn't even know it was abuse! When we (my twin brother and I) were as young as two or three, my mother used to shut us up in our room and lock us in while she went off to have one of her 'breakdowns'. Though I can't remember it, I've been told by my grandparents she used to lock herself in the bathroom and leave us unattended in the house when we were as young as one year old.

My mother became increasingly more neglectful and emotionally abusive as we got older. Though she denies it to this day, she used unreasonable physical force against my brother and me on more then one occasion. Once, for bickering, we were told to kneel with our heads against the back of the couch so that she could beat us with a belt.

When I was thirteen, my brother and I moved in with our dad. Soon after, our mother abandoned us to go live in Detroit with her latest boyfriend (then husband, then ex-husband). While I lived with my father, he placed exceedingly unreasonable demands on me, screamed at me so much and so loudly it made me cry on many occasions. He hit and beat me whenever he became enraged, and perhaps the most hurtful part of my childhood was that he never seemed to want to show his own children any affection.

For as long as I can remember, my parents had been divorced and my father had been with an awful woman, my stepmother. For many years, I lived in fear of her. When I was a child, she used to yell at me and frighten me so badly I often wet myself-which of course made her scream more.

After ten years, the relationship between my father and stepmother began to rapidly decline-and my stepmother placed all the blame for that on me. Once, my brother and I got into a gigantic screaming match with her one day near the end of the school year. She used to get very close to me while she yelled as a means of intimidating me. Somehow, I always resisted my urge to hit her.

The last straw with my stepmother came one day when I was sixteen. My stepmother, while thin, was surprisingly strong. Or perhaps her trump card was the fact that I was always incredibly weak and timid, and she could easily dominate me. That night, I asked her a simple question, asking nicely if she could refrain from using my things. She lost it completely, yelling and screaming about how she paid the mortgage in the house (which by that point, she actually didn't). She threw me to the floor, dragging me down the stairs by my hair, screaming, "I'll show you what I f**king pay for!"

Immediately after this, I gathered my purse, shoes, my little dog, and fled to a neighbour's house. They let me use their phone to call my grandparents, who brought me to their house. They told my father he had to protect me, but he didn't care. In fact, he believed it was all my fault. Instead of sacrificing his own plans, he brought me out on a date with him as I had no other place to go that night.

He began bringing his new girlfriend over. To her credit, this new woman was extremely kind and loving towards me and my brother. Though by this point, my brother would not speak to anyone. He hates me. Any time he sees me now, he flips me off. He was the one who, in his anger, threw me into furniture and nearly strangled me to death on two separate occasions.

At the beginning of grade eleven, with nowhere else to turn, I went to one of my teachers with everything my father and everyone else had been doing. I had gone to a teacher in grade nine as well, but she had reported the incidents. Child Services called my parents, and I was worse off for it. But this new teacher (let's say, Mrs. X) in grade eleven seemed different somehow, and indeed she was. She never told anyone the things I told her; and what she did say was carefully controlled so that it wouldn't make the counselors at my school suspect anything was amiss.

In November of that year, she took me to a women's shelter in my city. I became scared however, and returned to my father's house. For another month I lived in fear of him, until finally, on Christmas day no less, he threatened me by telling me how he had killed a man many years before in a fit of rage. I wanted to leave that night, but he physically restrained me and made me stay in the house.

My next opportunity to leave did not come until that April. With the willing support of Mrs. X, I returned to the women's shelter for good, packing my things in the middle of the night and fleeing the next afternoon. My brother screamed and tried to restrain me, but luckily I got away amidst the screaming match that ensued in our driveway. Luckily, my father was at work two hours away and could not stop me. By this time, my mother was absent completely, having been put in jail months before. And even later when she got out, I was not permitted to live with her.

