My dad wasn’t in my life most of the time. Either too busy with work or just couldn’t bother to come see me, so when my mom introduced me to her new boyfriend I was really excited to have a dad. I was 4 when they met. He was really nice in the beginning, bringing my mom roses and bringing me teddy bears whenever he would come over to visit.
Fast forward 3 years later, he moved in and my half sister was born. He changed after that. He made me practice in my notebook every day, writing my name over and over again. Hitting me when it was sloppy, hitting me when I misspelled something, hitting me because he was just drunk. He justified it saying that he just wanted me to have better handwriting. I was 7.
I was at school and my teacher handed out our essays we did a week before, I got a perfect 100%. I noticed my handwriting was sloppy. I knew if I showed him my essay i would’ve gotten in trouble. I cried to my teacher and after telling her what was wrong she called in my mom and him. When I came home I got beat again. I remember him and my mom telling me that, “whatever happens in this house, stays in this house.” If I were to tell anyone else, they were going to take me away to a different family. Since then I haven’t spoke out, but the abuse didn’t stop until I was 14.
I remember once when was done with my shower, I accidentally spilled a little bit of water outside the tub. I remember he dragged me by my hair across the hall and hit me until I couldn’t cry anymore. I couldn’t take it. He told me I was alone and no one wanted me. I tried to take my life at 14. I ended up getting hospitalized and my mom brought him to visit me everyday. He said he was sorry and that he would change so we could be a family again. He never did.
He said I never meant anything to him, he said I wasn’t his daughter and he couldn’t care less if something were to happen to me. His abuse was mentally, emotionally, verbally and physically. I told my school counselor, my therapist, and my teachers what was going on. But none of them did anything. I ended up leaving home at 17 because I knew I deserved better.
He’s still with my mom. Whenever I bring the abuse up, he denies it, and my mom says she’s tired of hearing it.
Notice: The names in this story are fictitious to protect the request for anonymity.