Ok. So I was going to write this somewhere else, but decided it might help people believe that things in life can always change. I'm not doing a spell or grammar check because I might lose my nerve and not post it. Here's my story. Every single thing in it is 100% true.
Well, it's a bit backwards for me. When it happened I was too young to get it so it wasn't a big thing. When I got older I started out hating myself because those things happened...you know? Must have been my fault and whatnot...I could pretend that nothing happened. Could sit at the family dinner table and talk about the day with the assfaces. When I was sixteen (maybe 17) My brother finally left me alone and God I was relieved.
It wasn't until I was about 20 that I started the bitter process, maybe it's because my mind was full of wanting to get married and start a family. I felt guilty that I wasn't very pure for my future hubby (Catholic school upbringing) It sucked. I couldn't think of any reason why anyone would want me for the long haul. Spoiled goods and all that.
It got worse when I found out my mother had KNOWN. She's the one who let me know that the things I was remembering about my brother and sisters dad were real and not things made up. It made me feel...I don't know. I can't really explain it. I wasn't as shocked as I should have been. Ijust took it as it came. Mum knew and that was that. One night when I was 16 she confessed everything. She didn't know about my brother, but she knew that whenever her boyfriend was alone with me he'd fiddle around. She said things would have been different if h'd outright had sex with me (apparantly touching is ok, sex is not) Then she told m how her current husband would come in my room at night and watch me sleep. And then she convinced me to work for her.
I might as well have worked for her, I had nothing to lose. Even then I held no resentment for her. I'd go out about five or six times a night 'babysitting' for one of the girls (my mum owned an escor t agency) I gave her all of my money. I might have cried and not been able to look at myself in the mirror, but I was happy that we could actually have proper food on the table, instead of canned spaghetti, soup or hotdogs. No one knew what I was doing. I refused to talk about it when she asked about it. I was doing it, it didn't mean that I needed to remind myself that I was doing it.
I hated the lying. That was the worst of it. I had someone that went a bit too far and I ended in hospital, had to lie and say one of the girls boyfriends came home and freaked out. I was glad I was in hospital. It was a week before my mother started laying on the guilt. My sister needed new shoes. My broher needed this. She needed that.. was being selfish for not spreading my legs to the world.
I was still in highschool and dreading the day one of my teachers would be there as I walked into their homes or the studio.
You know. I don'tknow how I endfed the way I am now. I've been fondled, raped, had the shit kicked out of me by boyfriends, used by my mother and once living on the streets (Her hubby hit me and I left) but I never turned into a drunk or ever done any drugs. I don't hold any hard feelinings for people (The nasty feelings come up sometimes...like lastnight, but they don't last). Instead I've turned into...Me. Ha. I like my life and everything about it. I like myself (most of the time) and I wouldn't change a thing.
Once I do admit I had suicide feelings. I was sixteen, just started working for my mum pretending I was 18 (long blonde hair, slim, pale, C cup breasts...no one looked past that) My boyfriend had just dumped me, my brothr moved back into the house...All those memories always in my mind. Mums boyfriend was being extra nasty while her husband was being grabby. My health went way way down because I just couldn't give a crap about anything anymore. The school was on my case because I'd made myself so sick that i was too ill to go in. I just wanted it all to go away.
I remember it happening. I was sat in the livingroom, mum on the couch, her boyfriiend sat with her. I don't know what the problem was, but he said something to me. It was mean and uncalled for. He wasn't high so he'd take his anger out on me rather than my mum or his flesh and blood children. He was calling me all sorts. A cunt. Lazy worthless slut...Now never talked back, but I just blurted out that I'd rather be a slut then an asshole. He came at me. Like...I've never in me life seen anyone move so bloody fast. He was so mad that I'd called him an asshole that his fist went THROUGH the wall right beside my head. God am I glad I moved so quick. I cried and shouted at him that if he couldn't tke it he shouldn't fucking dish it out. (I remember what t was now! I'd had a glass of pepsi and apparantly he had bought it which meant it was for him or my younger sibs...or was it I had some cereal...one of the two)
He hhit me and hit me. I didn't fight back, only tried to defend myself. After a little while, I managed to get myself out of the crner I was in and run to my room. Thank god I'd had a lock put on my door. I cut y wrists. I thought if I could just die, then it'd be over. There'd be no more bruises, I wouldn't be so sick all the time. Wouldn't be so tired, couldn't be used anymore or shouted at or made to feel worthless. It'd be over.
The minute the blood started to flow I changed my mind. I could't go out of my room. I was far too frightened, so i grabbed a t-shir and pressd, hen a pair of nylons and wrapped them tight around my wrist and tied them. I stayed in my room for a week. Only coming out to pee at late nights. I didn't eat, didn't go to school...The bruises had to go anyway before I would be allowed to go to school.
I ot a bit ahead of myself there. When I cut my wrist all these thoughts came into my head. Why? My life was shit, absolute shit. I hated myself and hated veryone around me, but...If I killed yself then I'd never get to better myself. I'd never get to see these kid touchers and sister rapers suffer. I would miss way too much. There's always a chance things could get better, just as there was a chance they could get worse. I'd always wanted to get married and have babies and Love. God I had so much love in me that at times I just wanted to burst with it. No one had ever loved me, but that didn't mean that no one ever would.
When I didn't die from the cuts I made I tried to think positive. I'd be out one day. I wasn't going to be a whore the rest of my life. I wasn't going to hate myself for doing it. I wasn't going to think of the nasty people in my life. I would just...go on living with the hopes everything would turn out ok.
I was 20 years old when I'd finally had enough and left home. I left home ay 3am, moved halfway across the world. I didn't tell anyone and I've not seen anyone since. I have a boyfriend who I adore. He doesn't hit me or shout at me or ignore me. I've learned to actually like sex. His kids live with us since I moved in and finally the love I'd always wanted I can share with people.
When I came here it was nothing but relief. My mum and me talked on the phone like...three times a week and she'd keep me updated n family crap... Funny my older brother refused to talk to ME because I ran away...like seriously. He raped me when I was 4 until I was 16/17 and he's the one to not talk to ME asshole, I should be the one not to want to talk to him. When my mum died I did feel a bit empty, and still...every now and again I feel guilty that I didn't fly back for her funeral, but I just couldn't face my family. She was th only one I liked so what was the point of going back?
It wored you know? Here I am, happy and loved. My older brother is miserable. He washes dishes for a living, has a girlfriend who he hates and who hates him. He's gotten fat and relies on durgs to live. My mums hubby it turns out had Huntingtons Correa and is dead now. her boyfrind? Well...He doesn't have a job, his kids can't stand im and he's not allowed to see his grandchildren.
I'm so glad that cutting my wrists didn't kill me.