I spent two and a half months in the women's shelter, learning a lot about myself and why I felt the way I did about things. Eventually, I was able to get an apartment and obtain government assistance, and now live across town from my father. While my family denies abuse and all refuse to talk to me, Mrs. X is still by my side, and I know now that she will never abandon me or abuse me like my parents did.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(Sydney, Australia)

Could This Get Any Worse:  
I'm the eldest of three children. Ever since I was 7 years old, my mum would beat me. She told me we didn't have enough money for me to go to school, only my brother and sister, so I had to stay home. She would make me work and do the laundry, and if it wasn't clean enough for her, she would beat me up so bad, I'd have bruises everywhere.

My dad would see me being abused, but he never did anything about it. They would mock me and humiliate me in front of friends and family and they wouldn't care if they hit me in front of them.

One day, I was helping my sister do her homework when Dad came home, yelling at me. He dragged me upstairs by the hair and threw me on the floor. He yelled out things like "you're the reason of my problems." He'd throw anything at me, anything that would inflict most pain. He then lit his cigarette and burnt my back. I would always ask them to stop. And I never knew why they treated me the way they did.

My mum would sell me to people for drugs, and would beat me if I resisted. One day when no one was home, I managed to get out of the house and go to the police. I told them what happened, so they investigated my parents. Of course, they lied and said I got beat up by people on the streets. When the police left, I had the worse night of my life. My dad hit me over and over til I bled. My mum would always blame me, and then she'd strangle me. At that point I just wished they killed me so I wouldn't go through the pain they put me through. They chained me up in the basement for two days and I was given dog food. Then Dad slammed me to the floor and shaved all my hair off, and then he peed on me.

When they took me out of the basement, they made me serve them, cook for them and basically be their slave, and if I didn't do what they wanted they'd beat me. The abuse went on for years.

I found out I'm adopted because they thought they wouldn't be able to produce a child of their own. It became more apparent to me why it was so easy for them to hurt me so bad. I turned to alcohol and drugs, but I realised that's not the answer to my problems.

I am now 15 and I am getting professional help. I am on the road to recovering. Thanks for taking the time to read my life.

Email addresses, phone numbers and home addresses in comments are strictly prohibited.

Child Abuse Story From Anonymous

by Anonymous
(United Kingdom)

I am thirteen. Last year, on December 31st, we were celebrating the New Year at a restaurant. All was well. My dear parents started talking to this male waiter, and at first he seemed extremely nice. He told us he was homosexual.

At about 2 a.m. of the New Year, everyone was a bit drunk, except me and the waiter. Mother told him to sit at our table so that they could continue chatting. He sat by my side. My parents and the waiter got on like a house on fire. They chatted the whole night long. Then, Mother went to sit beside Father, and I was left to sit beside the waiter. At around 3:30 a.m., under the table, he put his arm around my waist and grabbed my hand. He started touching me. His hand held mine and forced me to touch him. I tried getting away. I asked Mother if I could sit next to Father. She said I was being unkind to the waiter and told me she wanted to sit next to Father. I tried going to the toilet and pushing my chair away, but in the end he would just follow me.

At sunrise, Father decided it was time to go home. Mother gave the waiter our telephone number and her E-mail address. The waiter started calling Mother every week with a bunch of excuses for talking to her. Mother was aware that he seemed very interested in my life, and she became alert. She is a very intelligent woman, and didn't fail to notice that he had an interest in me. He started texting me pictures of him naked, with horrid captions. Four months later, he asked what size bra I was to my mother, with the excuse of buying me a fashion bra from an ex-boyfriend of his that was a designer. Mother, already on alert, decided to cut her relationship with him. She told him we were moving to Australia because of Father's work, and that as soon as we had a new house we would phone him again. He believed it. We changed our phone number, and since he didn't have our address, that was not a problem.

I've never before told anyone what happened, but as simple as it may seem, it has marked my life forever. It is a memory buried deep inside my mind. Buried, not forgotten. I often have horrible nightmares, and I am too afraid of going out with boys. It has been almost a year now, and I am finally starting to get over this part of my life.

Email addresses, phone numbers, home addresses AND website/blog URLs in visitor comments are strictly prohibited.