WatersMoon110's Journal

It's that time of year, again, when I feel really, really crappy. I know it's a "not dealing with past issues" sort of crappy, because I am having problems talking about them (one of my good friends pressured me to do so, which was nice of him). So, as always, I write about my past. This time, it is DailyStrenth that gets my "confession". Hopefully, this will again make me feel a little saner (not asking for much *wink).

Not long after I turned 12, my mother's boyfriend/later husband, started sexually abusing me. The first time he raped me, my mother and sister were right upstairs in the kitchen (he and I were in the basement). When I later asked (still crying) why they didn't answer my cries and screams, my mother said that I sounded like I was "having a tantrum".

 For about the next four years, my life was torture. There is nothing sick or depraved that I was not forced to do. He was a coke head, and I was forced to do coke with him (though he did far more than I got - coke is very expensive, I believe that when I got any it was only "a bump" -- I still hate cocaine, and could never do it).

 He always required that the house was spotless. I got the job of cleaning the two messiest rooms in the house (the kitchen and the "back porch" which was this little enclosed porch where the cat food and litter was kept -- it was also the only place "indoors" he would allow the cats, until his damn wolf killed my cat). I probably got more "punishment" for not getting those two rooms "good enough" than you will ever imagine.

 When I was 15, I got pregnant (from him of course). Because he was more scared of prosecution for abusing me than of my death (it doesn't make sense to me either) he gave me an abortion in the basement, with a coat hanger. While I would rather have had a proper, medical abortion, I do not regret not having his child.

 By the time I was 16, I wasn't really a person anymore. I was nothing, an empty shell that knew only abuse and hurting myself (when he wasn't). I wrote on my bedroom door with my own blood just to try to keep him out (it usually worked).

 When my mom (finally) kicked him out, I collapsed. For two years, I was a "sex toy" without a purpose. I had become someone who only lived to be abused, and the abuse wasn't there anymore. I was no one. I barely lived, for two years.

I dropped out of high school. Before the abuse, I was a very good student, during I was lucky to get D's in Science. Whoever I had been before the abuse was dead. And it took me two years to learn how to be a different person.

 I moved to Florida, with my father's relatives. I believe that my Aunt and Cousin (who has since passed) saved my life. I went to community college and completed two years of "adult education" within a 9 months, to get my High School Diploma from the State of Florida.

 It's close enough to the end of the abuse to state that the (new) person I am is about 8 years old. In October, it will be the 9th year after my "home-made" abortion.

 Well, right now I still feel pretty shitty, but hopefully I will feel better later. Hope that anyone who reads this doesn't feel bad.