Why?
Okay.
I don't want to do this.
But some part of me does.
One part is saying, 'tell them and let them know' and another, bigger part is saying 'grow up you stupid idiot, they don't care'.
I can't trust you and I don't know who you are. But that makes it easier because you don't know who I am either. You can't find me so I don't need to hide from you.
Okay, I'm 16, female, and still in school. I don't even know if I should be writing this on the schools net because they can't know. No one can know. But it hurts.
The man that calls himself my father, was never a father. He used to hit my mum, and pushed her down the stairs when she was pregnant with me and my twin. She was holding my sixteen month old brother at the time. This killed my twin. It almost killed me, and because of this I was born two months early. Now I have a hole in my heart and slightly undeveloped hearing. And no twin. When I was born, everyone thought I was going to die because I'm such an idiot I started breathing too early.
I always mess up in my life and I'm just in the way.
Sonehow I made it through the first day, then the first week, the first month and so on. Now I'm still alive, but I can't live with my secret. There is a part of my secret that no one knows. Not yet.
Anyway, I grew up with my mum and my brother, and occasionally my dad when he wasn't with his other girlfriends or 'at work'. When he was home, he would get violent. He shouted at us. He hit us. The first time he hit me was when I was a baby and I wouldn't stop crying. My brother got hit for the first time when he lined his shoes up against the wall and was proud of himself for being tidy. After that, it was normal for us to get hit a lot.
I have scar tissue in my mouth now from being hit aroud the head and trapping my cheeks between my teeth. I have a lump in my nose from it being broken too many times and being untreated. And of course, I have no twin.
I remember, we had geese. I hated them and they hated me. So what did the heartless bastard do? He dangled me over their pen, letting them bite my face. He dropped me in, knowing I couldn't get out. Knowing the geese didn't like me being there. And he laughed. He walked away, and he laughed.
We couldn't tell anyone what was happeneing to us, and we couldn't run away because we couldn't afford to. My dad arranged our house to be robbed. He phoned up saying he was so mad that they took the TV. They didn't take the TV. He slipped up there. He asked what they had taken. We told him. He said 'those bastards, they weren't supposed to take my blowtorches'. He slipped up there too. He told us we had to move to Saudi Arabia with him. Told us to sell everything. We got rid of all of our belongings as fast as we could, or there would be trouble. Later, when it was too late, we found out we weren't going anywhere. Slowly, we got our belongings back, but not all of them. The only stuff we didn't want to get rid of, we couldn't get back.
Later, when he was safely working away, we had a housefire. It took nearly the whole house, and started under the stairs. Luckily none of us were hurt physically. Mentally, we were. You see, he had been fiddling with the electrics a few days before, insisting a fuse had blow. Even I knew that a fuse was in a plug. Not in under the floorboards. He burnt down our home. The only thing we had left, he ripped it away. He took the insurance. We had no money, no clothes, no home. We had nowhere to go. We had to stay with friends for months. One of my mums old friends had to buy us all clothes. We were eating out of the hands of others. It would have been better to have died then. Maybe it would be easy to die now, but my mum couldn't handle it and I have to be strong for her.
But now, here is part of my story no one has ever been told. Not even my mum, who I used to speak to so much. No one knows this. It has been eating me, tearing me apart for years.
Guilt.
Shame.
When I was about six, my brother and his friend, made me do something. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to and I didn't know it was wrong and I want it out of my head. My brother, my own blood, and his friend, made me do this. They said there was nothing wrong with it, but no one needed to know because it was a perfectly usual thing.
They made me perform oral sex on them.
I was six. I didn't know.
If you could see me writing this now; I'm jumpy, glancing at my roommate, digging my nails into my hands. My eyes are wider than they should be, my heart faster and harder than it should be. I hate myself. I hate me and so does everyone else. I can't trust them. I can't tell them because I can't trust anyone.
I need to get this out of me, but I can't tell anyone. I can't let them know my past, because they don't understand. They don't know how it hurts and consumes me from the inside out. I've cut and it helped, but now I'm in boarding school, and if people see, they'll start asking questions, so know I just bite my arms or legs. I punch stuff, including me.
I have to wear a mask all the time and I hate everything.
No one can help, becaue they can't know. They won't understand.
I shouldn't have told you. I'm such a retard and I shouldn't have said but I had to but I shouldn't have.
Why?
Story shared: 29/09/2007 17:53:20
Comments
Thank you for the story.
Take care, I will check for a response later.
And thanks for reading this and commenting. I thought no one cared, and that no one would bother with this, with me.
Thank you.
I'll check for your reply later.
take care u....... sparkle x
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