HandheldOutlaw
March 4th, 2012, 09:19 PM
Not sure if this is allowed or not, it didn't specify one way or another. I'm writing this out because I'm deeply distressed at the moment, and I've never told my story, everything that's happened to me. Sorry this is a waste of space, I just need to get it out, and maybe it will help? Then again maybe it won't....not even sure if I'll post this, hence the rambling possibly only for my own eyes...we'll see.
(Geez I wish there was a hide box on this site but there's not. D:)
Hello, I'm Lauren. I recently turned 17 years old. I am growing too quickly for my taste, to be honest, and it's a horrifying thought that in a little over a year's time, I will be in college studying psychology.
I joined this site because of my issues with self harm, eating disorders, and PTSD. All aftereffects of the way I'd suffered for so long (mostly) at the hands of my father (and others).
Bits and pieces of my childhood are missing completely from my mind. I was three when my father first started molesting me, mostly at night, he helped me when my mother was out to brush my teeth, bathe, and get dressed...that's what he was supposed to be doing anyway. Won't go into detail. I learned this from my grandmother, I can't remember this far. When I was about five, my father had left me with my mother, who got lonely and did things that lonely women would usually do with themselves...she taught me how women liked to be touched and showed me things I shouldn't have seen and do things that I shouldn't have done. I was confused, not angry, not really hurt...just confused. I didn't know what was happening to me. She was almost always home, but never really "around" if that makes any sense, any attention from her was wonderful.
I'm not sure exactly how old I was when my father came back, but I had to have been around six or seven, about the time I'd met my best friend S. The first time I'd spent the night over there was wonderful--it was the first time I'd spent the night anywhere. That night her father crept in and began doing things to the other girl that was spending the night there, K while I was awake and watching. I don't really remember how I felt, just that I detached myself from the situation and it felt like I was dreaming. To this day, I still doubt that it really happened.
It was somewhere around this time too, that my father began beating me. I came to school bruised, and every few months a broken bone. I watched a child withdrawn from school because his family mistreated him, but he never had any bruises (I know that's not definite in all cases of abuse) or outward signs...and I always did. I was never questioned by a concerned teacher or resource officer.
Sorry I'm jumping around so much..I'm writing what comes to mind as chronologically as I can, and my mind skips around too.
It was the day after my tenth birthday, the day father dearest raped me the first time. I was playing with a toy I got from my aunt...it was a noisy toy and he'd told me to knock it off. Usually I had better sense, but I kept on. I don't know why I was so bold. He'd hit me around a bit, and then told me that it seems hitting me was no good anymore. I was too disobedient a child. He told me that God said that to spare the rod is to spoil the child and even though he'd used the rod to death the child is still spoiled. He talked about creating new pain and that God told him to. So he did. He did and almost every night for years after (stopped soon after my 16th birthday), whether he had a "reason" or not. He never cared whether I was sore or numb or bleeding or anything. In fact, I had never seen a doctor, dentist, even an eye doctor until he left again and my mom died, leaving me with my aunt and uncle, who took me to assess damages and start going regularly and such. I was his little secret, and I was only allowed out for school. None of my friends knew anything about what happened.
I am now living with my aunt and uncle, as well as my three other uncles. One of which has three children that live here. It gets really rough at times being around so many other men, but I'm grateful, I've never been hurt here as I had been there. I still expect him to be right there, waiting around every corner or hiding in every shadow, even though I know he isn't.
This didn't quite go as planned, I didn't get everything out. I did get a lot out and I can feel the weight being lifted off my chest, slowly.
Thanks to all who read this.
I hope everyone is well.
xx
Lauren
(Geez I wish there was a hide box on this site but there's not. D:)
Hello, I'm Lauren. I recently turned 17 years old. I am growing too quickly for my taste, to be honest, and it's a horrifying thought that in a little over a year's time, I will be in college studying psychology.
I joined this site because of my issues with self harm, eating disorders, and PTSD. All aftereffects of the way I'd suffered for so long (mostly) at the hands of my father (and others).
Bits and pieces of my childhood are missing completely from my mind. I was three when my father first started molesting me, mostly at night, he helped me when my mother was out to brush my teeth, bathe, and get dressed...that's what he was supposed to be doing anyway. Won't go into detail. I learned this from my grandmother, I can't remember this far. When I was about five, my father had left me with my mother, who got lonely and did things that lonely women would usually do with themselves...she taught me how women liked to be touched and showed me things I shouldn't have seen and do things that I shouldn't have done. I was confused, not angry, not really hurt...just confused. I didn't know what was happening to me. She was almost always home, but never really "around" if that makes any sense, any attention from her was wonderful.
I'm not sure exactly how old I was when my father came back, but I had to have been around six or seven, about the time I'd met my best friend S. The first time I'd spent the night over there was wonderful--it was the first time I'd spent the night anywhere. That night her father crept in and began doing things to the other girl that was spending the night there, K while I was awake and watching. I don't really remember how I felt, just that I detached myself from the situation and it felt like I was dreaming. To this day, I still doubt that it really happened.
It was somewhere around this time too, that my father began beating me. I came to school bruised, and every few months a broken bone. I watched a child withdrawn from school because his family mistreated him, but he never had any bruises (I know that's not definite in all cases of abuse) or outward signs...and I always did. I was never questioned by a concerned teacher or resource officer.
Sorry I'm jumping around so much..I'm writing what comes to mind as chronologically as I can, and my mind skips around too.
It was the day after my tenth birthday, the day father dearest raped me the first time. I was playing with a toy I got from my aunt...it was a noisy toy and he'd told me to knock it off. Usually I had better sense, but I kept on. I don't know why I was so bold. He'd hit me around a bit, and then told me that it seems hitting me was no good anymore. I was too disobedient a child. He told me that God said that to spare the rod is to spoil the child and even though he'd used the rod to death the child is still spoiled. He talked about creating new pain and that God told him to. So he did. He did and almost every night for years after (stopped soon after my 16th birthday), whether he had a "reason" or not. He never cared whether I was sore or numb or bleeding or anything. In fact, I had never seen a doctor, dentist, even an eye doctor until he left again and my mom died, leaving me with my aunt and uncle, who took me to assess damages and start going regularly and such. I was his little secret, and I was only allowed out for school. None of my friends knew anything about what happened.
I am now living with my aunt and uncle, as well as my three other uncles. One of which has three children that live here. It gets really rough at times being around so many other men, but I'm grateful, I've never been hurt here as I had been there. I still expect him to be right there, waiting around every corner or hiding in every shadow, even though I know he isn't.
This didn't quite go as planned, I didn't get everything out. I did get a lot out and I can feel the weight being lifted off my chest, slowly.
Thanks to all who read this.
I hope everyone is well.
xx
Lauren