| I (26F) don’t wanna tell this story but it’s been a long time coming. I think at this point it’s less about my family and more about just getting it out of my system. My childhood was rough. Beyond rough. I read other stories on here and cry because I relate so well to be beaten, and gas lighted, and treated like I don’t matter. I am the epitome of a red headed step child. Now for context (there is a lot but it’s pertinent to the story) My mom (42F) and my dad (44m) went to the same high-school (they were 16 (sophmore), and 18 (senior) at the time, respectively) and they too came from less than stellar backgrounds. I love my families but they have their own problems. Those are stories for another time. Well as you can guess, I am the result of a teenage love affair, but my parents didn’t stay together long, maybe 2 years. My mom is one of *those* people (think Karen’s before Karen’s were ever a thing, but thinly disguised as extreme kindness. Hardly anyone has seen her true colors) She made it beyond difficult for my dad to follow through with his custody agreements (every Wed. And every other weekend) and constantly raised his child support to unrealistic levels. I was very little at the time so i didnt understand. To avoid most problems he would pick me up and drop me off at my grandma’s house and he’d go live his best life, which looking back now seems fair bc i dont think he ever wanted to keep me. I’m pretty sure my mom had me as a baby to “save the relationship”. It did not work That being said I know he loves me, but it’s like the love for something your kinda stuck with, like a stray cat or a bird with a broken wing. Love out of pity. In 2007 both my grandma passed (my dad’s mom) , and my dad married my evil stepmother (I was not invited to the wedding) and dissapeared out of my life for a little over a decade. I was 9 at the time and remember this year vividly, as well as many of my other traumas. So, when my parents split, it was because my mom was cheating on my dad with the neighbor (the next door neighbor of the house my dad bought for my mom, K was 20+ years her senior) who is now 2 of my brother’s dad. (6 kids, 4 baby daddies. Blended family. We never did any of that half brother, half sister stuff. Those are my brothers and sisters. Period) They broke up (or my mom got dumped) because K decided he wanted to smoke M3th with the other neighbor next door to him. So she was left totally alone with 3 kids. So, at like 3 or 4, my mom moved us into city housing, paying $17 a month, and living off of WICCs (iykyk). Shortly after my mom had a parade of men through the house. One of them, got her pregnant again, and she gave birth to my first sister. She was the smallest premie out of all of us and spent almost 3 months in INCU bc of complications with her heart. That’s not relative to the story other than to let you know i am extremely protective over her. Her dad left almost immediately afterwards, moving to a different country. But my mom always told me when he left he told her that she would always be alone because she has 4 kids and no one would ever love her. Idk if that’s true or not, but we never saw him again. Apparently he died during the pandemic, but that means next to nothing to my sister bc she doesnt remember him. So, here my mom is, 4 kids, city housing, never enough food, no laundry soap, nothing. We weren’t homeless but just barely. I think this is when my responsibilities started. Doing dishes, making dinner, folding clothes, changing diapers, watching the kids, putting them down for naps. I was about 5 at the time. I was responsible for my siblings well being from this pont on, until i moved out. I wish this were all a vague dream that I barely remember, but it’s so intense its burned into my memory. I think this is when my mom began checking out, or maybe she was always checked out and i never noticed. I don’t think she ever wanted to be a mom, it kinda just happened. Also around this time is when she figured out how to play the system. She knew how much money she could get for each kid, she knew all about child support and how to ask for adjustments, she knew how to take advantage of government programs, and she did. The bare minimum you have to give kids in my state to eat is a pb sandwhich and water. My mom was ballin, but us 4 kids were sharing a pot of the same sloppy joe mix for a week until I had rationed it all out. We ran out of food a lot during this time period. So, the catalyst of events starts here. This is when my step dad J (44m) enters the picture. J is from a different country, and didnt speak the language well. My mom also didn’t speak his language. Im pretty sure my mom was turning tricks at the time, and he was meant to be just another John, but apparently when he came in the house, saw all of us kids and the state we were living in, something in his heart broke. I often imagine what my life would be like if he never held any empathy toward us, and how my life would have turned out differently if he had just done what he was gonna do and just left us. Maybe all the bad shit wouldn’t have happened. I digress. Instead of being my moms john that night, J took her to Target. And bought us food. A lot of food, and laundry soap. I remember my mom bawling because we were struggling that bad. Being able to be full for the first time was something I never forget. Hunger pains are the same in every language, and I now know, he knew what it was like. Okay, so fast forward, it’s ’07-’08 again. We no longer live in city housing, My dad just dipped