My Story

Sometimes I spend time by myself because my life has had some very unusual parts to it that few people can relate to. Here is my story, if you would care to know:

I was the next child born after my older brother, who died at only nine months old from cancer. The cancer was probably caused by my father's work at a chemical factory and possibly because of my mother's eating disorder (she was anorexic). When I was young, my mother was very protective of me and my father adored me. My mom wanted me to be just like her, probably in an attempt to not lose me, so she bleached my brown hair blonde and cut it just like hers.

As I got older, however, my mother had more children and I slowly became the hated one. My mom was paranoid and fearful/hateful of other people, including relatives. She would teach us also to fear and not talk to people. Our doors always had at least 4 deadbolt locks on them, and each window was frosted over with Christmas snow so nobody could see in. As I got older, did well in school and had kids that wanted to be my friends, all of a sudden I was the enemy. I was the troublemaker for being normal and wanting a normal life.

My mom turned my sisters against me. I would wake up each morning to them throwing textbooks and other heavy objects at me in my room. They threw so hard that my solid oak door fell off its hinges and would crash down on me in the morning, much to their delight. My father would see all of this and when I would tell him to stick up for me, he would call me crazy and leave. He would blame these events on me. When I became depressed because of their treatment of me, he sent me away to live in a group home. I was also hospitalized three times in a mental institution. With each placement, he explicitly told me that if I ever said anything about what happened in the house, nobody would believe me and I would thrown out of the family.

I called DCYF at age 17 to try and put an end to the madness. At that point I missed too much school from the hospitalizations and I had to drop out to take care of my sisters, as my mom was getting worse and worse mentally. My dad told me I was spiteful to call and just trying to get back at the family. He told me I would bring dishonor to the family and that I would "have no family anymore" if I told authorities what was going on. At that point, every room in the house was filled with trash, the back yard was full of **** from an overflowing cesspool, my little brother and sister were being taken out of school (they were only 14 and 11), and my brother was wearing the same clothes every day and not bathing. My sister was also starting to become a target to my mom.

I left for two years. During these years I lived in a crack house where rooms were rented out by an alcoholic landlord to people that can't afford much (translation - all drug addicts). I was molested and almost killed by one of the residents, a tall man. He chased me up to my room and I had just enough time to shut the door. He was breathing heavy and sitting on the other side of it, laughing really hard. I frantically called my dad, and begged him to come over and save me from this man, who was definitely going to rape and kill me (I knew this because he had molested me before, and this time he was drunk). My dad said no about seven times before I told him that if he did not come over, I was going to be killed. He finally came by, nearly a half hour later, and told the man to leave. I yelled at my father to come next door to talk with the landlord (he wanted no involvement with the living situation) and only after threatening to call the police did he comply and tell the landlords what happened. I knew that I needed him to stick up for me because they would not listen to me when I told them that this man was psychotic. After this encounter the man was forced to leave, but he would follow me as I walked to and from the bus stop to get to work during the week. A co-worker had an available room in his house, so I moved in with him instead. I struggled living in poverty, working full time and going to college to try and make something of myself.

I had two best friends at the time, and both were not nice people. I had never been treated well, and I had no idea what a 'good friend' was. I was so used to pleasing people in order to win protection from abuse that I did not see how abusive they were. The female friend would berate me and laugh whenever I got ahead in life - for instance, when I got my GED, got scholarships for college, or got a new job helping people in the community. My other best friend was a guy. He would drive around with liquor in his trunk and take girls for rides, enticing them to drink. Again, I had no idea how messed up this was, being sheltered from the world as a child. Eventually, after my mom died, he took me to the woods and attempted to rape me. I told my father this in tears, and he invited him in his house for coffee the next week as if they were good friends.

When my mom died, I was immediately called at work (I have no idea how my father found where I worked) and brought to the hospital. There I was told that my mother was dead. My sister glared at me with hatred. My father gave me a list of all of our relatives to call. He told me that I had to come home to take care of everyone. Great! I thought. I am now a part of the family again.

