This is to move on in my life

Dedication: To my husband

Trigger warning: Before reading this post, please be aware that it contains descriptions of childhood rape, other forms of violence and abuse, and self-harm.

It has been almost 13 years since I’ve told my story and even then it wasn’t the whole story. So now at 28 years old with 3 beautiful healthy kids I think it’s time I told my whole story.

This sounds easier than it is, some things I’m about to tell have never been spoken about because to finally tell someone well that makes it true and not just a story of a nightmare. Have patience with me, this story is going to bounce around alot and get a little confusing at times.

My name is Jane Doe I am 28 years old I have 2 older brothers and 2 older sisters, the youngest of 5. D is 36 the oldest and has about as many problems as me if not more, she has yet to actually accept any responsibilities that come with being an adult and having kids. Bj 33 years old 2nd oldest is a successful version of my father. He owns a house is manager at his job, and has plenty of money (which he has no problem rubbing in people’s faces). K the middle child 32 is the sister I grew up admiring and have always seen as a role model. She’s very organized in life, great marriage and 4 kids. B 30 is the 4th child, he is the jock of the family. He has that personality that just makes you want to be his friend. He is still having party’s and does really know how to enjoy life but in a responsible way. Than there’s me, 28 in a rocky marriage. The outcast of the family, fire red hair and freckles up the wazoo. As you probably already guessed I wasn’t very popular growing up and still very unpopular in adulthood. My father is B Sr. he and my Mom split up when I was 5. He got stuck with us because my mother beat him to the car and left first. I don’t blame her on that part, I remember seeing my dad beat on my mother almost everyday. That doesn’t mean I think she is a good person, we have a history that I’ll get into later.

