My Story

Let's start with my mom...

My mother married a man (let's call him Mike) and had many children.  This was not my father. The man was an OK husband, although he drank and played around occasionally.  He was a businessman who was away from home a lot. Eventually he died when the eldest daughter was 18 years old.  My mom must've felt alone and afraid.

Her 1st husband had a best friend, Tom. Tom was married to Mike's sister The best friend and my mother eventually started dating and even moved in together.  There were a few problems, however.  Tom was already married with plenty of kids of his own.  Tom and my mother were in-laws. My mother and Tom's wife were also in-laws as well as friend.  That means Tom's kids and my mom's kids were cousins.

It got uglier.  Mom's kids hated Tom.  They found him creepy.  Since most of the kids were almost grown, Tom systematically moved each of them out - even when I was little.

Mom got pregnant with me.  This really caused a big family scandal. My dad even tried to convince her to give up the kid.  She wouldn't.  And so I was born.

Now this is my story (careful...there are TRIGGERS)

As I was growing up, I saw less and less of my brothers and sisters.  By the time I was 7 years old, it was just my Dad my Mom and me.

It got to the point where i didn't think of them much.

I had a generally close relationship with my Dad - his nice side was that of a kind of a silly man who played guitar and sang songs and loved Star Trek.. However, his darker side showed a very controlling mean personality who intimidated folks, even me.

At age 6 he would force me to study advanced math until 2 am in the morning, for instance.

My brother remembers that I used to cry whenever my dad came near me.  I don't remember this -- maybe I blocked it out.

The sexual abuse began as early as age 5.  My dad would force me to tongue kiss him, or make me lie in bed with him.  He said I couldn't wear some of the child fashions of the day (70's) because he felt it was too sexy.  I was not allowed to go to the beach and wear a bathing suit - he said it would turn men on.

By the time I was 8 years old, he made me jerk him off.  He began to beat me too -- with the buckle of the belt -- if I tried to say "NO".

Mom was always asleep at this time.  He was also abusive towards her, fighting with her, beating her and generally making her a wreck.  Then he would dose her with Valium to make her sleep.  It seemed during that time I was always hearing my mom cry.

My dad would also try to stroke me, or make suggestive sexual comments depending what nightgown I wore.  He always compared certain types of food to sexual parts.  To this day, I cannot eat sausages.  He would wait for me outside of school, or take me down to the city to hang out.

If I gave him a greeting card he would send it back to me with corrections.  I would make the corrections and then he would accept it.  I had to sign the cards, "from your Darling Daughter"

These are just a few of the many abuses I went through with him.

I had no one to help me, and so I coped with this by myself. 

As far as I knew, no one suspected what was going on.  There were lots of signs, but no one cared to listen.  I would tell teachers and students alike that I was a battered child. They would ignore me. 

I cried every day at lunchtime -- instead everyone thought I was a head case.

I began keeping a journal when I was 8, I was writing everything he was doing to me.  He found it and destroyed it.  I still daydream about having that journal and sending him to jail with all the damning evidence in it.

Nobody listened.  Nobody cared.

My body changed. i began to gain weight at age 7.

As I got older I 'acted out' more.  There was a period in which I would shoplift. That stopped.  I had eating disorders -- both ways.  I spaced out often.  I had no self-esteem.  Socially I was timid and made few friends.

However I was an overacheiver when it came to schoolwork.  I had to, you see.  My fathers threats to beat me hung over me like a cloud.

He broke the lock in the bathroom so I had no privacy.

He put a lock in my bedroom and said I should keep it locked -- but made me open the door anyway when he wanted to.

The abuse in all forms continued until I was 12 and he died of colo-rectal cancer.

Fitting, isn't it?

The last year before he died was the worst.  It was like he wanted to get his last digs in before he was gone forever.  He threw hot water on me.