I came home to my old room, which my father took over as an office. My sisters used knives and forks to carve swear words into my old walls - "*****", "****" , "*****" "*******" - this is what they thought of me. My father eventually put new walls up over these to create my sister's bedroom, but every day for two years he saw these words and my sisters carving them - and did nothing to stick up for me.

When I was home, I did everything for this family. I cooked meals. I drove them to school. I set up chore lists and taught them how to clean. I broke them out of the idea that people are dangerous. This would take an incredible amount of time, effort and diligence without abuse - but my sisters continued to treat me disrespectfully. It began with the next oldest sister, who would give me a hard time about everything I did for them. She hated the meals I cooked. She would not participate in the events I held to invite friends over the house (in an attempt to save whatever elements of a normal childhood these girls had left). When I bought her a cake for her 16th birthday, she called me a ***** and told me that she hated it. She threw it down in the driveway and smashed it. She repeatedly attacked my car with trash barrels. I would tell my father, and he would threaten to kick ME out. This sister began swearing at me every single morning. She would call me the names that were once carved into my walls. ****, *****, *****. My father would see her do this as I served breakfast or got the kids ready for school. Again, he would say nothing and when I told him to stick up for me, he would threaten to kick me out and tell me it was all in my head. The second youngest sister began to turn on me more with the influence of the other sister. She started telling my dad that I was stealing her things - clothing, textbooks, makeup and more. This was ridiculous. I quit to come home and take care of them, these people that treated me so horribly. My father would take me on long drives just to tell me exactly why my mother's death was my fault and how everyone I ever meet will "learn who I am" and hate me. Eventually I got so fed up of being the nice one who was abused that I DID hide my sister's beloved mp3 player and I punched my older sister clear in the face when she was hollering names at me and my father blamed it on me right in front of my face.

They have been so cruel, abusive and mean to me when I have been nothing but helpful to them all of my life. I was changing their diapers, feeding them and taking them out to the park before they could even remember these things (they were so young). I always filled in for my mom when she was not sane enough to be a good mom. They get a sick thrill out of having somebody to blame and abuse. That is how they feel complete.

I am now a graduate student who hopes to work with young people to better their lives. I cut ties completely with my family and I can safely say that they would not care if I died or was seriously injured. I fully expect them to blame my father's death on me when he passes. They are sick, sick people who are deeply messed up inside. The worst part is that they think they are normal, decent human beings. They do not have the ability to see how terribly they have treated me or why it is wrong. They are sick. They need someone to make them feel bigger, better and more put together. And then they wonder why they are paranoid, on so many medications, and simply not happy even though they consider themselves better. God has always been around for me, and he has gotten me through all of this. I pray that he changes my family but most likely they will remain ignorant, hateful and forever looking for a scapegoat - especially now that I am gone from the picture.

I spend a lot of time by myself because few people understand the things I have gone through. But I also love to be around people and I share a different side of life with them. I enjoy being around people when there is a fun event going on with a lot of people already there. I feel like I am taking part in something important, something my community will remember later on as the years go by. I like to be a part of these things. I like to meet true, deep friends who are genuine and not hateful. I have made a wonderful family for myself through these people.

Quietness gives me a time to reflect and not to be bitter about things. It gives me peace and strength to go on. It allows me to be a great person to others and not spread the hate that is so ingrained in my family system.

picturebooklover picturebooklover
3 Responses Jul 30, 2010

I am shocked to read your story as it is almost identical to mine. I believed I could spend my life earning professional credentials in counselling, social work, mental health, disability, addiction, etc so to help my family members become human. I am in my mid 30's and just now realize that no one can change or help those who do not wish it. We could waste our entire lives trying to get these people to love us, and they may always choose to hate. I am so glad to hear of your success, and the realization that we choose to surround ourselves with love or with hate. I celebrate your choice of love.

You deserve the best in life.God is by your side forever and you are always bless in so many ways as from now.Thank you for posting your story.

I'm totally speechless after reading your story. I just can't imagine how your family can treat in such ways. You're really a strong person. I hope you can get thru your problem and I wish you the very best.