When you think of the lower class people (the poor people) and drop even lower than that you have us. Growing up with a abusive drunk father was no easy thing to survive. Being the youngest left me as a easy target since I was the one who had no friends nowhere to go when he started drinking. I remember alot of beatings with the belt, I mean welts that wouldn’t go away for a week everyday of my life. Most beatings used to come around bed time when my dad got so drunk that he used to hear things. I was woken up many times in the middle of the night to my father busting in the door swinging his leather belt screaming “I can hear you talking”! It’s no wonder that still as an adult I’m lucky if I get 3 hours of sleep a night, I lay in bed every night and try to sleep but my mind doesn’t stop and any tiny little noise startles me. The night I knew my father was broken beyond repair was the night my mother left. I woke up to yelling and went downstairs to find my dad cuddled into a ball in the corner crying saying “she’s gone, she got to the car. I was going to leave” that was the first time I have ever seen my father show any emotions besides anger. Still with the resentment of being stuck with us and feeling like we are the source of all the bad in his life things got worse. No electricity, no water, and no food. All money from the state went to booze. For the longest time we would have to all share a 5 gallon bucket to shit and piss in. The 1st to shit was the unlucky one who had to carry it to the woods and dump it. Everytime it rained we would put buckets out for water and stand outside with a bottle of dish soap and wash ourselves the best we could. Or we’d manage to get enough water to fill the tub with cold water and me and my two sisters would all squeeze into the tub wash our bottoms and get out. Our neighbors God bless them used to leave a plate with food once every other day. They where to scared of my father to actually get involved, everyone was scared of him and so they would pretend like they don’t notice the abuse and neglect us children where being put through. My father always had his friend Jeff living with us, his live in drinking partner. Him and my father used to take turns locking me and my brother B in the trunk of the car and going out to do doughnuts and see how fast they can go and how close they can get to crashing. Jeff crashed through the barn wall with me in the truck. I remember that on the nights that my dad seemed sadder than most where the days I used to try to hide in the woods by the house. Knowing what was coming if he found me. On his suicidal days ( which was at least once or twice every clp weeks) he’d put me in the backseat most of the time by myself because my siblings where much better at hiding than I was. Than he’d drive to a creek a few miles past our house with a 12 ft drop off into a creek. He’d go as fast as he’d could and then slam on the breaks right before the drop coming inches from the edge, hoping that if he does it enough one of the times he’ll slide off and kill us both. He would talk about wanting to die and how I shouldn’t be afraid of dying because it’ll be easier if I wasn’t around. The fear coming that close to death over and over again and by the hand of the one person in my life who was supposed to protect me, I still feel. Than when my dad would go to the jail for dwi or would drink himself into the hospital we had my mom show up with and stay for a couple days. She dreaded every second of it and would spend the time cracked out with some random guy from the bar. I didn’t have a room or a bed so when my mom disappeared for 2 days I thought it’d be safe to sleep in her bed. I recall that morning so clearly. I woke up and noticed that my mom and her bf for the day where in bed bedside me, so I sat up and was going to hide scared I was going to be in trouble. When I sat up I felt a hand down my pants and fingers inside me. I turned and he looked me right in the eyes, I panicked and laid back down frozen with fear until he finally removed his hand when my mom started to wake up. After he left I gathered all of my courage and told my mom what happened expecting to feel better and ensured that everything would be okay but instead she told me “he was falling off the bed and needed something to hold on to” and pushed me aside and continued what she was doing. I know that day I lost a very important part of myself a part of me I never even had a chance to experience. Self respect I felt like I was just a whore put on this Earth for the only purpose to be used and thrown away. The next time my dad went away we where sent into a distant relatives home. She had two boys which are just as messed up as we were if we didn’t hold her spoon exactly right they would grab us by the arm spinners front of the circle and beat us with a belt the entire experience there was very unpleasant like most my childhood. Every time after that it was a foster home they would split us all up in a different foster homes none of the foster parents that I encountered for nice they wanted us for the paycheck only and Free labor but it was better than being at home. I have been through so much and it has messed me up so much the only thing that keeps me going is my kids making sure that they at the life I wanted growing up they never have to experience any of the horrors I did. From waking up to my dad dragging me down the stairs by my hair to a tub full of water trying to drown me my sister having to pull him off and US hiding outside in the woods to my father trying to rape me used to hold me down and tell me how my hair used to turn him on robe up against me. I was in 4th grade the first time I tried to seriously kill myself by cutting my wrist. I took a fingernail clippers and tried to cut as deep as I could and clipped my vein wanting nothing but to not exist being told my whole life that me being dead would be better for everyone. That is just the very beginning of my story and just a glimpse of my life growing up. We wouldn’t celebrate holidays except on Christmas the church donated so many presents and we had the joy of opening them all picking one to keep and my father sold and traded the rest for booze. That is one of my happiest memories as a kid, seeing a present with my name on it. Knowing that someone out there cared even if they never met me and all I was to them was a name, I felt great knowing that they even took the time to write my name on that piece of paper. I’m not going to go through every terrible experience, just the ones that impacted my life and destroyed a part of me inside. When I got into my pre teens my only thought to be friends was Joy my oldest sisters beat friend. She brought me with he to a Spanish dance and than to a house filled with Mexicans fighting over who got to rape me first and I screamed for her as she was in the next room sitting on the couch. I remember when I was screaming she turned her head away as if I was nothing but a little creek in the floor deserving of what was happening to me. Locked in a room for 2 days before they decided they where done with me. I still kept a relationship with joy after that, feeling like I was of worth to her in any way to anyone made me feel like I had a purpose in life. I know how messed up it may sound but I was willing to take any sense of acceptance or use from anyone. That wasn’t my first time being raped. My 1st was my sister D husband, snuck into my room and took the only part of me that meant anything away. When I tried to tell and I reported it to the police my sister attacked me everyday calling me a liar and I should die. Finally a couple days before court I was left with a choice to never see my nieces again and her promise to make every second of my life harder than it already was or don’t show up to court and she would allow me to still be a part of the family. I chose family. When I was about 7 years old not long after my mom’s bf did what he did my brothers decided to teach me a game called doctor. I’d have to get naked and lay still and let whatever happen or they would tell Dad that I did or said something so I’d get the belt. That is something I have never spoken or written. I feel disgusting and scared that if people know or my husband where to know that I would no longer be worthy of love. I am terrified that Everytime anyone looks at me it will only be in disgust. But I am okay with that because I know that no matter what my story is my kids will love me, the one thing I’m good at in life is being a mom… Who would of guessed that with everything I’ve been through and everything that’s wrong with me the one thing I know for sure is I’m a good mom. That’s enough for me. I’m ready to share my story, I hope that other children put through any of the things I have been through don’t give up and share their story.

I am who I am and it may be completely screwed up with lots of flaws but every screwed up thing is a scar on the inside to remind myself how strong I am to have survived. The pain that never goes away I no longer use as an life excuse but as motivation to make sure everyday with my kids is filled with love and encouragement.

I am telling my story for me, I don’t want any pity. This is to move on in my life, now that I have told my story I feel like I can let go of some of the secrets and pain. I encourage everyone to share their story not for others but for yourself.