The guilt and shame of what he did to me permeates my world. The inner, deep feelings that It is my fault and I am in serious doubt as to whether that it will ever leave me.
How many times did I manipulate him to come to me and how many times did I “enjoy” the abuse. “That hurts so much to say that out loud. How could I enjoy something that was going to wreck my life, my relationships, my understanding of the world, destroy trust and every day struggle with who I am. The dysfunction that it has caused for me leaves me empty, numb, feelingless and loveless.
Everyday I feel like an abused child, the overwhelming sadness and literally the rivers I have cried. Always tears. It Never anger, although that has started to change, but still always tears. Fear of saying what I feel stops me from living. It has stopped me from being an adult. The abuse silenced me for 10 years whilst it went on and when I spoke no one helped me, and then the silence went on for another 25 years. No-one saw what I went through nobody heard me, other than I was just making up another childhood story. I wasn’t disbelieved but no body realised the effects that would take their toll, nobody cared. It was like I was just an invisible waste of space.
I went through my life with no support as the only thing that was important to me was that in the darkness of night he thought I was special and that dominated my daily life. I was going to be ok because he cared about me. I can see from the outside looking in how distorted this is, but this was my world. They didn’t care if I came first in a race, they didn’t care If I made it into the senior lacross team, they didn’t care if I was failing at school, they didn’t care that I was getting bullied, they didn’t care that my exam results were shit, they didn’t care for my further education, they didn’t care that the family had been distorted and ruined by the abuse. He cared if I stayed out to late. He cared if I had a boyfriend, he cared if I came home late from school, they cared if I wanted to stay at my friends houses all the time, they cared that I didn’t want to bring anyone home, they cared when I got into trouble with the police and they cared about themselves. They didn’t care about my relationship with my dad, my dad who was kind and always distressed that we didn’t care about him, they didn’t care about my relationship with my brother which was non existent, they didn’t care that I had another family, cousins, nans and granddads, they didn’t care about all the pornography that was left lying around the house, they didn’t care that they made me do unreasonable amounts of housework, they didn’t care that the housework became before my need to do homework or my needs to be out playing being a child, they didn’t care that I had to be an adult when I needed just to be a child, they didn’t care to see if I was ok after an argument, they didn’t care that I was just left alone in my bedroom to cry feeling like I was never good enough, they didn’t care to wipe my tears when I was in trouble. They cared if I hadn’t washed up properly, they cared if I didn’t get the dinner done on time, they cared that my free time was spent cleaning and tidying.
My needs were not met as a child. My mother was never kind to me, no cuddles, no stories, no games, no playing dolls. She never tucked me in at night and never made me feel secure. She never told me how to wash or take care of my own hygiene – that was all left for him to do. I had to have baths with him, he used to pull me back so I had to lie on his penis, and he used to wash me and watch me and tell me off if I didn’t do it “properly” .
I had no privacy growing up or any respect for my space. I was never allowed to lock bathroom doors or toilet doors, he would inevitably come in when I was using either. I still struggle to day to lock bathroom doors. I feel wrong and that I am invading others space by locking myself in. My bedroom door was never allowed to be shut it was always kept ajar, I guess for noise reasons at night and again just not allowed privacy, as if I had nothing to hide. I always felt so humiliated being seen naked by him especially and by others in the light of day, At night time it didn’t matter, because I became someone else. At school in the changing rooms even from being a really young age I repulsed at getting undressed in front of anyone, I still feel the same way today. I feel exceptional hateful of my shape body and ashamed of my nakedness. It feels really unnatural and even in long term relationships I keep clothes on until the last possible moment.
When we were on holiday in Italy I was tormented by him not to wear a bikini top as all the women were topless and anyway “you have nothing worth hiding” these kind of comments broke me inside and my mother never did anything to help or protect me.
I don’t remember starting my periods. I don’t know when it happened – there was certainly no celebration or chat that no this is the time when if I have sex …pregnancy chat or what ever. If fact I never received a chat about sex and education, yet at aged sixteen I had already had sex with my step father and was now at this stage having sex with my boyfriend. I in fact out of spite went to my mother and asked if I could go on the pill and the response was “what on earth for” she then told my step father and then I was banned from seeing him and he then seemed to be around at every possible moment, finishing work early and being around after school to make sure I was home and behaving.
It makes me wonder how I did feel as a child, because every day without fail we would sit down together as a family – generally with a meal that I organized (possibly pre cooked by mother) – and we would all sit and have a meal together – the normality of that yet with all the dysfunction underlying and all behave like the abuse wasn’t happening, and during the day and the days that it didn’t happen, it felt like it wasn’t happening, so just seeing that I can see already as a child I knew how to numb out and not feel and pretend and lie. It makes me see how little I valued my relationship or lack of relationship with my mother and I can see her face at the dinner table red and angry looking at me and then shouting turn your fork the right way, squash your peas on with something else, take your elbows off the table, sit up straight and more often than not it would be followed by a smack around the head. She used to hit me a lot, mainly around the face or head. I was always lying about something or other and always got found out. I was always trying somewhere to seek her attention, always phoning her at work and telling on my brother that he was being bad to me or that he had hurt me. She would return from work annoyed and inevitably I would receive a dose of her temper and physical strength. I remember so many times so many many times lying on my bed or being in my bedroom wondering why she hated me so much or I would be seething that I really hated her. Once I told her when I was 27 about an incident with a hammer that I wanted to hit her with unitl she died and from that she deduced it was no wonder that she wasn’t fond of me and that it ruined our lives because I was evil, nothing to do with the fact her filthy husband was abusing me sexually, nightly. This was the time when she told me that she never really loved me. It was no wonder he found it so easy to abuse me.
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