with his new wife, and I had no where to go when things got bad. J and my mom were teaching each other their languages and started really being able to communicate with us. They ended up having my baby brother around this time (so we’re at 5 out of 6 kids now) We liked him a lot because he wasn’t as strick as our mom and would take us fishing or let us play outside (my mom has a bunch if irrational fears, like pizza guys, or having the curtains open after dark.) We were hardly even allowed outside, and when we were, we had to be in the house wellllllll before street lights even had the chance to come on). He spoke to us like we were people, not kids. But the catch was, J and my mom fought. And they fought alot. When they fought, they fought in front of us. I dont just mean yelling, I mean full out screaming, throwing things, breaking things, hitting, jumping around, etc. This was also only the beginning. The kids or I would often get caught in the cross fire. I’ve been smoked in the head with giant 3 wick candles before. Walked across shattered glass from broken picture frames and trinkets. Eventually I just figured out to take the kids to the basement, or another secured room, and I would turn on a movie really loud, or the radio, and I would try to play games with them, or make us silly stories, anything to make them laugh and forget. I must’ve done too well, but more on that later. Eventually my parents stopped Taking their anger out on each other, and directed it towards us kids. Specifically me. At 10-11 we moved to my mom’s current home. And my youngest sister was born. My little sister could commit murder and get away with it. At the time, I was a gangly, awkward kid about to go through puberty. I was always book smart but I really struggled with people. I mean really struggled, so I was much less than popular. I only bring this up because I never felt like I had a friend I was close enough to, to be able to open up about any of this. I ended up never really making any serious friends. I had just moved to middle school, and was taking advanced classes already. I went to school from about 7:30 to 3:30 everyday, and had to wait an hour in the pickup line with my mom to get the rest of the kids from elementary school before we could go home. My mom made it a point at this time to pick me apart. My nicknames growing up were Pig, and Donkey if that tells you anything. She worked overnights, so it was just me taking care of the kids until J got home around 4:30, and my mom left for work around 6-7. The beatings around this time kept getting worse and worse. Its like my parents (my mom and step dad) decided to tag team to create our misery. A well-worked but not complete list of things I’ve been beat with include, 2x4s, bricks, cable wires, belts, shoes, kitchen utensils, clothes hangers, and the occasional bare hand. I have been choked out, I have been backhanded, drenched in chicken blood, and toilet water. There was one point where I vividly remember my mom trying to drown me in the bath tub. Many times I have questioned if it was real or not, but I have scars on my face (bridge of my nose, and my left eye) from where I busted my face on the spigot trying to get up and breathe. It eventually went to psychological stuff, like my mom had to pop every single one of my pimples every single day or I would get back handed. It was gross but she insisted that it would make my face stop breaking out (it didn’t). The few times I had a journal or a diary, trying to work out what I was going through, she would tear through my room, find it, sit all of us kids around in a circle and read my diary out loud, and then laugh and criticize me, before again, beating me. Sometimes to humilate me furthur, She would force me down on the couch, pull down my pants, and let everyone (siblings, her, and J) all go down in a line and spank me violently as a form of punishment. I just learned to not to write down my feelings. I learned to bottle it all up, and this is when i truely lost sight of myself. If everyone said I’m a nothing, worthless, no good loser, they must be right, right? J promotes this behavior, and often incited the beating himself. He would put me and my two brothers, in opposite corners of the living room (boxing ring style) and have us fight each other until one of us broke the other’s nose, or ripped out massive chuncks of hair, or gave each other a black eye. This did teach my how to fight, but I believe this was the beginning of them trying to divide us kids up, as they often play favorites, even now. This was very isolating to me, if you will. I loved them and didn’t want to hurt my siblings but I also didn’t want to get beat by a grown man again. Now for the worst part, and my biggest secret and the thing I am most ashamed about. I have waking nightmares and flashbacks constantly and this is why I have waited so long to tell this story. I have been made to feel worthless and honestly I do feel that way. I have tried to kill myself many times, but after going to therapy, I realized the best thing for me to do is confront my past, and my fear. At age 11, my step dad started touching me inappropriately. He would wait until I was asleep (and when I’m sleeping I’m DEAD to the world), he would crawl to the footstep of my bed and start doing things to me, and I’d wake up with his head down there. I’d fight and kick and scream but no one ever came to help me. I don’t know how else to put this because it makes me sick remembering, but he would go down on me. I knew what sex was from the puberty class they make you take in school, but I didn’t know anything beyond that. He wad touching my no-no square, bit it was my father figure and I was supposed to trust him right? I didn’t say anything to anyone or ask for help or advice, because I didn’t know who to ask, or who to go to, or what I would even say. I feel disgusted with myself as I wrote this because, in a way, I allowed this to happen. This was all my fault and im a disgusting human for allowing this to happen to myself . This happened continually for years. From about 11 to 18 my nightmare was a reality. It was in an almost daily basis, and it took me a very long time to figure out how to defend myself, or brace against an attack. I found if I stayed awake until 1 or 2 am (normally by reading until the late hours of night) when he came downstairs and found out i was still awake, he wouldnt do anything to me. I found this out at 13 or 14 and tried to stay awake as long as possible every night to avoid these situations. It still happened more often than not but I tried. I started acting out and really pushed myself into this solitary corner where I was constantly on the defensive. I did not have friends at this time and teachers just thought i was another weird girl who was smart. I was like a cornered feral cat. I said and did a lot of mean and nasty things out of spite and lack of ability to express myself correctly. My mom never sat us down or talked to us about anything or helped us in anyway. We were paychecks to her. As long as she could afford her fancy house, car and lifestyle, she didn’t care how poorly dressed we were or how bad our hygiene was. My mom got Gucci frames and we had Goodwill clothes from 3 years ago. Her lack of care and attention led to J’s ability to get to me. I had my own ‘room’ in the basement with no door. I found if I stayed awake until 1 or 2 am (normally by reading until the late hours of night) when he came downstairs and found out i was still awake, he wouldnt do anything to me. I found this out at 13 or 14 and tried to stay awake as long as possible every night to avoid these situations. It still happened more often than not but I tried. I moved out of that house 2 days after I turned 18. My mom has since gotten therapy and is on medication, and is a lot better of a human being, but not by much. I SYILL TALK TO THEM, but less for them, and more so i can keep an eye on my siblings (they have their own horror stories). I often bring up our checkered past and my mom vehemently denies any wrong doing, which i expected. Last year, towards the end of Covid restrictions I finally told her about J, and much to my expectation she also denies that it happened outright. She thinks theres no possible way that happened ‘under her roof’ without her knowlegde. I almost suspect that she was in on it but i have no proof. So once again, she’s made me out to be a pathological liar. I don’t nesseccarily want a relationship with my mom and J, but I want relationships with my siblings. Or to at least make sure the abuse doesn’t start again. Since I moved out they have told my siblings that I am a drug addict, a pathological liar, have purposefully made me miss major events in their lives such as birthday parties and graduations, and have constantly put us at odds with each other. I try to ask them sometimes if they remember the beatings, and the screaming and yelling and fighting, and the majority of them don’t, which is what i was trying to achieve, but it still backfired on me. While writing this, I realized that J’s kids (the 2 youngest) were never beaten, abused, hurt, humiliated or otherwise. Ever. Just us 4 oldest kids were treated like that. I dont know if thats really how they feel but it could be. I wasnt allowed to go outside, but my mom sent my baby sister on an all expense paid vacation to J’s home country. I bought all my vehicles I’ve ever had with my own hard work, blood, sweat and tears, and yet they just bought my baby brother a very nice used car (less than 10 years old). I don’t know why today I just had to write this. Maybe because its a new year but i just want to feel seen. I want to know that i didnt go through that for nothing. Ive had a pretty good grip on myself the last couple of years. I reached out to my real dad and we’ve started talking again. He’s since left my step mom, and i attended his most recent marriage last week. He still does not know any of this. He’s a good person that just made a mistake when he was really young, and didnt ask for this just as much as I didn’t. I want to tell him but I don’t think I should. It’s just lately my flashbacks have gotten much worse, and I find myself crying randomly over my memories constantly. My therapist said i should tell someone other than her and my boyfriend. So there you go reddit. My deepest darkest secret in black and white for you to read. I’m sorry. I just don’t know where to go from here. This affect my relationships with the new people in my life and is begging to affect my career. How do I live with myself when my past won’t let me forget? I’ve been told to go no contact with any of them, and I’m starting to think that’s my best option. |
The Journey of a Domestic Violence Survivor: Healing and Resilience
By Survivor The life of a Survivor of Domestic ViolenceThe repair of the abuse is never repaired because the damage is too unrepairable, mental or physical abuse stays with the survivor for life.Future relationships will be affected by the triggers of the survivor and the relationship will usually suffer, to...
